The Bullet Trick (27 page)

I looked at Sylvie. She rolled her eyes and started to translate. Nixie listened, her eyes widening, then collapsed in giggles, putting her hand over her mouth as if scandalised at her own amusement.

I asked, 'What did you say?'

Sylvie’s expression was innocent.

'I just repeated what you said, you’re a very funny man, William.'

There had been no awkwardness between us after our drunken celebrations. Sylvie had simply said, 'Well I guess that got that out of the way.' And I’d agreed, both of us laughing, relieved that the other wasn’t offended.

I’d wanted to ask her about the fat man. He’d called her by the wrong name, but Suze and Sylvie didn’t seem so different to me and I remembered a quick flash of panic in Sylvie’s eyes that could have been surprise, or could have been recognition. I’d kept my thoughts to myself and though I’d pulled the guts out of her at ten fifteen precisely every night for a week since, nothing had passed between us that would have scandalised even the pope’s maiden aunt. Still, the memory of Sylvie’s body stayed with me, making me glance away from her as I went onto the next bit of my explanation.

'OK, let’s go down to the stalls.' The girls followed me, chatting in German. 'So what do you see standing next to Sylvie’s box?'

'You make me sound like a puppet.'

I gave Sylvie a look, she translated my question and Nixie replied.

'Einen Tisch.'

Sylvie singsonged, 'A table.'

'Great, back up on stage.'

The girls groaned but they followed me up to where the props were standing.

'Now what do you see?'

'Ahh,' Nixie’s voice was full of realisation. 'Eine Kiste.'

I looked at Sylvie.

'A box.'

'Correct. Observe.' I opened a flap exposing the compartment in the tabletop that was hidden from the audience by the sharp black angles on its tapered-under edges, revealing that although the table was only an inch thick along its white-painted rim it was deep enough at its centre to hold a slim woman lying flat. 'You lie in here, Nixie, hidden from view. I put the box on the table and help Sylvie into it. She surreptitiously pulls her knees up to her chest and you slide your legs up through the flap on the top of the table, sticking your feet out through the foot holes in the box so the audience think that they belong to Sylvie. Then voilà, I wield my saw,' I grabbed the oversized saw lying on the ground next to me and shook it in the air generating a wobbling sound, 'and cut through the bit of balsa obligingly holding the two parts of the box together,' I started to saw through the balsa, letting them hear the metal rasp against the wood, 'until I’m able to separate the two halves,' I pushed the two ends of the fancy coffin apart, 'to reveal a head in one and wiggling feet in the other, making the crowd go crazy.' I held my arms up to the imaginary audience and grinned at the girls, but Nixie was whispering something to Sylvie, shaking her head. I asked, 'Was ist das problem?'

Sylvie sighed.

'The silly bitch says she can’t do it. She’s claustrophobic.'

Sylvie and I ran through every member of the company, but we already knew that Nixie was the only performer on staff slight enough to fit inside the tabletop.

'So that’s it then, fucked again.'

'Hey William, it’s not my fault.'

I kicked the trolley that the new box was lying on, sending it trundling towards the back of the stage.

'It was a fucking clichéd piece of crap anyway.'

Sylvie caught the trolley and rolled it back down the rake towards me.

'You’ll work it out.'

I slammed the trolley again, sending it hurtling back the way it came, not watching where it went, simply taking relief in the act of hitting something. It juddered, almost losing its load, then against all odds regained its keel, sailing into backstage.

I said, 'Fuck.'

And moved to retrieve it just as there was a gasp and Ulla came from the wings pushing the trolley away from her. I took a step forward. 'Shit, sorry.'

Ulla rubbed her arm. Her voice was high and annoyed.

'We have to be careful here.'

'Sorry, Ulla, I didn’t mean to push it so hard.'

'The stage is a dangerous place.'

'Yeah, I know, sorry.'

Ulla had a pencil stuck in her hair and a sheaf of invoices tucked under her arm. Her frown made a small crease between her eyebrows. I wondered what she’d do if I reached out to smooth it away.

'I came to see if you had finished with the stage. There are others who would like to rehearse.'

'Yeah, you may as well tell them to go ahead.'

Ulla hesitated, noticing our dejection for the first time.

'Problem?'

Sylvie took a step back and looked her up and down.

'No,' She placed her arm around Ulla’s shoulders and levelled her gaze at me. 'I don’t think so, do you, William?'

My eyes slid down Ulla’s body. But I already knew the proportions of the German girl’s figure well enough to realise that Sylvie just might be right.

Ulla grasped the simple illusion straight away.

'But this is a very old trick, the audience will have seen it many times before.'

'Not the way William’s going to do it.'

Sylvie and I hadn’t discussed the razzle-dazzle surrounding the illusion, but her confidence was inspiring.

'That’s right, it’s going to have that classic Schall und Rauch twist, a super-sexy variation on the theme.'

Ulla looked worried.

'Will I have to wear a costume?'

'No, just something comfortable you can move easily in and,' I felt the back of my neck flush, 'an identical pair of shoes and stockings to the ones Sylvie’s chosen.'

'They’re going to be darling.' Ulla had extricated herself from my assistant’s grasp but Sylvie was determined to hold her attention. 'Bottle-green fishnets with the reddest, highest, shiniest pair of kinky wedges you ever set eyes on.' She glanced at me. 'I’m borrowing them from a fetish shop in return for a mention in the programme.'

'Well done.' I turned to Ulla. 'Will you help us out?'

'I’m not a performer.'

'No performance skills required. All you have to do is lie there, stick your legs through the flap at the right time and wiggle your toes when I ask you to.'

Ulla hesitated.

I took a step forward.

'There’s no one else.'

She sighed.

'If it is necessary for the show.'

Sylvie swept her into a hug.

'I knew you would!'

Ulla freed herself and I made an effort to meet her eyes.

'Thanks, you’re a life-saver.'

I watched as Ulla made her way back down towards the office, and then turned to find Sylvie staring at me. Her voice was full of exaggerated marvel.

'William, you like her.'

I shook my head and started to put our props away, hiding my expression in the task.

'I’ve never gone for bossy women. Anyway, she’s taken. She’s with Kolja.' I tried to keep my voice light. 'A match made in heaven.'

Sylvie grinned.

'Then they’d better watch out. Those heavenly matches are notoriously vulnerable to temptation.'

Glasgow

IT DIDN’T TAKE Johnny long to get to the point.

'I’m organising a benefit and I’d like you to headline.'

I drew on my cigarette, wishing I hadn’t agreed to come back with him. I tipped some ash into the saucer, and smiled to sweeten my refusal.

'Sorry, John, I don’t do that anymore.'

The smile was a mistake. Johnny leant forward, enthusiasm for his new project shining on his face.

'So you said, but I thought you might be able to come out of retirement, just for one night.'

I wondered where he found the time for benefits between lecturing, exams, visits to the gym and a new baby.

'I’ll put up posters, take the tickets, shift props or act as bouncer, but don’t ask me to get up on stage. It’s just not possible.'

Johnny continued as if he hadn’t heard me.

'It’s in the Old Panopticon. It’s not normally open to the public so a lot of people might come along just to see the venue, but I’m finding it harder to get hold of halfway decent acts than I’d anticipated. You’re a godsend, William.'

I remembered this technique from our student days; Johnny’s water torture. It involved a relentless dripping at any objections until it became easier to do what Johnny wanted than to resist. I steeled my voice.

'I’m not a performer anymore.'

He shook his head, still smiling, sure that with the right persuasion I’d do it.

'I just don’t believe you, William.'

'You’ll have to because it’s true.'

Perhaps there was something in my voice or maybe Johnny had learnt that it wasn’t always possible to force the unwilling to his will. He leaned back in his chair and rubbed his hand through his hair.

'Well, at least give me a reason.'

I said, 'Maybe one day.' Knowing it was a lie.

Johnny’s face was incredulous, his dark curls stood up in angry little spikes.

'So that’s it? First time in years that I ask you to do me a favour and there’s no apology, no explanation, just no?'

Sunlight cut through the kitchen window, making a pattern of golden squares between us on the wooden table. I turned my head and looked out towards the backcourts where the tops of sycamores moved with the spring breeze. Sometime earlier in the year someone had planted bulbs in the window box; lilac hyacinths shivered in their pots, sending their perfume into the room. The kitchen would be perfect for socialising. The ideal place to share a meal with friends around the big table, knowing that if the baby woke she was only a few steps away.

I shook my head and kept my voice low.

'I’m not abandoning my career just to inconvenience you, and for the record I did apologise.'

We were interrupted by the sound of a key turning in the front door. There was a pause while the new arrival took off their coat, and then Eilidh put her head into the kitchen.

Her hair was pulled back into a roll, but it looked as if the wind had caught it and loose tendrils curled softly around her face.

'Hi.' She smiled at Johnny, then noticed me for the first time. 'Oh, William.'

I got to my feet, hoping my stubbed-out cigarette wouldn’t cause a row after I’d gone.