by Sage Nyx
“No, your friend gave it to me,” I reply with a hint of annoyance. We’re drawing stares from the guests sitting around me and it’s embarrassing. “Don’t you recognize me from last night at the casino? I remember you. You were with a man and several blonde girls. I was sitting at a slot machine when your group came by and knocked me onto the floor. Remember?”
“One of those girls gave you this ticket?” he asks, his eyes growing wide. “Because they aren’t supposed to do that. That’s against the theater rules. This is a special VIP seat and non-transferrable. No giving the ticket away to someone else. No exceptions.”
“You’re not listening to me,” I say, becoming frustrated with him. “Your friend gave me this ticket. Today at the casino. He said he had some extra tickets, and he wanted to make up for the girl spilling a drink on me. He’s your friend, so if he’s giving away fake show tickets, blame him, not me. It’s not my fault if this ticket isn’t real.”
He crosses his bulging arms and fixes me with an evil eye. He thinks I’ll take back my story if he stares at me long enough.
I glare back at him without blinking.
It took me years of practice to look people directly in the eye when I’m talking to them. Now I can do it as well as anyone. If this is a staring contest, I’ll win.
This is my seat. I’m not moving without good reason. I even put on mascara for this.
I could never afford to buy a ticket for any of the expensive shows in Vegas. Tonight is a one time, special treat for me. I intend to take full advantage of the opportunity.
Finally, he breaks eye contact. “Did Sugar give you this ticket?” he asks, still not believing me.
“I don’t know your friend’s name. He didn’t tell me, and I didn’t ask.”
The lights in the theater dim, causing a hush to come over the crowd. A man in a black tuxedo runs onto the stage and grabs the microphone. Before he says a word, the audience erupts into loud cheers and applause.
I crane my neck and try to see around the security guard who is rudely blocking my view.
“That’s Sugar, right there,” the man says, jerking his thumb toward the stage. “Did he give you this ticket?”
My mouth drops open.
Jade
I’m an absolute idiot for not putting it all together before now.
The snake, the magic tricks, the free ticket.
The annoying-as-hell guy is an illusionist with his own Vegas show.
He’s Sugar.
“Yeah, that’s him,” I say, nodding slowly. “Do you want me to move? Actually, don’t even worry about it.” I wave a hand at him. “I can leave. I don’t need this hassle. Let someone else have this seat. Whoever reserved it. This was supposed to be a fun night on the town, not a major ordeal. I’m glad I didn’t pay for this.”
After draining the remaining champagne from my flute in one big gulp, I stand to walk out before I suffer any more humiliation.
Public scenes are the worst.
Considering why I’m in Vegas, the last thing I need is to draw unwanted attention to myself. It was a stupid idea thinking I could take an hour off my mission to enjoy myself.
One measly hour.
That’s all I wanted.
One hour of not worrying about medical bills and student loans.
“Whoa, miss! Hang on a second.” He reaches out a hand to stop me. “Sit back down. My apologies for being rude. It’s unusual for Sugar to hand out tickets himself, that’s all. It threw me for a loop. You wouldn’t believe the nasty tricks women play to get this seat or a backstage pass to meet Sugar. Stay and enjoy the show. I’ll even send some snacks over on the house and another drink. What are you having? Wine or champagne? Whatever you want, I’ll send it over. No problem.”
I blink up at him in confusion. Now he’s talking fast. Maybe he’s afraid he’ll get into trouble with the Sugar guy.
“Are you sure?” I say, giving him a doubtful look. “Because I’m willing to move or leave. I don’t want to cause any trouble or make a scene.”
“Yes ma’am, I’m sure. Let me get out of the way so you can watch the show. If you need anything, ask for Leroy. That’s my name.” He pats the gold name tag on his chest. “I’ll take good care of you. When the show is over, stay here. I’ll come get you for a backstage tour. Everyone who sits here gets one for free and Sugar’s autograph too.”
“No, that’s okay, I don’t want a backstage tour…” I try to tell him before my words drift off.
Leroy is already squeezing his way back down the aisle to his place at the side of the stage. He whispers something to a cocktail waitress and motions to me. When she hurries over with another glass of champagne, I thank her and let out a relieved breath.
After placing my champagne flute on the small table beside my seat, I’m finally able to turn my full attention to the man on the stage. Sugar is smiling at the crowd and vibrating with charismatic energy as he paces back and forth.
Damn, how I love a man in a tuxedo.
Especially knowing there’s tattooed, hardened muscles hidden underneath the tailored black jacket.
“Good evening, folks!” he calls out to the audience. “Welcome to my show. My name is Sugar and it’s my great pleasure to be performing for you tonight. If you’ve never seen one of my shows before, pay very close attention. I promise you’ll be amazed!”
He turns slightly and looks straight at me. When he catches my eye, he winks and my stomach flip-flops while my heart almost stops beating.
This can’t be good.
My body’s intense physical attraction to him is instant and overwhelming. Now that I’ve discovered that he’s a talented illusionist and not another sleazy playboy in town for a party, his appeal has gone up tenfold. It’s hard for me to resist a man with a brain.
I settle back in my seat in anticipation. If the snake and the coin stunts were any sign of his skills, then the audience is in for a highly, entertaining show.
The next hour is a fast-paced whirlwind of outlandish illusions. He’s a classic showman with a charming smile and constant witty banter. Unlike most illusionists, he doesn’t waste time on long, wordy buildups to his tricks. Instead, he moves quickly around the stage, rushing from one setup to the next, trying to cram in as much entertainment as he can into the hour-long show.
I watch his every movement carefully, trying to figure out how he does his tricks. When he directs the crowd to follow his hands, I look elsewhere, realizing he’s intentionally misdirecting their attention.
Each time I come up empty-handed.
Sugar can do anything…mind-reading, object levitating, and even an entertaining, though bizarre trick where he cuts up bananas by rapidly throwing playing cards through them from the far side of the stage.
With every trick, he ups the ante with each one becoming more elaborate and dangerous. To the delight of the women in the audience, midway through the show he strips off his suit jacket and white shirt before handing them off to an assistant.
Whoa!
I’m not sure why he took his shirt off, but I’m sure as hell not complaining about it. Except the temperature in the warm room has gone up another ten degrees.
During the next dangerous stunt, he dangles upside-down high above the stage from a burning rope with his hands handcuffed behind his back. I’m sitting close enough to see there isn’t anything underneath him to cushion his fall headfirst onto the stage if the stunt fails.
At first, he struggles dramatically to break free of the handcuffs while the threads of the rope burn through one by one. I’m not worried because it’s all part of the act to build excitement.
When the rope quickly burns down to two threads, I grow concerned.
My scientific mind goes into action and I scoot up to the edge of my seat. Any movement of air on the stage might cause the rope to burn faster than normal. Even a slight burst of air from the air-conditioning system unexpectedly switching on could change the burn rate of the flame.
If Sugar underestimates the time to work his hands loose from the handcuffs, the rope will burn through faster than expected.
I notice Leroy stepping up on the stairs leading to the stage. He’s worried too and is ready to rush over to assist if Sugar falls.
Not that he could do much except call an ambulance.
The audience gasps when the rope burns through until there’s only one thin thread holding Sugar up.
Was that supposed to happen? This can’t be right. The thread is too fragile to hold up his weight for long.
Something is wrong.
His hands should be free. He’s struggling for real now. My heart speeds up in panic. Stagehands rush out from behind the curtains on both sides of the stage and glance at each other in confusion.
There’s not a backup plan?
I can’t bear to watch and yet I can’t tear my eyes away. My fingernails dig into the palms of my hands.
As the flame almost burns through the last thread, Sugar suddenly breaks free of the handcuffs. He quickly pulls himself back up the remaining length of the rope, his sweat-slicked muscles rippling with exertion.
The crowd stands and cheers wildly.
Instead of clapping, I want to punch him. The stunt scared me.
Without a doubt, he cut the timing too short and took a very real risk with his life. A fall from the height he was hanging would cause brain damage, if not death.
Is he insane?
When he returns to the microphone stand, he’s still breathing hard. A female assistant throws him a white handkerchief to wipe his forehead and his glistening, muscled chest.
I can’t take my eyes off him.
“For my final trick, I need someone from the audience,” he says. “Are there any volunteers willing to come up on stage and help me out? I need someone fearless. Someone who isn’t afraid to take chances. Someone who loves adventure.”
Every woman in the crowd and even a few men wave their arms in the air. “Pick me! Pick me!” they scream. “Me! Me! I’ll do it!”
Sugar smiles and signals to his director up in the control booth. “Can you turn up the lights in the theater, so I can see better?” he asks. “Only a little. We don’t want to blind the audience.”
The overhead theater lights slowly brighten.
“Ah…much better,” he says. “Now that I can see your beautiful faces, I realize I can’t possibly pick by myself. I’ll let my trusty assistant do it for me. Where did she go? I’m sure she was right here a moment ago. Elsa! Where are you?”
He pats the seat of his pants then tugs at the handkerchief he’d crammed into his front pocket. As he pulls out the cloth, a fat white dove magically appears in his hand instead of the cloth.
I laugh along with the rest of the audience. I don’t have a clue where the bird was hiding. She’s too big to have hidden inside his pants pocket. My seat is only a few feet from the stage. If he’s using hidden compartments, I can’t see them.
“Here she is,” he says. “The little devil. Hiding in my pocket. Elsa’s favorite job is to pick a volunteer from the audience. To be honest, it’s her only job. I have to warn you, she loves to land on bald heads so watch out!”
He gently tosses the dove into the air. She takes off flying in big, looping circles over the crowd, reaching higher and higher each time. The bald men in the audience heed his warning and cover their shiny heads with their hands.
“Uh oh!” Sugar says, “I see someone has forgotten to put Elsa’s pigeon pants on her. Did I mention she’s not potty trained yet? Incoming torpedo! Watch out below!”
The audience laughs and shrieks as she continues to circle right above our heads. After her third trip flying around the top of theater with no sign of stopping, Sugar lets out an exaggerated sigh.
“Any day now, Elsa,” he says into the microphone. “I know it’s hard to choose the perfect volunteer, but you need to decide. Hurry and pick someone! Our guests have dinner reservations in an hour.”
The dove ignores him and instead flies to the highest rafter in the theater. She casually preens her feathers as if she’s settling in to roost for the night in a barn. A few tiny white feathers float down onto the seats below.
Sugar hangs his head in mock defeat. “Rule number one. Never work with animals, especially birds. Really, Elsa? You’ll leave me dying down here on stage while you’re screwing around up there? If you don’t hurry, you’ll be standing in the unemployment line tomorrow. Along with all the other out-of-work animals on the Vegas strip.”
As soon as he says that, the dove dives off the balcony and flies straight toward me. Before I can duck, she lands right on top of my head. Our image flashes up on the big screens on both sides of the stage. I laugh at how ridiculous I appear with a big white dove perched on my head.
She’s heavier than I would expect. I’m afraid I might hurt her if I reach up to take her off, so I sit there while she leans down and tries to preen my hair with her beak.
Sugar grins at me. For an instant, it feels as if we’re the only two people in the theater. The electrical current passing between us is heated and real. At that moment, I realize Sugar trained the bird to fly directly to whoever is sitting at my seat.
He’s set me up again.
“We’ve finally found our volunteer,” he says, walking over to the edge of the stage and offering his hand to me. “Come on up, miss! Don’t worry. This will be fun, I promise.”
I try to shake my head ‘no’ and can’t because the fat bird is still sitting on me. I stand up carefully since the dove is making no effort to move from her perch.
“Elsa! What are you doing still sitting on this nice lady’s head?” he gently scolds. She flies to his upturned palm. “You did a fabulous job, my love. Now go on backstage and get a snack. Ladies and gentlemen, can you give my assistant a round of applause?”
The dove coos loudly while bowing up and down to the audience’s clapping. She’s enjoying the attention. Only when the crowd stops clapping does she finally fly backstage.
Sugar reaches out his hand to me again and this time I take it. When our fingers touch, I remember the warmth I felt last night when he picked me up from the floor of the casino. He helps me walk up the three steps to the stage then leads me to the center.
“Now that I finally have a volunteer, let’s find out your name,” he says as if we’ve never met before. He holds the microphone in front of me.
“It’s Jade,” I say softly into the microphone.
“Jade is a lovely name,” he says. “Very unusual. Are your parents geologists by any chance?”
The audience laughs at what they think is a joke. He’s teasing me.
“Just kidding,” he says with a wink. “Where are you from?”
The question catches me off guard. It’s a standard question when a volunteer is pulled up on stage. Someone who isn’t trying to do everything possible not to draw attention to themselves.
I consider lying, then don’t.
“Orlando, Florida,” I answer honestly.
“Did you hear that, folks? If you ever need a free place to stay while visiting Orlando, give Jade a call. What’s your phone number?” he jokes.
“Oh no, I’m not giving that out,” I say, playing along.
“I can’t say I blame you. Are you ready to be my volunteer for the night? This won’t take but a few minutes of your time.”
I hesitate a moment then nod. I can’t refuse now, anyway.
He takes a step back and slowly studies me up and down while rubbing his neatly trimmed beard with two fingers. “Hmm…it’s a good thing you’re small. I need to warn you. It might be a tight fit.”
I don’t have time to ask him what he means before two women roll a standard magician’s black box onto the stage.
Sugar opens the lid with a flourish. He motions for me to walk up on the steps they’ve put down and get inside.
From where I’m standing, I can see that the space inside the box is tiny and cramped.
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br /> My heart beats faster.
Oh, shit!
Sugar chose the wrong damn volunteer for this trick because I’m claustrophobic.
This is not happening.
Not today.
Not tomorrow.
Not freaking ever.
He motions for the orchestra to play a loud drum roll while he gives another theatrical wave toward the box. “And now my lovely volunteer will climb into the box,” he says with a tilt of his head.
I unconsciously back up a step and shake my head.
He turns away from the audience and raises his eyebrows at me in question. “What are you doing?” he mouths silently.
“Sorry I can’t,” I whisper to him.
A worried expression crosses his face. A reluctant volunteer must be something he’s never had to deal with before.
Show or no show, I’m not crawling inside a tiny box.
I don’t care how many people are out there watching me make a fool of myself. This is the stuff of nightmares. The box reminds me of caskets and funerals. I freaked out as a kid when I saw my beloved grandfather’s casket being lowered into a deep grave. I’ve never gotten over it.
I can’t do this.
“My instructions must not be clear,” Sugar says. “I’ll try this again. Please step inside the box, my most lovely and beautiful volunteer,” he urges louder.
The crowd giggles at my reluctance. They’re not sure if my resistance is real or part of the act.
“I’ll show you how,” he offers. He rushes up the steps and shows me how to climb into the box as if I’m an idiot and can’t figure it out myself. “Do it this way. Put one leg inside, then the other one.”
“No, I’m not getting inside the box,” I say, more firmly this time.
He lets out a long breath, slumps his shoulders dramatically and turns toward the audience. “My volunteer doesn’t want to get inside the box. This is a rare and most unusual situation. Can you give her some encouragement please? Help me out here.”