Puppet Wrangler Page 10

  So we shot the line again—and guess what?

  Yup. Bitsie did it again. Four more times, in fact—and then Kathleen exploded.

  Like “ka-boom!”

  She started screaming. “What’s the matter with that blankety-blank blank?”52 Zola tried to say that she’d call Laird the puppet builder to come and fix him, but Kathleen just pushed her aside and charged up onto the set.

  It was a weird scene. Kathleen was wearing one of those plain black suits that smart, successful people wear, but her face was completely crazy. Even her hair had gone kind of psycho. She didn’t care. She just hurled herself screaming through the studio. She was so deranged that she missed the last step up to the set and fell flat on her face. One shoe flew off 53 and her skirt got all scrunched up around her waist. But that didn’t slow her down. She just scrambled up onto one knee and lunged at Bitsie. She got him by the neck and started shaking him like she actually believed he was alive (but wished he wasn’t).

  Bitsie, of course, did this “innocent-bystander-attacked-by-raving-lunatic” thing. His eyes darted back and forth, his tongue hung out and his arms swung around like a rag doll’s. I could tell other people were falling for it. They looked really upset to see this helpless little latex alien at the mercy of an obviously demented producer. It made me feel sad. Nobody saw the other side of Kathleen—and after that little display I had the feeling that nobody was going to go looking for it.

  Nick was the one who finally got things under control—which only made me love him more, of course.

  He ran up to the set and tried to pull Kathleen’s skirt back down over her bum, but she kept swatting him away. To her, right then, the number of people who saw her underwear was completely beside the point.

  All she cared about was paying Bitsie back.

  Nick knew better than to fight with her. He turned around and smiled at us like a principal at the end of a school concert and sort of half-screamed over her yelling and cursing. “Well, ha-ha. I think we’ve probably done about as much as we’re going to today. Let’s call it a wrap. We’ll see you all back here Monday morning at seven. Have a good weekend!...Oh, Zola and Mel, I think Kathleen will probably want to have a word with you in her office now.”

  Frankly, I doubted it. Kathleen was still rolling around on the set with Bitsie, and personally, I would have just let her get it out of her system. I mean, by that point, what difference did it make? But I wasn’t in charge. I tried to smile at Zola in an “it-won’t-be-so-bad,” way and she tried to smile back, but I knew she was upset. She was going to get it from Kathleen—and miss the bus to her boyfriend’s concert too. I was glad I wasn’t a grown-up.

  Nick managed to pry Bitsie out of Kathleen’s fist and talk her into pulling her skirt down, and the four of them headed off to the office. Everyone else was clearing out as fast as they could. Can you blame them? Nobody wanted to be next.

  Bitsie was still lying on the set like a crime victim in a TV movie. Part of me felt like going up and rescuing him, but I decided against it. I wanted to know what I was going to say first. Do I tell him off—it was his fault after all—or do I try and comfort him? I knew Kathleen couldn’t have hurt him—he’s only latex—but it must have been pretty humiliating just the same.

  I decided to put the puppet doubles away first. It would give me a chance to figure out what to do. I’d just come back from storing Rom and Ram and was leaning toward giving Bitsie a piece of my mind when Zola walked in.

  Or rather ran in.

  I was surprised she was back so soon. I figured Kathleen must have just come straight out and fired her.

  “What happened?” I asked. “What did Kathleen say?”

  Zola was zooming around like the Roadrunner on fast-forward. Cleaning the work table, dusting the puppets and practically throwing them into the storage room. “She didn’t say a thing.”

  I was relieved.

  For a second, that is, until Zola added, “She just cried.

  Sobbed, in fact. Nick finally just let us go. It was horrible.”

  She shook her head in that sad way people on the news do when the reporter asks them what it feels like to watch their favorite cow get carried away by a tornado or something. I got the feeling Zola would have nightmares about this for the rest of her life.

  “I’m trying not to think about it,” she said, going back to throwing stuff in drawers. “If I leave right now, I can catch the bus to Jacob’s concert. He’ll help me. He used to volunteer in a psychiatric hospital before he became a musician, so he’ll understand.”

  Well, it looked at least like something good was going to come out of this mess.

  Zola tossed a few of those guinea pig treats she likes into her bag, kissed me on the cheek and bolted.

  She was practically out the door before she realized it.

  “Oh! I forgot Bitsie!” I shooed her away.

  “Run! Run! I’ll deal with him!”

  “But I have to call Laird about fixing his eye mec too! I better stay.”

  I slung her bag back over her shoulder and pushed her out the door.

  “Go!” I said. “I can handle Bitsie. It’ll be easy.”

  Ha!

  I’ve never been so wrong about anything in my life.

  52 I’ll leave the exact words to your imagination. Believe me, they were not what you’d expect to hear from someone who produces preschool television.

  53 It beaned Mel in the head and I couldn’t help noticing that the cameraman got a laugh out of that.

  35

  THE GUY WAS A MANIAC.

  Zola was gone like a minute when I turned around and saw Bitsie standing on the set sticking a big sharp utility knife into the side of his head. I tried to act as if that was perfectly normal.

  “All right, Bitsie. Drop the weapon and let’s go beddy-bye.”

  He glared at me and poked the knife in farther.

  “Put me in that storage closet and I’ll tear the back of my head off!” The guy clearly had been watching too many late-night movies.

  I had no idea what he was talking about, but I really wasn’t in the mood for another one of Bitsie’s stupid stunts. I went to grab the knife, but I forgot how fast he was. I pretended I didn’t care.

  “Fine. It’s your head.”

  Bitsie was ready for that. “Yeah, but you’re the one who’s supposed to be putting me away. And Zola’s the one who’ll get in trouble if anything happens to me.”

  These were both good points, but I still didn’t know where he was going with them.

  “What am I supposed to do with you if I don’t put you in the storage closet? Take you to the mall? Ha! I don’t think so.”

  Bitsie sighed like we’d been through this a thousand times. “No, not the mall.” Big eye roll. “You’re taking me to Arnold van Gurp’s!”

  36

  THE END OF THE WORLD

  AS I KNEW IT.

  Of course. Bitsie’d been listening to Zola too!

  Who could blame him for wanting to meet Arnold? It must have been like thinking you’re an orphan all your life and then hearing there’s a man who looks just like you living three streets away. Of course you’d want to find out if you were related. It made perfect sense. But there was an obvious problem.

  “You tear off the back of your head,” I said, “and Zola gets in trouble. You run away, and Zola gets in trouble. It’s all the same to me. Why should I take you there?” I was still being tough because Bitsie had put me through too much to just give in to him that easily.

  Bitsie didn’t put the knife down, but something about his eyes changed. “If I stay here with only half a head,” he said, “both Zola and I will be miserable. You take me to van Gurp’s and at least one of us will be happy.”

  He was right, but that didn’t make it any easier for me.

  Who was I going to hurt? My best friend who could also be a big selfish jerk? Or the nicest person I ever knew?

  I didn’t have time to decide. The door t
o the studio opened, and Bitsie and I both dived under the set.

  It was Nick. Looking for something.

  “I don’t see it here, Kathleen.”

  She didn’t answer. Unless you call a big wet sob an answer.

  “But that’s all right.” Nick was so nice. His voice was all soft and I’ll-take-care-of-you. “I don’t think you’ll be using your cell phone this weekend.”

  More sobs.

  “Now, now, now. I know that sounds painful to you at the moment, but it might turn out to be a good thing. You need a break.”

  That really set her off.

  “I do need a break!” Kathleen started burbling away like a little kid having a tantrum. “It’s not fair! All this stress! The money problems! The puppet problems!”

  She had a real big boo-hoo about that and I glared at Bitsie. He just sat there, of course, scraping the latex from the inside of his ear with the utility knife and acting like Kathleen was talking about Big Bird’s lisp or something.

  Nick was saying, “I know, I know,” and leading her out the door.

  “And if that’s not bad enough,” Kathleen really spat this out, “I get saddled with Dodo’s kid for the whole summer!”

  Right then, everything in the world changed for me.

  Nick said, “You’re right. That was an awful lot to ask you to do,” and closed the door.

  I turned to Bitsie and said, “When’s the first bus to Bousfield?”

  37

  SOMEONE OLDER AND WISER.

  I couldn’t cry in front of Bitsie. I had to make myself busy. Get my brain so full that it didn’t have room for Kathleen or Nick or all the other bad thoughts that were just dying to get in there and break my heart.

  I got on the phone. The only bus to Bousfield that weekend left at 7 a.m. Saturday and cost $79, round trip. Bitsie was thrilled. He figured we could just crash in front of the TV that night, then head off bright and early for the bus station the next morning.

  “How do you expect us to pay for the ticket?” I said in that “you idiot” voice he liked to use with me. “I spent all my emergency money on must-have items like glow-in-the-dark dog collars and leopard skin bras! I’m broke.”

  Bitsie tried to look sheepish. I ignored him and just focused on the problem. We didn’t have many options. Use my taxi vouchers? I was mad at Kathleen but still didn’t think it was fair to charge her thousands of dollars for a cab ride to Bousfield. Yard sale? No time, and I doubted there was much of a market for secondhand bras anyway. Borrow the money? Yeah, right. From whom? Steal it? No way. I was in enough trouble already.

  I wished there were someone I could ask—but who? Who would know what to do in a mess like this?

  Of course.

  Bess.

  38

  From: Telly

  To: bess mercer

  Subject: Urgent Transportation

  Dear Bess,

  It was so nice to get your long newsy letter. Oh and it brought back some memories! That crazy trip of yours to the Nude Square Dancing Convention! Ha-ha. That must have been quite an adventure! Funny thing is, I can’t for the life of me remember how you got there. I don’t recall any criminal charges being laid so I figure you didn’t steal a credit card or hi-jack a car. So how did you get there? It’s silly, but I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep until I find out. It’s sort of like having a song go round and round in your head, but you can’t remember the words. So annoying.

  Please get back to me as soon as humanly possible with the information. If I get it tonight, I promise I’ll write Mum Monday and ask her to let you go to the Turkey Burger again.

  Desperately,

  Telly

  From: bess mercer

  To: Telly

  Subject: Urgent Transportation u mean it about the turkey burger?

  From: Telly

  To: bess mercer

  Subject: Urgent Transportation

  Yes.

  From: bess mercer

  To: Telly

  Subject: Urgent Transportation

  its a deal. i hitched 2 halifax and then busked on spring garden road. i sang oops i did it again 4 about 5 hours straight and then the guy who owned the store i was standing in front of gave me $173 2 leave. i was sort of insulted because i was getting pretty good. i even made up some of my own verses. but who cares? i got enuf for a bus ticket 2 TO.

  looking forward 2 that burger. B

  39

  GOOD IDEAS COME FROM

  THE STRANGEST PLACES.

  Hitchhiking. I couldn’t do that. I’d be too scared.

  Busking. I couldn’t do that either. I’d be even more scared. Bess was the type who’d just open her mouth and wail away, and it wouldn’t matter to her how bad she was as long as people kept throwing money in her hat.

  There was no way I could put anyone through that, and I told Bitsie so.

  “Who said you had to sing?” he said.

  “Well, what else can I do? People are hardly going to give me money for reciting the times table.” Which is about the only thing I was ever very good at.

  “No—but people would give you money for puppeteering!”

  I was just about to say I couldn’t do that either when I realized I didn’t have to. For once, Bitsie’d had a good idea.

  40

  IT WENT TO HIS HEAD...

  We were lucky. It was June and warm. There were plenty of people on the sidewalks that night, just strolling around. I found a good place on Yonge Street near an ice-cream stand and took Bitsie out of my knapsack. Only he didn’t look like Bitsie very much anymore. Just to be on the safe side, we’d borrowed some things from the costume department and disguised him as a girl.

  A very ugly girl. With big red felt lips, glasses, a kerchief with orange braids sticking out, and a peasant blouse with two tennis balls glued underneath in the appropriate places. I thought he was going to hate it, but he was so flattered by the idea that someone might recognize him that he was practically unbearable.54

  I told myself this was going to be easy. All I had to do was move my lips as if I was trying not to move my lips and just let Bitsie do the rest. I put out a hat we’d also borrowed from the costume department and got started.

  It was easy. Really easy. Bitsie was so into it. He went nuts. He did the Macarena. He did impressions of Nelly Furtado and the prime minister and some famous lady who used to get married all the time. He sang goofy fake opera songs and made jokes that I didn’t get.

  But I guess they were funny. We’d only been doing it for about five minutes, but we already had a big crowd— and they were all laughing their heads off. Bitsie loved it.

  I should have too, I guess. Our hat was filling up pretty fast. But something was making me nervous.

  We were too good.

  We were attracting too much attention.

  I tried to tone Bitsie down a bit—but what could I do? I couldn’t say anything because people would get suspicious if we were both talking at the same time (and believe me, Bitsie had no intention of shutting up). I couldn’t stop him from moving. He was in charge there too. So I threw my hoodie over his head thinking I’d say, “That’s all for now, folks,” and they’d leave and I’d have a chance to talk to him alone about my worries. But that didn’t work either. Bitsie just threw the hoodie off, made some joke about puppet abuse and picked up right where he left off.

  I tried to relax and go with it. I figured we almost had enough money so we wouldn’t have to do it much longer.

  I was almost calm—until the lady with the yellow hair asked me that question.

  “Where did a young girl like you learn to puppeteer like this?”

  Of course I didn’t get to answer it. Bitsie took it upon himself to supply all the gory details. He started out okay.

&
nbsp; He said, “Mostly I just taught myself. I’ve always been interested in theater and comedy.”

  That would have been fine if he’d just left it at that. But he had everybody’s attention, and he was hardly going to waste it.

  He lowered his eyes as if this was tough for him to talk about and went on. “Puppeteering became a way for me to escape the horrors of my family life. I retreated into my imaginary world in order to forget the physical and emotional abuse that awaited me at the hands of my cruel stepfather…”

  Do I need to continue—or did you see that episode of Crime Wave too? Unfortunately, nobody in the crowd seemed to have. They all got these really sad looks on their faces and started throwing more money in the hat. Bitsie, I could just tell, thought he was brilliant. He started adding things that weren’t even in the TV show. About how I was living on the street now. About how my stepfather had a contract out on me. About how I’d started to believe that my puppet was talking to me. Things like that.

  The lady, who by this time had mascara streaming down her face, touched me on the shoulder. She said, “Wait here.

  I know someone who can help you. A policewoman who’s dealt with this type of thing before.” Then she ran off to get the cops.

  Was Bitsie worried that the law was now on our trail? Ha! It didn’t even cross his mind. He was busy talking to a reporter from the National Herald, who’d noticed all the people and wanted to do a story on us for the next day’s paper.

  That’s all I needed to hear. I grabbed Bitsie, my knapsack and the hat and bolted through the crowd.

  Was Bitsie ever pissed off! He was screaming, “Hey! I was talking to that guy!” and everybody, I’m sure, was thinking what an amazing performer I was to be able to run and puppeteer backwards over my shoulder at the same time. Luckily, they all thought the escape was part of the act so it took a while before anyone started running after us.