Not Suitable For Family Viewing (16 page)

“Hey. One of the famous hockey rings! Mum’s cousin Donnie’s got one. He was a left-winger on that team…Who’d this one belong to?”

“Don’t know,” I say. “I just found it when I was doing my research.” Will he ask where? How? My heart’s making this hollow thumping sound.

No. He’s turned the ring over and is squinting at the inside. There’s something written there. Why didn’t I notice that before?

He reads, “‘For my secret love.’” He winks at me. “Oooh, baby. Port Minton must have been cooking back then. What do you think it means?”

I can’t answer. I can’t make words come out. It could mean anything. Everything. Was someone on the hockey team in love with Rosie? And if so, why was it a secret?

I just shrug for an answer.

Levi rubs the ring clean on his T-shirt. “I bet it wouldn’t be that hard to find out who this belonged to—I mean, if you want. That championship was a big deal. I could ask Donnie. He might know.”

“No,” I say. “Don’t do that…Someone might want to keep it a secret.” I’ve got to think about this a bit more. Maybe the fact that it’s missing will mean something to people around here. Maybe it’s missing because the guy is dead. Maybe he was murdered or something. Maybe my mother murdered him.

Maybe I’m losing my mind.

Seriously. There’s no way Mimi murdered anyone.

I don’t think. How would I know?

I must be pale or sweaty or flushed or something.

“Are you okay?” he says. “You look like you don’t feel very well.”

Of course I don’t feel well. My body’s bashed up and my head is spinning. I don’t know who anybody is any more or why people are doing whatever it is they’re doing to me. I want to tell Levi everything but I can’t. I’m scared to trust him. I’m scared to let him see how crazy I might be.

Then Levi leans over and looks me in the eyes and says, “Really? I mean it. Are you okay?” He rubs his hands up my arms.

I say, “Yes,” and I’m not lying. Right now, for this one little moment at least, I’m way better than okay.

Wednesday, 3 p.m.

You, You and Mimi

“Family Secrets.” Mimi invites celebrity “heritage sleuth” Laura Buchkowsky to uncover the roots of the public’s fascination with genealogy.

I tell Levi I’ve got stuff to do at the library. He helps me up the stairs and says he’ll be back at five to take me to Mrs. Hiltz’s.

Joan screams when she sees me too but not as loud as Kay did. (Maybe that’s because Joan’s a librarian.) I tell her the story—the part where I go flying, at least—and she
tut-tut-tuts
and shakes her head. She makes sure I’m okay, then goes back to her office.

As soon as she’s gone, I check my e-mail.

Spam, spam, spam.

A notice from the school that final course selection must be made by August twelfth.

A reminder from Mom’s assistant (cc’ed to Anita) of Grandpa’s birthday party coming up in two weeks.

And a short note from Selena:

R u crazy? Go into her room? She’d kill me. Steal her personal stuff? She’d mutilate the body. Y dont u pay some professional criminal 2 do this 4 u? U got the cash.

Some friend. Fine. I’ll do this myself. I go to Google and type in “Mimi Schwartz.” Someone out there must know about her past. If not, at least it will take my mind off the car accident.

“Results: 1–10 of about 35,000,000 for Mimi Schwartz.”

Thirty-five million results. I feel like they all just came crashing down on top of me. Where do I even start?

Forget her official site. I know I’m not going to get anything there. I check out Wikipedia. There seems to be some ongoing battle between contributors about what Mimi’s natural hair colour is, but other than that it’s pretty much the standard stuff too.

I type in “Mimi Schwartz’s family.” Turns out that’s the name of one of her biggest fan clubs. (Why do I find that sad?)

I scroll through some other sites. Lots of old photos of Grandpa and me. There are even some of Dad. None of them look like they were taken in Shelton County.

I try “Mimi Schwartz’s birth mother,” “Mimi Schwartz’s family tree,” “Mimi Schwartz’s adopted family.” Everything that turns up is stuff I’ve already seen or can’t use. I need to find a site that isn’t just a cut-and-paste copy of her bio.

I need dirt.

I have an idea. I type in “I hate Mimi Schwartz.”

I get dirt. www.enoughaboutmimi.com is full of it.

Pictures of Mom without makeup, with her mascara smudged,
with something between her teeth. Close-ups of blisters, warts and cellulite. (No way that’s hers. Say what you want about Mimi but she doesn’t have cellulite.). Rants about what a liar/hypocrite/“emotionally stunted Barbie Doll” she is. Whoever’s behind this site really can’t stand her. I wonder why. Is it just the usual anti-celebrity backlash or is there something else too?

I click on “The Truth Behind the Image.” A full-length picture of Mimi appears. She’s in the red strapless dress and full-length gloves she wore to the Academy Awards last year. She’s laughing. She looks good. Before I know it, classic stripper music comes blaring out of the computer. I jump on the volume key as fast as I can. I don’t want Joan thinking I’m up to something “inappropriate.”

Someone’s animated the image in that jerky
South Park
style. Mimi winks and starts doing a striptease. She peels off her gloves and you see that her hands are all hairy, with these long red claws. She throws off her shoes and she’s got these little pig’s feet underneath. She wiggles out of her dress. A big belly splops out. She turns around and waves her tail in this skanky way. Right at the end, she pulls off her face and you realize she’s the devil.

It’s weird.
I
can say the meanest things about my mother but I feel terrible when somebody else disses her. They don’t even know her. How can they call her the devil?

I get a chill. Is there something I don’t know?

I want to stop but instead I click on the “Mimi and Me” tab. Something called “Eyewitness Reports” comes up. I scan it. There are lots of entries about stuff like Mimi farting in an elevator and blaming it on someone else (never would have happened) or pushing
to the head of a line at a restaurant (could have, I suppose), but I scroll past those and go right to the important stuff.

I tried to tell her that “Eating Like a Birdie” was not a good name for a segment starring a chubby kid who obviously doesn’t eat like a bird—but she wouldn’t listen. She didn’t care that it was her own daughter people would be making fun of. Everyone thinks she’s so nice and open but, believe me, she’s the most secretive person I ever met. The rest of the world might think she’s their best friend but none of the staff do. They just keep their mouths shut and try to stay out of her way.

Darryl

Former head of wardrobe

You, You and Mimi

Mimi only talks about a fraction of the cosmetic surgery she’s had. I used to work for her plastic surgeon. Dr. Boileau basically rebuilt her from her toes right up to her hairline. Her own mother wouldn’t recognize her if she saw her today.

Deena

Former receptionist

Pygmalion Enhancement Clinic

There’s no way Robin is Mimi and Steve’s daughter. It’s genetically impossible. Everyone in the studio figures Robin is Beau Huxley’s love child. Take a look at his interviews with Mimi when he was still playing for the NFL and you can see why. She was all over him. Don’t tell me there was nothing
going on there. He sure wasn’t acting like a man with a wife and an evangelical ministry back home.

Aimee

Former line producer

You, You and Mimi

I knew Mimi when she was still Miriam. I was an intern at a public access TV station when she got the job hosting
Classic Book Talk.
She was sure nothing special back then. She was shy. She’d never been on-air. And she dressed like a middle-aged lady going to a PTA meeting. None of us could figure out why the job went to her. We found out later that her father basically bought it for her. It still pisses me off. If my father’d been rich enough to bribe someone, maybe I’d be a millionaire today too.

Sandra

Traffic reporter

CJCH

My colleagues and I at the National Institute for the Prevention of Security Breaches (NIPSB) have studied the syndicated talk show
You, You and Mimi
for the last twelve years. Lack of plausible life records—school certificates, photos, early work history—and changing facial structure first aroused our suspicions concerning the individual known as Mimi Schwartz. Over the course of our research, we have uncovered irrefutable proof that Ms. Schwartz is an enemy agent transmitting classified secrets to hostile states via her daily show. Seemingly innocent makeup choices such as the
colour of eyeshadow or lipstick are actually intricately calibrated codes designed to alert alien nationals to the location of chlorine stockpiles for our municipal water supplies…

I doubt my mother is actually Satan or an alien agent but I can’t help thinking some of the other people are onto something here. The “Eating Like a Birdie” stuff, the plasic surgery—that all makes sense. Mom’s first on-air job was a free one for a community access channel—she admits that in the book–so that story’s not too farfetched either. I don’t think Grandpa ever had much money, though. Of course I might be wrong.

The Beau Huxley thing really hurts me. I’m insulted that “everyone in the studio” assumed that my father would have to be a linebacker, but I Google him anyway. Beau’s got the size, but I’m pretty sure he’s not my father. According to my math, Rosie was pregnant before she left high school. Beau’s website shows pictures of him leading his team to victory at the Super Bowl that year. I somehow doubt a big star of the NFL was dating the shyest girl at Port Minton High.

I turn off the computer and look out the window. It’s like the more I find out, the less I know. How am I ever going to figure this out?

Get back to basics. Start at the beginning. Port Minton. I root through the box of stuff Joan got me. I find a magazine called
Travel Today.
It’s got an article titled: “Port Minton: A Forgotten Jewel on the Picturesque South Shore.”

Port Minton back then did look sort of quaint, I guess. The houses were painted up and there were boats in the harbour. Old guys in plaid shirts and big rubber boots sat around the dock
apparently mending their nets. According to a sign, you could get an order of fish and chips for $1.75.

I almost flip right past the next page, until I notice the name Ingram. There’s a photo of an old general store—no doubt the one Levi told me about. Mr. Ingram himself is standing behind the long wooden counter wearing one of those white aprons. He’s even got little black bands on his arms to keep his sleeves out of the way. (Did he really dress like that or was this some costume the photographer dreamed up?)

I stare at the picture. Is this Rosie’s dad?

If so, does that make him my grandfather?

I have no idea.

I realize the only thing I know for sure is that Mom’s lying. She’s lying all over the place. So what’s true? Do I believe her—or do I believe enoughaboutmimi.com? Are they
both
lying? My brain creaks. This is like one of those Mindblower puzzles—and I hate that stupid game. There’s always some catch that no normal person could possibly have figured out. Somehow—like, discreetly—I’ve got to find out more about Rosie. Somebody around here must know what happened to her.

I put down the magazine and stare into space. I’m thinking so hard I don’t even notice when Levi walks in.

Wednesday, 5 p.m.

You, You and Mimi

“Best Guests.” Storied socialite Rachel Allan reveals her secret tips on how to be a perfect guest. They must work. She’s always invited back.

Levi picked me up at the library, goofed around for about five minutes, then deserted me at Mrs. Hiltz’s. He was all sorry and kissy and everything but he couldn’t do anything about it, he said. He has to get some work done on his uncle’s wall tonight. It’s going to rain tomorrow.

Mrs. Hiltz seems almost too glad to have me. She makes a big point of saying how she picked up some pop and chips for me today. She makes me feel like such a “teen.” I’m surprised she didn’t buy me a Hula Hoop too.

She gives me an old cane of her husband’s and shows me to my room. Big bed. My own bathroom. A view of the garden. It’s a lot nicer than my bunk at the hostel. She put little flowers on the table and fluffy towels by the tub and even had someone bring a TV into the room for me. That’s the type of stuff Mom always makes sure Anita does before we have visitors.

Dinner is a mini pork chop, a scoop of practically liquid mashed potatoes and a pile of peas. Mrs. Hiltz cuts up my meat for me because of my sore arm, then starts asking me about my family and my background and my research. I have to keep coming up with bigger and bigger lies—I can’t remember what I’ve told people already. I said Dad was a musician but did I give his real name? What did I say Mom does? A marriage counsellor or a psychologist? Mrs. Hiltz is just asking me where my mother did her training—and my insides are going all cold because I don’t have a clue where people get trained for something like that—when Casper starts barking. The front door opens.

“Hey, Mum! You home?”

Mrs. Hiltz goes, “Hello?” She seems annoyed or something. She probably finds it rude to have her meal interrupted. (I guess old people care about stuff like that.) She excuses herself but doesn’t have time to get up before Percy walks into the dining room. He’s wearing shorts and a grey T-shirt soaked black with sweat. His knees are all dirty and bleeding. For a big bald guy, he’s doing a pretty good imitation of a little kid.

I guess I must look even worse than he does, because he sucks in his breath and goes, “Geech. What happened to you?”

I give him the short version. He looks sympathetic, says something about campaigning to widen that stretch of the highway so accidents like this won’t happen any more and sits down at the table.

Mrs. Hiltz isn’t being very welcoming. She goes, “Eww! I don’t know if you should stay, Percival. What were you
doing
?” She closes her eyes and turns her face away like he stinks or something. He doesn’t smell that bad.

“It’s Wednesday, Mum. Road hockey. I haven’t missed a game in almost five years. I don’t know why you look so surprised.” He winks at me. “Poor dear. She’s losing her memory.” You can tell he loves tormenting her. (I wonder if Levi’s going to be like that when he’s old.)

Mrs. Hiltz says, “This is not ‘surprise’ you see on my face, dear. There’s another name for it and we both know what it is.”

“Yes, we do,” he says. He’s not the least bit offended. “Don’t worry. I’m not staying long. I just wanted to know if you’d be my date for the constituency luncheon tomorrow.”

Mrs. Hiltz’s forehead wrinkles up like a sheet kicked down to the bottom of the bed. “Why? Where’s Andrea? Why is she not going with you? I’m sure your constituents are more interested in speaking with your lovely young fiancée than with an old woman like me.”

“Two things, Mother. Unless
you
popped the question, Andrea’s not my fiancée. She’s just a friend. You know that perfectly well. As for tomorrow, she’s not coming because she’s got her own meeting to go to. Not that it matters…I’d prefer to take you anyway.”

Mrs. Hiltz rolls her eyes but you can see a smile back there too.

“Well then, since you insist…I’d love to, dear! Now why don’t you get going? Pour yourself a nice bath.”

“Yes, Mummy. And I’ll be sure to wash behind my ears too.” He stands up and leans over to kiss her goodbye.

She turns her face away in disgust.

He goes, “Ha! Fooled ya!” and steals her pork chop while she’s not looking. He jumps out of her way before she can grab it back. He waves it by the bone, takes a big bite and, with his mouth still full, says to me, “So long, Junior. Don’t let her bully you the way she bullies me!”

“I do apologize,” Mrs. Hiltz says after the door closes behind him. “Now where were we before we were so rudely interrupted?”

I don’t want to go back to talking about my family. It’s too dangerous. I decide to focus on her favourite subject instead. I say, “So does Percy play a lot of hockey?”

“Some,” she says.

I go, “Did he play in high school?” I’m getting an idea.

She’s just put a small bite of mashed potatoes in her mouth, so she only nods.

I say, “He wasn’t on that team that won the big championship, was he?”

She swallows. “Uh…yes. I believe he was…How do you know about that?”

“Oh, I just stumbled on it. Part of my research. I’d love to have a chance to talk to him about the team and, uh, life for young people in Port Minton back then. It must have been a big deal to be on that hockey team.”

“Well. Yes. It was, I suppose, but that was a long time ago. Now what did you say your mother did again?”

I decide on marriage counsellor and just go with it. I make some stuff up and then turn the conversation back to where I want it to go. I ask her if she knows Albert Ingram.

She smiles. “Of course. It would be impossible to live in Port Minton and not know Albert! What might your interest in him be?”

I’ve had enough of this. I just want to cut to the chase. “Well, to tell you the truth, I’m actually interested in Rosie Ingram. She’s his daughter, isn’t she?”

Mrs. Hiltz nods, then suddenly brings her hand up to her forehead. She’s gone really pale. “I’m terribly sorry, dear, but I’m afraid
I’m going to have to excuse myself. I’m having one of my little spells.”

That kind of freaks me out. “Do you want me to call Percy?”

She waves that away. “No, no, no! I’m fine. It’s nothing more than old age, dear. I just need to lie down. Leave the dishes. Velma will be by in the morning to look after them.”

Within five minutes, we’ve both limped off to our own rooms.

I brush my teeth, looking at my puffy face as little as possible, and climb into bed, still thinking. Mrs. Hiltz knows the Ingrams. If she’s feeling better tomorrow, I’ll ask her about Rosie.

I’ve got the feeling I’m on to something.