The Black Sheep (12 page)

Judy jerks her flashlight over to blind me, proving that she moves a lot faster than your average jellyfish.

Max and Mona made only one special request when they agreed to participate in
The Black Sheep
, and that was for Sunday dinner to be a camera-free event. Judy and crew have respected this request, but after discovering Mitch and me in the jellyfish exhibit, she had no intention of releasing her prey without a few good stings. Over Mona's objections, she invited herself for a vegetarian feast and brought Bob along to document the occasion.

“So, Kendra,” she begins in her singsong, ha-ha-I'm-about-to-drop-a-bomb-on-you voice. “Are you excited about going home tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow?” I say, trying to disguise the panic in my voice. She can't pull the plug on this now. My life is just beginning to heat up—in more ways than one. “I have a whole week to go. Plus, you said these things usually hang over.”

“I did say that, but your endless complaints haven't fallen on deaf ears, kiddo. I made a few calls and busted you out of here early.” She takes a huge gulp of wine and dabs at the edges of her mouth with an otter napkin. “You can thank me later.”

I'm sure it's no coincidence that the minute I start to enjoy myself, Judy has to shake it up again in the endless search for conflict.

“You don't have enough footage for the final shows,” I point out.

“I've got loads of footage in the bank. We'll be fine.”

“What about Maya? She's having a great time and I'm sure she doesn't want to come home early.”

“Maybe we'll have you both in New York for a bit. I'm still working out the details.”

I look around the table for support, but everyone appears to be in shock, especially Mitch. “I can't go yet,” I say.

“Why not?” She grins around her wine glass at Mitch. “What's changed?”

“What's changed is Team Fourteen. I've never been involved in a project like this before, and I want to see it through.”

“You mean, Team Lost Cause. You can't honestly believe that motley crew is going to convince a prestigious golf club to rearrange its multimillion-dollar designer fairway because of a couple of dead seals?”

“That's exactly what I believe. Except for the fact that it's otters.” The more Judy disses Team 14, the more determined I am to do whatever it takes to prove her wrong.

Max raps his fork against the table. “You tell her, honey.”

“You're welcome to stay here even after filming is done,” Mona says.

I smile with relief. “Then I'll be here a while longer.”

Judy punches some buttons into the phone and hands it to me. “Let's get your parents' permission,” she says.

“Do you mind if I take this upstairs? It's a private conver—”

“Zoom in,” Judy tells Bob.

My mother picks up at the other end, and with a last desperate look at Mitch, I say, “Hi, Mom, it's Kendra.”

“Kendra?” She sounds confused.

“Kendra Bishop—your daughter.”

Judy grabs the phone and presses speaker so that Bob's mike can pick up both sides of the conversation.

Meanwhile, my father comes on the extension. “Is everything all right, Kendra? You're not supposed to call, are you?”

“It's okay, Dad, I have permission to break the rules. But everything's all right.”

“Good,” he says. “You look well on the show. The Mulligans must be taking good care of you. Please tell them their daughter is delightful.”

“Delightful,” Mom echoes.

I haven't spoken to my parents in weeks and all they want to talk about is Maya. “I saw what you let her do to my room,” I say.

“It can all be changed back,” Mom says.

“I didn't change
her
room at all.” I don't know why I'm going on about this, since I don't even care anymore.

“Let's not worry about that now,” Dad says. “When are you coming home?”

I tell them all about Boulder Beach and Team 14. “Mona said I could stay as long as it takes to get the club to agree to do the right thing.”

“Your father and I golfed there last fall after the San Francisco Marathon,” Mom says. “It's already marvelous, but moving that hole to the shore would make it even better.

I can't believe my ears. “It won't be marvelous for the otters living in the cove.”

Dad cuts in. “I'm sure the Coast Guard can move them along. Get Max to give them a call.”

I feel my face flush at their ignorance. “Dad, they're animals. They have the right to live wherever they want.”

“Be reasonable, Kendra. Surely there's a compromise?”

“There's no compromise. Besides, the golf club wouldn't take any of my calls.”

“You can't pester them like that, Kendra,” Dad says, his voice becoming stern. “They're busy people with a business to run.”

“I thought you'd be proud that I'm becoming a concerned citizen.” I didn't actually think so, but it would have been nice.

“It sounds like bleeding-heart foolishness,” he says.

Mom says, “If you're really interested in these…”

“Otters,” I supply.

“…you could take a course at the Central Park Zoo. As long as it counts as a science credit, we're in full support.”

“You'd be in full support of my jumping off the Brooklyn Bridge if it counted as a science credit,” I say, raising my voice.

“You're being ridiculous,” Mom says.

“And you're missing the point! You're not listening to me.”

“Of course we're listening,” Mom says, sounding surprised by my outburst.

“But you still have to come home,” Dad concludes. “Judy called earlier to say we should expect you tomorrow night. We can't wait for you to meet Maya—”

I click
END
and hand the phone back to Judy, wondering how long my cash from the show will hold out if I rent a place of my own in New York. Probably not long enough to make it through high school.

The kitchen is quiet. I scan the table. The only people who meet my eyes are the twins.

“Your parents are mean,” Mason says. Matt nods agreement.

“They're not mean, they're just not interested in animals,” I say, although I can see why the twins would think so. Why couldn't my parents support my interests for once? Here I am, thrilled to be part of a team that's trying to make a difference, and all they can think about is the busy executives we're bothering.

Mona is watching me with sympathetic eyes. “We know they're good people, dear. They've been wonderful with Maya.”

Silence descends once again, broken only by the clatter of knives and forks on china. Meadow is the first to speak. “Are those real diamonds?” she asks, pointing to the ring on Judy's right hand.

Judy rolls her eyes. “There are no fakes in Judy's life, kid.”

That's a laugh. From where I'm sitting, everything's fake in Judy's life.

“Can I try it on?” Meadow asks.

“If you must.” She takes the ring off and passes it to Meadow.

Meadow slips the glittery rock onto her skinny finger. “Are you engaged?”

Judy shakes her head. “It's a commitment ring—a commitment to Judy. I don't need a man to buy me nice things.”

Meadow is unimpressed. “I'd rather let guys buy the bling. That way, I can spend my money on a great big car.” She flings her arms apart to show how big, and the ring flies off her finger and shoots across the room.

Before it's even stopped rolling, there's a flash of silver fur and the ring is gone.

Judy leaps to her feet, knife at the ready. “Which way did it go? I'll fillet that rat.”

“Kids, you'd better find Manhattan before Judy does,” Mona says.

Meadow and the twins follow Judy out of the room, while Bob documents the Great Ferret Hunt.

“We know how frustrated you must be, Kendra,” Max says after they're gone. “But your parents might come around when they've had a chance to think about it.”

“You don't know my parents,” I say, still too mortified to look at Mitch. “They just don't get it.”

“Remember your parents, Mona?” Max asks.

Mona explains that her parents disapproved of her first protest to protect an ancient redwood forest that had been targeted for destruction by a developer. “Being from Chicago, they'd never seen a tree that's hundreds of years old and twenty stories high—a tree that's survived flood and fire and continued to shelter us.”

“A miracle of nature,” Max adds reverently. “But if you haven't experienced that kind of majesty personally, it's easier to ignore that it's being destroyed.”

“Plus, my parents didn't care much for my Max,” Mona says, with a fond pat to her Max's belly. “They thought he was leading me astray.”

“Whereas, I was following her lead,” he says, nibbling on her ear.

Mona recounts how they invited potential buyers to the woods to see what would be sacrificed for their new homes. Many withdrew their deposits, but it wasn't enough to kill the plan. Finally, Max and Mona organized a rally in which nearly a hundred students—including the mayor's son, the governor's son, and the granddaughter of the developer himself—chained themselves to tree trunks.

“In the end, the government bought the land back from the developer and declared it protected,” Max says. “It was our first win.”

“Yeah, but then you were arrested,” Mitch says.

Mona and Max exchange uneasy glances. “There was a little trouble with the law,” Mona admits. “But my father was a lawyer and he dealt with it. Afterward, we took him up to the forest and then he completely understood. In fact, both my parents became such supporters that they asked us to scatter their ashes there.”

“My parents want their ashes scattered in the lobby of Bank of America,” I say, glad the cameras are out of the room.

Mona laughs. “Well, honey, everyone has a passion.”

“I just wish they understood me the way you do. You know me better than my own parents. I want to stay here forever.”

Mona leans over to give me one of her bone-crushing hugs just as Judy reappears in the doorway, looking the worse for wear. Her hair is a mess, and there's a dirty streak running down the front of her white T-shirt. Bob is shooting over her shoulder.

“You sound distraught, KB,” Judy says, oozing sympathy. “If you're that upset, Judy has a solution: divorce your parents.”

“Divorce them? That's a great idea,” I say.

She misses my sarcasm. “Isn't it? The process is actually called
emancipation
, and it's legal at your age in California.”

“Judy, don't give Kendra such ideas,” Mona says. “I'd be angry if you suggested it to Maya.”

“I'd never need to, would I?” Judy says, smiling sweetly. “It's Kendra who's miserable. She wants to play Mother Teresa of the Sea, and her parents are standing in the way. But as you know your contracts give us the right to extend the show by two weeks at our discretion. As a personal favor to you, KB, I just called our VP of programming. He's willing to consider green-lighting the extra episodes if you're willing to consider the idea of emancipation. You'll get to finish the show as planned, and have an extra couple of weeks to boot.”

“I'm not going to divorce my parents,” I say. “That's crazy.”

“I said
consider
it, not
do
it. We just want you to toss the idea around for a while.” She rubs her temples and sighs. “Look, kid, we all make sacrifices to get what we want. Do you think Judy's hanging out with you people because she wants to? Hardly. I've got ambitions. Now, do you want to help those poor seals or not?”

“Of course I do. But I think Max has the right idea about getting my parents down here to see the otters. Then I'm sure they'd agree to let me stay.”

“Let me put this to you another way,” Judy says. “When I said the VP would consider green-lighting the extension, what I really meant was,
he already did
. Like it or not, we're going with the emancipation story line and it's going to be a ratings coup.”

Mona opens her mouth to protest, but Judy cuts her off by holding up one bare hand. “And you, Mona Mulligan, owe me a carat-and-a-half diamond ring.”

C
alvin turns around in the van's passenger seat and asks, “What's that smell? Did Kendra take another dump?”

Although Calvin wasn't at Paco's Tacos to witness the donkey debacle, the front page photo in the
Carmel Pinecone
circulated the story quickly.

Carrie leans forward to cuff the back of her brother's head. “Don't be such a pig.”

Calvin's been meaner than ever to me lately, perhaps because he suspects that Mitch and I have become more than just TV siblings.

Not that we're able to hang out like a normal couple. Thanks to Judy's constant vigilance and the endless supply of Mulligans, our relationship mostly revolves around stolen moments in the jellyfish exhibit. It isn't much, but what we lack in time, we make up for with energy.

Calvin reaches around to slap at his sister. “Someone filled a diaper back here, and I don't see you raising your hand.”

Judging by the droop in Egg's drawers, he's the guilty party. I cannot believe we got stuck with him today. We're on our way to Carmel with some of the Team 14 crew to hang out and do some sightseeing. Mitch and I had intended to give everyone the slip to spend some time alone together, but as usual, I underestimated Judy. When we were about to set off, she swept Max and Mona away in a limo for an all-expenses-paid day at Francis Ford Coppola's vineyard, leaving Mitch and me to babysit the kids.

“Mitch, you'd better pull over,” I say. “Someone has to change Egg.” It won't be me. Black Sheep do not change diapers.

Before Mitch can answer, Carrie screams. I lean over to see Manhattan tangled in her long hair. In the backseat, the twins are laughing their butts off with the open ferret cage between them.

Meadow tries to detach Manhattan. “Sorry, Carrie,” she says. “We don't like to leave him home alone with the dog. But he's supposed to stay in his cage.”

“Boys, behave,” I say, trying to sound like the leader I hope one day to become.

Mason echoes in a sing-song voice, “Boys, behave.” Matt giggles.

A leader must control her temper when the troops rebel. “I'm counting on you guys to be reasonable.”

“Let me handle this, Kendra,” Meadow says. She hands the ferret to one twin and pinches the other twin until he bleats. “Put the ferret in the cage and leave him there, or we are dumping both of you by the side of the road and telling Mom you drowned.”

The boys obey her without delay, illustrating what effective leadership is all about.

Carmel is a pretty town, and strolling around its narrow streets would have been romantic if Mitch and I were alone. Instead, I am toting an irritable nine-month-old, and Mitch is distracted by two active boys and an even more active ferret on a leash. I tried to get Carrie to take the whole brood when we split up, but she drew the line at Meadow, and I can't blame her.

The crew tailed us all morning, but Judy eventually disappeared inside the offices of the
Carmel Pinecone
. According to Bob, she hit it off with a photographer at the Paco's Tacos party and wants to check him out while sober. As soon as she was gone, the rest of the crew broke for lunch.

Mitch and I and the kids are on our way to a family-friendly art gallery when I notice two men stepping into an elegant-looking French bistro.

“Did you see those men?” I ask Mitch excitedly. “It's the president and vice-president of the Boulder Beach Golf Club. I recognize their photos from the club's Web site.”

Mitch joins me at the restaurant window, and we peer in at the two men. Both are about Max's age, only, unlike Max, they are well-groomed and stylishly dressed. If they'd had the decency to take my phone calls last week, I might even say they're handsome. One has silver hair and a goatee; the other is balding and has a chiseled face.

“Let's go in there and talk to them,” I suggest, proving to myself how far I've come. The Kendra Bishop who touched down in Monterey was incapable of spontaneity.

“We can't do that,” Mitch says.

“Why not? It's a public place. We'll tell them about Team Fourteen.”

He shakes his head. “Lisa isn't ready for that yet.”

“But it's the perfect opportunity, and it may never come again. Lisa said I ruined her chances of getting a meeting with them, and now I can make it up to her.”

“I don't know,” he says. “It could make things worse.”

“How? They're already refusing to speak to us.”

He seems to be wavering. “What would we say? We don't have data.”

“Science isn't everything, you know, especially with money people. We could talk about how their members will be upset about moving the fourteenth hole if it hurts the environment.”

I start to walk toward the door while my courage is still high, and Mitch follows.

“Aren't you nervous?” he asks, pausing to tie the ferret to a post.

I turn and see admiration in his eyes, which spurs me to bluff a little. “No. I may be afraid of sharks and jellyfish, but I'm not afraid of money people.”

We enter the restaurant and the maître d' hurries over.

“Let me handle this,” I whisper to Mitch, giving the maître d' my Cannery Row celebrity smile—the one that gets me freebies every time. “How are you today, sir?”

“What can I do for you?” he asks as snootily as if he were actually from France, which he isn't. Unfortunately, he doesn't recognize me, which means my minor fame won't hold any currency here.

“We'd like to have a word with those gentlemen,” I say, pointing at the Boulder Beach execs.

Snootre d' looks us over with evident distaste. “I don't think so. They've asked not to be disturbed.”

“I'm sure they wouldn't mind a brief interruption,” I say. “We're kids—what harm could we do?”

Egg reaches out to the maître d' stand and sends a bowl of matches flying in every direction.

The maître d' abandons his proper French manner to gesture rudely with his thumb. “Back it up.”

A Black Sheep doesn't give up so easily. I try charm, reason, and mild threats, all to no avail. There's only one card left to play, and I play it shamelessly: “Maybe you've heard of my TV show—
The Black Sheep
? If you let us in, I promise to send the camera crew over later to give you guys a nice plug.”

As it happens, sometimes you have to take that “don't let the door hit you on the way out” line literally.

* * *

Mitch and the twins trail after me down the alley beside the restaurant.

“Breaking and entering might be common in New York,” he says, scanning the alley nervously. “But around here, people take it very seriously.”

“It's not breaking and entering if the door's ajar,” I say.

Black Sheep Rule Number Seventeen:
The end justifies the means
. (This one is on loan from some dead philosopher.)

I creep up the back stairs and peer around, trying not to think too much about what I'm doing. Otherwise, I'll chicken out, and I really believe this plan could work. If it does, Mitch might be even more impressed by my courage.

The kitchen is to my left, where several staff are too busy assembling food on plates to notice me. There's a short corridor ahead that probably leads to the dining room. I look back at Mitch and whisper, “All clear. Let's go.”

Mitch tells the twins to stay in the alley and follows me inside with Egg on his hip. We sneak past the kitchen door and down the corridor to push open the door to the dining room. In a matter of seconds, we're standing beside the Boulder Beach executives' table.

The men look up at us, surprised. I know from the Web site that the silver goatee guy is the biggest wig, so I direct my smile at him.

“May I help you?” he asks.

“Yes, sir,” I say. I've learned from dealing with my parents and their colleagues that money people like displays of respect. “We'll only take a moment of your time.”

The maître d' approaches at a run. “I'm so sorry, gentlemen. They slipped past me somehow. Shall I call the authorities?”

Bigwig finishes his last spoonful of soup and dabs at the corners of his mouth with a white linen napkin. “That won't be necessary. I'm sure they don't mean any harm.”

The maître d' withdraws to hover nearby, and Bigwig motions for us to sit down.

“You obviously have something on your mind,” Bigwig says, as I slide into the chair next to him.

Money people enjoy compliments about their assets. “It's about your beautiful golf course, sir.”

Bigwig fiddles with his gold cuff link and smiles. “Have you played it?”

“Not yet, but I've heard wonderful things about its design, and I hope you won't change a thing before I get my chance.”

“What are you getting at?” Vice Wig demands abruptly. Up close, he's not nearly as polished as Bigwig. In fact, he looks like a well-dressed thug. “We don't have time to waste.”

Bigwig raises a manicured hand. “Now, now, let the lady speak.”

“It's about the fourteenth hole, sir. We heard you were planning to move it, and we'd like to respectfully ask that you leave it where it is.”

Bigwig turns to Vice Wig and chuckles. “Did you put them up to this?”

Vice Wig shakes his head and drains his martini.

Egg starts to whimper, and Mitch joggles him on his knee. “It isn't a joke,” he says. “If you move your fairway closer to that cove, it's going to hurt the environment.”

“The sea otter population is already endangered,” I add. “Toxic runoff from your course could poison their food chain and affect reproduction.”

Bigwig raises his groomed eyebrows. “Do you have any proof of that?”

“Not yet, sir,” I say, silently cursing Lisa for being right. “We didn't want to wait for hard numbers.” I consider delivering an emotional speech about how losing even one otter would be a crime, but decide against it. Money people hate messy emotions. Instead, I appeal to their wallets. “I know that your members care about the welfare of endangered species.”

Then Bigwig leans forward. “You two seem to know an awful lot about us, and we don't even know your names.”

I extend a hand and offer Bigwig a firm grip. Money people can't stand weak handshakes. “I'm Kendra Bishop. This is Mitch Mulligan and his brother Egg—I mean, Milo.”

“Keira, I want you to listen very carefully,” Bigwig says, signaling the waiter for another round of martinis. “I hugged a tree or two myself at your age, but now I run a very large, very successful business. I've acquired this beautiful piece of land, and it's going to make my business even more successful. I'm not about to change my plans just because a girl comes crying to me about otters.”

I can't afford to get sidetracked by the crying comment. “I understand your business is important, but maybe you could ask some experts before making the move.”

The Vice Wig cuts me off, pointing to the entrance. “What's going on here today?”

We all turn to see Judy pushing past the maître d', with Chili. She has Manhattan's leash in one hand. Meanwhile, Bob is coming in the back door leading the twins.

Perhaps in the hopes of ramping up the conflict, Judy “drops” the leash, and Manhattan scampers across the restaurant toward us. He climbs Mitch's leg and jumps onto the table.

The Wigs rear back in alarm, uttering man-squeals. “Get it off,” the Vice Wig says. He doesn't sound so tough now.

Bob raises his camera for a close-up.

“Get that out of my face!” Bigwig shouts, causing Egg to burst into tears.

The Vice Wig jumps up and tries to wrestle the camera off Bob's shoulder, and a couple of busboys arrive to help. One of them stops and points at me. “That's the girl from the reality show—
The Black Sheep
.”

Judy, now in the clutches of the maître d', calls, “Indeed she is.” She shakes herself loose and walks over to the Wigs. “I'm Judith Greenberg, the show's producer.”

Bigwig stands to get away from the ferret and asks, “Is this some silly prank to embarrass us on TV?”

“No, sir,” I say. “We're very serious about our cause.” Money people value good references, so I try to strengthen my credentials. “We represent the Monterey Bay Aquarium.”

“Wait a second,” he says, making the connection at last. “Are you the lunatic who called us a hundred times?”

“He called me a lunatic,” I moan. “A lunatic!”

“I know,” Mitch says, “but can't you put it out of your mind for a while? It took less effort to plan the American Revolution than it did to arrange a few hours alone with you.”

“You're right.” I shouldn't be wasting precious minutes complaining when Mitch has gone to so much trouble. It's like bringing the Boulder Beach bigwigs along on our first official date.

Max and Mona were still in wine country when we got home from Carmel, so Mitch tracked down a babysitter and paid double her usual rate to get her to cancel her own plans. To ditch Judy, we cycled to the aquarium. She followed in
The Black Sheep
van, of course, but in the parking lot Mitch told her we were going to the lab to analyze samples, and described the process in excruciating detail. For good measure, he added that Lisa is away at a conference. With all hope of conflict gone, Judy cut the crew loose for a few hours, and booked herself a massage.