Honest illusions(BookZZ.org) (10 page)

’cause I didn’t know what he meant.”

There were no tears now, but a rage, burning dry. “I didn’t know until he got on top of me. I thought he was going to smother me until . . .” The sheer terror of it boomeranged back. The sweaty skin and the stink of gin, the greedy hands groping.

“Then I knew, all right. I knew.” His hands clenched and unclenched, leaving deep crescents in his palms. “I hit him, and I hit him, but he wouldn’t stop. So I bit and I scratched. I had his blood all over my

hands, and he was holding his face and screaming. Then Al came in, and he beat me for a long time. And I don’t remember—I don’t know if . . .” That was the worst, the not knowing. It was a shame he couldn’t speak out loud. “That’s the night he wanted to kill me. That’s the night I left.”

Max was silent for a long time, so long Luke was afraid he’d said too much, much too much to ever be forgiven.

“You did everything right.” There was a heaviness in Max’s voice that had tears stinging Luke’s eyes again. “And I can promise you this. No one will ever touch you in that way again, while you’re with me.

And I’ll teach you the way out of the closet.” Max’s eyes came back to Luke’s and held. “They may lock you in, but they won’t keep you there.”

Luke tried to speak, but the words caught in his throat before he forced them out. His life depended on the answer. “I can stay?”

“Until you want to go.”

His gratitude was so huge, he thought it might burst from him like light. Like love. “I’ll pay for the vase,”

he managed. “I promise.”

“You already have. Now, run wash your face. We’d best clean this up before LeClerc has another tantrum.”

Max sat on the steps as Luke bounded up them. From her hiding place in the parlor, Roxanne heard her father sigh. And she wept.

6

Over the next few days, Luke felt his way carefully. He was unsure of LeClerc, and knew only that the Cajun was in charge of the house. Luke did his best to keep out of the way. He never made the mistake of dropping crumbs through the house again.

He went shopping with Lily, carrying boxes and bags for her up and down the steamy streets. He sat patiently in boutiques as she picked over new clothes, stood by while she oohed and aahed over trinkets in windows.

His love for her was deep enough to have him tolerating her choosing outfits for him. So deep that he hardly winced at the paisley shirts she bought him. If he had free time, he haunted the Quarter, content to explore, to listen to the street musicians, to watch the artists work around Jackson Square.

But the best time for Luke was when they rehearsed.

The Magic Door was a cramped, dim club that smelled of the whiskey fumes and smoke that had soaked into the walls for decades. On those hot afternoons, the shades would be drawn against the sun and the tourists. The air conditioner made grinding sounds that were more industrious than the resulting puff of tepid air it produced. The ceiling fan did a bit more, but with the stage lights lit, the club was like a small furnace.

The walls were papered in red and gold velvet, the wall behind the bar mirrored to give the illusion of space. It was like being a bug inside a decorated box, and the forgetful child who’d captured you had

neglected to punch holes in the top.

Luke loved it.

Every afternoon, Lester Friedmont, the manager, would sit at the front table, nursing a beer and the short stub of a lit cigar. He was a tall man who carried all of his extra weight in his belly. Invariably he wore a white short-sleeved shirt, with a tie and matching suspenders. His black laced shoes were always shined.

His thinning hair was slicked back and gleamed wetly under the lights. He looked at his world through the smudged lenses of heavy black glasses perched on the end of his angular nose.

A fat calico cat he called Fifi would prowl around his legs, waddle off to nibble from the dish set under the bar, then prowl back again.

Friedmont kept a phone on the table. He had the ability to watch the rehearsal and add his comments, harass whoever was cleaning the club and talk on the phone simultaneously.

It took Luke several afternoons to realize that Friedmont was a bookie.

No matter how often they would run through a bit, Lester would hoot and shake his head. “Jesus please us, that was a good one. You going to tell me how you did that one, Max?”

“Sorry, Lester. Trade secret.”

So Lester would go back to taking bets and scratching his belly.

Max planned to start off the act with sleight of hand, and some colored scarf tricks, similar to what he’d done in the carnival. Then he wanted to add his own version of the Floating Ball before bringing Roxanne out for his new Levitating Girl. He’d added a spin to sawing a woman in half by using a vertical box and cutting Lily into three parts. It was nearly perfected.

He was trying Luke out in bits and pieces. He had no doubts about the boy’s quick mind and quick hands. Now he was testing Luke’s heart. “Watch,” he said to Luke. “Learn.”

Standing center stage, Max pulled silks out of his pocket; color after vivid color poured out. Luke’s lips began to twitch. He didn’t understand that what he was seeing was pure timing. The longer the bit lasted, the longer the audience would laugh—and be misdirected.

“Hold out your arms,” Max ordered, then draped the scarves over Luke’s arms seemingly at random.

“We’ll have music to go with this. Lily?”

She turned on the tape recorder. “The Blue Danube.”

“The waltz is slow, lovely,” Max said. “The gestures mirror it.” His hands flowed over the scarves, lifted, fell as he walked around Luke. “And, of course, if I’ve chosen a beautiful woman from the audience to stand in your place, this adds to the showmanship, and the beauty of the illusion. And her reaction will cue the audience to theirs.” A snap of the wrist and Max plucked the end of a scarf, as he whipped it back, the others followed, all neatly tied together, scarlet to yellow, yellow to sapphire, sapphire to emerald.

Luke’s eyes popped wide an instant before his grin spread.

“Excellent.” Max scooped up the scarves, balled them into a colorful orb as he spoke. “So you see, even in such a small trick, showmanship, stage presence, is every bit as important as dexterity. To do a trick well is never enough. But to do it with a flourish . . .” He tossed the ball into the air, the scarves, no longer joined, floated down.

Nearby Roxanne giggled and clapped her hands. “I like that one, Daddy.”

“My best audience.” He bent down to pick up the silks. “Show me.”

Roxanne rubbed her hands together, gnawed on her lip. “I can’t do as many yet.”

“What you can, then.”

Nerves and pride jangled together as she chose six of the scarves. Turning to the imaginary audience, she tugged each between her hands, then waving each in the air draped them on Luke’s arms. There was an undeniably feminine touch to her gestures that made Max smile as she turned her hands over and under the silks. Though she moved to the music as she executed a series of slow pirouettes around Luke, her concentration was total. There was no such thing as a small trick in Roxanne’s world. They were all huge.

Facing Luke again, she smiled, skimmed her hands over the scarves once more, as a woman might stroke a cat, then taking the end, she whirled them over her head. She laughed in triumph as she wound the tied scarves around her shoulders.

“Well done.” Max scooped her up to kiss her. “Quite well done.”

“She’s a pistol, Max,” Lester called out. “You ought to let her try it out in front of a crowd.”

“What do you say, Roxanne?” Max stroked a hand over her hair as he set her down. “Ready to try a solo?”

“Can I?” Her heart leaped into her eyes. “Daddy, please, can I?”

“We’ll try it out in the first show, then we’ll see.”

She let out a shriek and raced to Lily. “Can I wear earrings? Real ones? Can I?”

She smiled at Max over Roxanne’s head. “You can pick out the ones you like best.”

“The ones in the window down the street. The blue ones.”

“Take twenty minutes, Lily,” Max suggested. “A woman needs at least that much time to choose accessories for her costume.” And he wanted a moment alone with Luke.

“So.” As Roxanne dragged Lily out, Max picked up a deck of cards. He began to do one-handed cuts.

“You’re wondering why a little girl can do something you can’t.”

Luke flushed, but his chin stayed up. “I can learn anything she can.”

“Possibly.” To entertain himself, Max fanned the cards. “I could tell you it’s a mistake to use her, or anyone, as a yardstick for yourself. But you wouldn’t listen.”

“You could teach me.”

“I could,” Max agreed.

“I already know some. I’ve been practicing.”

“Indeed.” Raising a brow, Max offered the cards. “Show me.”

Nerves dampened his fingertips as Luke shuffled the cards. “It won’t be as good, because you know how I’ll do it.”

“Ah, there you’re wrong. A magician’s best audience is another magician. Because they understand the purpose. Do you?”

“To do a trick,” Luke responded, struggling to concentrate on the cards.

“As simple as that? Sit,” Max suggested. Once they were seated at one of the tables, he chose a card from the pack Luke held out. “Anyone can learn to do a trick. It only takes an understanding of how it works, and a basic skill that can be refined with practice. But magic.” He glanced at the card, then slipped it back into the pack. “Magic is taking what’s real and what’s not, and blending them into one, for a short period. It’s causing someone who doesn’t believe to blink in amazement. It’s giving people what they want.”

“What do they want?” Luke shuffled the cards, tapped the top, then turned over Max’s card. His heart swelled at Max’s nod of approval.

“Excellent. Do another.” He sat back as Luke fumbled through a one-handed cut. “What do they want?

To be duped, to be fooled, and amazed. To watch the astounding happen under their nose.” Max opened his hand and showed Luke a small red ball. “Right before their eyes.” He slapped the ball on the table, then took his other hand from under the wood. The ball was there, his other hand empty. Luke grinned and set the cards for Aces High.

“You palmed it,” Luke said. “I know you did, but I didn’t see.”

“Because I looked at you, in your eyes. So you looked in mine. Always look them in the eye.

Innocently, smugly, however you choose. But look them in the eye. This makes an illusion honest.”

“A trick’s a cheat, isn’t it?”

“Only if you can’t make them enjoy the deception.” He nodded again when Luke drew the four aces from the top of the shuffled deck. “Your mechanics are good, but where is your flair? Where is that drama that tells the audience it’s not simply a well-practiced trick, but magic? Again,” he said, shoving the cards toward Luke. “Astound me.”

Max watched the concentration come into Luke’s eyes, heard the two deep indrawn breaths as he prepared.

“I want to do the first one again.”

“All right. Let me hear your patter.”

Luke’s color came up, but he cleared his throat and dived in. He’d been practicing for weeks. “I’d like to show you a few card tricks.” He did a fair Russian shuffle, and a snappy turnover. “Now, not many magicians will tell you what they’re going to do beforehand. But I’m just a kid. I don’t know any better.”

He fanned the cards face out toward his imaginary audience so they could identify it as an ordinary deck.

“I’m going to ask this gentleman here to pick a card, any card at all.” Luke spread the cards facedown on the table, waited a beat while Max reached for one. “That one?” he said and looked uneasy. “You sure you want that one?”

Playing along, Max inclined his head. “Indeed I do.”

“You sure you wouldn’t rather take this one?” Luke tapped the end card. “No?” He swallowed audibly when Max held firm. “Okay. Remember, I’m just a kid. If you’d show the card to the audience. Make sure I don’t see it,” Luke added as he tried to crane his neck to get a glimpse of the card. “Good.” His voice shook. “I guess you can put it back in, anywhere, anywhere at all. Then you can shuffle them—unless you want me to,” he asked hopefully as he gathered the cards.

“No, I believe I’ll do it myself.”

“Terrific.” He heaved a sigh. “Once they’re shuffled, I’ll cut the cards and magically reveal the one this fine gentleman chose.” He reached in his pocket, pulled out an invisible handkerchief and wiped his brow. “I think that’s enough. Really, really, you’ve done enough.” Luke snatched the deck back. After setting it on the table, he waved his hands over it and mumbled. “Almost got it. And!” He cut the cards and held one up in triumph. At the gentle shake of Max’s head, he looked crestfallen. “That’s not it? I was sure I did this right. Hold on a minute.” He set the cards back, mumbled over them again, and again chose incorrectly.

“Something must be wrong with this deck. I don’t think your card’s there at all. I think you cheated.” He rose, incensed, and stalked toward the audience. “And someone out here must be working with you.

You there.” He pointed a finger at Lester, who was busily taking bets. “Come on, give it up.”

“Give what up, kid?”

“The card. I know you’ve got it.”

“Hey.” Lester cocked the phone on his shoulder and held up both hands. “I ain’t got no card, kid.”

“Oh no?” Luke reached down past Lester’s bulging belly under the waistband of his slacks and pulled out a nine of diamonds. “Guess you were just on your way to a poker game.”

While Lester howled with laughter, Luke held the card overhead for the audience to identify. “Thank you. Thank you. Hey, you’ve been a good sport,” he said to Lester. “Why don’t you stand up and take a bow.”

“Sure, kid, sure.” Amused, Lester rose. “You got an up-and-comer here, Max. You sure as hell do.”

The compliment had Luke beaming. But it was nothing, nothing compared to hearing Max laugh.

“Now.” Max rose to drop a hand on Luke’s shoulder. “That’s showmanship. Let’s see if we can work it into the act.”

Luke’s jaw dropped to his knees. “No shit?”

Max ruffled Luke’s hair, pleased that the boy didn’t stiffen at the touch. “No shit.”