The Dingo Dilemma

Feeney. That's final.'

I looked at her with surprise. Yesterday in the kitchen, when the star wrangler's name had first come up, Fran hadn't shown any reaction. Now she was positively hostile.

Lonnie glowered at Fran. 'Right,' he said, throwing up his hands. 'If that's your attitude, I've moved my last disaster supply.'

Fran shrugged as he marched off with injured dignity in every step. 'Touchy, touchy,' she said.

'Fair dinkum, Fran, you can't expect Lonnie to be pleased when you refuse to offer aid to his girlfriend.'

Fran responded with a contemptuous grunt.

'What have you got against this woman, anyway?' Bob asked.

'She dissed Quip.'

'How?'

'I don't want to talk about it.' Fran surveyed the storage room, which was already almost half full. 'I'm hoping we can fit everything in, otherwise I'll be forced to continue using a corner of your office, Bob.'

'That's not an option, Fran!'

Bob was usually so mild-mannered, it was startling to hear him so emphatic. Fran knew when to concede. 'OK,' she said, 'so we'll have to fit it all in here.'

'All right, then,' said Bob, semi-mollified, 'but don't try and pull a fast one on me, Fran.'

Fran looked injured. 'As if I would.'

Bob tossed off one of his braying laughs. 'Give you an inch, you take a mile.'

'Someone has to take responsibility for safety in these dangerous times,' said Fran, affronted. 'As the Office Manager, I see it as my duty.'

This got another laugh from Bob, but wisely, he didn't comment. Everyone knew that Fran had bestowed the title Office Manager upon herself, but given her volatile nature, no one was foolish enough to call her on it, even Ariana.

'I'll get the rest of the stuff you have cluttering up my room,' Bob announced.

Before collecting my next load of supplies, at present jammed in the janitor's broom cupboard, I gave a sad glance into the storage room. It was next to my bedroom, and I'd had my eye on the space for my own little living room. It would've been simple, I thought, to knock down a couple of walls-provided they weren't load-bearing-and create a much more comfortable area for myself.

A withering look from Fran sent me on my way. I returned with an armful of small boxes, each labeled Caution: Medical Supplies in red. 'What sort of medical supplies?' I asked, putting the boxes on the shelf Fran's imperious forefinger indicated.

'Various antibiotics for smallpox, anthrax, cholera, and typhoid,' said Fran, 'and antivirals for bird flu. And of course pre-loaded syringes with morphine for those sustaining major injuries in a quake or explosion.'

'Crikey,' I said, 'is that legal? Having morphine hanging about the place, I mean.'

Fran's eyebrows did a dive in an annoyed V. 'So you'd prefer to writhe in dreadful pain, would you, Kylie?'

'Well, no, but I wouldn't want to run foul of the authorities either.'

'In the middle of a cataclysm, no one's going to be checking the fine print.'

Bob suddenly appeared, without cartons, his pleasantly homely face transformed by a dark scowl. 'Who ordered a faux Spanish desk for my office?' he demanded. 'There are guys at the front from some place called Maximum Spanish trying to deliver it to me. The blasted thing's as big as an aircraft carrier.'

'As Office Manager, I ordered the desk,' said Fran. 'Is there a problem?'

'Yes, there's a problem. I like my furniture just the way it is.'

'We need continuity of decor,' Fran declared. 'The building itself is Spanish-influenced, and thanks to me the reception desk is now a genuine reproduction Spanish antique. Ariana's office is already Spanish inspired. Over time, I intend to carry this look through to each room.'

'Not mine!' exclaimed Bob and I in unison.

Fran never took opposition well. 'Neither of you has an ounce of interior decorator vision,' she snapped.

'I presume Kendall & Creeling is paying for this furniture?'

'Of course, since it's an office expense.'

I didn't lose my temper often, but right now I felt like I was about to blow a gasket. Making an effort to sound icy calm, I said, 'Since this grand plan of yours is total news to me, I presume you've cleared it with Ariana. Yes?'

'Not exactly.'

That meant no. I glanced at Bob. It wouldn't be good management to haul Fran over the coals in front of him. 'Let's talk later,' I said to her, 'after we finish moving the disaster supplies.'

'What about the desk that's already been delivered?' Bob asked. 'Those guys were getting mighty impatient.'

'Lonnie could take it while Bob gets used to the idea,' Fran said.

'Lonnie!' exclaimed Bob and I, again in unison.

The thought of Lonnie coping in the chaos of his room with a gigantic Spanish desk, artificially antiqued, was irresistibly funny. Bob and I dissolved in laughter. Fran didn't smile.

I wiped my eyes, still giggling. 'Bob, while you finish moving the stuff for Fran, I'll cancel the order and say there's been a mistake at our end.'

Fran opened her mouth, but clearly thought better of it, as she closed it again without a word.

At the front desk, Melodie was charming two stocky delivery men, who were neatly dressed in khaki shorts and shirts. 'Kylie, it's real interesting,' she said. 'Charlie and Pete say they've delivered furniture to tons of stars.'

'Scads,' said Charlie-I knew which was which because of the names on their shirt pockets-'most are nice, but some are real prima donnas.'

'Madonna was a challenge,' Pete chimed in. 'And Keanu Reeves? Don't ask!'

'I don't doubt it,' I said. 'Now, about this desk you're delivering…'

'It's out in the courtyard at the moment. Where do you want it?'

'The fact is, we don't want it. There's been a mix up with the order. Sorry, but you'll have to take the desk back.'

Astonished, Melodie exclaimed, 'Take it back! Does Fran know?'

Charlie looked aggrieved. 'You mean we've been cooling our heels here all this time, and you don't even want the Grenada?'

'The Grenada?'

'Every desk is named after a Spanish city,' said Melodie. 'Like, I'm sitting at a Madrid. And I think Fran has a Cordova in mind for you.'

Hell's bells! I had to nip this Spanish furniture thing in the bud as soon as poss. 'I'm really very sorry,' I said to Charlie and Pete, 'but we can't accept delivery.'

'Throws the sked right out,' said Pete lugubriously, 'but I don't suppose you care.'

'Do I have to sign anything?' I asked.

Charlie handed me an invoice. 'Write that you refuse the delivery and give a reason.' He added with stern emphasis, 'A good reason.'

When, grumbling, they had gone, Melodie said to me, 'Fran's got her heart set on a Spanish furniture makeover. She's going to be real upset you sent the Grenada back. How's she going to explain it to Isabel?'

'And Isabel is…?'

'She and her husband own Maximum Spanish. Like, Fran and Quip are real good friends with Isabel and Spike.'

A suspicion began to form in my mind. 'Fran isn't getting commission for furniture ordered, is she?'

'Well…'

'So she is?'

Alarm filling her face, Melodie said, 'Fran'll kill me. You didn't hear it from me. Please, Kylie.'

'I'll try not to blurt it out.'

Apparently content with this undertaking, Melodie said cheerfully, 'Did I tell you? Larry-my-agent's got me lined up to audition for Darken Come Home. I'm just waiting for him to confirm where and when. I'll be playing Olive, Timmy's long-lost elder sister, come from Australia to visit.'