Текст книги "Illusion"

Автор книги: Фрэнк Перетти

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She held her hands close together, palms up, deck of cards in her right hand. Eyes locked on the cards, she flexed the deck, building the tension.

She let them riffle loose, they sprang into the air in a stream and flew in a little arc to her other hand. Fffffflipppp!And that quick, it was over.

She made them arc again, from left to right, right to left, left to right, back and forth, then started spreading her hands, widening the arc. When her hands were two feet apart she started getting gasps and oohs from her audience.

She extended her hands out past her shoulders, and the cards sailed higher in a fluttering arc. Her eyes, her mind, every nerve ending in her body were locked on the cards, feeling, knowing, energizing. Flipflipflipflipflipthe cards riffled out of one hand; plaplaplaplaplaplapthey landed in the other.

When her arms were spread wide and the cards were soaring through an arc high above her head, over and back, over and back, she held the pose and the ta-da moment came. The audience applauded, cheered, whistled. They loved it.

She riffled off the last card, it sailed through the air after its fellows like the caboose on a train and landed in her other hand—plap! Her fingers, quivering a little, wrapped tightly around the deck as she wilted with relief. She made it clowny, but she wasn’t kidding.

While the folks were still shaking their heads, cheering and clapping, she caught a quick glimpse of Mr. Calhoun. He wasn’t smiling, but only because he was too dumbfounded.

She was trembling, but it wasn’t nervousness as much as raw adrenaline coursing through her, the power, the energy, the pure psychof being in this place in this moment, and now she wanted more.

The coin toss routine was next, mixed in with some cool surprises. Just remember, Eloise, reach out, make it big, draw them in.

She produced a quarter and zeroed in on a grandfatherly-looking gentleman at a front row table… .

She sat on her bed in her room at the Durhams’, dazed with exhaustion, too excited to sleep. It was going on ten o’clock. She was still in her Hobett outfit, her hair was matted from sweating under her hat, she hadn’t even washed off the whiskers, and now many of the little black dots were smeared.

She’d emptied the contents of her tip jar on the bed and counted out the money: $312.75. Now shewas the astonished one. Of course,she told herself more than once, you won’t do this well every night.

But making $312.75 in a half hour was quite affirming, to say the least, and she couldn’t stop replaying the evening in her head.

She could have kept going, but wrapped up her show right around 7:28 P.M. with a big finish and a final bow. Having nowhere to go to get “offstage,” she let Hobett talk in a goofy, bummish voice she borrowed from Red Skelton—one of her favorite TV shows only weeks ago—and visited with people. They loved her show, loved her, shook her hand, raved up one side and down the other, and—happy, happy, happy—they dumped tips into her tip jar hand after hand, the coins clinking, the bills … well, all that quiet was nice to watchfor sure.

“Do you do birthday parties?” a mom asked.

Was the pope Catholic? “Sure!”

They found an available date—for Eloise that was easy enough.

“Oh, and what do you charge?”

She scrambled around her brain for a figure and blurted out, “Fifty dollars.”

Sold. It was a date.

And then she thought—what was she going to do for a bunch of little kids? And how was she going to get there? She didn’t have a car or even a driver’s license.

Roger—he said she could call him that—finally got a few minutes with her after most of her public had gone out the door. “That was good,” he said. “Gooder—better than good.” He was still a little dazed and having to adjust. “What are you doing next weekend?”

He offered her half an hour on Saturday and half an hour on Sunday. She took it.

And she could walk to McCaffee’s. It only took about twenty minutes from the halfway house.

Mia, Darci, Rhea, Micah, and Sally gathered around her at the house and had a little celebration with apple juice and Oreo cookies. They were all blown away and just couldn’t believe what they’d seen, and all of them voiced the same sentiment: Eloise Kramer would not be a “hobo” for long.

Of course, the question came up as it always did, and probably should if she was doing things well: “How did you do that?” And she just shrugged teasingly and said it was a trick.

And now, sitting by herself in her room and thanking God for a great evening, she faced that question once again: Howdid I do that?

chapter

15

SATURDAY AND SUNDAY NIGHT

October 16 & 17

7–7:30 P.M.

Enjoy the incredible

ELOISE “The Hobett” KRAMER

Magician Extraordinaire

Astounding.

Astoundingly Funny.

Bring the Family.

You won’t believe your eyes!

Now the poster was larger, done with poster paints, featured a digitally printed, taped-on, color photo of Hobett doing the Rainbow Bridge—her name for her new card routine– andit appeared in the front window on Monday. Roger was becoming a believer and Eloise was becoming a performer, which turned out to be good news and, well, challenging news.

Okay, great, I get to perform, but … what? I need new stuff!

With the kind and loving indulgence of Mia at the thrift store and Sally Durham’s offer to drive her until she could get a license, she went to work full-time on new material, anything she could think of, starting with what in the world to do for a kid’s birthday party.

There were twelve kids, ages six to eight, sitting all over that living room as if they’d been thrown in there, party hats on their heads, cake crumbs and ice cream on their faces, laughing like adults breathing helium.

The spinning quarters worked great because they were so magical and the room was small. Burt and Baxter not only bounced among the kids, driving them wild as the kids tried to grab them, they also sat on a little table up front through the rest of Eloise’s act, upstaging her at key moments.

Card tricks? Too slow for this bunch.She opted for an old standby, balloons, and made balloon doggies, giraffes, dinosaurs, and anything else she’d learned from books and videos just that week. Of course, a balloon let loose in the room and guided to zip right by the kids’ heads—and bonk Eloise right between the eyes—kept things lively, and with just the right kind of attention she could make some of the balloon creatures move.

October 16, at 7:00 P.M., McCaffee’s was full and folks must have heard about the spinning quarters; they seemed a whole lot more attentive, even moving in closer to see for themselves what their friends were so gaga about.

October 17, at 7:00 P.M., a whole new set of folks came through the door, which was cool; Eloise could do all the same stuff, which meant she could get better at it.

Of course, every gig led to more gigs, and Sally Durham, a real saint, continued as Eloise’s chauffeur, taking her to every one.

Gerry Morris’s eleventh-birthday party: these kids, mostly boys, were tougher to please, and the goofier she got the less they bought it, so she eased back on the goofy and played mostly herself. They loved the quarter pulled from her nose—apparently they were into snot and boogers and such. Eloise discovered she could stretch a balloon’s neck and make it hum “Happy Birthday.” If she’d played it on her armpit that would have gone over just as big. A creative milestone.

Melinda Flowers’s ninth birthday was just-us-girls, and Eloise loved it. She ventured boldly into new territory for this one: she reddened her cheeks instead of her nose, left off the whiskers, and came as a semiclownish girl in a fluffy white blouse with a red scarf, black shorts with loud, flowery suspenders, and red-and-white-striped knee highs. It was her first performance working under her own name and her first time working with flowers, making them appear in her hand, in little girls’ hands, and best of all, in little girls’ hair. Boys wouldn’t have cared for that trick, but everygirl had to get a flower. She could have filled the whole time just doing that.

THIS WEEKEND!!!

FRIDAY, SATURDAY, AND SUNDAY NIGHTS!!!

7:00 P.M.

McCaffee’s Proudly Presents

the Incredible

ELOISE KRAMER

Magician Extraordinaire

Astounding.

Astoundingly funny.

Bring the Family.

You won’t believe your eyes!

Wow, check out the poster printed by a computer graphics geek whom Roger knew, with a full-color studio photo of Eloise striking a pose and tipping her hat!

At seven, and not from seven to seven-thirty? Well, Roger had come to the point where McCaffee’s was “proudly presenting” her, and the half-hour rule had loosened to a guideline with only one qualifier: “Don’t wear ’em out.”

No dates? Roger was assuming, not really saying up front, just kind of hinting that she’d be doing her show at McCaffee’s every weekend, you know, if it worked out, if she was up to it. You know.

What happened to the “Hobett”? Well, sometimes she was the Hobett, sometimes she wasn’t. Sometimes it was funnier to play it mute, sometimes it was better to yak it up a little.

And the exclamation marks!!! To think that Roger actually used them!!! He wasn’t that excitable a guy!!!

Friday night the place was packed. Saturday night Roger had to ask people to come back for a second show, at eight-thirty. Sunday night, a family reunion filled the place at seven and Eloise had to do a second show again. By the end of the weekend she was exhausted …

To the tune of $1,785.25.

Jacquie Palmer’s sixteenth birthday was like a whole new thing and like, Eloise was like, Hey, I’m like almost on the same leveland she wore like, regular clothes instead of doing the hobo and some of her accessories were like, from the mall and not the thrift store.

Oh, and now she was charging like $100 and it was like the moms and dads didn’t even mind.

Far out.

She did her seven-o’clock show at McCaffee’s on October 30, then dashed up the street to do the Elks’ Halloween Bash—now, that hadto be delusional—but the $1,000 check was real enough.

Halloween Night at McCaffee’s? Roger tried to wring every possible use out of the holiday, decorating the place and dressing up like … well, a chef all in white with a big paste-on mustache, a pillow on his stomach, and an arrow through his head. Whatever. Abby dressed up like Julia Child but nobody got it. Megan and Myron dressed up like each other. The place was filled with all sorts of weird-looking people. Eloise didn’t go in for spooks or sorcerers; she just kept it fun, from this planet.

Her costume? She went as a girl from the 1970s.

Monday morning, November 1, Dane took the silver urn from the mantel, held it to his chest, and faced the living room, taking a special second look at every detail.

“I put the love seat upstairs, but apart from that, everything fit just right, even Mom’s old pump organ. I might change the rugs,” he said quietly, intimately, as if talking near someone’s ear.

He went into the kitchen and stood quietly, his gaze passing over the counters, the cupboards, the sink, every feature. “Everything from the other house is here. The cookware’s in that lazy Susan and the cereal’s in that corner, just like in the other house. See that? There’s your coffee machine. It just brewed its twenty-five-thousandth cup of coffee, can you believe it? And there’s the marble countertop, just like you always wanted.”

He walked through the breakfast nook, spending a moment commenting on the view of the barn and the leaf-strewn hillside rolling gently down to McBride’s Pond, where willows, now mostly bare, were emerging from the lifting fog, their reflections mirror-smooth in the water.

The bedroom was a lovely place, decorated as Mandy would have had it, and he’d been diligent to make the bed every morning. Their wedding photo was on the dresser in its usual place. His favorite picture of her, taken just two years ago, was on the nightstand.

Mandy’s clothes were where she would have had them. Her blouses were arranged in the closet by color, her dresses by occasion, her shoes in neat rows on two shelves. He’d set apart one end of the closet for her costumes, each one an icon of a memory: this pink dance outfit was from their three-week stint in the Philippines, this blue gown from their time in London, and this black formal for the award ceremony at the Magic Castle in Hollywood.

All the drawers and compartments of her jewelry case were unchanged, and every piece of jewelry in its place: he bought her this necklace for their thirty-fifth anniversary, this ring to replace the one she lost when they were working the cruise ship. She used to keep an anklet with silver doves on it in this little drawer.

He sat in a wing chair near the windows, one of the matched pair they picked out at least eighteen years ago. “Anyway, that’s the house. It’s where I’m staying for now, and I notice it doesn’t bring me any more joy than that little apartment we had in Van Nuys, and it’s easy enough to figure. You were the joy, Mandy. No matter where we were living, you were the joy. I’ll always remember that.”

He went downstairs, put on a jacket from the entry closet, and took the urn outside.

The valley was heading into winter. Frost had withered the flowers, blackened the fallen leaves, and now lay thick and crusty in the hollows and dark places. The lawn crunched under his feet.

He followed the trail past the barn and into the field that encircled the pond. It was a quiet, restful place he’d already visited many times, and Shirley had told him about the wildflowers that grew here in the spring and how tall the grass could grow. There would be no people traffic here. Shirley wouldn’t be running over it with the riding mower or tilling it to plant beans. Only the passing seasons would touch it.

He looked up toward the house. “You see that? I can see down here from my study. I can watch the seasons go by like we used to do, and thank God that we shared so many. And every time the wildflowers come up … well, I guess they’ll be yours, won’t they?”

He uncapped the urn and released the ashes to the breeze. They drifted like mist over the field, spreading, thinning, reaching far away. He stood and watched until the last trace had come to rest.

In a five-second ceremony, Eloise took her hobo hat from her head and hung it on a coat hook next to the front door. Perfect. Symbolic. She now had a place to hang her hat.

The apartment was unfurnished but as cute as she could ask for and– right on!—within walking distance of McCaffee’s. Sarah Middleton’s husband, Roy, built it over their garage, his mother stayed there until her death, it housed Sarah’s art projects and Roy’s junk until Roy’s death two years ago, and then, to generate extra income, it became a clean apartment again and Sarah needed a tenant. Mia knew Sarah, connected Sarah with Eloise, and right about that time Eloise had the money to rent the place.

It had to be a God thing.

There was no table to eat from, no chair to sit on, and only an air mattress and some blankets to sleep on. There was no television or radio, but they could surely wait; she had to get a telephone first thing, with a number she could give out for people to call, withan answering machine. She had two cardboard boxes for her foldable clothes, but there was a closet and the thrift store provided hangers for Eloise’s growing wardrobe, mostly this-and-that, mix-and-match items she used for costumes. Eloise arranged her shirts and blouses by color, her costumes by venue, and her shoes—a pair of tennis shoes, a pair of sandals, a pair of cloddy boots, and one pair of black loafers—in a neat row.

Friday, November 5, at McCaffee’s. Full house, great crowd, lots of coffee, sandwiches, and pastries moving.

Eloise dug out a deck of cards and approached a young lady seated at a table. “Hi there! What’s your name?”

“Pamela,” said the young lady. She looked like a professional. Probably sold real estate or annuities. She had her husband and two teenagers with her.

“Want to hold these for me?” Eloise placed the deck of cards in her hand facedown, gently closed Pamela’s fingers against the sides of the deck, then circled around behind her so everyone could see. “Hold ’em still now. Here we go.”

Standing behind Pamela and looking over her shoulder, Eloise pointed with one finger at the deck. “Now help me out. Let the cards go where they want to go.” She slowly pulled with her finger, as if an invisible thread ran from her finger to the top card. The card tilted upward toward the rear of the deck and then, once vertical, tucked itself between the back edge of the deck and the heel of Pamela’s hand, sticking up like a wall.

“Just hold it there with your pinkie,” Eloise said, helping her out a little.

Great move. Everybody loved it and every eye was watching.

Eloise pulled with her finger again, and the next card tilted up toward the left and tucked itself against the left side. Eloise pulled invisibly, the third card lifted toward the right, and this time she waved her hand between her finger and the card. No wires, no strings. Three little walls now.

Last card. Eloise pulled, the card lifted toward the front and tucked itself against the front edge of the deck. Now the cards formed a little box open at the top. Eloise planted her hand over the top. “So, what do we do now? Got any magic words?”

Pamela’s eyes rolled toward the ceiling as she searched for one. “Ummmmm …”

“That’s good, that’s good! Everybody say, ‘Ummmmm … ’”

The whole crowd said a dumb-sounding “Ummmmm …”

Eloise lifted her hand away.

Pamela looked into the box and did a wide-eyed double take. “No. Way!” She reached into the box and withdrew her driver’s license. The real thing, with her picture on it.

Pamela dug out her wallet and was stunned all over again to find that the little slot for her license was empty. She held up her wallet for everyone to see.

“Well, let’s see if we can put it back,” said Eloise.

Pamela dropped her driver’s license back into the box made from cards, Eloise covered it with her hand and told everybody, “We have to do this whole thing in reverse, right? Everybody say ‘Mmmmmuh … ’”

Everybody, including Pamela, said “Ummmmm” backward between laughs.

Eloise lifted her hand away … and there was a silver dollar. Aha! Eloise’s eyes shot over at Larry, a middle-aged man who’d already won two silver dollars from her in a coin toss routine. She craftily twitched her eyebrows.

Larry beckoned. “Bring it on.”

“What about my license?” Pamela asked.

“Is it in your wallet?” said Eloise.

While Eloise crossed the room to go eye-to-eye with Larry, Pamela opened her wallet again and there, intact and in its rightful place, was her driver’s license.

Eloise was ready before the applause died down. She had Larry flip the coin and slap it onto the back of his other hand. She appealed to the crowd, “Okay, youcall it this time!”

“Heads!” called half the crowd.

“Tails!” called the other half.

She rolled her eyes. “They want it both ways!”

She nodded to Larry, who uncovered the coin on his hand—it was now twosilver dollars, one tails and one heads.

The house went nuts. Larry was about to give the dollars up, but Eloise wagged her head sadly. “They said heads and tails. These are tails and heads. Nuts!”

As Eloise overplayed some frustration, Larry dropped the two new silver dollars into an empty coffee cup. Now he had four.

She searched her pockets. “Burt? Anybody seen Burt?”

She looked at Larry and his group, then at the coffee cup on the table in front of them. They looked in the coffee cup.

There was Burt smiling up at them. Larry tilted the cup and let Burt roll into his hand while …

… Eloise found four silver dollars in her coat pocket and dropped them from hand to hand while everybody marveled and applauded.

“Say …” Big pitiful look. “Can I have Burt back?”

Larry was into it, goaded by his friends. “What about my four dollars?”

Eloise deadpanned to the crowd. The whole joke was working. “I’ll make it five.”

“What?”

“Give me Burt, I’ll give you five dollars.”

Larry tossed Burt to her. She caught the tennis ball, clapped her hands around it, then opened her hands.

Burt was gone. In her hands was a five-dollar bill. She held it up as the crowd roared and she looked at Larry. “Got change for a five?”

Larry followed her look to the coffee cup and then broke up with amazement and poured out the contents:

Five silver dollars.

They made the trade. Larry came away five dollars richer, and the folks were having the time of their lives.

“Now, what about Burt?” Eloise looked around, dug in her pockets. “Burt? Burt?”

Mark, a college student sitting in plain sight of everyone, noticed his computer case jiggling. Eloise was quick to notice it too and pointed, directing everyone’s attention. “Burt!”

Mark reached down, unzipped the case, and out hopped Burt, bouncing back to Eloise, who caught him and held him up for her big finish. That was all, folks. As the whole house rose to their feet, applauding, she doffed her hat, swept it before her in a big bow, tossed Burt into her hat, and put it back on her head.

Megan and Myron passed around the tip cans, and the dollars and coins piled in. Eloise went around the tables greeting, shaking hands, thanking the folks for coming.

“Hi. What’s your name?”

“Sandra Connelly. This is my husband, Ted.”

“Wonderful to meet you! Hi. What’s your name?”

“Mike.”

“Julie.”

“Christopher.”

Eloise shook their hands. “Wonderful to meet you!”

“Fantastic show! Incredible!”

“Hi. What’s your name?”

The man handed her a business card that read “J. Arnold Harrington, Theatrical Management,” and bore a Las Vegas address, an e-mail address, and phone numbers. “I’m Arnie Harrington. Will you be performing here tomorrow night?”

A hint of thrill brightened her face. “I sure will.”

“Okay. I’m crunched for time right now, but maybe we can talk tomorrow. Could we do that?”

And here came that thrill again, right to the surface. She broke into a grin. “Okay! That’d be great!”

She had to move on, shaking hands, saying hello, glancing back as he smiled at her. Megan and Myron were still moving around the room accumulating tips, mostly in bills.

Arnie watched Eloise Kramer moving through the crowd and shook his head, whistling in wonder. “Dane has to see this.”