The Black Sheep (13 page)

Once the coast was clear, Mitch and I left our bikes at the aquarium and skulked over to Cannery Row to Oceans 18. I'd envisioned a dim, romantic restaurant with tiny candles on each table and slushy drinks in martini glasses. The only part I got right was “dim.” Oceans 18 is not a restaurant, but a miniature golf course featuring black light and fluorescent fish murals. I would have preferred a movie or a walk, or just about anything else to mini golf as my first real date. By definition, mini golf is anti-romance. But I suppose Oceans 18 is about as cool as mini golf gets. It has a
Finding Nemo
feel to it, so I can see why Mitch likes it.

Mitch steps up to the first hole. “Watch and learn, City Girl.”

I wait until he's taken his swing before bringing up the bigwigs again. “Can you believe they just dismissed us like that? We were being totally reasonable.”

“Kendra, forget about them,” he says, exasperated. “This is supposed to be fun. Plus it's a chance to learn about golf. You can always fight the enemy better if you're familiar with their territory.”

Trust a guy to relate to everything in war terms. “So what you're saying is Boulder Beach is just like Oceans 18, but without the black light?”

He ushers me into position. “I'm speaking in generalities.” His grin is eerily yellow in the black light, but even that can't diminish his good looks. Hopefully he feels the same when he looks at me, because my smile is my best feature and Oceans 18 is totally ruining it. Thank God I wore a white T-shirt, because lint and ferret hairs are standing out in relief on Mitch's dark one.

“More like a general,” I say.

I take a savage swing at the ball and miss completely.

When Mitch stops laughing, he says, “Good. You're working out your frustrations.”

I take another fruitless swing and turn to look at him. “Do you think I really blew it today?”

General Mitch consoles me. “Losing one battle isn't losing the war.”

“But Lisa is going to kill me,” I say. “They'll never let her present her findings now.”

“Lisa can be pretty persuasive when she wants to be,” he says. “And she's probably as smart as they are.”

I don't want to hear how smart and persuasive Lisa is during my date with Mitch. Next he'll be saying how beautiful she is. “I feel terrible. I screwed up.”

“Quit taking all the credit,” he says. “I was sitting at the table with you, and I didn't sway them either.” He puts his arm around me and pulls me close. “Just remember what I said about my parents and their battles: it takes years to change the way people think, especially when there's a lot of money involved. What happened today was just our shot over the bow.”

“Okay, I'm ready to put the war behind me.” I pull the scorecard out of my pocket. “Show me how the game works.”

Mitch takes the scorecard and tears it up. “You won't need that,” he says. “We're playing Confessional Golf.”

“Is that like strip poker?” I ask suspiciously.

“No, but if you're up for that later…” He grins mischievously.

“I'm not much of a gambler, actually.”

“You can't lose with this one,” he says. “It's like Truth or Dare—but without the dare.”

He explains that the person who sinks his or her ball in the fewest strokes gets to ask the other person a question. No topic is off-limits.

“I don't know,” I say. At the rate I'm going, I'll have to answer eighteen questions, and Mitch, none.

“Afraid?” he says teasingly. “What are you hiding?”

“Nothing,” I say, and it's true. I'm trying to hide the fact that there's nothing about my past worth hiding. By the fifth hole, he'll be so bored by my confessions that he'll be chatting up the plastic mermaid. “I just think it might be better to play by the standard rules the first time, so that I get the hang of it.”

“So you really want to pass up the opportunity to ask about the time I got suspended from school?”

Perfect Mitch got suspended from school?

“And you don't want to ask about how I got stood up for a school dance, and my mother insisted I take Maya instead?”

“She didn't!”

He nods with mock sadness. “Maya met some guy at the dance, and I ended up solo anyway.”

“Poor Mitch,” I say, secretly delighted that his love life hasn't always been smooth sailing.

“Notice I'm giving you freebies,” he says, “since you're a novice.”

“I don't need your freebies,” I say. “I happen to have excellent hand-eye coordination.”

I step back to the tee and hit the ball. The game is officially on.

Before we've finished nine holes, Mitch has asked about my favorite food (Nana Russell's fried chicken); my earliest memory (watching Mom and Dad from the front window as they left for a run); my most embarrassing experience (losing my shorts during the kayaking expedition); my biggest lie (telling my mother that a scary man was watching our gymnastics class through the window, just so I wouldn't have to go anymore); and my biggest fear (being exposed as hopelessly dull).

But it's not entirely one-sided. I have scored a very respectable four questions, asking about Mitch's favorite role model (Jacques Cousteau, some dead sea captain); his biggest fear (flunking out of college and disappointing his parents); his worst memory (getting booed while singing in a school talent contest); and finally, his best date ever.

Mitch leans against a fluorescent red octopus and smiles. Somehow my eyes have gotten used to the black light, and his teeth now look as white as they ever do. “The best date?” he ponders. “Hmmmm…I'd have to say this one.”

“Good answer,” I say, trying to sound nonchalant. “And just to save you a question—mine, too.”

He comes over and kisses me beside the arc of shark's teeth, and I wonder how I thought this wouldn't be romantic. Romance, it seems, is everywhere—on the high seas, inside a jellyfish gallery, and, however unlikely, at Oceans 18. All it takes is a nautical theme and the right company.

I was wrong about mini golf, too. It's a brilliant game—at least the confessional version. I have discovered an unexpected aptitude for it.

Either that, or Mitch is deliberately missing some shots.

“My question,” I say, after the next hole. “How many girlfriends have you had?”

“None.”

“None?” I can't hide my surprise.

“Well, I've dated a few girls, but no one I considered a girlfriend.”

“Why?” I ask.

He grins. “I'm hearing question marks. You're supposed to
earn
answers, remember?” Before I can respond, we hear a familiar voice behind us.

“We've only got time for nine holes,” Bob says. “We've got to be back at the Mulligans' by eight thirty.”

Mitch ducks behind a sunken ship and pulls me down beside him. We watch as Chili leads Bob to the first tee.

“No problem,” Chili says. “It'll only take twenty minutes to kick your ass.”

“Put your money where your mouth is, hotshot.”

“I'll do better than that,” Chili says. “Loser goes to L.A. with Judy.”

Mitch mouths, “L.A.?” and I shrug to let him know it's news to me.

“Start packing, Red,” Bob says. “You're looking at the mini putt champion of Bear Creek, Alabama four years running.”

Bob and Chili are so busy taunting each other that Mitch and I are able to creep past them and return our clubs unnoticed.

Outside, we keep running until we're back at the aquarium, unlocking our bikes.

The Black Sheep
theme song plays over an opening shot of the family portrait from my parents' living room. A banner scrolls cross the bottom of the screen that reads,
Bishops on the Brink of Breaking Up!

“Judy,” I say, turning to her in disgust, “I told you I don't want to divorce my parents.”

“Shhh!” Judy hisses from the sofa, where she's sitting between Mona and Max. “This is a pivotal episode.”

“'Zokay, Kendra,” Mona says, leaning over to pat my arm and missing by a yard. She and Max are still feeling the effects of their afternoon wine tour. “You don't haf to do anything you don' wan' to.”

“Ssssright,” Max agrees.

It's hard to take him seriously when he's wearing Mona's beret.

“Ssssswrong,” Judy says, frowning. “I still own this kid.” Her frown promptly flips upside down as the screen fills with a close-up of her own face. “Hey, I look
good
.”

“For thirty-five,” I say.

“Thirty-four,” she corrects. “Eyes forward, KB.”

On screen, Judy is suggesting to me that I divorce my parents. When it's my turn to speak, the camera remains on her, but my voice says,
“Divorce them? That's a great idea.”
There's a cut to a shot of me talking to the Mulligans and saying,
“You understand me better than my own parents. I want to stay here forever.”
Then there's a shot of my own parents while my voice-over continues,
“I want the public to know that these people are arrogant and ignorant and cold. They think I'm just a silly teenager who can't stand up to them, but I'm going to prove them wrong.”

Judy has taken what I've said at other points and cobbled it together to sound like a rant against my parents. She applauds her own wizardry. “Now that's great TV!”

When the show ends, I am too angry to speak. In the dark, Mitch reaches for my hand and gives it a squeeze.

“Well, Mulligans, what do you think?” Judy asks.

Max answers with a loud snore, and Judy stands to turn on the lights. Mona's eyes flutter open.

“It's slander,” I answer for them.

“Kendra, don't be such a stick-in-the-mud. Three million people tune in to
The Black Sheep
each week, and it's not to see what you're having for breakfast. They're looking for excitement, emotional turmoil, and life-changing events.”

“It's life-changing, all right. It bears no resemblance at all to my real life.”

“It all happened, KB, just maybe not in that order. Anyway, let's not get bogged down by details. What's important is that Judy is giving the audience what they want and they're eating it up. So much so that you've been invited onto the
The Nelle DeLerious Show
to talk about the parental divorce angle.”

“There
is
no divorce angle. I never said I hated my parents, I'm not divorcing them, and I'm not promoting a lie on a talk show. So you can cancel
Nelle
right now.”

Judy shakes her head as she climbs the basement stairs. “Am I the only person with vision around here?”

She slams the basement door behind her. Max lets out a series of snorts, and Mona rises unsteadily to her feet. “Come on, Max,” she says, tugging Max's arm. “It's time for bed. 'Night, kids.”

Mitch pops a DVD into the player and pulls me onto the sofa beside him. “You okay?” he asks.

“I've got to call my parents,” I say. “They're going to hate me when they see this episode.”

“It's one o'clock in the morning in New York,” Mitch says. “Which means they've already seen it. I'm sure your folks know it's a publicity stunt.”

“Do you think so?” I'm not so sure, but I'm ready to be convinced.

“Sure,” he says, wrapping an arm around me. “Parents always see through the hype.”

I rest my head on his shoulder and consider this. It's true that my parents aren't snowed by much. Like typical New Yorkers, they're skeptical of everything. Who knows? Maybe they've been misrepresented on the show, too.

For the moment, I decide to focus on how good it feels to have Mitch's arm around me. With him in my corner, I feel like I can take on anything, even Judy.

I will simply have to be more assertive. There is no way I am doing that talk show.

I
wince as the limo jerks to a stop in front of Warner Brothers Studio in Burbank. My neck is still stiff today, three days after falling asleep on Mitch's shoulder in front of the television. Fortunately, Meadow didn't even wake up when I crept into our room at four a.m.

Judy slides out of the limo to speak to the security guard, and I lean back against the plush leather seat, struck by an odd feeling of familiarity. It's not being in a limo on a studio lot that feels familiar, obviously. What's familiar is the fact that waiting to gain entrance to the studio where
Nelle DeLerious
shoots feels like just another event in my new life.

I don't know how it happened or when it happened, but at some point over the past month, the unpredictability of my life on
The Black Sheep
magically became the new normal. Even the blinking red light of Bob's camera flashing at me now through the window feels normal. What's more, it feels like it's been like this for a lot longer than a month. The Mulligans are as familiar to me as my own family, if not more so. Even Judy has become familiar in her unpredictability.

“Kendra.” Judy's voice disrupts my philosophizing. “Look at me when I'm talking to you.”

I swing my body around awkwardly to face her.

“What's wrong with you?” she demands.

“Stiff neck,” I say. “The flight was so turbulent.”

“You'd better loosen up before you meet Nelle, KB. Thanks to the divorce episode, you're flavor of the week. We've booked you for the full talk-show circuit and Judy won't tolerate your tanking on the first one.”

“I'll be doing other talk shows?”

“
Every
talk show. That's what makes it a circuit. And before you start whining, I want you to remember our discussion on the plane.”

“I remember my obligation to the network,” I assure her. “Publicity is part of the package.” But I didn't promise it would be exactly the kind of publicity Judy wants.

“Correct. I appreciate that you've been more cooperative during the past few days. Maybe you've finally realized that being on TV means you have a certain responsibility to the public. Letters and e-mails have been pouring into the network. Granted, they're mainly complaints from parents saying their teenagers want to divorce them because of you, but at least people are watching. Like I always say, any publicity is good publicity.”

I'm glad she feels that way. I can't turn my head far enough to see her full-on, but I do my best to look sincere with one eye. “You're right, Judy, I do have a responsibility to the public. I guess I'm almost a role model.”

“Not ‘almost,' you
are
a role model. People look up to you.”

“Really? Do you think so?”

“I know so.” She leans in until her teeth block the light from the tinted windows. “I'll let you in on a little secret, kid: you've got presence. And if you play your cards right, you might have a future in television.”

“Wow. I hope you're right.”

She squints suspiciously. “Are you toying with Judy?”

“Of course not,” I say. “I've just realized what an opportunity you're giving me, and I want to make the most of it. I'm going to do my very best on this circuit, Judy.”

She seems convinced. “Good girl. Now, on to more pressing matters. Earth tones.”

“Huh?”

“Don't let Tess use any on you.”

“Tess? You mean the makeup artist who disappeared after the first day of shooting?”

“Don't get smart. You know the network decided you should do your own makeup to keep it real.”

The network decided I should do my own makeup to keep it under budget.

“She'll meet you in your dressing room,” Judy continues. “I've asked her to blow out your hair as well. You look about ten years old with it that way.”

She's referring to my ponytail, and I'll admit it's not exactly sophisticated. These days, I hate wasting time on a blow out. Maybe it's the Mulligan influence, but I've been less obsessed with my appearance lately. Carrie says I'm just a hairy armpit away from turning into a full-fledged granola type, but it'll never happen. You can take the girl out of New York, but you can't take New York out of the girl.

To be sure of that, Carrie dragged me off on a shopping spree to find an outfit worthy of
Nelle
. It gave me an excuse to avoid the aquarium after Lisa got back from her conference and heard about my encounter with the bigwigs. Mitch downplayed her reaction, but Tia overheard Lisa calling me a “hopeless screwup” and threatening to shut down Team 14 altogether.

Nelle
is giving me another chance to turn things around. When Lisa sees how I've used a popular television show to educate the public about our cause, she'll back off. Then Mitch will be able to stop apologizing for me all the time.

The prospect of taking on Nelle DeLerious, a comedian, is daunting, but at least I have the right clothes. Carrie and I debated my look in a succession of changing rooms, finally settling on a modern, edgy outfit that reflects my forward-thinking personality: black knee-high motorcycle boots to show I mean business; a black satin skirt to show that although I'm strong, I haven't forsaken my femininity; a conservative black shirt to show I don't need to exploit that femininity; and a vintage black plaid cap to show I'm brave enough to stand apart from the crowd. I wore everything on the plane today except the cap. Somewhere between the Mulligans' house and the airport I realized that I need to work up to standing apart.

“—with the rest of the schmoes,” Judy says. “Got it?”

“Got what?” I ask.

Judy places a hand on either side of my head and cranks it around to face her, ignoring my squeal of pain. “Judy needs you to focus,” she says. “When Tess is done, you will make your way to the greenroom, where the guests wait. A flunky will come to take you onstage.”

“No earth tones…wait for the flunky. I got it.”

“And when you make your entrance, you have to dance.”

“Dance?”

“Don't you watch the show? Nelle's all about the dancing.”

“I don't know how to dance. I grew up in a museum, remember?”

“Well, try to groove a little. You know…feel the music.” She lets go of my face and jiggles in her seat to show me how it's done.

It's a good thing I'm so motivated to promote Team 14.

I follow the flunky down the corridor, my heart picking up speed with every step. I'm used to cameras dogging me, but live TV is a whole new ballgame.

The flunky holds a finger to his lips before opening the door and beckoning me to follow him into the wings. In the silence of the studio, my motorcycle boots clunk on the cement floors. The flunky turns to scowl at me and taps briskly on his lips a few more times. Through a gap in the velvet curtain, I can see Nelle DeLerious shticking for the crowd. When they begin to applaud, I creep closer to the gap, where I can see row upon row of mainly female faces. They are all waiting to hear about my plan to divorce my parents.

Make that Judy's plan to divorce my parents for me. I have no intention of pretending to take the question of emancipation seriously on the air. Sure, I'm still upset at my parents for not supporting my new interests, but that's no reason to make silly threats. I fully intend to go home to New York eventually. California isn't going to work for me forever. Unless Mitch and I get married, that is. But it's too early to think about that.

Beyond the curtain, it's become very quiet. Nelle studies a card in her hand and reads, “Now would you please welcome a little black sheep who's come all the way from smoggy New York City to graze in the sweet California sunshine…Kendra Bishop!”

The DJ cues up a song I've never heard before and, just as Judy predicted, Nelle starts to dance. The flunky gives me a shove and I start walking toward Nelle, shaking my shoulders a little. Nelle gives a shimmy and I shimmy back, tossing my head around for good measure. She raises one arm and I shoot mine up, too.

“Are you okay?” Nelle asks, when I finally reach her. “I thought the black sheep got struck by lightening.”

The audience howls. Okay, this isn't the best start.

I take the seat across from her and she smiles. It's friendly enough, but her eyes seem a little glazed, as if she doesn't really see me. “That's a nice outfit, Kendra.”

“Thanks.” The makeover is working!

Nelle turns to the audience and says, “It looks like someone's taking her role a little too seriously.” When the laugh subsides, she adds, “But at least she's not wearing her fleece tonight, huh, folks?” Nelle selects a card from the coffee table and holds it up for the camera. Glancing at the monitors, I see it's the
Carmel Pinecone
photo of me on the donkey. “Did you know someone's selling the original on eBay?” Nelle asks. She doesn't wait for me to answer before turning to her DJ. “How much is the bidding up to today?”

The DJ taps into a laptop computer. “Two hundred and four dollars.”

“Obviously you have some fans, Kendra,” Nelle says. “I guess denouncing your parents on national television has made you the hero of every teen in America.”

This time she pauses long enough for me to respond. “I didn't denounce them,” I say. “Everyone knows these shows are edited to—”

“Blah, blah, black sheep,” Nelle interrupts. “There's no use denying it. We all saw the show, didn't we?” The audience cheers. “You said you hated your parents and divorcing them is a great idea.”

I see a chance to exit the divorce freeway, and take it. “I'll admit I was angry with them, Nelle, but only because they wouldn't take Team Fourteen seriously.”

“Team Fourteen?” Nelle leans forward in her chair, curious. Ha. Score one for the kid on the donkey.

“It's a public education group. We're letting people know about a threat to marine wildlife in Carmel. The Boulder Beach Golf Club is planning to redesign its course, which could put the sea otter population at even more risk.”

I've heard that Nelle is a major animal lover, so I'm half expecting her to announce a drive to save the otters. If she does, Lisa Langdon will be begging this hopeless screwup for forgiveness.

“Do your parents golf, Kendra?” Nelle asks. “Are you a golf orphan who's trying to get even?”

That's not the response I was hoping for. Nelle is trying to set a divorce trap for me, but I'm not that gullible. “My parents prefer running.”

“Running away from you?” she asks, without missing a beat. “No wonder you want to turn the tables now.”

“I'm not running away from anything, Nelle. I ran
toward
a free vacation in sunny California.”

The audience laughs.

Scoreboard says: Black Sheep, one; famous talk-show host, zero.

Before she can reply, I add, “The show has given me a chance to meet some people who really care about the environment. I'm just trying to lend my support.”

Nelle turns to the audience. “Sounds like Kendra's got a talent for public speaking. But it doesn't end there, people.” She reaches down beside her chair and picks up a flute. This can't be good. “The bio your show sent me said you're a musician, Kendra.”

“I've only taken lessons for a couple of years.”

“I'm sure your fans would love to hear you play.” She turns to the audience and they burst into a cheer.

And the score is tied, folks: one all.

My hand shakes as I take the flute. Music isn't my calling and I know that, but I see an opportunity to turn this to my advantage.

I raise the flute to my lips and do my best rendition of “Bah, Bah, Black Sheep.” The audience recognizes the first few notes and applauds.

Rack up another point for the undersheep.

Nelle tries dancing to the song, but I hit so many sour notes that she cuts me off after four bars. “That's all the time we have today, but before we say good-bye to Kendra, we have something for her.”

She pulls out a gift bag and hands it to me. I unwrap what appears to be a small black hammock.

“Your very own set of Donkey diapers!” Nelle announces gleefully.

The crazed laughter blows me off the stage and into the wings.

Final score: Famous Talk Show Host, ten; Black Sheep, slaughtered.

When I get back to the greenroom, I head straight to the food table. It's going to take half a dozen chocolate cupcakes to recover from that experience.

“Save one for me,” a male voice says behind me.

I spin to find a tall, dark, and very cute guy standing behind me. I've seen his face before.…Every single morning as soon as I open my eyes, actually.

“You're Logan Waters,” I say, spraying him with cupcake crumbs.

He hands me a stack of napkins. “And you're the Black Sheep.”

Nodding, I hold a napkin against my mouth. “My sister—on the show, that is—loves you.”