The Traveling Vampire Show

the tub. That’s the kind of guy he was. I know, because that’s also the kind of guy I was. Except not about my own mother. Not about Rusty’s mother, either, you wouldn’t want to imagine her naked. But Slim’s mom was another matter. She looked a lot like Slim, only taller and curvier. Whenever she was around, I had a hard time taking my eyes off her. Slim noticed, too, and seemed to think it was funny.

Rusty watched my mother climb the stairs. If she’d been Slim’s mom in a tiny skirt like that, I would’ve been doing the same thing, so I tried not to let it annoy me.

“We might take a walk into town or something after we eat,” I called up the stairs.

She stopped climbing, turned with one foot on the next stair, and looked down at me. I bet Rusty liked that view.

“So if we’re not here ...” I said, and shrugged.

“Just be back in time for supper.”

“What’re we having?” I asked.

“Hamburgers on the grill.” Smiling, she added, “There’ll be enough for your friends if they’d like to join us.”

“That might be neat,” I said.

Rusty, looking embarrassed, shrugged and said, “Thank you. I’ll have to check with my folks, though.”

“We can go over to your place and ask,” I threw in.

“Good idea,” Rusty said.

“I’ll just go ahead and count on the three of you for burgers,” Mom said. “If somebody doesn’t show up, more for the rest of us.”

“Great,” I said.

“Thank you, Mrs. Thompson,” Rusty said.

Around adults, he was always excessively polite. Not unlike Eddie Haskell on Leave it to Beaver, even though he looked more like a teenaged, overweight version of the Beave.

“Come on,” I told him, and led the way into our kitchen. I walked straight to the refrigerator. “Lemonade or Pepsi?” I asked.

“You kidding me? Pepsi.”

I opened the door, pulled out a can and handed it to him.

“Aren’t you having one?” he asked.

“I had a Coke over at Lee’s house.”

He snapped off the ring tab and dropped it into his Pepsi the way he always did. I figured someday he would swallow one of those ring-tabs and choke on it, but I didn’t say anything. I’d already warned him about it often enough so that I suspected he kept on dropping the rings into his cans just to annoy me.

Acting as if I hadn’t even seen him do it, I stepped over to the wall phone.

“What’re you doing?”

“Gonna call Slim, see why she isn’t here yet.”

“Good idea.”

I dialed her house.

As I listened to the ringing, Rusty took a drink of his Pepsi, then went over to the kitchen table and sat on a chair. He looked at me. He raised his eyebrows.

I shook my head.

So far, the phone had jangled seven or eight times. I let it continue to ring in case she was at the other end of her house, or something. I knew the ringing wouldn’t disturb anyone, because nobody lived there except Slim and her mother. And the mother was probably away at work.

After about fifteen rings, I hung up.

“Not home,” I said.

“She’s probably already on her way over....”

Just then came a thump of plumbing, followed by the shhhhh sound of water rushing through the pipes of the house. Mom had started to run her bath water.

Rusty lifted his gaze toward the ceiling—as if hoping to see her.

“Hey,” I said.

He grinned at me. “Maybe Slim’s taking a bath. Has the water running. Can’t hear the phone.”

“Maybe.”

After gulping down some more Pepsi, he suggested, “How about we give her five minutes, then try again?”

“If she’s running bath water, she’ll be in the tub five minutes from now.”

“But she’ll hear the phone,” he explained.

“Not if she’s taking a shower.”