LITMIR.BIZ

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      "They do? What thing?" Kit asked, refusing to give in to confusion.

      "Your answering thing. Of course they do. The rectal-probing aliens land all over the planet," Lillian stated, completely straight-faced. Which was a worry. "You think about it, Katherine. Why on earth," she continued, chuckling at her unintentional pun, "would the aliens only want Americans? That is part of the rotational theory in a nutshell. Art imitating life: the Yanks just love to be the centre of attention, even if that centre is in the middle of something grotesquely unpleasant."

      Kit peered at her mother, trying to work out if her pupils were dilated. "How do you know this?"

      "Mimi Burrage, from my theatre group," Lillian stated, "she's an abductee. She was taken on the road to Ballarat one night last winter."

      "That explains a lot," Kit remarked, recalling that Mimi Burrage always looked startled, as if she'd just stuck her finger in a power socket and had quite enjoyed the sensation.

      Kit slid off her stool, carried her coffee into her office space and sat down at her desk. She was tempted to ask why these particular rectal-probing aliens had bothered to bring Mimi back, but decided this was not a good time to be discussing someone else's delusion with her mother. Besides, knowing Lillian and her 'facts' it was far more likely that Mimi Burrage had been taken to Ballarat last winter by a retail promoter called Eileen.

      "I'm going to the loo," Lillian announced, as she headed up the hall.

      "I'll call The Age, perhaps they can put it in the Odd Spot," Kit said, in response to her mother's habit of informing people exactly where she was going when she left a room, to save them the trouble of asking or wondering.

      The answering machine counter registered six calls. Kit hit the play button.

      Del: "Um, don't panic. She's fine, but your Mum's had an accident. I'm taking her to Angie's."

      Kit wondered whether it would have been better or worse knowing before she got there that her mother was going to try and outsparkle the Spangles.

      Marek: "I need a favour. Can you give me a call?"

      Curious. Since when does Jon Marek actually ask a favour? From me?

      Lillian: "There's no need to rush. I'm learning how to crack em up. What? Oh, rack em up."

      Worse, Kit thought. Much worse.

      Alex: "O'Malley, hi. It looks like I've missed you again."

      "Stop ringing when I'm out then," Kit begged the answering machine, as the sound of Alex's voice flooded her body with a rush of Cazenove-induced endorphins. She crossed her legs.

      Brigit: "Far out Kit! This is the bees-fucking-knees. You don't have to be thin, you just have to have balance. Who'd have thought I had balance. Well me actually, but that was more of a spiritual thing. Bloody hell - I feel marvellous. Oh. Do you know about your Mum yet? You should see the front wall of the pub!"

      Just as well I have a clue what you're on about Brigie, Kit thought. Or I'd be checking your pockets for drugs.

      Alex: "I'll be back in Melbourne on Wednesday. Do you want to have lunch? Perhaps you could meet me at my office at noon."

      "Oh yes! Oh yes!" Kit chanted.

      Hang on a sec... just lunch? Shit! What does that mean?

      It's OK. It's OK, she said to herself. Alex probably just wants to talk things over.

      Over? What do you mean over? herself asked.

      Jeez, O'Malley. Don't be such a pessimist! I suppose you think she's come to her senses and doesn't want you any more? Is that it?

      Yes, herself replied petulantly.

      You idiot. This is the beginning not the end. She wants to talk first and make mad passionate love after.

      Oh. Good.

      Having sorted that out with herself, Kit smiled and lay her head down on the answering machine. She'd just realised how truly ridiculous she probably looked when she heard her mother re-entering the room.

      "You can't sleep there, Katherine. For goodness sake, go to bed."

      "Yes Mum," Kit agreed, opening one eye. Lillian was either smiling fondly at her or looking bemused, it was hard to tell which. She was also cradling The Cat in her arms.

      "I'm taking Thistle in to sleep with me. I think she'd be quite disturbed by you right now."

      "OK, Mum. I love you too. Sleep well."

      CHAPTER TWO

      "Morning," Kit observed. There being nothing particularly 'good' about 9 am, she had elected to drop the adjective and acknowledge only that it was before noon. A waiter appeared offering coffee, a menu and a glass of water, before she'd even managed to settle her bum in the chair opposite the depressingly refreshed-looking and now easily recognisable Rebecca Jones.

      "Double espresso," she said to the waiter. "My god, you look amazing," she said to Rebecca. "How long have you been awake?"

      "Since six." Rebecca removed her reading glasses and adjusted the fringe of her blonde hair.

      "There's something oddly obscene about that," Kit noted.

      "You are not a morning person, I see," Rebecca said, as she folded her newspaper and put it to one side. "I think it's the best time of the day but then I'm quite hopeless after 10.30 at night. Mind you, it's only been that way for the last four years. I was a night owl before I turned 40."

      Kit ran her hands through her hair and nodded to the newspaper. "Well, the world could end overnight and I wouldn't know a thing about it until the evening TV news - or until I realised there wasn't any evening TV news. Is there anything worth knowing at this time of the day?"

      Rebecca shrugged. "Political skulduggery in Washington, bombs in the Middle East, floods in Queensland. Closer to home you have a teenager missing from Footscray, a by-election in Nareen, a body in an Elwood freezer, and two footballers out of something important due to groin injuries."

      "Same old shit then," Kit said, noticing an odd encounter in the doorway of the café between a redhead and a very-much-taller than her, bloke. "And, I may well be alone in this opinion," Kit stated, "but I can actually get through a day without knowing about a footballer's groin."

      "I have no interest in a footballer's anything," Rebecca agreed.

      "And it's only March for god's sake," Kit grumbled, "footy used to be a winter thing." She kept an eye on the now-agitated redhead, who'd seemed unusually annoyed by a bloke who looked like he'd only approached to ask directions or... Or, maybe not! Kit hadn't heard their exchange but Mr Broad-shoulders had waved towards Rebecca - well, in their general direction - and, in response, the woman had seemingly either told him to nick off, or 'be less obvious'.

      "Now we have to put up with knuckledraggers all bloody year," Kit continued, her senses on serious alert, as the redhead was moving haltingly but definitely in their direction. The waiter, delivering Kit's coffee, blocked her view for a moment; but that was all the woman needed. When he moved, she was right there - behind Rebecca and reaching into a shoulder-slung briefcase.

      Kit leapt to her feet. "Can I help you?" she demanded.

      The woman looked completely taken aback and Rebecca started laughing. "Whoa there, Kit," she said. "It's okay. This one's a friend."

      "Are you sure?" Kit asked, eyeing her suspiciously.

      "Yes, she's sure," the redhead snapped.

      "In that case, I apologise," Kit said, covering her overreaction by offering a chair.

      "Kit O'Malley, Sally Shaw, etc.," Rebecca said waving her hand between the two of them.

      "Ah, the real thing," Kit pronounced. "You don't look anything like the drag queen Rebecca was impersonating

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