Real Magic (15 page)

"Relax," Morty said. "He's just being a screwball. We're all happy for you guys."

Vincent stood up on his chair with grandiose flare. "Of course you're happy for us. Why what could be better for our club than to have its senior member being a working magician? And if loverboy over here ever figures out our little trick, we'll have two members working as magicians. That's great stuff for us. That'll make us more legit." He snapped his fingers. "We need to be dressed for the part. When's our first gig?"

"Tonight," Duncan said, taken aback by Vincent's sudden enthusiasm.

"Well, we need some new clothes. Some mystic-looking robes."

"No," Morty kicked in. "You need to be wearing a couple of sharp-looking suits."

"He's right." Vincent's eyes danced with the idea. "Can you see it, Duncan? You and me, dressed to the nines as we impress all those fine folk with our magic. It'll be wonderful."

Lucy said, "Yup, real wonderful. Only one problem, big brother."

"And what's that, sis?"

"You ain't got any money. How are you going to afford two suits?"

Morty laughed. "She's got you there. A new suit for you has got to run, what? Twenty dollars?"

"At least," Lucas said. "A fine suit would be more like thirty."

"Okay, okay." Vincent stepped back onto the floor. "So we need forty, maybe fifty dollars for two suits." Cocking his head toward Duncan, he asked, "You think Mr. Walter would give us an advance against our first paycheck?"

"Are you crazy?" Lucy said and hurried over to Vincent. "You cannot screw this up. And I don't mean just because we need the money. This is a job performing magic. This is what you want, isn't it? It's a big step forward. So, don't go worrying about advances or buying fancy new suits. Just show up on time and do a good job. And as for trying to smooth talk Mr. Walter — I'll kill you for trying, if he doesn't do it first."

Vincent hesitated and then broke out his charming smile. He hugged Lucy tight before facing the gang. "You see, fellas, this is why I love my sister. Perspective."

"Yeah," Morty said. "The perspective of her foot in your rear."

"Well, I for one think this is great," Ben said, digging into his coat pocket. "I got three dollars here and I'm donating it to the boys to help them make a good impression. What about you two?"

Morty and Lucas shared an uncomfortable look. Begrudgingly, Morty pulled out a five dollar bill. "I was saving this, but I ain't letting Lucas make me the last one in. Here you go."

With a scowl that forced his droopy eyes to darken more than normal, Lucas threw in two dollars more. "There," he said without enthusiasm. "I'm in."

"That's really kind, but you can't do that," Duncan said.

Vincent swiped up the cash. "Of course they can. They want to help out the club as much as we do. Besides, after we amaze the audience and they're clamoring for more, we'll get moved off the floor and onto the stage. That's where the real money is. And when we got that much cash rolling in on us, we can pay these fine gentleman back, and throw in some extra, too."

"You've only got ten dollars. You can't get a good suit for that much."

"We know plenty of places to go that'll have nice suits cheap. They may not be the best but they'll be better than anything we got now."

The rest of the guys stood up, grabbed their hats and headed out. Ben said, "Oh yeah, we know places. You don't worry about it, Duncan. You got the jobs, we'll get the clothes."

"That's right," Morty added. "You've done enough. You stay here and we'll take care of everything."

Before Duncan could protest, Vincent and the gang hurried out the door. Even Lucas left without so much as a furtive glance back. Morty and Vincent led them away, giddy and laughing like two teenage boys rushing off to a party.

Lucy laughed. "I swear I wish they were drunk. Then they'd sit around too tired and woozy to go off like that making trouble."

"Do I want to know where they're going?"

"Probably some friend of a friend who happens to have a bunch of fine suits to sell down an alley. Don't worry about it. And anyway, thanks. Vincent could really use this job."

"It's my pleasure. Frankly, I didn't even do anything."

"You didn't have to share the job with Vincent."

Duncan rested an elbow on the counter. "Maybe I did it to impress you."

Lucy smiled, a mixture of disbelief and embarrassment — Duncan loved that smile. To hide her reddening face, she tossed a rag onto the counter. "If you're going to stick around here, might as well make yourself useful."

"Wouldn't have it any other way." As Duncan started cleaning, he caught a slight curve rise on Lucy's lips.

"You know I was thinking about you earlier today, and it occurred to me that even though we had a date together, I still don't know anything about you. Vincent asked me what we had talked about, and I couldn't think of a thing."

Duncan focused on extensively wiping a spot on the counter. If he looked up, if he saw her eyes, he knew he would lose any resolve he had maintained. He would open up about everything — who he was and where he had come from, the magic door that resembled the one she had drawn and how he had to find it in order to get home, and how he wanted her and how he hoped she would join him in the future, even if it meant leaving behind all she had known.

He could picture them in 2013. A new world for her; a fresh start for him. With Lucy by his side, he thought he might be able to walk away from the crazy life he had led. And he knew in his bones that it had been crazy. Seeing Vincent and the boys and Lucy and all of 1934, he had no doubt that his previous life had been as shoddy as his father feared. Pancake was proof enough of that.

But as much as he wanted to tell Lucy everything about himself, everything in his heart, a primal instinct prevented him from doing so. Something deep inside told him that it would be cruel to tell her, that it would break asunder her entire concept of reality to the point of madness. After all, if someone popped into 2013 saying they were from 2102, it would be hard enough, but at least the modern world was a bit like living science-fiction anyway. Cell phones, tablets, voice recognition, robots and space travel — a time traveler from the future would not be so outrageous. But here in 1934, every aspect of the modern world would seem impossible.

Yet Lucy struck Duncan as a strong-minded person. Assuming she even believed him, she might be able to accept the changes, maybe even embrace them. Still, who was he to play with her life like that?

"What's wrong?" she asked, standing closer to him than he had realized.

The other problem was Nelson Walter. If Duncan told Lucy the truth, he'd have to admit that he was sort of a spy for Walter. Though technically he had failed to do any real spying, he knew that the time was coming when he would either have to deliver or face serious injury. Lucy should be able to understand that. That he had no choice. Except whenever she looked at him playing cards with Vincent, he saw a special joy, a happiness for her sibling's growth and maturity. If she knew that their friendship had been born from a desire to use the magic club, she would hate him forever.

She placed a hand on his arm. "Please. Let me know you. Even a little bit."

Still with his eyes down to the counter, he said, "I don't know what the right thing to do is."

"Sure you do, silly. There's no big secret here. I've seen the way you look at me. And you did take me out on a date. You like me. Don't be afraid. I like you, too."

She placed a finger under his chin and raised his head with the lightest touch. When he looked upon her, the world whirled around him. His pulse quickened. Warmth flashed through his body. His hands hovered over her shoulders, trembling with the desire to touch her, grip her, clench her close against his skin.

He shook his head and turned away. Never before had he suffered this kind of emotion over a woman. Was this what people always were talking about when they went on and on about
Love?
He certainly thought about Lucy in more ways than just sexual. He wanted to hold her, smell her, hear her voice. He imagined her crying just so he could be the one to comfort her. More than all, though, he wanted to be in her presence. She calmed him despite the stressful position Life had put him in, and that calm held great allure.

When he turned back to her, she searched his face for some clue to his thoughts. "What is it? Please, don't close yourself off from me. I can help. Even if it's just to listen."

Duncan stepped closer to her and inhaled her sweet scent. "You're intoxicating," he said, not caring that he would have laughed at anybody else saying such a corny line.

Lucy did not laugh. In fact, she looked startled. "Oh ..." she whispered.

His heart hammered fear straight through to his bones. He closed his eyes, afraid to see her reaction, afraid that the only woman he had ever felt strongly for might not share the emotion. His hands wrapped around her waist and he pulled her in. Pressing his mouth against her, his mind exploded in a pleasure far beyond any simple kiss.

The kind of women he had been with in the past would kiss him, but it had been a soulless experience. When Lucy kissed him, he felt the same urgent need he had experienced. Magic coursed between their lips, striking the nerves in his body like an electric jolt. He pressed harder against her mouth, wanting every motion of his lips to translate those wordless sensations causing his heart to beat for her. And he could feel breath as she kissed him back, wanting him, too. Not his charm, not his cleverness, not his money, not his bravado. She simply wanted the man within.

When the moment faded like a deflating balloon, Duncan pulled away and allowed his eyes to open. His heart collapsed. She stared at him aghast — her lips quaking, her eyes filling with tears. Her hand shot up to cover her mouth as she spun and rushed for the stairs.

"Lucy, wait!"

But it was too late. She disappeared upstairs, leaving Duncan standing alone.

"Shit," he said to the empty store.

 

Backstage at The Club,
Duncan stood next to Vincent waiting for the band to finish its set. The tableside magicians, there were four, went on while the band got a rest. Vincent looked sharp in his new suit, black coat with tails and gray trousers plus a gimmicked top hat. It cost most of the money the gang had pooled leaving little for Duncan's costume — a sequined robe and matching turban.

"I feel like an idiot," Duncan said.

Vincent kept his eyes on the showgirls powdering their bodies a few feet away. "Relax. We're going to do great."

Duncan wanted to ask about Lucy. That moment in the store had haunted him the rest of the day. Where had he screwed up? She liked him. She even said it. And while he would admit that this kind of relationship was utterly new to him, he found it difficult to accept that he was that far off base on how to treat a lady. After all, he did okay on their date. How had he misread her signals so badly that she had to run away like a schoolgirl getting her first kiss on the playground? Unless ...

"Hey, Vincent. Has your sister ever dated anybody besides me?"

Vincent picked lint from his suit, caught the eye of a lovely brunette dancer with too much up top to get any further than The Club, and winked. "You work here long?" he asked.

"Vincent," Duncan pressed.

"What?"

"Your sister."

"Yeah, yeah, of course she's dated. Which is what I'd like to do with you. What's your name, doll?" And that was it. Vincent walked over to the brunette, sat on her make-up vanity and stared at her breasts while trying to pick her up for a date after the show.

A harried fellow wearing all black and carrying a clipboard, dashed by, whispering aggressively, "Five minutes, magicians. Five minutes."

On stage, a trumpet player stood and belted out a fast-paced solo while the rest of the band backed him up with a pounding rhythm. Duncan's heart had felt the same way only a few hours earlier. He knew he should be focusing on the upcoming performance, yet all he could see was Lucy running up those stairs. If he had a reason, if he understood what had happened, he would feel better. He would have a direction to go in, some idea of how to patch things up. But the not-knowing was excruciating.

Vincent tucked a piece of paper into his pocket and stepped close to Duncan. "Nice girl. Her name's Edith, but I like her stage name better. Trixie."

"You're kidding me."

"You don't like that? I thought it was playful and fun. Like I hope she'll be later tonight."

The eagerness in Vincent's face struck Duncan. Of course Vincent would be excited. He might get to have a great night of heavy petting. Edith did not appear to be so loose of morals as to sleep with him. In the twenty-first century, nobody would care about these two hooking up for the night. They could go to a convenience store, pick up some condoms, and do whatever their lust required. But here — Duncan had no idea how one procured condoms. And the pill hadn't even been invented yet, so the risks were far greater. But more so, people here noticed when a dancer left on the arm of a magician. Even if nothing happened, Edith would be treated as if it had. Unless she really had fallen for Vincent, Duncan guessed that by the time the show ended, she would change her mind and stand Vincent up.