Puppet Wrangler Read online

“Telly, we’re going to send you away for a while.”

  2 Toilet facilities were the only thing I needed in Dreemland that I didn’t have there. My big problem was I couldn’t figure out how I was going to pee lying flat on my back. I must have known how to do it at one point because I wet my bed till I was nine.

  4

  SPARE ME.

  Kathleen was way late picking me up at the airport, which kind of strained my relationship with the flight attendant.

  Josette had really liked me on the plane. Why wouldn’t she? Braden, the other kid flying by himself, was such a pain. He kept on asking for more pop or a different Lego set or if he could trade in his half-eaten chicken meal for the lasagna.

  Me? I was the perfect passenger. The quiet type who’d never ask for anything.3 Josette could just smile as she went by and get on with handing out her headphones.

  When she got stuck waiting at the airport with me, though, I knew Josette wished I was someone else. Maybe not Braden, but at least someone who talked. Even one of those kids who never stopped talking. In fact, given a choice between Bess mouthing off in handcuffs and me, I bet she’d have taken Bess any day.

  I can’t blame her. It would have made killing the time a whole lot easier.

  In the twenty minutes we’d been sitting there on my luggage, Josette had found out I was in Grade Seven and from teeny, tiny Beach Meadows, Nova Scotia, and had a dead cat. She was running out of questions to ask. (The dead cat was kind of a conversation stopper anyway.)

  She was going on again about how excited I must be to visit Toronto when I saw Kathleen come flying in the door. You couldn’t miss that new red hair of hers.

  I grabbed my fleece and started stuffing my book into my knapsack. I was psyching myself up to give Kathleen a kiss—Mum said I absolutely had to—when I realized I had a little more time to prepare.

  Kathleen was about ten meters away, heading right for me, when she suddenly stopped and swung around. She stood there with her back to me, waving an arm in the air like she was Bugs Bunny conducting an orchestra or something. She stomped her foot a couple of times too, then leaned against the glass wall, that arm still flailing away.

  I couldn’t believe it.

  Kathleen was on her cell phone!

  Luckily, Josette didn’t notice. She just kept going on about all the wonderful things to do, restaurants to visit, places to shop—like I was some little hick kid 4 who’d never been to the big city before.5 I turned down the sound and disappeared into my head.

  I started thinking about how different Kathleen and Mum are.

  For starters, Mum would have been on time. No matter what. A raptor could have mauled her and left her for dead in the driveway and she’d still manage to drag her legless body to the airport five minutes early. In fact, by the time my bags arrived, she’d have written a note to the cleaning staff in her own blood apologizing for the mess she’d made. She’d also have come up with a home lesson plan on meat-eating dinosaurs. (“You can see by the wound how he was able to tear off my left leg with a single snap of his massive jaws. I wish you’d been there, Telly! It really was fascinating.”)

  She sure wouldn’t keep anyone waiting to take a cell-phone call.

  Even if she approved of cell phones. (Which of course she doesn’t. Mum’s generally against anything hightech. And that includes two-ply toilet paper and toasters that pop on their own.)

  Mum and Kathleen look totally different too. Mum goes for that natural stuff. Her blond highlights look like the sun made them, and you can’t even tell when she’s wearing makeup. (Though it’s kind of obvious when she’s not.) Her clothes all come from catalogs in the States that show people chopping wood in their best pants or laughing when someone throws snow in their face. (Like any grown-up would do that.)

  Kathleen, on the other hand, is kind of, I don’t know, pointy or something. She reminds me of one of those Brain-Buster problems they give you on the so-called Math “Fun” Day. “Can you make a person using just five rectangles, a square and two rhombuses?” There are no circles on Kathleen. There aren’t even any semicircles.

  I know she looks good because people in magazines look like her. But I always thought she looked kind of scary too. Like the captain of the enemy spaceship in one of those sci-fi movies or something. They always have the perfect face and the really cool uniform. That’s how you know they’re evil.

  Believe me, I’m not saying Kathleen’s evil. (Mum would kill me if she ever heard me call her baby sister evil.) But she’s certainly got the look down pat.

  One last thing. Mum is Ms. Community Volunteer of the Year. If you’re a homeless person or an ex-convict or some little sea slug that everyone else in the universe would be delighted to hear is about to go extinct, my mother is there for you.

  That’s really important to remember.

  I know I made her sound kind of bad when I was talking about Bess, but Mum really tries hard. She really wants to believe that everybody (except the people who make artificial coloring and the guy building the condos practically right on the public beach) is basically good and trying to do what’s best. She wants to make the world a better place.

  Kathleen, on the other hand, is a television producer.

  She makes TV shows.

  We don’t even have a TV.

  That’s because my mother believes that television is “mulching the minds of our children.” I always figured she’d disown me if she knew how much TV I used to watch at Bethany MacMaster’s before Bethany realized that was the only reason I came over. (I know she’d divorce Dad if she found out he rented us a television whenever she went on a yoga weekend.)

  Now she was sending me to stay with her pointy sister Kathleen to “help her out in the studio.” She was even making it sound like it was a good thing.

  Right.

  And having your leg chewed off by a giant lizard is a learning experience.

  Dad at least was honest. He did that whole “It’ll be fun!” thing, but he also admitted that they didn’t have the time to be worried about me right now. (Okay, he didn’t say exactly that— but that’s what he meant.) They had to straighten Bess out.

  I was getting to skip a month of school, go to the big city and work on a TV show.

  I was trying not to cry when I saw Kathleen accidentally thwack an old man in the back of the head with that flailing arm of hers and send him sliding across the floor like a big plaid mackerel.

  Suddenly, everything started going crazy. Josette rushed to help, but before she could the old man took down a lady eating an ice-cream cone and a pilot who knew a lot of bad words in both French and English. A security guy came running over like this was a national emergency or something. I guess he didn’t see the ice cream on the floor. He did this log-rolling-competition thing for a while and then took a major face plant. That’s when the next pileup started.

  Kathleen, meanwhile, was trying to wrap up her phone call and help everyone to their feet and hand out her business cards to pay for any damage and act all innocent (“Why, Telly, when did your plane get in?”) and thank Josette for looking after me.

  People were still slipping around on the butterscotch ripple when Kathleen grabbed my arm and a suitcase and headed out the door.

  You’d think we’d have had a laugh about it then. Maybe we would have, but Kathleen had to take another call.

  3 Parents go for that type too. I guess that’s why I always got asked to lots of birthday parties even though I didn’t have many friends. Bess, on the other hand, had lots of friends and not many invitations. The guy who drives the ambulance asked her to his daughter’s party when she was little, but that was different. He knew first aid. (Good thing too. Before Bess had busted open the pinata, she’d beaned three kids and the family’s weiner dog. And that was with a blindfold on. Just think what she would’ve done if she could have actually aimed.)

  4 Okay, I guess she was right about that.

  5 But I had been to Toronto before. Lots of t
imes. Or once before anyway. Mum took me up as proof she wasn’t a hopeless parent when she went to that conference for the Canadian Chapter of Responsible Parents of Irresponsible Children.

  5

  TELLY DEAR,

  Here are a few things I’d like you to bear in mind while visiting Kathleen:

  1. Never call her Kathi. She doesn’t go by that anymore.

  2. Never call her Kate. She doesn’t go by that anymore either. 3. Call her Kathleen. (Not Aunt Kathleen.)

  4. Be neat. Kathleen’s not used to living with other people, especially someone who’s almost a teenager, so it’s important you don’t make a mess. (Remember: Kathleen likes her magazines lined up with the corner of the coffee table. It’s one of those funny things she can get a little “icy” about.)

  5. Don’t bite your nails. I know you never have, but it’s a habit Kathleen can’t stand so this would be the wrong time to start even if she makes you a little nervous, which she really doesn’t mean to do. Some people just don’t know how to take her.

  6. Don’t talk too much. I, of course, assured Kathleen this has NEVER EVER been a problem with you, but she reminded me how important it is to be quiet in the studio or when she’s on the phone or when she’s having one of her headaches.

  7. Try and talk a little more. It’s hard for someone like Kathleen, who’s never dealt with young people, to keep a conversation going all by herself. So if she asks you, for instance, how you like school, don’t say, “Fine.” Answer with a sentence or two. How about: “Very well, thank you. I especially enjoy world history and music.” This will give her something to build on if she still wants to continue the conversation and is not too busy or tired.

  8. It’s more important not to talk too much than it is to talk more. You’ll figure it out.

  9. Avoid telling Kathleen my feelings about the television industry. Even if she asks. Say nothing or, if pressed, lie. (I know that sounds unusual, but some day you’ll understand.)

  10. Be ready to go immediately whenever Kathleen is. (It’s probably a good idea to leave your shoes on AT ALL TIMES.)

  11. Don’t worry about her driving. It seems worse than it is.

  12. Try not to be in the bathroom when Kathleen needs to use it. She gets agitated if she has to “hold it.”

  13. Never argue with her. Most things will blow over if you just let her get them out of her system.

  14. Try not to pick up any words or expressions your father and I would feel uncomfortable with.

  15. And don’t forget to have fun! This is a wonderful adventure you’re going on!

  Love and kisses to my darling girl,

  Mummy

  6

  A FEW THINGS MUM

  COULD HAVE AT LEAST ASKED

  KATHLEEN TO BEAR IN MIND.

  1. Try to remember that you have a houseguest. Do not forget to take her with you when you leave for the studio in the morning.

  2. If you do tend to forget houseguests, make sure to have something in your fridge other than a small jar of Apricot-Kiwi Emulsion.

  3. When it finally dawns on you at two in the afternoon that you’re supposed to be looking after your niece and you race home and find that she’s eaten half a jar of your expensive French skin cream, try a little harder not to look like your eyeballs are going to explode. Ask yourself these questions: At twelve, would you have thought that “emulsion” was a fancy word for yogurt? What else could she have eaten (since you went and left her stranded there)? What would her mother/your sister do if she ever found out? (Supplementary question: Why would you put face cream in the fridge?)

  4. When you take a preteen to a television studio (or wherever), do not hold her hand. Especially when she’s taller than you are. It makes her look like a goof.

  5. Try to remember that you have a houseguest. Do not forget to take her with you when you leave the studio in the evening. You’d save everyone a whole lot of trouble.

  7

  I ALMOST DIED,

  There were lots of things that kind of surprised me about the television studio when I finally got there.

  For one, I wasn’t expecting all the food. And I mean good food too. Muffins. Danishes. Chocolate chip cookies about as big as Frisbees, and I’m not kidding. Pop. Candy. Party mix. You name it. It was like a kid had done the grocery shopping or something.

  The best part was that you could eat as much as you wanted whenever you wanted. It was all on a big table in the hall outside the studio and it was like, go for it. And, boy, did I. That apricot face cream of Kathleen’s had made me feel kind of sick. (She got ripped off. I couldn’t believe she spent $89 for it. There wasn’t an apricot in it.)

  Another surprising thing was how big the studio was. Kathleen produces this puppet show for little kids called Bitsie ’n’ Bytesie.6 It’s about these two little alien guys who live inside a computer and surf the net. Like literally “surf” the net, on surfboards. Ha-ha. How clever.

  It’s pretty lame actually. (You’ve probably heard the theme song. “We’re caring and sharing in Cyberspace! So put a big smile on your Cyberface!” That’s about as far as most people over three can get. ) There are, like, five puppets in the whole show. Bitsie. Bytesie. Rom. Ram. And their little human friend Amanda, who keeps on getting sucked inside the computer. (Like we haven’t seen that before.)

  Five puppets. How big a room do you need for that?

  About the size of the school auditorium.

  Honest. Maybe a little smaller—but you still could put the entire Beach Meadows Flea Market in the place. (Sure, the puppets are bigger than you’d expect—but they’re not that much bigger.)

  In fact, everything about the place was big. Big ceilings. Big doors. (You could drive a truck through them. Really. I saw them do it.) Big thick walls so no sound could get in or out. Big curtains that go right from the floor to the ceiling even though there’s not a single window in the place. And big locks on everything.

  Last surprising thing: the number of people who work there. Okay, like I say, five puppets. You figure five puppeteers, a camera guy and, if your aunt’s a producer and you’ve ever heard of such a thing, a producer.7

  Wrong. For starters, there aren’t five puppeteers. There are only three. Christine, the lady, plays the little girl puppet. Jimmy and Norm do two puppets each. (They’re kind of amazing, the way they can switch back and forth between different voices all the time.)

  So there are fewer puppeteers than you’d think—but about forty more people than you’d expect. Three or four cameramen. Someone who decorates the set. Someone who makes the props. Guys climbing around on the ceiling making sure the lighting’s right and guys crawling around on the floor making sure the sound’s right. A bunch of people who look after the puppets, a bunch of people who look after the director and, of course, a bunch of people who look after Kathleen. And they’re all running around with headphones on as if they work at the Gap or something.

  And I’m not even counting all the people up in the control room who mess around with the computers and TV screens and stuff like that. Or the people who write the shows. Or the people who made the puppets. Or all the people I never figured out what they did. (It must have been something because they were always busy.)

  The place was a zoo.

  What didn’t surprise me about the studio was that Kathleen would just drop me there and leave. She only introduced me to one person: Nick, her assistant, who is twenty-five or something, but is still so gorgeous that I was actually glad when Kathleen made him go with her. I’m used to not being able to open my mouth around people. It was kind of embarrassing not being able to close my mouth around Nick. He was so handsome with that brown skin and those white, white teeth that I just gawked at him like

  I’d been hit really hard on the head or something. I might even have drooled a bit.

  So anyway, Kathleen and Nick left and I was stuck in this big studio all by myself with a whole bunch of people. I was scared to move—and not just because I
’m me, either. Someone else moved when the camera was going and this cranky guy named Mel went berserk.

  And I mean it.

  He started screaming, “Cut! Cut! Cut!” and telling off this props person for scratching her ear too loud or something. I never heard a grown-up talk to another grown-up like that in my life.

  So there was no way I was going to move when the camera was rolling. My problem was that I couldn’t figure out when it was rolling and when it wasn’t. Sometimes, I guess the puppets were just rehearsing, but I never realized that until the camera started going again. So I just stood there and hoped that all the pop I woofed back wouldn’t kick in and I’d have to pee.

  I don’t know how long I was standing there—except that it was long enough for Bitsie and Bytesie to do this scene a million times about being happy to have friends—when my stomach rumbled really loud.

  I mean, really loud. Like a toilet flushing or something. Everyone must have heard it.

  I was terrified. Especially when somebody grabbed me by the arm and whispered, “Come with me. Now!”

  6 Ms. Pointy Producer doing a kids’ show? I know. I was surprised too. I figured she’d do a news program or one of those lawyer shows where the judge doesn’t like the hero, but he still always wins. What does Kathleen know about little kids? Other than they tend to smell and make poor fashion choices I mean.

  7 I don’t know exactly what she does, but everyone sure does what she says.

  8

  NO ONE’S WHO YOU THINK

  THEY ARE.

  That was Zola.

  I immediately identified her as human. I just didn’t know what kind of human. I mean, people in Beach Meadows don’t look like her. Some people there dressed a bit like her—but they were all under five and their mothers made them change before they went out. That day, for instance, Zola had on long plaid shorts like your grandfather would wear, a little shiny mini-skirt (over the shorts), work boots, orange leggings and three tie-dyed tank tops. She had this rag—and I mean rag—wrapped around her head a few times. (That’s why I didn’t know that she was bald until the next day.)