08 Illusion

by Frank Peretti

  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.”

  chapter

  * * *

  16

  Corporal James Dose was serving well in Afghanistan and was a little disappointed to learn that his tour of duty overseas had been cut short for minor medical reasons. Before he knew it he was Stateside, finishing out his army hitch at Fort Lewis, Washington, not far from his family in Tacoma. Given all this, it was time to get the family together for dinner and announce his engagement to Jennifer Long, a gal he’d been courting since high school. They gathered at the Quay, their favorite steak house on the shore of Puget Sound, and James had the ring in his pocket.

  The dinner would end abruptly. He would never get a chance to toast the occasion.

  Dane took one look at the poster in McCaffee’s front window and stopped dead in his tracks.

  Arnie was clearly disgruntled to have to look back. “What?”

  Dane’s eyes moved across the girl’s face. The Gypsy had become a clownish hobo, but those eyes and that smile were unmistakable. “I’ve met this girl.”

  Arnie looked in through the window and could see the place filling up. More folks were coming from up and down the street even now. “Can we talk about it inside?”

  Eloise Kramer. How could it possibly be?

  “Dane! We’ve got to get in there if we want a table.”

  He turned from the poster and followed Arnie through the door into McCaffee’s, a quaint cubbyhole of clamor now filling with a hodgepodge of people, all ages, urban to organic, having thirty different conversations as they crowded the tables and lined up at the order counter. Posters of Scarlett and Rhett, Bergman and Bogey, Cagney, DiCaprio, Buddy Holly, and Elvis decorated the sand- and rust-painted walls; ceiling fans spun lazily over their heads; drink, dessert, and sandwich menus shouted in loud, colored chalk from a blackboard behind the counter; coffee machines ground, tamped, spewed brew, and spit steam; servers were scurrying, and everywhere, in every direction, were cups of coffee, cups of coffee, cups of coffee.

  Arnie found a table near the front window and tossed his hat on the table to stake a claim on it. Dane removed his coat and draped it over his chair, then stood a moment to size up the room. The open floor where the magician would be doing her act was several tables distant. He and Arnie would be watching over and through bodies and heads. And the noise in this place! If Eloise Kramer could sell her stuff in here, her whole approach to performance had to have changed drastically.

  Arnie draped his coat over his chair and sat. He patted the table. “C’mon, sit down, sit down.”

  Dane sat in his chair, elbows on the table, hands clasped under his nose, still looking around the place.

  Arnie leaned in, trying to be heard above the ruckus. “You wanted a fresh start, right? That’s what you told me. You’re thinking about producing, promoting new talent, maybe putting a show together yourself.”

  “And so?”

  “So that’s what we’re doing tonight. You’re out of that house for a change. You’re circulating, you’re living, you’re scoping out new possibilities. Are you listening?”

  “Arnie, she’s a street magician. She was busking out on the sidewalk illegally, freezing her buns off and fumbling… . I had to show her the right way to do a Bentley count.”

  He looked at Dane crookedly. “Are you sure you have the right girl?”

  There were things Dane could say: “Well, if I do, things have really changed.”

  And there were thoughts he wouldn’t share with anybody: She’s just a young girl minding her own business, it’s not her fault, I don’t even know her, I’ve been off my medication for more than a month now so hopefully she won’t bother me, and I have to remember—remember!—that I’m an emotional train wreck.

  Eloise Kramer? Where’d she get that name?

  Arnie was talking. Dane caught the tail end: “… I like what I saw and I’m not saying she’s the best thing since sliced bread. I’m just saying you might find her interesting. She might spark some ideas, that’s all.”

  Dane found himself nodding in agreement and made it a point to relax. Why not enjoy the evening, have some fun? He scanned the big chalkboard. “So let’s get some coffee.”

  Seven o’clock. The lights blinked and the restaurant clamor quieted to murmured phrases, the distinguishable tinkling of spoons, the occasional creak of a wooden chair. Dane and Arnie craned like everyone else, watching that center floor, scanning around the room, wondering where the magician would make her entrance. In the lull, the girl named Megan made one final dash across the floor to bring someone their order just as the guy named Myron, having served a table, was heading back. They passed each other in the center of the floor, Megan obscuring Myron from view on one side, Myron obscuring Megan from view on the other, for an instant. When they continued on, reopening a gap between them, music started, jazzy and rhythmic, and …

  There was the Hobett, spinning into place, then moving to the music, worn old hat on her head, hands in the pockets of her oversize, trampish coat, and a teasing, mischievous look on her face. She danced lithely into a bow to half of the house, then the other half, sweeping her hat in front of her.

  It was a great opening, something Dane wasn’t expecting. He shot a quick glance at Arnie, who raised an eyebrow back at him.

  The magician produced a bright yellow tennis ball from her empty hand, got it bouncing, and jazz-danced with it in a dazzling display of technical polish and energy, legs, arms, and coattails flying as the ball, seemingly with a mind and energy of its own, bounced, veered, rolled, and rebounded along with her. Every eye in the place was glued on her, incredulous.

  Invisible thread, Dane thought, though how she managed to avoid tangles and breakage with all that movement was uncanny. She must have perfected a way to attach and reattach, or maybe she had a spring-loaded reel under her coat. Or maybe there was more than one ball and she was vanishing one while producing another to direct the bouncing. A gyro? A system of magnets? This routine had to have taken months to perfect.

  This couldn’t be the Gypsy.

  The dance number ended as she caught the tennis ball in her hat, plopped the hat back on her head, and froze in a closing ta-da! position, all in one smooth move.

  Dane broke into applause along with everyone else. He could feel Arnie looking at him, rubbing it in with his silence.

  She went into flourishes with silver dollars and cards, producing, vanishing, transferring, yakking it up with the audience, and making instant friends with her charm. When she did the Rainbow Bridge with the cards, Dane held his breath with everyone else. He’d seen that kind of energy produced with cards, but never that degree of control.

  Then Megan, working behind the counter, held up a coffee cup.

  “Oh, what’s that?” the magician asked Megan.

  Megan replied, “Venti triple-shot Caffè Americano.”

  Hobett stared blankly. “Huh?”

  “Coffee.”

  “Oh, whose is it?” A man in the corner raised his hand.

  “Oh, far out!”

  Far out?

  “Hi, you’ve been here before, haven’t you? What’s your name?”

  “Clarence.”

  “Boy, you like drinks with long names, dontcha? Tell you what, lemme send it to ya. Just stand right there.” She pointed toward the end of the counter. The folks were snickering already. She grinned mischievously. “I wouldn’t do that!”

  Clarence weaved through the tables and stood at one end of the counter. Eloise Kramer stood at the other end and set the twenty-ounce cup on the counter. She extended her palms toward it, waving a bit, a magician’s gesture. “Okay, now everybody tell it to move. Say ‘Mooove!’”

  The whole crowd cal
led out “Mooove!” They sounded like a herd of cows.

  The cup began to slide along the counter, slowly at first.

  “Say ‘Mooove!’”

  “Mooove!”

  “Oh-oh.”

  Too fast. That cup was sure to fly right off the end of the counter. Clarence ducked aside.

  “Stop!” the magician pleaded.

  It lurched to a halt right in front of Clarence.

  Magnet under the counter, Dane thought. Megan or Myron or some other stooge was making that cup move from below. Now we’ll see how she palms the magnet under the cup.

  The magician was moving along the counter but didn’t get to the cup before Clarence picked it up and one big unified gasp filled the room.

  The cup came up empty in his hand. The twenty ounces of triple-shot Caffè Americano remained on the counter, the hot brown liquid suspended in the shape of the cup.

  “Oops, sorry!”

  Bowing in apology, looking sheepish, playing it for astounded laughs, the girl took the empty cup from Clarence’s hand and carefully aligned it around the coffee again. She lifted the cup from the counter intact, the coffee contained inside, and handed it to Clarence as the house went nuts. Fantastic illusion, and Dane was so captivated by the stand-alone coffee he forgot to watch for her palming the magnet.

  Clarence hardly smiled at all as he walked back to his table. Kind of a rough-looking character anyway. His face was deep-featured and pockmarked, as if he’d just taken a nap on a bed of pea gravel.

  Then she started spinning quarters and perching them on spectators’ fingertips, and Arnie leaned in and said only, “Heh?” and Dane had to lean back and say, “I haven’t a clue.”

  And with that admission, she had him. The skeptic in Dane had fallen away and now he was watching her with different eyes, almost laughing at himself. Forty years in the business, working with the best, designing and performing hundreds of illusions, and here he was, of all people, caught up in the magic.

  And for another surprise, even though the illusions were uncanny, the thing he liked most was this magician’s performance. She was the magic, playfully immersed in everything that happened. When she kept losing the toss of the coin he could read the mischief in her face. When she produced the driver’s license in the box made of cards, the enchantment in her eyes drew his attention away from the cards and her right hand—had she flashed a sleight or botched a pass he wouldn’t have noticed and he wouldn’t have cared. Her eyes were playful, then teasing, then full of wonder like a child holding a butterfly… .

  And then it struck him. That was it: wonder. This young girl was as fascinated and awestruck by her magic as her audience, and her wonder was infectious, so infectious that …

  Well. She was a magician. She’d gotten around his guard, slipped by his critical eye, and taken hold of his heart. He not only appreciated her skill, he also was rooting for her, longing for her to do well. Come on, kid, pull it off, don’t blow it. Win the crowd! Love what you’re doing and they’ll love you. Don’t lose the wonder.

  His stomach tightened. Don’t lose the wonder. Mandy always said that. “Hey, great illusion, but where’s the wonder?” “Don’t scare them, make them wonder.” “Hey kids, I bet you’ve never seen anything like this before!” “Wow, it feels like something God would have done.”

  Mandy’s love of wonder was a treasure sequestered in his heart and memory until at this moment, in this girl, he could see, feel, live it again.

  And oh, how he missed it.

  His eyes grew wet, his vision blurred. Oh, brother, he hadn’t planned on this. He blinked and wiped his eyes. Be professional, Dane! He cleared his mind, put on his best objective face, tried to kid himself and everybody else.

  And then she looked at him.

  … keep a clear mind … objective …

  And the moment halted right there.

  “Oh, dear God …”

  Where was that guard he thought he dropped? She got around it the first time and now there was no guard at all to protect him. He couldn’t look away even as he fled to safe thoughts: She’s just making eye contact, working the crowd, she doesn’t really know me.

  But the showbiz went out of her eyes for that tiny instant and it was her looking, the girl who used to be the Gypsy… .

  And then she smiled a smile he didn’t just recognize but knew from somewhere else, before this place.

  She has no idea, he reminded himself. It’s not her fault. She’s just a sweet kid doing her act, making a living. It’s my problem, I’ll work it out.

  He thought he should smile back but his emotions were so mixed up he couldn’t get a smile together.

  Too late. The showbiz returned to her eyes and she stumbled back on track, looking at others. “Well, so now … did I give you your five?”

  Dane wilted a little and let go a breath. He felt he’d just been released from a choke hold.

  Eloise was stumbling inside and trying not to show it.

  It’s the guy! That man I met on the street! He’s here with that Mr. Harrington, so he must be a pro. Well, sure he is. The stuff he showed me, how he knew everything … just like Daddy.

  Just like Daddy.

  She could just look at everybody else, but she couldn’t just look at him without getting stuck there, pulled through a window to … somewhere she’d been.

  Focus, girl, focus! What’s next?

  He’s not smiling and I know he can smile. He doesn’t like my act.

  Oh, bummer, where am I? I changed the five for the silvers. Oh! I still have to get Burt back.

  She patted her pockets, looking perplexed. “Burt? Where are you, buddy?”

  She’d planted Burt’s double in Winifred the college prof’s handbag. She reached with the part of her that nobody, not even she, could see, and found him in the bag with Winifred’s cell phone, makeup, car keys, checkbook, grocery list, and a paperback edition of The Grapes of Wrath. She tugged, he jumped, the bag wiggled, everybody freaked, and she got Burt back with a nice flourish and a great ta-da!

  She had ’em back! Great applause. Final bow …

  But he still wasn’t smiling! He was staring!

  Oh, man. Encore? What? Her mind was an empty box, and she was groping around in it. They were applauding, but it wouldn’t last forever.

  Now or never, kid!

  Well, what can I do that’s going to impress this guy?

  One more thing. Maybe.

  Ohhhh, doom. Certain doom and destruction. Don’t do it.

  She looked in his direction—oh, let’s try not to be so obvious! What’s he staring at? What, I’ve got a horn growing out of my head?

  The applause died, and she was still standing there. They were waiting, ready for magical dessert. A little girl stood on her chair, eyes hungry, hands ready to clap again should Eloise do anything.

  Uhhh … well …

  Without a word, she stepped to the center of the floor, feeling her way into her final stunt. All this stuff was so much a matter of feeling, working her way deep into her crazy world, stepping off little cliffs and learning new rules every day. She’d been working on this stunt in her apartment. Sometimes she could get it to work, and sometimes she couldn’t. Whatever she’d tried there, she’d have to repeat here in front of all these people.

  Which could be a big mistake. Maybe.

  The tension in the place could have powered the lights. She slipped out of her shoes and set them aside. People were leaning forward. A child spoke, and her mother shushed her. Eloise stood with her feet together, arms outstretched. She met the eyes of the people seated all around her, and then looked one more time at the guy.

  He was not just watching her. He was really watching, and his gaze came through that window to somewhere she’d been.

  And Daddy was there.

  Oh, dear Lord, don’t let me flop.

  She closed her eyes to shut everything out. With hands she didn’t have and with senses outside herself, she groped for wh
at she’d come to know as folds and ripples in space, and it came easily this time. She could feel them like veins of thickness in water, moving and shifting like the Northern Lights, here, then there, close, far, thin, wide, sharp, shallow, but always within reach. With hands that were not here in the room, she grabbed hold. She was connected, in sync. She should be okay.

  She opened her eyes. She’d made it. Everybody was still watching, sitting in the same room, and she was still in the center of the floor, with one key difference: she was also somewhere else. That was as near as she could explain it.

  Come on, girl. Do well. Don’t look at me, look at them. Focus.

  Arnie whispered, “Is she gonna do a levitation?”

  Dane could see it coming, but how could she do a levitation with people on all sides? He and Arnie rose to their feet as one, watching her feet, sizing up her pant legs. She’d be doing this without shoes. How?

  The room was silent. The serving staff became a tableau behind the counter, Myron with a pitcher in his hand but not pouring, Megan with a towel in her hands but not drying, the owner and his wife transfixed as if watching a moon launch at T minus five seconds.

  The magician stood still, waiting, eyes full of wonder as if watching something no one else could see. Her hands were extended as if reaching for something, trying to grab hold.

  She’s building the tension, Dane thought. She’s driving us all nuts.

  A lady at a front-row table gasped, and on cue everyone leaned forward, craned, stared at the girl’s feet. The heels were lifting from the floor millimeter by millimeter, smoothly, with no visible muscle strain or quiver. A full inch. Two inches.

  Dane was impressed by how impressed he was. This girl got a gasp just for lifting her heels off the floor. Come on, girl, pay it off. Finish well.

  Now every eye was on those toes, which was a good clue for Dane to look elsewhere. He searched the ceiling and walls for an apparatus, perhaps a glint of a thread or cable. Nothing.

  He returned his attention to the girl’s feet.

  Another gasp.

  “Whoa!”

  “Is she off the floor?”