6
After leaving my mother’s house and dropping José off at Zak’s, I picked up a coffee and danish from Jake’s Deli and drove to Quantum Bay. Strange, I thought as I drove up the driveway: six cars. Something’s up.
A minute later, opening the door to QBL, I could hear animated conversation and raucous laughter.
“Why didn’t you answer your phone?” My father intercepted me halfway across the floor.
“What’s going on?”
“Too late to warn you now,” he said in a hushed voice. “Danny’s magician friend is here.”
I nearly dropped my coffee.
What happened? Did I miss something?
I’d always assumed that everything around this place was methodically orchestrated by my father, but he looked honestly thrown.
“Tyler,” Danny said, spotting me from the break table. She was there with Mohamed, Stewart, Peter, Ishana and—the center of attention—David: tall, handsome, and wearing what looked like an incredibly expensive black suit. “I want you to meet my friend, David.”
“Your friend?” I muttered, completely on autopilot.
David smiled in my direction.
“David, this is Tyler.”
“Good to meet you, Tyler.” David stood and shook my hand. “I understand you’re the secret weapon around here.” David’s voice was full and resonant; his hand conveyed ambition.
My mind was racing. I stared at him, a cow at an oncoming train.
Who flies across the country to visit an old girlfriend? Who flies across the country to visit an old girlfriend and doesn’t expect something for the effort? Did you arrive here yesterday? Stay overnight? Where? Why?
“David was about to tell us the Alexander Church story,” Ishana said, a groupie’s gleam behind black-framed glasses.
“Alexander Church?”
“It’s a show that David produces and stars in,” Danny explained. “It’s actually called David Levinson Presents Alexander Church’s Illusions of Horror.”
“Tyler, check out these pictures.” My father spun a photo album around so I could see it.
“Oh, he doesn’t want to see those,” Danny said.
“Don’t be silly, of course he does.” My father turned to David. “She’s so modest. Has she always been this way?”
“Not always.”
I set my coffee down and looked at one of the eight-by-ten photos. It was of a stone church in bluish fog with a man dressed as Dracula in the foreground—I assumed David. A young woman was kneeling by a gravestone beside him. Her neck was bloody, her blouse was torn, and… I pulled the picture closer. It was Danny.
I unfolded one of the metal chairs and sat down.
“I thought that might get your attention,” my father said. “Weird, huh? Danny, I would never have pictured you doing something like this. But I’m very impressed.”
“I think these photos make it look a lot more dramatic than it really was,” Danny said dismissively.
“This was a production from a few years ago: To the Tomb of the Immortal. Remember it, Danny?” David stared at her pleadingly. “You’re not looking at the pictures—”
“I don’t need to look at the pictures. I was there, wasn’t I?”
My father and I looked up. Danny didn’t seem like the type of person who got upset very easily. Apparently her “friend,” though, had that power.
David put up his hands in surrender.
“Sorry,” Danny said. “It’s just that I’ve seen these photos so many times, and even I can’t imagine what possessed me to do this stuff. Look at the way I’m dressed. I must have been crazy.”
“Well, I remember doing some pretty crazy things when I was in my early twenties,” my father told her wisely. “No photos of it, though.”
“Thank God,” I mumbled.
“David, why don’t you tell us that Alexander Church story?” my father said.
“You sure?”
“Yes, please,” Peter said, “otherwise he’s just going to put us back to work.”
“All right then.” David took center stage at the end of the break table. Those of us in front moved back so the others could see.
“Alexander Church’s Illusions of Horror is a production based on a standard magician’s routine called the Haunted Conjurer. Just dressed up a bit.”
“Who’s the one being modest now?” Danny said.
David smiled, and again I wondered when he had arrived.
“Actually…” David looked at the floor a moment. “I have an even better story for you: a true story. It’s the story of a man who accidentally became one of the world’s greatest magicians.
“You see, anyone can do a trick.” He snapped his fingers and an ace of spades appeared. “But tricks don’t make a magician. A magician is someone who has learned to do something far more powerful. A magician is someone who not only can manipulate what his audience believes, but who can do it within the context of a story. If it’s a story, the audience is doing most of the work for you. We’re all storytellers at heart, and so, in your audience’s heads, your story becomes their story. Throw in a little trickery and, presto, you have a great illusion.”
David paced the floor, brushing back his thick, black hair.
“In the mid-nineteen-twenties, or thereabouts, the great magician Dr. Harlan Tarbell, and a number of other magicians, went to see a play called The Charlatan. The play starred Frederick Tilden as Count Cagliostro, a famous eighteenth-century alchemist, and boasted of having ‘real’ magic. Tarbell and his friends, enjoying the play, had been only mildly impressed right up until the final scene. In the final scene, the count had to prove the authenticity of his powers by demonstrating them under the direct scrutiny of his nemesis, an incredibly infuriating lawyer.
“Tilden, as the count, placed a seed into a handful of sand within a clear flowerpot. He rolled a large sheet of paper into a cone and placed it over the pot. He then began an incantation, but, before he could finish, the lawyer pushed him aside.
“The count, however, acting quickly, managed to pull the cone away and, amazingly, before the lawyer’s and the audience’s eyes, revealed a full grown rosebush.
“Tarbell and the other magicians leapt to their feet, applauding with vigor. How did he do it? And all while under the direct scrutiny of that detestable lawyer! Tilden, they concluded, had to be one of the greatest magicians of all time.
“Following the play, Tarbell and his fellow magicians invited Tilden out to dinner. At dinner, each man, hoping to impress their honored guest, performed a feat of magic. Eventually, they made their way around the table to Tilden, all eyes looking to him with great expectation.
“‘Gentlemen,’ Tilden said with some amusement, ‘you have me all wrong. I do not do tricks. I am merely an actor.’
“Tilden went on to explain that originally he’d had no idea how he was going to pull off the actual magic for his play. And so, out of sheer desperation, he decided to use the other cast members. The man who played the lawyer was actually the one who did most of the work. After all, Tilden explained, who would ever suspect him?
“Well, of course Tarbell and the other magicians felt pretty foolish. But they had also learned something important from the experience. You see, Tilden had done what all great magicians do: he’d created context. He’d told a story, and then let the audience, so eager to employ their own beliefs about the world, fool themselves. Tilden didn’t have to explain that the lawyer was the least likely person to help him; the audience knew that before they sat down. Tilden just took advantage of that fact.
“We all live in the same world, and we all share the same beliefs—at least the most basic ones. Which is why pulling a rabbit out of a hat is magic, and pulling a rabbit out of a hole in the ground is not. We all know the story of hats and we all know the story of rabbits.”
“The more common the object, the more magically powerful it is,” my father said.
David looked at him curiously. Th
en glanced at Danny and smiled.
“That’s correct, Dr. Cipriani,” David said. “And that Common Object Rule can be expanded upon by using personal objects. Observe.” David looked at each of us as if trying to decide who his victim might be. “Tyler, do you remember where you put your coffee cup?”
“It’s right—” I looked at the table.
“Magic,” David said. “Your cup has vanished.”
“You took it.”
“Tyler believes I made his cup disappear. Who here doesn’t believe he believes that? Of course you do. Why wouldn’t you? So, instantly, I have manipulated all of your beliefs. You might not even have noticed he had a cup of coffee, but now you not only believe it existed, you believe it has disappeared.”
“You took it,” I said.
“Oh, and right—you all believe that Tyler believes I took it.”
“But you did. So what we all believe is true.”
“Not true—just what you believe is true. And that’s all that matters. Your cup is over on the rack beside your dad, by the way.”
My father looked to his left, furrowed his brow, then handed me my cup. He turned to David. “I should probably warn you, you have a pretty tough act to follow. Danny turned a kitten into a softball.”
“So I’ve heard. Well, I guess I better speed things up.” David dusted off his sleeves and adjusted his collar. “Dr. Cipriani, do you happen to know what time it is?”
“It’s—” My father looked at his wrist, furrowed his brow. “You stole my watch?”
“Why would I do such a thing? Especially given that I have my own.” He pulled his sleeve back and revealed two watches: one silver, one gold. “Yours wouldn’t happen to be a gold Bulova, would it?”
“That’s mine.”
“Now let’s not jump to conclusions,” David said. “Remember, I’m demonstrating how easy it is to manipulate your beliefs. You believed your watch was on your wrist, but, as it turns out, it was actually on mine. So, maybe all we need to do is…” David removed the watch, dangled it in front of us, did a flourish of his hands, and the watch disappeared. “There, problem solved.” He looked at us as if bewildered by our bewilderment. “Oh, right, I have to ask again. Dr. Cipriani, do you happen to know what time it is?”
My father pulled his sleeve back slowly. “How the hell—” He tapped on the watch’s crystal as if to confirm it was real.
We all clapped.
“But that’s impossible,” Stewart said. “How could you have gotten the watch from where you’re standing, all the way to Dr. Cipriani—and onto his wrist?”
“Remember, it’s all about what you believe. You’re the ones deceiving yourselves.”
“I think you’re going to have to explain this one,” my father said.
“I simply did what all great magicians do. I did what Tilden did.”
“You used other cast members?” My father looked at Danny in the chair next to him. “You’re a pickpocket? But no one’s that good, are they? Are you?” He stared at her. “Really? But that still doesn’t explain how you could’ve passed the watch back and forth to David.”
“We see what we expect to see, not necessarily what’s there,” David said. “Our world is about what we believe, not necessarily what’s true. But, before you press on, be aware that the moment you know how I did it, the magic will be gone. The magician never gets to see his own magic.”
“That sounds kind of familiar.” My father looked at Danny.
“Danny’s been telling me about some of your philosophical conversations,” David said. “So, working with her, I combined a little of that with a lesson I used to give to theater classes: The Psychology of Magic and Showmanship.”
“I hadn’t realized we were in class. But I like that.” My father looked around the room. “Okay, who’s figured it out?”
Mohamed shrugged.
“Mirrors?” Stewart said.
My father frowned.
“Don’t think in terms of the elaborate,” David said. “The simplest answer is usually correct. Consider what you believed about the watch each time you saw it.”
“Or, you could just tell us,” Peter said.
“What fun would that be?” David put his hand on a bundle of cables sticking out of the back of the electronics rack. “Isn’t that what you do around here, figure things out?”
“That’s true,” my father said. “And speaking of, I believe we all have work to get back to. David, we all thank you for that excellent presentation. And, if you’re interested, and if Danny doesn’t mind too much, I’d like to give you a tour of Quantum Bay.”
David looked at Danny.
“You’re the one who wanted to see what was happening out here.”
“A tour sounds wonderful,” David said. “And I do apologize for showing up out of the blue like this, but since it became obvious that Danny wasn’t going to invite me, I thought I’d invite myself.”
“He just showed up on my doorstep,” Danny explained.
“This morning?” I asked.
“Yes,” Danny said. “Early this morning.”
I nodded.
David looked at me curiously.
****
Before my father got started with David’s tour, he sent Ishana, Danny and I up to the Turret to go over the Prometheus documents. Danny was along, ostensibly, to take notes.
“You see?” Ishana said to Danny, referring to the sun’s rays beaming down through the opening of the spiral stairs. We were in the theater room below the Turret. “It looks like a stairway to heaven.”
“I love that song,” Danny said. “Stairway to Heaven.”
“Tyler, you should play that for her on your guitar.”
I started up the stairs.
“You play?” Danny asked.
“I do, but all my guitars are at my mother’s.” I hated to disappoint her, but I had no intention of serenading her, Kumbaya-style, with Ishana as our chaperone. Besides, all my guitars really were at my mother’s.
I took a long look at Danny. I had been so distracted by David’s unbidden visit this morning that I hadn’t stopped to appreciate how beautiful she looked in her long black dress. Actually, she matched David perfectly. I clanked up the rest of the way.
“So, why do you think your father’s up to something?” Danny asked.
“Because he always is,” I said. “Right now he’s picking David’s brain.”
“About what?”
“You,” Ishana and I said at the same time. I looked down the stairs at them.
“Why?” Danny asked.
“Because that’s what he does.”
“I love this office,” Danny said the moment she stepped off the stairs. “And it always smells so nice.”
“I know.” Ishana’s head appeared at floor level. “It’s the wood.”
The Turret, an octagonally shaped room with windows facing in every direction, had cedar walls and a dome ceiling that reminded me of the upside-down hull of a ship. Probably something to do with my father’s upside-down way of thinking.
Danny spun the brass telescope around and aimed it southwest beyond the bay, no doubt checking out the dunes at the foot of the gray Atlantic. I tried to think of something clever to say about her view, but all I could think about was mine.
“Tyler,” Ishana said, seating herself at the oak table in front of my father’s oak desk. “Here are the documents your dad wants us to go over.” She pushed a stack of spiral-bound reports in my direction.
“Oh come on, he just sent us up here to get us out of the way.”
“But why?” Danny abandoned the telescope to join us at the table.
“Maybe he’s curious,” I said, “as to why an old boyfriend would fly clear across the country to visit his ex-girlfriend’s place of work.”
“David’s just curious about Quantum Bay. You have to admit it’s a pretty interesting place.” Danny rested her elbows on the table, her chin on her folded fingers. “It was surprising
, though, to find him on my doorstep this morning. I mean, I expected him to visit at some point, but…”
“When’s he leaving?” I asked.
“This afternoon.”
“He flew all the way out from Las Vegas to fly back the same afternoon?”
“He has shows to do. Besides, it’s not that bad—he has his own jet.”
“But he’s not even your boyfriend. That doesn’t seem weird?” I studied her eyes—intensely blue, utterly sincere. I turned to Ishana. “You don’t think that’s weird?”
“I think it’s sweet. They’re exceptionally good friends.”
“It’s not sweet. It’s weird. And showing up without notice—the man’s a stalker.”
“David’s not a stalker.” Danny laughed. “He’s like an older brother to me, that’s all.”
“Well, he’s obsessed. Aren’t exes supposed to hate each other?”
“You mean like your mom and your dad?” Ishana asked.
“Well—” She was right. “Those two are certainly weird.”
“Certainly are.” Ishana tapped on the stack of reports in front of me. “We should probably start going through this stuff.”
I opened the binder on top and flipped through its pages, but before I could come up with a wisecrack about how pointless this was, we heard voices from downstairs.
My father was telling David something about BART, his Erector Set robot in the library, though I couldn’t quite make out the words. Their voices grew louder, and soon they were in the theater room, directly below us.
“They must be busy,” my father said at the foot of the spiral stairs. “I don’t hear any talking.”
Heavy footsteps on metal rungs traced his progress toward us as Ishana frantically opened one of the reports. She looked at me imploringly.
“Will you stop?” I said. “He knows we’re not working.”
“Get anything done?” my father asked—the captain stepping onto the bridge.
“Yes,” I informed him. “The entire project is done.”
My father smiled crookedly.
“What a wonderful view,” David said, walking around the perimeter of the Turret. “Though it must be difficult to get anything done up here. I’d be daydreaming all day.”
Magic, Machines and the Awakening of Danny Searle Page 7