Vanishing Act 2

Backstage within a dingy dressing room that possesses about as much hospitability as a death row prison cell Legend sits in front of a cracked mirror with his head draped in his hands, gently massaging his temples and muttering indecipherable curses under his breath. He always has a headache after a performance, especially one as extraordinary as the show he put on tonight, but this time the pain seems to originate from an emotional element rather than the usual physical stress.1

With a sigh he falls back in his chair and stares at the image reflecting from the mirror. His sharp brown eyes are sunk deep in their sockets and his knotted black hair hangs stiffly across his forehead casting ghostly shadows upon his face. Exhaustion seems to have drained any color from his complexion and taken the ambition he once thrived upon with it. To him it looks like he’s already been beaten. He’s conquered the world, now the easiest thing to do is to turn around and let it conquer him. He can tell he’s starting to slip but he doesn’t know how to stop himself. At times it feels like he’s caught in a mudslide. He’s trying his hardest to stand still but the ground beneath his feet is starting to give way and he’s growing more and more fearful that the mudslide he surfs will become the quicksand he drowns in.2

Disgusted with his performance and the person he sees gazing back at him he pulls a crumpled pack of cigarettes from his coat pocket and lights one up, disregarding the promise he made to Angela no more than a week ago. He takes a deep, relaxing drag, lets the smoke cloud his lungs, than tilts his head back and slowly exhales. The nicotine tastes good but it’s laced with guilt and by the time he’s finished with his first his headache’s pounding even stronger than before and he has to treat himself to another.3

It’s been about fifteen minutes since he last heard any applause but he knows better than to leave the safety of his room. Legend’s no stranger to fame and over the years he’s become very familiar with the downside of any two-sided situation. He knows there’s bound to be some lingering fans chatting in the lobby or hanging around the parking structure just waiting for the opportunity to bother him for an autograph, picture, or- his personal favorite- a personalized magic trick. Remembering back to what seems like a different life he’s disgusted to think he once found the attention flattering. Now, every time someone stops him on the street or approaches him after a show he has to use every muscle in his body to refrain from spitting on them.4

A light rapping at the door draws him from his maddened reverie but he doesn’t dignify the visitor with a response. Instead he crushes his cigerrette out on the tabletop and tosses it to the far corner of the room where it hit’s the concrete and bounces out of sight. After a moments silence the door slowly creaks open and a young beautiful woman clad in a sparkling green leotard steps daintily into the room. He can hear her gently sniff the smoky air and he turns his head the other way so he doesn’t have to bear the disappointment in her eyes.5

“Great performance tonight, Dmitri,” she comments in a soft, almost wary, voice.6

Legend grunts without bothering to look up. Angela Powell has been his personal assistant from the very beginning when he first splashed onto the scene performing tricks at stuck-up twelve year olds overly-elaborate birthday party’s and local pubs where drunks swayed dangerously on their barstools and shouted obscenities at the stage for no other reason than to hear their voice rise above the droning chatter.7

The two of them found each other at one of these very pubs when they were both just starting out. Legend, who at that time wasn’t famous enough to warrant a stage name though he went by one anyway, was tight on money and reluctantly accepted a low paying gig for a saloon on the outskirts of downtown Manhattan while Angela just happened to drop in that night to drown her sorrows over another failed acting audition.8

Legend finished his hour long act twenty minutes early to a dull chorus of applause and decided to stick around awhile to take the edge off of his headache. He dropped into the wobbly wooden stool next to Angela and ordered a dirty martini with two olives from the bartender. The two of them talked back and forth to pass the time and Angela readily spilled her distress about her botched move to the big city with tears welling up in her eyes. She told him how she was encouraged by close friends and family to fulfill her delusion of the big screen by moving away from the sleepy farming town of Omaha, Nebraska to New York and was just beginning to learn that looks only get you so far in life if you don’t have the money to back them up.9

After his third drink Legend was so enticed by her exquisite beauty, touching story, and charming personality they reached a verbal agreement to work together as equal partners to combined their talents in order to break through to the other side of success. He had been looking for the perfect assistant for awhile and when he offered her the job she hungrily accepted, fearing another failure would send her back to Omaha in shame.10

From then on they made history as they rose through the ranks as a team; she the attractive assistant who dazzled the crowd with her appeal and he the miracle-worker who amazed with his illusions. They formed a special bond that time has been unable to break and Angela’s developed into the only person Legend truly trusts and calls a friend. She’s also one of the few people who know him as Dmitri Dulay instead of Elijah Legend and can differentiate between the two of them even though success has done such a good job of intertwining them that, at times, it’s hard to believe one’s a real person and the other a jaded representation of a dream-come-true.11

“They’re all great,” Legend huffs at her appraisal, his arrogance so distinct he nearly speaks with an unrealized British accent. “Just great. Nothing ever special. I don’t know what it is but I feel an emptiness after each performance. I’m repeating myself time and time again. It’s all becoming so routine.”12

“Maybe routine is what the people want,” Angela encourages in her always-something-good-to-say attitude. “You’re show is perfect. Why change anything?”13

“Ahh,” Legend grunts, waving a hand at her. “You know nothing of magic. We magicians cannot allow perfection to be a restraint. No matter how extraordinary the performances become there’s always something better and as long as I’m alive I’ll always be the one to discover it.”14

Legend stops a moment to catch his breath and the silence reminds him of his headache. He pushes himself to his feet with a groan and walks over to the far end of the room where a rickety old cupboard leans against the back wall. He opens the top cabinet and pulls out a full bottle of gin. “Can I ask you a question?”15

Angela stares at the bottle with concern brimming in her eyes as he pours himself a tall glass. As of late she’s been taking special notice of his sudden thirst for alcohol but, despite how much she’d like to, she knows better than to say anything that could potentially upset him. “Sure.”16

Legend takes a sip of his drink than turns around to face her. For anybody else it would be a casual action but Legend somehow manages to pass it off as a theatrical performance. Angela’s always assumed that his choreographed motions are an attempt to hide the childhood oddities that separated him everybody else and made him a lightning rod for their ridicule but no one knows for sure. Legend’s life is truly a mystery to all and one that most don’t bother to investigate. As long as he continues wowing the public with his performances there’s very little demand to get to know the man behind the mask; especially if all there is to reveal is pain.17

He fixes his gaze upon Angela and draws her eyes to his. The two of them withstand a moment of strained silence as Legend nurses the anticipation like a game show host about to reveal the million dollar answer. When he finally speaks his voice is etched with a trace of excitement that’s been absent for far to long.18

“Do you believe in magic?”19

Legend pauses a second to gauge her reaction but Angela knows the question’s rhetorical and replies with nothing other than her attention. Most of the time it’s enough to please Legend and this instance proves no exception. Without missing a beat he quickly whirls around and starts pacing back-and-forth across the wooden floorboards that moan in rhythm with his ranting.20

“I’m not talking about the petty tricks I use on a nightly basis to amuse the mindless ticket-buyers. Even some of my colleagues,” he spits with disgust, “can perform variations of them to some extent and, believe me, there’s nothing magical about that. What I’m talking about is real magic. The kind that even the performer can’t explain away with a simple sleight of hand or twist of the wrist. The kind a stage can’t hide or a television edit. The kind that requires no hidden prop or an assistant’s diversion.”21

Legend hesitates for another dramatic pause and turns to the mirror. The face staring back at him seems to catch him by surprise and his eyes take on a strange alertness as he studies his tired expression long and hard as if examining a stranger. Lost in the trance of his own eyes and hampered with the disappointment his reflection wields his voice softens until it’s barely above a whisper as if he’s afraid to admit his failure loud enough for the man in the mirror to hear. “The kind that I set out to find all those years ago.”22

The conversation breaks as Legend momentarily loses interest in everything but his last words and silence settles over the two of them. Angela remains listening for a moment that stretches to awkwardness before realizing it’s her turn to speak.23

“Dmitri,” she acknowledges, finding her role in the whole scheme of things shifting more towards easing Legend’s inner turmoil rather than assisting him on stage. “You truly our the best magician there is but that’s why you of all people should realize that this magic you speak of doesn’t exist. No matter how hard you try your performances are still going to be bound by the laws of physics.”24

“Ah, my dear Angela,” Legend coos, still staring at his own reflection. “How long have I known you?”25

The question puzzles Angela but she’s conditioned herself not to let anything Legend says to catch her off guard. “Um…it’ll be eight years this August.”26

“Eight years,” Legend repeats. “Eight years and your ignorance constantly reminds me that there’s still so much for you to learn. Have I completely failed you as a mentor? Have you not yet learned by watching me that there’s always an exception to the rule? All we have to do is look.”27

“Dmitri?” Angela questions. “You’re not making any sense.”28

Legend swirls around with a mischievous smile that will later cost Angela many restless nights of sleep but before he can elaborate any further he catches a passing blur out of the corner of his eye. He instinctively turns to the doorframe only to glimpse the tails of a suit coat brush out of sight. Than, all of a sudden on a double-take, a slick-looking man with grease holding his hair in place and an expensive pair of sunglasses shielding his eyes from the dull lighting of the theatre peeks his head back into the room and beams the two of them a wide toothy smile that seems to sparkle even in the dreariness of their surroundings.29

“Here’s my two pigeons,” Lou Orbit boasts as he steps into the room and flips his cell phone shut. “I’ve been looking all over for you guys. Grand slam of a show tonight. You keep cranking ’em out of the park like this Dmitri and Big Daddy’s putting a down payment on that beach resort the Mrs.’s has had her eye on. Hell, a couple more paydays like this and I’m treating myself to a brand new convertible, my own professional football team, and a freakin’ amusement park,” he says with a coarse chuckle though, in actuality, it’s more of an objective than a joke. When neither of his pigeons finds enough humor in his greed to join in the laugher he quickly abandons the small talk and transitions into business-mode. “Anyways, I got some good news and I got some better news. Which do you want to hear first?”30

Angela looks to Legend but Legend just looks bored so Lou takes it upon himself to proceed without invitation. “We’ll start with the good news. I just talked to the manager. He was so impressed with our performance that he booked us again for tomorrow night.”31

Even though no one made a move to interrupt him Lou holds out his hand like a traffic cop as his grin amends into a sneer shaped with smugness. “Please, hold your applause to the end. After I tell you the better news you’re gonna wanna kiss me,” he says, dipping his sunglasses low enough to wink at Angela.32

Angela fights back a shudder of disgust but takes a great amount of solace in the slight tightening of Legend’s fists even though, as usual, he remains silent in front of their manager.33

“Not only are we locked in for an encore gig in one of magic’s most prolific venues,” Lou presses on as his traffic-cop-stance gives way to a circus-managers-sweeping-wave to display the grandness of what was once a grand theatre, “but Mr. Defoe has also graciously offered to double our pay.”34

Due to Elliot Defoe’s notorious reputation as a cheapskate coupled with Legend’s growing dislike for his manager the reaction Lou was hoping for is dulled to nothing more than a raised eyebrow and doubtful stare.35

“What? After all these years you’re surely not still questioning my persuasiveness?” Lou teases in an offhand way a boss would handle an employee who just let him down. “It’s hurtful Dmitri. Damn near insulting. If I didn’t just catch the biggest break of my life I might be offended right now.”36

Legend, hearing only what insults him, tightens his fists again at the sound of his former name until his knuckles bleach a bloodless white. Angela turns to him as if she somehow sensed his annoyance, quickly catches his eye, and causally shakes her head. While Lou studies their faces for any indication of the thrill he knows they must be feeling Angela watches Legend’s fists open up to reveal his palms and his head slightly dip as if shameful of a reaction he was able to subdue.37

“What’s the matter with you two?” Lou asks. “Don’t you understand what this means? Tomorrow night is going to be our highest paying performance yet. Our act has just skyrocketed to the next level and when I say next level I’m not talking about rising one, or even two levels but jumping three or four in a single bound. We run the circuit for a month or two and we’re all going to be filthy rich. Filthy fucking rich,” he repeats, pronouncing each word as if he’s speaking to the deaf. “You’ll have so much money you’ll be able to buy your own freaken’ happiness, rub it in all the damn naysayer’s faces, and have enough left over to waste on love or anything else that tickles your fancy.”38

Legend and Angela, who both abandoned their pursuit of fortune a long time ago in favor of greater individual passions, look to Lou with passive stares, dampening his spirits with their lack of excitement. Baffled how he can hold one thing in such high regard while others coyly dismiss it temporarily astounds Lou past the point of speech.39

Angela waits until she’s sure neither Legend or Lou are going to break the silence than snaps it with a concern of her own. “Aren’t we supposed to be back in New York tomorrow?”40

The question jolts Lou like a lightening bolt and cures him of his speechlessness. “New York?” he jokes as if it’s the most ridiculous thing he’s ever heard. “Are you crazy? You don’t jump off the gravy train as it’s about to leave the station.”41

“But aren’t we scheduled to perform at the Hilton tomorrow evening?”42

Lou throws his hands up helplessly. “I don’t believe this. You should be celebrating- not worrying about getting home to some low paying gig. And not just any kind of celebrating. This is worthy of a freaken’ New Years Eve celebration with champagne bottles and party poppers. Come on Dmitri,” Lou pleads, tactically singling him out so he can’t hide behind his assistant like he does on stage. “You know as well as I do that it’s not nearly enough to have the best tricks anymore. In today’s society people judge your talent by the price of your ticket.”43

Legend feigns interest for a moment, knowing Lou’s probably right but in no mood to discuss profiting from his charade-like portrayal of magic, than halfheartedly shrugs like he always does when he wishes to be left alone. At the first sign of carelessness Lou cements the deal with an overly-enthusiastic clap of his hands. “That’s more like it. Now I already called the hotel and made all the necessary arraignments. As part of our deal Mr. Defoe has agreed to upgrade us each to one of his personal suites so when you get there you should be treated like freaken’ royalty. Just check-in with the front desk and they’ll take it from there. I’m on my way out now. If you want I’ll flag you down a taxi.”44

“That’s quite all right,” Legend swiftly replies. “I’m more than capable of finding a tasteful means of transportation.”45

Lou, knowing Legend would decline, fails to detect the scorn in his performer’s remark as he turns his attention to Angela. “Mrs. Powell? I know a great little Italian place just down the street with a table for two waiting for us.”46

Angela blushes a scarlet red, drops her gaze to the ground, and takes a step closer to Legend.47

“Awe, come on doll face. You don’t have to be shy with me. Let me buy you a drink and a nice expensive meal. We both deserve it.”48

“No thanks,” Angela courteously declines.49

“You sure? It’s my treat.”50

“Yea,” Angela softly replies. “I’m sure.”51

Just than a shrill ringing sounds from Lou’s jacket and cuts his petitioning short.52

“Suit yourself,” he yields, “but you don’t know what you’re missing.” He reaches into his suit coat, pulls out his cell phone, flips it open, and screens the number. “Excuse me. I gotta take this. You two kids behave now while daddy’s away. Don’t you drink to much Dmitri. I need you semi-coherent for the show tomorrow night. We don’t want a repeat of Detroit now do we?”53

Than with a leery smile and a warning glare Lou holds the phone up to his ear and disappears out the door. Legend and Angela stand still as they listen to the clapping of his rubber soles retreat down the hallway. Once the echo of his footsteps fall out of hearing distance Legend grabs his drink and finishes it in a single swallow. “If I wasn’t looking forward to the day I get to fire him so much I’d have no choice but to get it over with now and spoil the suspense.”54

“That’s not nice,” Angela points out though her usual sincerity’s absent from her words.55

Legend pours himself another drink and sips it with contempt. “The truth’s rarely nice so why should I disguise myself behind a lie? I hate that man with every fiber of my body.”56

Angela sees no fault behind his logic and, even though she’s never said anything bad about anybody in her life, she lets the comment pass without reprimand. “I think I’ll retire for the night and head back to the hotel. You want to walk with me?”57

“Nah,” Legend dismisses, feeling another nicotine urge overtake him. “I’m going to stick around here for awhile. I want to make sure everything’s ready for tomorrow. You know how Lou is. Scribble enough zero’s on a check and he’d have us perform in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean without a raft to float on. I wouldn’t be surprised if the stagehands have already been ordered to box our props up and shipped them back to New York.”58

Angela nods her head in agreement. “You need any help?”59

“No, I’ll be fine.”60

“Alright. Well, goodnight than. I’ll see you in the morning.”61

Legend raises his drink as if to toast. “Goodnight.”62

Angela watches as he empties his glass than she quietly ducks out of the room so that when Legend lowers his head she’s gone. He walks over to the door and looks up and down the hallway but she’s nowhere to be seen. Satisfied that he’s alone but feeling a little forlorn he closes the door and collapses in his chair. His brain aches for a smoke and his hand shakes for a drink but neither craving compares to the hollowness of his act. In the beginning his tricks and charismatic recitals were enough to fill his ever-growing desire for greatness but he’s not a kid anymore. He’s thirty-seven years old and he’s still sawing his assistant in half and pulling rabbits out of his top hat. His show’s becoming more and more of a mockery with each passing day. If not for the stupidity of his audiences and people’s active seeking of the unbelievable in the most believable of places he would’ve washed out years ago. How much longer can the biggest name in magic rely on old out-dated tricks to keep his fame?63

He looks up at his reflection and curses the settlement that’s crept into his face and infiltrated as far as his mannerism. His blood boils at the sight of himself, shading his complexion an angry red, and in the morning when the janitor arrives with a broom in hand the only indication that anybody was in the room is in an empty bottle of gin carelessly left in the corner, numerous cigarette burns and butts spoiling the tabletop, and a shattered mirror.