The Cannibals (11 page)

Sometimes it seems like the two of us are so different that it will be a
miracle
if we stay together. Then I think of all the things we share: Our love of sports and music and dancing. Our scholastic aptitude and sensitivity. How good we look in formal wear. Which reminded me: “Campbell, I've been meaning to ask you to be my escort at Macy's Spring Fling Fashion Show,” I said. “They're looking for some handsome guys.”

I thought he would be flattered. But instead, he got this
look
on his face.

“Tiff,” he sighed, “I know we're friends, but do I
have
to?”

This is the thing I can't understand about Campbell. You'd think he'd be glad that he's so good-looking that Macy's would want him to model their clothes! Plus he'd make some really good money.

“I thought you'd be pleased,” I said, a little hurt.

“You know how I feel about modeling,” he answered.

“This isn't about modeling; it's about
us
,” I said. “Are we a couple or aren't we?”

“A couple of what?” Campbell said.

I've never put all of my feelings into words, but Campbell
must
get the picture by now! Do I have to spell everything
o-u-t
?

Hot tears sprang to my eyes. I busied myself buttering some French bread.

Campbell took my hand. “I'm sorry, Tiff,” he said. “I'll do it, if it's so important. But sometimes it seems like …” He glanced down at his plate.

“Seems like what?” I persisted, when he faltered.

“Well, like you think I'm an accessory or something,” he said.

“An accessory?” I repeated. “What do you mean?”

He said it was hard to put into words, but something about me thinking that he's like a
handbag;
just something that looks good, to wear on my arm, and that I don't really get that he's an actual
person
.

Which is absolute unmitigated
crap
. But I didn't say that; I refuse to be crude. Choking on tears and my French bread, I replied, “If you don't understand, I can't explain it.”

The waitress came back and asked if everything was okay.

“Fine, thanks,” Campbell answered, gently waving her away. Then he said, “I think I know why you're so upset, Tiffy.”

Finally
. “You do?”

“Yes,” he said. “I know how worried you are about Wally. Have they found him yet?”

What
is
it with boys? How could somebody as smart as Campbell be so
dense
?

“No!” I gasped, struggling for control.

“Don't worry; they will. Wally's going to be fine. He'll be back home before you know it,” he said.

Suddenly it all seemed hopeless. Campbell has too many principles to be my boyfriend! He obviously still thought of me as “Wally's girl” and was just holding down the fort until Wally returned!

But how could I tell Campbell the truth: that whether Wally ever comes back from the jungle or not—which I hope he does—we're
through
? Campbell would think I'm unfaithful and shallow. His image of me would be shattered.

“… you're such an intelligent person,” he was saying. “But you get all caught up in this phony stuff—”

“Phony stuff?” I couldn't believe my ears. “Like what?”

“Oh, the movie, and these stupid fashion shows. I mean, look around you, Tiff. There are problems in the world.”

“You're telling me,” I said. “Yesterday on the
Larry Singer Show
, they had these Siamese twins. And the really sad part is, they can't stand each other—”

Campbell exploded. “How can you watch that guy? That's the worst show on the air!”

I was shocked by his tone of voice, and more than a little irritated.

“I realize there are problems in the world,” I said. “I just don't see why we have to
talk
about them all the time.”

“Because things won't change until we face the facts and quit hiding our heads in the sand,” he said. “It's called denial.”

“Yes, I know what it's called, Mr. Smartypants,” I said.

“That's what I can't understand,” he continued. “You're so smart, Tiffy. There's a real person inside you. But for some strange reason, you'd rather be a fake. I mean, not to hurt your feelings—”

“It's a little late for that!” I snapped.

“—you think all of this stupid stuff is so important; like how people look and being a star. What
difference
does it make if you're famous or not? This is real life, Tiff, not television.”

“Too bad,” I said, “or I could turn off the sound.”

Talk about not being on the same page! We weren't even in the same
script
! I'd pictured this evening turning out so differently: the two of us holding hands across a candlelit table, soft music playing in the background, Campbell whispering those three little words that mean so much: “Let's go steady.” Not that we're not going steady already, but it would make it more official.

I said, “I didn't realize you found me so disgusting, Campbell.”

“You know I don't,” he said. “But it's like you're choosing not to use your brain. Why do you always have to be so relentlessly superficial?”

I could've socked him. “What do you mean, ‘relentlessly'?” I said.

“Come on, T-Rex!” he said. “You don't let up! Going on and on about all this stuff. Who
cares
about Little Tina's cold sore?”

“Two billion people, that's who!” I said. “You're just mad because you couldn't use the pool!”

“Who wants to swim around in blood?” he practically shouted.

“It's
fake
blood!” I explained. “It's a comedy!”

“It's stupid!”

“No, it isn't! That just happens to be your opinion!” I said. “And another thing. What's this T-Rex stuff? What's
that
supposed to mean?”

Campbell looked embarrassed. He said, “You really don't know?”

“No, I don't! Tell me!” I glared at him until he did.

“Tyrannosaurus rex,” he quietly admitted. “The biggest meat-eater of them all.”

Our waitress came back. “Would you care for some dessert?” she asked. “We have a wonderful cheesecake—”

“Well, that just takes the cake!” I stood up and grabbed my coat. “I had no idea that's how you saw me, Campbell; as some kind of giant
lizard.
”

“I don't,” he stammered. “I'm sorry, Tiff. I just meant you have a strong personality.”

Our waitress left.

“I can't believe this,” I said, tears filling my eyes. “You think you know somebody, but you don't. I thought we were such good friends!”

“We
are
good friends.” Campbell took my hand. “I'm really sorry, Tiff. I shouldn't have talked to you like that. I didn't mean to lose my temper.”

“It's too late for apologies now,” I said, struggling to regain my composure. “And after we do the fashion show, Campbell, I never want to see you again.”

“Tiffany, please,” he said. “I didn't mean to hurt your feelings. I was just trying to be honest. That's what friends do. And I want you to be honest with me, too. So tell me I'm an idiot. Tell me I'm a dope. But please, sit down and finish your dinner.”

His eyes pleaded with me. My heart melted again. The cheesecake was really good.

So the evening ended on a happy note. But later, after Campbell had taken me home, the scene in the restaurant haunted me, replaying in my mind again and again.

Was it true, like Campbell said, that I'm just a big phony who doesn't really notice anybody but herself and wants life to be like TV, with everybody watching and everything all beautiful and glittery?

No. If that were true, this book would have only the good parts, not the parts where people are calling me a jerk.

Chapter Fourteen

All
heck
has broken loose. Something
horrible
has happened.

Four days ago, TV talk-show host Larry Singer was EATEN by his studio audience.

I wouldn't believe it myself, if I hadn't seen the film clips. We watched them on the news that night while we ate dinner.

Larry's show is—was—always broadcast live because it gave him such an edge in the ratings. You never knew when a family would start strangling each other, or taking off their clothes, or rushing into the audience to attack them.

But something went terribly, terribly wrong that day.

It all started innocently enough. Larry was interviewing a middle-aged married couple who claimed to be cannibals. The studio audience got
all
worked up. They were screaming at the couple and punching their fists into the air, chanting: “
Lar-ry! Lar-ry!
” They were practically going
insane
! Which was what they usually did, so that didn't seem too strange.

Then it looked like they were giving Larry a standing ovation but—and here's where things got really tragic—they actually attacked and
ate
him!

No matter how many times I see that footage in slow motion, I
still
cannot believe my eyes.

Naturally, my mother started ranting and raving that shows like Larry's are ruining our country, making young people rude and callous, et cetera. She actually tried to turn off the news, but my brother said—and for once I agreed with him—“No, I want to see it!”

On every channel, an anchorman or woman was saying: “In a bizarre twist today, TV talk-show host Larry Singer …,” and then they'd show the clip again: Larry shaking his head and smiling sadly into the camera, like he couldn't understand why anyone would want to be a cannibal, then looking kind of puzzled as the audience rushed toward him.

“For God's sake!” my mother shouted, leaving the table. “You'd think they'd have the decency not to show it!”

Later, all the regular shows got canceled and on every network there were big discussions: Should the footage of Larry being eaten have been shown? Was it news or exploitation? How could an entire studio audience be prosecuted for murder? Would their lawyers use the “mob mentality” defense? et cetera, et cetera.

And of course it brought up all the tired old arguments about whether a former president of the United States like Larry should be allowed to host a talk show.

For heaven's sake, it's a free country! What are ex-presidents
supposed
to do, open a shoe store or something?

One thing that was really sad: Larry always ended his shows by looking into the camera and saying, “Ciao”—which is Italian for “good-bye”—“baby!” The next day the newspaper headlines read: “
CHOW BABY
!” Which, in my opinion, was completely tasteless.

But the absolutely
worst
thing about all this—besides Larry being dead, of course—is the negative attention and bad publicity that's been focused on
Scream Bloody Murder
.

News crews have been all over our school, interviewing the principal, the teachers, the janitors, et cetera, asking, “What's this business about a cannibal movie? Was a freshman really eaten in your school library?” et cetera.

As if we'd somehow caused this awful thing to happen!

When the assistant director was interviewed on Channel 7, he explained that cannibalism is a
very
small part of
Scream Bloody Murder
; that the movie is mostly about vampires, and, as everyone knows, they just drink people's blood, their victims live forever, et cetera.

But that didn't seem to help. The school board has been
flooded
with phone calls demanding an end to filming on campus.

It's been a nightmare.

At first I was hoping that the whole thing would blow over, so we could achieve closure and the healing process would begin. But it's like Larry's death has taken on a life of its own. Hardly anyone—including The Girls, I'm sorry to say—wears their
Cannibals
shirts to school anymore, except for the losers and the gang members. Principal Brown is even talking about
banning
the
Cannibal
and
Scream Bloody Murder
shirts from Hiram Johnson High!

Can he just
do
that? What is this, Russia?!

Today the AD called all the cast and crew members together, except for Little Tina, who had flown to Washington, D.C., to sing at Larry's funeral. The AD explained that Little Tina won't be back. The rest of her scenes will be filmed at the studio.

Although it was an honor to work with Little Tina, she could really be a pain in the drain sometimes, throwing a fit whenever she didn't get her way, insisting on being shot from a certain angle so that
my
face was always turned away from the camera, et cetera.

Perhaps, like Campbell says, I've been living in a dreamworld. But I honestly had
no idea
that such a big star could act so small.

After a moment of silence in Larry's memory, the AD explained that they were going to speed things up and finish the filming on campus as soon as possible.

Which was disappointing. For one thing, I'll hate to see the movie people go; they make school so exciting! And for another, I was hoping to meet the movie's
real
director, Mr. Cosmo Sloan, who is considered the father of slasher comedies. Unfortunately, he's on location somewhere, filming the sequel to
SBM
.

If only Ms. Stuart and Mr. Goldman were still around. The AD and I have never really clicked. He doesn't seem to get that if it weren't for
me
, this movie wouldn't even be happening!

From what Ms. Stuart had said, I thought my role would be a whole lot bigger. But unfortunately, Little Tina was so jealous of me that she
insisted
that my part be shrunk. I've ended up doing lots of cartwheels and cheers and just saying stuff like, “Wow, that's cool!” or “You're kidding!”