Puppet Wrangler Read online

  “Haven’t I suffered enough?” he said, in this pathetic little whisper. “The remorse…the fear…the never knowing if I’d see my loved ones again? What more can I do? What more can I give? If we are to live together—if civilization is to survive!—we must embrace forgiveness! And that’s all I’m asking for. A little…forgiveness.”

  “Very moving,” I said. “It’s just too bad that we watched that episode of Quest for Justice together or I might have fallen for it.”

  Bitsie didn’t have time to say anything else. I’d had enough. I grabbed him, stuffed him into my knapsack and took him back to the studio in silence.

  I never even stopped to consider what all those ladies in the other toilet stalls must have been thinking.

  49 At least that’s what he thought.

  30

  REVENGE IS SWEET.

  The next day was a Friday.

  It was bad from the moment I got up. Getting ready to go, I realized I’d bent Nick’s Choc-o-rama when I stuffed Bitsie into my knapsack the night before. I tried to be mature about it. It was only a chocolate bar after all, and it’s not like I’d lost it or anything, but it was still really upsetting.

  Then Kathleen got mad at me for keeping her waiting, even though I was the one who’d been waiting for her. (I mean, who absolutely had to find her Mulberry Gash Lip Stain that day despite having twenty-six other lipsticks to choose from? Me or her? ) I kept my mouth shut though.

  I knew she’d been talking money with her accountant the night before so I was sort of prepared for her to be cranky.

  Not that cranky, of course, but cranky.

  Even Zola wasn’t herself. Her boyfriend’s band—“The Tofu Weiners”50—had a big concert in Ottawa that weekend and the bus was leaving right at six. Zola was worried that if things didn’t go smoothly on set that day, she’d miss it. She was still nice of course, but I could tell she was anxious. And that made me anxious. When I saw Zola, a.k.a.

  Granola Girl, woof down that chocolate jelly donut, I really started to worry for her.

  And it only got worse as the day went on—because of Bitsie. Of course.

  He was acting like a complete jerk. He kept “breaking down.” He must have done it ten times by noon. We were way, way behind and bound to go into overtime. That was bad for Zola—and for Kathleen. Kathleen had to pay everyone extra when things ran late. She wasn’t going to be very happy about it.

  I knew why Bitsie was breaking down of course. It was his way of getting back at me for not taking him to the mall.

  It worked.

  It was the perfect revenge. He could hurt me by hurting my friends. I didn’t know what to do. Make us all suffer or just give in and promise to take Bitsie shopping again? It was the type of thing I would have liked to talk over with the family counselor.

  I was agonizing about what to do when Nick came by.

  Bitsie’s behavior suddenly didn’t seem so important. After all, I was wearing the lime green T-shirt Nick always raved about (“Matches your eyes”). That day, though, he didn’t even notice. He just rattled off a bunch of orders to Zola from Kathleen, and then, like it was just another message, said, “Oh, and Tally, there’s an e-mail for you from your sister. It’s marked urgent.”

  I told you the day stunk.

  50 The name suited them perfectly.

  30

  LETTER BOMB.

  Zola said I better go to the office and check out the e-mail. I said no, I’d stay. There was too much work to do. I couldn’t leave it all to her.

  “No, no. Go,” she said. “You have to. It could be an emergency. You shouldn’t put aside your own needs for someone else’s.”

  Did that ever make me feel like a jerk.

  Zola was acting like I was so nice when nice had nothing to do with it. The only reason I wanted to stay was because I hated getting mail from my family. It always made me feel mad or sad or—worse—both.

  Mum’s letters always sounded great. “My dearest little Telly.” “Darling Telly.” “Sweetheart.” She wrote just about every day by hand on paper, in an envelope with a stamp.

  Like this was the olden days or something. Who would take the time to do that nowadays? I had to admit that that alone was probably a pretty good sign she loved me.

  She always gave me the complete weather report and the minutes from whatever volunteer meeting she just came back from and lots of news about how everyone was doing:

  Dad is exhausted. Fern Haliburton went into heavy labor at two yesterday afternoon and didn’t give birth until 11:30 this morning. She said some atrocious things about her husband and other well-known members of the community, but Dad said that was just the pain talking and it’s hardly grounds for divorce.

  Grammie has been playing a lot of bridge lately. She has a new friend who seems to be as devoted to the game as she. I do hope that she’ll introduce us to this mystery man soon, at least before they go off on that little trip together.

  Dad and I are feeling very optimistic about Bess. We’ve had some spirited interactions with her and have come to believe that her energy and passion will in the long run serve her well.

  What’s so bad about that?

  Anyone else would say nothing. I was probably just being really childish and self-centered, but I couldn’t help it. Every time I read one of Mum’s letters I remembered that week I had to look after Mrs. Longaphy’s cat. She absolutely loved that cat. Cuddles. She gave me these really long instructions about how to prepare his food, how often to clean his litter box, how to do his hair and how to pet him. He liked the fur between his ears all ruffled up and then smoothed back down with long, slow strokes. Mrs. Longaphy was worried that Cuddles would be really lonely,51 so I had to promise to spend twenty minutes with him at least twice a day. Once in the morning and once at night.

  And I did. I brought my instructions with me, and twice a day I went through the list and ticked everything off. I did everything for Cuddles that I was supposed to. I did exactly what Mrs. Longaphy would have done if she’d been there.

  But there’s a difference between somebody doing something because they want to and somebody doing something because they have to.

  And that’s what I mean about Mum’s letters. Call me stupid, but they made me feel like Cuddles. Like I was number five on her to-do list or something. (1. Turn Bess into a responsible member of society. 2. Save endangered marine maggot from extinction. 3. Gather a dozen free-range eggs from cooperative chicken coop. 4. Clean fridge. 5. Write Telly so she knows we love her.)

  And there was another thing. Mum never actually told me anything. Never told me what really happened. Never told me the good stuff. I mean, what exactly did Fern say about her husband and “other well-known members of the community”? Was Mum suggesting Grammie had a boyfriend? And my favorite: What did she mean by “spirited interactions” with Bess? Last time Bess had spirited interactions with someone they laid assault charges against her. I started to worry that Bess might have burnt down the house this time or locked Dad in the basement until he agreed to pay her way to Australia or something.

  Why couldn’t Mum just come out and tell me the truth?

  She probably thought she was doing the right thing—sparing me the gory details—but all she ended up doing was making me feel like I wasn’t part of the family anymore. Like

  I couldn’t be trusted with the real story. She used code words when I was home too, but at least when I was there I could see what was really going on and decide for myself whether I wanted to crawl into Dreemland or not.

  I guess it’s not fair coming down on Mum like that. At least she wrote. Dad only sent me goofy postcards—the kind with a so-called unretouched photo of a fish wearing glasses, say, or a giant mosquito chasing a little tiny person down the beach. He’d scribble some stupid joke on the back like “I wondered where my specs went!” or “I heard there was a bad bug going around!” and then just filled the rest of the card with x’s and o’s.

  I didn’t m
ind. Dad’s like me—not much of a talker. So it’s not like I expected him to send me big long chatty letters all of a sudden. It did really bug me, though, when he sent me the same stupid fish card twice. I know Hemeon’s Drugstore doesn’t have many postcards to choose from, but he could have at least come up with a different joke. (It wasn’t even all that funny the first time.)

  As for Bess, she’d never written to me before. I was pretty sure it wasn’t a good sign.

  51 She almost didn’t go to her own daughter’s wedding, worrying about Cuddles.

  32

  WHY AM I NOT SURPRISED?

  From: bess mercerSubject: Urgent Parental Abuse

  hey telly

  sure is quiet since u left. u alwayz were such a party animal. hhok. having a wild time in the big city or what? let me no if u got n e body parts u want pierced. its about time u got something pierced. remember how many i used 2 have before the infection set in and dad did his big i’m a doctor thing and made me take them all out and stay in the hospital for a week? like whats he got against piercing? the guy doesn’t appreciate the art form.

  n e way I no a great place. they only take cash but they’ll put a hole in anything! (n e thing u can stand that is. hhok.)

  i love toronto. sure beats the crap out of B.M. i crashed there on my way 2 that nude square dancing workshop.

  the one that turned out 2 be the NEW square dancing workshop. remember how insane dad went? the guys a doctor and he acted as if he never saw a naked person before!!!!! he probably hasnt, nowing him. parents are soooo not normal.

  like they wont even let me go n e where n e more! not even to the turkey burger for fries. dorothy says the police wont let me but i know its just her. i bet the “police” would let me go if it was organic. she wont even let me do n e thing. well, thats not true! how can i say that? she lets me read the paper ( !!!!!) and go on line as long as its only to e-mail u (double !!!!!!) is that fair? i steal one little bus and they act like i’m a criminal!!!!!

  It was a really long letter so I’m not going to quote it word for word, but basically this is what else she said:

  Me me me me me me me. Me me myself. I me me me me. Myself, I me me me. I I I I I me me I I. Me me memememe myself me. I me me me I. Etc. etc. etc.

  I guess it was nice she took the time to write.

  33

  THE FACTS OF LIFE.

  I got back to the studio during the coffee break. Zola was just getting Bitsie into a baby costume for the next scene. She’d tied a polka-dot ribbon in his hair and was pinning him into this humungous droopy diaper. Normally, I would have felt sorry for Bitsie, but not then. He deserved it. He was acting like a baby.

  “So what was so urgent?” Zola asked me as she stuck in these big fake safety pins.

  I forgot the e-mail was marked urgent. I had to laugh.

  Typical.

  “Nothing,” I said. “It’s just my sister. She’s the type that’ll do anything for attention.”

  Bitsie looked right at me and mouthed the words, Just …like…you!

  Did that ever make me mad! It wasn’t even true. It was just stupid.

  Zola was fumbling around, looking for a rattle, so she didn’t notice Bitsie do anything. All she saw when she turned around was me leaning right into his face and hissing, “Jerk!”

  I don’t know what came over me. It was stupid. I was never that careless around other people. I mean, I knew what they’d say if I said, “It wasn’t me who screamed/shoplifted/ burped! It was the puppet!”

  They’d say, “Telly, this isn’t going to hurt. It will just make you sleep. When you wake up, you’ll be in a special place where people can give you the help you need.”

  Anyway, Zola was staring at me with a, let’s say, quizzical look on her face. This obviously required some explanation.

  So I tried to laugh, but it sounded fake even to me. I went, “Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha. It’s funny how puppets can look so human sometimes, isn’t it? Like just then. Bitsie looked like such a jerk. It made me think he really was selfish and childish and ignorant and crude…”

  I went on for a while like that—which was probably a mistake. Bitsie’s face was completely blank. He looked about as human as an apple fritter—though not as cute. I could see Zola didn’t get what was so jerky about him, but like I said, she was a really nice person and she always tried to see other people’s points of view.

  Or maybe she just wanted to stop me from ranting.

  Whatever. Anyway, while she finished putting Bitsie’s booties on, she started telling me about Arnold van Gurp, this puppet builder who claims his puppets are actually alive.

  Zola was just making conversation I knew, but to me it was way more than that. It was like someone casually blurting out, “Oh, did I mention that Uncle Roland is the real Santa Claus, and that’s why he’s always late for Christmas dinner?” It doesn’t just change how you think about Uncle Roland—it changes your whole world.

  My heart started beating like a rabbit’s. I was thinking that this could be really important. This could be proof that I wasn’t nuts after all.

  Until Zola mentioned Arnold, I’d forgotten I used to feel crazy for believing Bitsie was real.

  Okay, maybe I didn’t really forget feeling crazy. Maybe I just didn’t like admitting I was a nutcase. Or maybe I just preferred believing that I actually had a friend. A real one.

  Someone I could be myself with. Say anything I wanted to.

  It doesn’t matter. All I’m saying is that for one reason or another I stopped asking myself if Bitsie was real.

  But that doesn’t mean the question wasn’t still bouncing around in my head, waiting to be asked.

  I made myself stop shaking. I tried to sound casual. I said, “You’re kidding. There’s no way that could be true or anything…I mean, live puppets? Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha.”

  Zola shrugged. “Some people say it’s just a gimmick to sell his puppets,” she said. “Other people think it’s some form of mental illness. Arnold’s been pretty cut off socially since he moved up to that little town. Beaconsfield? No.

  That’s in Quebec. Bowserville? No. Something like that.

  Bousfield! That’s it. It’s way up north. Somewhere off the 404. It’s very beautiful up there. Wild and not touristy. At least not yet…”

  I was in no mood for a geography lesson. “But what do you think?” I tried to say it in a “dum-di-dum, whatever” kind of way.

  “Me? Well, I guess I…”

  Mel cut her off. Break was over. Bitsie had to get up on set. Like, right now!

  I thought I was going to explode. I needed—I mean needed—to know what Zola thought!

  As soon as she came back, I whispered, “You were saying …?” By now I wasn’t doing a very good job of pretending this didn’t matter to me. You know how dogs start wagging their tails and getting all drooly when their master is opening the Fido Beef Nuggets? Well, I wasn’t quite that bad—but I was getting close.

  “Saying what?” Zola whispered back. She wasn’t really concentrating. She had to get Bytesie into his teenage brother gear.

  “Is he crazy or isn’t he?”

  “Who? Arnold, you mean?”

  In my head I was screaming, “Of course I mean Arnold!” but I just nodded, un-huh.

  “Oh, I don’t know,” Zola said. “I used to work for him.

  He’s not your run-of-the-mill TV executive—but Arnold’s a good man. He’s telling the truth—at least as he sees it.

  Everyone has the right to believe what they choose to believe. And we have to honor that belief—whether it resonates for us or not.”

  Just what I was afraid of.

  Zola thought he was crazy too.

  34

  LIFE WAS SO MUCH EASIER

  IN DREEMLAND.

  So Bitsie probably didn’t exist. I guess I’d kind of suspected it all along. But that didn’t stop me from being really mad at him that afternoon.
r />   He kept on pulling his stupid stunts. He particularly liked breaking down in any way that made it look like Zola was to blame. I could have strangled him.

  In the end, I didn’t have to. Someone else got there first.

  It was almost five—our usual quitting time—and we hadn’t even got half the show taped. Everyone was really nervous. It wasn’t our fault, but we all knew that we were in big trouble. Mel was going nuts at one of the cameramen, who may or may not have got the wrong shot, when the door to the studio opened and Kathleen came in. Mel immediately stopped screaming and patted the cameraman on the back like they were old buddies and that wasn’t his spit dripping off the guy’s glasses. It was really phony, but I didn’t blame him for it. Nobody wanted to get Kathleen anymore wound up than she already was.

  So we all put these fake “This-is-just-a-perfectly-normal-day” looks on our faces and started shooting again.

  Everything went fine until Bitsie’s line: “Friends are more precious than a sunshiny day!” I’d seen it coming and I knew it was going to be trouble. There was no way Bitsie would let a line that corny just slip by. But Jimmy read it perfectly, and Bitsie kept his lips in sync, and I started thinking that maybe even Bitsie was afraid of Kathleen.

  Afraid of her? Yeah, right.

  It didn’t take me long to realize that to Bitsie this was like being asked to perform for the Queen or something. He finally had the audience he always dreamed of: Kathleen on the brink of insanity.

  So like I was saying, Bitsie made it right to the end of the line perfectly—and then he did it. He rolled his eyes.

  Really sarcastic. Like ‘Sunshiny day?’ Oh, barf! Who writes this garbage?”

  At first there was a little nervous titter of laughter from the studio. I mean, it was garbage.

  Kathleen, of course, didn’t titter. She just paced on the sidelines while Jimmy and Zola tried to figure out what was wrong with Bitsie’s eye mec. Surprise, surprise. It seemed to be working perfectly.