by Dima Zales
rooms/shared and not personals>rants & raves). It was the greatest find ever; not only do we get fed every morning, but the three of us are now great friends.
Felix is fussing at the stove, putting finishing touches on pancakes. A head taller than Ariel but about the same weight, from the back, he looks like a “before” image for gym commercials.
“The Matrix is a better movie than Batman Begins,” he says to Ariel over his shoulder, rehashing an old argument of theirs. “It has a 73 on Metacritic while Batman Begins has a 70, and it’s higher rated on IMDb and Rotten Tomatoes.”
“Those scores are inflated because people who review movies online are more likely to prefer The Matrix.” Ariel pulls her hair into a ponytail and secures it with a scrunchie. “Can you at least agree that the directing and acting in Batman Begins was better? It was Christopher Nolan’s masterpiece and the best performance of Christian Bale’s career.”
“Morning,” I say from the doorway. I want to ask Ariel about last night, but I’m not sure how to approach it, so I say instead, “Can I settle this cinematic debate for you once and for all?”
“There you are,” Felix says without turning. “I made some pancakes with bananas just for you.”
I walk over to the fridge and get a carton of orange juice. Looking at Felix’s back, I say, “The best movie ever made is actually The Illusionist—and I don’t care what any scores have to say about that.” I look provokingly at Ariel. “And Christopher Nolan’s real masterpiece was The Prestige, which is also where I saw the real best performance of Christian Bale’s career.”
“You’re fixated on those movies because there are stage magicians in them.” Ariel shakes her head in the negative when I offer her the OJ.
“That’s like saying Felix likes The Matrix because he’s a programmer/hacker, and so was Neo in the film.” I pour myself a glass of juice and plop into a kitchen chair.
“Exactly.” Ariel beams at me. “My Batman addiction, on the other hand, is pure.”
“If lust for Ben Affleck, George Clooney, Val Kilmer, and Michael Keaton can be said to be pure.” I sip my juice, and the rush of cold sugar calories hits the pleasure centers of my brain.
“Don’t forget the older versions with Adam West, Robert Lowrey, and Lewis G Wilson,” Felix says. “Besides, she lusts for every Robin as well, and maybe even some of the villains.”
“What kind of slut are you making me out to be?” Ariel says in mock horror. “I don’t lust for George Clooney—even I didn’t like Batman & Robin.”
“Even if we exclude movies with magicians, Sasha’s opinion on films shouldn’t count.” Felix upturns the skillet full of pancakes onto a large plate. “She always foresees all the plot twists, so she can’t enjoy them on the same level as everyone else.”
“I’m right here; you don’t need to speak about me in third person,” I object. What he says is actually kind of true. I prefer documentaries and nonfiction books because when a story involves an unexpected twist, which much of fiction does, I usually see it coming. Defensively, I add, “Most people who’ve read and watched a lot can predict what will happen in a movie; if anything, you should value such wise opinions, not dismiss them.”
“Wise. Sure.” Felix grabs the big plate and walks to the table.
Felix’s parents moved to the United States from the Soviet Union just as it was collapsing. Their home country of Uzbekistan is, as his dad says in his thick accent, “a land rich with many ethnicities.” Felix’s face is a mathematical average of all those ethnicities. He’s got Slavic cheekbones, Ariel’s suntanned look without ever going into the sun, a black unibrow, and—and this has nothing to do with his heritage—a freakishly long ring finger. He looks vaguely Middle Eastern when he frowns (which he rarely does) and Asian when he smiles (which he does a lot, including now).
“You’re the best roommate ever,” I say when Felix puts a couple of banana pancakes on my plate. “Thank you so much.”
Felix nods, and I attack the first pancake with the ferocity that Fluffster unleashes on raisins.
“How are you feeling today?” Ariel asks me carefully, putting down her fork. “You seem to have had an eventful night.”
I nod, grateful she’s bringing it up herself. “Yeah, about that… Things are kind of hazy in my mind.” Thinking about what to say next, I cover my pancakes with a thick layer of the miracle honey Felix’s grandparents regularly ship to him from Uzbekistan. “Did a security guard escort me home last night? I think you opened the door, but—”
“Yes, you came with an escort.” Ariel picks up her fork.
At the mention of a guy, Felix frowns, making me wonder again if his feelings toward me are as platonic as mine are toward him.
“Promise me you’ll avoid that guy in the future,” Ariel says as she violently stabs a pancake, and Felix almost imperceptibly nods.
“That should be easy, since I have no idea who he is. His first name might’ve been Gaius, but that’s all I—”
“Did he say or do anything to you?” Ariel’s dark eyes regard me with worry.
“I don’t think so, but I don’t remember for sure.” I swallow a small piece of honey-smothered pancake as relief appears on Ariel’s face. “Your Valium kicked my ass big time. I had hallucinations and nightmares thanks to that poison. I don’t think you should take it under any circumstances.”
She frowns and stuffs her mouth with a whole pancake—probably her way of not responding to my plea.
“You should try shrooms for your anxiety,” Felix says to her with his mouth full.
“Great idea,” I say sarcastically. “Psilocybin will be an excellent substitute for Valium. That way, you’ll be seeing things by design instead of by accident.”
“There are studies that explored mushrooms as a treatment for PTSD,” Felix says. Seeing Ariel’s frown deepen at the mention of the condition she denies having, he hastily adds, “It’s useful for many other things too, and unlike Valium, mushrooms are naturally occurring.”
“Uranium is also naturally occurring,” I retort. To Ariel, I say, “Until the FDA approves something as medicine, I’d steer clear of it, especially if it’s recommended by Doctor Felix.”
She shifts in her seat. “I’m actually trying some alternative treatments. I have a Reiki appointment next week.”
Felix kicks my foot under the table, but I don’t need his reminder to stay quiet. Though I’m deeply skeptical of Reiki’s no-touch massage premise, I keep my opinion to myself. As a med school student, Ariel knows all about controlled studies, so who am I to take away a safe placebo like this? Let someone wave his hands around her body if that means she doesn’t take an extra Valium.
“That’s a great idea.” Felix gets up, grabs a coffee pot, and places it in the middle of the table. “Shrooms can give you a bad trip, but that won’t.”
“Your performance was amazing, by the way,” Ariel says to me in an obvious attempt to change the subject. “Does that mean you’ll get the TV show you want so much?”
I grin. “Not yet, but it’s a good start.”
Ariel sighs. “I still don’t get why you want to be a TV magician so badly. You’re great at magic, don’t get me wrong, but you have such a promising career in finance, and you’re just as good at that.”
Some of my excitement deflates. For whatever reason, neither of my roommates are particularly supportive of my TV career aspirations. They’re not as obvious about it as my mom, but I’ve always caught a subtle undercurrent of disapproval from them every time I talk about wanting to be a famous magician. I don’t get it, because they’re my best friends, but it’s always been that way. If one of them had gone on TV the way I did last night, that would’ve been the first thing I would’ve asked them about, but they’re acting like it’s just another morning, almost as if they’d like to forget that the biggest break of my performing career happened last night.
“You know I hate working for Nero,” I tell Ariel and realize that my phone is still on the cha
rger in my room. As though it were waiting for me to remember it, it rings at that exact moment. Suppressing the instinctual urge to run over and pick it up, I wave my hand toward my bedroom. “See that? It’s not enough that I have to be at work by seven a.m.; they’re already calling me—and someone even called me last night, on a Sunday.”
“But that’s just because your boss is an asshole,” Felix says. He knows Nero personally, having freelanced for our fund a few times. “What Ariel means is, why not just get a different job, in a bank or another fund?”
I grimace. “Working in finance makes me feel like a cog in a machine that’s completely useless to human society.” I pour myself a cup of coffee and spoon some sugar into it. “When I perform, I feel like I make people’s lives better, even if in a small way.”
“So? You could do that without being on TV.” Felix blows on his coffee. “You have your restaurant and—”
“Let me ask you a question,” I say. “As quickly as possible, name some TV magicians for me.”
“David Blaine. Copperfield.” Felix says without hesitation. He rubs his dimpled chin and adds, “Also those two German dudes with the white tigers, that British guy you told me about, plus your favorite, Criss Angel.”
“See? You didn’t name a single woman. In fact, if you put the phrase ‘famous magicians’ into Google, you’ll get a long list of names and pictures, but not one of them will be female.”
Ariel sighs again. “So you want to be the first famous female magician.”
“I wouldn’t exactly be the first.” I sip my coffee. “There are some semi-famous female magicians already, but I want to be the first who becomes a household name, like the guys Felix mentioned. I want to inspire more girls to go into magic. It’s crazy that in this day and age, a woman can run for president and head up corporations, yet not a single one has become a big name in magic. In any case, it’s not all about my ego. I love the expression of awe on people’s faces, and—”
“And it’s a way for her to safely channel her incessant desire for cons and pranks.” Felix chuckles. “Sasha and magic is a match made in heaven.”
“I get all that, I guess.” Ariel uses her butter knife to cut up another pancake. “It’s just that if I could beat the market as she can, I’d sell out and work in finance in a heartbeat.”
“No one can beat the market,” I say. “Everyone who seems to beat the market is just lucky, including me. Do you know how scary it is to have a job where you always expect your luck to run out?”
“I don’t think it’s luck in your case,” Ariel and Felix both say, almost in unison.
They look at each other and laugh.
Felix gestures for Ariel to speak, so she says, “By the way, how did you know about the earthquake in Mexico? Did you really warn the Mexican government about it?”
“I think I know how she did it,” Felix says.
“And you will not say anything.” I shake my butter knife at him in a mock threat.
It’s actually spooky how good Felix is at guessing the methods behind my effects. He claims he can do so because as a programmer, he’s very logical, but I think he secretly watches the twelve-year-olds who expose magic methodology on YouTube, just so he can occasionally show off in front of us.
“But I really want to know.” Ariel pouts and makes puppy eyes that would make any male magician give in on the spot. “You have to tell me how you do your tricks.”
“Tricks are what hookers do,” I say for the tenth time. “I perform effects.”
“Fine.” Ariel rolls her eyes. “Then can you explain some ‘effects?’”
I put the last piece of the pancake into my mouth and debate if I want to do the effect I prepared for this very occasion.
“I’ll make you a deal.” I rise to my feet. “I’ll show you something, and if you guess how it’s done, I’ll admit it.”
“What about me?” Felix asks. “Can I guess too?”
“No.” I put my plate into the dishwasher. “Only Ariel.”
“Then I’ll just have to guess how you did your TV prediction.” Felix wipes his hands on his sweatpants. “And I’ll do my guessing in front of Ariel.”
“That’s blackmail.” I rinse my own hands in the sink and demonstratively wipe them with paper towels. “But fine. If Felix guesses how it’s done, I’ll own up to it as well. But you have to nail it exactly on the very first guess. If you get even one detail wrong, the deal is off.”
“This is so exciting.” Ariel shovels the rest of the food into her mouth and chews rapidly.
“I’ll go get my cards from my room,” I say as I head out of the kitchen. “Felix, can you please clear the table? Ariel, can you get your M9 knife?”
“Ooh, a trick using my knife.” Ariel jumps to her feet. “I mean, an effect.”
In my room, I grab my phone and what I need for the demonstration and return to the kitchen.
Handing Felix a deck of cards, I order, “Shuffle.”
He mindlessly shuffles the deck, overhand style.
“I got it,” Ariel says, returning to the kitchen. She displays the big Army knife as though she wants to sell it on TV. “Please tell me the trick involves stabbing Felix. Or how about I puncture his hand, and you make the wound go away?”
“I’ll have to work out a method to do that one.” What Ariel just suggested would indeed be a great effect, maybe even better than the one I’m about to show. Shoving the idea aside for later, I say, “This will have something to do with those cards in Felix’s for-now-intact hands. As Hofzinser, one of the great magicians of the nineteenth century, once said, ‘Cards are the poetry of magic.’”
Felix continues to shuffle, and we both look at him sternly, Ariel’s eyes beginning to roll.
“Give Ariel a chance to mix those,” I say when it’s clear he’d keep shuffling until lunch if he could.
Felix grudgingly gives Ariel the deck, and she puts the knife on the table so she can give the cards a fancy riffle shuffle she learned from an ex back in the army.
“Now.” I turn my back to her so that Felix can’t accuse me of reading secret marks on the cards or reflections in her eyes. “Choose one.”
With my peripheral vision, I see Felix’s bushy unibrow rise. He knows that this selection process is much fairer than if I were holding the cards in my own hands, as other magicians usually do.
“I got one,” Ariel says excitedly.
“Commit it to memory.” I catch myself reaching for the knife but stop just in time, not wanting Felix to accuse me of tampering with the weapon.
“Memorized,” she says.
“Put it back in the deck and shuffle again,” I say without turning. “Even you shouldn’t know where it is.”
I hear the riffle of a couple of Ariel’s shuffles before she says, “Okay.”
Turning around, I point at the center of the table. “Put the deck there.”
Ariel complies.
“Now take the knife,” I say imperiously.
Ariel looks at Felix and whispers, “No way.” She picks up the knife and stares at me, awe already in her gaze.
“Stab the deck.” I mime the motion made famous by slasher films. “Use all your strength. Let the knife cut through as many cards as possible.”
Hand steady but eyes gleaming with excitement, Ariel raises her arm and brings the knife down on the deck so hard the table nearly topples over.
Her long lashes flutter in surprise at her handiwork.
The knife has only penetrated about halfway into the deck.
She frowns, then glances at the knife still in her hand. “I thought I’d pierce the whole thing and ruin the table.”
“Even you don’t have enough strength for that.” I debate whether I should tell them about the research I did on this subject—like the fact that you can stop a .9-millimeter bullet with slightly less than ten decks—but I decide against it, saying instead, “Please take the knife out.”
She does.
“Find
the first card from the top that doesn’t have a knife mark in it, and put it right here, face down.” I casually gesture at the same spot where the deck was—center of the table.
Ariel fans out the cards in her hands, locates the card in question, and places it on the table.
Without saying a word, I extend my hand, and she puts the rest of the deck in it.
“What card did you memorize?” Instinctively, I square the deck that’s now in my hands.
“The Seven of Hearts.” Ariel’s eyes are drilling a hole in the card on the table.
“Please turn over that card,” I say, my muscles tensing in anticipation.
Both Felix and Ariel bend over the table, and Ariel does as I ask while I take advantage of their distraction.
When the card on the table is revealed as the Seven of Hearts, Ariel squeals like a teenage girl at a Justin Bieber concert.
“And of course”—I spread the deck face up across the table—“you stabbed about twenty cards here. If it was one more or one less card, this wouldn’t have worked.”
Ariel stares at the faces of the cards and slowly shakes her head.
“I know how you did that,” Felix says when Ariel is calmer. “The deck Ariel handled consisted of fifty-two copies of the Seven of Hearts.”
I get myself a glass of water and slowly take a sip; this way, it won’t be obvious if I don’t comment on what Felix says.
“They’re right there and all different,” Ariel says, pointing at the cards on the table. “Half are stabbed, half are still whole.”
“She switched decks,” he says. “While we were distracted by the card on the table, I bet she reached into her pocket with one deck and pulled out another.”
I take another sip.
“But the stabbed cards—”
“Pre-stabbed before the trick started.” Felix tries to echo my earlier stabbing motion, but it comes out looking like in-air masturbation. “She must’ve estimated how many you’d be able to pierce, or she asked some buff guy at the gym to do it for her to emulate your freakish strength.”
Ariel takes her knife and puts it into the hole of one of the cards on the table. The card and the knife are a perfect fit.
