MAGIC (14 page)

“You don’t remember high school much I guess.”

She shook her head. “Never think of those days.”

“Not the cheerleading or anything; all the boys?”

“It’s like it could have happened to somebody else.”

“Thank God I didn’t mention Pat Boone, you’d have really come unglued.”

Peg thought that was funny. “You wanna know something crazy?” she asked after she was done laughing. “You’re different when you’re not working.”

“What do you mean?”

“Doing your act. Like before with Fats. You
are
different when he’s not around and that’s the truth.”

“You’re very perceptive—you want to know something big league crazy, it’s this: Fats does most of his own lines.”

“I don’t get that.”

“It’s like an acting exercise: ‘make believe you’re a tree.’ Only
I
make believe I’m Fats. I do it all the time. Not on the bus or in Grand Central Station—people might run for a straightjacket. But when I’m rehearsing, if I get stuck for a joke or an insult, I just call on old Fats.”

“And it works?”

“He’s been infuckingfallible most of the time,” Corky said, doing Fats.

“I wish I was talented,” Peggy said.

“I don’t know if I’m so talented,” Corky told her. “I think I’m a little flaky if you want to know the truth.”

Peg stood up and smiled. “You always used to do that.”

“What?”

“Put yourself down. Why do you think that is?”

Corky shrugged, watched her empty the wine bottle into her glass. “We’ll split this last, okay? No—tell you what—I’ll send the
sommelier
—pretty impressive, huh?—I think I’ve got another Gallo job, it hasn’t been breathing but let’s open it and live.”

Corky didn’t know what to say.

“I’m not trying to get you drunk, don’t worry.”

Corky smiled. “I really oughtta be getting back.”

“You have to take the sitter home, is that it?”

“It’s been kind of a wild day; I’m beat.”

“Sure?”

Corky stood, stretched. “I ought to get back.”

“Fats doesn’t like being alone?”

Corky laughed. “Ya got me.”

She walked him to the door, kissed him. Quickly. Up on tiptoe, lips to cheek, no big deal.

Still, Corky didn’t mind it a bit. He waited outside a moment after she closed the door, almost knocked, turned, hurried back to the cabin and had the door half unlocked when Fats asked, “How was the orgy?” from the overstuffed chair.

“Oh stop it.” Corky closed the door behind him.

“What was it, a fifty course meal? You sure didn’t break your ass getting back here.”

“I could have stayed longer!”

“Ohh-hoo-hoo—stepped on a corn again.”

Corky started getting undressed.

“She got the hots for you?”

“You will be thrilled to learn that the high point of the evening was when I reduced her to tears.”

“Hey schmucko, attaway.”

Corky finished undressing, went into the bathroom.

Distant: “Hey, when are we bugging out of here?”

Corky said, “I don’t know, haven’t given it all that much thought. Tomorrow, the day after.”

“Well I’m a city boy, the sooner the quicker.”

Corky closed the door, closed his eyes.

Muffled: “Hey, what’d you close the door for?”

“I’m pissing, do you mind?”

“Ooh-hoo-hoo; dainty, ain’t he?”

Corky peed, washed, brushed his teeth. He walked back into the bedroom, turned off the lights, got into bed, lay there.

“That’s it, huh?—no recap of the evening?”

“Nothing happened—no—not totally true—she pecked me on the cheek when I left.”

“Was it a French peck? Were her lips open?”

Corky laughed. “A French peck is a funny idea.”

“Just don’t you ever forget who the real talent is.”

Corky rolled over and faced the wall.

“ ’Night,” from Fats.

Corky grunted, shut his eyes.

“—are you thinking of her?”

“What?”

“The truth.”

“Oh, Jesus.”

“You
were
.”

“Bullshit.”

“And in the bathroom too—that’s why you closed the door—”

“—for chrissakes
stop!
”

Pause. Then, softer: “You’re not lying?”

“I don’t. Not to you. Have I ever?”

Long pause. “I sound like a fucking fishwife, don’t I?”

“You said it, I didn’t”

“I don’t know what’s with me today.”

“It’s all this fresh air most likely.”

“Sleep well, Laddie. And I’m sorry.”

Corky tried a snore. Another.

Nothing from Fats.

Peg happened to be looking at her watch at the time, so she knew it was precisely at 3:35 the following afternoon that Corky began to behave, for want of a better word, crazy.

“Began” wasn’t really it. His behavior had been growing erratic for a while earlier, only she had chosen not to pay attention.

Mistake.

But the day had begun so well. First contact came mid-morning, with a knock on the front door. She’d gone to answer it, asking “who?” all the time knowing Corky was the one. Only there was no reply. She called again, “Yes?” and still silence.

Now, a little edgy. There was a tiny hole in the door, a protective device through which you could see who was standing there without opening. She peeked out.

No one was standing there. It was empty space.

But someone was knocking at the door again.

If it had been midnight, she would have been scared. Daylight was courage-making, so she said “Not funny” and threw open the door.

Only it was. Fats was sitting way down on the step, holding a bunch of fresh-picked weeds in his hand. His lips didn’t move, but his voice came from around the corner of the house, saying “Roses for you, my dear.”

Corky stepped into view. “He insisted on giving you those; he thinks they’re roses.” He picked Fats up.

“They
are
roses, schmucko.”

“Humor him,” Corky whispered. “It’s best; he’s scratchy before his morning coffee.”

“Thank you,” Peg said, taking the weeds.

“ ‘Before my
morning coffee
,’ ” Fats said with undisguised emphasis.

“I’m sorry—sometimes I’m slow—would you by any chance like some instant?”

“I hadn’t thought of it till now,” Fats told her. “But why not, why not.” They followed her into the house. “You know,” Fats explained, “if you plant those carefully, they grow into oak trees—”

“—jerk, you’re thinking of
acorns,”
Corky said.

Fats shook his head. “Life’s not so simple in the country.”

“
You’re
pretty simple in the country,” Corky said.

“
A joke
, listen to that—schmucko made a funny, wonders must be ceasing.”

They went into the kitchen and Peg managed to get the water boiled without once coming close to burning herself.

All the earmarks of a good day.

They chatted a lot through coffee, mostly just her and Corky, with occasionally Fats throwing in a zinger, but Corky didn’t really need too much help, he was kind of on, not so quiet, not so shy.

They split when coffee cooled, Corky taking Fats back to the cabin to work on routines or whatever, but not before she’d invited him up for lunch if he wanted. And he seemed to.

But that meant there had to
be
lunch, which meant the trip into Normandy. She bought some luncheon meat, put it back, picked up some cold roast beef instead, put
that
back and decided to risk a chef’s salad. And in case he wanted dinner, a couple of steaks, and frozen peas and nice frozen fries to go along. She stopped at Baskin-Robbins so the brownies and the pie could both be a la mode, in case he liked it that way, always assuming, of course, he was even there at all.

Lunch and supper cared for, she was on her way back before she did a U (illegal) and headed for the liquor store. She had enough for a bottle of Scotch and three bottles of a nice French wine. That gave her the idea for French bread, so back she went to the market, and got a loaf that was two feet long, a waste, but if he was there and if he was hungry, it would go, assuming, of course, he liked French bread at all.

What with one thing and another shopping took a while. She didn’t get back to the cabins till quarter of one, didn’t call Corky till half past. Lunch was successful, and so was the wine. They finished an entire bottle just before three.

Just before three was when the magic began.

She was the one who began it. She could not remember feeling that good that early in she didn’t want to think how long, and she’d always loved tricks, so she asked him if he’d brought any.

“I don’t do tricks.”

“But you’re a magician.”

“Yeah, but, I don’t know, tricks are like when I set up something—a fake deck of cards or a box with a false lid. It means some kind of secret preparation no one’s supposed to know about. I don’t work that way.”

“You use whatever’s available?”

Corky nodded. “In a club I have to use my own stuff because people just don’t walk around with decks of cards.”

“Coins though; everybody has them.”

“I guess.”

“Can you do magic with coins?”

Corky waggled his hand. “I ain’t Leipzig,” he said, and when she looked puzzled, added, “he was the master when it came to coins.”

“I didn’t know it was so specialized.”

“Listen, there are thimble nuts—guys who spend their whole lives mainly on that. Cigarette guys. You kind of have to be a little weird to be a magician.”

Peg got her wallet out of her purse. “Okay; fool me.”

Corky lit a cigarette; inhaled. “I didn’t know I was going to have to sing for my supper.” He went over, sat on the living room couch, brought an ashtray, put it on the coffee table.

Peg came over, sat beside him. “Here’s a quarter. Be wonderful.”

“That’s all? Thanks a lot.”

Peg watched him. He hesitated, holding the quarter in his right hand. She took one of his cigarettes, lit it, waited.

“I’m trying to think what might be a good way to begin,” Corky said.

She sat, inhaling deeply. The cigarette tasted wonderful after all the wine. Sometimes they tasted like hay, but this one was worth the cancer scare. She inhaled again, and then started looking around because Corky had been smoking but now he wasn’t, and the ashtray was empty, and she didn’t want her very best piece of furniture catching fire.

“Okay,” Corky said, “I’ve got it. Could I have a coin please?”

“I gave you the quarter.”

“No, you said you would but you didn’t.”

She looked at his right hand. He hadn’t moved it or done anything else. But the coin was gone. Peg watched as he inhaled on his cigarette. Funny, she thought, he’s smoking again.

“Have you started doing things yet?”

“I can’t very well do anything until I have something to do it with. Let me have a quarter, huh?”

She gave him a quarter.

And his cigarette was gone. Peg glanced at the empty ashtray.

“If you haven’t got a quarter, give me a dime.”

She looked. The second quarter was gone. And he was smoking again.

“Oh you bastard, you have too started.”

“What?” He looked very innocent.

Peg started to laugh.

“If you’d ever give me a coin and I flipped it all the way to the ceiling and had it land on edge on the coffee table, that would be incredible, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Do it, do it.”

“I don’t know how to do it,” Corky told her. “I told you, I’m not an expert with coins. I think you’re sitting on the quarters maybe.”

Peg got up. The quarters were on the sofa cushion. She looked at Corky. His cigarette was gone. She picked up the quarters, handed them to him. He was smoking again. “Oh wow, that’s wonderful.”

“If I ever get around to doing anything, maybe it will be.” He put the cigarette out in the ashtray, reached over, pulled a quarter from her ear. Then he found another on top of her head. He took them back, closed his fist, blew on it, asked her to stand again. The quarters were back beneath her on the sofa cushion.

Then he
really
started putting on a show. Peg just sat there staring because she’d loved magic since she was a kid, loved being fooled but knowing it was all going to come out right if you just waited, and after a little she went and got more wine, opening the second bottle, pouring a large glass for each of them, and she put all the change from her purse on the table, nickels and pennies and dimes, and he picked them up idly, talking about whether or not he should try the Sympathetic Coins sleight or maybe Thieves and Sheep would be easier and each time he suggested something he would argue himself out of it because he wasn’t really secure on all the moves and while he was talking the coins seemed to fly, appearing and disappearing and reappearing, jumping from place to place as if they were doing it on their own because he certainly didn’t seem to be doing anything to help them, just sitting there trying to figure out what to do, always deciding against doing anything at all because he could try the Tenkia Exchange, sure, any jerk could
try
it but any jerk could goof it too, so that was a no-no and maybe
the Waiter’s Tip would impress her but not if he blew the flip, if that happened she’d probably laugh at his fumbling, so finally what he decided to do was nothing at all, he really wasn’t a coin man, he’d never really been into coins enough for public consumption, and while he went into his final apology he went into a double roll and Peg stared as the two quarters walked across the back of Corky’s hands—they seemed almost to be doing that, walking, as they went from the second finger across the middle to the ring, then around the pinkie and under on the thumb, then back to the index again, chasing each other around his hands in a final wonderous flourish and he was done.

Peg just sat there.

Corky got up, walked to the window that overlooked the lake, stared down in the direction of his cabin.