It was a black cassette box with orange stripes. Frankie ejected the current tape from the machine and jammed in the one from the box.
“This is our history,” Frankie said. He turned on the television. “This is your heritage.”
On the screen, a store clerk madly squeezed rolls of toilet paper. Frankie pressed play on the VCR, and nothing happened.
“You have to turn it to channel three,” Matty said.
“Right, right.” The TV’s dial was missing, exposing a naked prong. Frankie reached up to retrieve the set of needle-nose pliers Grandpa Teddy kept on top of the console. “That was my first job. Grandpa’s remote control.”
The tape had the swimmy look of something recorded off broadcast TV. A talk show host in suit and tie sat on a cramped set, with a brilliant yellow wall behind him. “—and they’ve been thrilling audiences around the country,” he was saying. “Please welcome Teddy Telemachus and His Amazing Family!” Matty could hear the capitals.
The applause on the recording sounded metallic. The host stood up and walked over to an open stage, where the guests stood awkwardly, several feet back from a wooden table. Father, mother, and three children, all dressed in suits and dresses.
Grandpa Teddy looked pretty much like himself, only younger. Trim and energetic, the Hat pushed back on his head, giving him the appearance of an old-time reporter about to give you the straight dope.
“Wow, is that Grandma Mo?” Matty asked, even though it could have been no one else. She wore a shiny, silvery evening dress, and she was the only member of the family who looked like she belonged onstage. It wasn’t just that she was Hollywood beautiful, though she was that, with short dark hair and large eyes like a 1920s ingénue. It was her stillness, her confidence. She held the hand of a sweet-faced, kindergarten-age Uncle Buddy. “She’s so young.”
“This was a year before she died, so she was, like, thirty,” Frankie said.
“No, I mean, compared to Grandpa Teddy.”
“Yeah, well, he may have robbed the cradle a bit. You know your grandfather.”
Matty nodded knowingly. He did know his grandfather, but not in whatever way Uncle Frankie was talking about. “Oh yeah.”
“Now, this is the number one daytime show in the country, right?” Frankie said. “Mike Douglas. Millions watching.”
On-screen, the host was pointing out various things on the table: metal cans, some silverware, a stack of white envelopes. Beside the table was a kind of miniature wheel of fortune about three feet tall, but instead of numbers on the spokes there were pictures: animals, flowers, cars. Matty’s mother, Irene, looked to be ten or eleven years old, though her velvety green dress made her look older. So did her worried expression; Matty was surprised to see it already set in place on such a young face. She kept her grip on the arm of her younger brother, a wiry, agitated kid who seemed to be trying to twist out of his suit and tie.
“Is that you?” Matty asked. “You don’t look happy to be there.”
“Me? You should have seen Buddy. He got so bad that—but we’ll get to that.”
Maureen—Grandma Mo—was answering a question from the talk show host. She smiled bashfully. “Well, Mike, I don’t know if I’d use the word ‘gifted.’ Yes, I suppose we have a knack. But I believe every person has the capability to do what we do.”
When she said “every person,” she looked at Matty. Not at the camera, or the audience watching at home—at him. They locked eyes, across a gap of years and electronic distortion. “Oh!” he said.
Uncle Frankie glanced at him and said, “Pay attention. My part’s coming.”
Grandpa Teddy was telling the host about keeping an open mind. “In the right kind of positive environment, all things are possible.” He smiled. “Even kids can do it.”
The host crouched awkwardly next to Frankie. “Tell the folks your name.”
“I can move things with my mind,” he said. Visible at Frankie’s feet was a line of white tape. Everyone except the host was standing behind it.
“Can you, now!”
“His name is Franklin,” his sister said.
The host held his microphone to her. “And you are?”
“Irene.” Her tone was guarded.
“Do you have a special ability, Irene?”
“I can read minds, sort of. I know when—”
“Wow! You want to read my mind right now?”
Grandma Mo put a hand on Irene’s shoulder. “Do you want to try, sweetie? How are you feeling?”
“Fine.” She didn’t look fine.
Teddy jumped in to explain that Irene was a “human lie detector—a divining rod, if you will, for the truth! Say that we use these cards—” He reached toward the table.
“I’ll get them,” Mike Douglas said. He stepped over the taped line and picked up a large stack of oversized cards.
“Fucker,” Uncle Frankie said.
“What?”
“Wait for it,” Frankie said.
On-screen, Teddy said, “Those are ordinary playing cards. Now, Mike, shuffle through the deck and choose a card, then show it to the camera for the folks at home. Don’t show it to Irene, though.”
Mike Douglas walked to one of the cameras and held up a five of diamonds. He goofed around a little, moving it in and out of focus.
“Here’s your chance to lie to a little girl,” Teddy said. “Let’s put your card back in the deck. Excellent, Mike, excellent. And a couple of shuffles…all-righty, then. Hold out your hand, if you please. I’m going to start dealing cards, faceup. All you have to do is answer Irene’s question. And don’t worry, she always asks the same thing, and it’s a very simple question.”
Grandpa Teddy dealt a card onto the host’s palm. Irene said, “Mr. Douglas, is that your card?”
“No-siree, little miss.” He mugged for the camera.
“That’s the truth,” Irene said.
“It’s that simple,” Grandpa Teddy said to the host. “You can say yes or no, whatever you like.” He dealt another card onto his palm, and another. Mike said “no” to each new card, and Irene would nod. Then Mike said, “That one’s mine.”
“You’re lying,” Irene said.
Mike Douglas laughed. “Caught me! Not the queen of spades.”
They went through more cards, Mike saying “no” each time, but after the tenth Irene shook her head.
“That’s your card,” she said.
The host held out his palm to the camera: on the top was the five of diamonds. Then he addressed Grandma Mo. “What do you say to people who say, Oh, those are marked cards. They taught the girl to read them!”
Grandma Mo smiled, not at all upset. “People say all kinds of things.” She was still holding Buddy’s hand. He was so small his head was barely in the frame.
The host reached into his jacket pocket and brought out an envelope. “So what I’ve done is brought some pictures. Each of them is a simple, geometric pattern. You’ve never seen into this envelope, right?”
Irene looked worried—but then, she’d looked worried from the start of the show.
“Ready?” the host asked. He picked a card from the envelope and looked hard at it.
Irene glanced at her mother.
“Simple geometric shapes,” the host said.
“You don’t have to prompt her,” Grandma Mo said.
“Tell me if I’m lying,” the host said. “Is it a circle?”
Irene frowned. “Um…”
“Is it a triangle?”
“That’s not fair,” Irene said. “You can’t ask me questions, you have to—”
Uncle Frankie pressed a button and the image froze. “Take a look at the bowl.” He pointed at a small, round-bottomed stainless steel bowl. “It’s got water in it. Ready?”
“Sure,” Matty said.
Frankie pressed play. On-screen, Irene seemed angry. “He’s not doing it right. There’s no way I can say yes or no if he keeps—”
From offscreen, Grandpa Tedd
y said sharply, “Frankie! Wait your turn!”
The bowl on the table seemed to tremble, and then the whole table began to vibrate.
The camera swung over to little Frankie. He was sitting on the ground, cross-legged, staring at the table. The pile of silverware rattled, and the bowl began to rock back and forth.
“Careful now,” Grandpa Teddy said. “You’re going to—”
The bowl tipped a bit more, and water sloshed over the edge.
“—spill it,” Grandpa Teddy finished.
“Holy cow!” the host said. “We’ll be right back.” A band played, and then a commercial came on.
“You did that, Uncle Frankie?” Matty asked. “Cool.”
Frankie was worked up. “You see that shit with the pictures? That was Archibald’s idea, too, trying to fuck us over. Told Douglas not to let us use our own material, gave him those Zener cards.”
Matty wasn’t sure how that would throw off his mother’s power. He knew that she couldn’t be lied to, just as he knew that Grandpa Teddy read the contents of sealed envelopes, that Grandma Mo could see distant objects, and Uncle Frankie could move things with his mind, and that Uncle Buddy, when he was small, could predict the scores of Cubs games. That they were psychic was another Telemachus Family Fact, in the same category as being half Greek and half Irish, Cubs fans and White Sox haters, and Catholic.
“It gets worse,” Frankie said. He fast-forwarded through the commercials, overran the resume of the show, rewound, then went forward and back several more times. Grandma Mo and Buddy were no longer onstage. Grandpa Teddy had his arm around Irene.
“And we’re back with Teddy Telemachus and His Amazing Family,” the host said. “Maureen had to take care of a little family emergency—”
“Sorry about that,” Teddy said with a smile. “Buddy, he’s our youngest, got a little nervous, and Maureen needed to comfort him.” He made it sound like Buddy was an infant. “We’ll bring them back out here in a sec.”
“You’re okay with going forward?” the host asked.
“Of course!” Teddy said.
“What happened to Buddy?” Matty asked his uncle.
“Jesus, he broke down, crying and wailing. Your grandmother had to take him backstage to calm him down.”
The host had his hand on young Frankie’s shoulder. “Now, just before the break, little Franklin here seemed to be—well, what would you call it?”
“Psychokinesis, Mike,” Uncle Teddy said. “Frankie’s always had a talent for it.”
“The table was really shaking,” the host said.
“That’s not unusual. It can make dinnertime pretty exciting, Mike, pretty exciting.”
“I bet! Now, before we continue, I want to introduce a special guest. Please welcome noted stage magician and author the Astounding Archibald.”
A short bald man with a ridiculous black handlebar mustache strode into the shot. Teddy shook his head as if disappointed. “This explains so much,” he said. The bald man was even shorter than Grandpa Teddy.
“Good to see you again, Mr. Telemachus,” Archibald said. They shook hands.
“G. Randall Archibald is not only a world-renowned magician,” Mike Douglas intoned, “he’s also a skeptic and debunker of psychics.”
“This explains so much,” Teddy said again, more loudly.
The host didn’t appear to hear him. “We asked him here to help us set up these tests for the Telemachus family. See this line?” The camera pulled back to show the full extent of the white gaffer tape. “It was Mr. Archibald’s idea that we do not allow Teddy or members of his family to handle the silverware, or approach the table in any way.”
“Perhaps you noticed,” Archibald said to the host, “that Irene had no problem reading the cards when they were the ones that Teddy provided for you. But when you used the Zener cards—which Teddy had no advance access to, and was not allowed to touch!—she hemmed and hawed.”
“Not true, not true!” Teddy said. “Mike was doing it wrong! But worse, someone filled with negativity was causing interference. Severe interference!”
“You mean my mere presence caused her powers to fail?” Archibald asked.
“As I told you, Mike,” Teddy said, “you gotta have an open mind to allow these abilities to work.”
“Or an empty one,” Archibald said. Mike Douglas laughed.
Archibald, looking pleased, addressed the audience. “While Irene was concentrating so hard, we had a camera focused on her father. Mike, can we show the television audience what we recorded?”
Teddy looked shocked. “Are you mocking my daughter? Are you mocking her, you pipsqueak?” This from a man barely two inches taller.
“I’m not mocking her, Mr. Telemachus, but perhaps you are mocking the audience’s ability to—”
“Let’s bring my wife out here,” Teddy said. “Maureen Telemachus is, without a doubt, the world’s most powerful clairvoyant. Mike, can you bring her out here?”
The host looked off camera and appeared to be listening to someone. Then to Teddy he said, “I’m told she’s unavailable. Tell you what, let’s just look at the videotape, and we’ll see if she can come back out after the next break.”
“I think you’ll notice something very interesting,” Archibald said. He had a showy way of speaking, punching the consonants. “While everyone was distracted by the little girl, the table began to move and shake.”
“It sure did,” Mike Douglas said.
“But how did that happen? Was it psychokinesis…or something a little more down to earth?”
The screen showed the stage from minutes before, but from a side angle, slightly behind the family. At first the camera was aimed at the host and Irene, but then it swung toward Teddy. He had stepped across the strip of gaffer tape, and his foot was pressed against the table leg.
Archibald spoke over the playback. “This is an old trick. Just lift the table slightly, and slip the edge of your shoe’s sole under the leg.”
Teddy’s foot was barely moving, if it was moving at all, but the table was undoubtedly shaking. Then the screen showed Archibald and the host. Teddy stood off to the side, looking into the wings, grimacing in frustration.
“I can teach you how to do it,” Archibald said to the host. “No psychic powers required.”
Mike Douglas turned to Grandpa. “What do you say to that, Teddy? No powers required?”
Teddy appeared not to hear him. He was staring offstage. “Where the—” He stopped himself from swearing. “Where is my wife? Could someone please bring her out here?”
Irene grabbed Grandpa Teddy’s arm, embarrassed. She hissed something to him that didn’t make it to the microphones.
“Fine,” Grandpa Teddy said. He called Frankie to him. “We’re leaving.”
“Really?” Archibald said. “What about Maureen? I’d really like to—”
“Not today, Archibald. Your, uh, negativity has made this impossible.” Then to the host he said, “I really expected better of you, Mike.”
Teddy and his children walked offstage—with great dignity, Matty thought. Mike Douglas looked flummoxed. The Astounding Archibald seemed surprisingly disappointed.
Uncle Frankie pressed the eject button and the screen turned to static. “See what I mean?”
“Wow,” Matty said. He was desperate to keep the conversation going, but he didn’t want Frankie to get fed up and stop talking to him. “So Grandma Mo never came back onstage?”
“Nope. Never got to do her part of the act. It would have shut Archibald up, that’s for sure, but she never got the chance. Buddy got worse and we all went home.”
“Okay, but…”
“But what?”
“How did that kill her?”
Frankie stared at him.
Uh-oh, Matty thought.
Frankie hauled himself to his feet.
Matty hopped up, too. “I’m sorry, I just don’t—”
“You know what chaos theory is?” Frankie asked.
“Butterfly wings, Matty. One flap and—” He made a grand gesture, which brought his almost-empty glass into sight, and he drained it. “God damn.” He studied the front window, perhaps seeing something new in the old houses. But the only thing Matty could see was his uncle’s reflection, his shiny face floating like a ghost over his body.
Frankie looked down at him. “What was I saying?”
“Uh, butterflies?”
“Right. You have to look at cause and effect, the whole chain of events. First, the act is wrecked. We’re dead as far as the public is concerned. Gigs get canceled, fucking Johnny Carson starts making fun of us.”
“Carson,” Matty said, affecting bitterness. Everybody in the family knew that Carson had stolen Grandpa Teddy’s envelope act.
“Once they isolated us, we were sitting ducks.” Frankie looked down at him with an intense expression. “Do the math, kid.” He glanced toward the dining room; Matty’s mom had moved into the kitchen, and no one was in sight, but Frankie lowered his voice anyway. “Nineteen seventy-three. Height of the Cold War. The world’s most famous psychics are discredited on The Mike Douglas Show, and just a year later, a woman with your grandmother’s immense power just dies?”
Matty opened his mouth, closed it. Immense power?
Frankie nodded slowly. “Oh yeah.”
Matty said, “But Mom—” Frankie put up a hand, and Matty lowered his voice to a whisper. “Mom said she died of cancer.”
“Sure,” Uncle Frankie said. “A healthy woman, a nonsmoker, dies of uterine cancer at age thirty-one.” He put his hand on Matty’s shoulder and leaned close. His breath smelled like Kool-Aid. “Listen, this is between you and me, right? My girls are too young to handle the truth, and your mom—you see how she reacts. As far as the rest of the world is concerned, your grandmother died of natural causes. You follow me?”
Matty nodded, though he wasn’t quite following, starting with why he could be told this secret, and Mary Alice, who was two years older than him, could not. Though maybe that was because she wasn’t a Telemachus by blood? She was Loretta’s daughter from a previous marriage. Did that make a difference? He started to ask, and Frankie put up a hand.
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