The Real Thing

by Marina Simcoe

  As much as I avoided his gaze at the beginning, I couldn’t look away from him now. His mere presence drew me in like a magnet. I forgot all about the puzzle I was trying to solve for now, and focused on everything I still didn’t know about him: the way he shook his head to the side to toss his hair away from his face; the way he hooked his thumbs in the belt loops of his pants; the way his eyes swept the crowd without looking at anyone in particular, including me.

  He came up the ramp, mere feet away from me, then jumped over the railing in one fluid movement, waved at the crowd one more time and walked swiftly back to the limo waiting for him.

  Just like that it was over. I looked at his back as he moved away and waited for the inescapable feeling of sadness and disappointment from watching him leave. Except that… something was missing here. Something wasn’t right, and I was too distracted to put my finger on it at the moment.

  I slowly moved behind him on the other side of the line formed by the Amazonian women. I followed him on his way to the limo, unable to break the invisible line, with which I allowed myself to be attached to him, even without his knowledge of my existence.

  “Marcus!” the drunk behind me yelled on the top of his lungs. “Hey, man! Turn the water into wine now! We’ll have a par-tay!”

  His friends bellowed as one, voicing their strong support of this idea. Other people in the crowd happily agreed to it too.

  Trouble brewed behind me now. The Amazonian gladiators looked worried; many of them placed their useless prop spears in front of them as shields and retreated towards the bus. From the corner of my eye, I saw the two men in black suits hurriedly move past the women and towards the drunks.

  And then it hit me what was missing! Footprints! As Marcus walked from the pool to the limo, there were no wet footprints left behind him, not a single one! He had just walked halfway across an enormous pool of water. Even if the whole pool were covered with plexiglass end to end, his boots would have still been submerged in the water at least a little. If he performed the act in the traditional way, like everybody else did, the soles of his boots would still have been wet, leaving wet footprints on the ramp and then on the hot concrete.

  Just like that, one square of Rubik’s cube fit into place, and the others followed.

  No illusionist could do the walking-on-water act and not get their boots wet. Marcus did it because he was not an illusionist! His acts were not illusions; they were real. There never were any props! That’s why nobody could ever see them. No ropes, no harness to hide. That’s why he never had to worry about camera angles and number of spectators...

  That’s why he also looked bored while performing. There was no elation on his face, no satisfaction at a job well done because he didn’t spend weeks and months planning and practicing his acts. All of his open-street performances, like the one I had just witnessed, were indeed impromptu.

  Oh my God! My heart jumped to my throat from the realization. Marcus the Magnificent was the real thing! He wasn’t an illusionist; he was a true magician! The solution to his mystery was incredibly simple and right under everyone’s noses. It was so obvious yet so unbelievable that no one would ever think of it. It took a crazy, obsessed person like myself to figure it out!

  Yet, even I had doubts about such an out-of-this world concept as true magic. If I gave myself a moment to think about it logically, common sense would prevail. That was exactly why I couldn’t let myself think about it. I needed to know for sure if I guessed correctly before common sense took over and I laughed at myself. There was only one way to know for sure: I had to confront him. The sooner the better.

  All attention was still on the drunks behind me. It was now or never!

  “Marcus!” I raced after him, forgetting all about the blisters on my feet.

  “I don’t sign autographs,” he threw over his shoulder in a flat voice when I caught up with him at the limo.

  “No. I just want to ask you — why are you hiding it?” I rushed out as fast as I could before he got inside and shut the door on me. “Why don’t you tell them that you’re real?”

  There were several ways for him to react to this: he could have ignored me, laughed at my craziness, or agreed with me out loud that he was indeed a true magician and the magic was real, like any good showman would have done.

  None of these things would have confirmed my guess for me, but Marcus did none of them. Instead, he did the only thing that did confirm it. He stopped on his way to the limo so suddenly that I almost bumped into him from behind. He then turned around quickly, and I met his eyes that were only inches away from mine now.

  Denim blue! I finally knew the true colour of his eyes. They were the colour of dark denim, and they looked at me sternly. A second later, he grabbed my arm above the elbow and unceremoniously pulled me towards the bus behind him.

  The door of the limo opened at that moment, and a good-looking blond man got out quickly.

  “Marcus? Is there a problem?” he asked with concern and moved in our direction.

  “Not yet,” Marcus said under his breath. “Excuse me, ladies,” he addressed the group of his Amazonian gladiators gathered by the door of the bus. “A minute of privacy, please.” Then he pushed me through the door onto the bus and followed me in.

  The cool air inside the bus was a big change from the outside heat. Marcus closed the door behind him, shutting out all outside noise at once. The sweat on my skin cooled instantly, and shivers ran through me.

  “What do you want?” he snapped at me.

  “What?” I didn’t immediately catch the reason for his hostility.

  “Money?”

  “What? No! I don’t want your money!” This was going so wrong.

  “You want to know how?” With his head tilted to the side, he looked more curious than hostile now. His eyes narrowed at me through the slits of his mask, trying to figure me out, as if I myself was a mystery. I almost laughed. There was nothing mysterious about me.

  “No, I’ve figured out how. I want to know why. Why don’t you tell them,” I gestured at the door, meaning all the people outside the bus and beyond, “that you are the real thing?” I would’ve shouted to the whole of universe if I possessed any magic! “Why don’t you let it all go and blow their minds the way you blew mine?”

  He didn’t answer. His eyes slid off me and were fixed on something behind me now, unfocused.

  The awareness that we were alone on that bus, standing just feet apart, washed over me. My hands started sweating again despite the cool air.

  “Marcus!” I heard the voice of the blond man as someone began to pound on the door.

  Marcus stirred. His brow furrowed above the mask, and his eyes focused again, returning to reality. He lifted his hand and pushed the curtain of black hair away from his face absentmindedly.

  I watched his fingers run through the black, glossy strands and fought the urge to do the same. Would his hair really feel like a horse’s mane to the touch? He was so close…

  The banging on the door came again. Marcus’s silence began to feel like a signal for me to leave.

  “I better go,” I mumbled and moved past him towards the exit, trying hard not to breathe in too deeply near him. I remembered the effect his smell had on me just minutes earlier, the same effect that catnip had on Lannister, it seemed. Another minute on this bus alone with Marcus, and I might start rubbing my face all over his leather pants!

  “Marcus? Are you ok?” The blond man’s concerned face came into view when the door finally opened.

  “Really, Simon?” Marcus sounded irritated at the interruption, but I knew that my time with him was up. I got more than I ever hoped for when I came to see him, and I needed to get out now.

  Just before getting off the bus, I turned around to face him again and took a step closer, making sure that the people outside didn’t hear me.

  “You can hide all you want, Marcus. Don’t worry. Your secret is safe with me. But you’ll always know that there is someone o
ut there who knows your magic is real.”

  It wasn’t a threat. It was a declaration of our connection. I needed to hear it out loud just as much as I needed to say it to him.

  He didn’t reply.

  “If I have a chance, I’ll come to see your show one day,” I added instead of a goodbye before I left him.

  It felt like a giant weight had lifted off my chest when I stepped off the bus and back into the heat of the Strip. I took my shoes off and bravely walked barefoot back to my hotel, feeling much lighter at heart.

  The hold that Marcus the Magnificent had on me for the past several months was slowly letting go. I solved his puzzle, I learned his mystery, and I was now free to go on with my life without his constant phantom presence in it.

  ***

  “Oh! I partied more in the past three days than during my entire life prior!” Lily said, sitting next to me on the plane. Knowing Lily, her statement was most likely absolutely true.

  We were on the plane, going back home to Toronto. I never told anyone that I went to see Marcus during their afternoon nap, not even Emily. His secret was now mine to keep, and somehow even my going to see him perform had become a part of the secret in my mind. This would forever connect me to him whether either of us wanted it or not: he would forever be the one true magician in the world, and I would be the one who knew that true magic existed.

  When I had returned to the hotel, everyone was still asleep, but they woke up shortly after. I missed the chance to have a nap before we went out for dinner and then walked down the Strip, gambling and having fun on the way.

  It was good to be there. It was good to hang out with the girls. I was glad I came, even if my personal debt to Emily kept growing, even if there most likely was a double-load of work waiting for me at the office once I got back.

  “I am sooo tired! I will need a week to recuperate,” Emily yawned on the other side of me and stretched out as far as the economy class legroom would allow.

  “Too bad!” Sarah, Emily’s friend from work, turned over from her seat in front of us. “I’m sure Mikey has been missing you terribly. I don’t think there would be much time allowed for your recuperation once you get home!”

  “There are some sexual positions that allow for minimal energy expenditure,” offered Lily thoughtfully and added, “Especially for the female participant.”

  The conversation came to a screeching halt, as it often did when Lily spoke.

  Completely exhausted, I welcomed the unexpected silence, ready to catch some sleep during our five-hour flight.

  Despite the uncomfortable seat, the noise in the cabin and the bright daytime light, this sleep promised to be the most relaxing and restful one in months.

  6. Home Sweet Home.

  Lily pulled her yellow Toyota into the driveway of my parents’ house in the western suburbs of Toronto. This was my childhood home and coming here still felt like coming home.

  It was July’s long weekend, for Canada Day. For as long as I remembered, we always got together for a BBQ on this day. Of course, things changed slightly from year to year; it was our second Canada Day with Lily and last year I was here with Matt.

  “Hold on, Evan! I’ll carry the truffle, you already almost dropped it once!” Lily jumped out of the driver’s seat and rushed to the trunk where Evan unloaded their things.

  I grabbed my purse and got out too. Unlike Lily and Evan, I wasn’t staying overnight and didn’t have any bags to unload. I needed to be back in Toronto later tonight; I had to work in the store two days out of three this long weekend.

  The huge bush of pink roses in front of the house was already covered in big bright flowers, my mother’s pride and joy. I inhaled their warm, sweet smell. Roses were not my favourite, but their smell would forever remind me of home.

  “Well, hello there.” My father opened the door to greet us. He already had his apron on, ready to man the BBQ grill. It was still early afternoon, and he probably wouldn’t start grilling for at least a couple of hours yet, but he must have had that apron on since breakfast as a reminder to himself that today was going to be a fun day.

  “Oh my dear, dear children!” my mother sang from the kitchen when she heard us enter and rushed out into the hallway to hug all of us.

  Yes, it was nice to come home.

  ***

  “This is simply delicious, Jen!” said Lily, finishing her crème brûlée dessert. “I can’t believe it’s made with canned custard.”

  My mother loved to serve fancy food that looked homemade; however, she didn’t like to spend much time in the kitchen to make it. So, she used any shortcut she could find. Most of her ingredients came frozen, in cans or from ready-to-eat packages. My father liked to joke that my mom didn’t cook meals — she assembled them.

  As much as it was true, though, Mom didn’t appreciate when anyone brought attention to her cooking method. She preferred when people pretended that they believed she cooked from scratch or when they at least ignored the fact that she didn’t.

  She met Lily’s clumsy compliment with a strained half-smile and pursed her lips immediately after.

  Her reaction was completely lost on Lily, of course.

  “It’s amazing, the level of science that our food industry has reached to produce the modern preservatives,” she went on.

  Well, my dad knew exactly what effect Lily’s words had on my mother and jumped to her rescue.

  “Fantastic dessert, honey!” He placed a quick kiss on Mom’s cheek and changed the subject. “How are you doing, kids? How is your job, Evan?”

  “Um, it’s kinda boring.” Evan licked his spoon and put it in his empty dish.

  “Why?”

  “How?”

  Both of my parents looked to be on the verge of panic. I felt sorry for them and angry with Evan for making them so jumpy. It was his addiction and his past lifestyle that made them expect the worst from him.

  “I don’t know,” he shrugged, “just boring. I wanna quit and look for something else.”

  “That’s not how it works, baby,” Lily added matter-of-factly. “You find a new job first then you quit this one.”

  My mom looked at her with enormous gratitude, like she was ready to give Lily a hug that very instant, the comments about food preservatives completely forgotten.

  “Yeah, sure, babe,” Evan replied. “But I want to start looking now.”

  “I thought you liked working as a stagehand,” Dad said, still seemingly confused and slightly panicky.

  “It was okay for a while,” Evan agreed. “I get to see a whole bunch of shows for free. That’s cool. But I want to use my head more, you know? Be more involved into sound and stage production, and stuff.”

  “Well, that’s admirable to aspire to use your head, I guess,” Dad said carefully.

  “Do you think there is a job that you would absolutely love?” My mother asked, unsure.

  “I don’t know. I want to try to do something more with sound. You know, closer to what I took in college. Maybe for theater, maybe for TV. Movies would be cool!”

  “Well, is there a chance for you to get a job in a movie production?” my dad asked.

  “Um, I don’t know…” Evan grew increasingly restless from being grilled by my parents. As usual, he quickly resorted to his tried and true method of defence: switch the topic of conversation to me. “Hey, Angela has two jobs! I’m sure there is at least one for me out there.”

  “It makes no sense, Evan. We’re not even working in the same industry!” I exclaimed, but it was too late, their attention had turned to me already.

  “You still haven’t quit your job at the shoe store?” asked Dad.

  “You always ask me that, but I never was going to quit, Dad. I can’t give up the employee discount. How else would I buy shoes?” I joked, but it came out rather flat.

  “Well, I would think you make enough at the office to be able to buy a pair of shoes, don’t you?”

  “Oh, Dad! A woman needs more than one
pair of shoes!”

  In fact, even with the discount, I could hardly afford to buy any shoes at all lately. All of my shoes were at least a year old, and I was able to buy them only because of my small shoe size that was not very popular with shoppers; the store ended up discounting shoes in my size several times in a year.

  I had a strategy all worked out: I ended up eyeing a pair of shoes I liked for months, watching the price go down with every round of store markdowns and hoping that no other Cinderella would buy them from under my nose before the price was low enough for me to afford them. Buying shoes had always been my guilty pleasure.

  “You’re working too hard, honey.” My dad shook his head.

  “Do you even have time for dating?” asked my mother. I knew it would come down to a public discussion of my private life. Sooner or later, most of our family conversations ended in a discussion of my personal life or the lack thereof.

  I kept my eyes on the elegant light-green placemat in front of me and fidgeted with the matching napkin ring. I hadn’t seen these ones before; they must be new. My mother usually got all new tabletop décor for each big occasion, or whenever she felt that the occasion was big enough. This dinner’s theme was summer: green grass-woven placemats, flower-print napkins, centrepiece flower arrangement in bright cheerful colours with a few small paper Canadian flags to highlight the holiday.

  “No, I don’t,” I replied finally. “You know I don’t have time for anything.” I didn’t mean for it to sound accusingly. After all, nobody forced me to help them financially, and it was not my mother’s fault that I could only have the means to help them by working two jobs.

  Still, my mom flinched, and I rushed to salvage our happy dinnertime even if it meant throwing myself under the bus. “I just can’t find a decent man,” I mumbled, looking at my half-eaten dessert.

  “Oh, baby, I’m sure there are plenty of decent men in Toronto.” Mom waved her hand at me.