Melt. Lisa Walker

off?’

      I put a hand on my hip and channel Alexis. ‘I can’t wait for the day I see you walk out into the snow with those two trashy seals you came in with.’

      ‘Pardon?’

      I twirl my hand in a get with it gesture and repeat my line, but he still looks baffled. ‘I’m Cougar. Get it? I’m like Alexis from Dynasty.’

      ‘You watch that show? How come I’ve never discovered this about you before? I love Dynasty. Alexis, huh?’ His brow furrows. ‘Good call, but you don’t sound bitchy enough. Try this.’ Rory points his finger at my chest, narrows his eyes and puts on a female American accent. ‘I want you. Your seal. And the other seal. Out. Now. I need to lie down before I’m on camera.’ He puts the back of his hand to his forehead and sighs dramatically. ‘Why do I have to work with such a bunch of incompetents?’

      I laugh. He is as close to Alexis as a red-haired giant could be. ‘Oh – you’re amazing. I thought I was a major Dynasty fan, but you have way outperformed me. I can’t believe it. You’re going to have to help me with this.’

      Rory raises one eyebrow. ‘Try rephrasing that.’

      ‘You’ – I assume a commanding tone – ‘You with the camera.’ I click my fingers. ‘Feed me my lines.’

      ‘Right on.’ Rory raises his fist in a power salute. ‘You’re going to be a natural at this, Summer. Ready to go, bitch queen?’

      ‘Yep. I’ll close up.’ I go around the flat, closing the windows. I’m almost out the door when I see it – Marley’s book. I touch the spine – there will never be a better time. I stuff An Antarctic Mystery in my backpack next to my new bible, Extreme Project Management. Slamming the door behind me, I follow Rory down the stairs.

      Hobart is much cooler than Sydney. I pull on my polar fleece jacket as we step off the plane. We have the rest of the day to get organised. Our plane to Antarctica leaves tomorrow morning.

      ‘Australian Antarctic Division,’ Mary the producer tells the cab driver. ‘We’ve got to get kitted out,’ she says to the rest of us. ‘Puffy jackets.’ Her phone rings and she answers it. ‘Chickens,’ she says. ‘Twelve.’

      Alicia the stylist pulls out her notebook and shows me some sketches she’s done of Cougar wearing a snowsuit. ‘I did have in mind a few styling options for Cougar. Hood up, hood down, balaclava on or off, goggles on or off. But, considering …’ She flicks to the next illustration. ‘It’s best to stick with this look.’ She holds up the notebook and shows me the sketch.

      It looks like an old photograph of an Antarctic explorer weathering blizzard conditions. She or he – there’s no way of knowing – is encased in down from head to toe. A balaclava and goggles cover every inch of face; only the tip of a nose is exposed. The Abominable Snowman could be hidden in there and you wouldn’t know.

      ‘That’s my look?’ I must admit, I was hoping to cut more of a dash on my television debut.

      Alicia nods. ‘We’ve got a few different balaclavas and goggles, so we can mix and match. The snowsuit only comes in red though, so that limits our options.’ She unzips a small sports bag revealing a collection of woolly balaclavas. ‘We’ll stick with the primary colours. Black for serious stories, yellow for lighter ones.’

      It seems this will be a fairly undemanding assignment for Alicia. ‘Makeup shouldn’t be too much of an issue,’ I say.

      ‘I don’t know about that.’ Alicia inspects my nose. ‘I’ve got a few products to cut down on shine and redness, so don’t worry about it too much.’

      How did I get to the age of twenty-seven without realising I’m the human version of Rudolph the Red-nosed Reindeer? ‘Thanks.’

      Alicia pats my knee. ‘I’ve dealt with worse.’

      At the Antarctic Division storeroom we are given boots, balaclavas, mittens and a huge puffy red suit each. Mine seems excessively large, but I suppose they have to be roomy to go over the top of all the other warm clothes. This accomplished, we check into our hotel.

      Alicia and Mary mutter something about a conference call with Maxine and disappear.

      I decide this is a good opportunity to try out my new look away from their critical eyes. ‘Give me ten minutes,’ I say to Rory, ‘then knock on the door. I’m going to get dressed in my snow gear. I want you to tell me if I look like Cougar. Bring your camera.’

      It’s cool in Hobart, but not that cool. By the time I don the puffy suit, balaclava, goggles and mittens I’m perspiring profusely. I hate to think what my nose is like. Luckily Rory knocks at the door before I keel over from heat exhaustion.

      He wolf whistles when he sees me and comes in leaving the door ajar. A cooling breeze blows into the room so I don’t shut it. ‘Hot stuff.’ Rory fans his face.