The Black Sheep (10 page)

Judy slaps Chili's arm. “What the hell is wrong with you? Save the male bonding for the locker room. I pay you to get the damn shot.”

They're still bickering as I hold up the binoculars to watch for an auburn head to emerge from the kelp one last time.

* * *

Judy's face is pressed up against the glass windowpane in the door to Lisa's office, watching us. Lisa may be a thorn in my side, but my admiration for her has grown since she barred Judy from the administrative offices. I've heard differing reports about what happened, but from what I can piece together, Judy spilled a venti latte over some reports on Lisa's desk and refused to apologize.

“Come on, Lisa,” I plead as she sorts through a stack of papers on her desk. “I promise I'll do a good job.”

She shakes her head. “I don't want you near the otters. You get too emotionally involved and it affects your judgment.”

“I am not emotional,” I protest. I may be somewhat more in touch with my feelings than my parents, but that's as far as it goes. “And if you let me track Maurice, there'd be an ocean between us.”

Lisa walks over to the office door and pulls the blind down on Judy's face. “As I understand it, you can't even swim. That's a prerequisite for ocean work.”

Fine. Be picky. “Can't I be involved in the otter rehabilitation at least?” That way, I'd still be able to hear news about Maurice's progress. “I could help with—”

Lisa holds up a hand as the phone rings. Crossing back to her desk, she picks it up. “They're
what
?” she says. “They can't.” She starts throwing around terms like, “chemical pollutants,” “damage at the cellular level,” and “heavy metal body burden.” To finish, she barks, “We are not putting up with any crap from that golf course.”

She slams the phone down and rifles through the papers on her desk, oblivious to me. Finally she looks up. “Why are you still here?”

Someone should tell her that getting into a Master's program doesn't give her the right to be rude and condescending. I'd tell her myself if she hadn't just baffled me with scientific jargon.

“I'm waiting for you to tell me how I can help out around here,” I say.

She glances at the door, where the outline of Judy's face is still visible. “Why are you so interested, anyway?”

I see where she's going, here. She thinks I have an ulterior motive—that I'm incapable of being selfless. Well, I can put the welfare of marine life above my own concerns. Black Sheepism is about taking a stand. If it happens that I can do that while Mitch Mulligan is supervising me, all the better. He will soon see that I am deeper than a tide pool.

I gather my strength to say what she is probably waiting to hear: “I just think I could learn a lot from you, that's all.”

She passes me a stack of files. “Put these in alphabetical order. If you can handle that, we'll move on to bigger learning opportunities.”

I'm still scrubbing kennels two hours after Judy discovers a convenient allergy to chlorine and disappears with the crew. Unfortunately, Mitch hasn't witnessed my selfless dedication, having flouted Lisa's order to supervise me.

A sudden noise makes me look up, to see a man I don't recognize standing in the doorway. He's holding a bundle wrapped in a blanket.

“Do you work here?” he asks.

Nodding, I push my hair back with one rubber-gloved hand. “Can I help you?”

“Yeah, you can take this.”

Something tells me to hold off. “What is it?”

“An otter pup. I found it on the beach and I think it's sick.”

He tries to pass the animal to me, but I step back. “If you'll just wait one second, I'll get someone in here.”

I consider telling him that people are supposed to call the aquarium when they find an animal in trouble rather than capturing it themselves, but I decide to leave the preaching to the expert. Picking up the phone, I ask the receptionist to page Lisa.

“Are you going to take this damn thing or not?” the man asks.

“I'm not qualified, sir, but Lisa Langdon is on the way. She's in charge of otter rescue.”

“Well,
you
might have all the time in the world, but I have to get back to Carmel. I have an art gallery to run.” He thrusts the bundle into my arms and heads for the door.

Holding the otter pup at arm's length, I call after him, “Wait! We need more information.”

He disappears down the long corridor.

Before I can figure out what to do with the bundle in my arms, Lisa arrives. “What's that?” she asks.

“It's an otter.”

Her eyes widen until I can see the whites all around. “Are you out of your mind?” she says. “That is not a baby.”

“I know that, believe me. Take it before it goes for my face.”

Her voice gets higher and tighter. “You can't hold an otter in a blanket.”

“Can you postpone the lecture? One of us is already traumatized and the other one is going to be, and I don't want to be holding it when that happens.”

She zooms into action, grabbing a pair of elbow-length gloves from the supply cupboard and taking the otter out of my arms. Sliding it into one of the clean kennels, she pulls the blanket away quickly.

“
Never
wrap an otter in a blanket,” she continues, as if I were likely to get into the habit. “Their fur is so thick they could overheat.”

“I didn't do it,” I point out. “Someone else did.”

Lisa is on a tear that prevents her from hearing. “There's a reason I want you to stay away from the animals, Kendra. You don't have a clue how to handle them. I barely get finished telling you not to get emotionally involved, and the next thing I know, you're rocking one in your arms. There are enough threats to the otter population around here. Do I have to add
you
to the list?”

“Come on, you're not even listening to me.”

She stalks over to the door. “You've been nothing but trouble since the day you arrived,” she says. “You're a hazard to the animals and a hazard to yourself. Consider yourself banned from this aquarium.”

“H
ave you tried calling?” Carrie asks, offering me tissues. “It's been a couple of days.”

I take a handful of tissues and press them to my face. “What's the point? Lisa won't change her mind.”

Judy snatches the tissue from me. “Watch the makeup! And for the love of Judy, find something else to talk about. Getting kicked out of the aquarium is the best thing that ever happened to you, KB. You said you wanted adventure in your life, and I can guarantee you're not going to find it at the bottom of a fishbowl.”

She's missing the point, which is that I've never been kicked out of anything in my entire life. Bishops do not get fired.

Judy checks her watch and pulls up my hood. “Fix your face, KB. The press will be here any minute.”

A
Black Sheep
crew member strolls by, and Judy follows him, calling, “Where the hell is my latte?”

When she's out of earshot, Carrie says, “Maybe Mitch could talk to Lisa. After all, he stood up for you in Big Sur.”

“That was about sticking it to Judy, not about helping me.” I take more tissues to mop up the sweat that's dripping into my eyes. “Anyway, my being banned from the aquarium won't matter after I've died of heat stroke.” I scratch the top of my head through the fabric. “God, could this costume be any itchier?”

Carrie grins. “Now, now, little black sheep. Watch that baaaaaa-d attitude!”

I toss the hood off, sulking, but I don't blame Carrie for having a laugh at my expense. When Judy told me that I'd be cutting the ribbon at a local restaurant opening, she neglected to mention that I'd be doing so in a sheep costume. It's eighty degrees in the shade, and I'm wearing curly black faux fur from head to toe, and a rubber snout.

“Hood up, KB!” Judy hollers across the parking lot. “Get into position—and put on your damn sombrero!”

I pick up the enormous sombrero with my “hooves,” and Carrie helps jam it over long, floppy ears. Then I take my place beside a sign that reads,
EVEN A BLACK SHEEP LOVES PACO'S TACOS
.

“I don't understand why Mitch is being such a jerk,” Carrie says, resuming our favorite subject, as if there's a single nuance left unexplored from our many discussions over the past few days. “I mean, one minute he's groping your kayak—”

“He was trying to keep me upright,” I interrupt.

“He was flirting and you know it.”

“I thought he was, but obviously I was wrong.”

“You weren't wrong,” she asserts. “A girl knows when a guy is flirting with her. It's animal instinct.”

“Don't talk to me about animal instinct right now. I might start grazing on the shrubbery.”

She giggles. “By the way, I caught last night's episode. I feel I should tell you that underwear isn't standard kayaking attire around here.”

“My shorts fell off when Bob pulled me into the boat, and Judy insisted the shot was integral to the story line. She didn't even have the decency to fuzz it up the way she did when Mitch was naked.”

“Kendra, you've got to expect the unexpected with Judy around. We're going shopping for a bathing suit.”

“I'm always game to shop,” I say. “But for the record, I'm getting used to constant humiliation. A Black Sheep's pride must be practically bulletproof.”

Carrie looks over my shoulder. “I'm glad to hear you say that.”

I turn to see Judy leading a donkey toward us.

“Isn't he cute, KB?” she asks, scratching the animal's ears. Only one donkey is smiling. “You're such an animal lover I'd knew you'd be all for this.”

“You've got to be kidding,” I say. “There is no way a sheep would be riding a donkey. It's physically impossible.”

“Television breaks the laws of physics all the time. So saddle up, senorita. Mary's little lamb wants a taco.”

* * *

The sun beats down on the concrete parking lot as Paco Gonzales stands before the small crowd, sharing credit for the launch of his new franchise with everyone from his mother to his podiatrist. Just as I start to think I might faint and fall off the donkey, Paco grabs the reins and tows me over to the red ribbon that hangs across the restaurant's entrance.

“It is my honor to present Senorita Kendra Bishop, from the hit television show
The Black Sheep
,” he announces. “After officially opening Paco's Tacos, she will be signing autographs at the party inside.”

I take the scissors Paco hands me, grateful that my hooves, unlike the real thing, have opposable thumbs. As per instructions from Judy, I hold the scissors near the ribbon and pause for the local press. Photographers from the
Monterey County Herald
and the
Carmel Pinecone
call, “Over here, Kendra!”

Behind them, a child cheers and waves a helium-filled balloon shaped like an avocado. This type of event would be ludicrous in New York, but it's obviously a bigger deal here, and it wouldn't be fair of me to project my big-city snobbery onto them. Straightening my sombrero, I sit tall in the saddle and give the photographers my brightest smile.

A group of boys in the back row suddenly whoops with laughter, and a voice rises above the rest, “Which one is taking the dump—the donkey or the sheep?”

* * *

I flop onto a bench and toss back my hood. Air-conditioning has never felt so good.

“Uh-uh-uh,” Judy admonishes. “You're still working, young lady. Besides, that hair is just…” She waves her hand in front of her face to fan away the imaginary stench.

Carrie arrives carrying two plates of Paco's finest Mexican fare and says, “You'll never guess who I met at the buffet: Aaron and Jordan.”

I pull off my hooves to eat a burrito. It's a challenge with the rubber snout, but when there's food involved, a Black Sheep perseveres. “What are they doing here?”

“I invited them,” Judy says, plucking a couple of nacho chips off my plate. “I thought it would be nice for you to have some of your new friends around.”

She tells me to pull myself together and takes off to find the guys. Knowing it's useless to argue, I replace the hooves and hood and roll my eyes at Carrie. “Have I not suffered enough today?”

“A Black Sheep's pride is bulletproof,” she reminds me. “Just remember, no matter what happened at the party, Aaron and Jordan want to be on TV. And for that, my furry friend, they need you. Who's the star?”

“I am,” I say.

“I can't hear you.”

“
I'm
the star.”

“And a black sheep is…?”

“Bulletproof,” I supply. Thanks to Carrie, I'm starting to feel it again. “I don't give a pile of donkey dung what people think of me.”

“Atta girl,” Carrie says, passing me a stack of napkins.

“What's this for?”

“There's salsa on your snout.”

“If it isn't the girl with the peso panties,” Aaron says, smirking. “Are you wearing them today, or do sheep go commando?”

“Sheep prefer not to talk to asses,” I say, holding my hooded head high.

“I notice they don't have any problem riding them, though.”

Judy intervenes before the situation escalates. “Aaron and Jordan are going into San Francisco to see Sand on the Beach.”

“Isn't there enough of that around here?” I ask.

“It's a band,” Aaron says.

Without Lucy to protect me, I suppose it was only a matter of time before my ignorance about pop culture became public knowledge. But a Black Sheep doesn't hesitate to bluff. “I knew that.”

“Sure you did,” Aaron scoffs.

We lose Judy again as the cute photographer from the
Carmel Pinecone
walks by. Bob powers down his camera, and when the red light disappears, so does Aaron.

“I'm sorry about what happened at the party,” Jordan says, hanging back. “You know, about asking for the gift certificates and all.”

A Black Sheep doesn't hesitate to play dumb, either. “What gift certificates?”

“For the arcade, remember? I wanted to take that girl, but it turns out she wasn't into me anyway.”

I smile. “Gee, that's too bad.”

“Do you still have them?”

A Black Sheep never gets burned by the same guy twice. “Nope.”

“Okay, well, keep me in mind if you get any more.”

“Excuse me?”

He has the decency to become flustered. “I meant we could use them
together
. You know, like a date.”

When I came to Monterey, I'd hoped a cute guy would ask me out, but I never imagined it happening when I was dressed as a sheep. If I thought there was any chance of making Mitch jealous, I might go for it. As I don't, I stick to my principles. “I don't think so, Jordan.”

“Would it make a difference if I apologized
on camera
?”

“It looks like I haven't washed my hair in a month,” I moan, catching a glimpse of my reflection in the bowl of the Watsons' stainless steel Mixmaster.

“Untrue,” Carrie says, pulling a tray of brownies out of the oven. “Although it has been through a lot today.”

She sets the brownies on a tray to cool and inspects them closely. Baking has been Carrie's passion since she received an Easy-Bake oven at age six. Her goal is to attend the Culinary Institute of America one day and become a pastry chef.

Carrie's dad comes in from the garage carrying his golf clubs. “Ah, the sweet smell of brownies,” he says, picking up a fork to attack the tray.

Carrie fends him off with her spatula. “I can't believe Mom let you out of the house in those pants,” she says, eyeing his turquoise plaid.

He strikes a pose for our benefit. “They almost distracted people from my golf score. What do you think, Kendra?”

“I think you're lucky Judy and her crew are still down at Paco's,” I say.

“I'll have to get used to the spotlight, what with you practically living here these days.”

He's exaggerating. I have been over more often lately, but that's only because Carrie and I have a lot to talk about. It's not like I'm hoping to run into anyone I couldn't run into at the Mulligans, if he stayed where he belonged.

Carrie swats her father with the spatula. “Dad.”

“What?” he says. “Who wouldn't want a camera crew underfoot all the time?”

Calvin slides into the kitchen in dirty sweat socks. “Brownies!”

“For our guest,” Carrie says, moving them out of his reach. “Not for you.”

“Kendra's not a guest, she's here all the time,” Calvin says, doing a double take at the sight of my hair. “Yow! What's with the lid?”

Horrified, Carrie applies the spatula to her brother as well. But the teasing doesn't faze me like it used to. The Mulligans are building my tolerance, whether I like it or not.

Calvin pulls a bag of cookies and some chips out of the pantry. “You look like Cruella De Vil on a bad day.”

“Now, son,” Mr. Watson says, as Calvin moves on to unload the refrigerator. “You just keep your mind on eating me into the poorhouse.”

“There's two of us,” Calvin says. “I'm fixing Mitch's laptop.” Tucking a couple of sodas under his chin, he backs away. “How was your company tournament?”

“Embarrassed myself as usual,” Mr. Watson says. “We have one of the finest courses in the world right next door in Carmel, and it's wasted on me.”

“Don't tell Mitch you golfed Boulder Beach,” Calvin says.

“Why would he care?” Carrie asks.

Calvin shrugs as he leaves the kitchen. “Something to do with otters. What else is new?”

I tell Carrie about how angry Lisa got the other day during a phone call that somehow related to golf. “She banned me not long after that.”

“Well, if you want back into that aquarium, I know someone who can help.”

* * *

Carrie knocks on Calvin's door.

“What?” he shouts.

“Kendra and I want to talk to Mitch.”

Silence. Whispering. Fragments reach our ears.

“…climb out the window.”

“…not worth a broken arm, man.”

“…closet…?”

“…hockey gear…I could suffocate.”

Carrie pounds on the door. “We can hear you, losers.”

“Can't it wait?” Calvin calls. “We're still fixing the laptop.”

“Sure,” Carrie says, “But I have brownies.”

Calvin opens the door and tries to snatch the plate, but Carrie shoulders her way in. I follow, stopping dead in my tracks when I see the condition of Calvin's room. It's a hellhole. The bunk beds are unmade, and clothes, books, and electronic equipment are strewn everywhere. Calvin has to shove a half-eaten pizza aside with one foot to make room to stretch out on the floor. The entire room is like a scratch-and-sniff version of one of Jackson Pollock's busy, paint-splattered canvases.

“You prefer
this
to your own home?” I ask Mitch. His bedroom at the Mulligans' is off limits to everyone, but I caught a glimpse of it once, and from what I could see, he's a neat freak.