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 Teddy 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.”