by Betsy Haynes
"That's a laugh," I said. "Clarence Marshall is such a drip I'll bet he didn't even get invited to the pool party, much less kiss Taffy Sinclair." Suddenly a picture flashed into my mind. I could see chubby Clarence Marshall hauling himself out of the pool after a gigantic belly flop. His hair is plastered to his forehead, and his loud Hawaiian print trunks almost don't make it out of the water with him. Suddenly he dashes madly for Taffy Sinclair, puckers up, and plants a sloppy kiss right on her lips. Taffy's eyes fill with horror and she stares at him as if he were the Creature from the Black Lagoon. "On second thought," I said, "it would serve her right if he did."
We all laughed so hard at that that I didn't even see Randy Kirwan until he was standing beside me.
"Hi, Jana," he said, and smiled. I jumped as if I had just sat on a tack. I felt a little shiver start to travel through me. "Did you see Taffy Sinclair on television yesterday?"
The shiver fizzled out. So Randy had been taken in by Taffy's pitiful expression and fake tear, too. How could he and Chad be so gullible?
"No," I lied. "I have far more important things to do than sit around watching soap operas. Only gullible people believe what they see on them anyway."
"You're probably right," said Randy. "I was at football practice, so I didn't see her either. I just wondered how she did. You know, if she forgot her lines or anything."
"She didn't have any lines." The instant the words left my lips, I felt my ears getting hot. How could I have said such a stupid thing? I had just told him I didn't see the show.
"That's right," piped up Beth. "I called Jana right after it was over and told her all about it."
I shot her a grateful look as the first bell rang, and the conversation ended. The hall was suddenly filled with kids pushing and shoving their way to class. It was absolute bedlam with lockers banging and kids yelling. But I didn't mind. All that mattered was that Randy Kirwan had not been taken in by Taffy Sinclair after all. He hadn't even watched the program. And he agreed with me that only gullible people believed what they saw on soaps.
When my friends and I got to my house after school, I filled the bowl with chips again and got us each a can of soda. Everybody started munching and slurping away except Melanie. That was a surprise. I couldn't believe that she was on a diet. I wondered if she was sick. But I didn't think about it for long.
"Don't forget," I shouted. "Today Taffy gets a lot worse, and tomorrow . . ." I ran my finger across my throat and made a slashing sound.
We started hooting and cheering and clapping our hands, getting potato chip crumbs all over the place.
"That probably means she won't get to say any lines," I added. "She'll be too weak. In fact, she'll probably be too weak to cry any more fake tears."
Everybody agreed, and we were in pretty good spirits when I turned on the TV and flipped the dial to the right channel for Interns and Lovers. I settled back, thinking how much fun it was going to be to watch Taffy Sinclair waste away.
The first scene faded in. It was a nurses' station in the hospital. A nurse was sitting behind the desk looking down at some papers. A doctor stood to one side reading a patient's chart. All was quiet.
Suddenly another doctor came running up the hall so fast his white coat was flapping. "It's a miracle! That's all it can be . . . a MIRACLE!"
The nurse looked up and so did the doctor reading the chart. It's Chad, I thought. It has to be Chad. He's come down off the roof. They've saved him. But how? Did Cynthia finally eat? Did they carry her up to the roof so she could polish off a burger and fries in front of him? Why didn't the doctor explain?
After what seemed like the longest pause in, history, he raised a hand for the others to listen. I held my breath. My heart was pounding. What was he going to say?
The camera zoomed in for a close-up of his face. It was positively glowing. "She's going to live! The girl with leukemia is going to live—and she's going to get well! Hurry! Come to her room! She's sitting up!" Everybody from the nurses' station went tearing down the hall, following the doctor in the flappy white coat. It was a regular stampede. When they crowded into the hospital room, Taffy Sinclair was sitting up in bed. She had a pitiful little smile on her face and another fat fake tear on her cheek.
The organ music thundered as the station cut away for a commercial, leaving my friends and me dumbfounded in front of the set.
CHAPTER SIX
"What happened?" I gasped as soon as I got my voice back. "She was supposed to get worse today and die tomorrow. Everybody knows that. Taffy said so herself."
"Maybe somebody goofed and accidentally got the wrong script," offered Beth.
"Maybe Taffy's mother paid off the network," said Christie. Leave it to Christie to think of money since she is a mathematical genius and plans to become an accountant someday.
Melanie had a dreamy look on her face. "I'll bet I know what happened. I'll bet Chad fell madly in love with Taffy and threatened to really jump off the roof if they let her die."
"Oh, for goodness' sake!" shrieked Katie. She jumped up off the sofa as if she had just fallen into a bed of cactus. She started pacing the floor, and I knew we were in for another one of her famous lectures. "How can all of you get so carried away with such a stupid sexist program? The characters are all stereotypes. Taffy and that Cynthia person are weak, helpless females. And Chad the Magnificent, the King of the Jungle, is supposed to save the day."
"Not if he jumps off the roof," I sang in a sarcastic voice, and we all started to giggle.
Katie looked as if she might explode, but just then the commercials ended and there he was, Chad the Magnificent, the King of the Jungle, poised on the edge of the roof. He was about four stories above the ground. Even Katie couldn't help but watch.
Chad had a tormented look on his face as if he had nothing left to live for. It broke my heart to see him like that. In the street below him police cars screeched to a stop and uniformed officers poured out. One of them shouted up to Chad through a bullhorn.
"Unlock the door to the roof and come down. We want to help you."
I held my breath. Surely he wouldn't jump. "He has so much to live for," I murmured. "There are lots of other women in the world besides Cynthia."
"Yeah," growled Christie. "There's always Taffy Sinclair."
I tried not to think about Taffy and Chad. I'd worry about that later—after Chad got down off the roof. The policeman was shouting at him again, but Chad didn't seem to hear him. He was staring into space as if his mind were a million miles away. Now a fire engine had joined the police cars, but Chad wasn't paying any attention to that either. Suddenly a look of surprise crossed his face, and his eyes widened in horror. The camera cut away, and we could see what Chad was looking at.
"That man!" I shouted. He's sneaking up behind that old lady!" Sure enough, a sleazy-looking guy was creeping up behind a white-haired lady with a pocketbook dangling from her arm. The police didn't even see it. They were all too busy trying to get Chad off the roof. Now that man was gaining on the old woman.
"Oh, my gosh," gasped Christie. "He's going to mug her."
We held our breaths as the camera swung back to Chad. He was waving his arms and shouting down to the policemen. "Look behind you! There's a mugging going on!"
Now the camera was on the policeman with the bullhorn. He squinted up at Chad. It was plain to see that he was too far away from Chad to hear what he was saying, and he began shouting orders to his men.
"He's flipping out up there. Quick. Get the fire net. I think he's going to jump."
Firemen in black-and-yellow striped coats came pouring off the engine. They hauled out the net and held it like a gigantic trampoline. Chad stopped waving and shouting. He stood perfectly still for an instant and then did a swan dive over the side of the building.
I could hear somebody screaming. I think it was me. I couldn't believe it. Chad had jumped!
"They caught him! He's alive! He's alive!" screamed Melanie. She grabbed me and hugged m
e until I couldn't breathe. Chad really was alive. He bounced a couple of times in the net and then scrambled to the edge and jumped over the side, racing through the police line to tackle the sleazy man just as he grabbed for the old lady's purse.
"He's a hero!" shouted Beth, and we started jumping up and down and shouting with her, "He's a hero! Chad's a hero!"
When we finally settled down, I noticed two things. One, the program had ended for the day and a cartoon was coming on. Two, Katie was still sitting down, and she had a disgusted look on her face.
"Good old Chad the Magnificent, the King of the Jungle," she said in her most sarcastic voice. "Sexist, stereotype Chad saved the day just like I told you he would."
Leave it to Katie, I thought, to put a damper on things.
I sat in front of the TV for a long time after my friends left, but I wasn't really watching. I was thinking about Chad and how wonderful he was. He was not only kind and sensitive, but he was a genuine hero. I was also thinking about Randy Kirwan and how much he and Chad had in common. I was really glad that I had started watching Interns and Lovers, because it was helping me to understand things about people that I had never thought of before. Take Randy, for example. I knew now that he would never hesitate to jump off a roof to save an old lady from being mugged. He was kind and sensitive and he was a hero. I might not have known that if I hadn't started watching the show. And I had found out something about myself, too. I would eat anything, no matter how disgusting and gross, to save Randy. I closed my eyes and saw his face and those kind and sensitive eyes, and I felt tingly all over.
Then I saw another face. It was Taffy Sinclair's. I had learned something about her, too. You could never trust her. I had known that all along, of course, but here it was for the rest of the world to see. If you couldn't trust her to die when she was supposed to, how could you trust her for anything else?
Suddenly I got this great idea. It was plain that watching Interns and Lovers was making me more sensitive and helping me to understand the people around me. Maybe I should watch some other soaps, too. I grabbed the newspaper and turned to the TV schedule. To Have and to Hold was on another channel and following that was To Live, Perchance to Love. Mom wouldn't be home for a while, and when I heard her coming, I could race to my room and act like I was doing my homework.
I sat glued to the set for the next hour in a tube trance. In To Have and to Hold Samantha is engaged to Michael, who almost as handsome as Chad. Her best friend is Terri, who is secretly trying to steal Michael away from her. Michael takes Samantha home from a date and then goes to a rendezvous on the beach with Terri, where they kiss while the waves crash against the rocks. Meanwhile Samantha calls her mother long-distance to announce that Michael told her he loves her. I couldn't help thinking that Michael was a real jerk to sneak around on Samantha like that. He certainly had nothing in common with Randy Kirwan, even though I had to admit he was awfully cute.
Then To Live, Perchance to Love came on. I could tell right away that Dierdre is a real villain. She's icky sweet to everybody, and she gets a really mean look in her eyes when nobody is noticing, and tells lie after lie about poor Julie, who suffered amnesia after being run over in a hit-and-run accident. Julie doesn't remember that she is married to Arthur, who is in jail for the hit-and-run accident but didn't cause it. Poor Arthur, I thought, and poor Julie.
I sat there for a few minutes after the program ended, trying to imagine what it would feel like not to remember anything, but I couldn't. Every time I tried not to remember something, I always did.
Still, I can't remember very many things that happened when I was really little. Oh, I remember some things. I remember one day when I was playing with another little girl in a kiddie pool in the backyard, but I can't remember who she was or if I ever played with her again. I remember that day because I stepped on a bee and got stung. And I remember being scared to death to sit on Santa's lap, and things like that. But I can't remember my father no matter how hard I try, and I try awfully hard sometimes. That makes me feel pretty sad. Maybe that was how poor Julie felt.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Taffy Sinclair was waiting for my friends and me when we got to school the next morning. She had already gathered a big crowd of kids by the front steps.
"Would you look at Mona Vaughn," grumbled Christie.
I looked. It was disgusting. Poor, ugly Mona was gazing at Taffy as if she were some kind of rock star. The sad thing is that Taffy treats Mona like dirt most of the time, only letting her hang around when there's nobody else to talk to.
"How disgusting," I said. But Mona wasn't the only one. A few other girls were there, sort of hanging back as if they were afraid to talk to her. But the really disgusting thing was all the boys. There were bunches of them, and it was plain to see that Taffy was enjoying all the attention. Taffy doesn't usually get that much attention since she's so snotty and stuck-up. Anyway, with all those boys crowded around her, it took me a minute to see if Randy Kirwan was there. Thank goodness he wasn't, but there was Clarence Marshall with a dopey grin on his face and Mark Peters and Scott Daly.
"Maybe we should sneak around to the back of the school before she sees us and go in through the gym," said Melanie. But she was too late. Taffy had spotted us.
"Jana! Katie! Beth!" she called. "Melanie! Christie! Guess what?"
"Who cares?" muttered Katie.
Taffy wasn't taking any chances on our getting away. She was headed toward us like a queen, with her court following behind. I would have welcomed an earthquake right about then so that the ground would have opened up and swallowed my friends and me. But no such luck.
"So many people called the network after my first appearance on Interns and Lovers wanting me to live, that when I got to the station for the filming yesterday, they had rewritten the script. Isn't that wonderful?"
"Yeah," added Clarence Marshall, "they all kept saying, 'You just can't let that beautiful girl die!,' didn't they, Taffy?" He was positively drooling.
Taffy was smiling at us with a poison-dart look in her eyes. She knew she had us squirming, but I'd die before I'd let her think we were jealous.
"Gee, Taffy," I said, trying to make my voice sound really sad. "Does that mean you'll have to quit school at Mark Twain Elementary and move to New York City?"
She didn't answer for a minute, but it was obvious that I had asked the question she wanted to hear. I didn't know why at first. I hadn't meant to do a thing like that.
"No, of course not," she said in an icky sweet voice just like the icky sweet voice that villain Deirdre uses in To Live, Perchance to Love. It made me want to throw up. "I'll only be on the show three days a week; I'll be at school the other two." She paused a minute and looked straight at Christie before she dropped the bomb. "The two days I'm here, I'll stay after so that Mr. Scott can tutor me. He'll tutor me on Saturday mornings, too."
I knew I should come to Christie's rescue and say something really brilliant, but I couldn't. Instead, I was seeing a picture in my mind. It was Taffy and Mr. Scott. They were all alone on Bridgeport Beach. There were papers and books beside them on the sand, but they weren't paying any attention to them. They were looking at each other just the way Terri and Michael looked at each other when they had their rendezvous on the beach in To Have and to Hold. Just as a wave crashed against the rocks and Taffy and Mr. Scott moved toward each other to kiss, I felt a jab in my ribs.
"What's the matter with you, Jana?" screamed Christie. "Did you go to sleep or something? Didn't you hear what she said?"
Taffy and her group of followers had moved on to capture some other unsuspecting kids, and Christie was standing next to me, fists clenched, looking as if she had come unglued. I certainly couldn't tell her about Taffy and Mr. Scott kissing on the beach. I had to think fast.
"Of course, I heard what Taffy said. But I didn't want to give her the satisfaction of thinking I cared. It's time for the bell. We'll talk about it more at lunch."
Christie was
quiet at lunch. I knew why, but I couldn't think of anything to say. Melanie was quiet, too. And that's not all. The only things she had brought for lunch were a hard-boiled egg and an apple. That wasn't like her. And yet the more I thought about it, the more I realized that it had been ages since she had brought any of her mother's brownies to share at lunch. She used to bring her mother's brownies all the time. She also used to eat most of them. I wondered if her mother was sick. "Melanie, is your mother sick?"
Melanie looked really surprised, and suddenly I noticed that she was a little thinner.
"Of course not. What would make you ask a thing like that?"
"Well, for one thing, that's a funny lunch," I said, pointing to her apple and hard-boiled egg. "And it's been weeks since you brought brownies to school."
"Jana Morgan, you dope," she said. "I'm on a diet. That's all."
"But why?" I asked. I had the sinking feeling that I knew what the answer would be. I could see now that she was more than just a little thin. She was getting absolutely skinny.
"I really need to take off some weight."
I stared at her, my mouth open, and when I didn't say anything, she shrugged.
"It's no big deal. All it takes is some discipline and self-control."
That did it. Discipline. Self-control. Those were Cynthia's words. She had said them the day Chad tried to get her to eat. I closed my eyes. I imagined Melanie lying in a hospital bed. She was skin and bones. She had lost so much weight that she looked like a tiny frail bird. Poor Melanie. She wasn't just losing weight. She was anorexic! What would happen to her? If Chad couldn't help Cynthia, what on earth could I do for Melanie?
Even though I knew Taffy Sinclair wouldn't be on Intents and Lovers today since she had been in school, I hurried home to watch it anyway. For Melanie's sake I had to find out more about anorexia. And I couldn't help wondering what would happen to Cynthia now that Chad was off the roof. Would she be so grateful he was safe that she would gobble up everything in sight and get well? That would give me hope for Melanie. The instant the show came on, I knew the answer.
