Puppet Wrangler (9 page)

That whole day we spent together was fun. Kathleen even took me to her hair appointment. They didn't have any openings, but Kathleen made a big fuss with the receptionist about all the money she spends there on dye jobs and facials and other things I don't even like to think about. The customers were beginning to stare, so the head guy promised to squeeze me in for a cut and blow-dry. I was sort of embarrassed about it, but when the poor little receptionist scurried off to see who could “do” me, Kathleen turned around and winked at me like “We did it, kid!” or “You and me, baby, all the way!” Something like that. I can't describe it exactly, but it was definitely a “we're buddies” type of thing to do.

We were both pretty tired when we got home, so we just flaked out in front of the TV. I was worried Kathleen was going to make me watch one of those old-fashioned shows about lords and ladies where they laugh at things that aren't funny and talk about things you don't understand. You know, your typical grown-up's idea of a good show. Something you could almost imagine my mother approving of.

Something even I wouldn't want to watch.

So was I ever relieved when she said, “Why don't we make a big bowl of popcorn and watch the Home Design Channel?”

The popcorn was pathetic—Kathleen doesn't take butter or salt—but everything else was perfect. It turned out we both loved decorating shows. And we both loved the really bad ones as much as the really good ones. (The bad ones are way funnier.)

We talked and talked and talked and I wasn't shy at all.

I didn't always agree with her at first. Kathleen likes her rooms like she likes her popcorn.

Plain.

Or, as she'd say, “Simple, but elegant.” (I'm the type that goes for the butter, the salt and the dill pickle flavoring. If I'd been rich and the type of person who liked other people to look at me, I'd have gone for a house with the works too.)

The more Kathleen talked, though, the more I started to understand what she meant. I actually began to see why those pouffy curtains were a big mistake. Or why that lady was smart to knock the wall out between her kitchen and her dining room. Or how a simple, deep grey velvet would have looked so much more sophisticated than that busy flowered fabric. I started to get really excited about how I could decorate under my bed, especially when that show came on about “Making the most of low ceilings.”

I got so excited I almost told Kathleen about Dreemland. I said, “You know, I…” She turned and looked at me like she was really interested in what I was going to say. That's when I knew I had to change the subject. I didn't want to ruin everything by being weird. Telling her I liked lying under my bed. Making it like my own little house. What was she going to say to that? I don't know—but I knew what she'd be thinking: Get this kid out of here.

Kathleen kept looking at me with her eyebrows way up, so I had to think of something to say.

Brain panic.

Finally I said, “I…I think you should produce a decorating show. You'd be good at it.”

I love it when things like that happen. When you just accidentally say the right thing. Kathleen's face got all happy.

That's exactly what she'd always wanted to do! she said.

Bitsie 'n' Bytesie
just kind of fell into her lap, but she never really wanted to do kids' TV. She doesn't really understand children.
³⁵

Home design she understood. That's where her heart was,
³⁶
she said. She was really working hard trying to come up with an idea for a series. The problem was “the market was flooded.” There were so many home decorating shows already on the air. Kathleen needed to come up with one that was different, something with an “angle,” a “hook” that the broadcaster would go for. You can have the world's greatest idea for a show, but if one of the channels won't pick it up, it's not worth much. Etc. Etc. Etc.

She was really running off at the mouth by this time and I wasn't getting one hundred percent of what she was talking about. But it didn't matter. I was just glad to make her so happy.

It was like I'd given her a pale pink sweater or something.

Of course, all Bitsie thought was why didn't
he
get one too.

²⁴
It was when I pointed out a jacket I really liked – but hey, she still laughed.

²⁵
Or at least all that.

²⁶
You got to figure the food Grammie was feeding them was pretty bad if Kathleen would get all excited about a secondhand Queenburger in a soggy bun.

²⁷
Kathleen?!? Big hug?!? How badly did she want those burgers?

²⁸
All sorts of guys??????

²⁹
Take my mother out?????

³⁰
She got me to try on the sweater, and I really liked it, but she said it wasn't my color. So much for being sentimental, eh?

³¹
I guess after that many Duchess Dogs, anybody would go organic.

³²
This one I don't even like to think about.

³³
Dad had hair?

³⁴
She actually said that.

³⁵
No kidding. Though of course I didn't say that. In fact, I tried really hard to look like it wasn't even true.

³⁶
So that's where it was. I'm just joking. Kathleen has a good heart. It was just a little shy about speaking up. Can you blame it? Kathleen's head was pretty pushy.

22
BITSIE AND THE
GREEN-EYED MONSTER.

Puppets can be so immature.

I went to the studio the next Monday and everyone had something nice to say. Nick said my new short hair brought out my green eyes.
³⁷
Audrey, the writer, said red was my color, even though she had every right still to be mad at me for calling her Artery. Even Mel said, “What are you all dressed up for?” which doesn't sound like much, but from Mel it was a compliment. Believe me.

Did I say everyone had something nice to say?

I meant everyone but Bitsie.

I knew something was up from the moment we started taping the day's episode. Bitsie didn't try to make me laugh once. Even when Rom's eyeball fell out and Mel threw this big hairy fit on the set, Bitsie just lay there like he was brain dead or a puppet or something. That would never have happened normally.

I tried to tell myself he was just tired or worn out. I didn't know. Maybe there was a puppet flu going around or something.

No such luck.

That night I waited so long under the beach house that I started to think Bitsie wasn't coming. I was actually beginning to get worried. I was just about to go look for him when he came sauntering in like he was the coolest guy at the video arcade or something. He went, “Oh, what are you doing here?” like I didn't go there almost every night after work.

I let it go. (“Letting things go” is another thing the family counselor liked to talk about. Sometimes it's just not worth getting into a fight.) I thought I'd tell him about my nice weekend with Kathleen.

Big mistake.

I told Bitsie about shopping for clothes. He said red brought out the color of the pimple on my chin. I told him about the hair salon. He said he liked the way my new do made my ears stick out. I told him about Mum and Dad. He said until that moment he'd been sure no one could be more pathetic than me and Nick, my little imaginary friend. I told him about watching the home decorating shows. He went on a major rant about how of course Kathleen loved that garbage! She was obsessive-compulsive! I pretended I knew what obsessive-compulsive meant because I didn't want to give him the satisfaction of getting to explain it to me.

As if that would stop him.

Mr. Health Channel went into great detail about this mental condition where people become absolutely obsessed about getting everything just perfect, and if it isn't just perfect they go completely insane. He claimed that Kathleen was the worst case of obsessive-compulsive disorder he'd ever seen.

That's when I decided to stop just “letting it go.” What did he know? I said. Was he a psychiatrist? A psychologist?

A human being?

No.

He was just a puppet who watched too much TV! He was just jealous because Kathleen and I actually had some fun together! That's why he had to put me and her and all my friends down like that!

There was no reason to be so mean! If Bitsie wanted to go to the mall so badly, I'd take him! All he had to do was say the word!

Me and my big mouth.

Instead of fighting back, Bitsie just went, “Okay.”

“Okay, what?” I said, all ready to let him have it.
³⁸

“Okay, I want to go to the mall.”

What could I do? I had to take him. I said I would.

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Even now, my heart still explodes when I think about it.

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I was starting to understand why Bess always looked so excited about a big screaming match with my parents. For a while there, it actually felt kind of good.

23
AN EXCITING NEW
SHOPPING EXPERIENCE!

I was a little nervous about the whole thing. I knew there was no way I should be taking a $10,000 puppet shopping. But like I said—what could I do? I promised.

There was another thing too. I'd never had many friends before. Real friends, I mean, who weren't there just because my dad was a rich
³⁹
doctor. Or because they wanted to have a good seat if Bess got arrested again.

Bitsie was annoying, childish and full of himself, but he was a real friend. The only reason he was there was me. He really liked me. I mean, why else would he get so jealous?

And I liked him too. He was smart
⁴⁰
and funny.
⁴¹
I hated hurting his feelings, and this seemed like a pretty easy way to fix things. I had the taxi vouchers to get there. I had my emergency money. I had a knapsack to hide him in (as long as he promised not to step on my Choc-o-rama). And Bitsie had keys to get in and out of the studio.

One little trip to the mall. What could it hurt?

Nothing, it turned out. Bitsie kept his mouth shut as we went past the security guard at the studio, and I only had to shush him once in the taxi. (I told the cabdriver I had something stuck up my nose.) And even though Bitsie was really, really excited to be in the mall, he still managed to whisper.

Constantly.

But at least he whispered.

It was kind of cute actually. Like taking a three-year-old to the zoo or something. I thought he'd be really interested in getting out in the real world, seeing how people lived, how civilization worked, that type of thing.

But no. Bitsie was just interested in the stuff they advertise on TV.

He poked half his head and a few toes
⁴²
out of my knapsack. He'd spot something down the mall and go, “Look, look, look, look, look, look!” all excited. “It's Donut Delite!” or “Casbah Carpets!” or “Mr. Big's Fashions for the Larger Man!”

Then he'd give me a major nudge in the ribs like I was his horse or something, and I'd have to trot over for a closer look. The whole way there he'd be singing the store's advertising jingle or repeating the special offers like they were this really important information. How to get out of a burning building, say, or what will be covered on Tuesday's Natural Science test.

Then he'd make me go into the store and try on the “AirPocket” running shoes to see if they really did support my arches better than other leading brands. Or buy a Fudge X-plosion Ice Cream Treat to watch the Pow-r Flav-r make my eyeballs spin. Or check out the patented Super Suktion of the convenient new Miracle-Vac. Sometimes he'd even make me buy stuff. Nothing he could actually use—like another tube of rubber cement, say, or some yellow fuzz to fill in that bald spot he had in the back.

No. Couldn't do that. That would almost make sense.

Instead, Bitsie would beg and beg and whimper away until finally I'd break down and spend my emergency money on his very own glow-in-the-dark dog collar or bottle of Hyper-Wipe bathroom disinfectant or medicated bunion-removal strips for “greater comfort on your walk of life.”

At first I thought Bitsie was just pretending to be so excited about these brand-name products. I mean, who really takes that stuff seriously? Then I realized Bitsie didn't have Media Awareness classes in school. He didn't have a mother who hated TV only slightly less than I hated turnips. And he didn't have anything better to do with his time. I guess if television was my only friend, my only teacher and as close as I got to having a parent, I'd want to believe it too.

See, that's the difference between Bitsie and me. I love TV the way I love junk food. I'm not supposed to have either, so I stuff myself full of both of them whenever my mother's not looking. But I don't think they're good for me. I mean, I might like having a caramel crunch donut with every meal, but I don't think they should be on the Canada Food Guide or anything. They're just junk food.

The same thing with TV. Even educational TV is just junk with fiber. Like those whole-grain tofu brownies Mum makes as a so-called treat.

When I want a treat, I want a treat. Something I can actually enjoy. Something that's actually fun. Something that has absolutely nothing to do with nutrition or education or doing the right thing. That's why I don't tune in to
Organ Over
view
on the Health Channel to find out everything there is to know about my intestines. When I get to watch TV, I watch
Adventures of Diamond Eyes
,
Fang: Dog of the Undead
or—even better—
Summer Homes of the Rich and Lazy
.

I mean, it's just TV. It's a toy. It's not life. But Bitsie didn't understand that. I don't know why. He couldn't tell the difference between what was on TV and what was real. Seeing all those “nationally advertised brands” up close was a big deal for him. I wasn't going to ruin his fun by telling him the real story.