The Black Sheep (15 page)

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 see 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.

J
udy 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?

Yes, Kelly, I'm looking forward to going home—

eventually. I belong in New York.

No, Regis, I don't want to divorce my parents,

although it's tempting sometimes.

No, Rosie I don't think emancipation should be an

option for all teens.

No, Kelly, I don't think your kids will divorce you.

Judy's eyes have been rolling back in her head from boredom. “I mean, a dead seal would be more riveting than you've been lately,” she says.

I shrug helplessly. “It was Team Fourteen that made me so interesting before. Since you've forbidden me to talk about it, we're back to plain old boring Kendra.”

Judy glares at me, knowing I've trumped her. Withholding controversy may be the only tool I have left in my arsenal right now. If there are others, I'm too tired to think of them.

Our three-day trip to promote
The Black Sheep
on the talk-show circuit has meant appearing on nearly twenty shows across five states. At least, I think it was five states. I've spent so much time in planes, hotels, limos, and studios, it all started to look pretty much the same.

Only one city stood out from the rest: New York. I didn't see much of it during our whirlwind visit, and there was no hope of escape, with Judy attached to my side like a big, toothy barnacle. Still, the glimpses I got of my favorite Manhattan landmarks, especially Rockefeller Center and Central Park, triggered homesickness.

Judy must have picked up on the vibe, because she asked the driver to cruise past my parents' house as we left for the airport. It was cruel even by her standards, but I know it's part of her larger plan to wear down my defenses before the
Dr. Ernest
show. Dr. Ernest is all about emotional breakthroughs, and to improve the odds of my snapping publicly, Judy's been restricting my sleep, keeping me too busy to eat, and isolating me. It's probably similar to the tactics that cults use.

Fortunately, I have a finely honed repression mechanism at my disposal, and Dr. Ernest, the Cult Master, won't find it easy to combat.

I am a vault that cannot be cracked.

Dr. Ernest is so nice when he greets me that I almost feel bad about depriving him of my breakthrough. The guy probably thinks I'm just a regular teen, but he couldn't be more wrong. I am now a self-trained expert in personal transformation.

Maybe Dr. Ernest will be so impressed with my story that he'll ask me to cohost his show. Judy did say I might have a future in television—that I have
presence
. If that's true, I don't even need Ernest. I'll get my own show and use it to promote causes I believe in.

But first, I have to defeat the Cult Master.

“Kendra,” Dr. Ernest says as the show begins, “Y'all have expressed a need to divorce your parents. And I want to tell you, this day is about to become a changing day in your life. Are you ready to begin?”

“Why not?” I ask, smiling. I might as well let the guy take his best shot before laying him flat.

“Tell me about your childhood in New York. Were you unhappy?”

I give an exaggerated sigh. Doesn't Ernest watch his competition? I've answered this question twenty times. “It wasn't horrible. I had everything I needed.”

He studies me with sympathetic brown eyes. “Except love?”

I feel my back stiffen in spite of my determination not to react. “Families show love in different ways.”

“And how did yours show it?”

“By giving me endless opportunities to learn, I guess. My parents believe that by training my brain, I'll be able to get the most out of life.”

He pats my arm so warmly that I have an urge to bite it. “But what about training your heart?” he asks.

“Eew,” I say, shuddering, “You're turning this into a
cringing
day, Dr. Ernest.” The audience murmurs disapprovingly. “Well, come on,” I tell them, “this whole divorce thing has been blown out of proportion. All I wanted was a chance to explore some things that don't interest my parents. Thanks to
The Black Sheep
, I got that chance, and it's been a great experience so far. Except for doing the talk-show circuit.”

Ernest opens his mouth to ask another stupid question and I cut him off. I am hijacking this interview. “Look, Ernest, I'm
fine
. For once, I feel good about my life. I don't hate my parents, I just don't
need
them. I've come a long way in five weeks.”

Ernest smiles. He has small teeth for a guy his size, but they're still sharklike. “So what you're saying is, you're all grown up.”

He's trying to make me look like an immature brat, but he'd have to get up a lot earlier to outfox me. “No, Ernest, I'm definitely a work in progress.”

“Well, I'm glad you think so, because I brought in some people to help you with that work.”

The panel behind him rises to reveal my parents. I gasp, and I hear the sound echoed throughout the audience as people recognize them from the show.

Okay, so Ernest is good, but I'm better: I recover quickly enough to give my parents a casual wave. If Ernest thinks he can use shock tactics to manipulate me into a bogus breakthrough, he's wrong. I'm going to give his PhD a run for its money. He's not even a real doctor.

“How does it feel to come face-to-face with your parents after being separated for so long?” he asks.

“It's nice to see them,” I say, turning slightly in my seat so that I can't actually see them. If I can't see them, I can keep the upper hand. It's just Ernest and me duking it out.

“Look at your body language,” he says. On the monitor, I see my arms crossed and my head averted—not quite the image I'd hoped to convey. “I think you need to be a little more honest with yourself about how you're feeling.”

Oh, I'll be honest with myself—I feel like I'm going to hurl—but I won't be honest with him. Instead, I uncross my arms and say, “I'm feeling the urge to discuss my activism, Ernest. Maybe you can help my parents understand why it's important to me.”

There's a fleeting glimpse of recognition in Ernest's eyes. Perhaps, like Terrance, he has a membership at Boulder Beach to protect. “Let's chat about your relationship with your parents more generally,” Dr. Ernest says.

Why should Ernest and Terrance call all the shots? If they're going to spring my parents on me to induce an emotional meltdown, I'm going to launch evasive maneuvers. “But the activism issue is way more interesting, Ernest. You see, I've joined this group called Team Fourteen, and we're trying to save endangered sea otters in Carmel. Unfortunately, we haven't been able to get the right people to listen.”

Ernest's smile is fixed and more sharklike than ever. “It sounds like you're directing the anger you feel for your parents into this cause,” he says. “How's that working for you?”

“I'm pretty happy with the way things are going so far.”

“Why don't you tell us what your parents did to make you so angry that you'd want to divorce them?”

“The divorce wasn't my idea.” He's clinging to the whole divorce thing like a ferret to a diamond ring.

“Does your anger have anything to do with our other guest?” he persists.

Another panel rises to reveal Rosa. She's wearing her favorite multicolor cardigan, as if it were just a regular day.

“Oh, no,” I say. If anyone can crack this vault, it's Rosa.

“Tell everyone who this is, Kendra,” Ernest says.

My mouth has gone dry. “Rosa—my former nanny.”

Rosa leaps out of her chair and hurries over to crush me in a bear hug, muttering in Spanish.

“Care to translate?” Ernest asks me.

“She says I'm too skinny, too pale, and too mouthy.”

The audience laughs.

“And in big trouble,” Rosa adds, still clutching my arm.

Ernest beckons my parents. “Come over and join us, Mom and Dad.”

My parents silently take their seats beside Rosa. Up close, I see they're both wearing a thick layer of makeup, which has pooled in the lines around Mom's eyes. The bright lights show the silver in Dad's hair. They look almost as old as Mona and Max.

“Well, go on, Mom and Dad,” Dr. Ernest says. “Give your daughter a big ol' hug.”

Mom steps forward and puts her arms around me gingerly.

Dr. Ernest shakes his bald head. “You call that a hug?”

To demonstrate proper form, he comes over and crushes me against his chest. “She's not a porcupine, she's your daughter. Put a little heart into it.”

When he finally releases me, I can feel the imprint of his tiepin on my cheek.

“We're not demonstrative people,” Mom says, “but that doesn't mean we don't love our daughter.”

“In our family, we have unspoken communication,” Dad supplies.

Dr. Ernest crosses his arms and leans back in his chair. “The daughter you say you love wants to sever her relationship with you. So how's the unspoken communication working for you?”

“It isn't working at the moment,” my mother admits. “But that's because of this silly TV show. Until Kendra got involved with
The Black Sheep
, everything was fine.”

“See?” I tell Ernest. “We were fine.”

Dr. Ernest turns to Rosa and she shakes her head. “Not fine,” she says.

My mother spins to stare at Rosa. “Excuse me?”

“I'll thank you not to comment on my family's business,” Dad says.

“I was invited to comment,” Rosa tells Dad. “I'm part of Kendra's family, too.”

“Now, now, Dad,” Dr. Ernest says. “Rosa is only trying to express how she feels. And God bless you, Rosa, for claiming that right.”

Rosa beams at Dr. Ernest.

“I understand you keep your daughter on a very strict schedule,” Dr. Ernest continues.

“Too strict,” Rosa says.

“Maybe Mom and Dad can tell us why—” he begins, but Rosa cuts him off.

“I'll tell you why.” She jumps up off her seat and comes to stand beside me. “Because they'd rather work than spend time with their child. It's always been that way.”

Even though I've said the same thing myself, it hurts to hear it coming from Rosa—and in front of an audience.

“That's not true,” my mother objects.

“We work hard to give Kendra all she needs to have a good life,” my father adds. “A nice home, private school, tutoring, music lessons…”

Dr. Ernest says, “I think that's a valid—”

“You're her parents,” Rosa interjects. “You should be raising her yourself, not outsourcing the job.”

Rosa is speaking my parents' language now.

Mom appeals to Dr. Ernest. “We invest plenty of time in our daughter. Kendra and I go to art galleries all the time.”

“Once a month,” Rosa says.

Dr. Ernest turns to me. “Do you enjoy visiting art galleries?”

Sometimes I do, but Rosa doesn't give me a chance to say so. “She calls it ‘Torture Day.' They never ask her what she might like to do.”

“We have a plan for cultivating her mind,” Dad says.

“She has a mind of her own now,” Rosa says, pacing in front of my parents.

To my knowledge, Rosa never argued with my parents in all the years she worked for them. I can see her relief in being able to say how she really feels. Part of me wants to cheer her on, but another part wants to leap to my parents' defense. The two parts cancel each other out, leaving me paralyzed.

“We don't always enjoy the things that are good for us,” my father says.

“My point is that you don't want Kendra to think for herself because she might realize that she doesn't want the life
you
want for her,” Rosa says.

The audience bursts into spontaneous applause, and Rosa looks around, startled, as if she forgot they were there.

My mother doesn't wait for the applause to die before responding. “Kendra can live whatever life she chooses.”

Rosa puts her hands on her hips. “Then why aren't you supporting her decision to take a stand against that golf course in Carmel?”

“That's just some foolishness the Mulligans dragged her into,” Dad says.

“It's not foolish to Kendra,” Rosa says. “It's important to her.”