Kookaburra Gambit

Now, Ariana didn't make a lot of gestures, but in her case I thought it was simply that she was that kind of person-controlled, cool, constrained.

I made a mental note at the next opportunity to check out her lower body, anyway. The thought made me smile. I could imagine Ariana's reaction, should she catch me at it. 'What are you doing?' she'd say. She wouldn't roll her eyes, but it'd be a close thing.

I visualized her lower body. Flat stomach, taut legs…

'That way lies madness,' I remarked to Jules, who'd just strolled in the door. She yawned.

I was really looking forward to going to Harriet and Beth's that evening. They rented a house in Van Nuys. It was in the valley, or 'over the hill' as I was learning to say.

I'd embarrassed myself the first time I'd had a stab at pronouncing Van Nuys, but now I confidently said 'Van Eyes' with the best of them. Actually, having never learnt Spanish, I was rather at a disadvantage with some of the street and place names in Los Angeles. I hadn't yet fully mastered Cahuenga or Tujunga, and people had been known to giggle when I had a try at Camarillo.

It was my turn to drive, so I'd closely studied my Thomas Guide during the afternoon, intending to impress Chantelle with my grasp of L.A.'s geography. I was fine on the Hollywood Freeway, but once we hit the surface streets, I got into a complete pickle.

'I'm a total no-hoper at this navigating thing,' I said to Chantelle, after she'd set me straight and we were heading more or less in the correct direction. 'No probs at home in the 'Gudge, but here…' I shook my head.

'Just how many streets does your hometown have?' Chantelle asked.

I had to admit Wollegudgerie was pretty small.

'And how many streets do you think are in Los Angeles?'

'Couldn't even hazard a guess.'

'I rest my case,' said Chantelle. 'I believe we take a left here.'

Left turns were still a challenge for me, as I tended to head for the left side of the road instead of the right, but this time I accomplished the feat relatively smoothly-Chantelle only covered her eyes for a moment-and soon we were drawing up in front of Harriet and Beth's house.

It was a compact house, white stucco with a red tile roof and a great big oak tree in the front. Harriet opened the front door before we got to ring the bell. 'Any trouble finding us?'

'None,' said Chantelle. I had to love the woman.

Maurice and Gary were already established in the living room, drinks in hand. We all did the welcoming routine, then Harriet pointed us to the little bar in the corner and said to help ourselves. Even though I'd spent most of my life in a pub, I wasn't what you'd call a hardened drinker, so I poured myself a glass of white wine. Chantelle hit the vodka.

Beth, who was obviously the cook for the evening, came in from the kitchen to greet us. She was a tall, rangy woman who bubbled with laughter most of the time. I'd met her at the office on several occasions and never saw her less than cheery, even when she encountered Fran.

'Kylie! Chantelle! How wonderful to see you!'

I said it was bonzer to see her too but couldn't help wondering if Beth ever had a down day. Did she ever grump around the house? Did gloom ever slump her shoulders? Could she possibly always be this upbeat?

I had a vision of Harriet barking, 'For God's sake, Beth, stop laughing and be serious!' But then, Harriet was a cheerful sort too. They were probably perfectly suited, which was fortunate, since they were to be parents in a few months.

Maurice was the sperm donor for the child Harriet was carrying, and I recalled her saying he was genetically superior.

While everyone was chatting about how unbelievably expensive homes were in L.A., I picked up that Maurice was a real estate agent. I considered him closely. Would I buy a house from this man?

Maurice was very neat and reserved. I noticed he listened a lot more than he spoke. He looked as if he'd just that moment shaved and patted on some exclusive aftershave. Checking out his hands, I found his fingernails were manicured. He had short, dark hair and a hard, every-day-at-the-gym body, which he showed off with a very tight red T-shirt and snug black trousers. I liked his drawly voice.

'Super accent,' I said. 'What is it?'

'I'm a Southern boy. Louisiana.' He gave me a quick smile. 'I like your accent too.'

'I don't have one,' I said. 'It's you lot that do.'

That got everyone talking about accents, a subject about which Gary, Maurice's partner, had a lot to say. Gary was quite a contrast to Maurice. Where Maurice was neat and reserved, Gary was rumpled and loud. His hair was longish and he had a rather untidy mustache. Gary more sprawled than sat, and he kept up a stream of comments, some of them witty. It wasn't that I didn't like him-he seemed pleasant enough-but he was one of those people who just have to be the center of attention. Lucky for him, Maurice didn't appear to mind, being content to sit quietly and look at him affectionately every now and then.

When we went to the table, Gary insisted on helping Beth serve the meal. 'I'm a thwarted waiter,' he declared, placing a plate in front of me with a flourish.

I peered at it, puzzled. It would be rude to ask what the hell it was, but I wasn't keen on eating something that looked like this without some idea of its composition.

'I'm doing a course in Italian cooking,' Beth declared to the table. 'This appetizer is sformato dipiselli e asparagus!'

'Asparagus and pea flan,' Harriet translated.

'It didn't quite come out like the illustration in my cookbook,' Beth said with the first tentative smile I'd ever seen on her face.

This had to be an understatement. The contents of the plate in front of me appeared to be afflicted by some dire tropical skin disease. I looked around the table. Others were eating, and no one had fallen off a chair, as yet. I took an experimental mouthful. It tasted OK.

Gary rushed around, pouring red Italian wine. Then he whisked away the appetizer plates from each of us. If he loved being a waiter, why wasn't he one? I was curious enough to ask him what he did.

'Teacher,' he said. 'Math.'

'With LAUSD,' said Harriet in tones of doom.

'What's that?'

'Los Angeles Unified School District,' said Gary, topping up Beth's glass. She was drinking quite a lot, I'd noticed. Maybe it was anxiety about her cooking.

'Anyone who teaches in L.A. Unified deserves a medal,' Harriet declared. 'There are too many chiefs, not enough Indians, dilapidated buildings, and a large proportion of students who are functionally illiterate in English. Oh, and there's gang violence too.'

'Gary's a wonderful teacher,' said Maurice, 'but he's close to burning out.'

My opinion of Gary went up several notches. Teaching was a demanding profession at the best of times. In Gary's situation, it sounded close to impossible.

Beth, her forehead creased in concentration-or maybe panic-exited to deal with the main course. Gary followed after her. We were chatting about red wine versus white when a few horrified cries filtered through from the kitchen. 'Stay here,' said Harriet, getting up.

'Sounds like there's a problem with the entree,' Chantelle said.

'Entree? We've already had the entree.'

Maurice and Chantelle looked at me. 'The first course,' I told them. 'The asparagus and pea thingy.'

'That's the appetizer,' said Chantelle. 'Now we're waiting for the main course. The entree.' She grinned at me. 'You Aussies are so strange. Must be something to do with living upside down at the bottom of the world.'

'Entree means entry,' I pointed out. 'So it's the first thing you have.'

Maurice frowned at me. 'If you Aussies call the appetizer the entree, what do you call the main course?'

'Funnily enough,' I said, 'the main course.'

Harriet came in from the kitchen. 'Beef filet with truffles and apples,' she announced. I could see she was on the verge of hopeless giggles but was attempting to remain serious for Beth's sake.

Beth and Gary entered, carrying plates. Beth was unsmiling. 'Filetto con tartufi e