Intersections Read online

  * * *

  I didn’t believe that was it. I didn’t believe it was true, that there were no greater secrets to the universe. That there really weren’t occult ways to read people’s minds and manipulate them to do one’s bidding. The Dark Arts existed; I knew they had to. Witchcraft existed; I was sure of it.

  * * *

  One night, after a show, Danny and I reclined at his apartment, drinking red wine and musing about the state of the world. We worked together nearly daily, so Danny had cleaned out one of his rooms for me. I didn’t live there, although free rent was tempting. But being with Danny was not tempting at all. His endless stories and constant fiddling with tricks got on my nerves. So, I’d use the room as my office, my safety spot. And yes, I confess, I even stayed overnight in the room now and again, but didn’t make it a regular habit.

  That night, I sat back on his long, red velvet couch, my dainty shoes long kicked off, my black poodle skirt spread across the cushions as I held my glass up to the light, enjoying the reflection of the wine. The room was his living room, decorated with two couches, several chairs, a couple of coffee tables, and tons of “things.” It could have been a hoarder house, I suppose, only this was a “collection.” Everything was specifically placed. Every item related back to magic in some manner, from the large vintage posters on the walls, one was even from a Houdini show, to the creepy puppets perched around the room in various puppet chairs, and hundreds of decks of cards. The puppet he bought that day with me had his own little ornate chair in some kind of place of honor. Danny had named his newest addition Mr. Peepers. Every time I was over there, Mr. Peepers was staring at me. I wanted to put a blanket over his head. I bet the other puppets hated him too.

  “Danny?” I asked.

  “Yes, my darling,” Danny replied.

  “When are you going to show me the real magic?”

  Danny put down his glass of wine and looked at me.

  “Real magic?” he asked.

  “Yeah. You know, real mind-reading, real items disappearing and reappearing, real ability to see into people’s pockets and purses.”

  Danny laughed.

  “You aren’t the first person to be disillusioned by the illusion.”

  “But there’s more, right? This isn’t it?”

  “So many people want magic to be real. They want spirits to be real. They want us mere humans to predict the future and manipulate events, to make people love us or leave us. But their desires don’t make it so.”

  “What about fortune telling? Is that real? Is that an illusion?”

  “It’s all tricks. The tarot card reader, the medium, the palm reader. They are all full of shit. They read body language the same as you and me.”

  “But the cards, the crystal balls...”

  “It’s all illusion.”

  “Pendulums? Runes?”

  “Mere fictions.”

  “Ouija board?”

  “That’s the worst of all. People tricking their own minds into thinking they are speaking with the dead. The best game ever. Parker Brothers really did a number on all of us.”

  “So there’s no talking to the dead? Sylvia Brown? John Edwards?”

  “Fakes and frauds, all of them,” he retorted, his gaze pausing on a particularly nasty-looking puppet dangling by its strings from the edge of the bookcase. Its green painted eyes and shock of red horse hair didn’t enhance the orange chipped paint flaking from puffed cheeks above the world’s creepiest, toothiest smile. That grimacing thing could spring to life any minute, and for a moment, I wished it would. Then we’d see who believed in what.

  However, I remained in my demure Annie persona, licking up every word he uttered like the sycophantic lap dog I was playing.

  I drank from my glass and contemplated it all.

  “But sometimes I know stuff,” I said. “I feel it in my stomach and I just know.”

  “You are tricking yourself, my dear. If you write down when you get the gut feelings and what you really think they mean at the time, you will understand how you manipulate your own reality. You make the feelings be whatever you want them to be.”

  “And what about ghosts? The spirits?”

  “Houdini debunked all the spiritualists.”

  “Yeah, over a hundred years ago. Things are different now. We have technology. There are pictures...videos...”

  Danny laughed again.

  “Oh, dear Annette. How strong your desire is for it all to be real when none of it is. You are the true magic. Your beauty. Your skills at manipulating our public. Your costume design for our shows. You are the only bewitching item our act needs.”

  “The public is fickle, they will soon want more.”

  “And more we shall give them.”

  I stared at him and drank more from my glass. I licked my lips and fixed him with a catlike stare.

  “How long before your bag of tricks runs out?” I asked.

  Danny shifted in his seat. He finished his glass of wine and stood up. I thought he was going to boot me back out into the streets and my cash cow ride would be over. But he surprised me.

  He hovered over his many crystal decanters on the silver tray that sat on one of his antique wooden side tables along with a filled ice bucket and several glasses. Ice cubes tinkled as he dropped them into his glass. He poured himself a fresh glass of bourbon. When he turned back to face me, I caught a glimpse of a moment of hesitation as his masked dropped ever so slightly. However, as he held his bourbon up to the sky, he winked at me.

  “To us, my dear Annette. To our newfound success.” He drank deeply of the bourbon and then shuddered as he placed the glass down. He returned to his chair.

  “Don’t worry, my dear,” he said. “I’ve been studying magic and mentalism my entire life. I’ve pledged myself to all of the groups and I intend to work until the day I die. And that won’t be for at least another thirty or forty years. Heck, I’ve barely touched fifty.”

  I nodded.

  “There are hundreds of tricks and many more ways to adapt them. Big ones, little ones. We can change our focus for different shows and work in different venues. Don’t worry, we’ll have work for years. We don’t need a gimmick. We are the gimmick.”

  I nodded again and held out my empty wine glass. Danny rose quickly and refilled it.

  “Will we do the Water Torture?” I asked playfully.

  “Any trick, illusion, gag, whatever that you want to try, we can try. We’re making decent money. We can afford to get a bit more elaborate if you like. Maybe next spring we can think about adding something costly and cumbersome...”

  I laughed. Water Torture indeed. Not for me. Not for him.

  “I was having a thought,” I said to him. “We have about two weeks’ gap in the schedule. I was wondering if I could take some away time.”

  Danny’s face fell as if I’d punched him.

  “What? Why? What’s wrong? Aren’t you happy? I thought you were happy.” He stood up, turning in a circle as if to go get something but not sure of what it was he was looking for.

  “Relax, Danny,” I said. He sat back down. “I just want to take a vacation. I haven’t seen my friends and family in ages.”

  Danny nodded, his finger on his temple, his eyes narrowing as if he was trying to read my mind. That’s how he did it in the show. Only I knew the trick. However, I wouldn’t discount the fluttering I felt in my brain, as if he were flipping through one of those old-fashioned rolodex.

  “How long?” he asked.

  “Probably two weeks. I didn’t give it much thought since I wasn’t sure if we had something booked I didn’t know about.”

  Danny shook his head.

  “Nothing booked,” he assured me. I didn’t need to be a mind-reader to know that he was wondering if I was meeting a guy. Sadly, I wasn’t. I never had a chance to meet anyone; we were always working or practicing.

  “Okay, then...” I said cheerfully, and took the full glass of wine he handed to me.