'I'd never do that job,' I said. 'I'm not all that keen on shopping.'
Melodie's eyes widened. 'You're not?' She considered my failure in this area for a moment, then, recalling her situation, said mournfully, 'Tiffany was my last hope.'
'I'll answer the phone for you this arvo.' When she looked puzzled, I translated. 'Afternoon. The phone. I'll answer it.'
Transformed, she leapt to her feet. 'You will! Oh, Kylie, I owe you one!' Apparently fearful I might change my mind, she grabbed her things and galloped for the front door.
'You're leaving already?' I called, but she was gone.
I settled down with my book, keeping a
Several calls came through, but the phone set-up was chickenfeed compared to the pub, so I aced it without any prob. I put a call through to Bob, and he chuckled when he heard my voice. 'Melodie won out, did she? Watch out, Kylie, this won't be the last time she asks you.'
I was really into a chapter on industrial espionage when a voice said, 'Whatcha reading?'
I closed my book and covered the title with my hand. 'Nothing.'
'Looks like something to me.' It was a delivery bloke in a daggy outfit of brown shorts and shirt. He slapped the package he was carrying down on the desk and gave me an overly familiar smile. 'Where's Melodie? Auditioning again?'
'That's right.'
He was one of those mega-annoying friendly types who can't mind their own business. 'Good book?' he asked. 'I'm a reader myself. Spy stuff. Techno-thrillers. Tom Clancy. Read him?'
'Not lately.'
'You should.' Before I could react, the twerp had reached over and grabbed my book. 'Well, well,' he said, grinning. He read the title in a loud voice.
'Give me that!' I snatched it back from him.
Too late. Fran was on the scene. And she was smiling.
TWELVE
'I'm throwing myself on your mercy,' I said, shoving the book into my bag.
'Oh, yeah?' Fran was still smirking.
I looked around. The coast was clear. The delivery bloke had left, whistling cheerfully, not giving a thought to the fact he'd given Fran a weapon to king-hit me with.
'You know how you've aced this gofering thing…' I began.
Fran's smile vanished as though it had never existed. 'What? What thing?'
'Ariana said you were a gofer, so I suppose when you're doing it, you're gofering.'
It was impossible, but her hair seemed to suddenly flame a deeper red. 'I'm not a gofer,' she ground out. 'I'm the office manager.'
'Good-oh. Well, you know how you've aced this office managering thing?'
Fran narrowed her eyes to slits. 'Yes?' she said, drawing the word out.
I was going to have to be a real bullshit artist to pull this one off, but I'd give it a go. 'It's sort of like you're an inspiration to me. I want to ace private-eyeing the way you ace your job. That's why I'm studying on the sly. Don't want anyone to think I'm not a natural at this P.I. stuff.'
I paused to see the effect of my words. Not encouraging. Fran wasn't frowning, but she wasn't looking receptive either. Blast her. I wasn't going to beg.
'Let me put it this way, Fran. I'd be really embarrassed if it got out I was reading a book on how to be a P.I. So I'm asking you to forget you saw it.'
'Okay.'
'Okay? You won't say anything?'
'Not a word. But you owe me. And believe it, I'll collect.'
The front door opened, and in came a tallish bloke wearing ancient jeans and a red T-shirt with the words slow-slow fast-fast across the front in purple letters. He didn't fit Melodie's description of intense, having a putty face and a blob of a nose, although I noticed in contrast his thin-lipped mouth was set in a hard line. I took a punt and said, 'G'day. You'd be Rich Westholme.'
He glared at me suspiciously. 'Who told you that?'
'She's training to be a P.I.,' said Fran, with a touch of malice.
I indicated his chest. 'Melodie mentioned that was the title of one of your movies.'
His dark frown lightened. 'Yeah,' he said. 'You can catch it on cable next month.'
Julia Roberts came stalking down the hallway, then leapt with great grace up on the desk. He recoiled. 'Jesus, get her away from me.'
Jules, sensing someone who was repulsed by her feline self, walked delicately in his direction. I took pity on him, scooped her up, and deposited her on my side of the desk. She gave me a disgusted glare, then walked off, her tail snapping with irritation.
'Thanks. I can't stand cats.' Rich Westholme peered around as though Melodie might be crouching beneath the desk. 'Melodie here?'
'Audition,' said Fran. She put her hands on her hips, which shoved her spectacular bosom out another centimeter or so. 'You've missed her.'
I got the impression she'd taken an instant dislike to Westholme, though with Fran it was hard to tell. She didn't look on anyone with much approval.
On the other hand, Rich Westholme was giving Fran, and her bosom, the glad eye. 'Call me Rich. And you are…?'
'Not available.'
He laughed, apparently thinking she was joking. 'Good one. No, seriously, what's your name?'
'Fran,' I said. 'She's our office manager.'
'Watch it,' said Fran to me.
Rich Westholme slapped on a slimy smile. 'Well, Fran, have you ever thought of being in movies?'
She directed a look at him I thought might burn his sallow face, but he continued to grin at her.
'What about me?' I said. 'Maybe I've got ambitions to be in movies.'
'Yeah, yeah.' He didn't even bother looking in my direction. To Fran he said, 'I'm casting at the moment. There could be a part for you.'
I winced as Fran opened her rosebud mouth, having a fair idea what her response was going to be. With terrific timing, Melodie blew through the door at this exact instant. 'Rich!' She rushed over and planted a proprietary kiss on his cheek. 'You didn't say you were coming by.'
'Yeah, well, I was in the neighborhood.'
The phone rang. I waited to see if Melodie was intending to resume her duties, but she was too busy looping her arm through Rich's and leading him off. 'Honey, you said you wanted to see where I work, so let me give you the official tour. And you'll want to hear about my audition…'
Fran said, 'Dickhead.'
I said, 'Fuckwit.'
We looked at each other. 'You're all right,' said Fran.
I was excited but not showing it. I'd expected we have dinner in some local restaurant, but instead we were going to Ariana's place. Bob Verritt was driving and I was playing it cool. He was negotiating the sharp bends of the ascending Hollywood Hills road with more smooth skill than I had shown this morning. Of course, Bob probably had the advantage of knowing exactly where he was going. 'Have you been to Ariana's place many times?'
His long face split in a smile. 'Not often, and every time it's like receiving an invitation from the queen.'