Mrs. Walker was upset about that as well, but she also wanted to watch the program.
“What good would it do us to boycott it?” she asked reasonably. “That’s not going to stop it from being shown. Everybody else in town is going to be watching it, so why shouldn’t we?”
Eileen Stanton was her favorite talk show host. Mrs. Walker never missed her show if she could help it.
Bruce was feeling so miserable about his phone conversation that afternoon with Craig Donovan that the very thought of Jerry made his stomach lurch. Mr. Donovan had been stunned to learn that Bruce was unable to provide the signed release form.
“Your sister assured me the cast would be off by now!” he said.
“The cast?” Bruce repeated blankly.
“The cast on the boy’s hand. Were there further complications? I don’t suppose you have an orthopedic hand specialist in Elmwood?”
“I don’t know,” Bruce said. “In fact, I don’t even know what one is.”
“Where is that poor boy now?” Mr. Donovan asked him. “Perhaps we could get him to make an X with his left hand and have a notary public witness it. That would be the legal equivalent of a signature.”
“If you mean the boy on the skateboard, he’s in New York,” Bruce said.
“They have good doctors in New York,” Mr. Donovan said approvingly. “But that won’t help us in this dire situation. We’ll be airing the videos on Dog Appreciation Day, which is only a week away. It’s an hour-and-a-half show, which allows us time for three fifteen-minute videos, three interviews, and the necessary commercials. Now, with only two videos in the competition, what are we going to do with the rest of the time?”
“Maybe you could sell more commercials?” Bruce suggested.
“It’s too late for that,” Mr. Donovan said. “What we need is additional talent to fill the void. I read in the paper about a teenage boy who’s written a book about a circus dog. I’ll try to track him down. Maybe he’ll agree to appear on the show in between the two videos.”
“I can’t tell you how bad I feel about this,” Bruce said.
He had never been so humiliated in his life.
Mr. Donovan was a nice man, and Star Burst Studios had invested a lot of money in bringing Bruce, Aunt Alice, and Red Rover to Hollywood. He felt terrible about letting them down, but he felt even worse for Andi, who had twice come so close to her dream and now had been thwarted a second time.
Still, he voted yes to watching the Eileen Stanton Show. As his mother had said, there was nothing to be gained by not watching it, and he couldn’t help being curious about what Jerry would say.
Andi didn’t participate in the conversation. She knew that the family would end up watching the show.
Which of course they did, although they all cringed a little when Jerry appeared on the screen. He looked even more adorable than he did in real life. His cheeks were flushed from the color applied by the makeup artist, his lashes had been darkened by mascara, and his hair had been sprayed with something that made it glisten.
His flashing smile lit up the studio, and Eileen Stanton, who could usually upstage anybody, seemed a little bit drab in contrast, despite her orange blouse and flaming red hair.
She was obviously smitten with Jerry, especially when he raised her hand to his lips and kissed it.
“What inspired you to write your story from the viewpoint of a dog?” she asked, leaning eagerly forward for his answer.
“I’ve always had a special kinship with dogs,” Jerry said. “It’s as if I can see into their souls. Ruffy’s story poured forth from my fingertips in a magical way. The words popped onto the screen as if Ruffy himself was dictating them. I’ve been told that that’s the way Shakespeare wrote his plays — not on a computer, of course, but with a quill pen. And Hemingway did that too, and Gene Simmons and R. L. Stine and the Gospel writers in the Bible. It’s the sign of — of —”
He paused, as if embarrassed to go on.
Eileen Stanton completed the sentence for him.
“Of genius!” she said reverently.
“Oh, I wouldn’t say that exactly,” Jerry told her modestly. “I’m just a normal kid with big dreams and aspirations. I want to introduce other kids to the joy of writing and the appreciation of good literature.”
“Tell us about Ruffy’s circus,” Eileen Stanton begged him. “Please describe it in your own vivid words so our viewers and I can visualize it just the way you do.”
“It was just a regular circus,” Jerry told her, seeming slightly uncomfortable for the first time since he had stepped onto the set. “You know what they’re like — with elephants and clowns and pretty girls on trapezes. I hope you don’t mind if I don’t go into more detail. I don’t want to spoil the story for people who buy the book.”
“I read in the press release that the second-place winner, Amanda Wallace, is even younger than you are,” Eileen Stanton said. “We had hoped to have her join you on the show but weren’t able to locate her. Have you been in touch with her? I should think the two of you would have a lot in common.”
“No, we haven’t talked,” Jerry said. “When I read her name in the paper, I wanted to call and congratulate her, but I couldn’t find her phone number.”
“We need to take a commercial break, and then we’ll take calls from our viewers,” Eileen Stanton said, regretfully tearing her eyes away from Jerry to gaze into the camera lens. “I’m sure there are lots of people who would love to speak to our guest. What an inspiration he is to the young people of our nation!”
Mr. Walker pushed the MUTE button.
“I knew I should have phoned the paper and corrected that error!” he said. “Amanda Wallace? Of course they weren’t able to find Andi!”
“I wouldn’t have wanted to be on that show anyway,” Andi said. “How could I sit there while Jerry compared himself to Shakespeare? And it’s weird the things he was saying about Ruffy’s circus. It didn’t have clowns and elephants and acrobats.”
“No elephants?” her mother exclaimed. “You must be mistaken, honey. Every circus has elephants.”
“Not Ruffy’s circus,” Andi said. “There was nobody in it but dogs. Ruffy did tricks like Lamb Chop does at the retirement home. In the story, the dogs’ master takes them from town to town in a car. How could you squeeze an elephant into a car?”
The commercials were over. Mr. Walker activated the sound again, and calls began to flood in.
The first was from a teacher who wanted to know if Jerry did school visits. Jerry said he might consider that if he was paid enough.
Then a man who raised elephants as a hobby called to inform people that an elephant’s hair was too tough to be cut by razors and had to be shaved with a blowtorch. He wanted to know if Jerry had included a blowtorch scene in his book.
Jerry said no, but he’d be sure to include one in the sequel.
Then, suddenly, there was a voice that all of them recognized.
“I’m Alice Scudder,” the voice said. “I am calling to correct an error. The girl who came in second in the Young Author Dog Lovers Contest, with a brilliant story titled Bobby Strikes Back, is not named Amanda Wallace. She is Andrea Walker, the daughter of John and Linda Walker of Elmwood, New Jersey. Andi has been writing since she was much younger than Jerry Gordon. She published her first poem when she was ten.”
“I appreciate your setting us straight, Ms. Scudder,” Eileen Stanton said. “That mix-up in names must be the reason no one could find her.”
“It may be the reason that you couldn’t find her,” Aunt Alice said. “However, Jerry knows Andi personally. He asked her to do revisions on Ruffy Dean Joins the Circus. Jerry made a deal with Andi that if she would do his work for him —”
“Thank you, Ms. Scudder,” Eileen Stanton interrupted hastily. “We appreciate your call, but we need to move on. Our phones are ringing off the hooks!”
The next call was from a girl who wanted to know if Jerry had a girlfriend.
> Jerry blushed endearingly.
“I’ve been so busy with my writing that I haven’t had a chance for that,” he told her. “Maybe now I ought to make up for lost time.”
The audience laughed and applauded, and the girl squealed and tried to give him her phone number. Eileen Stanton told her to leave it with the operator, who would see that Jerry got it after the show. Then five more girls called in to announce that they, too, were leaving their numbers with the operator and wanted Jerry to call them.
One, a drama major at a conservatory for dramatic arts, suggested that she and Jerry get together to read Shakespeare. Jerry said that would be fun, but he was overcommitted.
Music began to play as the show reached its close.
“Thank you, Jerry Gordon, for being with us tonight,” Eileen Stanton said. “I know your book is going to be a bestseller. I plan to buy copies for everybody I know!”
And then she got up and hugged him, right there in front of the camera.
“Yuck!” Andi said, and covered her eyes with her hands.
“Double yuck,” Mrs. Walker said, putting her arm around her daughter and hugging her tight. “I will never watch that ridiculous show again.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The week that led up to Dog Appreciation Day dragged by so slowly that it was as if time had become stuck.
As heartsick as they were that Bobby Strikes Back would not be shown, Bruce and Andi were anxious to see the other two videos. Tim and Debbie were equally curious, especially after hearing about Gabby’s unique talent.
“I won’t believe a dog can talk until I hear it with my own ears,” Tim said.
The four of them gathered at Aunt Alice’s house to watch the program. They had invited Kristy to join them, but she said it was going to be shown on the big-screen TV in the recreation room at Glenn Ridge, and she thought that she and Lamb Chop should view it with the residents.
“Mrs. Dotson is terribly excited,” Kristy told them. “Not everybody’s ninety-ninth birthday party is on national television!”
When they consulted the paper, they learned that the show had been reduced to one hour. Apparently Mr. Donovan had not been able to reach Jerry in time to include him on the program.
Kristy’s video was the first to be shown, and it was very well done. It started with an overview of the Glenn Ridge facility — a comfortable living room, a dining room, a recreation room, a therapy room, a swimming pool, and a library.
Kristy’s voice narrated the virtual tour, describing Glenn Ridge as a “home for people who can no longer do all the things they did when they were young.” She continued: “They need help with some day-to-day activities, but they still want to live full lives. They swim and play games and take classes, and there’s a van that takes them to concerts and movies and the mall. And sometimes they have special guests.”
When Kristy said the word “guest,” Lamb Chop bounced onto the screen, looking like a ball of cotton with wiry little legs.
“This is my therapy dog, Lamby,” Kristy continued. “Therapy dogs help people by visiting with them. That helps tense people relax and can even make their blood pressure go down. The residents at Glenn Ridge love it when Lamby comes to see them. One man told me he feels like she’s part of his family. And Lamby has a wonderful time there. She gets invited to all of the parties and sometimes provides entertainment.”
Then there came the scene that Kristy had been working on in the editing bay, with a group of elderly people laughing and applauding. The camera then focused on Lamb Chop in her grass skirt, prancing around as a white-haired man strummed a ukulele. The camera followed Lamb Chop through other activities. There was a touching scene in which she hopped onto a bed and cuddled with the woman who lay there. After a moment, the woman reached up a fragile hand to stroke Lamb Chop’s head.
“Lamby’s one of a small group of therapy dogs who are allowed to get on the beds of sick people,” Kristy said. “That’s because she’s a Maltipoo and people aren’t allergic to her.”
In the final scene, the woman on the bed started singing. Her voice was feeble, but true, and the song was a happy one.
“How much is that doggie in the window?” she crooned softly. “The one with the waggly tail?”
Andi’s eyes filled with tears of sympathy as she listened.
Kristy’s video ended, and suddenly, there she was on-screen, being interviewed by Mr. Donovan. He started by asking questions about therapy dogs, which Kristy answered quickly and easily. A therapy dog had to be over one year old, have all its shots, and be able to obey commands, she told him. Even more important, it had to be calm and well-behaved and enjoy socializing with strangers.
“That’s Bebe!” Andi exclaimed. “She could be a therapy dog!”
“So could Lola!” Debbie cried, and then she reconsidered. “Maybe not. Lola doesn’t obey very well.”
“MacTavish is out,” Tim said. “He’s much too rowdy. He’d knock people out of their wheelchairs.”
“Red wouldn’t be right for that either,” Bruce said regretfully. “He’d want to run up and down the halls.”
Mr. Donovan continued his questions, and Kristy told him that a therapy dog’s handler must be at least ten years old and that any handler under the age of sixteen had to be accompanied by a parent or a guardian.
“That’s no problem for me,” Kristy said. “My mom works at Glenn Ridge, so she’s already there. Any time I bring Lamby, Mom’s in the room with me.”
Then Mr. Donovan asked if Lamb Chop would dance for them.
Lamb Chop didn’t have to be asked twice. She was instantly up on her hind legs, twirling around, swishing her hula skirt in a professional manner, even though there wasn’t any music. When her performance ended, she rushed to Kristy and leapt into her lap, wriggling with joy and self-satisfaction.
Lamb Chop was definitely a ham.
Then there was a break for a dog food commercial.
“I’ve got to admit, your girlfriend’s cute,” Tim told Bruce.
“She’s not my girlfriend!” Bruce said a little too firmly. “She’s just a good friend. A couple of weeks ago, you were calling her Jerry’s girlfriend.”
“I’m not saying that now,” Tim said. “I saw your face while you were watching her cuddling Lamb Chop. I’m your ‘good friend,’ and you don’t look at me that way.”
“She is too just a friend!” Andi said. “She’s Bruce’s friend, and my friend, and Aunt Alice’s. Isn’t that right, Aunt Alice?”
“I’m proud to claim Kristy as my friend,” said Aunt Alice. “Especially after watching her conduct herself on television.”
The commercials ended, and they returned their attention to the TV screen, where the title of Mr. Merlin’s video appeared in gigantic letters — GABBY TALKS.
Technically, the video was nothing special. There was nothing on it but Gabby. He was sitting in a hard-back chair, staring apprehensively at the person behind the camera.
That person had the voice of Maynard Merlin.
“This is Gabby,” he said. “He’s a stray who turned up on my doorstep one day, and I decided to see if I could teach him to talk. I’d read a book about how to do that, and it didn’t sound too hard — just a lot of time-consuming work. So I adopted Gabby and got him his shots and did the other stuff you have to do for a dog. My apartment became his classroom. Luckily, I had a small inheritance to live on, so I didn’t have to leave the house to go to an outside job. I was free to work with Gabby from seven in the morning until seven at night, every day of the week. And under my expert tutorage, he did learn to talk. Right, Gabby?”
“Uh-huh,” Gabby said, nodding.
“I already hate that man, and I can’t even see him,” Debbie said. “I just hate the sound of his voice.” She spoke in a whisper so as not to drown out any of Gabby’s comments.
“Okay, Gabby, let’s chat,” Mr. Merlin said. “Tell me about your life before you came to live with me. Was it easy or hard?”
>
“Harrrr,” Gabby said. D was not one of the letters he could pronounce.
“Where did you get your food before I took you in?”
“Garagg cans,” Gabby said, lowering his head in embarrassment.
“Were you happy eating out of garbage cans and living on the streets like a vagabond?” Mr. Merlin asked him.
“Uh-uh,” Gabby said.
“Are you happier living with me, working hard to perfect your verbal skills?” Mr. Merlin asked.
“Uh-uh,” Gabby said again.
“That is not the appropriate answer,” Mr. Merlin said firmly. “The right answer is yes, but since dogs can’t make the ‘s’ sound, you need to say, ‘Uh-huh,’ to indicate that you mean yes. Can you do that, Gabby?”
“Uh-huh,” Gabby said.
“Gabby says yes, he is very happy living with me,” Mr. Merlin said. “Now, Gabby —”
“I can’t bear to watch any more of this,” Andi said. “Poor Gabby is being tortured! Twelve hours a day to teach him to say ‘uh-huh’? Let’s turn off the TV.”
“No, dear,” Aunt Alice said. “This is an eye-opener for all of us. Gabby is doing his best, and we need to see him through this. We also want to know what happened during his interview. That dog came out of the studio and collapsed in a chair. I personally thought he was having a nervous breakdown.”
“Now, Gabby,” Mr. Merlin continued, “why don’t we sing a little song? You do like to sing, don’t you?”
“Uh-huh,” Gabby said, although he didn’t seem to mean it.
“Let’s make it a duet,” Mr. Merlin said. He began to sing in an unpleasantly nasal voice. “Twinkle, twinkle, little star!”
“Wingle, wingle, liggle are!” Gabby sang. He was more on key than Mr. Merlin.
“Now, let’s tell our viewers good-bye,” Mr. Merlin said.
“Goowye,” Gabby said with obvious relief.
Mercifully the video was over.
But Mr. Merlin and Gabby were not over. There was an abrupt transition to Star Burst Studios, where they were being interviewed by Mr. Donovan. Mr. Merlin was trying to elaborate on the challenges involved in teaching a dog to talk, but Mr. Donovan seemed more interested in what Gabby had to say.