by Jim Kokoris
We sat in the kitchen and ate at the wobbly table, my stomach aching with every swallow. Sitting this close to Benjamin made me nervous and I avoided looking in his direction. Instead, I focused on Mrs. Wilcott’s face. Even though I knew she was old, I grudgingly acknowledged her beauty; her blue eyes sparkled and her skin was smooth and tight and seemed to glow. There was a light about her and I thought it must be this light that attracted my father.
“I made this pie on my last show,” Mrs. Wilcott said. She was chewing precisely, nibbling really more than eating. “I don’t know if you watch my show.”
“What show?” Aunt Bess asked, swallowing. “Oh, yes, that show that Theo was on. How much do you get paid to do that? Frankie wanted to know.”
Mrs. Wilcott’s eyebrows raised a little and she wiped the corner of her mouth with her napkin.
“Well, to be honest,” she said. “I don’t get paid anything. It’s cable access.”
Now it was Aunt Bess’s eyebrows turn to rise. “Nothing?” she said. “Then why do you do it?”
“I view it as a community service,” Mrs. Wilcott said.
“Community service?” Aunt Bess asked. “What, like picking up the garbage?”
Mrs. Wilcott looked over at me and smiled. “I think those are two very separate services,” she said. “I’m hoping though that my show will be picked up by one of the local stations. I’m trying to make some connections downtown.”
Aunt Bess didn’t say anything and we ate in silence until Benjamin coughed and some pie shot out of his nose.
“Eat slowly, Benjamin,” Mrs. Wilcott said. “I don’t know how many times I’ve told you.” She looked over at Aunt Bess. “As soon as Theo called, I came right over. I dropped everything.”
“Everything but the pie,” Aunt Bess said. “Things are fine now. The pie is good though. It’s good pie. A little too sweet though. But it’s good.”
“Oh, well, thank you. Coming from you, that’s quite a compliment. I know Benjamin likes apples. So does Teddy.”
“I don’t like apples.” I blurted this out and Benjamin shot me a look. “But I like these apples though.”
“How’s Tommy?” Mrs. Wilcott asked.
“Who? Oh, he’s fine. He’s sick. A little.” Aunt Bess said.
“He’s sick? Just physically, you mean?”
“Yes. He has a fever. But he’s fine. The doctor gave him something to put him to sleep. He’s sleeping. He has problems.”
“Well, I know a little bit about boys getting in trouble at school,” Mrs. Wilcott said, looking at Benjamin, who kept eating his pie.
“Is Theo’s brother still around?”
“Yes. He’s in the basement.” Aunt Bess didn’t say anything else and Mrs. Wilcott looked surprised.
“Oh. Would he like some pie then?”
“No,” she said. Then she added, “He’d probably vomit it up.”
“Oh.” Mrs. Wilcott looked even more surprised. She went back to her pie, but didn’t really eat any. She just rearranged portions of it on her plate, like pieces of a puzzle.
“I really shouldn’t be eating so much,” she said, smiling. “I didn’t have time for my run this morning.”
“Run?” Aunt Bess asked.
“Yes. I run one mile every day.” She moved more pie around her plate, then sipped at her milk.
“Why do you run so much?”
“Well, I struggle with my weight.”
Aunt Bess put an enormous piece of pie in her mouth and swallowed it in a way that reminded me of a PBS special we had once watched on pythons. “You?” she said. “Come on now, you’re thin as a rail. I should be the one who’s running, but I can hardly walk.”
“I enjoy it,” Mrs. Wilcott said. “But it’s difficult to find the time. It’s a commitment.”
“How old are you? I say you’re in your thirties, Frankie thinks you’re closer to fifty.”
Mrs. Wilcott’s head jerked back a bit at this question and she looked over at me for a moment, a strained smile on her face. “Well, I’m somewhere in between.”
Aunt Bess looked at Mrs. Wilcott hard for a second. “Theo is almost sixty.”
“Is he?” Mrs. Wilcott readjusted herself in her chair, pulling it close to the table. “He looks younger. It most be all your wonderful cooking.”
Aunt Bess said something under her breath in Greek and kept eating.
“It must be difficult being under such scrutiny,” Mrs. Wilcott said after some time. “Everyone looking over your shoulder.”
Aunt Bess was still quiet.
“Well, like it or not, you’re all celebrities. People magazine. The newspapers. The TV. I know what it’s like.”
Aunt Bess stopped eating. “You do?”
“Yes. When I won the Miss Illinois contest a while back I was the center of attention. And the spotlight can be very bright—I know.”
Aunt Bess leaned back in her chair. “You won Miss Illinois? For what?”
“Pardon me?”
“Oh, for beauty? Oh. A beauty pageant.”
“Yes. It was a while ago. But I had my fifteen minutes of fame.”
Aunt Bess looked confused. “Fifteen minutes? You were Miss Illinois for only fifteen minutes?”
Mrs. Wilcott looked confused. She spoke slowly. “No,” she said. “That’s just an expression.”
“An expression,” Aunt Bess repeated.
“Yes, an expression. More pie?” She cut Aunt Bess yet another piece, then cut Benjamin one too, even though he hadn’t asked for one. Out of the corner of my eye, I watched as he leaned forward on the table, holding his head in one hand and eating with the other. I thought that he might be trying to look at me, but I couldn’t be sure.
“Benjamin, honey, sit up please.” Benjamin didn’t sit up. Mrs. Wilcott looked at him, then turned toward me, smiling. “It must be difficult for you too, Teddy. Being a little bit famous. Everyone watching you.”
I didn’t say anything.
“Oh, I’m sure you’re under quite a bit of stress,” she said. She patted me on the arm. “I want you to know that anytime you need someone to talk to, you can call me. Or Benjamin. I know he’s been trying to keep an eye on you at school.”
My throat shrunk, closing completely. I instinctively touched my unbroken nose.
“Has your father told you that he signed you up for soccer?” Mrs. Wilcott asked.
I stopped trying to eat at this news. “No.”
“He did. He thinks it would be good for you. You’ll be on Benjamin’s team.” When she smiled at me, she looked like Carla the Cat Woman.
I didn’t say anything. At that moment, I never liked anyone less than Mrs. Wilcott, unless possibly my father.
I didn’t even pretend to eat any more pie. I sat at the table, staring at my plate, as hopeless and alone as a single strand of hair at the top of Uncle Frank’s head.
“Teddy, is something wrong?” Mrs. Wilcott asked.
“What? No,” I said, picking up my fork.
“I can imagine, Bess, that money is a burden,” Mrs. Wilcott said.
“Not around here it’s not,” Aunt Bess said between mouthfuls. “Theo won’t spend a dime. You would have thought he lost a hundred and ninety million.”
Mrs. Wilcott smiled. “Theo is a very intelligent man. I think he’ll enjoy his newfound wealth when the time is right.”
“Well, I hope that time is soon,” Aunt Bess said. “Have you seen that old car he drives?”
Still smiling, Mrs. Wilcott rose from her chair and took her plate over to the sink. “I think Theo is just getting used to this new life. It will take time. It’s an adjustment. Soon, he’ll understand his new position, his new role in the community and society. So much has happened so fast for him.”
“Let me tell you, everything happens fast for Theo,” Aunt Bess said. “Grass growing.”
“My advice to him has been to take his time,” Mrs. Wilcott said.
Aunt Bess sat back in her chair again and
nodded her head. “You’ve been offering him advice?”
“Well, I only offer it when he asks,” Mrs. Wilcott said.
“Does he ask you a lot of questions? He doesn’t say anything around here.”
Mrs. Wilcott turned the faucet on and let the water run. Then she started rinsing her dish.
“He seeks my advice occasionally. I suggested that he consider buying Mr. Tuthill’s house.”
“He keeps calling,” Aunt Bess said. “The Yankee.”
“It is a beautiful house. Very large. Actually, I initially suggested that Mr. Tuthill approach Theo with the idea.”
Aunt Bess folded her thick arms across her chest. I could see her working her tongue across her teeth on the inside of her mouth. She smacked her lips. “So you think we should buy that house?”
“Well, I think Theo should consider it. He could stay in Wilton, the boys could stay at St. Pius. It would be an easy transition.”
“An easy transition,” Aunt Bess said, nodding her head again. “For everyone.”
Mrs. Wilcott turned the water off and dried her hands on a blue dish towel. Then she turned to face Aunt Bess. “Yes,” she said, smiling like Mr. Sean Hill. “For everyone.”
A few minutes later, Aunt Bess got up from the table to show Mrs. Wilcott and Benjamin out. From the heavy, stiff way she was walking, I could tell that she was tired and knew that an early bedtime was lurking. “Thank you for the dessert,” she said to Mrs. Wilcott.
When she opened the door, I saw a thin old man with a cane standing on our front porch.
“Good evening,” he said with a smile and a slight bow of his head. “I am Sylvanius.”
That’s when Aunt Bess screamed.
CHAPTER SIX
I APOLOGIZE ONCE AGAIN for startling you like that,” Sylvanius said. He was sitting with his legs crossed on the couch in our living room, sipping a glass of red wine. “But your phone number is unlisted so I had no recourse but to arrive unannounced, as it were.” He drank some wine and smiled, his teeth white and sharp. “Despite my rudeness, you have been very gracious to accommodate me.” Here, he bowed his head and raised his glass in the direction of my aunt. “And I thank you,” he said softly, swallowing a belch.
Aunt Bess smiled. “Well, I was just so shocked. I was your biggest fan on Dark Towers. I recognized you right away.”
“Ah,” Sylvanius sighed. “My years in television. It was the support and, if I may be so bold, the love of affectionate viewers like you who sustained me during those hectic times.”
“I thought you were dead,” Aunt Bess said.
“Ah, the reports of my death are greatly exaggerated,” he said. He winked at me. “Hemingway,” he said. “Besides, everyone knows a vampire cannot die.”
Sylvanius was the vampire who starred in most of Uncle Frank’s movies. He needed to speak to Uncle Frank immediately, he said, to discuss “issues of the utmost importance.” When Aunt Bess told him he was under the weather, he smiled and said, “Ah, Frank has seen his share of weather.”
MRS. WILCOTT AND Benjamin left soon after Sylvanius arrived. It was late and Benjamin had an early morning karate practice. It was apparent that Mrs. Wilcott wanted to stay, but Benjamin, through sighs and low moans, made it clear that he wanted to leave.
“I’ll want to know all about his visit, Bess,” Mrs. Wilcott said before leaving. Then, turning to Sylvanius, she said, “I am a newspaper columnist and my readers would love to know all about what brings you to Wilton.” To this, Sylvanius merely smiled and bowed his head once again.
Sylvanius looked like a handsome serpent. He had a small head, with large lazy eyes that were both lifeless and wise. His slicked back hair was silver and his long, bony hands were sprinkled with brown spots. Though I had never seen or heard of him before, I was excited by his presence, as was Aunt Bess. She kept smiling at me with her eyebrows raised high as if in disbelief.
“More wine?” she asked.
“If it is not too inconvenient. May I ask what kind it is?”
“It’s red. A merlot,” she said. “I had thrown it out but found it in the garbage.”
“Oh,” Sylvanius said. “I see.” He examined his glass, then sniffed the wine.
“Frank bought it,” Aunt Bess said. “Let me get you some more.”
“Thank you. The trip east was a dry one and I’m afraid I am a bit parched.”
“What airline did you fly?” Aunt Bess asked, rising slowly from the couch.
“Airline? Oh, actually, I traveled over land.” This confused Aunt Bess so Sylvanius added, “In a vehicle.” Then finally, after Aunt Bess looked even more confused, he said, “A bus. I took a bus.”
“A bus? All the way from Los Angeles?”
“Yes. I thoroughly enjoy that mode of travel. It gives me a chance to see America the way the pioneers first saw it. Columbus, Washington, true adventurers.” He smiled weakly and then Aunt Bess went out to the kitchen to get more wine, leaving me alone with the adventurer.
Sylvanius watched me. “Such a fine young man,” he said. I said nothing. “Indeed, such a fine young man,” he said again. I sat quietly, studying his face. I wanted to memorize his features, the thin nose, the sleepy eyes. I thought that I’d like to draw him.
“Your uncle,” he said. “May I ask where he is resting?”
“In the basement,” I said.
“Ah,” Sylvanius said. “It must be very quiet down there.”
“It is. Except when he snores.”
“Ah, yes. That would probably disturb the peace.”
“Are you in my uncle’s new movie?”
“Yes.”
“Do you play a vampire?”
“Yes. I am once again cast in the role of the great undead. But this time, I am a force of good.” He picked up his wine glass, then, noticing it was empty, put it back down, and looked helplessly in the direction of the kitchen for Aunt Bess.
“Do you like being vampires in movies?”
Sylvanius brought his two index fingers up to his lips and nodded his head thoughtfully. “It is,” he said after a few moments, “the role I was meant to play.”
“Is Sylvanius your first or last name?” I asked.
“It is simply,” he paused, “my name.”
Aunt Bess emerged from the kitchen and poured him another glass of wine, which he accepted with yet another tiny bow of his head. While I watched him drink it, I noticed that his shirt was missing a button in the middle.
Sylvanius crossed his legs again. It was then that I saw his shoes. They shocked me. They were large, black, awkward slabs with immense rubber soles. Rather than coming to a point in the front by the toes, they were cut at an odd angle, a sharp, harsh slant, that reminded me of the blade of a guillotine. They looked evil, something a monster might wear to crush babies, kick puppies. The shoes of a vampire.
“Where are you staying tonight?” Aunt Bess asked. She didn’t seem to notice the shoes.
“Well, since I left somewhat in a rush, I didn’t have time to make proper arrangements. I came straight from the station.”
This surprised Aunt Bess. “Where are your bags then? Your suitcase?”
“My suitcase? Oh. Well, I travel very lightly. Just these heirlooms,” he said, pointing to a large red handkerchief in his breast pocket and holding up his cane.
“How long are you staying here in Wilton?”
“Oh, that remains to be seen, I suppose,” He drank some wine. “That remains to be seen.”
Aunt Bess sipped at her own glass.
“You’re not here to hurt Frankie, are you?” she suddenly asked.
This startled Sylvanius, his lazy eyes flickering to life. He uncrossed his legs and set his glass down on the coffee table. “My dear woman, whatever gave you that idea? Your nephew and I are friends and business partners. We co-produced the new film together. Or attempted to, I should say.”
Aunt Bess was relieved. “Well, I’m sorry, but I had to ask. You know . . .” her voic
e trailed off and she quickly looked over at me. I knew what she was going to say next.
“Teddy, time for bed.”
“It’s only nine o’clock.”
“You look exhausted and you’ve had a crazy day. We all did. Go on up. I’ll check in on you in a little while. Go, now. Go.”
I walked slowly upstairs and got ready for bed. The Fire Starter was still sleeping, buried under his blankets despite the warm night. After brushing my teeth, I lay down in bed for what I thought was a sufficient enough time, then crept over to the top of the stairs and sat down.
“I haven’t been to the Midwest in years,” I heard Sylvanius say. “I briefly played dinner theater in Biloxi when I was younger. But I suppose that’s not really the Midwest. Technically.”
“Biloxi? Where’s that?”
“I’m not sure. I do remember something about a hurricane however.”
“You must have led an exciting life,” Aunt Bess said.
“I suppose, yes. Yes. Certain parts have been more exciting than others, especially the last few days, but on the whole it has been an adventure. I’m in the process of conceptualizing my memoirs.”
“Tell me, have you ever met Elizabeth Taylor?”
“Who? Oh, no, no. Elizabeth and I have never had the opportunity to work together. Though it has long been a wish of mine, our schedules have never really allowed it. I, of course, do much darker films then she did, when she was working. I am classically trained. I don’t believe Elizabeth is.”
“You were once on Gilligan’s Island, weren’t you?” Aunt Bess asked. “I remember you played a vampire. You bit the Skipper.”
There was a pause, then Sylvanius said slowly, “Yes, I suppose I was. My, you are a fan.”
“It’s on reruns all the time.”
“It is, is it? Hmmm,” Sylvanius said. There was a brief silence, then Sylvanius asked for more wine. “One more should do it,” he said. “Then I am off, I suppose. I must call a cab.”
“Where are you going to sleep?”
