“One day I was browsing in the shop and I came on a book about magic. It told how to do simple tricks. I bought it for a quarter, took it home, and that was it. I was hooked. I suppose if I’d stumbled on a book about atomic energy, I would have become an atomic scientist.”
I laughed.
“I learned every trick in that book. I tried them out on my family and friends. Then I saved my money and got more sophisticated books by mail order. I performed these tricks at school, kids’ parties, and the local Lions club. But I soon got bored with the tricks in the books and began to invent some of my own. I was especially fascinated with mirrors and how—if used correctly—they could make people disappear. But to do this, you needed a partner.
“One night, I was playing a theater in Bayonne, New Jersey, and I found her. She was in the second row, on the left. All evening, my eyes kept straying back to her. She had red hair—and it was real. No rinses for her. And she had this milky satin skin to go with it. No freckles, either. And her eyes were green. So help me god, they were the color of an ocean wave just before it crests and falls. And she was tall, like you, Jo. And, like you, she carried herself well.
“During intermission I sat in my dressing room, racking my brain for some way to meet her. I thought of inviting her onstage to take part in one of my tricks. But she beat me to it. Bold and brassy, she knocked on my door and introduced herself. Regina Cox was her name. She didn’t mince words; she asked right out if I needed a partner. No man could resist her.
“I couldn’t believe how well we worked together. We seemed to know each other’s thoughts before we spoke them. Talk about being on the same wavelength. When we did a trick—for example, I made Regina disappear—it went perfectly, without a hitch, and the audience loved it.
“As soon as I took her on, our fortunes skyrocketed. At first, it was strictly a business arrangement, at least on her part, but it wasn’t long before she began to succumb to my charms …” Max winked.
I groaned.
“And we got married. We were invited to perform in bigger and bigger towns, and received more and more acclaim. One day I got a call from a theater in the biggest town of all—the Big Apple. Our acts became more elaborate and we became more adept. We played in Manhattan all winter to a full house, and during the off-season, we went abroad—to London, Paris, Rome. For five years, life was perfect.
“Then Regina got pregnant. We were happy when we found out. We had always planned to have a family, eventually. Regina continued in the show until a few weeks before she delivered. We were very ingenious at creating ways to hide her condition. We were magicians, after all. When the baby was born, we were thrilled. Then they told us … she had Down syndrome.”
Max paused to collect himself. When he continued, he spoke more slowly, as if he was going uphill.
“After that, things were never the same. Regina never accepted the baby, and she began to acquire expensive tastes—to compensate for her disappointment, I suppose. And she had to stay home to take care of Lolly. Day care was scarce back then and night care was unknown. I didn’t draw as big crowds when I was alone, my runs grew shorter, and the bigger theaters dropped me altogether. I tried to buy her the expensive baubles that made her happy, but it became harder and harder.
“One night, I was standing on the subway platform at Times Square, and this swanky dame swathed in mink and diamonds came up to me—the thing about Manhattan is, everyone rides the subway, even well-to-do people. She asked me for a light. You could smoke on the platform in those days. ‘Sure,’ I said. ‘Be my guest.’ I handed her my lighter. While lighting up, she turned her back and bent her head. I saw the gold clasp of her necklace just a few inches away. I lifted it. It was so easy. With my sleight-of-hand technique, she never missed it. She turned back, returned my lighter, and boarded the subway. I watched the train pull out and then walked deliberately—no running—up the subway steps to the street.”
Up to this point Max had been sitting forward, telling his story with eagerness, even some pride. But now he sank back into the sofa and his words came more slowly, as if with an effort.
“That was the beginning of a long series of heists,” he said. “Regina was happier and life went on. Then one day, I slipped up. I must have been tired, or overconfident … . Anyway, the clasp on this particular necklace stuck and the woman began screaming, just like in the movies. ‘Stop thief!’ she yelled. The cops came and I was sent up. The sentence was for seven years … Regina managed to support herself and Lolly by doing freelance secretarial work at home. That’s what she’d done before I met her. But they lived in a two-room apartment in a lousy neighborhood, eking out a living, barely above the poverty level. Of course, she had to sell all her jewelry. And she had to take care of Lolly without any help. She became very bitter … .
“I got out after five years, for good behavior. The other inmates were sorry to see me go. I’d kept them entertained with my tricks, you know. I tried to find work as a magician, but no one remembered me. People in show business have short memories. Besides, entertainment had changed—taken other forms, like cable television, the Internet … . But I hadn’t been idle in prison. I’d learned a new trade—printing. I went to work in a shop downtown and began to save toward buying my own equipment.
“By now, Lolly was seven years old, and because of her disability, she needed special care. She went to a private school a couple of days a week, and it was expensive. Regina had changed, too. Her looks had faded and she had become more and more resentful. She felt the world was against her. Her husband was no longer a glamorous superstar. On the contrary, he was an ex-con. And she was stuck at home with a kid who didn’t have all its buttons—”
“Don’t!” I exclaimed.
“And she missed her baubles. She refused to have any more children and treated Lolly with indifference. She attended to the kid’s physical needs but never played with her or took her anywhere, like the park or the playground. I think she was embarrassed to be seen with her.
“One day, Regina stole a wallet off a tourist in Times Square. She had learned a few tricks herself while working with me. It had a couple of hundred dollars in it. Like me, she found stealing easy, and soon it became a regular thing. She didn’t tell me about it, of course. She spent the money she stole on her favorite thing—jewelry. But she didn’t dare wear any of the baubles in public. She hid them in her bureau drawer and took them out only when she was alone. Then she would put them on and admire them in the mirror. During one of these sessions, Lolly burst in on her, ran over, and asked if she could try on the pretty necklace. Her mother slapped her and told her if she ever told Daddy, she’d beat her. I had come home early that day and witnessed the whole scene. I bawled Regina out and warned her about striking Lolly. I doubt if Lolly understood all we said, but from then on I noticed she was afraid of her mother. We were a very unhappy family.”
Max closed his eyes and sighed. I knew he was getting tired, and I should have suggested he stop and continue some other time. But as usual, my curiosity won out over my better judgment. I wanted to know what happened next. He took a deep breath and went on.
“One Christmas, Regina lifted a woman’s pocketbook outside Macy’s. You’re a New Yorker, so you know what the crowds are like at that time of year. It’s a haven for pickpockets and petty thieves. Before she grabbed the bag, she bumped into the woman—a useful distraction. I had used it often myself. In fact, she’d probably learned it from me. But this time she overdid it and the woman lost her balance and fell in front of a taxi. The taxi hit her and she was badly injured. Regina ducked down the subway steps, but an undercover cop had seen her, and he followed her. When she got home, she was so upset, she told me all about it. I whipped out some of my old equipment—mirrors, mostly—and set them up in the living room. The cop came and searched the apartment, but he didn’t find Regina. He knew me, however, and as he left, he said, ‘If we don’t find her, we’ll arrest you. You probably put her up to it anyway
.’
“Two days later, the victim—Jane Lansing—died.”
“Oh no!” I said.
“I went to the biggest newsstand in New York City—the one at Grand Central that has all the out-of-town papers. I bought some papers from small towns in upper New York State, northern Pennsylvania, and southern New Jersey. A south Jersey town won out. I spotted an old farmhouse for rent in the classifieds, at a sum we could afford. Afraid the apartment was being watched, I packed Regina and Lolly up and sent them down the fire escape to the bus terminal, where they caught a bus to Bayfield. Soon after, I took a circuitous route, changing subways, taking cabs, NJ Transit, and finally a bus to join them. Apparently, we outwitted the law.
“The money I’d saved for printing equipment came in handy. I set up shop in the barn and started my own mail-order printing business: Barnhouse Press. The press was in the barn, but the camera and computer were in the house. The business was completely anonymous. I didn’t have to deal with anyone personally. Regina took care of the bookkeeping and occasional personal contacts. There was a warrant out for her arrest in New York, but she had no police record and wasn’t in the national FBI database. The risk of anyone spotting her in such a remote part of New Jersey was minimal.
“For a while, things went pretty well. Regina was grateful to me for getting her out of the jam and tried to make a go of it. She was even nice to Lolly. The only bad part was, I had to keep a low profile. I had to be almost invisible. But then, I had been a magician. Invisibility was sort of second nature. But as the years rolled on, Regina became restless. She was not made for small-town life. She missed the city—the lights, the traffic, the crowds, all the excitement. One morning, I woke up and she was gone. She’d left a note: ‘Sorry, Max. I can’t take it anymore. I’m going back to the city. You don’t need to know which one. Good luck. R.’
“I was devastated. I loved her, you see. I thought of trying to trace her. And I would’ve, too, if it hadn’t been for Lolly. I couldn’t risk it. If I was caught and had to go to prison for Regina’s crime, who would take care of the kid? She was only fourteen at the time. I always hoped Regina would come back, but she never did. That day you came into the barn, for a split second I thought you were Regina. You are the same height and build. The light was behind you and I couldn’t see your face, only your silhouette. When I realized you weren’t Regina, I caught my hand in the press. End of story.”
He closed his eyes again.
“Are you okay?” I asked.
He shrugged.
“Why don’t you take a nap. I have calls to make. But I’ll stop back later tonight.”
Eyes still closed, he nodded.
CHAPTER 20
I spent a restless night. Bits and pieces of Max’s story kept turning up in my dreams, along with a heavy feeling of sadness over his and Lolly’s plight. What a terrible way to live, hiding out like fugitives, in constant fear of being discovered by the police. And he wasn’t even guilty! At one point, I got up in the middle of the night and turned on my laptop. I searched the Internet for Regina via her maiden and married names—Cox and Rawlings. There was nothing under Cox, but Rawlings brought up a slew of stuff about “Amazing Max the Magician” and “his beautiful partner, Regina.” All this ended abruptly the year Max went to prison. After that, there was nothing. Nada. I shut down and went back to bed, falling into a fitful sleep.
I woke up feeling more tired than when I’d gone to bed. I dragged through my daily routine with the enthusiasm of a wet rag. I put off calling on Max until the end of the day, reluctant to face him after his confession. I was afraid the delicate balance of our relationship might have been upset. But I needn’t have worried. He greeted me with his usual indifference. I examined his wound and he went back to his TV. Jeopardy was his choice that night. It was as if he had never spoken to me about his past. He had crawled back into his cocoon, his safe house, donning his role of fugitive as easily as a set of old clothes.
As I rode home, I felt as if I was dragging a huge weight with my bike. I knew it was depression. Slowly, I came to a decision. I would try to find Regina. I would go to New York and look for her. I was sure that Manhattan was the city she would have returned to. It was the one she loved and knew best. And she’d have little to fear. All she would have needed to do when she returned was change her name, dye her hair, and steer clear of anything remotely related to magicians or magic.
The minute I made up my mind, I felt better. My bike sped along like a gull as my mind churned with plans: what to tell Max; who to get to cover my practice while I was gone; and the best way to get to New York—by train or my Honda? By the time I got home, I’d decided to tell Max a white lie: say my father was sick, and I had to visit him for a few days; beg Barry to cover for me—again; and take the train, because the thought of maneuvering my Honda on the Jersey Turnpike gave me the willies.
The next day, I stopped at the farmhouse early because I had to teach Lolly how to change Max’s dressing. I expected this to be a difficult chore, but, to my surprise, she caught on quickly and was proud to be of help. This spurred me on because I realized if Lolly was free to go to school, she could probably learn some useful vocation that would make her independent.
Max swallowed my white lie without question. And Barry was happy to help me out. My biggest problem was deciding what to wear. I’d been in jeans and sneakers for so long, I’d forgotten how to dress up. Not that you had to dress up to go anywhere nowadays. I’d seen people at the opera in sweatshirts and jeans. Besides, I reminded myself, I was no longer a fancy specialist working for an upscale medical group who needed to dress the part. On the contrary, I was a low-end general practitioner from the boondocks who—considering my clandestine mission—would do best to keep a low profile.
I threw on a pair of black pants and a black turtleneck, then slipped into a pair of black clogs. I stuffed a pair of pj’s, a change of underwear, toothbrush, toothpaste, and deodorant in my backpack and was ready to go. At the last minute, I tossed in a windbreaker in case the ideal fall weather took a turn for the worse. A trench coat would be more to the point, I thought ruefully, considering the Sam Spade role I was about to play.
CHAPTER 21
When I entered Philadelphia’s Thirtieth Street Station after a jarring bus ride from Bridgeton, New Jersey, I realized with a jolt that I could no longer afford the Metroliner and would have to settle for New Jersey Transit, saving over fifty dollars. The con side of this was that the trip took three hours instead of one and a half, and I would have to change in Trenton. Oh well, at least I was dressed for the part.
Despite the uncomfortable seats and freezing draft that swept through the car at every station stop, I dozed most of the way. Except for my rude awakening at Trenton, where I was forced to get off and find the connecting train to New York, it wasn’t a bad trip.
As the train neared Penn Station, I came to and was suddenly aware of a knot in my stomach. Hunger? I’d had my usual breakfast of coffee and two doughnuts. No, something else was turning my gut into a stony ball. This was the first time I would be spending time in the city from which I had made such a hasty, emotional exit over a year ago. I had been back a couple of times to see Dad, but then I had gone straight to Queens, dodging through Manhattan underground, my emotional blinders securely in place. This time was different. I would be revisiting some of my old haunts and might even run into some of my old medical colleagues. In some ways, New York can be like a small town. Certain people frequent certain places and you run into them often. Was I up to this? My brain told me yes, but my stomach was sending a different message.
I stepped out of the station, onto Seventh Avenue. The city was in full swing, and I felt giddy. October is the month when the city is at its peak, fully charged, raring to go—all vestiges of the languorous summer days long gone. It is impossible to resist the force of so much purposeful energy. Everyone, from the pretzel vendor to the Wall Street swell, is hell-bent on some vital mission, usuall
y to make more money. My mission was different, but I joined the flow to avoid being bumped into the gutter—not really, it just seemed that way.
I fell into step, quickly adapting to the dart-and-dodge dance required of every pedestrian. It came back easily. Before I had gone a block, I had picked up the rhythm and was in perfect sync. I glanced up at the patch of blue sky caught between two skyscrapers and thought of the acres of blue sky over the fields I had left behind. The sirens, horns, and incessant cell phone chatter set me thinking of the silence of Bayfield, which was interrupted only by the call of a bird or the chirp of a cricket. While waiting for a light, I watched two garbagemen hurling bags into the dark cave of their truck, and another picture came to mind: two farmhands chucking bales of hay into an open truck with the same dexterity, probably using the same muscles.
By the time I reached Thirty-fourth and Fifth, it was as if I’d never left. I was moving as naturally in the crowd as a fish swims in the sea. But where was I going? I spied an empty bench near the curb. This was new, wasn’t it? I dropped down and closed my eyes, shutting out the electrifying scene. I tried to pull my thoughts together and think what to do next.
“You feelin’ all right, honey?”
I opened my eyes, to see a middle-aged woman wearing a concerned expression.
“Oh, yes, fine.” I was embarrassed.
“You sure?”
I nodded vigorously.
“Well, you just sit awhile and take a load off your feet.” She gave me an encouraging smile and went on.
Good grief! What had happened to this city? Was this an after-affect of 9/11? Some humanitarian wave? Next thing, someone would offer me a seat on the subway. I sat up straight and adopted my most alert expression, hoping to ward off any further well-meaning inquiries about my health. I decided what I needed was a stiff cup of coffee.
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