Generations: Wilder Times

by Lori Folkman

  “And this,” Ben pointed at the next album cover. Another one Kat had never seen. “This one would be considered the Atom bomb.”

  The cover of this album had a picture of Dan. A nice picture. He looked a little older in this one. A little … tamer? Like less of a wild, leather wearing, earring toting, party going rockstar. But not necessarily fatherly either.

  “Unfortunate title,” Ben said. Kat looked at the album title. Real. Ben continued, “If this was the real Dan Wilder, he would never have made a dime off his music.” Ben sounded mordant. “It’s all acoustic. Slow. Mellow. People said that he’d gone soft. Lost his touch … got married and got boring I guess. He lost all his fans.”

  “Where’s the loyalty?” Kat tried to joke. Really, you’d think people would be lenient on the one bad album, in comparison to the three outstanding ones. And the one mediocre one. Still not a bad track record.

  “Yeah. He knew though … he knew that he was losing it. He knew this wasn’t his best work. I think he’d be mad that these albums are even hung here with the others. These ones don’t belong.”

  Ben sounded sad now. Kat offered sympathy. “It must have been hard for him. To go from adoration to ….” she didn’t know what word to use. Failure sounded too harsh. So did burnout. And fiasco. So she just didn’t finish that thought.

  But Ben did. “Mockery. He was scorned publicly. Went from being America’s golden boy to being the punch line of every late-night joke. Painful.”

  Kat wasn’t looking at any of the memorabilia anymore. She was looking at Ben. She saw his jaw pulse after that last sentence. The tense line of his lips. Dan’s pain brought Ben pain as well. No wonder Ben wanted a back-up plan. The secondhand failure was torture enough. He didn’t want to experience it firsthand as well.

  She gave his hand a squeeze and gave him her warmest smile. “You know how we learn from history? Well, just think of how much more you know than any other up-and-coming star. You have a great advantage: you’ve seen all the dips and turns on the rollercoaster. You’ll know when to hold on tighter.”

  He smiled his closed-mouth, lips pinched, make the dimples ripple smile. She had a picture of that smile on her wall at home. It was her favorite Ben smile.

  Ben responded by saying, “Or when to get off the ride all together.”

  Then he pulled her towards the perpendicular wall. It was half the length as Dan’s wall. “This would be the Elena Santareno-Wilder section of the museum.”

  Now Kat was given a glimpse into Lena’s career. The first pictures were of Lena in beauty pageants. There was one of her winning Ms. New York. She was stunning in her red sequins gown; her straight black hair topped with a tiara.

  Her first album cover was next. The title was in Italian. Then there were pictures of Lena singing on Broadway. Her name in bold black letters outside on the marquee.

  “It was at this show that Paul discovered her. He was on vacation in New York … for his wedding anniversary, when he saw Mom perform. He said that it changed his life. He says he fell in love for the first time. And not necessarily with her. But with life, in general. At least that’s the story he tells.

  “He coerced someone into taking him backstage and he waited an hour to meet her. Then he told her that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her. As her manager, of course.”

  Next on the wall was Lena’s crossover album, simply entitled Lena. It was mainstream, love-ballad style. And following this, of course, was her own Grammy.

  “Paul had great foresight. He saw this prim, pristine woman belting classical music and he knew that she’d be the Barbara Streisand of the eighties.”

  Another album, another Grammy, a few gold singles, then a big picture of Lena performing on stage with Dan. Their faces were just an inch apart. They were both smiling while singing. And staring endlessly into each other’s eyes.

  “This was Paul’s idea as well. Mom was invited to sing for the ’87 Ms. America pageant. Paul wanted to up the ratings by adding some … sizzle, I guess you would call it. He suggested that a duet be done with someone masculine, sexy … someone who would get all his clothes ripped off if left alone backstage with all the Ms. America contestants.

  “I think everyone was a little blown away with the success of the song. Radio stations across the country said that people were calling nonstop to request it. So my parents immediately went to the studio to record it. It stayed at number one for twelve weeks. Made all the record books. Then they worked together for several months and created an entire album. It went platinum.

  “And of course, a year after their first performance, they got married.”

  Ben pointed out the cover of Buzz magazine. She’d seen that one before. Lena had to be the most beautiful bride ever, even with the eighties hair and lacy dress. And Dan … wow. Mr. Stud. No wonder they captured every eye in America. They were beyond perfect. They were godlike.

  “Paul with all his great foresight never predicted this. I don’t think their marriage sat real well with Paul. He thought that Dan would tarnish her spotless image. But, career wise, my mom’s couldn’t have made a better decision than to marry Dan. The publicity that came with their romance was priceless.”

  There was a lag between Lena and Dan’s album and Lena’s next work. Two singles that had been featured on soundtracks for two blockbuster movies, and that was the end of Lena’s career. Those singles were more recent: debuting a few years apart, back at the beginning of the new millennium. But both those songs were far more successful than any of her other singles. Multiplatinum, both. That had to earn her some major bucks. Why had the focus shifted from Lena to Ben five years ago? Like they were relying on him to be the star of the family.

  “Does your mom still sing?” Katrina was hesitant to ask. She wanted to know, but was that crossing a line? Asking something too personal about his parents? But, he had been the one to bring her into this room.

  “Well yeah, but privately. She records in our studio often: but it’s just for her. Not for the public. Beautiful stuff though.”

  More questions: but was it okay for Kat to ask them? She looked at Ben carefully. He wasn’t as tense as he was a few minutes ago, back over at Dan’s wall. So she went for it. “How come? I mean, she’s so amazing. Everyone loves her. She could still have some platinum hits.”

  Ben gave a lopsided smile. “Yeah, she is amazing. When she sings … it’s with her whole heart, ya know. Everything that she is feeling—love, passion, solitude, whatever the emotion—is conveyed in her voice. It penetrates your heart, and you feel it too. It’s not like it’s a talent that she had cultivated; it’s more like some kind of mythical gift. Like the way the sirens sang. Otherworldly.”

  Wow. Katrina didn’t know any teenage boy that would give his mother that kind of praise. Respect. Awe. Then again, she didn’t know any boys that had mothers like Lena. Women admired her. Men loved her. Her own son revered her.

  “But she feels like she is done … with her career. She’s accomplished all that she set out to do. She’s content to sit back and watch my career. She says that gives her just as much fulfillment. More, even. Somehow.”

  Next up was Ben’s wall. It was parallel to Dan’s: same length, minus the French doors. And it was filled. Frames covering every foot. Ben walked her down this wall rather quickly, which was fine, because Kat had already seen most of this stuff. A lot of it was on her own tribute wall. But this wall was arranged differently. It was in chronological order. Her walls were arranged according to Ben’s apparent mood. The pictures where Ben looked the happiest—the ones where he smiled either his dimple smile or his wide-mouthed, ecstatic smile—were on the wall next to her bed, so that they were the first thing she saw every morning, and the last thing she saw every night. Other sections of her room held the pictures where he looked contemplative, serious, or smiling what she called his “stage smile”—where his face looked happy, but his eyes reflected sadness, or even pain. Those pictures—the ones with the sub
dued eyes—were the ones that had always intrigued Kat. Not that she had seen a lot of those type of pictures, just a few, but they were the ones that had made her feel this deep connection with Ben before she had even met him. Her heart had longed to know what made someone so seemingly perfect look so devastatingly sad, and her soul had soared to think that maybe, someday, she could be the one to take away that pain.

  But none of those pictures hinting at Ben’s misery were featured here in the Wilder family shrine. These were just the highlights of a seemingly fabulous life. Concerts around the world. Photos with kings, queens, presidents and every other prominent citizen known worldwide. Ben’s life, like that of his parent’s, was one to be coveted. And he was just getting started.

  After seeing his parent’s tributes, Kat could see another element of Ben. He wasn’t just this illusive teenage idol. He had this amazing history—this solid foundation—he was building on. He had his dad’s face—his dad’s masculinity—but he had Lena’s class. Her grace. Her passion. And her Italian complexion. With Dan’s crystal blue eyes. Really, it was a remarkable combination. Like Lena and Dan knew that their genes would perfectly blend, creating something sublime. Ben.

  “Your wall is full already.” It was more of a thought that had escaped. She covered it with, “Is there an annex somewhere … for the rest of your career?”

  “No,” he smiled. “This is it. But it’s not really complete. Paul had this done early on … I think so I wouldn’t feel like I had this entire wall that I needed to fill. Like something was always looming ahead. So some of these come down every time there is something noteworthy. Like here,” Ben pointed to a section near the end of the wall. It had the artwork for the new album. She hadn’t seen this before; she couldn’t help but gasp. It was cool. Ultra cool. It was a picture of Ben, painted in a style similar to Van Gogh. It was swirly, except for Ben’s face, which looked photo perfect. The industrial colors of his clothes against the black background gave it this fantasy element. Like it was a painting of the past looking into the future. It was perfect for an album entitled Time.

  She must have been staring at it for too long, because Ben said (with a slight laugh), “I’ll get you a copy of it.”

  Awkward.

  She looked at the area next to the cover. It would all come down, she knew for certain. “You know this entire area will be filled with awards for this album.”

  “That’s the plan,” he said. He sounded more confident about the album than he had when they’d discussed it over ice cream a few weeks ago. But he sounded somewhat … sarcastic.

  “Really,” she affirmed. “Multiplatinum. And Grammies. And …”

  “VMA’s.” He gave her a little nudge.

  She hadn’t thought of that before. Oh wow. What would that be like? She felt her knees buckle.

  His voice sounded amused when he said, “I think we better get back to the cannoli.”

  ……

  They had rolled out the dough, wrapped it and fried it. Then, they had filled the cooled shells with cream. Well, it wasn’t they as much as it was Ben. Kat had tried to help, but she seemed to do more damage than good. Not that Ben criticized her. But she could tell that hers didn’t look quite perfect enough. And this was like every other aspect of Ben’s life: he demanded precision. Only the best. So she’d given up helping and taken to just watching Ben. That made everyone happy.

  The cannolis were set out on baking sheets on the big oak table. Kat had chosen this spot to perch. She had the perfect vantage point to watch Ben as he moved around the kitchen. Plus, she was right next to the cannoli. What more could a girl want? She sat on the edge of the table—which was probably improper etiquette, but she didn’t care. Had she sat on a chair, she’d lose sight of Ben.

  He had just mixed the chocolate sauce and let it cool slightly. Then he brought it over to drizzle across the cannoli. But he brought an extra spoon. “You have to taste this,” he said.

  She took the spoon from him and dipped it in the smooth, dark chocolate. Just the tip of the spoon was covered in chocolate.

  “Don’t be shy,” he said. “Take more.”

  So she did. But then he instructed her that she’d taken too much. “You just want a taste. Just enough to melt in your mouth. Not an entire swallow.”

  Ben took the spoon from her and got what apparently was the right amount. Then. He. Fed. It. To. Her.

  Katrina felt her head tip back. Her eyes closed. She tasted heaven. A sigh escaped from her throat. So this was death from chocolate consumption. Now she understood. But it wasn’t a bad thing, like she had always imagined. It was good. Very, very good.

  A thought occurred to her. She had been dead for several hours. They must have gotten into a car wreck on the way up the mountain. And now she was here in this castle in the sky. With Ben. Being fed celestial chocolate. Yep. This was definitely heaven.

  She opened her eyes to see Ben smiling at her. It was a proud smile, a satisfied smile. Until he looked at her mouth. Then his face went straight.

  “You, ah … have a little bit of chocolate,” he said with reservation, gesturing to a spot just below her lip.

  Nope. This was hell.

  How embarrassing.

  She reached for her mouth and wiped her finger on the right side.

  “No, other side,” he said.

  Evidently she still wasn’t finding it, because he reached his hand up to her mouth. He wiped the chocolate away. With his own thumb!

  But his hand stayed there, sort of supporting her chin. He had this look. This look that she had never seen before. A look of absolute consideration. His eyes seemed to measure every inch of her face. Every feature. Every pore. He seemed to absorb it all. Regard it with the upmost contemplation. Like she was this priceless artifact, just unearthed by an archaeologist.

  And then he kissed her.

  And kissed her.

  It was nothing like that kiss that they had filmed—a kiss that had kinda become ordinary due to the frequency of it. That kiss had always felt like a desperate kiss. Like a last kiss. But this one … wow. His lips were on hers for what felt like an eternity. A blissful eternity. The motion was slow, like he was savoring the taste of her mouth.

  Speaking of taste, Ben had tasted the chocolate as well. She had seen him do it, right before he brought the pot of chocolate over to her. He had declared, “Mmm, perfect.” And that’s what she was thinking right now. She could taste that rich chocolate still lingering in his mouth. It was like putting that spoon to her mouth all over again. Divine.

  When his mouth finally left hers, she felt like a baby bird: beak open begging for more. More. She needed more of that warm, succulent offering: as if she would shrivel and die without it. He smiled at her. Mouth closed, dimples divulged. Like she needed that smile right now. She felt lightheaded anyhow.

  “That was … really … delicious,” he said in a whisper, his face still close to hers. “Chocolate covered kisses.”

  “Yeah, wow.” She knew it sounded half-hearted. But how could she express what she was really feeling? What she felt didn’t sound charming. Her bones had just dissolved. She imagined her insides looked like Jell-o. Jell-o that hadn’t set up. Runny Jell-o.

  Ben took the pot and began to drizzle chocolate over the cannoli. He said that if he didn’t hurry, that the chocolate would solidify. Kat prayed that if she sat there long enough, her bones would solidify as well. ‘Cause she couldn’t move off this table. No way. She was actually holding on to the edge of the table, hoping that she didn’t slide right onto the floor.

  And then the worst thing in the world happened. Lena and Paul walked into the kitchen. Kat hopped off the table in a split second, momentarily forgetting that she didn’t have bones. She stumbled, but caught herself before she went all the way to the floor. It was enough of a commotion to make everyone stare at her like she was some sort of drunk. She giggled—out of nervousness—and because she really was drunk. Ben drunk. But the giggle came out sounding mo
re the nervous whinny of a horse. Yep. She was definitely in hell.

  Lena walked across the kitchen to where Ben and Kat were. “It smells delicious, Ben. You were supposed to have it cleaned up before I came home.” She didn’t sound cross. Just like she was reminding him that they had an agreement.

  “You’re home early. We didn’t have time to hide the evidence,” Ben said.

  Lena’s mouth pulled down slightly. But it was just a flash of a frown. Then she smiled. “You know how weak I am,” she sighed. “You bring out mama’s recipes and there is no hope. I’ll have to spend the next week working it off.” She reached down and grabbed a cannoli. She bit into it and moaned, “Oh, Ben. This is even better than last time. Mmm. Fantastico!

  “You didn’t even taste it last time,” Ben challenged.

  Katrina saw Lena give Ben a playful nudge. Then Lena set down her cannoli—with only a teeny bite missing: really a mouse would have taken a bigger nibble—on the corner of the table and stood next to Katrina. “What I wouldn’t give to be sixteen again. Back when I was in love with food. Before it became my enemy. You lucky girl,” Lena said.

  Then Ben mentioned something about Katrina’s sweet tooth. “She has a weak spot for … all things chocolate,” he said. He smirked as he said this. Kat felt her cheeks flare. Really, did he have to say that? Was he going to all out tell them what had just happened? She knew that they were a tight knit family: but that tight? That was just downright creepy.

  But he didn’t say more. Phew.

  Lena took Kat’s hand. “I am so envious of you. Indulge while you can. And a little for me as well,” Lena said while affectionately patting Kat’s hand.

  Katrina liked that lady. Really liked her. She was so warm. Like she had already adopted Kat as part of the family. As part of Ben’s life.

  Lena wished them buona notte and left the room.

  Katrina followed the sound of Lena’s heels clicking on the marble as she left the kitchen. Then Kat stared at the partially eaten cannoli on the table. Wow. That’s some serious self-control. Kat could never do that. Ever. One taste of that chocolate sauce and now she’d be craving it her entire life. In both forms. She glanced at Ben. He was still smirking as he drizzled the remaining cannoli with chocolate. Like he couldn’t help but smile.