My Favorite Fangs: The Story of the Von Trapp Family Vampires (18 page)

He turned to head back to his bedroom, and almost crashed into Maria, who was skipping cheerily down the stairs. Peeking over the Captain’s shoulder, she said, “Why, good morning, Mr. Detweiler! A pleasure to see you.”

“Him?” the Captain asked, pointing at Max. “A pleasure?”

“I love him most of all!” Maria said.

The Captain rolled his eyes. “Of course you do.” He then turned to Max and asked, “The children are not performing at the Gala—end of discussion. Which begs the question, who’ll you be taking advantage of at this year’s extravaganza?”

Max frowned. “My best bet is Glockenspiel the Clown. He juggles.”

The Captain smirked. “Sounds like a winner, Max. Who else?”

“Gerhard Grosz. He plays glockenspiel. And that’s it.”

“Wait,” von Trapp said, “let me get this straight. All you have in your stable is a clown named Glockenspiel, and a gentleman who plays the glockenspiel, and nothing else?”

Max shrugged. “Austria’s talent pool is drained. This is why I need your family, Georg.” Max dropped to his knees. “Please, Georg,” he begged, “I need this.”

“Alright, fine, if you get up off the floor, you may speak with the children. I’ll leave the decision to them.”

As Max rose, Liesl flounced down the stairs and asked, “What decision, Father?”

The Captain said, “Get your brothers and sisters, darling.”

“Will do.” She blinked her left eye four times, then clapped once; three seconds later, the rest of the von Trapp brood was standing on the stairs, positioned tallest to shortest.

“Oh, my goodness,” Max said. “That was astounding.”

“What was astounding?” Friedrich asked.

“The precision, the accuracy, the speed. If you can bring that to the stage, I’ll win, er,
we’ll
win for certain!”

“Win what?” Louisa asked.

Maria said, “Why, the Graz Gala of Gaiety! Does that sound appealing?”

Brigitta asked, “Maybe. What do we win?”

Max grinned. “The admiration of your peers.” The Captain cuffed him on the back of his head. “Oh,” Max said, “right, two hundred shillings.” Another cuff. “I mean five hundred shillings. Minus my commission.” Another cuff. “What was that for?” Max whined.

“I’m certain you’ll do something in the future to merit it.” The Captain then said to his children, “Show of hands: Who wants to perform at the Gala?” Six von Trapp arms shot up in the air. The lone dissenter: Gretl. “What’s the problem, little girl?” the Captain asked.

Gretl looked Max in the eye. “I’ve seen how you do business, Max Detweiler, and I don’t like it one bit. You don’t give your clients the individual attention they deserve, you take a 10-percent cut, when the vast majority of the managers in Austria take only 7.5 percent, and you have
ohren aus zinn
, and I don’t know if it’s a wise idea for me and my family to leave our careers in the hands of somebody who has
ohren aus zinn
.” She turned to her siblings. “Am I right, or am I right?”

Louisa said, “Do shut up, Gretl.”

Maria gave Gretl the sweetest smile one Vampire could give another, then said, “Louisa is right, darling. It’s best for you to shut up.” Addressing all the children, she continued, “Say yes, brats, just say yes! Show the world what you’re all about! Perform your feats of strength! Suck blood for the masses! Suck blood
from
the masses! Demonstrate that you have confidence in you!” She paused, then looked at the Captain. “But before we make a final decision, we need to make an addition, because I think the act is missing something.”

The Captain said, “What?”

Maria pulled her saxophone case out of nowhere, opened it up, took out her axe, offered it to the Captain, and said, “This.”

“Your horn?” von Trapp said. “So what?”

Max cocked an eyebrow. “I think the Governess is offering you her mouthpiece, if you know what I mean.” Leering at her bosom, he said, “If it were me, I’d accept.”

Maria bared her teeth and hissed at Max, who promptly grabbed his chest and fell to his knees. “You best show some respect, Mr. Detweiler.”

Max moaned, “
Glurg
 …
glurrrrg
 …
glurrrrrrrg
…,” and then he collapsed. The brats applauded happily.

Maria then held out her sax to the Captain. “Please, sir?”

He shook his head. “No, no, no, no, no, no, no!”

“I’m told that a long time ago you were quite good.”

“Who told you that?”

After Liesl raised her hand, the Captain mumbled, “Brat.”

“I heard that,” then she bared her teeth in the exact manner with which Maria had bared hers just seconds before.

The Captain held up a calming hand and said, “Sorry, sorry, sorry.” He then told Maria, “That was a very, very, very long time ago.”

Maria glided into the Captain’s personal space and ran her fingertip over his lips. “It looks to me like you still have it, sir,” she breathed.

Friedrich glared at Maria and whispered, “Get a room.”

“What was that, son?” the Captain asked.

“I said, kick out the jams, Father.”

“Well, if you insist.” He snatched the instrument from Maria’s grasp, jammed the mouthpiece into his maw, then blew a series of arpeggios that left the Governess beaming.

A shrewish voice from upstairs interrupted the impromptu recital: “
Mein Gott
, what the
fick
is that infernal racket?” It was, naturally, the Baroness.

The Captain pulled the sax from his lips and called, “Apologies, darling!” He chuckled nervously and said, “Women, eh?”

Liesl leaned over to Friedrich and said from the side of her mouth, “He’s whipped.”

Friedrich nodded. “
So
whipped.”

Baroness Schrader stomped from the bedroom and down the hallway. “A
concert
? At
this
hour?
Must
you?” Her eyes flashed redder than they had ever flashed.

After blowing a dejected D-minor Dorian scale—the saddest of all scales—the Captain said, “Every morning, this is how you greet me, and I thought for once that you would be happy to meet me.” He said to the children, “Apologies, brats. Elsa is usually small, and white, and clean, and bright when she awakens.”

“I’m small, and white, and clean, and bright when I’m not awakened by the sound of two elephants mating.” The Baroness pointed to Max. “What happened to him?”

Maria said, “He brought it upon himself, you know.”

She ran down the stairs, knelt down next to Detweiler, and put her ear to his chest. After listening for a moment, she glared at Maria and said, “You Edelweissed him.”

If a Vampire could blush, Maria would have done so. Looking away, she said, “Why, Baroness, I have no idea what you mean. What a funny word. Is it even a word? Did you say
made of ice
? Or
paid the lice
? Or
gay device
?”

“You know
exactly
what I said, Vampire,” The Baroness growled. “You know
exactly
what I mean.” She turned to the brats. “You see, children, Vampires have more powers than you can ever imagine. Some of them you demonstrated yesterday, and some of them will take you years to perfect. Edelweissing, for instance, is out of your reach right now.”

“What’s Edelweissing, darling?” the Captain asked.

The Baroness pointed at the still-prone Max. “This. Your Vampire friend has the ability to leave him in this state, a state in which he’ll bloom and grow in the ground forever. Or she can release him.”

“Maria,” the Captain asked, “will you release him?”

She said, “Fine,” then snapped twice and whispered, “Blossom of snow, blossom of snow, blossom of snow.”

At that, Max’s eyes popped open. After collecting himself, he pointed at the saxophone and said, “You want to join the act, Georg? Make it the von Trapp Family Vampire Octet.”

The Baroness pounded the floor, causing the entire house to shake. “Oh, this is wonderful, just wonderful. Let’s just fill this house with music, as if we have nothing else to do.” She stood up and glared at von Trapp. “How about we just go ahead and throw a grand and glorious party, while we’re at it?”

The Captain said, “I think that’s a wonderful idea, Elsa!”

Kurt said, “Hoorah! A party! With food!”

Freidrich said, “Hoorah! A party! With girls!”

Liesl said, “Hoorah! A party! With boys!”

Louisa said, “Hoorah! A party! With bare necks!”

Farta said, “Hoorah! A party! With human blood!”

Brigitta said, “Hoorah! A party! With pockets to pick!”

Gretl said, “Did you know that the average Austrian imbibes 57.9 liters of beer per year, and 25 percent of this imbibing occurs at parties?”

The Captain said, “A wonderful idea, darling, simply wonderful!”

The Baroness glared at Georg and the brats, then said, “I was being sar
cas
tic.”

Grand and glorious parties used to be a regular thing at Chez von Trapp, but these shindigs soon began getting out of hand—injuries, arrests, fires, et cetera—so the Captain decided it would be best for all if he left the gala hosting to someone else. The last time they had a soiree, Liesl was a child, Friedrich was a baby, the other five brats were mere twinkles in the Captain’s eye, and Mrs. Agathe von Trapp was still alive and kicking, and boozing it up like a good Austrian wife should.

That final party—a celebration of Agathe’s cousin’s sisters’s nephew’s birthday—began at noon on a Saturday and ended at midnight the following Monday, and what a gathering it was: The food was plentiful and sumptuous, the booze flowed freely, there were twelve profane shouting matches (six of which led to bloody fistfights), eighteen of the guests—as well as both of the party’s hosts—passed out and/or vomited into the piano, and somebody set fire to the gazebo. All in all, an evening to remember.

This time, however, the Captain vowed the affair would remain festive yet controlled. He limited the drink menu to red wine and lager, he called for it to be black tie mandatory (figuring that people would be less likely to engage in physical battle when dressed in their finest finery), and for the entertainment, he hired a string orchestra rather than a brass band. In his mind, this was the blueprint for a sedate, classy affair.

And at first, he was right. At first, it was success. The string quartet set the mood perfectly, sawing their way through a medley of waltzes by Austria’s favorite son, Johann Straus, the “Philomelen-Walzer Op. 82” a particular highlight. (Or maybe it was the “Huldigung der Königin Victoria von Grossbritannien Op. 103.” Or possibly the “Wiener Gemüths-Walzer, Op. 116.” Frankly, dear reader, it’s difficult to tell those interminable Austrian waltzes apart.) Women wearing flowing ball gowns and men clad in crisp tuxedos twirled around the room, contented grins plastered on their faces.

It was around midnight, and Captain Georg von Trapp and Baroness Elsa Schrader were standing on the ballroom’s balcony, right above a red Austrian flag dangling over the railing, staring indulgently at the revelers. As the Captain absently rubbed his finger across the flag, the Baroness elbowed him in the ribs and pointed to a balding, heavyset, barrel-chested gentleman standing in the middle of the floor, staring up at the both of them. The man waved at the Captain, a wave that turned into a Hitler
heil
-ing Nazi salute.

The Captain said, “Who invited him?”

“I did,” the Baroness said.

“You invited a
Nazi
into my house? And a Nazi radio host at that.
Why
?”

She pulled Georg’s iPhone from her cleavage and said, “He was on your contacts list.”

He sighed and said, “Okay, come on, let’s get this over with.” He walked toward the stairs.

Following him, the Baroness clapped and grinned. “Oh, goody, this’ll be fun.”

The Captain and the Baroness caught up with the bearish Nazi at the bar. Offering his hand, von Trapp grumbled, “Colonel Wilde von Beckbaw. Good evening.”

Von Beckbaw stared at the Captain’s hand as if it were a rancid piece of smoked fish—then again, even today, most smoked fish in Austria is rancid, so that might not be the best metaphor—and took it gingerly. “Captain von Trapp,” he said, his lip curling in distaste.

Nodding at his Succubus, the Captain said, “This is Baroness Elsa Schrader.”

Von Beckbaw removed the Baroness’s clothing with his eyes; the Baroness aided him by sticking out her chest. He gave her cleavage an obvious leer, then said, “I feel like we’ve met, Baroness.”

“Maybe we have, Colonel von Beckbaw. Maybe we have … in your dreams!” As they shook hands, she said, “Heil Hitler, right? Is that how you say it?” And then she laughed a laugh of enchantment.

Von Beckbaw wiped some newly sprouted dots of sweat from his forehead and cleared his throat. “You say it beautifully, Baroness. More beautifully than Mrs. Hitler herself. You should come on the show sometime.”

Fanning her face demurely, the Baroness said, “Why Colonel von Beckbaw, you’re making me blush.” (That was a patent lie, as Succubi, like Vampires, don’t blush.)

After barking three barrel-chested laughs, von Beckbaw turned serious. “Von Trapp,” he said, “when is the last time you heard me on the radio?”

“I believe it was 1932.”

“That was the year I premiered.”

“Correct,” Georg said.

“It’s quite a good show, von Trapp,” von Beckbaw said. “I think you might enjoy it.”

“Too much propaganda.”

“Propaganda is essential to the Nazi movement.”

“That doesn’t mean it’s enjoyable to listen to. I prefer that young woman out of Innsbruck, Rachel von Meadow. That gentleman based in Klagenfurt, Kiefer Ollberrmann, also has some interesting things to say.”

“My dear Captain,” von Beckbaw said, “they’re also spewing forth propaganda. Oftentimes louder than me.”

“Yes,” Georg said, “but it’s my team’s propaganda, and our propaganda can beat your propaganda with one ganda tied behind its back.” Then, under his breath, he added, “Right wing freak.”

Von Beckbaw sneered at the Captain, then pointed at the Austrian flag on the balcony and said, “Quite the display of nationalism you’ve got going on here at the mansion, I see. One of those things in the ballroom, one of them outside, and no Nazi paraphernalia to be seen. I was really hoping I’d see, oh, I don’t know, maybe a lanyard Swastika, or a bust of Hitler made from those wooden ice cream stick thingies. Why, I bet you never even wore the
von Beckbaw Show
t-shirt I sent you. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were a … a … a … a
Democrat
!”