The Real Thing

by Marina Simcoe

  “All right then,” he shifted in his seat. “How about everything else but sex?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You’re right, Angela, my bedpost would be decimated by now, all four of the bedposts, actually. I don’t have the best track record as far as relationships go. I never see the same woman twice. I also don’t sleep well if there is anyone in my bed and, even if I did, I wouldn’t know what to do with them in the morning.”

  “That would explain this morning.” I couldn’t help myself.

  He tilted his head and narrowed his eyes at me.

  “Show me,” he asked. “Show me how it’s done properly.”

  “What do you want to see?”

  “I want to see you as often as I can.” He leaned in closer, his eyes holding me prisoner. “I want to learn more about you. I want to know what makes you happy and what upsets you. I want to find out if you like the same things I do, and I want to talk about these things with you, whenever I feel like it.”

  “You want to date me?” There was that date word again, but what else would I call what he was asking of me?

  “Is that what it is?”

  “By the sound of it.”

  “Then yes, I want to date you.” He leaned back in his chair and folded his arms across his chest.

  “So…” I had never been so at a loss for words in my life. He seemed to have stolen all my words at the moment, at least the ones longer than one syllable. “Why?”

  “Why?” He repeated then raised his hands and folded them behind his head. “Why?” He looked up at the ceiling of my apartment, as if searching for the answer to my question between the numerous cracks in it. “Because you’re the only person in the world who knows my secret. I’ve never told a soul, but you cared enough to have guessed it on your own. Because I couldn’t stop wondering ‘what if’ ever since I let you get off that bus. And because now I feel like I got another chance to find out. What if? Don’t you want to find it out too?” His eyes were on mine again. “Would you really want me to walk out of here and never come back?”

  “No!” I said quickly, rejecting the very idea before I even had a chance to think about it.

  I didn’t want him to leave. I didn’t say I wanted him to leave!

  His hands were on the table again, and my eyes were glued to them as I tried to collect my thoughts or at least remember to breathe.

  His thumb drummed nervously against the surface of the table, letting me know that the conversation strongly affected him too. The fact that I knew his tell felt oddly comforting — he was not a complete stranger to me, but that’s why it was also so difficult — with him I had too much to lose.

  “Don’t be afraid,” he continued, guessing my doubts. “I may not know much about dating or relationships, but I’m willing to learn more with you. I can’t promise you it will all work out. I don’t know if it will, but I know that I would regret it bitterly if I didn’t even get a chance to try. Wouldn’t you?”

  Oh, God! What kind of question was that?

  Dating him. He was asking me to date him! To date him, to learn more about him as a person, to spend more time with him… To talk. To expose my heart to him, to inevitably fall head over heels for him. What would happen to me after it all ended? What would be left of my heart?

  I had fallen for wrong guys before and even had my heart broken, but I never hesitated to enter into another relationship again afterwards. If I started anything with Marcus right now, if it ended badly, I would never pick up all the pieces again; I would never be able to put my broken heart back together again.

  He meant too much to me, not as a person, I hardly knew him as a person, but as an idea of something beautiful and magical that happened to me once in a lifetime. I wanted to protect it. If he broke my heart, the magic I stored in it would be destroyed forever.

  But the alternative was to ask him to leave right now, to watch him walk away, never to see him again except in the pictures on my computer screen… Never again.

  “Yes, Marcus. I would regret it bitterly too,” I whispered and then jumped all in before I had a chance to analyze it any further. “Okay. Let’s try it.”

  A great sigh of relief escaped from his chest, and he leaned back in the chair, relaxed.

  I laughed, “You were quite tense there for a while.”

  “You have no idea.” He shook his head, his smile returning. “I’m so glad you didn’t kick me out. So, where do we start?”

  “To date?” I kept laughing. Must be from nerves.

  “Yes,” he nodded. “Remember, I know nothing about it. You have to teach me the rules. Tell me what to do and when. Most importantly, please don’t forget to tell me when it’s acceptable to kiss you again.”

  “So you still have plans for sex in the future?” I faked concern, teasing him.

  “Only when it’s appropriate.” He placed his hand on his chest against his heart in a dramatic gesture.

  “Well, for now, let’s start with breakfast.” I reached for one of the cups on the table. “How do you take your coffee?”

  “Cream and sugar, one of each. You?”

  “Black,” I replied quickly. “I live alone. Cream and milk tend to go bad before I finish a carton.”

  I took a sip of my coffee. It was black. I put the cup down and noticed a glass vase filled with water, standing in the middle of the table. It wasn’t there before.

  “I thought you might want to put those flowers — or whatever is left of them — in the water,” Marcus tipped his chin at the bouquet I was still hugging in my arms.

  “What’s your real name, Marcus?” I put the flowers in the vase and moved them to the kitchen counter — there simply wasn’t enough space on my small table — then dug into the pancakes.

  “Marcus is my real name. It’s on my birth certificate. My last name is Hargrave.”

  I put my fork down and looked up. Marcus the Magnificent had a last name!

  There was one more obvious thing I had to do if we were really going to get to know each other.

  “Can I see your face, Marcus? Without the mask?” My voice was quiet; I realized the magnitude of what I had just asked for. I knew better than most people that he never showed up in public without the mask. Would he remove it now? And if not, how would it be possible for me to truly get to know him if the mask remained between us?

  He paused for a fraction of a second then nodded and looked straight at me. I didn’t even realize right away that his mask was now gone.

  With or without it, he was undeniably, incredibly handsome! Somehow, though, his face was already familiar to me. I studied it on pictures and videos so many times; I knew it so well — every plane, every ridge, every curve. Now, it just looked like some parts of his face were more visible than they were when he had the mask on: the black, long eyebrows; the high, sharp cheekbones; the slightly aquiline-looking nose — all of them were parts of the face I felt I already knew and just never had a chance to see like that — in plain sight.

  “Hello, Marcus Hargrave. It is very nice to finally meet you.”

  12. Good Morning.

  As could have been expected, dating Marcus turned out to be anything but ordinary.

  That day I had to leave for work right after our breakfast at my place, and he had to go back to Las Vegas because his shows were up and running again.

  Nevertheless, he appeared at my place the very next morning, way before my alarm was set to go off.

  Thankfully, this time he didn’t materialize in my bedroom. Instead, I heard him moving in the kitchen. I heard the sound of the fridge open and close and then the clinking of dishes. It sounded like he was serving breakfast or pouring coffee, or both.

  I quickly got dressed in my work clothes, brushed my hair, and even did my makeup. So when I walked out of my bedroom, I was fully dressed and ready to face whatever the day may bring — or more precisely — whomever the day had already brought into my kitchen.

  “You are a cuddly
one, aren’t you?” I heard Marcus say when I walked in. Perplexed by his words, I paused in the doorway for a second before realizing that his words were not directed at me.

  Marcus stood by the table, filling Lannister’s dish with cat foot as the traitorous cat of mine purred his head off, rubbing his back against Marcus’s ankle.

  “He never does that to me!” I said, astonished by the cat’s highly atypical behaviour.

  Marcus shrugged his shoulder. “He just wants his breakfast.”

  “I’ve been feeding him forever. He hardly even notices that I live here. Do you keep catnip in your pocket or something?”

  Marcus put the cat dish down on the floor, and it didn’t escape my attention that Lannister managed to gratefully rub his head on Marcus’s hand before he moved it away.

  “Traitor!” I threw at Lannister who completely ignored me. As usual.

  “Animals love me, for whatever reason.” Marcus handed me a cup of coffee. “Good morning.”

  “Thank you.” I took the cup from him and looked up just as he placed a kiss on my cheek.

  “You look great today.” His voice was soft, as was his kiss.

  “It’s because I managed to get dressed this time,” I smiled.

  “Nope,” he grinned. “You look great despite being dressed. I’d still prefer you naked and in the sheets.”

  “Well,” I cleared my throat. “You look good too. Different.”

  He did look different. More casual. His hair was pulled back and twisted into a loose knot at the back of his neck. He wore a black button-down shirt that reminded me of my favourite photograph of him. And for the first time ever, I saw him wear jeans instead of leather. He was also barefoot, to complete the image of a relaxed and carefree Marcus. Oh yeah, there was no mask either.

  “Good or bad different?” He cocked his head, waiting for my answer.

  “Neither. Just different. It will take me a little while to get used to this,” I pointed at him with my chin.

  His public image was the only Marcus I knew until now.

  I thought about how much I actually knew, and guilt raised its stinky head inside of me. Marcus openly offered me to start something special with him. He wanted to get to know me, to spend time together. I couldn’t base any kind of a relationship with him — even if it just remained a friendship — on a lie.

  The most honest thing to do here would be to come clean about my obsession with him. Of course, the worst thing that could happen then would be him calling me a complete psycho and leaving, shutting the door on his way out, or disappearing in a puff of smoke — whatever the case might be — he was a magician after all.

  I really didn’t want him to leave, today even less than yesterday. I had this unbelievably wonderful thing right in front of me. Something I never would have even dreamed about before yesterday morning. I wanted to get to know him, all of him. I wanted to see more of this Marcus — in jeans, barefoot, and all.

  When I figured out his secret, I thought I had figured him out too. Now I sensed that the secret of Marcus the Magnificent was only the tip of the iceberg of what the man, Marcus Hargrave, was made of.

  I needed to tell him the truth though; it would come out eventually. These things always found a way to come out in the most inconvenient of times. It was better to do it now, before it got too far.

  Avoiding his eyes, I lowered myself into the chair at the table.

  “Look, Marcus. I have a confession to make…”

  “You really are a man?” he offered and sat into the chair opposite of me. Humor bounced in his eyes.

  “Um, no. But I thought it’s better if you know right away. I kind of had a thing for you…”

  “Had?” He lifted his eyebrow, still smiling.

  “Well,” I remained serious, despite his attempts to make me smile, “for a period of time — a few months actually — I literally was obsessed with you. I’ve learned everything there was to know about you on TV, internet and social media. I Googled your name, I searched for your pictures, I watched all your videos…”

  “What did you learn?” he asked quietly.

  “That’s the thing! I know so much about you already. Much more than a stranger should. Sometimes, I feel I can tell your thoughts just by watching you move because I learned all your gestures. The way you flip your hair behind your shoulder when you’re unsure about something and need a minute to think, the way you do this thing with your thumbs when you’re nervous, the way you tilt your head when you’re curious or intrigued… I know for a fact that you never wrote any of your posts or tweets on social media personally. And I know that they photoshop those azure blue eyes into all your promo pictures. Which is just stupid, by the way. Your real eyes are infinitely better looking…”

  I felt really stupid myself at that point and started twiddling my thumbs nervously, borrowing Marcus’s own twitch.

  “Well, this is actually rather flattering. In some twisted, perverted kinda way.” His voice was more amused than angry, and it gave me hope.

  “Really?” I looked up at him.

  “Yeah. I don’t believe anyone ever paid any attention before to the way I tilt my head.” He smiled. “And, in the spirit of sharing this morning, I have my own confession to make. I had Simon trace you in Vegas. He found your hotel and from there — your home city. Also, you asked me how I got here yesterday —”

  “I thought it was your magic.”

  “Well, yes. I teleported to your apartment by magic. But before that I gave Simon your name and asked him to find out your apartment number.”

  “Okay…” He made me speechless once again. Too many times in two days! “In some twisted, perverted way,” I repeated his words slowly, “it’s actually still twisted and perverted, Marcus.”

  “You think so?”

  “Any normal person would think so!” I paused in consideration for a second. “Me, however? Obviously, as a self-proclaimed stalker, I can’t judge.”

  “Well, now we know that we have at least one thing in common: we are both twisted and perverted stalkers,” he said brightly, undeterred.

  “A match made in heaven,” I muttered, still unsure how I felt about his revelation. One thing was true: my own behaviour was also far from stellar. Marcus didn’t seem to think that I was a horrible person, though. Well, maybe we deserved each other. The thought made me smile at last.

  “Well, I’m not entirely sure if it’s a good start for any relationship, but at least it’s out in the open now. Thank you for breakfast,” I changed the subject, nodding at the table with a full breakfast spread on it. “You really shouldn’t have gone through all this trouble again. I’d be happy with just a muffin.”

  “Okay. I’ll keep it in mind next time. But it was no trouble as you know.”

  “How do you do it, actually?” I looked into my cup closely, searching for anything unusual in my coffee. It smelled and tasted like an ordinary coffee, and it looked normal too. Nothing magical. “Do you conjure it out of nothing?”

  “I could.” He picked up his cup and looked inside too, as if trying to see what I was looking for. “I try not to, though.” He put the cup down and met my eyes. “You see. Here is my other secret, Angela: I have no fucking idea how I do it! If I want something done, I just think about it in a certain way, and it happens. Always. If I want a cup of coffee to appear — it would appear out of nowhere. But I have this theory that everything needs to stay in balance in the world. And since I can’t explain where the things come from when I ‘conjure’ them, I try not to do it. I prefer to go about it in a little more complicated but a more conventional way.”

  “How?”

  “Well, your coffee is from the Starbucks on Dundas West at Roncesvalles, just minutes from here.”

  “Did you walk there to get it?” I looked at his bare feet.

  “No. I made it come here. From there,” he explained. “I left some money in the till for it too.”

  “You did?”

  “Y
ep. This way I can be sure that the current balance of matter in the world has not been disturbed. Again, I have no idea if it even matters at all, but it makes me feel better about using magic. I know that, with a few exceptions, I can pretty much make anything happen, without limits. However, I learned when I was still very young that there are consequences to all of my actions. Some of them can be severe. This knowledge has become, in a way, my biggest limitation.”

  “So if I asked you to get me the moon from the sky —”

  “I’m pretty sure I could do it,” he replied with confidence. “I could get you the moon. The most likely consequence would be the end of the world as we know it.”

  “So, you can single-handedly cause the world’s apocalypse. With a single thought?”

  “I haven’t tried, but I think I could.”

  “Wow. That’s crazy. What if you get angry at the world and decide to end it?”

  He smirked.

  “Luckily, I tend to get angry at myself when things don’t go my way. Besides, I never wanted to end the world, and maybe it wouldn’t even work. It’s just that anything I ever tried — worked. That’s what makes me cautious.”

  “What did you try?”

  “When I was a little kid, I stopped a thunderstorm. I really wanted to stay outside and play. I didn’t want to go inside because of the coming rain. So I stopped it. I was too small then to know much about weather or meteorology. I didn’t disperse the clouds or turn the storm into a different direction. I just wanted it gone, and it disappeared. The next morning, a tornado hit our town. Dozens of houses were completely destroyed, people were reported dead and injured.”

  “It might have nothing to do with you! Maybe the tornado was supposed to be there that day.”

  “Maybe. But I lived in a small town in Northwestern US at that time. The last tornado reported in the area was almost thirty years ago and they’ve had none since I moved away for about twenty years now. Since then, I’ve tried not to disturb the natural order of things.”

  “I see.” I’d finished a muffin and was tearing flaky strips from a deliciously fresh croissant. “Do you know where your magic is from?”