The Traveling Vampire Show

the girl had called her.

“YOU! YOU THERE. YES, YOU.”

Stryker’s tinny, amplified voice startled me, tore me out of my daydreams and planted me in the present.

I saw a man climbing down the bleachers across the arena from us. He was a skinny guy, bald on top, and wearing glasses. He couldn’t have been more than forty years old, but he dressed like a codger in a white polo shirt, plaid Bermuda shorts, knee socks and loafers. He sort of laughed and waved at the crowd as he made his way down to the arena.

“Here’s a sure winner,” Lee said.

Rusty and I laughed.

Down in the arena, he kept his shirt on and signed Vivian’s clipboard. Then she led him up the stairs and through the doorway of the cage.

Stryker asked his name. The gawky man leaned close to the microphone in Stryker’s hand and said, “I’M CHESTER.”

“Go, Chester!” yelled someone in the audience.

Grinning, he nodded and waved.

“READY TO TAKE ON VALERIA?” Stryker asked.

“OH, WELL, SURE.” He shrugged. “CAN’T SEE WHY NOT.”

“THAT FIVE HUNDRED DOLLAR PRIZE MUST LOOK AWFULLY GOOD TO YOU.”

“IT AIN’T HAY,” said Chester.

Rusty leaned forward. “This guy’s a goner.”

“WOULD YOU LIKE TO LEAVE YOUR GLASSES WITH OUR BEAUTIFUL ASSISTANT?”

Chester shook his head. Into the mike, he said, “I’LL KEEP ’EM ON, THANKS.” Stryker started to pull the mike away, but Chester grabbed it and pulled it close to his mouth.

“YOUR GAL HERE, THIS VALERIA, SHE’S A FINE LOOKING WOMAN. A GUY’D HAVE TO BE NUTS TO GO IN THAT CAGE WITH HIS GLASSES OFF.”

With that comment, he won the audience. The grandstands erupted with laughter and cheers.

I looked at Valeria. She had her eyes on Chester, and didn’t crack a smile.

Stryker was chuckling, though. He patted Chester on the back and said, “BEST OF LUCK, MY FRIEND.”

Chester bobbed his head, grinning.

“ANY QUESTIONS?”

“NOPE. JUST LET ME AT HER.”

Stryker walked out of the cage and trotted down the stairs, his spurs jangling. At the bottom, he hauled out his stopwatch. “LADIES AND GENTLEMEN,” he announced, “LET THE CONTEST BEGIN!”

Valeria planted her hands on her hips and stared at Chester.

He stood there, arms hanging by his sides, and studied her. He didn’t even try to be sneaky about it, just ogled her, his head moving slowly up and down. After doing that for a while, he wiped the back of a hand across his mouth.

Nervous-sounding laughter ruffled through the crowd.

Chester looked around, grinning at his audience. Then he leered at Valeria, raised both hands to chest level, and flexed his fingers as if honking her breasts.

That bought him wild laughter and cheers… along with a chorus of boos.

Smirking, Valeria walked toward him. She moved slowly, her back arched, arms by her sides, as if offering to let him squeeze more than just air.

He pointed a finger at himself and mouthed, “Me?”

She nodded.

He reached out, actually clutched the red leather cups and squeezed them. He squeezed them a couple of more times, turning his head and mugging for the audience.

“I bet he’s a ringer,” Lee said.

“Huh?” I asked.

“Someone they planted in the audience. He can’t be for real.”

Rusty leaned forward. “I bet you’re right. She isn’t gonna let some stranger grab her… her you-know- what’s.”

Lee chuckled and shook her head.

Down in the cage, Chester had stopped making faces. He’d stopped pretending to honk Valeria’s breasts. Now he was stroking their bare tops while she stood there motionless, letting him.

Lucky Chester.

Then one of her hands glided forward and she rubbed the front of his Bermuda shorts.

His mouth fell open and his back arched.

Everyone in the grandstands probably couldn’t see where Valeria had put her hand—the angle was only right for some of us—but half the crowd went “EWWWWWWWWW” and so many shrill whistles ripped through the air that my ears cringed.

Chester stood as if frozen.

I heard Rusty murmur, “Man, oh man.”

Lee grinned at him and patted his knee.

My mouth was dry, but I managed to say, “This guy has to be a ringer.”

“Oh, yeah,” Lee said.

I wondered how much time he had left. At least a couple of minutes must’ve gone by so far. If he really was a ringer, maybe the plan was to let him win.

Valeria pulled down the zipper of his shorts.

“Oh, great,” Lee grumbled. “You guys shouldn’t be…”

Valeria reached into Chester’s open fly.

“… seeing this.”

The reaction of the audience was a wild mixture of joy, consternation and excitement. Through all the hoots and whistles and applause, I heard shouts of, “No!” and “Go for it!” and “All right!” and “Someone put a stop to this!” and several suggestions that were extremely foul and vulgar.

Instead of doing what most of us probably expected, however, Valeria turned her hand upward and clutched Chester’s pants: not only the upper areas of the zipper, but apparently the waistband of his Bermudas and also his belt buckle. Then she hoisted him off his feet.

He squealed, flapped his arms and kicked.

With just her one arm, Valeria rammed him all the way up. Luckily (or due to plenty of rehearsals), his head missed the bars. It passed through a space between two of them and poked out the top of the cage. The bars stopped him at the shoulders.

Letting go of him, Valeria twirled out of the way.

Chester yelped and started to fall. Then suddenly he grabbed the bars. He pulled himself up until his head was again jutting out the top of the cage.

“Help!” he yelled.

Far as I could tell, nobody in the audience seemed very upset by his plight. A good many of us must’ve already suspected he was a ringer. And some of the audience, especially women, probably figured he was getting his just deserts.

There was nervous laughter—and cheering—when Valeria reached out with both hands and jerked his Bermudas down. For underwear, he wore baggy white boxer shorts decorated with red polka-dots.

This guy was definitely a ringer. His antics had been nothing but a stage performance.

I felt a strange mixture of relief and disappointment.

Is it ALL fake?

Most likely, I thought.

Then Valeria jerked the boxers down to Chester’s ankles. From the waist down, he was naked.