“Why?”
“To be the first to know.”
It wasn’t much of an answer, but she was willing to bet that he didn’t have a better one. “I bet you peek at your presents before Christmas morning.”
“Peek, hell,” Javier said. “By Christmas Eve, I have them opened, taken back to the store, and exchanged for something I really want.”
“If I were Santa Claus, I’d put coal in your stocking.”
“If you were Santa Claus and I posted your picture on my site, I would totally own Christmas!”
Tilda didn’t bother to say anything more. There was no point.
“So, what do you say?” he said. “Can you get me something? I’d make it worth your while.”
“You cannot possibly pay me enough to risk my reputation by giving you something like that.”
“Come on, Tilda, nobody would know it was you.”
“That’s what they told Max Levine.”
“Who’s that?”
“He was a promising entertainment reporter until he got caught leaking the winner of one of the lesser reality shows. Now he works in a car wash. Does a great detail job, if you need one.”
Javier smiled ingratiatingly. “I bet he was nowhere near as smart as you are.”
“That’s true,” Tilda agreed, “because I’m not stupid enough to give out any spoilers.”
Leaving him no time to argue further, Tilda got in her car and left. She wondered idly how much time he’d waste trying to track down Max Levine, and hoped it would be hours. Max was actually a friend of hers, but as far as she knew, he’d never worked as a reporter or in a car wash. Max wasn’t even his real name.
Chapter 7
Episode 23: Summer Camp (Part 1)
Pops sends Sherri and Mercy to summer camp, where a clueless
counselor assigns them to the same cabin. Desperate to get
away from each other, they play a series of pranks, each hoping
the other will ask for a transfer. When Sherri’s pail of water
over the door douses a counselor just as Mercy’s pet tarantula
appears, both girls get transferred to new cabins. But when
they meet their new bunkmates, they realize they’ve gone from
the frying pan into the fire.
—FANBOY’S ONLINE KISSING COUSINS EPISODE GUIDE, BY VINCENT PETERS
THE drive from Cambridge to Malden seemed endless, not just because of the traffic, but because Tilda was wiped out by the day. Only cranking up the Dan Band Live on her CD player kept her awake. There was nothing like listening to girl songs of the seventies and eighties being sung by guys, only with faster tempos and more profanity. At least she found a convenient parking place, and the apartment was dark when she got in, meaning that Heather was out for the night. She didn’t have to make small talk before falling into bed and into a deep blissful sleep. For all of three hours.
It was just after one when Tilda heard her roommate and a male guest arrive, obviously drunk and amorous. Despite wrapping her pillow around her head, she was soon to learn just how amorous they were, not to mention the facts that the guy’s name was Doug, that he preferred to be on top, and that he had probably forgotten Heather’s name because he kept calling her “Babe.” Also, he was a grunter. An hour after that, she found out that he snored.
Despite the late night, Heather somehow managed to get out of bed nearly on time and noisily started fixing breakfast. Since this woke Tilda once again, she was able to throw on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt and pull a document from her files before going to the kitchen to confront her roommate.
“Hi!” Heather said brightly, obviously going for the approach of pretending nothing was wrong. “You’re up bright and early this morning.”
“I hold here a copy of our Roommate Agreement,” Tilda said formally. “If you will read Item 11, you will see that—”
“I know, I know. No bringing home dates without warning. I’d have called, Tilda, but it was already so late by the time I met Doug that I was afraid you’d be asleep.”
“Item 11 clearly states these decisions have to be made before eleven on a weeknight, and by eleven-thirty on a weekend.” Admittedly she’d been in bed by ten-thirty, but she saw no reason to mention that. “Why didn’t you go to his place?”
“He’s living with a girl—”
Tilda just looked at her.
“No, it’s not like that. They’ve broken up, but he can’t move out until the end of the month. It would have been really unfair to his ex to bring home another girl, don’t you think?”
“Isn’t keeping me up all night unfair, not to mention breaking our agreement? Again?”
“You’re right, I’m sorry. Look, I’ll make it up to you.”
“How?”
“By letting you know right now that Doug is going to be staying over for the next couple of nights. That’s more than twelve hours’ warning.”
Tilda didn’t quite see how two more nights of grunting and snoring would make up for anything, but she had to admit that Heather was adhering to the agreement. “Fine. But let me also remind you of Item 12. Your guest is not to go into my room, and is not to use any of my bathroom supplies or food. If he mistakenly uses anything belonging to me, it is your responsibility to replace it. Clear?”
“Clear,” Heather said. “And I’ll let you know if he decides to stay longer.”
“Item 13. No guest is to stay longer than three nights without at least a month’s warning.”
“Does last night count? I mean, since it was unexpected.”
“Yes!”
“Okay, two more nights maximum.” She looked at the clock on the microwave. “Shit! I’ve got to get a shower.”
She ran off, and Tilda started back for her bedroom. Then the door to Heather’s room opened, and a bleary-eyed specimen who had probably looked good in the dim lights of whatever club Heather had found him in stepped out wearing nothing but a pair of boxer shorts.
“Hey!” he said in mild surprise.
“Good morning, Doug,” Tilda said. “Sleep well?”
“Yeah, great. Where’s, um, your roommate?”
“In the shower. I’m going back to bed.”
“Wouldn’t mind getting forty more winks myself, but you know, duty calls. I guess she, your roommate, has to get to work too?”
“I’m sure she’ll tell you all about it,” Tilda said. Then, taking pity on the lunk, she added, “By the way, her name is Heather.”
“Heather, right. Thanks.”
She just shook her head and went back into her room. Not that she could actually sleep for the next hour, as Heather got ready for work and communed with Doug, and then while Doug used up all the hot water Heather hadn’t. Eventually Tilda got a couple of hours’ rest, but woke up with the firm conviction that it was time to spend a couple of days with her sister, June.
Chapter 8
Sometimes it’s hard to pin down where inspiration comes from,
but I remember exactly how I created Kissing Cousins. I read
an article in Teen Fave comparing Wednesday from The Addams
Family to Marilyn from The Munsters, and I started wondering
how those two would get along in the same house. Just
having two kids would have been too much like The Patty
Duke Show, so I added more, but I started with those two completely
different girls.
—IRV MUNCH, QUOTED IN “CURSE OF THE KISSING COUSINS,” ENTERTAIN ME!
TILDA did try to call June to warn her that she was coming, but the line was busy. So instead she checked e-mail in case something interesting had shown up, and then attended to the decidedly uninteresting messages that had arrived since the day before, including negative replies to some of the calls for information she’d sent out. Next she made sure her laptop was in synch with her desk computer and packed it and enough clothes for a couple of days away. Just before leaving, she tried to call her sister aga
in, but the line was still busy.
She got busy signals twice more during her leisurely drive up to Beverly, where June lived with her husband, Glen; her two disgustingly well-adjusted kids; and an overweight cocker spaniel. Tilda had once commented that they had the looks of a sitcom family but none of the problems or friction required for joke fodder.
June’s house was in a neighborhood that straddled the line between upper-middle and lower-upper class. There were children around, but no more than two per family, and SUVs and minivans filled the driveways. The houses were comfortably old, with character and fresh paint jobs. It was clearly a “nice” place to live.
Tilda parked on the street in front of June’s Dutch Colonial, glad to see that June’s minivan was there. She grabbed her bags and headed for the front door, but it opened before she could reach it, and June nearly barreled into her.
June was older than Tilda and took after her father, just as Tilda did hers. Their mother had always been nonplussed that neither of her daughters looked as if they belonged to her. June’s father was plump and fair-haired, with a generous helping of freckles, all of which looked better on June than they did on him.
“Tilda!” she said happily. “What are you doing here?” Without waiting for an answer, June enfolded her into a hug.
“I was hoping I could borrow your guest room for a night or two,” Tilda explained. “My roomie has company.”
“Of course you can—I’m dying for some girl talk. I’ve been meaning to call all week, but between the bake sale for Lonnie’s class and the school book fair, I’ve been crazed!”
“I tried to call but—”
“I know, my line was busy. You’d be surprised how many phone calls it takes to put together a lousy bake sale and book fair! Not to mention the egos I’ve had to stroke—I tell you, if I ever decide to leave this so-called life of leisure and go back into psychology, I’ll have enough material for a dozen papers. Maybe even a book!” She shooed Tilda toward the door. “Go on in, get yourself something to eat. I made brownies for the bake sale, and you can have some from the plate on the table.”
“Where are you heading?”
“Hair appointment with Tom. The so-and-so moved to a new shop! Now I’ve got to go all the way to Burlington to get my hair done.”
Though Tilda was used to crossing town barriers for work and recreation, her sister preferred to stay closer to home. “Isn’t there somebody else at his old place who can cut your hair?”
“When I find somebody who can cut my hair as well as Tom, then I’ll switch. So what if I have to drive an extra half an hour each way—it’s worth it. Not to mention the fact that nobody has ever been able to get the gray out of my hair like he does. When you start coloring your hair—”
“What’s the matter with my hair?”
“Absolutely nothing—it’s gorgeous—but you know black will show the gray a lot quicker than something lighter.” June looked at her watch. “I’ve got to run.”
“Don’t let me keep you. I’ve got the brownies to keep me company.”
June promised to be back in time for lunch and headed for the minivan. Since it was the same forest green as half the minivans in town, Tilda had found a happy-face ball to put on the antenna, knowing that June wouldn’t mind the fangs Tilda added to the smile.
A thought occurred to Tilda just as her sister opened the car door, and she yelled, “June, is my stuff still in the attic?”
“Of course.”
“Do you mind if I go up there to take a look?”
“Help yourself. I’m afraid it’s pretty dusty up there—”
“You haven’t dusted your attic?” Tilda said in mock horror. “I’m going to cancel your subscription to Martha Stewart Living. ”
June laughed, and was gone.
Closing the front door behind her, Tilda passed through the living room—which, as always, looked like an explosion in a Fisher-Price factory—and into the kitchen, where warm brownies waited. Tilda knew the milk she took out would be fresh, unlike the contents of her own refrigerator, so she poured some into a glass without even sniffing it first. The first brownie was good, and the second was even better. She was tempted by a third, but went upstairs instead, leaving her stuff in the guest room, which also had a door leading to the attic stairway.
Unlike many attics, June’s was tall enough for Tilda to stand in. June had hinted that she’d be willing to fit it out as a bedroom and even add a private bath, should Tilda be interested in moving in, but Tilda refused to consider it. Sitcom suburbia was her stock-in-trade—the real thing made her nervous. Besides, knowing how quickly she went through roommates, she wasn’t willing to jeopardize her relationship with her sister. June was already going above and beyond the call of duty by letting Tilda store those boxes that she would have inflicted on her mother’s attic, had Mom and her third husband not retired to Florida.
The attic was the domain of Tilda’s brother-in-law, Glen, and as such was as precisely organized as the living room was not. And despite June’s warning, there was less dust than in Tilda’s bedroom. All of her boxes were stacked in one corner, with the labels facing outward, so it took no time at all for her to find what she was looking for: the three boxes marked Kissing Cousins.
Tilda liked to pretend that she kept her boxes in her sister’s attic because she didn’t have enough closet space in the apartments she’d been able to afford, and that was certainly true, but she had other motives.
One, she didn’t want any of her roommates finding out just how much of a geek she’d been about certain shows, including Kissing Cousins, which they’d certainly have realized if they’d seen the care with which her collection was arranged—the photos and clippings neatly filed in folders with typewritten labels, and each paperback book and magazine in its own clear Mylar bag with backing board. Even the board game from the show was wrapped in plastic, and some of the jigsaw puzzles had never been opened.
Two, she didn’t want anybody pawing through her treasures.
The heaviest box was filled with her collection of vintage teen magazines—Tiger Beat, 16, and Teen Fave—and she pulled it out first to flip through pages of articles with titles like “Donny Osmond’s Secret Sickness,” “Rick Springfield Tells You Everything You Want to Know,” and “John Stamos’s Dream of a Full House of His Own.” She’d carefully book-marked the articles about Kissing Cousins stars, so it was easy to find them again, and she found herself wondering if green really had been Jim Bonnier’s favorite color and if Noel Clark had ever found his lost first love. None of this, fascinating as it had been to the teenaged Tilda or amusing as it was to her now, was really what she was looking for. She was hoping that there would be something in the articles to give her an idea about where to search for Mercy.
Unfortunately there wasn’t much to work with. Teen magazines of that era weren’t really known for giving hard data—sure, she found out what Mercy’s ideal date would be, but not her ideal place to live nearly three decades after the show ended. In fact, articles about the Kissing Cousins cast had dwindled as the show reached the middle of its third season, which had undoubtedly been a clue to the network that the show’s modest popularity was waning.
The last mention Tilda found was in an issue of Teen Fave, a magazine she preferred over the others because of the editor’s predictions about where the current crop of teen idols would be in five years, ten years, or even longer. Sophia Vaughn had had a gift for knowing who was likely to hang on to their current level of fame, or even exceed it—she’d successfully predicted long careers for John Travolta and Michael Jackson, while remaining mute on Sajid Khan and twins Andy and David Williams, and tactfully vague on many others.
Sophia had written about Mercy just after Kissing Cousins was canceled, and had announced that Mercy had already signed to be in The Raven’s Prey, a feature that would no doubt be the first of many big screen appearances for the young actress. Tilda remembered renting that movie, only to find that Mercy
wasn’t in it after all. She’d never heard why until Noel told her about Mercy quitting.
It was a thin lead, but it was something, so Tilda pulled out her Palm and jotted down the movie’s title. Maybe she could get in touch with some of the people who’d worked on it—one of them might know why Mercy had left the production.
Sophia Vaughn might remember more too, though Tilda wasn’t sure if it would be worth the effort it would take to find out. The retired editor was enormous fun, and a source of information Tilda could find nowhere else, but she was eccentric and could be difficult to deal with.
Tilda was about to put the magazine back into the box when she saw a bookmark at the inside back cover. There was a picture of Mercy along with Sophia, sitting on a couch in what looked like a hotel lobby. A handsome, dark-haired man was standing behind the couch, and a young boy was sitting between the women, staring at Mercy worshipfully. Neither the man nor the boy were identified. This was an even thinner lead, but Tilda thought she might be able to find out who they were. She slipped the issue back into its protective bag, and put it aside to take downstairs.
Curse of the Kissing Cousins Page 8
