Zigzag Effect

by Lili Wilkinson

  ‘It’s kind of paradoxical,’ he said, his voice barely more than a whisper. ‘Because it’s a feeling that makes you feel safe and happy, but also makes you brave. Makes you do things you didn’t think you could do. It’s … exciting. The painting is still beautiful – very beautiful. But it’s more of an organic beauty. Like something grew wild and natural, and that’s why it’s beautiful. It’s not like the first painting – that painting took years to prepare. Every brushstroke is perfect. But my painting isn’t perfect. It’s real, and real is infinitely more beautiful.’

  His lips brushed hers. Electricity ran through Sage’s body. She was Herb’s painting. She was content and strong. She was warm, for the first time since leaving Queensland. She felt beautiful. She parted her lips slightly to kiss him back, but it was already over.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said Herb, pulling away. ‘I—’

  Sage’s tingling, electric feeling of rightness was replaced with a dull sinking ache. He didn’t like her after all. It had all just been a stupid speech. He hadn’t been talking about her. She wasn’t his painting. ‘It’s fine,’ she said. ‘We probably shouldn’t – I mean, we work together. It’d be unprofessional.’

  ‘No,’ said Herb hastily. ‘I didn’t mean – I want to kiss you. Very much. I’ve been thinking about pretty much nothing else for the last four hours. It’s just …’

  Sage’s stomach twisted itself into a knot. What was he talking about? Why were boys so confusing?

  Herb let out a sigh. ‘I just don’t want to look back and remember our first kiss, and recall the aroma of urine.’

  A relieved laugh bubbling up inside her. ‘Of course,’ she said, while everything inside her sang first kiss! First kiss! That meant there’d be more than one! ‘You’re totally right.’

  At some point, Sage fell asleep. She jerked awake and panicked for a moment in the unfamiliar darkness, then heard Herb’s steady breathing and relaxed. She heard something else, too. A far-off scraping kind of sound, like someone was dragging a chair across a concrete floor somewhere in the building.

  Could Armand still be around? Or could it be the theatre ghost? Herb shifted his position and murmured something unintelligible, leaning in to Sage. She rested her head on his shoulder, and fell asleep.

  When she opened her eyes again, daylight was coming in through the grate. Sage shifted slightly, and realised with a start of horror that she had drooled on Herb’s shoulder. Moving was a challenge. Everything ached. She sat up and tried to stretch the crick out of her neck. The smell from the bucket was worse.

  Herb made an indistinct mumbling noise, and opened his eyes. He looked adorably sleepy and rumpled, his hair a little squashed, his face all confused and vulnerable. If it hadn’t been for the urine bucket, Sage would have pounced on him then and there.

  ‘Hey,’ he said.

  ‘Hey.’ Sage put a hand to her hair, and realised that although Herb looked rumpled and adorable, she probably looked more like the crazed offspring of a cat-lady and a privet hedge. Also, she wished she’d had an opportunity to brush her teeth. She clamped her mouth shut. ‘What time is it?’ she asked, tilting her head away from him.

  Herb held his wrist up to the light and peered at it. ‘Just after six.’

  ‘What time does Bianca usually get here?’

  Herb sighed. ‘Eleven.’

  They played I-Spy until they ran out of things to spy, and then Herb taught Sage how to do a French Drop, disappearing a coin by sneakily changing it to the other hand. Then they talked about what they wanted for breakfast when they got out.

  ‘I’m having the biggest burger of all time,’ said Herb. ‘Thick and juicy, with onion and mustard and cheese and a whole bucket of fries.’

  Sage’s stomach growled. ‘And coffee,’ she said. ‘Don’t forget the coffee.’

  Herb groaned. ‘At least a pint of coffee. Two pints.’

  ‘And pancakes. And bacon. And eggs.’

  They fell silent again. Sage’s mouth watered as she imagined her towering stack of pancakes.

  ‘Why do you like photography?’ asked Herb suddenly.

  Sage tilted her head to one side and thought about it. ‘It’s a kind of remembering,’ she said. ‘It captures moments that you didn’t even realise were happening, and then preserves them forever.’

  Herb nodded to show that he was listening. Sage wondered how to explain.

  ‘Dad gave me my first camera when I was eleven and we went to the hospital to see Mum and Zacky, just after he was born,’ she said. ‘I guess Mum and Dad thought that I’d bond with my little brother through taking pictures of him. The first photo I took was of Mum and Zacky. He was breastfeeding for the very first time. I was so excited to meet him, and to see that Mum was okay. Zacky was so beautiful. He had a little tuft of black hair, and the sweetest little face, with big blue eyes that seemed very serious. I fell in love with him right then and there. It wasn’t until the photos got developed that I noticed his little hand resting on Mum’s chest as he fed, with all his fingers curled into a fist. Except for one.’ Sage raised her middle finger to Herb and laughed. ‘We were all so entranced with him, none of us noticed he was giving us the finger the whole time.’

  Herb’s wide smile split into a genuine laugh. The sound of it spread through Sage like sunshine. She grinned back at him, and for a moment, they just stared at each other, grinning like fools. Herb’s lips parted as if he were about to speak, then his grin turned rueful and he shook his head slightly.

  ‘Sage Kealley,’ he said. ‘You really are kind of awesome.’

  ‘You’re not too bad either, Herb Jackson,’ said Sage, twinkling at him.

  Another moment passed. The air was electric.

  Herb sighed impatiently. ‘Ah screw it,’ he muttered, and tugged Sage closer to him, pressing his mouth against hers. Sage forgot about her sore back and growling stomach. She forgot that her parents were probably going to kill her when she got home. She forgot that she hadn’t showered or brushed her teeth in twenty-four hours. She even forgot about the bucket of urine in the corner. The rest of the world just melted away, leaving only Sage and Herb and this heart-stoppingly sweet kiss.

  When they broke away to breathe, Sage felt like she’d been cut in half. Who needed to breathe anyway?

  ‘Well,’ murmured Herb. ‘That was …’ He shook his head and the goofy smile – goofier than ever before – spread across his face. ‘I guess once we get out of here we’d better—’

  ‘Shh!’ said Sage suddenly, clamping a hand over Herb’s mouth. ‘Did you hear something?’

  Herb shook his head and leaned in for another kiss. Sage frowned, listening intently. Footsteps. Shoes on floorboards, somewhere in the building. She turned back to Herb, eyes wide. They both leapt to their feet and started banging on the door and yelling. The footsteps stopped, then started again, coming closer, and closer until Sage heard the scraping of a key in a lock, and the door opened to reveal Bianca, in the same floral dress she’d been wearing the night before.

  She stared at them for a moment, her eyes wide. ‘You scared the crap out of me,’ she said, then wrinkled her nose. ‘What is that smell?’

  ‘Don’t ask,’ said Herb darkly, pushing past her and gulping down fresh mouthfuls of air.

  Bianca looked at Sage’s rumpled hair. ‘Were you guys in there all night?’

  Sage nodded and tilted her head to one side, trying to work out the crick in her neck. ‘We got locked in.’

  ‘But why were you in the storeroom in the first place? Surely if you wanted to make out you could just do it in your office.’

  Herb glared at her. ‘What are you doing here so early, anyway?’

  Bianca seemed suddenly flustered. ‘Nothing,’ she said, looking away. ‘I stayed at a friend’s house last night, and it seemed easier to come back here and change than to go to my apartment.’

  Herb raised his eyebrows. ‘One-night stand, eh? You’re in the middle of your walk of shame.’

  �
�No need to thank me for rescuing you,’ said Bianca coldly.

  Herb glowered and stumped off. ‘I’m going home.’

  Sage felt a little twinge of disappointment. She’d been hoping they would go out for breakfast and drink those pints of coffee, holding hands and perhaps doing some sappy staring-into-each-other’s-eyes. On the other hand, she really needed a shower. And some deodorant.

  ‘He was trying to show me a trick,’ Sage told Bianca. ‘An escapology one. But he made a mistake.’

  ‘I did not!’ yelled Herb’s retreating figure. ‘Someone sabotaged the lock.’ The door to the auditorium banged shut behind him.

  Bianca’s expression turned sour. ‘It couldn’t possibly be because he screwed up.’

  ‘There was no one else in the theatre,’ said Sage. ‘Except maybe Armand. But he wouldn’t have done it.’

  ‘Of course not,’ said Bianca. ‘Men. They can never admit they’re wrong.’

  Sage giggled. ‘Maybe it was the curse.’

  Bianca raised an eyebrow. ‘What curse?’

  ‘You know. The wand-breaking curse. Maybe we made the theatre ghost angry.’

  Bianca’s eyes grew thoughtful. ‘Maybe,’ she said softly.

  7. Vanish: Something is made to disappear.

  Sage only had time for a quick shower and a disappointing breakfast of toast and dirt-flavoured instant coffee before she had to head back to the theatre for the Saturday matinee.

  Bianca was sitting on the stage when Sage walked through the door. She looked tired and wan, as though she hadn’t got enough sleep. Maybe she really had been coming home from a one-night stand when she’d released them from the storeroom.

  ‘Armand’s not here,’ she said when she saw Sage. ‘Show’s off.’

  ‘What’s wrong with him? Is he okay?’

  Bianca raised a shoulder in a half-hearted sort of way, as if she didn’t have enough energy for a full two-shouldered shrug. ‘Don’t know. He just sent a text.’

  She passed over her phone, and Sage noticed an exhausted tremble in her hand. A text message from Armand was on the screen.

  NOT COMING IN CANCEL WEEKEND SHOWS

  ‘That’s it?’ said Sage. ‘Should we be worried?’ Could this be related to the missing money? Maybe Armand was in trouble.

  ‘Who knows?’ said Bianca. ‘I should think he’d tell us if there was something really wrong.’

  Sage thought for a moment. How did one go about cancelling a show that started in an hour and a half? ‘I’d better get on the phone and call everyone who’s booked,’ she said. ‘And make a sign for out the front. Do we offer refunds or anything?’

  ‘Don’t ask me,’ said Bianca. ‘I’m just the beautiful assistant.’

  Herb was in their office. ‘I heard,’ he said, holding up his hand. ‘And no, I don’t know what’s wrong with him. And I don’t care. All I know is that our contracts state that we still get paid if the show is cancelled within twenty-four hours of curtain.’ He looked pleased.

  Sage hovered in the doorway for a moment. Was he going to say anything about their early-morning kiss? Was it going to happen again? Herb shot her a distracted smile, and turned back to the notepad he was scribbling in.

  Sage sank into her chair with a sigh, and pulled up the spreadsheet of the weekend’s bookings. ‘There’re fifty names on this list, and we don’t have long before they’ll start turning up. And then there are the people who have booked into tonight’s show. And tomorrow’s.’ She sighed and turned to Herb. ‘Can you help call people?’

  Herb gave her a pained look. ‘Me? Talk to people? Real live members of the public?’

  Sage printed out the list and ruled a red line halfway down it. ‘Tell them they can re-book at no expense for any other show. And be nice.’

  ‘You owe me,’ said Herb, scowling at the list as he picked up the phone.

  ‘You locked me in a storeroom overnight with a bucket full of wee,’ Sage informed him. ‘I owe you nothing.’

  They made their way through the list without too much difficulty.

  ‘So,’ said Herb, tearing the spreadsheet into small strips. ‘Any plans for tonight?’

  ‘My plans were to work here,’ Sage replied. ‘Until about an hour ago.’

  ‘Great,’ said Herb. ‘Come and see Jason Jones’s show with me.’

  Sage started. ‘Like on a date?’

  ‘Sure.’

  Sage didn’t want to bring up the kiss in the storeroom in case she looked desperate or clingy. She was going to be mature about it – let Herb come to her when he was ready. She’d started to worry that she’d dreamt the whole thing, or that Herb had been out of his mind and the kiss was a one-time-only event.

  But a date. A date meant something.

  ‘I thought you hated Jason Jones,’ she said, trying to sound casual.

  ‘I do,’ said Herb. ‘But his show is amazing. And he sent Armand a couple of freebies. Armand would rather chew off his own leg than go, so he gave them to me. And I would like to go with you.’

  Sage felt a totally involuntary smile spread across her face. ‘Great,’ she said. ‘I’m in.’

  The Arts Centre foyer was not like the foyer of the Lyric Theatre. Perfectly maintained red velvet stretched from floor to ceiling. Warm, glittering chandeliers were reflected in the floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out over the equally glittering lights of the city across the river. It was elegant and comfortable, and Sage felt impossibly grown-up. She was on a date, with a nice guy, at a posh theatre. She wished she’d worn a dress, or makeup, or fancy shoes, but she and Herb had come straight from the Lyric, so she was in her usual show uniform of black jeans and a black button-up blouse. At least the blouse had a lace collar, and she was wearing a string of jade beads.

  Herb bought her an orange juice and only went a little pale when the uniformed bar attendant told him how much it would cost. The foyer was packed with people dressed up for a night on the town – a very different crowd to the family groups who came to see Armand.

  ‘Is this what you want?’ asked Sage, leaning into Herb and feeling daring and desirable. ‘This kind of glitz and glamour?’

  Herb’s expression grew wistful. ‘Jason Jones is a lucky bastard.’

  The bell rang, and Sage finished her orange juice. ‘Are you ready?’ she asked Herb, who was watching the people file past the ushers into the theatre.

  ‘Mmm,’ he said, not looking at her. Then he snapped to attention. ‘What? Yes. Yes, let’s go in.’

  Sage followed him into the cavernous theatre, where more red velvet covered the walls, floors and seats, and warm lights glinted off polished brass. The stage – also swathed in red velvet – seemed enormous compared to the one at the Lyric. A polite usher showed them to their seats, and Sage sank into the soft embrace of the chair, feeling like a princess. This was definitely the fanciest date she’d ever been on.

  ‘Welcome, ladies and gentlemen,’ boomed a plump, bearded man in an evening suit. He was lit by a single spotlight. ‘Welcome to the Arts Centre. We have an extraordinary night of magic and mentalism for you tonight. Prepare to be amazed and mystified by the incomparable talents of Mister Jason Jones!’

  The red velvet curtain rose to reveal Jason Jones standing in the centre of the stage, holding a white envelope. The crowd applauded.

  ‘My friends,’ he said, as the MC left the stage. ‘I shall require a volunteer.’

  Sage settled back into her seat, ready to enjoy the show.

  Herb had been right. Jason Jones’s show was polished and slick, with just the right touches of humour and pathos. The magic tricks seemed effortless, and Sage had absolutely no idea how any of them were achieved. Jason Jones predicted which word an audience member would choose in a newspaper. He walked through a solid wall and turned the MC into wisps of smoke. Every now and then Sage snuck a look at Herb, who was entirely focused on the show, his face a mix of admiration and envy.

  For the show’s finale, the MC called for a volunteer f
rom the audience, a man with neat silver hair and spectacles, and had him supervise Jason being blindfolded with a mask, followed by two fifty-cent pieces over his eye sockets, wrapped all around in bandages, with a black bag over his head. He then sat on a chair with his back to the audience. The MC came out into the aisle, holding a microphone.

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ he said. ‘What do you have in your pockets?’

  The audience members near the aisle eagerly dug into their purses and pockets, proffering random objects. The MC accepted one and held up a green plastic cigarette lighter. ‘Mr Jones, I want you to try and tell me what this is.’

  A camera had been pointed at Jason, and his blindfolded face was projected on an enormous screen. ‘It’s … something to do with heat. Matches? No. A cigarette lighter.’

  ‘Please can you tell us the colour?’

  ‘It’s green.’

  There was a smattering of applause. The MC held up another object – a gold wedding ring. ‘Now, I want you to tell me about this one.’

  Jason Jones tilted his head to one side. ‘It’s something precious,’ he murmured. ‘Something … that belongs to two people at once. It’s very valuable, and … a ring. A gold wedding ring.’

  ‘Anything else?’

  ‘There’s an engraving on the inside.’

  The MC peered at the ring, and then nodded and showed it to the people nearby, who also nodded and stared at Jason in rapt attention.

  ‘Now,’ said the MC. ‘Would you …’ He paused dramatically and looked out at the audience. ‘I think we should get him to try to guess the inscription, don’t you? Would you like to, Jason? Do you think he will do it, ladies and gentlemen?’

  Jason held up a hand, as if feeling his way through gauze curtains. ‘It starts with … an A? No. An H. It’s a woman’s name. It’s an old name. Named for a very famous woman. Famous for her beauty.’ Jason’s head snapped up. ‘Helen.’

  The owner of the ring stood up and nodded, his face a mask of wonder. The woman sitting next to him clapped her hand over her mouth, her eyes filled with tears.