08 Illusion (19 page)

Dane started walking again. “Yeah, yeah, I think I am.” He stopped walking and went nose-to-nose with his manager. “You didn’t see that back there?”

“See what?”

He looked at Arnie just long enough to know he was going to get nowhere and kept walking. “No, I suppose not.”

Arnie stayed right on his heels, then alongside, pushing himself, almost loping to keep up. “Hey, come on, cut me some slack here.”

Dane halted and got in Arnie’s face again. “You saw it! You saw who she looks like.”

Arnie must have understood. He grimaced as he looked away, searching the dark night for a glimmer of sanity in this nutty world.

“Yeah, deny it.”

Dane tried to keep walking, but Arnie headed him off. “All right, all right. I saw … I saw a kind of resemblance, sure. But is that the girl’s fault? Is it?”

“Who’s blaming
her
?”

Arnie looked up and down the street for his next thought. He found it. “All right, listen, you’ve suffered a great loss. I understand, I respect that, I feel for you. But I’m not responsible for who you think the girl looks like or how you feel about it—and let me tell you something, neither is she! No matter how you try to justify it, that was rude back there! It was thoughtless and it was mean and that poor girl did
not
deserve one bit of it. What does she know about your grief? Why make her suffer for it? She worked hard, she put it all on the line, she totally wowed that audience, and you just threw her on the floor! It was a bad move!
Bad
move! And let me tell you something else, Mr. Big Shot with a screw loose,
somebody’s
gonna sign that girl and it could’ve been you! Heck,
I’ll
sign her!”

Dane turned aside and let a little reason sink in. “This has not been easy.”

“Yeah, you’re telling me. I can’t take you anywhere.”

“Maybe you
should
sign her.”

“Maybe I will.” Arnie took a moment to fidget, look up and down the street again, cool his jets. “But I’m not blind. You’re the one she wanted to see. You have the connection, whatever it is, I don’t know. I think she’d rather work with you. And think about it. She’s up here, you’re up here, I’m heading back to Vegas tomorrow. I don’t want to pull her out of her neighborhood before she’s ready, and you’re the only one who’s gonna know when she’s ready.”

“So now it’s all on me.”

“You bet it is. It’s all yours, baby. You made the mess, you clean it up.”

“Well, did you get her number or anything?”

“That was gonna be part of the meeting you walked out of.”

Dane could only whistle out a sigh and rub his fingers through his hair.

“Dane, this girl, backed up by everything you are and everything you know, I guarantee she’ll go places. She could do a solo act, you could put together a whole new show featuring the two of you, kind of a brand-new Dane and Man——I just walked off a cliff, didn’t I?”

“Even as we speak.”

“Sorry.”

Dane mellowed and gave Arnie a nearly imperceptible smile. “You do try, Arnie, you do try.”

Arnie only shook his head. “One of us has to.”

Dane slapped a hand on his shoulder. “Guess I just need some time.”

“Yeah, but don’t take forever.”

McCaffee’s was a quiet place with no customers there, the doors locked, most of the lights out, the ceiling fans motionless. Roger and Abby were turning out lights, putting chairs up on the tables, restocking the coffee urns, replenishing the towels in the restrooms …

… and waiting for her.

She remained on the same chair at the same table, her hat at her elbow, Mr. Harrington’s business card in her fingers, trying not to feel lonely and wondering why she did.

“Yerrrr OUT!” she muttered.

Yep. Rounded first, headed for second, second got up, and walked out. Tagged. Third out. Game over.

She had such a great night. She did so well. The most amazing things happened, things that astounded even her. The crowd loved it. Roger and Abby loved it and told her so.

So why did he leave?

She came so close to something, as if she were in a big maze and for one second she saw a glimmer of light from the opening, but now she couldn’t find it no matter how hard she looked.

Or … as if she were trying to pluck her keys from the very edge of a sidewalk grate and they slipped off the tips of her fingernails and fell the rest of the way down. She provided the sound, “Ker-sploosh!”

Or … as if she knew the answer to a question on a quiz show, had known it all her life, but it just wouldn’t come to her when she really needed it and then the buzzer sounded and the host said,
I’m sorry, your time is up.

Or … as if she were trying to remember where she saw a pair of pruners so she could go get them. She could remember them sitting on top of a can but she couldn’t remember, for the life of her, where the can was, or what kind of can it was, or how long ago she saw it, if she did, or whether she just dreamed it.

The frustration! “Aaarrrggh!”

Roger wanted to go home. He touched her on the shoulder. “Why don’t you just go find the guy? The least he should do is give you a chance.”

She’d written DANE COLLINS on the back of Mr. Harrington’s business card. She looked at it again for the umpteenth time and considered out loud, “I need a car.”

In his bedroom, Dane stared at Dr. Kessler’s business card lying on the nightstand. His hand came one inch from picking up the telephone and dialing, but then he came up with a good excuse: it was too late in the evening and he’d only get an answering machine.

So, leave a message.

Naw …

He flopped on the bed, trying to be honest with himself. He had to get on with the grieving. He had to let her go. He couldn’t go on painting her face on every young girl he encountered.

Oh, come on, it’s just that one girl.

So what? It was still … warped, that’s what it was. Was this where dirty old men came from?

I’ll call in the morning.

The Division of Motor Vehicles examiner behind the counter was nice enough. She handed Eloise the list of requirements to get an Idaho driver’s license, all of which Eloise could not meet, and then smiled and said she was sorry, Eloise would have to come back when she could provide …

Proof of Idaho residency

Proof of age and identity

Acceptable legal-presence documents

Social Security number

Blah-blah-blah

So Eloise, printed government info in hand, backtracked along the line of folks who’d been waiting behind her, all of whom existed as real people in this world and probably would get what they came for.

Sometimes she just wanted to scream.

“Eloise?”

Now, that was new: somebody out in the middle of everywhere calling her name. She paused just short of the front door and looked.

It was Pamela the professional lady, still looking professional! No problem remembering her. Eloise had transferred her driver’s license from her handbag into the box made from cards, and then back to her handbag, one of her first big triumphs at McCaffee’s.
Hmph.
Her driver’s license. How was that for irony?

Pamela strode right up, all confidence. “You look like you’ve had to deal with the bureaucracy!”

Well, now. What to say? How much to say?
“I was trying to get my driver’s license so I can drive a car. So I can even buy a car.”

“You don’t have a driver’s license?”

“Umm, I don’t have a lot of things. I was—”
What’s the going lie these days?

But Pamela held up a hand to stop her. “No, you don’t have to tell me. Suffice it to say you don’t have the necessary documents.” Pamela prodded her toward the door and said in a lowered voice, “It’s lucky I saw you. Let’s talk outside.”

Pamela gave Eloise a lift to an inviting, neatly landscaped little house one block off Sherman Avenue. A sign hung on the front porch:
SEAMUS A. DOWNEY, ATTORNEY AT LAW
. She led Eloise through the front door and into a reception area that used to be the living room. “Have a seat. I’ll let Mr. Downey know you’re here.”

Besides Pamela’s reception corner, the room had a couch, a recliner, two plastic stackable chairs, a coffee table with old magazines, and a struggling ficus in a ceramic pot. A Hispanic lady with two squirming toddlers occupied the couch. The recliner looked inviting, but taking that chair would be like taking the bigger half of a shared candy bar. She sat in one of the plastic stackables while Pamela went behind her desk.

“Is this going to cost very much?” Eloise asked.

Pamela only smiled. “I don’t think that’ll be a problem.” She picked up her telephone and had a quick, quiet exchange with “Mr. Downey” regarding a “Miss Eloise Kramer,” who was there to see him. Eloise figured the Big Guy had to be behind the door that used to lead to a den or bedroom. She could hear voices talking in there. “Mr. Downey is with a client, but he’ll be finished real soon.”

Eloise settled in and smiled at the Hispanic lady. “Hi.”

The Hispanic lady only half smiled back and wouldn’t meet her eyes after that. The kids were getting tired of their toys—a Barbie rip-off and a GI Joe without an arm—and looking for trouble.

Mr. Downey’s door opened and a steely-eyed, Middle Eastern guy stepped out, a manila envelope in his hand and a guarded smile on his face. Behind him, Eloise guessed, was Mr. Downey, in a gray suit coat and blue shirt with no tie. He was so young he surprised her. Dark, wavy hair, quite good-looking. He shook hands with the Middle Eastern guy and the man got out of there in a hurry, stashing the manila envelope under his jacket.

Mr. Downey looked at Eloise and smiled disarmingly. “Eloise?”

Eloise almost rose from her chair, but directed an indicating finger toward the Hispanic lady.

“She’s waiting for her husband,” said Pamela. “You can go first.”

The chair in front of Mr. Downey’s desk was far more comfortable.

“So,” said Mr. Downey, slipping behind his desk like a cool dude slipping into a sports car, “Pam tells me you’re quite the magician.”

Nice opening.
“I’m glad she thinks so.”

“And she tells me you can’t get a driver’s license.”

Okay, she was up to the edge of another cliff. He looked legit enough. He had a nice car parked outside, and Pamela’s car smelled new and had one of those talking GPS things in it. He had degrees hanging on the wall and a tennis racket propped in the corner. No family pictures. She took one step. “No.”

He smiled and nodded as if he understood everything already. “Well, I’m a bit of a magician myself. I make problems like yours disappear.” He smiled and raised his eyebrows at her.

She didn’t get it. “How’s that exactly?”

He leaned back in his chair and touched his fingertips together like the old spider doing push-ups on a mirror. “I do estate planning mostly, but on the side I do pro bono work with documents because I see a real need there. This country is one huge bureaucracy, and decent people like yourself can’t make a living or live a normal life without the right paperwork. You want to make a decent, honest living, don’t you?”

It sure would be nice if this guy was legit. “I sure do.”

“And you’d like to be able to buy and drive a car?”

“Right on.”

“So. Why can’t you get a driver’s license?”

She hesitated.

“Let me guess. You can’t establish your identity. You don’t have an acceptable ID, you don’t have a Social Security number, you can’t find your birth certificate, you can’t even prove you’re a citizen who belongs in this country.”

She shied a bit but finally admitted, “That’s about it.”

“So how do you manage to make a living?”

“I’m an independent contractor, but—”

“But one of these days the tax man’s going to come calling and he’s going to ask why you haven’t filed.”

She nodded. “Render unto Caesar, you know?”

“I would if I were you.” He took a pen from his shirt pocket and started scribbling on a legal pad. “Okay. The first thing you need is a birth certificate. It looks to me like you were born, am I right?”

Well, that much was certain. “Uh-huh.”

“So that’s not so hard to figure out. It’s just that some people need a piece of paper or they don’t believe it. What’s your full name?”

“Uh … Eloise Kramer.”

“Do you have a middle name?”

“Uh … Elizabeth.”

He recited it as he wrote it down. “Parents’ names?”

Wow. Some of this she hadn’t figured out yet. “Uh … Arthur and Eloise. Kramer.” Close enough to the truth.

“Where were you born?”

“I … I don’t remember the name of the hospital …” Actually, the hospital where she was born wasn’t there anymore.

“Kootenai Medical Center, I imagine.”

“Uh,
Spokane County
Medical Center.” In a way, Eloise was born there.

“Date of birth?”

“January fifteenth, 1991.”

“That makes you nineteen. That might be a little young, but we’ll see.”

“There … there might be a problem.”

“Yeah? What’s that?”

“If you check into all this I might not be in the system.”

“Oh, don’t worry, you will be.” He winked at her.

This little cliff was growing. Her conscience was making her insides ache. “Well, I’m trying to say—”

“You don’t have to.”

“Are you—you’re not, you know, are you … is all this legit? I mean, we’re not doing something wrong, are we?”