The Amazing Harvey

by Don Passman

  Yeah, well, it also goes down.

  “Isn’t it a miracle that we awaken each day with pure sweet air to breathe?”

  You clearly don’t live in Los Angeles.

  The phone rang. I fumbled it off the hook.

  “Harvey, it’s Marty. How you doin’?”

  “Never been better. What’s up?”

  “I got you a gig.”

  I sat up so fast that Lisa flapped her wings in a “What the hell?”

  I said, “Excellent!”

  “Convention of bank officers.”

  “Bank officers?” That’ll be a million yuks.

  “It pays two hundred bucks.”

  Yes! “Thanks, Marty. I can’t tell you how much this means to me. Especially right now.”

  “Just remember who takes care of you, baby.”

  I hung up the phone and stared at Reverend Jim, who was still talking about miracles.

  I looked at the phone.

  No … It’s just a coincidence that Marty called now.…

  * * *

  Next evening, I went to the Magic Castle to meet Herb Gold. I walked downstairs to the basement, past caricatures of magicians that lined the walls, and went into the Hat and Hare Pub, a small bar designed to look like an English pub. It had a pressed-tin ceiling, walls painted to look like a stone dungeon, and a dartboard inside a shallow wooden cabinet. I wanted a drink, but the bartender had spread a velvet cloth on the bar and was doing a coin trick for the people sitting on stools.

  I took a seat at one of the cocktail tables, whose top was an old manhole cover covered with glass. Herb came in a few minutes later, holding a beer. He plopped down, took a sip that left a blotch of foam on his upper lip, then set the beer on the table. Herb stuck his large paw into his plaid sports jacket and came out with some folded papers.

  He said, “Here’s the Copperfield contract.” He opened the papers and laid them on the table in front of me. The folded sides stood up from the manhole cover. He said, “Twenty-five grand. I tried to get him up, but that’s all there was. Less my commission, of course.”

  I sat up. “Commission?”

  “Yeah. I get ten percent for brokering these deals.”

  “Twenty-five hundred dollars?”

  “Guess you got an A in math.” He picked up his glass and sucked in a slug of beer.

  “You didn’t tell me you were taking a commission.”

  “Thought I did. I always get a commission. You think I’m doing this for my health?” He set down his beer glass with a clunk.

  “So, you mean, I only get twenty-two five?”

  “No, you get twenty-five. The commission is a cost of doing business.”

  “You know I need this money. That twenty-five hundred makes a big difference to me.”

  “You got it backward. I’m bringing you twenty-two five that’s gonna save your ass, when nobody else is steppin’ up.”

  I rubbed the back of my neck. “How could you spring something like this on me at the last minute?”

  “Sorry, I thought you knew how these things work. Look, I gotta make a living, too.” He picked up his beer and gulped down another couple of swallows. “Why’re you bustin’ my balls, kid? I’m tryin’ to help you.”

  I looked at him, then picked up the contract and tried to read in the low light. “Seller”—I guess that’s me—“hereby grants all rights of every nature or sort…” I skimmed the page and flipped to the next one. “Seller agrees not to divulge the secret of the trick to any third party.…”

  Farther down the page, it read: “Seller agrees not to perform the trick.”

  I looked at Herb. “I can’t ever do the trick?”

  “Whaddaya think you’re selling, chopped liver? He wants it exclusive. That’s standard.”

  I came to the end and put down the contract.

  Herb took a pen from his jacket and held it out.

  I didn’t take the pen. “I have to show it to my lawyer.”

  He laughed. “Lemme see if I got this right. You don’t want to pay me for bringing you money, but you wanna throw away money on a lawyer?”

  “I’m not signing it tonight.”

  Herb put his pen away. “Fine. Do what you want. No telling how long Copperfield will sit around waiting.”

  He picked up his beer, drained the glass down to a slithering trail of foam, then lumbered off.

  * * *

  Next morning at the office, I was sitting on the floor filing while Hannah typed at warp speed.

  I stood up and said, “You remember how I said I was selling my magic trick?”

  She kept typing. “Yeah.”

  “I got the contract. You think you could take a look?”

  She stopped typing, stared at the computer screen, and wrinkled her forehead. “Sure.”

  “The guy who brought me the deal wants ten percent. Is that fair?”

  “No clue.” Still staring at the screen, she hit one typewriter key a number of times.

  I set the folded contract on her desk. She didn’t look up at it.

  I went back to filing.

  * * *

  Just before one, Hannah left for her meeting. I walked outside, keeping my distance, then got in my car just as she drove off.

  I followed her onto the freeway, then off onto Reseda Boulevard, where she headed north. I stayed back a few car lengths and kept in a different lane.

  A few miles up, she turned right on a side street just before Sherman Way.

  There’s not much traffic on the side street. Better hold back so she doesn’t see me.

  I got into the right lane and slowed down. Someone behind me honked. I waved them around. They gunned past me.

  I turned off Reseda just in time to see her make a left turn on the next street. I slowed down and rounded the corner. Hannah drove into an open parking lot behind a bank. I stopped on the street. She parked her car and walked toward a beige two-story building, where a cluster of about twenty people were standing around outside. The crowd was mostly women, a lot of them on the heavy side. When Hannah walked up, she hugged a few of them, then stood there talking.

  Just before one o’clock, they all went inside. The door closed.

  I got out of my car and walked toward the building. If I stand against the wall beside the window, will I be able to hear through the glass? Will she see me?

  A man rushing toward the building saw me, turned, and came over. He said, “Can I help you?”

  “I, well…”

  “You going to the meeting?”

  “Maybe.”

  He smiled. “You a newcomer?”

  “Um, sort of.”

  “Welcome. I’m Michael.”

  “I’m Kyle. Which meeting is this?”

  “Overeaters Anonymous.”

  CHAPTER FORTY

  I drove away from the Overeaters Anonymous building.

  Why do I feel like I need a shower? What kind of creep noses into the most private part of someone’s life?

  Shit. No wonder she didn’t want me to know. It really is none of my business.

  I’m such an asshole.

  * * *

  Back at the office, I dove into the filing. Nothing works off guilt like burying yourself in work.

  I realized I was actually making progress, I might even catch up in the next few days.

  I wiped my forehead with the back of my hand, then squared up a pile of papers.

  What am I missing about my case? I know there’s something.

  * * *

  An hour later, when Hannah got back, she went straight to her computer without looking at me.

  Does she know I followed her? Did she see me walking toward the building? Did that guy Michael rat me out?

  Not likely, or she’d be taking my head off.

  I avoided looking in her direction as I clipped some blue-backed court papers into a file.

  * * *

  Later in the afternoon, Hannah said, “I read that contract for the sale of your
trick.”

  I stopped my punch halfway through a stack of papers. “And?”

  She held up the contract. “It looks fine. I mean, I don’t know anything about magic deals, but there’s nothing unusual in it.”

  “Thanks.”

  Hannah set the papers on her desk. She softened her voice. “You sure you want to sell your trick?”

  I walked over, took the contract off her desk, folded it up, and stuck it in my back pocket.

  * * *

  When I got home that night, my answering machine was blinking. I hit the PLAY button.

  Carly’s voice. “Uh, hello, Harvey. I feel I owe you an apology. You can call, if you want to. I’ll understand if you don’t.”

  The words were nice enough. Her tone was robotic, like she didn’t mean a word she was saying.

  I don’t need any more humiliation, thank you very much.

  I erased the message and turned on the TV for background noise while I prepped for the magic gig that Marty booked for me.

  Am I gonna be okay performing with a murder case over my head?

  Murder. The word sounds so …

  Shake it off.

  Those bankers are paying you to perform. You owe them your best.

  I opened the lid of one of my magic trunks, looked inside, and scrunched my forehead in thought.

  Okay. Which tricks work best for a convention of bank officers?

  Money tricks, of course. The Miser’s Dream, where I pull coins out of the air and drop them in a bucket. The signed twenty-dollar bill in the egg. What else? I pawed through the trunk. I can fill in with generics. Mismade Flag. Dice box. Haven’t done the linking rings in a while. Nah. They’re pretty trite.

  Should I call Carly? Did she really want to apologize? She did make a gesture. I mean, she didn’t have to call.

  Can I expect more than just an apology? I mean, maybe a Close Encounter of the Fourth Kind? I’d sure love to release some of the poisons in my system.

  If I got that far, would I limp out again? All those thoughts about fertile eggs sure took the joy out of humping.

  Can you put a second condom over the first one? Would I feel anything if I did?

  What’s the strongest condom made? Could I trust anything short of a threaded endcap for an iron pipe?

  I threw the oversize deck of cards into my trunk, grabbed the phone, and dialed Carly’s number before I had a chance to overthink it.

  She answered right away.

  I stood up, holding the phone. “Hi. It’s Harvey. I got your message.”

  “Yes. Thank you for calling.”

  On my TV, the audience laughed.

  Carly said, “I wanted to say I’m sorry for the way I acted.”

  I started pacing. “Apology accepted. Do you—”

  “Wait. I need to say something.”

  I stopped pacing. “All right…”

  I heard her breathing. She said, “I haven’t been totally honest with you.”

  On the television, I heard a woman tell a dog to sit.

  She said, “I … well, the truth is, I was in a relationship with someone who’d been in New York for a few months, and he just got back, and, well, you know, we had that kind of awkward reunion after you’ve been apart and you feel like strangers but you don’t want to feel that way. Anyway, I feel like I have to give it a chance with him.”

  “I see.” Sounds like your relationship’s got a really great chance, with you falling into bed with me on the first date.

  She said, “I was attracted to you. I guess I got a little carried away. I never do that. Then I was embarrassed, so I shut you down without telling you the whole story. I had no right to play with your emotions like that. I’m sorry.”

  The woman on TV told her dog to roll over.

  I said, “Okay…”

  “Can you forgive me?” Her voice sounded like she was bracing for a barrage. “I mean, it’d be nice to be friends.”

  I sighed. “Carly. I’ll tell it to you straight. I find you incredibly attractive. I’m lousy at being friends when I’m that attracted to someone. So let’s leave it like this. If things don’t work out with your New Yorker, give me a call.”

  It sounded like her breath caught. “You hate me.”

  I softened my voice. “No. Just the opposite. I don’t want to make things difficult for you.” Actually, I wouldn’t mind making it a little difficult.

  “Harvey…”

  “I appreciate your apologizing to me. Not everyone would do that. I hope your relationship works out.” About as much as I’d like to walk over broken glass on my lips.

  She said, “Maybe I’ll see you again.”

  “Maybe so. Bye, Carly.”

  I hung up the phone and stared at it. Shook my head.

  As I sat on the couch, I heard the crumple of Copperfield’s contract in my back pocket.

  I pulled out the papers, looked at them.

  Can I really sign this thing?

  What choice do I have?

  Clenching the contract in my fist, I got up and dug through the crap on my floor, found a pen, then sat on the couch. I folded the paper creases backward so I could lay the contract flat on my coffee table.

  I opened it to the signature page.

  I looked around my apartment. How could I have left this mess for so long? How can I live like this?

  Ah … what difference does it make anyway?

  I picked up the pen.

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  Next morning, I parked at Hannah’s office, then walked over to a corner mailbox on Lankershim. I opened the metal door of the mailbox, reached into my pocket, and grabbed the sealed envelope with the signed Copperfield contract. The smell of exhaust from cars idling at the corner stung my lungs. Isn’t there some kind of smog law that cuts down on those fumes?

  I put the envelope on the metal door but didn’t close it. The traffic light changed. The cars accelerated. Did those assholes ever hear of mufflers?

  I looked at the envelope lying there on the bare metal. I started to release the door handle. The metal groaned. I tightened my grip on the handle.

  A woman’s voice behind me said, “Can you hurry it up?”

  I grabbed the envelope, let the metal door clunk shut, and stepped aside. The woman glared at me. I clutched the envelope tight in my hand. She dropped in two envelopes, let the mailbox door slam, then walked away.

  I tightened my lips, looked down the street. The gutters were strewn with crumpled papers. The sidewalk was smeared with dirt.

  I sighed, opened the mailbox again, and laid down the envelope. I closed my eyes. I heard a motorcycle chutter past.

  Keeping my eyes closed, I let go of the handle.

  * * *

  When I got to work, I went through the motions of filing. Throughout the morning, if Hannah spoke to me, she got one-word answers.

  Just before lunch, she said, “What’s eating you?”

  “Nothing.”

  She raised her eyebrows, as if to say, Gimme a break.

  “I sold my magic trick.”

  Her face looked pained. “I’m sorry. I know what that meant to you.”

  “Yeah, well … what am I gonna do?”

  “I hope it wasn’t because of my fees. I said I’d work with you.”

  “Unfortunately, you’re not the only wolf snapping at the door.”

  Hannah said, “Is it sold sold?”

  I turned toward her. “What do you mean?”

  “Have you signed the deal and gotten the money?”

  “I signed and mailed it this morning.”

  “Did they sign first?”

  “No.”

  She brightened. “You could call them and say you’re revoking the offer. You’re free to do that before it’s accepted.”

  I shook my head. “Much as I’d love to, I need the money. I’ve got overdue rent, I owe you and the lab, and I’m sure there’ll be trial expenses. Not to mention the hundred grand my mother put up.”
/>   Hannah took a couple of steps toward me. “Have you thought about a BK?”

  “A what?”

  “A bankruptcy.”

  “Oh. I thought you meant Burger King. Doesn’t a bankruptcy, like, totally screw up your credit?”

  “I won’t say it’s good for your credit rating. But it’s a legitimate protection for people who get overwhelmed by debts.”

  I took a fifty-cent piece out of my pocket and ran it over my knuckles. “If I do that, won’t my mother end up holding the bag for my bail?”

  “Technically, yes. But you could use the bankruptcy to get rid of your other debts, then pay your mother voluntarily.”

  I ran the coin over my hand a few more times. Her eyes followed it.

  I said, “It’ll take me years to pay Mom if I don’t sell the trick. I mean, it’ll take me years anyway, but at least I can get her a decent chunk right away.”

  I put the coin back in my pocket.

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  At three A.M., I was lying in bed on my back, staring at the ceiling. I pulled a pillow over my face. It was hard to breathe with the pillow on my nose. I pushed it harder against my face.

  Can still breathe.

  I threw off the pillow and turned on my side, pulled my knees up toward my chest.

  Shit. I got up and turned on the television. Obscure cable channels are awesome at that hour of the morning, at least if your taste is as weird as mine. There’re infomercials for shit I’d never consider during the day, but somehow I find those products riveting when I’m sleep-deprived.

  First came some gizmo that vacuum-seals your food into plastic pouches. Hmm … I could really save some money.…

  Next channel had people sitting on a beach in Hawaiian shirts, talking about how much money they made from this real estate course.

  I clicked around the dial, yawning, until I settled on a black-and-white rerun of a 1950s show. It was called Candid Camera and they hid a camera to film practical jokes. Wow, people actually did that before the Internet.

  This blond woman drove a 1954 Packard downhill into a gas station. She got out of the car and told the attendant that her car didn’t work right. He opened the hood, did a double take, and said, “You ain’t got no engine!”

  I found myself laughing out loud. In the background, I heard Lisa kick up birdseed in her cage.