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Soap on a Rope

Page 11

by Barbara Silkstone


  “This goes on your belt.” Lizzy handed me a tiny purse. “It’s to carry your license and cell phone.” I clipped it over the hip-rider strap.

  “There’s no belt on my suit so I’m not bringing my phone.” She passed a long red silk scarf to me. “Put it around your neck like this.” Demonstrating with a blue scarf, she tucked it under her hair and let the ends hang loose on her chest. “Now fix the collar so it stands up almost touching your ears.”

  As we stood side-by-side in the mirror our eyes met and we erupted into hysterical giggles. I laughed so hard I couldn’t catch my breath—certain that we shared the same thought.

  The bedroom door opened. Jaimie and WonderDog stood in the doorway. The hound turned his head right and left as if deciding whether we were in pain. “Is somebody hurt? We heard the ruckus,” Jaimie said. “Poshookly! You’re going to the costume party dressed as Elvis impersonators!”

  My thought—our thoughts exactly. Lizzy and I launched into laughter again.

  A case of the hiccups kicked in. When I get them they can linger for hours. Great way to nail a job where silence and composure are important.

  The hiccups became more violent, shaking my body. I stood up, clenched my fists, and took a gulp of air.

  Lizzy disappeared and reappeared with a full glass of water. “Hold your breath, and drink the whole thing all at once—from the top edge of the glass.”

  I put the rim of the tumbler to my lips but the water splashed in my face and up my nose. I stopped breathing—my normal reaction to a wet face. Gasping for air I realized I’d ceased hiccupping. The collar of my Elvis suit was soaked and water dribbled down my chest—so much for open zippers.

  Lizzy and I cackled like two lunatics while Jaimie wore her self-pitying face, unhappy at being left out. If she couldn’t be the center of mirth, she didn’t want to play. “Chip just called. We’re going to the Don Cesar for a romantic dinner. It will take me hours to get ready. Ciao!”

  She waved her car keys, flinging a final zap at us. “You both look very silly!”

  Lizzy looked heavenward releasing a deep sigh.

  “Time for makeup,” I said.

  Lizzy motioned me to the kitchen. She placed a Tupperware the size of a file box on the table. It was loaded with intriguing jars, tubes, and compacts of face paint. She centered a lighted makeup mirror and we began the transformation.

  “How did you accumulate so much goop?” Not being a saver, her collection astounded me. “You barely wear any makeup.”

  “I see something in the store, it looks good, it smells yummy, and I buy it. Get it home and I wonder what I could have been thinking. These are mistakes—like my infamous box of glossy lip goop.”

  “Use these.” She handed me a box of clips, combs, and elastics. She bent her head, grabbed her hair with an elastic hairband and fastened it in a lopsided knot on the top of her head.

  I imitated my friend and pulled my locks into a silly topknot.

  We dove into her collection of paint creating two gals I didn’t recognize. I refused false eyelashes but opted for a pencil-drawn cat’s eye look. With blush, highlight powder, and contouring shadow Lizzy completely changed the shape of her face. My results were not as successful.

  “Let me help you.” She took the highlighting brush from my hand. Using a couple of makeup remover pads she wiped off the corpse-like effect I’d taken ten torturous minutes to apply. With a few flicks of highlighter and well-placed strokes of contour shadow she changed my somewhat roundish face into someone even Nonna wouldn’t have recognized.

  Minutes later two gift-wrapped gals slipped into my car, prepared to talk our way into temporary jobs as magicians’ assistants.

  WonderDog appeared in the window, his bushy brows crinkled in what had come to be his what are they up to and why can’t I go look?

  Chapter 25

  Lizzy and I began our job hunt at the Starfish Cove arena where the Magician’s Fusion would take place. Someone there should be able to point us in the direction of the guy in charge of hiring.

  I pulled into the employees’ parking lot and we hopped out.

  Lizzy strutted toward the door marked private. She was a natural showgirl—I tried to imitate her. I threw back my shoulders and did a shimmy but it didn’t have the same effect.

  “Wait up!” I trotted after her. “How do you do that hubba-hubba walk?”

  “What are you talking about? The little wiggly thing? I was born that way.” She snickered. “You either have it or you don’t.”

  “I’ve got to add some oomph if I’m going to get hired.”

  “You’ll get hired because I’m not going undercover without you.” She put on her thinking face. “Can you pop your hips out? Right and then left and walk as if there are marbles under your feet.”

  Wiggle-walking couldn’t be that hard. I had a PhD from N.Y.U. I focused on the hip thrusts and thought of the imaginary marbles under my shoes. Four steps later it was clear the entire alphabet after my name wouldn’t make a spicy walker out of me.

  Lizzy shook her head. “You may be hopeless. Wait! I have an idea. Try jazz hands.”

  “Jazz hands?”

  She raised her hands—palms facing me—and moved them back and forth to some unheard rhythm. “Not exactly hootchy-kootchy but it has a certain suggestive energy.”

  “That is so not suggestive. I’ll look possessed.”

  We entered the arena. With a finger raised, Lizzy stopped a guy riding a unicycle. “Where would we find out about employment?”

  “The head honcho’s office is down that hall. Name’s Figgis. A decent enough old codger.”

  We followed his directions and came to an open door with a sign that read Manager.

  A chubby fellow sat behind a cluttered desk—he had a barely there comb-over and skin that could use some of Nonna’s miracle cream.

  “Gotta give you gals credit for trying—you look great in those suits—but we don’t need any more Elvis impersonators.”

  “Are they hiring for the Fusion?”

  “The magicians are rehearsing in the staging area. If they don’t take you on come back here. I can use you.” He winked. “Both.”

  As we stepped from Figgis’ office a muscular guy in a black leotard ran up to us, grabbing my arm. “You gals from the agency?”

  Before we could answer he looked us up and down. “Come with me! I’m the one who placed the order. Two of my three assistants walked out this morning. No notice. Not even a goodbye.” He grabbed my arm and I grabbed Lizzy—no need to fake our experience.

  “I’m the Great Valentine. You can call me V. Let’s get you suited up.”

  “Piece of cake,” Lizzy whispered in my ear.

  V speed-walked us into a private staging area behind flimsy black drapes.

  A ten-foot tall silver missile-thingie dominated the space. Shaped like a ginormous tube of lipstick, three thin black felt-like strips folded into the tube running from the top to the bottom—the center strip wider than the sidepieces. It stood on a chrome platform.

  “Your job is to go in the tube and come out alive,” He chuckled. “Pay is one hundred bucks each per show. Your costumes are behind the screen. Blondie, you take the glitter dress and fishnet stockings. Wiggles can take the black body suit and fishnets.”

  The magician stuffed a sheet of paper into Lizzy’s hand and another one into mine. “Standard confidentiality agreements. You talk—we squawk.”

  He handed me a pen. “First and last names.”

  I signed Marilyn Monroe—couldn’t remember if I was Bree or Dee. Lizzy raised an eyebrow but followed suit signing Shirley Temple. We passed them back to V who was shouting orders at a guy carrying a piece of scenery. He grabbed the agreements and the pen, but didn’t look at them. The papers disappeared as quickly as they’d appeared.

  V was moving way too fast for my comfort. “Does this job have anything to do with cannons or getting cut in half?” I asked.

  “Dorrie!” He
yelled, ignoring me. “Got the two replacements. Blondie will be the floating head.”

  A slender dark-haired woman stepped from behind the screen. She wore a sleeveless black bodysuit and fishnet stockings. “In here, girls!”

  Did I just agree to lose my head?

  “I’m the third dame,” Dorrie said, folding the screen around us. “Have you seen the act?”

  Lizzy and I shook our noggins.

  “Shame. It would help if you had.” She flicked her hand at us. “No matter. You’ll catch on.” She rummaged through a rolling metal clothes rack, took down a purple sequined shift and a plastic bag containing fishnet stockings. She handed the costume to me.

  “Thanks. Sure it’ll fit?” I tried to cozy up to her—she might know something we could use.

  “The dress fit the last three floating heads and the fishnets stretch—one size fits all.” She shrugged. “So far, so good.”

  I shuddered certain Dorrie hadn’t bothered to have the germy costume cleaned.

  “How about that Masked Dangler challenge?” I asked, hoping it sounded like small talk. The sooner we got the information we came for, the sooner we could skip the costumes and boogie—as Grams would say.

  My question struck Dorrie dumb—but only for an instant. “Listen Blondie, we don’t talk about the Dangler. He was bad news thirty years ago and it’s still considered unlucky to mention his name. We have a saying—Let sleeping danglers lie. If you want to last in the business don’t bring up his name again.”

  Dorrie dug out a scrunched up black jersey and held it up—a bodysuit. She ferretted around and pulled out a second pair of tights.

  She turned on me. “Take my advice. You’re here to work for V. We don’t hire groupies or fans of the dark arts. If you’re stalking the Masked Dangler—walk now and save me the trouble of training you.”

  “Geez!” Lizzy hissed. “Magicians!”

  “We are not magicians,” Dorrie said. “We create illusions that people want to believe. In this case it’s done with that big silver cylinder out there. It’ll make you look like your body is coming apart.”

  She cupped my cheeks in her hands. “Blondie, you’re the face—your head’s going to appear to float through the black opening in the center front. This noodle is gonna glide from the top of the tube to bottom and back up again at V’s command.

  She pointed to Lizzy, “You’re the left-side arms and legs. I take the right side.”

  I cleared my throat. “I’m Olive and this is Lizzy in case you need to identify our bodies.”

  “Not to worry,” Dorrie said. “This is the safest trick in the entire show. V’s performed it thousands of times.” She handed Lizzy the black body suit and pair of fishnet stockings. “Now hurry up and get dressed!”

  We shed our jumpsuits. The air felt chill against my sweaty skin. The fishnet itched my legs but at least the sleeveless A-line dress covered me to my knees. Not about to leave my phone and ID laying about for someone to grab, I fastened the jumpsuit hip belt under the sequined dress—lumpy but passable.

  Lizzy shivered as she yanked the fishnet stockings and the sleeveless body suit into place.

  Hesitantly we stepped from behind the modesty curtain. V grabbed my hand tugging me past the silver cylinder and to stage right.

  Dorrie waved her hand at V. “They need bowing lessons before you tube them.”

  Chapter 26

  “They don’t know how to bow?” V snarled. “We’re not using that agency any more. Dorrie, show them how it’s done.”

  Dorrie strode to where I stood, tugging Lizzy behind her. V’s assistant stood between us. “Only Blondie gets to bow in the tube trick.”

  She pointed to Lizzy. “You and me are never seen. The illusion is her head is floating away from her body. We’re Blondie’s arms and legs. When V pushes her head down to the floor we stick our hands and gams out the slits near the top—then vice-versa.”

  “Question?” I raised my hand like a schoolgirl. “Just how is he going to push my head up and down ten feet?”

  Dorrie gave me a playful nudge. “It would help to know that, huh?” She waggled her finger leading us behind the giant tube.

  “You’re not gonna be standing—you’ll be laying flat on that.” She pointed to a six-foot shelf affixed to the tube at a right angle. “Your head shows through, your body lays flat. The platform is on rollers V operates with his foot. To the audience it looks like he’s moving your head but he’s just pumping the table up and down.”

  So simple it was silly.

  “How you coming with that bowing?” V called.

  “No matter how long we’re married he still manages to dish the stress.” She stood next to me. “You only get one bow. Just bow from the waist with one hand over your middle. Don’t hog the applause. He hates that.”

  “Run us through the trick one more time.” It sounded way too easy.

  Dorrie chuckled. “You sure you’ve worked shows before? You gals couldn’t be any greener.” She counted off on her fingers. “First V makes a big deal out of the cylinder—the audience ooh’s and ah’s. Then Blondie walks on stage. He takes your hand. The cylinder opens down the front—as if something split it with a knife from top to bottom. You step in between the two sections paying no attention to me or your friend—I’ll be on the left half and she’ll be in the right section.”

  Lizzy and I nodded. So far so good.

  “V starts the music and the cylinder closes around you. Quick as a bunny you jump on the hidden shelf and lay flat. Make sure you head sticks out from the minute the cylinder closes. Got it?”

  “And I just stick my head out?”

  “That’s all you have to do—that and smile.”

  “Do I wave?”

  “Geez! No! Your friend and I are your arms and legs. We wave through the splits in the side. You just smile like you’re having the time of your life.”

  I was really glad Kal knew nothing about this—so humiliating.

  “V will tap you with his wand when he’s ready for the stagehands to split open the cylinder. When he taps you, get off the shelf like it’s on fire. There’s a blackout curtain behind you. The only thing the audience will see is you stepping from the cylinder. Whatever you do don’t look at your friend or me—we’ll be hiding in the sides until it’s rolled off stage.”

  It was almost too simple. Should be illegal to charge people for it.

  “The most important thing is the bow. V takes a bunch of bows. Blondie, you take one when he points to you. He’ll let go of your hand and you leave the stage. He gets all the applause.”

  “We’re ready!” Dorrie called. She paraded us back to V.

  Two stagehands opened the tube as if cutting it in half from top to bottom. The right and left sides lay open exposing a dark narrow alcove in each half—the single grooves were more like shadows—the two spaces just large enough to hold a body.

  “Get in!” V pointed at Dorrie. “See how she does it? Once the cylinder is upright I’ll tap it with my wand. You, Wiggles, you hear the tap, you stick out your right arm and right leg through those black felt lined slits. Just wave. That’s all you do.”

  V grabbed my arm. His touch was cold and clammy. “You get the hard part Blondie.” He walked me to the back of the cylinder. “Lay here on your stomach. Poke your head through the cloth.” I did as I was instructed, fascinated that this sham actually worked.

  “Dorrie, Wiggles, get in your sidecars. Cue the music!”

  An eerie tune played from what sounded like a very old CD. I lay on the shelf, arching my neck and readying to poke my head through the felt opening. It was like being in a carwash moving on a conveyor belt.

  I heard Lizzy yelp.

  “You okay?” I screamed. What were they doing to her?

  V slammed his hand over my mouth just before my nose poked through the fabric. “That is your last chance Blondie,” he growled. “One more screw up and you’re out.”

  “Just got scared for a
minute,” Lizzy yelled. “I’m fine!” Her voice sounded muffled.

  The germy sweat from V’s hand gave me the gags. I wanted to wipe my lips but didn’t dare. I closed my eyes and pushed my face through the felt, out the opening as if facing the audience.

  When I opened my eyes, I felt like a funhouse skull on a conveyor belt. There was no way I was going to be able to do this in front of a crowd. What if Jaimie just happened to be in the audience? She’d be teasing me until we were both in our graves and beyond.

  Just as I slid through the felt strips my cell phone rang at my hip.

  V bellowed in anger.

  There was just enough time to watch Dorrie pull Lizzy from the tube, before a pair of powerful hands yanked me back through the felt curtain and off the shelf. One of the stagehands had his hammy mitts on me.

  “Take your friend and go!” V growled. “I’m calling your agency. You couldn’t do worse if you were planted by my competition—not that I have any competition!”

  The illusionist turned an odd shade of reddish green, his fists were clenched, and his eyeballs bulged.

  Lizzy was waiting for me as I rounded the cylinder, my dignity slightly damaged.

  “Gals!” Dorrie called. “Your costumes! I want them back!”

  I didn’t need to be reminded twice. She was welcome to pass them on to the next floating head and sidekick. We slipped behind the privacy curtain, peeled out of the icky fishnets and into our jumpsuits. Never thought I’d welcome the sight of our Elvis duds.

  Infiltrating the magicians’ rehearsal was not the best idea. Next time I’d have a no handy for any of Grams brilliant ideas.

  “Let’s just walk around, keep our ears open and our faces hidden.”

  “Lead on,” Lizzy said. “It can’t get any worse.”

  We circled half of the arena, making our way through stinky pigeon coops, rabbit cages, and sweaty men in wife-beater shirts. We were gingerly treading through a maze of electrical cables when I looked up then blinked twice hoping I wasn’t hallucinating. I wasn’t.

 

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