The Art of Disappearing

by Ivy Pochoda

  When Toby was working, I often joined him between shows at the Castaway’s bar, stealing the magician from his women, at least for a couple of moments.

  “Toby, Mrs. Toby,” the bartender said, setting our drinks in front of us.

  “Thank you,” I replied, removing the maraschino cherry from my whiskey sour. Except for an older man, dressed too warmly for the Las Vegas weather, we were alone at the bar.

  “Hey,” Toby said, removing his silk coat and tapping me on the shoulder. “I’ve got a surprise for you.”

  “Should I pick a card?”

  The elderly man moved a few seats closer.

  “It’s nothing like that.” Toby laughed and showed me his empty hands. I thought I saw our new neighbor smile.

  “What, then?”

  “Sandra was at the last show. She says it’s her tenth time.”

  “That’s surprising.” Sandra’s fascination with Toby was beginning to irritate me. “I’d have thought she’d seen you more than ten times by now. She thinks you’re the best thing since Wayne Newton.”

  “Anyway,” Toby said, dispelling my comment with a wave of his hand, “Sandra asked me if I’d do a version of my act at the opening of the Winter Palace. A small show on the tables.”

  I was too happy to wonder why she hadn’t mentioned this to me. I leaned over and kissed Toby’s thin lips.

  Toby ordered another drink and began to describe several of the ideas he had for the Winter Palace. The usual crowd of women was hovering behind us. Toby looked over his shoulder at the older man next to him, then bowed his head closer to mine and described two potential opening illusions.

  Suddenly a hand came between us. I looked down at chipped black fingernails as Greta drew up to the bar. “So, the Winter Palace,” she said.

  For a moment, Toby was too startled to speak.

  “How could you know that?” I asked.

  Greta shrugged. “Must be a big deal.”

  Toby recovered himself. “I don’t think you’re old enough to be here.”

  “Hasn’t stopped me before.”

  “I’ve noticed,” Toby said. “But I could say something.”

  The teenager rolled her eyes. “Like anyone cares.” She turned her back, showing me the uneven roots of her hair.

  “Greta, he’s right. I’m sure there are better places for you to spend your time.”

  “Like?” she asked, tapping her nails.

  Suddenly all my answers—the mall, the movies, a high school dance, or the library—seemed too juvenile for the girl with her back to me.

  When I didn’t reply, she continued, “You’ve gotta do a way bigger show than in this place.”

  Toby stared into his glass. “That’s my business.”

  “What’cha gonna do?”

  “Don’t you know a magician never gives anything away?” I said.

  “I’m sure no one wants to see card tricks and that kind of stuff at a casino opening,” Greta said.

  “They don’t,” Toby said.

  “So?”

  Toby didn’t reply.

  “So, now you’re gonna need an assistant.” Greta kept drumming her nails on the bar. The ball-chain necklaces around her wrist rattled on the wood. “Well?”

  Toby shook his head.

  “You think I like listening to people slurp their coffee in a diner? No way. I came here for you.” She pressed in closer to Toby.

  “This isn’t going to work,” I said gently.

  “What do you know?”

  Toby wrapped his fingers around her wrist. “That’s enough. Go back to your diner or to Intersection.” His voice was firm.

  “No way.” Her words were sharp and insistent.

  “Listen to me, Greta. You will not be part of my show.”

  Greta shook her head.

  “I’ve told you, I don’t work with an assistant.”

  “Only because you lose them.”

  Toby opened his mouth. But Greta got there first. “Remember, I was there. You made that woman vanish.”

  The magician shook his head.

  Greta smiled. “Well, I think your old partner, Jim Swenson, agrees with me. I met him the other day outside your show.”

  “Why don’t you be his assistant?” Toby asked.

  “Swenson says you’re a dangerous magician.”

  Toby shook his head.

  “So, why would I want to assist him when I could assist you?”

  “Swenson is an idiot.”

  “Whatever. But you’re gonna need someone like me. Someone who’s not afraid of your tricks.”

  “I don’t work with assistants.”

  “This is Las Vegas. Every show needs a girl onstage.”

  “We’ll see,” the magician replied.

  “No, you’ll see,” she said, waltzing off through the crowd of older women.

  I put my hand over Toby’s and was about to speak, when the man sitting next to him spun his glass on the bar in a spiral, drawing our attention. “Teenagers,” he said. “They never know what’s good for them.”

  I nodded.

  “I’m sorry to interrupt,” the man continued, “but I was impressed by your show.” His voice and his manner were too elegant for Las Vegas, especially the Fremont side of town. He spoke with an accent, savoring each word as it slipped over his tongue. He had a head of sleek sliver hair and an ivory face that looked as if it belonged on top of a Victorian walking stick. “I’d say it’s a little bit like Kellar and a lot like Cardini.” The man lit a gold-tipped cigarette, and I noticed that his hands looked as if they were covered in melted wax.

  “All the good tricks seem to be taken,” Toby said.

  “Your tricks are better than good.” He trapped Toby with his strange hypnotic stare. “But they’re not really tricks, are they? My name is Theo van Eyck,” the older man said, offering a long gnarled hand. He flipped Toby’s hand over and examined his fingers. I realized a glove of burns covered the older man’s fingers. Then Theo van Eyck smiled a thin smile that reminded me of Toby’s. “Long ago, my hands were very much like yours.” He released Toby from his grip. “You see, once I also could do magic.” He fell silent, waiting for his words to vanish with his cloud of exhaled smoke.

  “What kind of magic?” I asked.

  “I’m fairly sure I do not need to explain that to either of you.” Theo looked behind him at the women. “Shall we?” he asked, indicating a far corner of the bar.

  Theo ordered another small gin. “Do not be alarmed when I tell you that I have been hearing about you for some time.”

  Toby sipped his drink.

  “It isn’t often we find another true magician.”

  “We?” I asked.

  “In Amsterdam, where I live, I have gathered a small circle of men who are dedicated to preserving the art of real magic. Men who still wish to push the limits of our craft beyond the second-rate showmanship you see everywhere.” Theo glanced over his shoulder. “Especially here.” Now he swirled his drink and considered Toby. “You have quite a reputation.”

  “For what?” Toby asked.

  “We have been following your career ever since you left school. Details of your performances in obscure places have made their way back to us. I think that you have been persecuted long enough.”

  Toby smiled faintly.

  “In my day, it was the other way around: I wasn’t chased from town to town when people began to suspect the reality behind my tricks. I was in demand.” He sipped his drink. “But conjurers have been replaced by tricksters.”

  “Tricksters,” Toby repeated.

  “Tricksters and showmen. A trickster certainly wouldn’t be able to make a woman disappear for real.”

  Toby pushed his drink away. Theo wrapped a hand around his wrist. “Magicians often make mistakes. It is not the end of everything.”

  “It almost was.”

  “Have you ever wondered how you managed it?”

  Toby shook his head. “I was more concern
ed with finding her.”

  “Finding her means undoing the trick. Undoing the trick means knowing what went wrong.”

  “I’ve given up on that sort of magic.”

  Theo smiled and shook his head sadly. “We would like you to join us in our circle before the glitz of Vegas obscures the beauty of your tricks.”

  “I’m happy here.”

  “Are you? In this theater, hiding your true talents from people who think you have perfected the card trick?”

  “It might seem strange, but I like this town. I guess that’s what happens after all those third-rate venues. Las Vegas becomes the goal. It’s a city of illusion.”

  Theo shook his head. “It is a city of weak tricks and weaker magicians.”

  “Vegas,” Toby said, “is the perfect place for magic. Where else do people flock in groups to be tricked out of their everyday existence? Look, they know the miniature Eiffel Tower outside the Paris is a poor copy, but they have their pictures taken in front of it all the same.”

  “Again, you are talking about trickery, not magic.”

  “Maybe the magic you’ve seen here isn’t up to your standards.”

  “It isn’t even magic.” Theo finished his drink.

  “But the potential exists. Here everyone wants bigger and better. I am the one magician who can give it to them. When I get to the big stage, no one will wonder if there is artifice behind my tricks. They will be stunned by spectacle, which is precisely what they want.”

  “Spectacle? Is that what magic is to you?” A look of displeasure crossed Theo’s face.

  “Not entirely. Or rather, not personally,” Toby replied. “But spectacle is what the audience wants, and spectacle is what sells.” He suppressed a smile. “I’ve booked a casino opening. It’s all coming together.”

  “I have heard,” Theo said. “But it will be the same there. Ultimately, your magic will leave you unsatisfied.” The elegant magician flexed his fingers. “My talent is drying up. It would be pleasant to have a young magician around. At the very least, we can give you a place to hide from the eyes of your rivals.”

  “I have Las Vegas. I don’t need to hide.”

  “Once the inexplicable catches up with you, what will you do?”

  Toby shrugged. “I’m not counting on that happening.”

  “I know that you cannot explain to me, or even to yourself, exactly what went wrong that night. How will you explain it to someone else?”

  “I hope I won’t have to.”

  “You hope,” Theo said, his voice suddenly cold. “A good magician never hopes.” He examined the tips of his fingers, as if looking for his fading magic. “It is remarkable how often inferior men get in our way. I have come so far to see you. I wish you would show me more than this small stage show.”

  “What did you expect to see?” Toby asked.

  Theo sighed. “I know what you are capable of.”

  Toby shook his head.

  “I had heard about a magician who could command the sand and manipulate the sky.”

  Toby bit his lip. “No.”

  I tried to catch his eye, but Theo had trapped it once more with his swirling stare.

  “Really?” he asked in a cool voice.

  “Yes,” Toby lied.

  “A shame. Then perhaps all these rumors aren’t true.”

  Toby drained his glass. “That is the nature of rumors.”

  Theo ran his fingers along the bar. “In Amsterdam, we have an illusion I imagine would interest you. I am too old to make it work. But you…Well, perhaps it would help you discover what went wrong with your assistant.”

  “It’s a little late for that.”

  Theo smiled. “The beauty of a trick like the Dissolving World is that it is never too late for anything. Toby Warring, you are blinded by the lights of Las Vegas.” With some difficultly, he snapped his fingers, summoning a handsomely engraved business card. “For when you change your mind.”

  We celebrated our one-month anniversary with a candlelight cruise on the Desert Princess, a paddlewheel boat that circled Lake Mead. Although the sand no longer suffocated me with loneliness, Toby and I both needed to wash off the desert—even if it meant dining next to tables of tourists. But we soon forgot the family next to us as the boat glided between canyon walls that were spackled with the last light from the sun.

  The smell of the lake was refreshing. We slipped out before dessert to walk on the deck and lean over the railing. The magician cupped his hands and released a cascade of sand that spiraled into a helix of colors before it reached the water. I linked my fingers with his, indicating that for the moment his magic was unnecessary. With my eyes closed, I put my head on his shoulder, listening to the soothing rush of the paddlewheel. We worked our way around the deck, pausing to let the spray from the wheel bathe our shoulders and arms. Music picked up belowdeck, followed by the muffled sounds of chairs scraping along the floor as couples stood up to dance.

  The sun had disappeared beyond the western canyon edge, leaving the deck in darkness. I looked into the blackening water at the swaying reflection of the boat’s lights. The band below had launched into a swing medley. Far in the distance, the hydraulic roar of the Hoover Dam continued. The boat gathered speed. The paddle rotated faster, sending up more spray. The white wall of the dam soon grew invisible as we turned into a small offshoot of the lake. Here the canyon walls drew close, the frantic swing music below echoing madly from one side to the other. Toby had his hands cupped again, collecting water from the accelerated spray of the paddlewheel. I looked into his hands. The droplets of water had become iridescent. As Toby started to bring his palms together, we heard steps on the deck.

  “You should have stuck to the small towns, Tobias Warring.”

  Toby brushed the water from his hands onto his pants.

  “No one cared about you there.”

  “Swenson,” Toby said as the other magician appeared from the shadows, his leather coat creaking as he approached.

  “And you are still Toby Warring. A magician without a stage. Until recently.” He smiled. “I didn’t know the Castaway had a theater.”

  “I would have thought the Castaway was too seedy even for you, Swenson.”

  “Yes, but not clearly not for you. Although, I’m surprised you even dare perform.”

  Toby grasped the railing.

  “Yes,” Swenson continued, “it all comes back to that.”

  “That is something you can never understand,” Toby said. “An accident.” His voice was tight.

  Swenson looked at me. “I see this one’s managed to stick around.” He winked. “Not everyone’s been so lucky.”

  “I thought you didn’t believe in luck,” I said.

  Swenson winked again. “I don’t.” Now he turned to Toby. “You ruined two lives that night. Hers and mine. I couldn’t work for months after what you did. All my bookings were canceled.”

  “That’s because I was the main attraction.” Toby’s words sliced through the dark.

  “Times have changed, Toby. I’ve got my own tour now, and you’ve barely got the Castaway.”

  “He’s booked the Winter Palace opening,” I said.

  Swenson looked from me to Toby. “Do you think that’s such a good idea?”

  “Why not?” Toby asked.

  “Your secret isn’t going to remain yours for long. People are starting to talk.”

  “Only because you are gossiping,” Toby said.

  Swenson smiled. “If you really were a perfect magician, the things you made disappear would stay that way.”

  Toby clenched his fists. I heard the crackle of glass, and a waterfall of crystal splinters fell from his cuffs.

  “Kinda dangerous, don’t you think?” Swenson asked me.

  The Desert Princess moved deeper into the little canyon. The echo of the music and the churning paddlewheel grew louder. Toby turned around. Swenson drew his face close to Toby’s. For an instant, the canyon was illuminated by a blue lig
ht, and their shadows appeared on its wall.

  “An interesting choice, restyling yourself as a ladies’ magician. You think that by drawing all these women to you, you can make up for the one you sent away.”

  Toby’s hands were still. “I’m not trying to compensate for anything.”

  I looked past his shoulder, watching the walls of the canyon widen behind us.

  “Good, good,” Swenson said, sucking his cheeks with a clicking sound. “It would never work anyway. Neither of us would forgive you.” He rubbed his hands together.

  “Us?” Toby asked.

  “You think when she came back, she’d return to you?” Swenson smiled broadly and nodded. “Yes, yes. When she came back.”

  The two magicians looked at one another. Toby’s eyes narrowed. Footsteps echoed from the other side of the deck. He glanced over Swenson’s shoulder as a long, thin shadow stretched toward us from the open door.

  Eva was silhouetted in the stairwell. The first things I noticed about her were her perilous heels and her immaculate hairstyle—a crisp bob that framed her jaw.

  Toby blinked, then squinted in the dark. He shook his head. “No,” he whispered.

  “Wouldn’t that be simpler?” Swenson muttered.

  I tried to catch Toby’s eye.

  “Why do you look so surprised?” Swenson asked. “Every good magic trick needs a resolution. Even if it’s years too late.”

  “Eva.” The name barely escaped Toby’s mouth.

  Eva looked nothing like a magician’s assistant. With her dark suit and red lipstick, she looked as if she belonged at the head of a conference table instead of under stage lights. Her small features were accentuated by dramatic makeup—a streetwalker palette, my mother would have called it, of bright red and smoky black.

  Eva said nothing as she came to stand in front of Toby. She cupped the bottom of her hair in one hand, then let go and waited.

  “Eva,” he repeated.

  “Toby Warring,” she said in a precise, quiet voice, like that of a long-distance operator. I stepped away.

  “I have always wondered…,” Toby began.

  “What you would say when I turned up.” Eva linked her hands together and let them hang below her waist.

  “Where you went,” Toby said.

  “Where you sent me, you mean.”