Everyone except Judy, that is. I can’t help but notice that her glass remains glued to her lips. But then, it takes work to keep a mouth that size full.
Meadow picks up Mitch’s camcorder and begins to interview the crowd. “Wasn’t Kendra great on Nelle?” she asks Judy.
“Fantastic,” Judy says, her voice devoid of enthusiasm. “In fact, I’m going to use my network resources so that she can launch a National Otter Tour. Get it? National Otter Tour? As in NOT!” She punctuates her remark with a wave of her glass, splashing Meadow’s lens with red wine.
Chili lowers his camera. “Maybe you’ve had enough,” he says.
“Did I ask for your opinion?” Judy snaps. “Just plug the damn eyepiece and leave me alone.”
Leaving them to bicker, I head over to the food table.
“I saw you on Nelle yesterday,” Jordan says, joining me. “You looked great—especially in those boots.”
“Uh, thanks,” I say. I’m no expert, but it appears that Jordan is flirting with me. Given our history, nothing would make me happier than telling him I have a boyfriend, but I can’t do it, because it’s a secret boyfriend.
“I think it was really cool the way you mentioned Team Fourteen,” he says.
I glance around the room warily. “Is this a setup?”
“No.” He sounds indignant. “I’m serious. If you don’t believe me, check their online petition. I signed it.”
“Since when have you had an interest in otter welfare?” I ask.
“Since I saw you in those boots,” he says, laughing. “Just kidding! Listening to you convinced me I should. That’s why I joined Team Fourteen.”
“You did?”
He nods. “Also, I wanted to prove I’m not a total jerk. Every time I see you, I end up looking like an idiot. I guess you make me nervous.”
As far as I know, the last time I made someone nervous was when I explained the benefits of capitalism to my first-grade teacher. Obviously Black Sheepism has transformed me not only into an activist, but also a femme fatale.
I hope Mitch appreciates how lucky he is.
Black Sheep Rule Number Twenty, Subsection—Guys: Where there is sufficient evidence of repentance, second chances are permitted. Note: third chances may not be granted under any circumstances.
“I’m glad you’ve joined the team,” I say. “We need all the help we can get.”
Jordan’s smile lights up his face, and I return it, basking in the glow of my influence. I, Kendra Bishop—Plain Jane, Math Nerd, Wallflower—am finally popular! I’m on the radar at last.
Over Jordan’s shoulder, I see Mitch watching us. He catches my eye, unsmiling, before turning to walk away.
I peer into the jellyfish gallery. “Mitch? Are you in here?” When there’s no answer, I walk farther into the exhibit. The light is on in the sea nettle tank, so somebody must be home. My vision adjusts, and I see him leaning against the wall beside the tank. I can’t see his expression clearly, but there’s no gleam of white teeth.
“What’s going on?” I ask.
“Just taking a break from the crowd,” he says. “Being stuck in a room with that many people and no windows isn’t my idea of a good time.”
I try not to take offense over the fact that he’s not enjoying my party. He’s a nature guy, more at home on the high seas than in high society. I understand that. In fact, it’s one of the things I like about him. So I decide to be the understanding girlfriend. “You don’t have to stay if you don’t want to. We can catch up at home.”
He crosses his arms. “If you want me to leave, just say so.”
“That’s not what I said!” My voice squeaks in alarm. “I just don’t want you to stay if you’re hating it.”
“I never said I hated it. But you’ve hardly even spoken to me, so I didn’t think you’d notice if I left.”
Has he gotten into the wine? “You know we can’t talk that much with Judy around.”
He shrugs. “You don’t seem to mind if she thinks you’re with Jordan.”
Okay, now I see what’s going on here. “I’m not interested in Jordan, Mitch,” I say.
“Why would I care?” he asks, turning to watch the sea nettles on their magical journey. “You’re not my girlfriend or anything.”
Ouch. The nettles couldn’t sting any worse than that. “No,” I reply faintly. “I guess not.” I feel like toxins are creeping through my body, killing me slowly. How could this have gone so far wrong? I shouldn’t have gotten my hopes up. Mitch and I have met here many times over the past two weeks, but we’ve only had one real date. Any other girl would have known he was just leading me on. Any other girl would have recognized that a secret relationship is an imaginary relationship. Any other girl would have realized that guys are not worth the trouble.
The feeling returns to my feet, and I turn to go. Mitch catches my arm. “Wait,” he says. “I didn’t mean that. I’m sorry.”
“It’s not like I can tell Jordan that I’m seeing you,” I point out. “If that’s what I’m doing.”
“You are,” he says, letting his hand slide down my arm until he is holding my hand. “That’s why I’m jealous.”
“But you just said I wasn’t your girlfriend.” This time I will leave absolutely no room for doubt.
Mitch’s teeth finally flash in the gloom. “Your boyfriend’s a liar.” He pulls me in for a kiss.
After a few more reminders of why guys are worth the trouble, Mitch tells me that he’s proud of the way I handled myself on the talk shows.
“I guess I was pretty good,” I say.
“Pretty good? You have no idea. The Web site has been flooded with e-mails from people who want to help with Team Fourteen. Overnight, we got fifty thousand signatures on the petition.”
Fifty thousand! “The Boulder Beach bigwigs will have to change their plans now,” I say.
He shakes his head. “They’re still ignoring us. Lisa’s contacts say the club is holding a charity tournament next week, and the bigwigs are going to unveil a model of the new fourteenth fairway.”
“Maybe we should round up those fifty thousand supporters and crash the tournament. That’d be pretty hard to ignore.”
Mitch’s eyes light up. “You mean stage a sit-in on the fourteenth hole? That’s a great idea!”
I was actually joking, but if he wants to give me credit, I’ll take it. After all, behind every great man, there’s a great Black Sheep.
Lisa has joined the party by the time I return to the supply room. I guess she’s gotten over herself now that I’ve educated a few million people on her behalf.
“Well, if it isn’t the girl of the hour,” she says witheringly.
She’s giving me attitude at my own party? Obviously her massive brain is so cluttered with scientific data that there’s no room for the rules of etiquette. “What’s your problem?” I ask.
“I heard about how you ambushed the Boulder Beach president at a restaurant and totally pissed him off.”
Oh, that. I figured my success on Nelle DeLerious would erase that from my record.
Mitch comes over and grabs Lisa’s arm. “Did Kendra tell you about her idea?”
I interrupt him. “Probably not a good time, Mitch.”
He’s too excited to stop. “She wants to stage a sit-in during the Boulder Beach charity tournament.”
Lisa’s jaw drops. “You’ve got to be kidding, Mitch. If Kendra wants to star in another publicity stunt, I want no part in it.”
“I think it could work,” he persists.
“It’s stupid,” she says, turning to go.
Mitch follows, practically at a run. “But my parents used to stage sit-ins all the time.”
Materializing at my side, Judy says, “Those two look tight, but I wouldn’t worry, KB. I’m sure Mitch will be true to you.”
I can tell she doesn’t know anything about Mitch and me; she’s just fishing. “Have another bottle of wine, Judy,” I say.
“Judy can s
ee that you think you’re in love with that boy. It’s sweet, really.”
I’m surprised at how good I’m getting at refusing the bait. “How much wine does someone have to drink before she’s officially an alcoholic?”
“It doesn’t count if it’s free,” she says. “By the way, Chili says Lisa and Mitch were joined at the hip while we were in L.A.”
“I hope they got a lot of work done,” I say. “Can we go back to your not speaking to me now?”
“No. I can’t stand being on the outs with my little black sheep. Especially since your seal-hugging stunt with Nelle and Harry sent the ratings for tonight’s episode through the roof.” She plants a kiss on my cheek, and I wonder if it’s possible to black out from secondhand alcohol fumes. “KB, we are officially the number one–rated show on the Reality Network!”
“Great. Can I go now?”
“Sure, just as long as you let me know where you are. Come to think of it, you were already missing in action for a while earlier. Did you and your pretty brother find a moment to gaze into each other’s eyes? Or is he playing hard to get?”
I smile. “Haven’t I provided enough entertainment today? I’m off duty.”
“Oh, come on,” she says. “You can tell me. Judy knows all about boy trouble.”
“Actually, I’m going to follow your example and stay single forever. It’s the best way to enjoy my independence, don’t you agree?”
Judy hesitates. “I’m not always single, KB. I just keep romance in perspective.”
“I admire you for putting your career first,” I say. “Like you say, a girl can buy her own bling.”
Judy tips the rest of her wine down her gullet and stares at her bare hand.
At home, Meadow carries the cake into the living room and sets it on the coffee table before me. I wait for the sparklers to burn out and carve the cake into slices.
“Did I tell you Kendra got me Logan Waters’s autograph?” Meadow says, passing Judy a piece of cake.
“Only about a thousand times,” Judy says.
Mona offers Judy one of the Nelle DeLerious mugs I borrowed from the greenroom. “Coffee?”
“No thanks.” Judy shakes her head. “I’d take a glass of wine, though.”
“Sorry, Judy, we drained the bar at the aquarium,” Max says.
“What kind of people don’t have a wine cellar?” Judy mutters.
While we eat, Mona shows us the quilt she is entering at a competition in Garberville next week. It’s an elaborate depiction of an otter swirling in a bubbling eddy. Across the bottom she has stitched “Pico 1989.” Pico is a legend in Monterey because he was the first orphaned pup ever to be reintroduced to the wild by the aquarium. I’m all for keeping Pico’s memory alive, and I know Mona put many hours of work into this quilt, but I’m not sure it’s the kind of thing people would want to see on their bed.
Judy, who is rolling her eyes behind Mona’s back, apparently agrees.
I am saved from having to comment by the ringing of the doorbell.
Mitch answers it and returns leading a man wearing a dark suit and carrying a briefcase.
“Terrance Burnside,” the man says, extending his hand to Max. “VP of programming for Reality Network.” He flips Max a card.
Judy stampedes across the room and reaches up to airkiss Terrance’s cheek. “Terrance, sweetie!”
Terrance rears back. “Are you drunk, Judith?”
Judy sobers up instantly. “Of course not,” she says. “We just had a toast to celebrate the ratings sweep.”
Terrance takes off his jacket and tosses it to Mona. It hits her in the shoulder and slides to the floor. She leaves it there.
“To hell with the ratings,” Terrance says. “I would never have agreed to extend the show if I’d known you were going to turn it into a joke.”
For once, Judy is speechless.
“If you want to save the planet, Judith, get a job at the Documentary Network,” he continues. “Our advertisers aren’t interested in animal rights.” He glances at the rowboat coat cupboard and snorts in disgust. “This place is every bit as ridiculous as it looks on TV.”
Max and Mona blink at him in shock. They turn to Judy, waiting for her to defend their home.
“That is no way to talk about this house,” Judy scolds him. “Sure it’s a pit, but you couldn’t build a set this tacky.”
Mona gasps. “Judy, how dare—”
Terrance interrupts. “No wonder the kid’s turned into a flower child.” He looks at me. “We sent you here to make fun of these people, not go over to the psychedelic side.”
“Make fun of them?” I ask. “Why would I do that?”
“You’re from New York, for God’s sake. I shouldn’t have to tell you how crazy they are. Between you and me, you were a lot more interesting when you were droning on about art all the time.”
“I think you should leave,” Mitch says.
“I don’t think so, Prince Neptune,” Terrance says. “I didn’t fly all the way up here to get the bum’s rush from a kid.”
“Wow, he’s really rude,” Meadow says. “Have you ever seen anybody this rude in New York, Kendra?”
“He’s definitely the rudest,” I say.
“You’ve been brainwashed,” Terrance tells me. “This whole otter thing is absurd.”
“I believe in what I’m doing,” I say.
“You’re fifteen years old,” he says. “You don’t know what you believe. And you”—he turns on Judy—“you should have been able to control this child.”
“I am not a child!”
Judy speaks over me. “Terrance, I don’t understand why you’re so upset. Our ratings are off the charts.”
“It’s not about ratings, Judith.”
“Everything in this business is about ratings,” she says, honestly bewildered.
Noticing Chili in the corner for the first time, Terrance explodes. “Turn off the damn camera. What the hell is this?”
“A television show,” Meadow explains patiently. “It’s called The Black Sheep.”
Terrance’s briefcase twitches, as if he wants to whack her with it, but he controls himself. “Let me draw you a picture, Judith,” he says, pulling his wallet out of his pocket and taking out a card. He holds it between thumb and index finger for all to see: it’s a Boulder Beach Golf Club membership.
Judy wiggles her eyebrows at Chili, a silent communication that propels him out the front door. Two seconds later, I see the red light through the window. Bob surreptitiously turns on a mike.
Poking Judy with the card, Terrance continues, “I pay more in a year to belong to this club than you earn. You have no idea what I had to go through to get in. They wanted a family history dating back to Roman times, a DNA swab, a dozen references, and a list of favors rendered to other members.”
Judy looks a little pale, but she keeps up the fight. “I had no idea you were a member, Terrance.”
“So are two of our biggest advertisers, but perhaps not for long.” Terrance says. “After Harry Queen, the club threatened to revoke our memberships unless we put this to rights.” He jabs his card in my direction. “Thanks to this troublemaker, they’ve been flooded with calls from do-gooders. Some high-profile members have hung up their clubs until this blows over.”
“Maybe they’ve hung up their clubs because they support the cause,” I say.
A vein begins to throb ominously on Terrance’s forehead, and his face distorts like the guy in that Edvard Munch painting called The Scream. “I’ve had just about enough out of you,” he says.
An unlikely protector steps between us. “Terrance, calm down,” Judy says. “You know as well as I do that a scandal is as good as minting money in our business. The show could run in syndication for years.”
He glares at her. “If you don’t call off your kid, neither one of us will be around to enjoy that cash. Anyone who’s anyone in Hollywood belongs to that club, Judith. That’s where I make all my deals. In fact, that’s
where I got financing for The Black Sheep.”
I can see the wheels turning in the back of Judy’s head. “Anyone who’s anyone?” she repeats. “How much does it cost to join?”
“More than you can afford,” he says, bending over to yank his jacket out from under Mona’s Birkenstock. “Especially if you lose your job. If you don’t want that to happen, you and your black sheep had better do some damage control, ASAP.”
“What did you have in mind?” she asks.
“I’ve booked the kid on Dr. Ernest next week. You get her to stick to the parental divorce script, people will forget all about the golf course. Soon, this otter crap will be ancient history.”
I step out from behind Judy. “Absolutely not. There’s no way I’m divorcing my parents, Terrance. And I refuse to go on Dr. Ernest.”
Judy gives me a savage elbow to the ribs.
“That’s Mr. Burnside to you,” he says. “And you will do what I ask unless you want me to sue the asses off your parents and the Mulligans here. Is that what you want?” He glances around the hallway. “How would you feel if they lost this dump because of you? The whole lot of them could end up living out of that.” He aims a thumb at the rowboat coat closet.
My stomach sinks like Judy’s heart of stone. The last thing I want is for Mona and Max to be hurt because of my big mouth.
The vein in Terrance’s forehead recedes as if by magic. “I thought so. Tell Ernest I owe him one.”
He throws on his jacket and strides out of the room, oblivious to the dusty footprint between his shoulder blades.
Judy accosts me in the greenroom as we wait for the taping of Dr. Ernest to begin. “KB, this is a very important show,” she says. “Would it kill you to be interesting?”
“What do you mean?” I ask, although I know perfectly well what she means. I’ve taken dull to new heights on the talk-show circuit just to spite Judy and Terrance. As it turns out, by suppressing my inner Black Sheep and tapping into the old Kendra, I can be spectacularly, mind-numbingly boring:
Yes, Meredith, the Mulligans are every bit as nice as
they seem.
No, Matt, I don’t really mind if Meadow borrows my clothes.
Family is all about sharing, right?
The Black Sheep Page 17