Morning. Kitchen. Once again we find Fridge stood at the island counter going through his daily ritual with the honey, the spoon and gravity. This will be pretty much the same opening for every episode, as Fridge is quite the creature of habit, the proverbial eye of the storm. He wears his routine like a badge of honour as only someone with his kind of childhood could. The kitchen and living area comprise one huge open space, very much the beating heart of the house. Melody emerges from her room looking much as she did the day before, still fiddling with her streaks, only this time there is a man in tow, looking no less sheepish for having to go through life with the name Nathan.
Fridge: (On noticing Mel gazing at the sleeping bundle on the couch). Your friend like honey, kiddo? Hey Nate.
Nathan: (Croaky) Hey Fridge. Whatsup?
Melody: (Creeping cat-like to the kitchen table.) You guys hit it off OK?
Fridge: (Shrugs, plays with his honey). She likes cricket. Wishes people were nicer.
Nathan: You know who that is, right?
Fridge: (Still playing with his honey, much to the obvious annoyance of his step-daughter, who has no doubt had to live with it for many years.) Some mate of Mel’s from the States. Good listener.
Mel: (Wide-eyed as she hunches over her steaming coffee). Ah yeah, she’s a songwriter? First lesson they teach you at songwriting school. I hope you didn’t open up your vault.
Nathan: Fridge has a vault?
Fridge: (Reaching with his left hand and holding up a CD). Oh yeah, buddy, there’s a vault....
Mel: (Taking the CD) What’s this? Oh nooooo, you didn’t play it - (nods over at bundle stirring a little on the couch).
Nathan: Shouldn’t we be whispering a little?
Fridge: Good call Nate. Relax, kiddo, it’s Tomas’ copy. He wants you to sign it.
Nathan: Who’s Thomas?
Mel: God, don’t start me on Tom! Dad’s doctor -
Nathan: You sick Fridge?
Fridge: (Handing Melody a pen from his top pocket) Fit as a fiddle, thanks for your concern Nate, and he’s not my doctor, just a mate. I’ve known him for years.
Melody: (Making glug glug glug motions in Nathan’s direction before bending down to sign the CD). God, I never know what to say on these things.
Nathan: I didn’t know you drank Fridge.
Fridge: A long time ago Nate. Her mother sobered me up. Just write - Dear Tom, happy listening.
Melody: (Pulling a face) There.
Fridge: (Taking the CD and squinting to make out the writing) Dear Tom, catch the earworm. Original.
Nathan: Christ, that is so lame....
Melody: Nay - (just catching herself in time and lowering it down to a hoarse whisper). Nath-an!
Fridge: How about we take this out to the verandah.
All assume their customary positions on the verandah - Fridge leant against the railing, the two kids curled up on the old couch that looks like something salvaged from Nana’s basement.
Fridge: How’s Barbara, Nate?
Nathan: (As Melody gives him a consoling back rub). Settling in, I guess. You can never really tell with mum. (Gazes off to some faraway point over the lip of his coffee)
Fridge: (Watchful. He obviously likes this kid). Yeah, well you need anything - a place to crash, a lift somewhere, anything -
Nathan: Yeah thanks Fridge. Mum says hi to everyone by the way. She’s pretty clear - you know - the judge just needs her to see out the program.
Fridge: She back at Orchid?
Nathan: Yep. Same room same shitty RN.
Fridge: I’ll try to swing by on my rounds. I think I know that RN. Real fucking dragon.
Nathan manages a soft chuckle as a car pulls up. Not just any car but a black two door Mercedes sedan with tinted windows and personalised number plates. A man climbs out, a well-dressed man, smartly casual somewhere north of his 50‘s. Handsome with a decent head of sandy coloured hair, maybe thinning a little at the top. Average height average build, but with a striking stiff-backed way of walking as though he were either being marched to the gallows or down the aisle on his daughter’s wedding day. As he passes Fridge’s company car he pats it with a blend of affection and wry derision. The man is Robert, Melody’s birth father.
Robert: Still making you drive around in that thing, I see Patrick.
Melody: Dad! (Springs up and bounds down to greet him. A long, warm father-daughter hug ensues.)
Robert: (Finally free of his daughter’s loving embrace). Nathan.
Nathan: Mr McFarlane.
Robert: Fancy joining us for lunch Nathan?
Nathan: (This is obviously the first he has heard of this). Ummm, I’d love to, but my mum -
Robert: Patrick, you’re welcome too, of course, but I assume you’re working.
Fridge: (Raising his mug). Much obliged Robert, but duty calls.
Robert: I thought we could visit your mother this afternoon, Nathan. I took the liberty of putting the visiting times into my phone...
Robert is distracted by the appearance of Desiree in the front doorway. She is a beautiful woman, but it would be fair to say she does not wear the morning well, at least not this morning. Robert and Desiree exchange one of those looks to which we have all been privy. It is a moment that only the greatest dullard would miss. None present are in that category and there is an uneasy pause in proceedings as each in their own way takes stock of the situation.
Mel: (Doing her best to observe the formalities). Dad, this is -
Desiree: Deirdre -
Robert: A pleasure to meet you Deirdre.
Mel: (As Deirdre seems to lose her composure somewhat) Deirdre toured with us.
Fridge: Just needed a couch for the night.
Robert: Are you a singer like my daughter, Deirdre? (He says the name as though he was finding it difficult to say, or at least make the connection between the name and the object standing before him)
Desiree: Yeah, you could say that. Sorry, did I smell coffee?
Fridge: Here, I’ll show you -
Fridge ferries an obviously flustered Desiree inside to the kitchen. While he pours her a coffee Desiree stands beside him theatrically fanning her face.
Desiree: (Leaning in to Fridge. It is obvious she is already very comfortable with him) Christ! Who is that?
Fridge: (Arching a brow as he holds up a steaming mug of coffee) You take sugar - Deirdre?
Desiree: Nope. (Snatching the coffee out of his hand the way a dancer, say, would pretend to be plucking a flower). That’s fine ta.
Fridge: That out there is Robert, Melody’s birth father.
Desiree: Well, he’s a dish.
Fridge: Americans still say that? OK. Yes, he has a certain innate charm I guess.
Desiree: Money?
Fridge: Loads. And he knows what to do with it, which means not letting Mel’s mum anywhere near it.
Desiree: Wow, you really are pissed off.
Fridge: Oh it’ll pass. But that’s all in the vault, remember?
Desiree: (Holding up two fingers). Scout’s honour. He single?
Fridge: Why? You got a thing for older men? Should I be nervous right now?
Desiree: Relax, old man.
There is a gentle tap tap on the wall at the end of the corridor and Robert politely cranes his neck around the corner.
Robert: Sorry, I hope I’m not intruding. Patrick, is there somewhere we could talk?
Desiree: (Casting Robert a timid smile peppered with meaning). I think I’ll grab a shower.
Fridge: Towel sitting on the laundry hamper for you.
Fridge gestures to a door towards the back of the house. Robert and he enter a small study and sit down facing each other across a small butler’s helper that has been converted into a chess board on which a game appears to be still ongoing.
Robert: I really must come over and finish this before you move any more of my pieces.
Fridge: If this is about Angie, Robert, I spoke to her and she was all apologies, but I think I’ll be making a few calls today.
Robert: Good. (Although he doesn’t seem sure for the first time since he arrived). Good. Look, you know all about our history, Patrick. Angela and I.
Fridge: The ins and outs. Ange can be a bit sketchy on the details.
Robert: Yes, well I like to believe that she is a different person now. Thanks to you. She was a dreadful mess back then. Partly my fault. I pampered her, gave her anything she wanted. But -
Fridge: But it was never enough? Yeah, I get it Robert, and I’m sure it’s not as bad as it seems right now. I just have to get it clear in my own mind.
On the other side of the door Desiree has emerged from the bathroom draped in a towel and has her ear pressed to the door. She listens for a while and then loses interest and disappears back into the bathroom to dress. A moment later Fridge and Robert emerge like the two old friends that to all intents and purposes they are.
Fridge: Once again, thanks for the offer Robert but I really should phone in get the lay of the land. You kids have fun. I’ll keep you posted.
Robert: (Leans coquettishly towards the bathroom door). Feel free to join us for lunch, Deirdre.
Desiree: (In a hesitant voice) Ah, thanks all the same, Robert, but I have somewhere to be. Nice to meet you?
The other side of the door she is pulling a face and swearing at herself under her breath.
Robert: Likewise. I hope we’ll meet again?
Desiree: Yeah. Ditto. (She pulls another face and whispers “come on!” under her breath)
Fridge lays a gentle hand on Robert’s shoulder and follows him down the hallway with a wry smile on his face.
Fridge: Bye Mel! Bye Nat!
Mel: (Pushing a reluctant Nathan into the back of Robert’s car) Des - Deirdre gonna be OK?
Fridge: In my capable hands, kiddo! You guys have fun! (There is a passing look of wistfulness that only the camera is privy to)
Mel: Love you! (Blows him a theatrical kiss and then turns her attention to Nathan). Christ, Nathan! You can shower at dad’s place!
Cut to Fridge waving them all off to general chatter - “you can shower at my place”, etc etc. Once they are safely away Fridge glances down the street to see old Sid standing at his letterbox in his stained robe scratching at his nethers as he waves to Fridge and Fridge waves back. A gentle hand rests on his shoulder. It is Desiree all done up and looking very much the international singing sensation of the billaboards,bar the sequins and ostrich feathers. She could be her own biggest fan.
Desiree: (Resting her chin on his shoulder). I grew up without a father.
Fridge: (Craning his neck to get a look at her all spruced up, and obviously a little startled by the transformation). So, it is a daddy thing.
Desiree: (Pushing him away) No, smarty pants, I just meant Melody’s lucky to have the two of you.
Fridge: Rebecca.
Desiree: Excuse me?
Fridge: Her real name’s Rebecca. Her grandmother’s idea, apparently.
Desiree: Well that one definitely goes in the vault.
Fridge: More coffee? (Looking her over as she plants herself down with a somewhat theatrical flourish, part intention part hangover at the small kitchen table). Wow, look at you! I’m really having morning coffee with Desiree.
Desiree: You could make a ton of money selling me out to the papers right now.
Fridge: (Cupping a hand theatrically to his ear) Is that a moped I hear?
Desiree: Ha ha. (Holds out her mug for a top up) Why do Aussies always have the best damn coffee?! I’m not keeping you from your work I hope.
Fridge: Just waiting for a call. (Phone rings)
Desiree: Well that’s kinda creepy.
Fridge holds up a polite finger as he answers the call. The call goes on and on and on, punctuated by the occasional ah ha and yes Larry. Finally he hangs up with a perplexed look.
Desiree: Indians broken into the fort?
Fridge: (Looking uncharacteristically flustered. Keeps casting glances in the direction of the front hallway) Strangest thing. You know how we were talking just now about how the law’s always on Robert’s case?
Desiree: Well, no we weren’t actually, but do go on...
Fridge: Yeah, maybe that was just something I was building up to. Anyway, Robert for all his charm is a bit of a bad boy in a high finance kinda way.
Desiree: Yeah, I got that the second I laid eyes on him. What’s your point, Patrick? Who was that on the phone? Should I be worried? He didn’t shop me to the tabloids? Christ, I knew this was a mistake! Fuck fuck fuck....
Fridge: No, relax it's nothing like that.....(Thinking. He doesn’t think very well on the run, really just goes through the motions, a lot of chin-rubbing and the like). Seems the cops are on their way to speak to me.
Desiree: About Robert?
Fridge: No, nothing to do with Robert.
Desiree: So, why’d you mention Robert?
Fridge: (Gazing at her vaguely). I don’t know. I guess I thought it was ironic. I don’t know. (At the sound of a car pulling up). Shit! That’s them! You can go wait in my study if you like. It’s just a few questions they have for me. Some missing kid I spoke to at a service station yesterday. Just don’t touch the chess pieces.
Desiree: Patrick, wow you gotta relax man. What fucking chess pieces? Oh, I’m staying.
Fridge: You can’t stay. They’ll recognise you.
Desiree: Most cops are dumb as shit. It’ll be fun. You’ll see...
There is a polite knock at the door. Fridge gathers himself and walks down to beckon in two plain-clothed officers, a tall blond with her hair tied in a tight bun, and a shorter much younger male officer who is obviously wearing a clip on tie and the searching expression of someone who is forever being sconed with a beer bottle.
Female Officer: (Consulting her phone). Patrick James Coolley?
Desiree: (With a satisfied sigh). Fridge..... Coolley. OK, I get it now.
Female Officer: Sorry, and you are?
Fridge: (Still flustered). Yes, I’m Patrick Coolley. This is - Deirdre - a friend of my step-daughter’s.
Her colleague with the clip-on tie looks Desiree up and done as though trying to place her, but then realises he is staring and gives up.
Female Officer: (Holding up her phone with all the zest of a call centre operater reading out the fine print). Do you recognise yourself in this photo?
Fridge: (Squints at a grainy image of himself talking to the little Chinese boy at the service station). Yep, I guess that’s me. Hard to say, but I remember talking to a little kid. A little Chinese boy yesterday at the servo. Told the attendant to call the cops.
Female Officer: (With all the ennui of a poodle being clipped). Really? She told us you said not to call the police.
Fridge: (Looking a little rattled). Why would I say that?
Female Officer: That’s one of the reasons we’re here, Mr Coolley.
Fridge: But that’s not what I said. The woman’s an idiot. The kid was with some shady guy waiting out on the street and he held up this message on his phone. Something about his sister waiting for him in the city and could I please give him a lift.
Female Officer: And did you?
Fridge: No, of course I didn’t! I told the kid it wasn’t a good idea to be asking strangers for lifts and I tried to see if he had his sister’s number on his phone so we could call her -
Female Officer: (Consulting her phone again and looking so bored she almost seems about to cry). Yes, witnesses report you or someone fitting your description attempting to snatch the phone off the boy -
Second Officer: (Ponderously shaking his clueless cue-ball head) A little kid -
Female Officer: (With a withering look at her colleague) and then the attendant reports that you told her not to call the police, and then the next time she looked both you and the boy were gone.
Fridge: (Looking from one officer to the other with a gathering sense of dread). I took the car back to the lab. There’s CCTV all over the joint.
Second Officer: (Glancing at Desiree again who has decided to drape herself on the couch) Sorry, you really look familiar...did you go to my sister’s school?
Female Officer: Hardly the time constable. (With a pained smile directed at Fridge). Sorry, he’s on loan. Yes, we have you back at the lab at 4.48 pm, leaving again at 5.23, images of your car show no passengers. If you think of anything else please don’t hesitate to give me a call. (Produces a card as though by magic). My impressions of the service station attendant were - unreliable as a witness. These things usually end with someone not watching the news for a few days and then calling in that the child is staying with them. Rarely ends badly.
Fridge: This is on the news?
Female Officer: Yes, my point precisely. No-one watches the news anymore.
Second Officer: The big switch off, we call it (with an oafish smile directed at Desiree).
Female Officer: No, we don’t. Sorry, he’s on loan. We won’t take up any more of your time Mr Coolley. Like I said, if you think of anything else, don’t hesitate to call. Day or night.
Fridge sees them to the door and stands there scratching his head. He watches the very smart squad car back out onto the street. It is one of the latest Commodores, with the plush red leather seats, sleek lines, wonderful power under the hood. A marvel of late-20th century engineering. And now, decades into our new make-or-break century, it is no more. The cops bought up the last of them. Fridge watches with an internal wince as they back out onto what appears a gentle sweep right into the path of some roving V8 who screams “dickhead” as he tears by. The squad car pips its siren and lights and then obviously thinks better of it. Fridge goes back inside.
Desiree: (Wielding the TV remote as though it were both her sceptre and her vial of poison). Hey sailor..... (Goes to pat the couch but thinks better of it). I’m guessing this kinda shit
doesn’t land on your doorstep every morning? (Suddenly shakes herself clear of something and switches channels on the remote). There we go - ooh maybe not so good - Aussies all out 85. (Casts a passing hopeful glance at a stony Fridge slumped at the kitchen counter, soon gives up). Ha, well even I know that’s no good. That guy in the turban -
Fridge: Harbajan -
Desiree: Harbajan. I like that. Punjabi Those dudes have a sense of theatre.
Fridge: He’s a cocky prick. Your point?
Desiree: Damn you Aussies used to be so easy-going. Whatever happened to that? (Pulling perhaps the worst Aussie accent ever attempted by a maritime American). No worries mate. Shrimp on the barbie....where’s my baby.....not if I see you first.....
Fridge: (Nodding in the direction of the tv) I’m all over it already aren’t I.
Desiree: (Waving the remote around much as she was before, maybe perhaps in the reverse order - poison first, sword later). Patrick, I only know how this shit plays out for people like me.
The phone rings to the evident relief of the one the dismay of the other.
Fridge: Larry! Yes.. (holds up a finger, then a thumb, then something resembling an Aztec prediction of an imminent earthquake on bas-relief). OK OK. Ah ha (etc etc. Even Desiree who is obviously invested in the whole drama by now is beginning to look bored. Channels are flicked. There are too many devoted to the demise of Aussie cricket and the nation’s character for even her eclectic tastes).
Desiree: (On Fridge finally managing to get off the phone). Let me guess....Larry wants you to go back to work like nothing happened...
Fridge: (Goes to pour himself another coffee and then realises he probably doesn’t need it). I think I’m done for brew...you fancy another?
Desiree: (Pulls a face as she passes him to pour herself another “brew”). Really? Brew? OK, here’s the deal, Patrick, we’re going to get in your car....(clutches the counter and then sways for a second or two).
Fridge: You OK?
Desiree: (Smiles like you do when you’re about to faint before your favourite professor). You got any sugar?
Fridge: Will some honey do?
Desiree: Perfect.
Cut to the consulting room at Tomas’ surgery. Desiree is laid out on the examination table while Tomas goes through the usual routine with a collapsed patient - shining a light in her eyes, taking her pulse, asking a bunch of innane questions about what she last ate, etc. He has a reassuringly business-like manner for such a reputedly erratic character. Fridge didn’t hesitate to take her straight to him despite his surgery being way across town. Tomas’ wife hovers in the doorway with a glass of water, then the phone rings behind her and she reluctantly drags herself back to her desk. It is obvious all present are aware who the patient is.
Tomas: (Straightening up). When did you last take your insulin?
Desiree: (As though tired of repeating herself) I don’t take insulin. I’m not a diabetic.
Tomas: Yeah you are. I will take some blood for a BSL, but I already know what it’ll say.
Desiree: (Sitting up maybe a little too quickly so that she holds her hand out instinctively to Fridge for support, a gesture that is not lost on Tomas’ keen diagnostician’s eye). Wow, you really know how to charm a girl.
Tomas: I’m sorry, but this should have been picked up already. What sort of doctors you got over there?
Fridge: Tom.....
Tomas: Well, you’re not much of a drinker from what I can see....(stands back to look her over from head to foot)...your weight’s pretty good. Vegan....
Desiree: You can tell that just by looking at me?
Tomas: (Shrugs as though already bored with the whole thing and walks around back to his desk to fill out a pathology form). Pretty much. I’ll take an EDTA as well as the glucose (looking over at Fridge). That way we can run an Iron Studies, Folate, ya da ya da ya da....
Fridge: Tomas knows his stuff, kiddo. I’m sorry, but better to know now than later.
Tomas: We get you on the right diet and exercise you needn’t let it worry you too much.
Desiree: But I’m a dancer....I dance for a living....
Tomas: (Peels off the pathology form and hands it to Fridge. He wears a sceptical look, but that may just be his resting clinician face). Good. Dancing’s good exercise. Just take it easy for a few days.
Desiree: (Looking like the joke is starting to wear a little thin.) A few days! I’m at the start of a nation-wide tour. I’ve got a gig tomorrow night...I have routines to work through....
Tomas: I’m sorry. You come here for advice, I’m giving you advice. You got a doctor on tour?
Desiree: No.
Tomas: You get a doctor. You should have a doctor. How many shows you do a year? You need a doctor.
Desiree: OK OK, I’ll get a doctor.
Fridge: Maybe dial it down a bit Tom. This is a lot for her to take in.
Tomas: She wants it straight. Don’t get some bullshit doctor tell you what you want to hear. No Michael Jackson doctor.
Desiree: (Resting a hand on Fridge’s arm). No, he’s right, I guess.....(An oddly hollow note echoes around the tiny white room).
Tomas: You’ve been getting dizzy spells like this for a while now...
Desiree: I just thought it was a touch of the flu or something...
Tomas: Everyone blames the flu for everything. You stay off the sugar drinks, the energy drinks. Bullshit energy drinks! Drink a little if you like, but your kidneys have probably taken a bit of a beating. Fish, vegetables, spinach lots of spinach.
Desiree: I’m vegan...
Tomas: Oh yeah....I never listen when people tell me that. Nine times out of ten they’re full of shit.
Fridge: Tom....
Cut to Desiree and Fridge sitting in his car while he figures out what to do next.
Desiree: (As Fridge begins to put out a reassuring hand). You forgot to give him Mel’s CD.
Fridge: Shit, be right back.
Desiree sitting alone in the car trying to look as inconsipicuous as possible. It is a busy carpark shared with a little shopping strip and people passing by the car do the occasional double-take that causes Desiree to slide down in her seat and pull her rather striking hat down over her face. None of this helps. Fridge eventually returns and gives her a curious look.
Desiree: What?
Fridge: I can’t tell if you want to be noticed or not.
Desiree: Your friends a real peach, you know that? Let’s get outta here.
They start driving.
Fridge: (In a vaguely mocking tone) So, how you feeling?
Desiree: (The most peevish Fridge has yet seen her) I’m feeling fine. Like a happy little pin cushion. Just keep your eyes on the road sailor.
Fridge: You got some serious track marks.....
Desiree: So what? I used to use. In India.
Fridge: Oh yeah, with your friends for life. It’s just that, when you took a turn back at the house the first thing you asked for was sugar.
Desiree: You know, your friend gives a lot of bogus advice....
Fridge: He knows your on insulin Desiree.
Desiree: (Sliding down in her seat again and screwing up her face like a little girl). He tells anyone I’ll fucking sue his sorry arse.
Fridge: (Looking vaguely amused at the thought of his acerbic friend defending himself in court). OK OK. But why the big secret? Isn’t Madonna diabetic?
Desiree: Madonna’s the undead....
Fridge: (Liking this girl more and more) So you still wanna run these tests? I need to fill out your relevant details, then someone’s got to send you a bill....
Desiree: Jesus H. Christ! My damn mother swore everyone to secrecy, OK? I just forgot to pack my shot, and then I was feeling good, you know. Chilled. And then seeing you all stressed out with those cops....
Fridge: You want me to take you back to the hotel? (Desiree offers no response) OK, is there someone you can call? This Dexter guy -
Desiree: Donovan....I don’t want to go back yet Fridge. Couldn’t we just drive around a while? I promise I won’t be anymore trouble.
Fridge: Sure kiddo, but we’re gonna have to do something about your outfit. The hat at least. Open the glovebox.
She does as he asks and pulls out a black cap sporting the logo HEALFAST PATHOLOGY in big bold letters. She takes off her hat and tries on the cap.
Desiree: How’s that?
Fridge: (Laughing his low gravelly laugh) Our media guys would kill for a photo of you right now...
They drive along in silence for a while, then Fridge pulls into the driveway of what appears to be a suburban house. Tells Desiree he’ll just be a minute, appears promptly with a large bag of specimens. Throws it in one of the eskies in the back. Then the phone rings.
Larry: Morning sunshine. You got another complaint sitting here from that fucking dragon at Mortlake.
Fridge: Oh yeah....
Larry: Says you got into a fight with a patient.
Fridge: (Waving off Desiree’s look of consternation and wry amusement) Did you speak to Dr Soong?
Larry: Yep, he reckons you deserve a medal. Reckoned the guy was trying to rob them?
Fridge: Yeah, with a stapler with no staples in it.
Larry: Yeah, well I’m binning it mate, but you better keep an eye on that one.
Fridge: Yep, ta. You want me anywhere?
Larry: Horses again. Rossmore, Warwick Farm, Cobbity, ya da ya da ya da. They’ve got ice at Liverpool...
Fridge: Yep, got it. A nice day out in the country.
Larry: Nice for some. Those cops find you?
Fridge: Always a pleasure Larry. (Signs off)
They drive a while, peel off the freeway onto one of the old convict roads and are soon in open country peppered with tiny clusters of new estates. Fridge puts on some William Byrd and Desiree slides down in her seat and closes her eyes.
Desiree: Listen to those voice parts.....
Fridge: William Byrd....
Desiree: I had you down for yacht rock. You wanna tell me why you were so freaked out about those cops?
Fridge: Nope. You wanna tell me why you’re riding around in a courier van with a man you hardly know?
Desiree gets out her phone and sends off a text.
Desiree: Just keeping Donovan in the loop. (Gazing out the window at a group of Bok Choy farmers weeding their plot wearing the traditional peasant’s headware). Man, this place is a trip.
Fridge: You didn’t answer my question.
Desiree: I don’t think you really asked one. This is pretty country.
Fridge: Fed the whole colony at one point. This is an old convict road....
Desiree’s phone pips. Fridge turns into the same horse stud as the day before. Desiree ignores his suggestion to wait in the car. Shrugs at his disapproving face.
Desiree: I like horses.
While Fridge is helping the same woman as yesterday with the buckets of horse shit from our quadraped stoner, Desiree wanders off down the length of stalls, patting the noses of the horses, chatting to the stablehands, etc. Fridge watches her out of the corner of his eye as a small crowd starts to gather around her and she appears to give in to the inevitable and starts playing the role of Desiree to her enchanted audience.
Horse Lady: (Noticing where Fridge’s attention keeps straying). Your daughter? She’s quite the star turn...
Fridge: My daughter’s friend...American. My daughter’s in the music business. Melody Song?
Horse Lady: (Appreciating the spectacle down the far end of the stables). Not my department, I’m afraid. She seems awfully familiar.....
Fridge: Yes, well I reckon we best get going before she breaks into her whole routine...
Fridge whistles. The little show at the far end of the stables promptly breaks up. Desiree skips back to be handed an enormous bucket of horse shit.
Desiree: And here’s me thinking you’d forgotten my birthday...
Fridge: (Waving goodbye to an obviously smitten horse lady and coaxing Desiree back to the car). So I assume the cat’s well and truly out of the bag...
Desiree: Oh, I assumed that the minute we left your charming friend’s office. It was fun while it lasted. What’s that smell?
Fridge: I thought you were the horse person. (Opens the back hatch and shuffles around the eskies to make room for their fecund cargo). That’s a bucket of stoned horse shit.
Desiree: No, that other smell....like something burning.....
Fridge: (Pointing his nose into the wind away from the bucket in Desiree’s hand) Yep...that’s a fire alright. Must have just started. Could be just around the corner could be 20 ks away....
Desiree: Donovan wants me back....
Fridge: Sure thing kiddo. Just a few quick stops on the way. Should I ring ahead and book a band?
Desiree: Hardy har har....(Slides down in her seat as though she intended to plant herself there for the rest of her days). You’ve got a great job...
Fridge: I like it.
Desiree: So you jabbed some guy....
Fridge: Just some toothpick junkie...oh sorry...no offence...
Desiree: You’re a real card. That lady likes you...
Fridge: What lady?
Desiree: Back there....in the overalls...the proper English lady....
Fridge: So you’ve got rehearsals tonight?
Desiree: (Arching an eyebrow) Oh, classic changing of subject Patrick....
Fridge: She’s a client. It’s part of my job to charm. Especially good payers like that place. So, you like your job?
Desiree: (Heaving a deep childish sigh like a bored little girl gazing out at the rain) Sometimes. Not often. I’m rich, I think, although no-one lets me see the books. I guess I’m successful. I mean I write my own songs. I got one about you rattling around in my head....
Fridge: Yeah, Mel warned me about that....
Desiree: You know those people you meet and you feel like you’ve known them forever?
Fridge: You mean Mel? Yeah, funny old world.
Desiree: Oh hardy har....you don’t say much, do you.
Fridge: I reckon I’ve talked plenty.
Desiree starts humming a tune, working in one or two random words. It is obviously a work in progress.
Desiree: Yep, you’re a song alright....
Fridge: Great! Mission accomplished! You like Fats Waller, kiddo?
Desiree: Oooh, I adore Fats!
And so they drive off into the sunset, or at least west down Canterbury Road, to the tinny refrain of Your Feets Too Big.
END
© Justin Lowe 2020
