Escape Magic

by Michelle Garren Flye

  As if on cue, a sharp rap sounded on the door. A second later, a woman dressed in a figure-hugging black sheath dress with a bleached-blonde mane of hair falling around her shoulders entered the room without waiting to be admitted. Andre was used to women barging into his dressing room, but this woman left him speechless. She might have been one of the million young women looking to cut loose for a Vegas vacation except for the sharp intelligence in her hazel eyes. His brain screamed for caution, but he ignored it, stepping forward to take her hand. “Good evening. I’m Andre Hawke. How can I help you?”

  He has no idea who I am. Good. That meant he wasn’t being flooded by journalists. If she could be the first to gain his trust, maybe she could get an exclusive about the dismissed agent… Stacey smiled her sweetest and tried not to be too thrilled that Andre Hawke was holding her hand. “Mr. Hawke.” She wished she could have freshened up a little more. She’d stopped at the airport bathroom, taken off her wrinkled blazer, changed her jewelry and washed up a little. She tilted her head with as much confidence as she could muster, glad her last dye job had turned out so spectacularly her hair sparkled even in dim light, let alone the bright lights of the dressing room. “So good to meet you.”

  He tucked the sunglasses he held in one hand into the inside pocket of his leather jacket. “My pleasure.” His eyes scanned her up and down and back again.

  Her heart gave an odd thump, but she was prepared for that, too. She’d watched countless videos of his stage performances on YouTube, and she knew his reputation for womanizing. The Great Andre—on stage and in the sack, evidently. She summoned her best flirtatious smile, but his next words caught her off guard enough so she faltered. “Who exactly are you and how the hell did you get back here?”

  She’d paid off a security guard but he didn’t have to know that. “I snuck in. I wanted to catch you before the show.” She fluttered her eyelashes and lowered her gaze, on cue as usual.

  “Are you here to see the show, then?” He didn’t release her hand, his eyes intense on hers when she looked back.

  “Of course I am.” She shot him a smile. “I can’t wait, actually. I’ve been a fan ever since I saw you at the Clemson Theater in New York a few years ago.”

  “I remember that show.” His smile widened, revealing perfect teeth for a moment before softening again into a sensual curve, and his gaze flickered to her mouth.

  “It’s obviously taken you to bigger and better things.” Her chest felt tight and she found it hard to breathe. Was he going to kiss her? Dear God, she felt paralyzed. Was this really just desire or did he actually know enough magic to hold her immobile while he considered whether or not to kiss her? Or did she want his kiss so bad she was willing to sacrifice what was left of her career to get it?

  She cleared her throat and fought her way out of whatever spell he’d cast. “I, um, do have another reason—” She reached into her purse.

  “Save it.” He dropped her hand. “I don’t talk to the press before shows.”

  She couldn’t disguise her astonishment. “How do you know I’m a reporter?”

  “Fresh off the plane. I recognize the smell of the soap. Congratulations, you’re the first. This evening, anyway.” He glanced at his watch. “I’m not expecting any more for at least a couple hours.” His glare was sharp. “They probably won’t catch me until after the show.”

  “All the more reason to listen to me now.” She wasn’t about to give up after flying halfway across the United States just to make her pitch. “We’ve got at least fifteen minutes before you’re on stage.”

  “We’ve barely got two before my assistant barges through that door with a dozen questions.”

  “Plenty of time to schedule a meeting.”

  He laughed. “You’re not going to give up, are you?”

  “Not on your life.” She took a step toward him. “I wasn’t lying about being a fan. I’ve seen every one of your shows in one form or another. DVD, YouTube, videocassette. I know you’re from Bath, North Carolina, and you started your career playing banjo for square dances. I know you did magic tricks on the side, and you went to college to please your mother, but your heart has always been in show business. I know you’ve got a genius IQ and an engineering degree, and I honestly can’t believe I’m standing here in front of you right now.” She stopped, feeling a hot blush spread over her face, but she could tell she’d gotten his attention. She dropped her gaze. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to say that.”

  He snorted. “And you’re twice the salesman I am.” He started to turn away. “I almost bought it, too. A warning to my ego.”

  Shit. He was walking away. If he left without agreeing to see her again, she’d never get an interview, let alone an exclusive. It wasn’t his ego talking when he said he’d have a flood of reporters after him soon, although maybe not right after this show. Andre Hawke would soon be the hottest thing going. Nobody could figure out how he did his tricks. His Las Vegas show was a springboard, guaranteed to propel him to bigger and better things. His agent had been an absolute fool to let himself get caught with his hand in the till at this point. His agent, who was also his brother. Stacey grasped at the last straw she still carried.

  “I know about your brother.”

  He froze, and when he turned, his gaze was cold enough to freeze her in her tracks. His dark blue eyes were depthless, his expression stony. Her heart seized up in her chest, her breath caught in her throat. She opened her mouth to say more, but she couldn’t get the words out.

  “What exactly is it you think you know?” His voice held no teasing laughter now.

  “About why you fired him.” She stuck her chin out and carried on, as brave as could be under the circumstances. “And don’t give me that shit about he was called home to deal with a family matter. He was drinking and gambling and he’s probably got a problem with one or both.” She paused, making her voice soothing. “I know you don’t want to go public with it, but you’re going to have to sooner or later. I can help you, but only if you give me an exclusive.”

  His eyes narrowed and he took a step forward. “My brother is taking a leave of absence from his work. He went home to take care of some family business. Which is none of yours, by the way.”

  She opened her mouth to tell him that cover story wouldn’t hold water for long, but the door opened behind him, startling her. Andre didn’t move, his eyes still locked on hers, as a young man with a faux-hawk and a clipboard rushed in. “Andre, you’re due on in ten minutes and we still don’t know where you want us to put the box for…” His voice drifted off. “Oh. I didn’t know you had company.”

  “I wouldn’t call her company.” Andre finally dragged his gaze away from Stacey’s and she found she could breathe again. “Reporter. Get her information.” He stalked out of the dressing room.

  The kid raised his eyebrows but took Stacey’s card without further comment and showed her out the door to the auditorium. When an usher approached, she reached for her ticket for the seat located somewhere up in the balcony, but the kid shook his head and motioned the usher away with authority. “He wants you to sit up front.”

  “What?” Stacey still felt breathless, hungover, she realized, from the sheer intensity of Andre’s presence. Had she missed something or was “get her information” code for more than “let her leave her card”?

  Bobby grinned, his voice ringing with pride in his employer. “Still can’t believe it, huh? That’s what he does to people. That’s why he can pull anyone he wants onstage. All he has to do is look at them and they sort of melt. Doesn’t matter if it’s a man, woman or kid. He knows how to throw them off.”

  “Is that his secret?” She gave him a dubious look.

  “One of ‘em.” He pulled out a chair at the bottom of the stage. “He’s got a few. But then you know that, don’t you?” When she frowned, he saluted jauntily. “Be seein’ you.”

  She shrugged and seated herself, trying to shake off the lingering effects of Andre’s presence. T
he whole thing was starting to annoy her. Admittedly, the seat was better than the one she’d paid for, but she remembered the icy look he’d given her too well to want to be this close to him again so soon. And what was he up to, putting her in the front row? Was it the old adage about keeping your enemies closer than your friends? She doubted it was just that she knew the truth about his brother. She’d actually threatened his carefully guarded family’s quiet existence, so she must be dealt with. She lifted her chin defiantly. Bring it on, Andre Hawke.

  To the rest of the world—or at least those who knew about Andre Hawke—his father John Hawkins had been a loving father, supportive of his son, hard-working and devoted to his job in the paper mill, and he’d died in a horrible accident on the job. Andre had fostered this myth carefully. The truth was that his father wasn’t dead and he’d never worked at a paper mill. He’d left his family when Andre and his twin brother were six years old. Rumor was he lived off the grid somewhere in Montana. He hadn’t emerged to claim his successful son as his own, and as far as Stacey knew, Andre had never sought him out. Maybe he preferred the fictional father to the real thing.

  But that wasn’t going to work this time. Tony Hawkins wasn’t the hard-working saint Andre would like everyone to believe, and his downfall had happened much more publicly than that of his father. She hoped Andre really had listened to her, because she’d meant what she’d said. He wouldn’t be able to rewrite history again, but if he’d let her, she could make sure it wouldn’t ruin him.

  Unlike other magicians—in fact, most live performers—Andre didn’t make a spectacular entrance onto the stage. He simply walked out, bowed, and performed a magic trick. It was never the same trick. That was what made him so amazing. His repertoire far exceeded those of illusionists with twice his experience. He must constantly be developing new tricks, working them in with favorites and rearranging the show’s order so every one seemed new. Stacey shifted uncomfortably in her front row seat, aware that she shouldn’t be so admiring of the man whose story could revive her faltering career. She tried to renew the irritation she’d felt a few minutes before, more comfortable with that than her growing sympathy with the man.

  When the music started, she glanced expectantly at the stage. Tonight he didn’t appear immediately, striding onto the stage with his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket. Instead, she heard a murmur from the audience and turned to find him standing at her elbow. He gave her a jaunty grin, grasped her hand and pulled her to her feet.

  “What the hell are you doing?” The gasp was wrenched from her lips. Oh my God. Of course he’d given her a good seat. He intended to make her part of the act. Shit. She tried to hold back, but he gave her hand a pull.

  “Look at this, ladies and gentlemen, she’s shy. Give her a little encouragement.” He flashed his gleaming smile at the audience and they broke into applause. Leaning toward her as if he were bowing, he murmured in her ear, “You’ll have to work for that seat.”

  “Am I even going to get a chance to sit in it?” She shot back. He gave her a blandly innocent look and bounded up the stairs to the stage, pulling her along in his wake.

  The spotlight centered on them and she blinked in the brightness. His pupils contracted, but otherwise he seemed undisturbed. Used to the spotlight. He faced her. “Do you believe in magic?”

  “No.” She glared at him. “There’s always a trick.”

  “Ah. A nonbeliever.” His grin grew wider, and she heard a murmur of amusement and anticipation from the crowd. If anyone could make a believer out of her, it would be Andre Hawke. He was playing them with all the skill of a born entertainer, and she couldn’t suppress her admiration. God, he was absolutely magnificent and if playing along with a magic trick could get her the interview, she better be game. She tilted her chin and his eyes narrowed. With a practiced flourish, he drew a blindfold from his pocket. “So, you’re going to play?”

  The words surprised her until she realized they were directed only at her and not at the audience. He must have a way of turning his mic off when he didn’t want them to hear. She shrugged, pretending nonchalance. “Whatever.” In spite of her response, however, the blindfold did disturb her a little. She didn’t like not knowing what was happening to her. She lived her life by maintaining control at all times. Relinquishing it, even for a moment, was not something she wanted to do.

  With laughing encouragement from the audience, he led her to a chair that looked like it might have come from a schoolroom somewhere and instructed her to check it out for any abnormalities. She did so, even lifting the chair and looking underneath it. Then he told her to sit and she felt him move behind her, tying the blindfold with practiced movements. Just as he finished, he leaned down and said softly in her ear, “Do you trust me?”

  “Should I?” She folded her arms over her chest and crossed her legs, trying to look like she didn’t have a care in the world.

  The laughter of the audience let her in on the fact that this exchange had been with a live mic. He really was full of tricks. She pictured him moving away from her, pretending to be offended. When the laughter died down, he began talking about studying the beliefs of Tibetan monks and practicing their philosophies to broaden his mind. Her own mind wandered. She couldn’t concentrate on his words, but she enjoyed the sound of his voice. Then he stopped talking, and she felt a light breeze soothing her hot cheeks. She thought of the look in his eyes before he tied the blindfold on her, and the words he’d whispered in her ear.

  Do you trust me?

  Hands touched her shoulders, tingling as if sending a light jolt of electricity through her. She jumped and he laughed. “Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you.” He whipped the blindfold from her face. “Are you all right?”

  “Of course.” She blinked. “Is it over? What did you do?”

  “Actually, I didn’t do anything. You did.” He put an arm around her shoulders and turned her to face a monitor. She stared, unable to comprehend at first that the instant replay of the chair hovering near the curtains at the top of the stage was actually the one she’d just been sitting in, and that the figure seated imperturbably in it was her. He moved behind her, placing both hands on her shoulders as if to brace her, his words oddly intimate even as they echoed across the huge room. “You flew.”

  “Oh my God.” She felt sick. She looked at the ceiling, a good thirty feet above her head. She looked at the little chair she’d been seated on. No safety buckles, no harnesses. Her knees buckled and she might have fallen had he not caught her.

  She heard a gasp from the audience as he led her off the stage and handed her over to a pretty girl with a clipboard and headset. She heard him murmur instructions, but she couldn’t focus. The girl nodded and half carried her backstage. Andre returned to the stage, assuring the audience she was fine and recovering from her shock. The ensuing applause seemed to indicate that Stacey’s reaction to the trick had done nothing but affirm their belief in him.

  Stacey recovered herself as the girl in the headphones tried to lead her down a hall. She shook off the girl’s grasp. “Where are we going?”

  “Mr. Hawke wants you to wait for him in his dressing room.”

  “Right. I’m not doing that.” She turned and started back toward the stage. “In fact, I think I’m going to kill Mr. Hawke now.”

  “You can’t go back out there.” The girl moved to block her path, unperturbed by Stacey’s death threat. “I’m sorry, but you have to wait here.”

  “You can’t do that.” Stacey glared. “I bought a ticket.”

  “And sat in the seat Mr. Hawke provided.” The girl might be young, but she wasn’t stupid. “He always pulls a volunteer from that seat, and it’s always with prior consent.”

  “Well, there was no fucking ‘prior consent’ tonight, I promise.” Stacey glared. “He never told me I was going to be flying through the air. Or in a trance. I could have been killed.”

  “He’d never let that happen.”

  Stacey fro
wned, looking at the girl. She obviously believed what she was saying. In fact, Stacey figured the girl would sit on any chair Andre asked her to. And go into any number of trances at whatever inopportune time Andre chose. She shook her head. “Dear God, how does he do it?”

  The girl sensed she was no longer going to cause trouble and said, “Look, if you really feel well enough, you can watch the rest of the show from backstage. I’ll show you. It’s even better than your seat was.”

  “Excellent.” She folded her arms. “Are you sure he’d want you to do that? He did tell you I’m a journalist, didn’t he?”

  “He said you were a reporter. I don’t think he’s particularly concerned.” The girl shrugged and held out her hand. “I’m Mattie. He wants me to take care of you. Can I get you something to drink?”

  A good strong Scotch. She shook her head. “No. I mean, just water.”

  Mattie turned and issued an order to a stagehand, who hurried to follow instructions. Stacey wondered who exactly the girl was. She certainly seemed to have more authority than the stagehand/groupie Stacey had first assumed her to be. Within a few moments, Mattie had installed her in a chair in the wings of the stage, a bottle of artesian water in her hand. From her new seat, Stacey had a very good view of Andre as he performed a couple of amazing card tricks, plucked a rose out of a woman’s hair, and turned a paper airplane into a white dove. If he was misdirecting the audience, he must surely be a master because even from her angle, she couldn’t catch the trick.

  Would they let me move, though? She glanced at Mattie talking to a stagehand. She saw Bobby, the kid from earlier, watching from the other side of the stage. What if she got up and started over there? Just as she considered this, Mattie placed a hand on her shoulder. “I have to ask you to keep your seat for the next few minutes. He’s ready for his finale and if you move you could endanger someone.”