Cocktales

by The Cocky Collective

  Removing it, I handed the rag back to the red head then unfolded the paper so everybody could see. A drawing of a pineapple was revealed and Ben swore some more.

  “Check your pocket, buddy,” I said, a grin tugging at the edges of my mouth. I fucking loved this part. Ben slid his hand in his pocket, coming up empty. “It’s gone,” he breathed.

  I held up the drawing. “Is this what you drew?”

  He nodded fervently. “It’s not just what I drew, that’s my drawing…how the hell did you…”

  I shot him a wink then raised my hands in the air. “I give you the beauty of illusion, ladies and gents.” They all started clapping and whistling, while a bunch of people came forward to drop some cash in my hat. They had no clue how much I needed it.

  After a minute the crowd dispersed and I picked up my hat, folding it in half and shoving it in my backpack. When I glanced up only one person remained and a grin tugged at my mouth.

  “You wanna go grab a drink with me?” I asked, eyeing her.

  She checked her watch. “I’m on my lunch break. I have to be back at the office in forty minutes.”

  “I’ll make sure you’re back in thirty-five.”

  “I’m involved. With a person. Who is my boyfriend . . .” she went on, then cringed. It came out awkward, like she was trying to convince herself that spending time with me was a bad idea. “Not that I’m implying that you’re inferring anything, I just like to be honest about statuses.”

  I wasn’t an idiot. I knew what people saw when they looked at me. Tattoos, baggy jeans, scuffed boots and the premature grey patches under my eyes that spoke of living rough and too little sleep. By contrast, this chick was nothing like me. Maybe that’s why I liked her.

  “I’m not asking to get hitched. Just one drink,” I cajoled. “What’s the worst that could happen?”

  I saw her lips twitch and knew she wanted to smile. Yeah, she was charmed. How could she not be? I was a charming bastard when the mood took me, even if I did look like a street thug.

  “Okay, fine,” she relented. “No need to invoke Dr Pepper. Just one drink though.”

  “Just one drink,” I said and held my arm out. She hesitated a long moment then carefully took it. “Now I’m in the mood for some cola. Did I just subconsciously suggest that to myself or did you?”

  She smiled and let out a small giggle. “You do know Dr Pepper isn’t technically a cola, right?”

  “I did not,” I grinned.

  “Well, legally speaking, it isn’t,” she went on, her face animated. “Up until the 1960’s the drink was confined to the South and Southwest, because Coca-Cola and Pepsi had already built their respective networks of independent bottlers, and those bottlers held the exclusive contracts to turn the syrups into colas and distribute nationwide. In order to get around this, there was a federal court ruling in 1963 that declared Dr Pepper’s unique flavor marked it as not actually a cola product, hence allowing nationwide distribution. Much to Coke and Pepsi’s dismay, obviously.”

  “Obviously,” I echoed.

  Seriously, where had this chick come from? Who got this jazzed up about the definition of cola? I was in love already.

  A moment of quiet passed between us as I led her to a decent looking cocktail bar and opened the door. She stepped through, casting her gaze to me over her shoulder as I followed her inside.

  “You’re not going to tell me why you wouldn’t pick me to volunteer for your trick, are you?”

  I pulled out a stool by the bar and gestured for her to sit. “Why do you want to know?”

  She chewed on her lip. “I don’t really like not knowing things.”

  I glanced at her mouth then back up to her eyes. “Yeah, I got that.”

  “Is it because of my job?”

  “Your job?”

  “You asked me what I did for a living, and after I answered you seemed to decide definitively that you didn’t want me for the trick,” she explained.

  I rubbed at my jaw. “Tricks like the one I did today work on suggestibility, and some people are more suggestible than others. There isn’t one simple answer as to how I determine a person’s suggestiveness. It’s more a collection of factors.”

  “Such as?”

  I chuckled. “You’re not letting this go, are ya?”

  She smiled and shook her head. It was cute. I let out a deliberating breath and leisurely let my eyes run over her. She really was nice to look at, and the sexiest part was she didn’t even know it. “Well, in your case it was a matter of not being nervous enough. Usually, when I single people out, particularly in an environment where they have to come up on stage, they get nervous. It makes them a whole helluva lot more suggestible than a calm person. You were too calm for me to suggest anything to you, because you were far too absorbed with curiosity about my tricks to be nervous about being put on the spot. It’s also the reason why sociopaths don’t make for good volunteers. They don’t get nervous,” I joked and she paled.

  “I’m not a sociopath,” she said fervently.

  Christ, now I’d offended her. “I know that. That wasn’t what I was saying. I’ve had my fair share of experience with head cases to know you’re not one of them,” I told her, my voice unexpectedly sincere.

  She studied me a moment, and it wasn’t often I felt like someone was really seeing me, but right then it felt like she did. Her expression turned a little sad. “Yeah, tell me about it.”

  I eyed her. “Your sister or your mom?” A pause as I took in her expression. “No, wait, your old man?”

  She sucked in a breath. “How did you…”

  I tapped the side of my head. “I see more than most people, Janie.”

  Now she gasped. “I never told you my name.”

  Reaching forward, I picked up the lanyard that hung around her neck and flipped it over. “Pretty easy to figure out when it’s right in front of me,” I smiled, allowing my knuckles to skim her be-sweatered chest ever so slightly. I thought I saw the tiniest tremble go through her.

  She put her hand to her forehead and rolled her eyes at herself. “Duh. I’m an idiot.”

  I shot her a perceptive look. “We both know that’s not true.”

  For the second time she blushed at me. I liked it. Turning to grab the barman’s attention, I ordered a beer then looked to Janie. She fiddled with the hem of her sweater, glancing overhead at the cocktail menu. I knew she’d made her choice when she sat up straighter. “I’ll have a margarita.”

  I smiled. “Letting loose, huh?”

  “If you think one margarita is letting loose, you should come to my knitting group sometime,” she replied.

  “Oh yeah? You like to get tipsy while making mittens and shit?”

  She shook her head. “Well, I don’t actually knit, but anyway, that’s a whole other story. The point is, I’m tall. It takes a lot more than this to get me drunk,” she said as the barman got to work on our drinks. I leaned my elbow on the counter and studied her. I had to admit, she had me intrigued. There was this mixture of innocence and worldliness about her that appealed to me. When the barman set her cocktail down in front of her, I watched as she took a sip, bringing the salted rim to her lips. She tipped her tongue to it ever so slightly and my balls stiffened.

  Quit looking at her mouth, ya perv.

  I cleared my throat. “So, you like being an accountant?”

  She shrugged and set her glass down. “I know what you’re going to say, it’s unusual for a woman to pursue a math based career.”

  I frowned at her sudden defensiveness. “That’s not what I was gonna say at all. In fact, the whole ‘girls don’t do well at math’ thing is a form of cognitive bias.” She wore an interested expression so I explained further. “If you tell someone that the majority of people fail a certain subject, then that person is already more likely to fail because the idea has been planted in their noggin. It’s what they call a stereotype threat. There’s this study I read about once, where they took two groups of
men and women and gave them a math test. The first group was told that men usually outperform women in the test, and the second was told that both genders typically performed equally well. You wanna guess what the outcome was?”

  Janie’s eyes lit up. “The women performed worse in the first group and better in the second. I’ve read that paper. “Stereotype Threat and Women’s Math Performance” by Spencer, Steele and Quinn, 1998.”

  She paused then, looking embarrassed that she knew all the specifics. I thought it was awesome. Shooting her a wide smile, I clinked my glass to hers, “See, I knew there was a reason I liked you.”

  She glanced at the bar top. “I read. A lot. I read a lot of things.”

  “Yeah? Me, too.”

  For a second we just smiled at one another. Then Janie asked a question. Actually, she whispered it, first glancing from left to right as though someone might be listening in. “Are you a member of The Magic Circle?”

  This surprised a laugh out of me. “You’ve heard of The Magic Circle?”

  “Of course,” she answered like it was obvious. “I thought you must be a member since you won’t tell me all the reasons why I’m not suggestible enough for your tricks. Each member of the organization undertakes an oath not to reveal their magical secrets to anybody except for other members under pain of expulsion from the circle.”

  “Where’d you hear that?” I grinned.

  “I read it on Wikipedia,” she answered simply. “It all sounds very exciting, in my opinion, like Harry Potter or something. You should apply to join.”

  “Nah, too much like a cult for my liking. Besides, I’m too cool for that shit. The circle is full of stuffy Brits.”

  Janie giggled, a wide smile on her face. She was too fucking cute when she smiled like that. I leaned a little closer and elbowed her in the arm. “Hey, I know I said I wasn’t asking to get hitched, but you ever picture yourself marrying a guy from Boston?”

  I know, I was a shameless flirt.

  Janie inhaled a sharp breath and grew flustered as she straightened in her seat. “Um…I…I don’t think so.”

  I lifted my beer and took a swig. “No?”

  She shook her head, her gaze focused intently on her margarita now.

  “Well, maybe it won’t be to me, but I can definitely see that for you. There’s a big, manly Bostonian in your future, Janie Morris, you mark my words.” I was teasing her now, but it was fun. I liked seeing her blush.

  She shifted a little. “So, um, what’s your favorite cognitive bias?” she asked and I chuckled loudly.

  “That your way of changing the subject, sweetheart?”

  She didn’t answer my question, instead she kept on talking. “I think mine has to be the Dunning-Kruger effect.”

  “Oh yeah?”

  Janie nodded. “It relates to how the less we know about a certain topic or skill, the better we think we are at it. The more we learn about things, the more we realize just how little our knowledge base actually is. I find it fascinating. Like, you get all these teenagers playing video games set in warzones, and the games teach little to nothing about actual combat, yet you’ll get all these gamers going around thinking they could be real snipers, or dispose of bombs, or take down a terrorist organization. I remember when I used to spend the weekends playing Street Fighter when I was growing up. I actually felt a little like I could kick someone’s ass at the end. In reality all I was adept at was tapping buttons at an alarmingly speedy rate,” she finished.

  “So, illusory superiority, right?”

  “Right!” Janie exclaimed, a grin taking shape. “Now tell me yours.”

  I rubbed at my chin, thinking about it. Seriously, I know I joked about it earlier, but what exactly would it take to get this woman to hitch a ride to Vegas with me and get married? What’s your favorite cognitive bias had to be the best conversation starter I’d come across in a while.

  “You ever heard of the Just World Hypothesis?” I asked and Janie shook her head. “It’s like in the movies, where everyone always gets what they deserve in the end. People think that the world is ultimately just, so that when something bad happens we can say that person deserved it. That their previous actions were the cause and therefore they only got what was coming to them. In real life, though? Well, we’re all just a bunch of monkeys flinging our shit around and there’s no moral to the story. A lot of the time bad stuff happens for absolutely no reason at all.”

  Suddenly I was staring glumly into my beer, realizing I’d just depressed the fuck out of myself, and probably Janie, too.

  “Sorry. Now I’m making your fun margarita hour into dreary Tuesday.”

  “No, no,” Janie was quick to reassure me. “I actually find you incredibly fascinating and engaging.” Right after she said it she clamped her hand over her mouth as though embarrassed. “Oh my God. I didn’t mean to say that out loud.”

  I winked at her. “I thought you were too tall to get tipsy off one cocktail?”

  “I’m not too big to admit I was wrong,” she responded with a self-deprecating smile.

  “Will do you something for me?”

  She eyed me curiously. “What?”

  “Come see my show tonight.”

  Janie glanced away and started rifling through her purse for something. “Uh, well, I have plans tonight. With the person,” she mumbled.

  “The person?”

  “With which I am involved. The boyfriend.”

  “That’s cool. Bring him with you.”

  “I don’t think…”

  “Give me your number and I’ll text you the address,” I cut her off before she could finish.

  “I don’t own a cell phone.”

  “Why not?”

  She stuck out her chin. “I don’t believe in them.”

  God, this woman, could she be any cuter? “You know what, I’m gonna use that one sometime. I don’t own a car. Maybe if I go around telling everyone it’s because I don’t believe in them they’ll think I’m enlightened instead of broke as fuck.”

  Janie barked a loud laugh and she slid a bill onto the counter. “I really do have to get back to work now,” she said, wiping tears from her eyes as I picked up the money and placed it carefully back her in hand. She jumped a little when my fingers brushed hers.

  “Drink’s on me,” I told her.

  We shared a look and then she withdrew her hand. “It was a pleasure to meet you…oh crappers, I just realized I don’t even know your name,” she said in horror, like she’d been incredibly rude not to ask.

  I gave her a warm look. “My name’s Jay Fields, and it was a pleasure to meet you, too, Janie Morris.”

  Her gaze drifted over my face, and for once I couldn’t tell what someone else was thinking. Maybe I’d been too distracted by all that gorgeous, curly red hair. It was twisted up in a bun and I was struck with the urge to see it down.

  “You should wear your hair down. It’s too pretty to be up like that.”

  The compliment made her blush again but she didn’t say anything, just ducked her head, gave me a final wave and made to leave. I’d moved fast, so she’d already gotten to the door by the time her bun unraveled. She paused midstride, glanced at the hair that had fallen around her shoulders and muttered to herself as she turned back to me, laughing. Sleight of hand could be useful for more than just magic sometimes.

  I grinned and held up the hair tie for her to see. She shook her head again, shot me a parting smile, and went on her way.

  Two

  *Janie*

  “So, he’s a magician?”

  I nodded, glancing between the street map and the building’s address.

  “Janie, if you had a phone you could just Google the address. Why don’t you just Google the address?”

  “There is no accepted definition of the word ‘Google’ other than as an American multinational technology company specializing in Internet-related services and products. You want me to ‘American technology company’ an address? That mak
es no sense.”

  “You know what I mean, smartass. I want you to do a search on the magical internets, on your cellphone—”

  “I don’t have a cellphone, but you knew that. And there is no such thing as magic.”

  “And yet, here we are. On our way to a magic show.” Marie shivered as a gust of wind had us stopping and bracing. We waited for it to pass before continuing.

  “I don’t understand. The building should be right here.”

  After I’d left Jay at the bar earlier today, I’d belated realized he never gave me the address for his show. Disappointment filled me. But then, later on, as I rummaged through my purse for a napkin, I found a neatly folded piece of paper that turned out to be a flyer for the club where he was performing. Again, he’d bamboozled me. I had no clue how he’d managed to slide it into my bag without me seeing.

  “Do you want me to American technology company the address or not?” Marie whipped out her phone.

  “Not. People located addresses for centuries prior to the advent of Google.”

  “Or, they died in a tragic mugging on the streets of Chicago and were mourned by their cats. Forgive me if I’d prefer to use a little cell phone magic instead.”

  There is no such thing as magic, I repeated in my head.

  Sleight of hand, meticulously planned scenarios and outcomes, subliminal influencing and cold reading. That’s all it was. And yet, there was something mysterious about Jay Fields. Something truly…well, magical. I’d spent less than an hour in his company and already I was eager to see him again, eager for him to marvel and astound me. He was captivating, and just like a magnet, he pulled me in.

  The main reason I wanted to see his show, however, was because today was the first time in a long time that I’d actually felt excited. Lately, a lot of things had been bringing me down; my job, my relationship, so I just wanted to spend tonight being entertained. Let Jay tap into my imagination and sense of wonder like he’d done with every person standing on that street today.

  “So, Jon had to work late?” Marie questioned, tugging up the collar of her coat to defend against the cold.