"The purple shirt or the green shirt? Green or purple; that is the question. Whether 'tis better to stay at home or go out for dinner is a question not even worth tossing a coin over. You don't like cooking, you have no food in the house, your kitchen hates you."
"Who are you talking to?"
"Aaah!" Kit leapt back out of her wardrobe. "Shit, Del! What the...?" Kit just stood there, her green eyes wide, hoping her wits would jump back into her skin. Soon.
"Well? Who are you talking to?"
"My clothes," Kit explained, flailing her hands around. "My shirts in particular; oh, and the emergency dyke I keep in my wardrobe. Why are you in my bedroom?"
"Because you weren't answering me from where I was in the lounge."
"I didn't know you were in the lounge," Kit said. "Was I expecting you to be there?"
"No."
"Are you alone?"
"No."
"So, who's out there?"
"Brigit and your mother."
"Oh my god," Kit moaned. She glanced at her watch. "Five thirty," she said.
"What's five thirty?" Del asked.
"It is," Kit replied. "Now is five thirty; Alex will be here at six."
"Oh," Del stated. "Do you want us to leave?"
"Yes. No." Kit made an executive decision in that moment to wear her black shoes but could only find one of them. She handed it to Del. "I don't know," she finished.
"You're nervous," Del grinned.
"Of course I'm nervous. Purple shirt, do you think?"
"Depends what you're wearing on the bottom," Del noted.
Kit looked down at her bare legs. "Yeah, right. Um, grey trousers."
"Purple shirt then," Del agreed. "What's with you? You've already had lunch with the woman."
"Didn't have lunch," Kit said struggling into her trousers.
"Ohh-oh," Del said, delivering the word via rollercoaster. "I see."
"No you don't, Del. Nothing happened. Except for Carol."
"Carol? Who's Carol?"
"Carol bloody Thing. You know the ex-mayor of whatsit." Kit frowned. "Webster, Brinlea. We didn't have lunch because they had an appointment," she finished.
"So you haven't been doing the hoochy all afternoon?"
"The hoochy?" Kit laughed. "No. There was none of that. I did some surveillance, some spying and then spent an hour with a human virus named Anvil instead." Kit took a deep breath. "All I had with Alex was one amazing, totally amazing kiss."
"Well no wonder you're behaving like a baby dyke at Mardi Gras. Here, let me do that, you've missed one." Del handed Kit her shoe, moved her hands aside and rebuttoned the shirt for her.
"Please don't call me names, Miz Hoochykins. I'm way too old to be a baby dyke."
"Oh, but you've got it really bad, haven't you girlfriend?"
"Got what?"
"The love thing, honey."
"No, that's not it," Kit shook her head. "Well, yes it is. I mean I am, I do, I have - whatever! But that's not what this is. This is fear and pheromones."
"Kit," Del remarked, putting on her best 'I'm telling you this because somebody should' face. "As far as I'm aware, you can't detect your own pheromones."
"They're not mine, Del. They're Alex's. I'm wearing my fear and her, her..." Kit held out her hands helplessly. "I'm wearing her."
"What's this fear nonsense? What are you afraid of?" Del asked.
"That she won't really want me," Kit replied softly.
"But you just said you had an amazing kiss. Who kissed who?"
"Whom. She kissed me. Well she started it," Kit admitted.
"What the hell are you worried about then?"
"I don't know," Kit grizzled. "That she mightn't like cats or movies or my shirt or my bedroom."
"Hasn't she been in here?"
"No," Kit stated. "Oh hang on, yes she has. But she was seriously taken aback at the time; and I wasn't in here, Quinn was."
Del rolled her head a couple of times, either to relieve tension or to decide whether to investigate the last statement. Kit put her shoe on and limped over to the mirror so she could check out the end result of dressing in a state of heightened sexual anxiety while being cross-examined by a best friend. Everything looked fine except her hair, but then that always went in every direction at once anyway.
"If she is into movies," Del finally said, obviously choosing to ignore the Quinn reference, "then she'll like this room. If she's not, then she may still like the room but only if she doesn't mind being watched by all these people," Del said waving at the gallery of framed movie posters that adorned the walls. "Though I must admit even I like the one of Catherine Deneuve and Susan Sarandon over the bed. But, if Lady Worst comes to town, you two can always make love in the bathroom."
"No," Kit said sheepishly, bending down to look under the base of her futon bed for her other shoe. "I've got Xena and Gabrielle in there now."
Del shook her head. "Has it occurred to you, if this thing with Alex becomes what you seem to want it to be, that you may just have to reconsider your concept of interior decorating?"
"I would? Why would I?" Kit demanded, as she crawled around the raised platform that her bed rested on. No black shoe, but she did find the hot water bottle that she'd been missing since the period before last.
"Sexy vampire characters aside, posters of Xena, Ripley and Katie Hepburn are not 'works of art' just because they're framed."
"Really, Del?" Kit said, trying to look ingenuous.
"Sorry; unfair dig," Del admitted. "What I mean is that, one of these days, you may just have to grow up."
"And the reason for that would be...what?" Kit asked.
"Um," Del began.
"If it's only to discover that real grown-ups don't know how to compromise," Kit smiled, "then call me Peta Pan. I mean, there should still be a place for what I like; right?"
"You are hopeless Katherine O'Malley," Del laughed. "You're right, but you're hopeless, and I thank all the mythical deities for that fact. If you weren't so consistently you, I'd have to question my own reality. Now, do you want us to leave or shall we stay to give you sister-courage for the big arrival, and then leave cause I'm sure we have somewhere else to be?"
"Stay please," Kit smiled. "But could you make sure that Mum leaves with you?"
"Absolutely," Del agreed. "Now come on out, you look gorgeous. We'll send Thistle scouting for your other shoe."
"Bad idea. I think she's the one who hides them in the first place," Kit said, following Del out into the lounge, where her mother and Brigit were clinking their champagne glasses together from opposite sides of the kitchen bench.
"Ah, there you are darling," Lillian pronounced. "Goodness, the time it takes you to get dressed one would think you'd been doing your face too. But you haven't, have you? There's not even a skerrick of make-up."
"No Mum, you know I don't use," Kit asserted, giving her mother a kiss on the cheek. "But how did you know I was getting dressed?" she asked, only slightly distracted by Brigit who was doing a little jig - or maybe kickboxing - around in the kitchen. She was also raising her eyebrows and looking expectant.
"Simple deduction darling," Lillian stated. "You look nice, and pressed. Except for the bruise."
"Gee thanks, Mum," Kit smiled. "Aren't you going to ask what happened?"
"No. I'd rather not know, then I won't have to worry," Lillian pronounced. "Which is exactly what you'd tell me to do, or is it tell me not to do? Anyway, not asking definitely saves time and worry. But you could have put a bit of something on to cover it."
"Nothing but a paper bag could hide this shiner," Kit stated, observing that Brigit was now looking deflated, obviously by the lack of gossip that Del had just whispered in her ear. Kit shook her head in amusement at the only person she knew who visibly thrived on the lowdown. Juicy details were like liquid fertiliser to Brigit Wells.
"By the way Katherine," her mother said, handing Kit a glass of champagne, "you could have reminded me that I have met Sheila before. I was taken by surprise."
Sheila who, for god's sake? Kit wondered. Oh! She smiled sweetly at her mother while she searched her memory for something that she realised wasn't there. "Had I known that fact, Mum, I'm sure I would have told you."
"Who's Sheila?" Brigie asked.
"Marek's mother," Kit explained.
"What's wrong with Jonno's mum?" Brigit asked.
"Nothing, that I know of," Kit replied. "Sheila lives in Bundaberg. I've only met her once and that was seven years ago, in Queensland. She's currently in Melbourne while her husband Archie, who is Marek's step-dad, goes to Saudi Arabia. Sheila and Mum were meeting for golf."
"Well, it turns out," Lillian said, and then hesitated while she stared at the floor for three seconds, "that we not only met at Joan and Rex's wedding but we, and a few others, had lunch together again the day after. You're only wearing one shoe Katherine."
"I can only find one." Kit glanced desperately at Del and Brigit before explaining that the aforementioned wedding was not a recent happening. "This couple, the Dugans, had a hippy ceremony in the sixties, then travelled the world and have lived in Canada for yonks." Kit turned back to Lillian. "Mum, do you know how long it's been since you've seen Joan and Rex?"
"It wasn't the sixties; they got married 1973," Lillian corrected. "And it's only been eight...oh dear, fourteen years since I went to Calgary. We all got stoned and had a picnic on the beach."
"You what?" Kit rubbed her forehead vigorously. "I didn't think Calgary had a beach."
"Must have been good dope," Del commented, as Brigit snorted her champagne all over the kitchen bench. Del stood in front of her, with her back to Lillian, to hide their laughter.
"No, no," Lillian said with a dismissive wave. "I gave up smoking everything in the early eighties. I meant the day after the wedding. All us girls got stoned on the beach at Byron Bay, and then went skinny-dipping. There was Sheila Marek, Josephine and Susan Brody, Emily Peters, a couple of others whose names we couldn't recall, and me. Are you two all right?" Lillian asked, turning towards the kitchen. Del turned and she and Brigit both nodded and smiled, and held their breath.
The doorbell rang.
"Mum," Kit said, heading towards the door, "I'm not even going to wonder how you and Sheila worked out, during one game of golf, that you went to the same wedding three decades ago."
Kit opened the front door. Distracted as she was, she wasn't prepared - at all - for the body rush that flung itself out to her nerve-endings as her eyes met those of Alex Cazenove.
Kit's first instinct was to grip the door - which she did; her second was to push Alex back into the dark, away from their audience, and kiss her all over - which she didn't. Both were very sound decisions, made quite unconsciously. Well, almost. She had resisted the kissing idea partly because she had no desire whatsoever to have sex on her landing, but mostly because Alex was not alone.
She was, however, looking gorgeously apologetic - again; which was more than could be said for Carol bloody Webster.
"Evening O'Malley," Alex said warmly. "You remember Carol?"
"Yeah, hi. Come in. What's up, Alex?" Kit asked, standing back to wave them both inside.
"Long story," Alex whispered in Kit's ear, as she brushed by her on the way up the stairs. A little tingle sped its way from ear to crutch, where it nestled quite happily. Kit shook her head. She would have wiggled her bum too if she hadn't been worried what everyone would think about that.
In the meantime Alex was exchanging the 'hi, how are you alls' with Lillian, Del and Brigit, and then politely introducing Carol - no other details - to the trio of women who seemed nearly as surprised as Kit that Alex had brought another woman with her. Well, Del and Brigie looked baffled; Lillian was already pouring two extra glasses of champagne.
Twenty minutes later, after Del had finally convinced Brigit and Lillian that they needed a good Thai meal, Kit closed the front door on her mother and friends and returned to her lounge to find out why Carol Webster was relaxing in it. She didn't even have to ask. Alex got right to the point.
"Carol has a problem and she'd like to hire you to fix it, hopefully," she said.
"Hopefully she can hire me, or hopefully I can fix it?" Kit asked. And why couldn't it wait for office hours tomorrow, she wondered, as she sat down again.
"Both," Carol replied, with a smile. "I am extremely on edge about this, which is why Alexis insisted that we see you tonight. I do feel awful though. I messed up your lunch plans and now this. I'm sure you would rather be out having a curry with your friends."
"No, actually. That wasn't what I had in mind for this evening at all," Kit said. She widened her eyes at Alex, who smiled warmly and then absently pushed her hair behind her left hair.
Oh dear! Kit thanked whoever that she was already sitting, as that dead-sexy habit of Alex's would have buckled her knees. She dragged her attention back to Carol. "How can I help?"
"My husband and I live in a double-storey terrace house in Willow Street, Elwood. Ours is one of four of the kind that has a front garden no bigger than a Holden station wagon. You know the type?" When Kit nodded Carol continued. "This morning, someone," she spat, "delivered a truck load of manure right onto my garden and porch. I discovered this at 7.30 a.m., when someone else was ringing my bell - from the footpath, using a very long stick. I opened my door to find myself knee-deep in cow shit."
"Who was ringing your bell at that hour?" Kit asked.
"A courier. Delivering this," Carol replied. She took a green plastic lunch box from her briefcase and placed it on the coffee table, then added "It was wrapped in brown paper."
Kit leant forward. An envelope, taped to the lid, had been scrawled on in black texta. It said:
Behind the bullshit of every power-hungry woman is a wimp-arsed man.
His won't be any use to you, so try these!
Oh no, Kit grumbled silently. Déjà vu. Please, no more nutters with cryptic notes. "I have a feeling I don't want to know what's in here," she said, carefully opening the lid anyway. "Oh yuck, that's disgusting. What is it?"
"Balls," Alex said.
"Lamb's testicles, to be precise," Carol said, when Kit raised her eyebrows.
"And how is it that you can be so precise?" Kit asked, making sure there was nothing else in the box before replacing the lid.
"My vet, who's also a dear friend, brought my cat home from post-op about half an hour after the courier had been. So I asked Max what they were."
"I assume Max is the vet, not the cat," Kit grinned.
Carol laughed. "Actually, they're both Max, but I asked the human one."
"Is this the first time that, um," Kit searched her memory for a conversation that wasn't even a day old yet. She gave an 'aha!' snap of her fingers. "Mercury. Had he contacted you before this?"
Carol's double take, as she pulled a postcard from her handbag, included a glance in Alex's direction.
"I told you she was good," Alex remarked.
"You did?" Kit asked, both surprised and delighted. Alex raised her eyebrows.
"This came yesterday," Carol said, handing Kit the postcard. "But Kit, the box with balls doesn't mention Mercury. How did you know?"
"Jack Higgins," Kit replied. Her new client's face did a quick impersonation of a stone statue - grey, frozen and trying not to 'show' anything.
The postcard, of Parliament House, said:
If you run for the State you'll be late, and lamented. Regards, Mercury.
"Regards," Kit said. "That's a strange word for a threatening-letter writer to use."
"Don't tell me you know Jack the bastard," Carol asked, as if that was the important issue.
"No," Kit replied. "I have a journo friend who wrote about the shitload of manure that was dumped on the councilor's front lawn last week. I gather you're the ex-Mayor of the council that he's on."
"Yes," Carol nodded.
"Jack the bastard, eh? My friend doesn't like him much either."
"Nobody does," Carol declared. "Except Jack himself."
"Do you have any idea who this Mercury is?" Kit queried.
"None at all. And why I would be targeted along with Jack Higgins, I also don't know."
"Was this postcard the only other thing you've received from him?"
"Yep. Just that and the manure."
"How long has Higgins been on the receiving end of Mercury's disgruntle?"
Carol shrugged. "If it started before last week, he hasn't mentioned it in council. But then he'd be the last man on earth to admit he has a problem."
Kit closed her eyes for a moment wondering how the hell she was going to work this one out. And what's with the poison pen epidemic? she asked herself. It's bad enough that letter writing is a dying art - sadly going wherever the actually-not-missed-at-all lace doily went - but when it's only used by banks to inform you of an interest rate hike, or by defective bastards to threaten harm and death, then something is truly awry.
"O'Malley?" Alex was obviously repeating herself.
"Yeah?"
"Do you think you can help?" Alex asked.
"I can but try," Kit smiled. "Okay Carol. What I need from you is a list of anyone, that is anyone at all, who might have a grudge against you." When it looked like Carol was about to do the standard 'I can't think of a single person,' Kit held up a shushing finger - politely. "Sorry, but you don't have to have an old boyfriend on the rampage, or a crazy neighbour who expects you to weed your garden more often. You're a public official Carol and, sometimes, that's all it takes.
"Even if you think you've only done good, or at least done nothing that would put some fool offside, there will be someone out there who's pissed off simply because they are. I'm sure most municipalities have a resident whinger, or band of militant complainers who always want, or don't want, something or other. And if this is a fruitloop, then the campaign against you could simply be because he doesn't like your new haircut or because you voted the wrong way on an issue."
"I'm aware of all that, Kit," Carol admitted. "The thing is, I can't think of a single instance in the recent past when Jack Higgins and I voted the same way on anything. So how could this Mercury person be upset with both of us?"
"That is a very good question," Kit agreed, "but it's also a good thing. The fact that threats have been made to someone else indicates that they're not entirely personal. So I will start my investigation with Cr Higgins, specifically, and Brinlea Council in general."
"The postcard threat was about Carol running for parliament, though," Alex reminded her.
"I know, and that just gives us a second ballgame to consider," Kit acknowledged and then, quite suddenly, wondered whether she even wanted to. Why can't people hire me to find their lost old auntie or their missing millions? Two psycho-scribblers in one week was at least one crazy person too many.
Kit glanced longingly at Alex, who was now brushing her fingers thoughtfully across her own mouth. Oh, please! You have to stop, Kit begged silently. That did it, though. Bugger making a living. As soon as they were alone, Kit was going to suggest they forget work and run off to Turtle Cove for at least a month.
"What else do you need?" Carol was asking.
Kit inhaled deeply. "I'd like you to find out if other Brinlea councilors have received threats or manure, and/or if any of them have even a clue who Mercury might be. Meanwhile, I will endeavour to find out if he is targeting any of the other State by-election candidates, although it's my guess that this is a local issue. Unless...? Jack Higgins is not standing for Nareen too, is he?"
"No!" Carol was appalled at the suggestion.
"Didn't think so," Kit said. "Do you know which courier company delivered the lunch box?"
Carol shook her head. "I didn't pay any attention. The cow shit on my porch was looming quite large in my mind at the time."
"Can you remember if it was a motorbike or van courier?" Alex asked.
"A motorbike courier," Carol nodded. "He was still wearing his helmet."
"Did you keep the wrapping off the box?"
"Yes, Kit. I can drop it off here tomorrow, if you think it will help."
"No, it's okay, I'll pick it up from you. I'd like to see your place, Carol, and have a word with your husband if that's all right."
Good thinking, O'Malley; this time, Kit nodded mentally. You are never going to overlook the partner, spouse or nearest-and-dearest again, are you? There's a good girl.
Whoa! Back up; sidebar. You ning-nong, O'Malley, Kit remonstrated loudly - in her head. What about the ex-husband of Rebecca Jones? Did you check to make sure he really was on a cruise with his fiancée? No, by jingo you didn't!
Kit realised Alex was staring at her as if she was wondering what she was on, so she tapped her right temple to indicate she'd just thought of something really important, but irrelevant to the present situation. Alex continued to look puzzled, which made Kit wonder whether she'd accidentally used secret sign language to say: 'yes I am completely mental, but don't worry because I do remember that Crocodile Dundee is President of Australia'.
In the meantime Carol was being agreeable. "That's fine. My schedule is all over the place at the moment because of the campaign, but I will be in until about eleven in the morning. And Andrew works from home, he's an architect, so he'll be there anyway."
"Great, that's all I need for now then," Kit said, standing up. "I'll bring my standard contract for you to go over in the morning as well," she added with a smile, which all but faded when she glanced at Alex. Why was the love of her life looking like that? Again!
"I have to be going too," Alex said, her grey eyes expressing what looked like disappointment.
Or demon possession, Kit speculated vaguely. After all, there was no rule that said possessed people had to spin and spew like Linda Blair; or even had to be evil. Buffy had put paid to that hoary assumption. Ooh. Which version of Alex had kissed her in the lift then? What's going on here?
"I have to run Carol home," Alex explained. "We drove here in my car."
"Really?" Kit uttered somehow, as her wellbeing experienced a peculiar unravelling sensation. Does that mean she's not coming back? she wondered. Why did they come in one car? Can't the ex-mayor-now-wannabe-MP drive herself? What's the world coming to?
"I'll just go to the loo before we leave, Carol," Alex was saying to the other woman before jogging up the stairs from the lounge room to head down the hall.
Kit rummaged around on the shelf under the coffee table, found a piece of scrap paper and placed it on the table in front of Carol bloody Thing.
"I'll need your actual address in Willow Street and your phone numbers at home, work and mobile. I'll just get you a pen," she said, strolling into her office area.
"I've got one Kit," Carol said opening her briefcase again.
"Good," Kit said. She searched her desk for a business card instead. She'd just handed it to Carol when Alex called out from the general direction of the bathroom.
"This is new," she said.
Kit raised an eyebrow to her herself. How would Alex know new, from old, from Cardassian? Actually, come to think of it, there wasn't a single thing in her bathroom that could possibly fit that description; unless she was referring to the Xena poster - which was not very likely.
"What's new?" Kit called back.
"This...thing here," Alex said in a beckoning tone.
"Excuse me a sec, Carol," Kit said, heeding the call without hesitation.
Alex was leaning in the doorway, waiting, until Kit got within arm's reach. She grabbed Kit's shirtfront, in a strong-womanly manner - with an inviting growl and wicked smile - and all but dragged her into the bathroom, where she shut the door behind them.
"I am so sorry, O'Malley," she said, running her hands up and down Kit's arms.
Kit pushed her fingers through Alex's hair, clasped the back of her neck and kissed her passionately as if there was no...tonight - which by all the clues gathered so far looked like a depressing possibility.
Alex's tongue found hers and Alex's hands pulled her close, as she also pushed her right thigh between Kit's legs.
Oh - my - god! Kit thought. Heaven on a stick; heaven in a bathroom; heaven, uh-oh, in a dead faint. She broke free of the kiss and turned Alex so that her back was against the door.
"You're not coming back tonight, are you?" Kit said.
"No," Alex admitted, catching her breath as she bent her lips to Kit's neck.
"Are you avoiding me?" Kit asked, moving so she could cup Alex's face in her right hand.
"Look at me Kit," Alex whispered. "What do you think?"
Kit thought that Alex's beautiful grey eyes were wild and dark and unbearably erotic. And, okay, they were filled with desire - for her. That fact was, right now, undeniable and exhilarating.
"I guess you're not," Kit smiled. "And I suppose," she added, as she kissed Alex on the corner of her mouth, "that trying to slip your hands," she kissed the other corner, "into my pants," she ran her tongue along Alex's bottom lip, "could not actually be classed as an avoidance tactic." Kit pulled back, just a little. "Are you teasing me though?"
Alex laughed. "Not deliberately."
"Good. So there is something going on here," Kit waved her hand back and forth, "between us I mean."
"That's a definite yes, O'Malley."
"But you can't stay, and you're not coming back."
Alex shook her head regretfully. "I didn't plan the Carol thing, but I wouldn't have been able to stay anyway."
Kit raised her eyebrows, then ran her fingers down to the opening of Alex's blouse. "Why not?"
"Because the Immigration people have been investigating Enzo; so I have to stay at home tonight."
"Oh shit! How long is that going to last?"
"Until the wedding at least."
"That's not for three days, Alex. I may go mad before then."
"We'll figure something out. I promise," Alex said through the kisses she was pressing into Kit's neck.
"Stop this then," Kit begged. "There's a strange woman waiting for you in my lounge; we can't ignore her. Oh dear. You have to stop Alex, please, or I will have no choice but to relieve you of your clothing and..." Kit ran her hand up the inside of Alex's thigh.
Alex laughed, deliciously, pushed Kit gently away and, without taking her eyes off her, opened the bathroom door and took one decisive step into the hall. Then she stopped and inhaled deeply.
"I missed you too," she said.
Before Kit could drag her back into the bathroom, she was gone. Again.