08 Illusion

by Frank Peretti

  Folks in front were bending way down, marveling at the gap appearing between her feet and the hardwood. Some were leaning right and left, trying to see wires.

  She was off the floor by two or three inches, still rising, and seemed as astonished as anyone, her eyes wide, her whole face sparkling like that of a child just learning to ride a bike. She squealed with nervousness, with delight—a sound Dane could have recognized across a huge room full of partying people.

  Ten inches. A foot. Two feet. She bent her knees, pulled her feet up, and hovered there, laughing and hooting along with the crowd, as amazed as they were. About three feet above the floor she began to rotate, eyes passing over the crowd as they cheered and she waved at them. It was becoming a real party.

  “She didn’t do this yesterday,” said Arnie, eyes locked on her.

  “Maybe she’s never done it,” said Dane.

  I can’t believe this! I’m doing it! I’m really doing it! I’m crazy! “Hi, down there!”

  She waved and hollered at them and they waved and hollered back. As easily as climbing a step she rose higher, then kicked her feet and did a somersault. The audience wasn’t having half the fun she was. Such an incredible sensation, like moving through some kind of stuff that held her up while she, and herself, and lots of other Eloises pressed and pushed and bore her weight from … well, from somewhere outside. Toe-Tall-Lee Freaky!

  Was somebody smoking in here? She could smell something burning.

  From somewhere came the crash of shattering dishes and she heard people screaming. It stole her attention. She looked and nearly lost hold, wobbling in midair like a beginner on skates, dropping several inches until she grabbed hold again. Concentrate! Stay with it!

  Corporal James Dose was standing, raising a glass of wine for a toast when his shoulder exploded, spattering blood on the restaurant table, his father, his mother, and his new fiancée. He lurched forward and fell across the table, scattering dishes, splattering food, smashing the centerpiece. The restaurant erupted in screams and panic. Patrons dropped to the floor and cowered under chairs and tables. Heads spun, waiters scrambled, the hostess got on the phone as she crouched behind her desk. Where is the shooter? everyone wondered. Where is the shooter?

  chapter

  * * *

  17

  Miss Eloise Kramer, may I present Mr. Dane Collins.”

  “Hello.” She managed to get that much out as they shook hands and settled into their chairs. Her hands were visibly shaking and she knew her face was flushed. She’d come in for a soft landing, but inside she was still flying, her mind like a picture book in a strong wind, and now she was face-to-face with … well, she couldn’t explain it, but he was more than just the man sitting at the table across from her. She couldn’t help but stare at him, which had to be okay because he was sure staring at her.

  Well, Dane, you’d better say something. “That was quite a performance.”

  “Whoa, thank you, thank you!” She looked at her hand. “Whoo! I’m still shaking!”

  From across the room the impression, the illusion, the … okay, the delusion … was somewhat deniable. He could attribute it to the lighting in the room, the distance, perhaps his age, his eyes, the tendency of young girls to sound alike when excited, all the details his mind could have altered to match the template in his memory. But close up, right across the table, the sound of her voice, the laughter in her eyes, the funny expressions …

  There must have been too long a silence. Arnie piped up, “I was … um … I was here yesterday, as you know, and I saw your performance then, and I thought—no, I knew—that Mr. Collins would be interested in meeting you.” Now Arnie looked at him, a clear and forceful cue.

  The hobo makeup and outfit gave him room to imagine this girl as the one he first saw at the Spokane fair with long, blond tresses floating in the breeze, the quintessential surfer girl/farmer’s daughter/flower child. He could see this girl dressed in that girl’s blouse and jeans and, oh, yes, the ankle bracelet with two silver doves worn over her white crew sock. It looked a little goofy on that day, but he loved it about her and forty years later she was wearing it again … on the day he lost her.

  Arnie was staring at him.

  “Umm …” He had to clear his throat. “That’s an interesting name, uh, Eloise Kramer.”

  Her eyebrows perked up and her eyes widened into that sweet, innocent look he’d enjoyed every time he saw it. “Really?”

  “The, umm, the … well, you have a very unique approach.”

  Weird feeling. Like she’d hit a nice grounder into left field, had rounded first, and this guy, this Dane Collins, was second base. Safe! That’s what she’d be if she could only get there. “Thanks for all that great advice.”

  “Huh? Oh! Yeah, sure thing. It was pretty cold out there.”

  “Yeah. Sure was. And thanks again for the hat and sweater.”

  “It was a … it was a good meeting we had.”

  What was it about this guy that was so … stable, like a rock in a river? She wanted to come right out and ask him, Do you know Arthur Whitacre? Have you ever been to the Wooly Acres Ranch? Are you really sitting there or are you just another delusion from a past I never had, or did I really have it? Just what is the connection here?

  The only question she could think of built up inside her and she blurted out, “Who are you, anyway?”

  Wild. He didn’t seem to know.

  “I’m …” Was? “I’m in … I was in … show business. I was a professional magician and producer.”

  Arnie piped up again. “He’s on hiatus from the stage now, but thinking he’d like to do some producing, maybe some managing, you know, develop new talent.”

  Her eyes brightened at that. “Oh! And here you are, talking to me.”

  “That’s right,” said Arnie, who looked at Dane again.

  Here I am, talking to you.

  Dane wanted to talk to her, talk with her, stay right there and talk about magic, performance, the heart of it all. They could go on to talk about life with its turns, twists, ups, and downs and laugh at how events could turn in such unbelievable ways. Her eyes would sparkle the way he’d grown to love, her smile would shatter his fears and self-doubts, her voice … well, he’d be able to hear it again. He’d sit here all night just for that.

  Oh, brother. He broke his gaze and let his eyes sink to the table, his brow resting on his interlaced fingers. Dane, you are one sick individual.

  He looked up. She was hanging on the edge, hungry for his next utterance. “But … I’m sorry.”

  She looked at him blankly. So did Arnie.

  “I … I think you have a real talent and you’ll go a long way, but I … I just can’t participate in your career. Keep going, kid, you’re going to do great.” He rose, grabbed his coat.

  Oh, the tragedy in her eyes! The letdown! He couldn’t look at her.

  Arnie was aghast. He was showing it with everything he had.

  “We have to go,” Dane told him, and didn’t wait for an answer. He just headed for the door.

  Arnie wanted to talk, of course, but Dane just kept walking, getting some city blocks between them and that girl.

  “I absolutely cannot believe what I just saw back there! That, that was the most astounding talent, the best fertile soil for development, the best business opportunity you could have asked for. Dane, stop and talk to me!”

  They were almost to the car. He felt safe enough, so he stopped. “Eloise Kramer.”

  Arnie just stared at him. “What?”

  “Eloise was Mandy’s middle name, remember? She was named after her mother, Eloise, and Kramer was her mother’s maiden name. She’s named herself after her mother, or Mandy’s mother, or, or something!”

  Arnie’s jaw dropped, his hands raised. He was at a total loss. “Are you nuts?”

  Dane started walking again. “Yeah, yeah, I think I am.” He stopped walking and went nose-to-nose with his manager. “You didn’t see that back the
re?”

  “See what?”

  He looked at Arnie just long enough to know he was going to get nowhere and kept walking. “No, I suppose not.”

  Arnie stayed right on his heels, then alongside, pushing himself, almost loping to keep up. “Hey, come on, cut me some slack here.”

  Dane halted and got in Arnie’s face again. “You saw it! You saw who she looks like.”

  Arnie must have understood. He grimaced as he looked away, searching the dark night for a glimmer of sanity in this nutty world.

  “Yeah, deny it.”

  Dane tried to keep walking, but Arnie headed him off. “All right, all right. I saw … I saw a kind of resemblance, sure. But is that the girl’s fault? Is it?”

  “Who’s blaming her?”

  Arnie looked up and down the street for his next thought. He found it. “All right, listen, you’ve suffered a great loss. I understand, I respect that, I feel for you. But I’m not responsible for who you think the girl looks like or how you feel about it—and let me tell you something, neither is she! No matter how you try to justify it, that was rude back there! It was thoughtless and it was mean and that poor girl did not deserve one bit of it. What does she know about your grief? Why make her suffer for it? She worked hard, she put it all on the line, she totally wowed that audience, and you just threw her on the floor! It was a bad move! Bad move! And let me tell you something else, Mr. Big Shot with a screw loose, somebody’s gonna sign that girl and it could’ve been you! Heck, I’ll sign her!”

  Dane turned aside and let a little reason sink in. “This has not been easy.”

  “Yeah, you’re telling me. I can’t take you anywhere.”

  “Maybe you should sign her.”

  “Maybe I will.” Arnie took a moment to fidget, look up and down the street again, cool his jets. “But I’m not blind. You’re the one she wanted to see. You have the connection, whatever it is, I don’t know. I think she’d rather work with you. And think about it. She’s up here, you’re up here, I’m heading back to Vegas tomorrow. I don’t want to pull her out of her neighborhood before she’s ready, and you’re the only one who’s gonna know when she’s ready.”

  “So now it’s all on me.”

  “You bet it is. It’s all yours, baby. You made the mess, you clean it up.”

  “Well, did you get her number or anything?”

  “That was gonna be part of the meeting you walked out of.”

  Dane could only whistle out a sigh and rub his fingers through his hair.

  “Dane, this girl, backed up by everything you are and everything you know, I guarantee she’ll go places. She could do a solo act, you could put together a whole new show featuring the two of you, kind of a brand-new Dane and Man——I just walked off a cliff, didn’t I?”

  “Even as we speak.”

  “Sorry.”

  Dane mellowed and gave Arnie a nearly imperceptible smile. “You do try, Arnie, you do try.”

  Arnie only shook his head. “One of us has to.”

  Dane slapped a hand on his shoulder. “Guess I just need some time.”

  “Yeah, but don’t take forever.”

  McCaffee’s was a quiet place with no customers there, the doors locked, most of the lights out, the ceiling fans motionless. Roger and Abby were turning out lights, putting chairs up on the tables, restocking the coffee urns, replenishing the towels in the restrooms …

  … and waiting for her.

  She remained on the same chair at the same table, her hat at her elbow, Mr. Harrington’s business card in her fingers, trying not to feel lonely and wondering why she did.

  “Yerrrr OUT!” she muttered.

  Yep. Rounded first, headed for second, second got up, and walked out. Tagged. Third out. Game over.

  She had such a great night. She did so well. The most amazing things happened, things that astounded even her. The crowd loved it. Roger and Abby loved it and told her so.

  So why did he leave?

  She came so close to something, as if she were in a big maze and for one second she saw a glimmer of light from the opening, but now she couldn’t find it no matter how hard she looked.

  Or … as if she were trying to pluck her keys from the very edge of a sidewalk grate and they slipped off the tips of her fingernails and fell the rest of the way down. She provided the sound, “Ker-sploosh!”

  Or … as if she knew the answer to a question on a quiz show, had known it all her life, but it just wouldn’t come to her when she really needed it and then the buzzer sounded and the host said, I’m sorry, your time is up.

  Or … as if she were trying to remember where she saw a pair of pruners so she could go get them. She could remember them sitting on top of a can but she couldn’t remember, for the life of her, where the can was, or what kind of can it was, or how long ago she saw it, if she did, or whether she just dreamed it.

  The frustration! “Aaarrrggh!”

  Roger wanted to go home. He touched her on the shoulder. “Why don’t you just go find the guy? The least he should do is give you a chance.”

  She’d written DANE COLLINS on the back of Mr. Harrington’s business card. She looked at it again for the umpteenth time and considered out loud, “I need a car.”

  In his bedroom, Dane stared at Dr. Kessler’s business card lying on the nightstand. His hand came one inch from picking up the telephone and dialing, but then he came up with a good excuse: it was too late in the evening and he’d only get an answering machine.

  So, leave a message.

  Naw …

  He flopped on the bed, trying to be honest with himself. He had to get on with the grieving. He had to let her go. He couldn’t go on painting her face on every young girl he encountered.

  Oh, come on, it’s just that one girl.

  So what? It was still … warped, that’s what it was. Was this where dirty old men came from?

  I’ll call in the morning.

  The Division of Motor Vehicles examiner behind the counter was nice enough. She handed Eloise the list of requirements to get an Idaho driver’s license, all of which Eloise could not meet, and then smiled and said she was sorry, Eloise would have to come back when she could provide …

  Proof of Idaho residency

  Proof of age and identity

  Acceptable legal-presence documents

  Social Security number

  Blah-blah-blah

  So Eloise, printed government info in hand, backtracked along the line of folks who’d been waiting behind her, all of whom existed as real people in this world and probably would get what they came for.

  Sometimes she just wanted to scream.

  “Eloise?”

  Now, that was new: somebody out in the middle of everywhere calling her name. She paused just short of the front door and looked.

  It was Pamela the professional lady, still looking professional! No problem remembering her. Eloise had transferred her driver’s license from her handbag into the box made from cards, and then back to her handbag, one of her first big triumphs at McCaffee’s. Hmph. Her driver’s license. How was that for irony?

  Pamela strode right up, all confidence. “You look like you’ve had to deal with the bureaucracy!”

  Well, now. What to say? How much to say? “I was trying to get my driver’s license so I can drive a car. So I can even buy a car.”

  “You don’t have a driver’s license?”

  “Umm, I don’t have a lot of things. I was—” What’s the going lie these days?

  But Pamela held up a hand to stop her. “No, you don’t have to tell me. Suffice it to say you don’t have the necessary documents.” Pamela prodded her toward the door and said in a lowered voice, “It’s lucky I saw you. Let’s talk outside.”

  Pamela gave Eloise a lift to an inviting, neatly landscaped little house one block off Sherman Avenue. A sign hung on the front porch: SEAMUS A. DOWNEY, ATTORNEY AT LAW. She led Eloise through the front door and into a reception area that used to be the liv
ing room. “Have a seat. I’ll let Mr. Downey know you’re here.”

  Besides Pamela’s reception corner, the room had a couch, a recliner, two plastic stackable chairs, a coffee table with old magazines, and a struggling ficus in a ceramic pot. A Hispanic lady with two squirming toddlers occupied the couch. The recliner looked inviting, but taking that chair would be like taking the bigger half of a shared candy bar. She sat in one of the plastic stackables while Pamela went behind her desk.

  “Is this going to cost very much?” Eloise asked.

  Pamela only smiled. “I don’t think that’ll be a problem.” She picked up her telephone and had a quick, quiet exchange with “Mr. Downey” regarding a “Miss Eloise Kramer,” who was there to see him. Eloise figured the Big Guy had to be behind the door that used to lead to a den or bedroom. She could hear voices talking in there. “Mr. Downey is with a client, but he’ll be finished real soon.”

  Eloise settled in and smiled at the Hispanic lady. “Hi.”

  The Hispanic lady only half smiled back and wouldn’t meet her eyes after that. The kids were getting tired of their toys—a Barbie rip-off and a GI Joe without an arm—and looking for trouble.

  Mr. Downey’s door opened and a steely-eyed, Middle Eastern guy stepped out, a manila envelope in his hand and a guarded smile on his face. Behind him, Eloise guessed, was Mr. Downey, in a gray suit coat and blue shirt with no tie. He was so young he surprised her. Dark, wavy hair, quite good-looking. He shook hands with the Middle Eastern guy and the man got out of there in a hurry, stashing the manila envelope under his jacket.

  Mr. Downey looked at Eloise and smiled disarmingly. “Eloise?”

  Eloise almost rose from her chair, but directed an indicating finger toward the Hispanic lady.

  “She’s waiting for her husband,” said Pamela. “You can go first.”

  The chair in front of Mr. Downey’s desk was far more comfortable.

  “So,” said Mr. Downey, slipping behind his desk like a cool dude slipping into a sports car, “Pam tells me you’re quite the magician.”

  Nice opening. “I’m glad she thinks so.”