Mad Magician 2 - part 1

“You’ve got to be kidding, right?”

“No, Dot, I’m not. A bet’s a bet.”

“But you cheated.”

“It’s not my fault if you chose to adopted a more limited way to play that game than the rules allowed; I won within the rules as stated. Besides, it’s for your own good; you’ve hardly been out of the house since Steve dumped you. You could do better than him anyway.”

“But, Jenna, why a magician’s assistant?”

“Because you refuse to let me sign you up for a dating website and if I take you down the club, you’ll only run into Steve and get all tearful again. The only alternative is to get you a job; at least it’ll get you out of the house and meeting people; and you’ll get some money of your own, instead of sponging off me and mum.”

“But, a magician’s assistant?!!”

“It was the only thing I could find that you even fitted remotely; the rest of the jobs want PhDs or monkeys.”

“Can you really see me as a magician’s assistant?”

Jenna assessed her sister before answering. “You’ve got the legs for it and the rest of you could probably be quite passable, with a few sit-ups and a costume that pulled you in in the right places and enhanced some other places.”

“You’re really boosting my confidence,” Dot replied sarcastically.

“You could do it. You’re fit enough and are quite good with people and the advert said, ‘No experience necessary.’ Anyway, it’s too late; I email your application yesterday; the bet was just an excuse to tell you, so you don’t muck it up by not knowing about it if they get back to you. ”

“You high-handed bitch,” Dot screeched as she launched herself at her sister. The good-natured brawl did not last long, because their mother yelled that she was trying to concentrate on her work.

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“Hello, Parker residence,” Jenna answered the phone.

The voice on the other end said, “May I speak to Dorothy, please?”

“I’ll go and get her. Who shall I say is calling?”

“My name is Arthur, but on the ad it said Sunbright Entertainment.”

“Thank you, I hope you don’t mind holding for a few minutes while I get Dot.” Jenna did not wait to hear the response, but dropped the handset onto the table and called out, “Dot, that magician’s assistant’s job has got back to you, come and talk to the man.”

Elsewhere in the house Dot shouted back, “I’ll be there in a minute.”

Jenna picked up the handset to inform the caller that Dot would “just be a minute.”

Dot arrived at the phone, not sure how play it. “Hello?”

“Am I speaking to Miss Dorothy Parker?”

“Yes,” said Dot, “But I usually prefer to be called Dot, if that’s OK.”

“That’s alright; Dot it is. I’m called Arthur, but if you like you can call me Art. ”

“I think we’ll stick with Arthur, if that’s OK with you. So, what’s this all about?”

“You did apply to be a magician’s assistant?” the voice showed some doubt that he had called the right number.

“Not exactly. My sister, the one who answered the phone, applied on my behalf and told me the next day.”

“So, would you like to be a magician’s assistant?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never given it any thought. I must admit that I didn’t expect to hear back at all. But, I guess Jenn’s right, I ought to get out of the house more; which was why she suggested getting a job.”

“Being a magician’s assistant is not exactly a run-of-the-mill job; like any job in show business; it’s irregular hours and gig-to-gig, so the pay isn’t regular either. So, why did your sister think you’d be a potential magician’s assistant?”

“I’m not sure she did, really, but it was the only job she found that did not require an arm-load of qualifications and wouldn’t drive me mad from boredom.”

“Oh yes!” said Arthur, “I should tell you that this call is being recorded and listened to by my, erm, let’s call him my ‘manager’, Simon, to make sure I don’t say anything inappropriate. Is that ok?”

“Hello Simon,” said Dot.

“He won’t say anything, unless I start straying from the point of the call. He’s listening to keep me in check, but not make judgements on what or who is right for my magic act.”

“Ok. Where was I?” she asked.

“You were telling me why your sister thought that applying to be a magician’s assistant was not a waste of time.”

“Well, it’s a job that would get me out of the house (I think I already said that) and she said that a bit of exercise and a proper costume would probably make me look the part.”

“If the picture I’ve got in front of me isn’t too old, I’d say she was right.”

“Oh god, she sent a picture too; which one?” There was a note of horror in her tone.

“Judging by the sashes saying ‘Donna’s Hen Night’, I’d say it was taken on Donna’s Hen Night.”

“Tell me you’re winding me up, please. That must be the most embarrassing photo of me ever. It was bad enough that we were all in the little-girl-party-dress costumes that Donna’s mate hired for us and those sashes, but I ended up in the most hideous one of the lot, in fuchsia pink with black lace trimming, then they seemed to think it was their duty to ‘help me get over Steve’, by getting me so drunk I couldn’t walk a straight line for more than one step. I only hope it’s the one of me doing the splits in the front of the rest of them for the group photo, not the other one.”

“I know the one you mean. And no it’s not that one. Well you’ll be glad to know that I think you have the potential to make a very good magician’s assistant. How would you feel about coming to an audition?”

“Erm, I think that would be good,” Dot seemed doubtful.

“Well, I’ll discuss what we’ve talked about with my ‘manager’, Simon, then he’ll get back to you about the arrangements, ok?”

“I guess.”

“I look forward to meeting you in person, in the meantime, get some good rest and don’t worry so much.”

The line went dead.

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“So? How did it go?” asked Jenna as Dot entered the kitchen looking for something to drink to calm her nerves.

“I don’t know how, but I’ve got an audition.”

“Congratulations! When is it?”

“I don’t know. They said, they’d discuss it and contact me with the details.”

“That’s good isn’t it?”

“Guess so. I got an audition despite you sending them that photo from Donna’s hen night. How could you?” Dot asked.

“It was the only one I could find that was less than five years old and had you doing anything remotely active or flexible. And it shows you have some sense of fun, too. At least, I didn’t send the other one.”

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Simon and Arthur took their accustomed places in Simon’s consulting room. “Well, that was exhausting,” said Arthur.

“What do you mean? You’ve just been talking to a dozen young women over the phone, how is that exhausting?”

“The exhausting bit is trying to make a connection with them. The only one I felt was proper magician’s assistant material was Dot; the rest didn’t have what I need.”

“Ok, in that case how come that was the only interview that you did where you didn’t talk about what it takes to be an assistant?” queried Simon.

“That’s because I felt the connection quickly with Dot, especially when she mentioned ‘the other photograph’. The rest I was just talking to in the hope that talking about the act and the responsibilities of the assistant would give time for whatever connection there might have been to establish itself. The best I got, apart from Dot, was Della; there was a tenuous connection there and I hope that’s not wishful thinking. She would probably be better suited to a very different magician. Would you mind if I write a note to a friend of mine, to see if he can find her a magician compatible with her?”

“Just tell me who and I can pass on her details as someone interested in becoming an assistant and that you suggested he try her.”

“I suppose that’ll have to do. It’s easier to have you write the note than get anything I write passed by the people who read my incoming and outgoing mail.”

“You know Miss Dorothy Parker is a fake; the real Dorothy Parker died back in 1967.”

“Then who did we speak to then?” queried the magician.

“Who knows, I left her in the list as a check. I assumed she was someone you’ve got on the outside to help you escape.”

“And I thought that some of the inmates here were paranoid; you certainly take the biscuit. I thought you were checking all the shortlisted candidates out.”

“We did, except Dot only had one job listed, which was a shop assistant at a shop that shut down six months ago. Nothing to check.”

“It didn’t it cross your mind that any number of Parkers could name their daughters Dorothy; in tribute to the one you’ve heard of or ignorant of her existence. There must be hundreds, if not thousands, of Dorothy Parkers in the world. Anyway, how would I organise outside help to escape, when you read all my letters.”

“You’re saying that you’ve no idea who this Dorothy Parker is?”

“I don’t have the foggiest notion who she is, except she is my best chance of getting out of here, getting the magic under proper control, and leaving you to look after the real nutters.”

“I do wish you stop referring to your fellow inmates as ‘nutters’. They are people with mental health problems.”

“Whatever,” conceded the magician. “But it still doesn’t decide what we are going to do about Dot.”

“What do you think we should do?” said Simon, falling back on the tried and trusted psychiatrist’s gambit of put the ball in the patient’s court and trying to make something of the response.

“Well, we promised her an audition, so I think that you, me and her should meet up for an audition with a couple of tricks that I feel sure you can arrange to get from my storage unit.”

“And why would you want me along? And what bits of equipment would you want from you storage place?”

“Unless you want to hold the audition here, which I suspect she would find concerning, I’ll need someone to keep an eye on me, unless you plan on releasing me unsupervised. Besides I said that you would arrange with her the details of the audition. I hope you didn’t mind me referring to you as my manager; it’s a bit a stretch of the truth from what she imagines, but not altogether inaccurate.”

“So do I get my ten percent?”

“You can have ten percent of my sanity when I get out; us magicians need to be a little mad to keep our sanity and, no doubt, you could do with it.”

“Any suggestions for where to hold the audition?” asked Simon.

“I think the back room at the pub in the village would be suitable. Not a bad room and the beer is decent and I like the landlord.”

“And how do you know these things?”

“I have my methods. I could tell you that I talk to the orderlies and nurses and cleaners and folk (which you know I do), but that would be how I know some things, but not about the Feathers. In fact I’ve been down there twice; that idea you gave me about expending some of the magic by walking through walls seems to be paying off too.”

“You’ve been walking through walls? Why haven’t I heard about this?”

“No, I haven’t been walking through walls, well not yet anyway. But I can manage to slip through closed and locked doors, so long as I can get something onto the other side to hide my passing through (those observation hatches in the doors are very useful for that). As to why you weren’t told that I was one side of a locked door one minute and other side the next; I would suggest that if anyone noticed, they thought better of mentioning it, due to the nature of this institution. And combine that with my now extensive knowledge of the areas where the cameras rarely, if ever, see and little light ‘don’t see me!’ hypnosis and I think you can put together your own answer.”

“So, what’s stopping you from just walking out and disappearing?”

“Like I told you a couple of sessions ago, I don’t relish the thought of being a man on the run. And now that I know there is an assistant out there, you have another thing to hold over me. You know her contact details, I don’t. The only thing I know is her name and some idea, from her and her sister’s accents which part of the country she comes from. Can you imagine the difficulty of finding a Dorothy Parker in the south-east, especially as she won’t be the person listed in the phone book? My guess is a couple of weeks, while on the run, if you don’t catch me first or do the smart thing and watch her and wait for me to turn up.”

The magician continued, “I really want to get out of here legitimately, so that I can return to my normal life. You understand that by ‘normal’ I mean ‘as it was before’? And as I see it, I need an assistant to achieve that. And you are the gatekeeper to me getting an assistant, so I need to cooperate as best I can to get back to the life I had. But that isn’t going to stop me doing some stuff to make life in the meantime more bearable, like slipping off to the pub once in a while.”

The magician clicked his fingers and contemplated the flame standing a millimetre above his thumb. He waited for the next question.

“So you want me to hire the back room of the pub so you and Miss Parker can find out if she is your cure. And you’re inviting me to come and watch?”

“In a nutshell, yes. Of course if you’re worried about budgets and things I can pay for the room; it’s not like I was a man without resources before I got locked away. But I’d want you to do a little more than watch, because she will need her confidence building in my abilities, before she lets me try something on her.” He extinguished the flame. “I think, even just talking to her seems to have had a positive effect; the flame does not seem to hiss quite as much as it did last time.”

“That brings us to what equipment you would need.”

“I’d ideally have all my kit, but given the small size of the van you have available to go and pick things up, I’ll have to decide on a few essentials instead. I’ll need a bit of time to think about that.”

“Ok, you go back to your room and make short list of the stuff that I should get collected, while I ring Miss Parker and organise how she gets here for her audition and where she will stay.”

“I’ll look forward to hearing the details, when you come to collect my equipment list.”

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“Hello! Am I speaking to Miss Parker?”

“That depends, which Miss Parker you want.”

“Miss Dorothy Parker. I’m called about the arrangements for her audition.”

“She said you’d ring back to give her the details; I thought she might be winding me up. I’ll call her.”

There was a clatter as the phone hit the table and a shout, then silence.

“Hello. Is that Simon?”

“Erm, yes.” Simon was surprised to be addressed by name. “How did you know?”

“Arthur said you’d be calling and I’m not expecting any other calls. So, you’re his manager?”

“In a manner of speaking, yes,” said Simon, feeling a bit awkward perpetuating the half-truth. “I’m calling to arrange details of your audition with Arthur.”

“Oh, yes to business.” Between them they discussed the nuts and bolts of the travel and accommodation that had been arranged for Dot.

“Do you have any other questions before I go?” asked the psychiatrist.

“We did not get to talk much before he said he’d be arranging an audition. What’s he like?”

“On the times went I’ve dealt with him, he has been cooperative and friendly, if a little odd; but I guess odd is normal for magicians. I don’t work with him on an everyday basis, you understand. I am told his previous assistant enjoyed working with him.”

“Ok, so why isn’t this assistant still working with him? If it’s not rude to ask.”

“She died.” Noticing that this did not sound encouraging, he added, “Nothing to do with the act. I heard that it was a car crash, some driver way over the limit ploughed into her car at a junction; never knew what hit her. Arthur tried to go solo, but it didn’t work out.” Simon considered what ‘not working out’ had really meant and the truth the innocent phrase concealed. “He has taken some time off and now feels that he is ready to return to the stage.”

“Thank you for letting me know that. I’ll bear that in mind and see you and Arthur at the audition on Thursday.”

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On Wednesday Dot had travelled by train to a small town and found a taxi to take her to the small bed and breakfast place that Simon had arranged in a sleepy village that seemed to boast a pub, a church and not a lot else. In the evening she visited the pub, mainly to find out how long the walk was from her lodgings to the pub, which was to be the venue for her audition. It seemed nice enough in a quiet country pub kind of way, but not what she was used to in the big city.

After a bar snack, she returned to the lodgings and went to bed where she read until sleep took over.

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In the morning she was woken early by unfamiliar country noises, the lack of familiar city noises and the feeling that she ought to be ready early. She showered in the cupboard masquerading as an en suite bathroom and put on a t-shirt and jeans to go to the dining room for breakfast. She filled up on breakfast, because she was unsure when she would next find somewhere to eat; the menu posted by the door of the pub did not inspire her.

She returned to her room and began to prepare herself. She had not yet decided if she wanted to be a magician’s assistant, but she had made up her mind that if they thought she was such a good prospect that they were paying her travel expenses and accommodation just to get her here, the least she could do was make an effort in return. She would see what was involved and what this Arthur guy was like and then if she decided that this job did not suit her, she would tell them straight that she did not want the job.

When her face was done and the dress put on (the one she had worn to Donna’s wedding), she found she had half an hour to kill, if she was not to be too early for this audition. It occurred to her to get her tablet out and look up Arthur and to wonder why she had not done it before.

Using the Wi-Fi password supplied in the paperwork that had been left in the room (the kind that tells when breakfast is and where the emergency exits are) she googled ‘magician Arthur’ and was informed that Google knew of 9 million pages on the subject and those on the first few pages where from other countries. Buried on page 7 she found a newspaper article about a magician called Arturo who had beheaded the prince temporarily, but that had been nearly a year ago.

A quick check on her sparse trickle of e-mails later she felt that it was time to go and see if she was cut out to be a magician’s assistant. She put a t-shirt and a pair of shorts into her handbag, so that she could change if it was felt that the dress was too formal. The walk to the pub was uneventful. When she arrived there were three men unloading some equipment from a plain white van. After a moment of hesitation she approached them.

“My name’s Dot, are any of you Arthur or Simon?”

The man in the green track suit and polished black leather shoes answered. “I am Arthur. This is Simon,” he said indicating the man in the pale linen suit. “That is Charlie,” nodding to the man in jeans and a t-shirt who seemed to be doing most of the heavy lifting. Charlie gave her a pleasant smile. “He’s just giving us a hand moving the kit. You must be Dorothy; sorry, Dot.” Arthur held out a hand.

“Yes. That’s me. Am I a bit early?”

“No, of course not. We might be running a little late. It seems that Charlie could not find something I asked him to bring and the delay in hunting for it meant he got caught up in traffic. It means that we get to have a bit of a chat; I gather you felt that our conversation was not long enough to learn much about me or my act. Maybe we can rectify that while the equipment is being brought in.” He half turned to the man in the jeans. “You’re alright to bring the stuff in while we talk to this young lady?”

Charlie glanced at Simon, who nodded slightly. “Ok.”

At this point Dot’s hand touched Arthur’s. She felt a tingle when their hands made contact and relaxed.

Simon led the way in through a back door of the pub, down a short corridor and into a moderate-sized room. There was a stack of folding tables and a few stacks of chairs. Arthur went and got himself a chair and left Simon and Dot to get their own. He placed his in the corner furthest from the entrance of the room and invited Dot and Simon to join him.

After a round of pleasantries thanking Dot for coming and her thanking them for inviting her. Arthur turned to Simon and said, “She’s definitely the one.”

Simon looked sceptical, but Dot protested, “Hang on a minute, I’ve only just arrived for this audition and you are already talking as if it’s done and dusted and I have no say in it. I have not even decided if I will accept the job even if you offered it to me.”

Simon smiled to himself. “It looks like she will be auditioning you.”

Arthur felt that this comment was unhelpful, not matter how true it was. “Ok, I guess you probably have a few questions. Would you like to ask them?”

Dot paused for nearly a minute (enough time for Charlie to bring something into the room, place it and depart); she had not anticipated being the one to be asking questions. “Erm, tell me a bit about the job I’m auditioning for!”

“Well, most of it will be rehearsals at first, until we have an act and then we would spend a lot of time travelling and performing our act for audiences across the country. I would teach you a few magic tricks that you could do on your own, so that you could cover the few periods I would need for costume changes and to prepare the next item in the performance. Do you think you would be happy to perform some tricks on your own?”

Dot pondered for a moment; the only time she had been on stage was as one of the ‘wise men’ in a nativity play and she remembered feeling terrible about forgetting her one line. “I guess I could do something like that, but I would probably have to start small, to build up some confidence. What kind of thing do you thing I might be doing?”

“I’m not sure just yet, what you might be suited to. Stand up and let me get a good look at you and I could possibly make a few suggestions.”

Dot pushed her chair back and stepped into middle of the room where she struck a pose. She then did a few steps of the ballet that she remembered from when she was six or seven years old.

Arthur said, “Thank you. You move quite well and would only get better with practice, but it did look like you hadn’t done those steps in a while.”

“Well, my last ballet class was when I was seven and most of the dancing I have done since has been on the dance floors of clubs, where you don’t get to be elegant or expansive.”

“That’s ok. The important thing is you can dance in a fashion and you looked like you enjoyed it. If things go as I hope, I can pay for you do have some dance classes. May I see your hands?” The magician pushed the chair back into place so that Dot could sit down.

Dot returned to the chair and held out her hands palms down.

“Hmm. You have good hands for an assistant; your fingers are slender, but strong. You bite your thumb-nails, it seems, but as you become more confident that will go away and in the meantime plastic stick-on nails will enhance the look of your hands, if your nails have not recovered before the performances begin.

“From what I’ve seen, the floating table would suit you; or maybe the zombie ball.”

“I don’t think I know those, but floating a table sounds hard and I don’t know what zombies have to do with magic, other than voodoo stuff.” She eyed the tables stacked against the wall.

Simon and Arthur follow her glance. “No, nothing quite so big. And a zombie ball is the shiny metal ball that floats under a cloth; nothing to do with voodoo magic. But I have a couple of illusions that purport to use voodoo magic, but don’t; because you need to trained in it from a very young age.” Both Dot and Simon wore expressions saying that they did not believe the last part of the statement.

“You could teach me how to do the floating ball trick?”

“Yes, but only if you agree to be my assistant. I would teach you both; the floating table can be extended to include a bit of audience participation if and when you felt that you were up to it.”

“That sounds alright, but what else would I be doing?”

“Oh, the gamut of things that assistants do. The prosaic stuff; like bringing me stuff, escorting audience participants to and from the stage, looking pretty and distracting while I do the tricky bit of a piece of illusion (I think you have the looks to manage that). And the magical stuff; such as appearing and disappearing, floating in the air, being run through with sharp objects and cut into pieces; everything that you might expect to happen to a magician’s assistant will be happening to you. Of course, I’ll teach you what you need to know to do all this dangerous sounding stuff safely.”

“So, levitating and being in sword boxes and being sawn in half; that kind of thing?”

“Yes, that sort of thing,” Arthur confirmed. “I would start you out with the easy stuff and as you gain trust in me, confidence in your body and experience; I would then move to the more difficult illusions and magics. There would be a steep learning curve to begin with, but there will always be something to learn or perfect, that’s the nature of magic; there is always the next thing to learn. That has the good point that it would not get boring, because there is something new to try.”

“Ok, enough of the hard-sell. What about the kinds of stuff I would be expected to dress in? I’ve seen a few magic shows on TV, and assistants seem to spend a lot of time in skimpy and skin-tight outfits, except when the wear something that seems to be there to cover some of the workings of the illusion.”

Arthur nodded. “That’s a fair observation. Costumes will usually be a compromise between the needs of the magic being performed, setting the mood for the audience and making the assistant appealing and as distracting as possibly. So, in some cases, a bikini or leotard and tights is appropriate, especially when there is the risk of getting costume caught on the apparatus. On other occasions, an elegant dress or shorts and blouse might be more the right thing. The main thing is that I wouldn’t dream of putting in a costume that you did not feel comfortable in; it would make you self-conscious and would not help your performance; besides as your confidence grows you will likely feel that you can push your current preferences for level of costuming.”

“Ok, that sounds fair. And what about money? I can’t live on fresh air and promises.”

“As I’m not working at the moment, I’ll not be able to pay more than about minimum wage plus a bit, but once we can get on the road you’ll receive a cut of the fee for hiring the show on top of that and expenses too. If, as I hope, we make it to the level I was at before, we can talk at about increasing your rate for rehearsals. It’ll be enough to live off, if you aren’t too extravagant.”

“Erm, I can’t think of anything more to ask. Well, except how did you plan the audition to go before you met me?”

“I planned to see how you reacted to a couple of illusions and hoped that you would find them enjoyable.”

“There seem to be more than two sets of equipment over there. Why’s that?”

“Well, after I’ve got you through the first illusion, depending on how it goes I have options of what to try next and a couple of back-ups in case two items was not enough to decide with.”

At this point, Charlie came back in and put what turned out to be his last load in a space against the opposite wall. “That’s everything,” he commented. “I’ll be back to collect it all after lunch, right?”

“Yeah, great. Thank you, Charlie. Just return it to where you got it from.”

Charlie gave a confirmatory glance to Simon and then left.

“Sorry about the interruption. Where were we?” asked the magician.

“You were saying that you would like to try me with the illusions. To see that I react well to them and show some signs of ability when it comes to performing, I think.”

“Oh yes. We start with something so easy that I would probably not waste an experienced assistant’s time by doing it with them when I can borrow someone from the audience.”

“Ok, what’s this simple trick called? And will I be alright in this dress or would you like me to change into something else; I brought some shorts and a t-shirt, just in case.”

“You’ll be perfectly fine in that dress; it’s not like you can get an audience member to change clothes for you. So all these are pretty much performable on almost anyone in anything like normal clothes. Simon would you mind helping set this one up, although normally that would be Dot’s job.”

Simon registered surprise at suddenly being involved in something he was expecting to observe, but did not feel he could take a back-seat in his assumed role as Arthur’s manager. “Ok, but you’ll have to give me some instructions; it’s not like I’m a trained assistant either.”

“It’s easy enough. Get the two folding chairs from by the door over there and set them up in the middle facing each other and nearly touching. I’ll be getting the board and the cloth. Dot can be thinking nice thoughts or just watching the preparations; not that there’s a lot to see.”

Simon soon had the chairs set up in the middle of the room and Arthur placed the board between the backs of the chairs to form a bridge. In his hand he held a roll of cloth that looked red and soft. He placed the roll on the end of the board that resembled a wooden stretcher and unrolled it until a few inches dangled over the other end. With a flick he unfolded the cloth so that a section hung from the side about two-thirds of the way to the seats below. Another flick unfolded more cloth on the other side.

“Time for you to hop on board,” said Arthur, giving the board a slap that amply demonstrated the solidity of the construction.

Dot seemed a little uncertain as she approached the set-up. She placed a hand on the cloth-covered board and tested the stability for herself. The board felt firm and steady through the soft fabric that had been laid over it. She turned and boosted herself onto the board. “Ok, what’s next? I guess I lie down on the board.” At a nod from Arthur she rotated to sit with her feet up to one end of the board; she lifted her bottom in order to avoid turning the cloth on the board and causing wrinkles that might become uncomfortable.  “Am I facing the right way? It’s just I got the impression the few times I’ve seen this kind of thing on TV, there was a way round that it worked.”

“Under normal conditions you would be the wrong way round. But because you are who you are the orientation does not really matter. You will need to budge up a couple of inches so that only your feet are over the end of the board. That ok?”

“I suppose.” Dot shuffled along the board. “I lie down now?”

“Well, unless you want to chicken out, yes.”

The phrase ‘unless you want to chicken out’ was very familiar to Dot; her sister, Jenna, frequently use it to apply peer-pressure when Dot was having second thoughts. When Jenna used it she knew that chickening out came with the terrible cost of Jenna letting all her friends knew that she had failed to go through with the thing and being teased about it for a long time. She was half way to being flat on the board when she noticed her reaction to the phrase. “Where did you get that phrase from? Are you in league with my sister, pulling some elaborate prank?”

“I don’t know anything about your sister, except the few words we exchanged when she answered the phone. And this isn’t a prank; this is meant to be an audition. As to the phrase, it just popped into my head.” Arthur privately thought that all this was true, although he was certain that the phrase had ‘popped into his head’, probably from Dot’s, when he had wondered how best to encourage her to do as he wanted. He was also glad that Dot was trying to make sense of what was happening and paying attention, rather than just going along with whatever he asked. He felt it indicated that when it came to him teaching about magic and illusion she would be sharp enough that she would ask about the things that he took for granted, but he really should tell his new assistant.

Dot lay on the board propped up by an elbow and considered what Arthur had said. There was little chance that Arthur was conspiring with Jenna, unless there were more phone calls than she was aware of. She relaxed a little more and finished the move to lie flat on the board.

“Now, to make sure you don’t move suddenly and hurt yourself, we do this.” The magician lifted the section of cloth hanging on his side and laid it across Dot. He then invited the psychiatrist to do the same from his side. The result was that Dot became cocooned in the cloth with her feet out one end and her head out the other.

“Shouldn’t I have my arms outside to help balance or something?” asked Dot.

“I would usually have the audience participant raise their arms above their head while I wrapped their body and then rest them across their chest once the cloth was in place. In your case you are wrapped in the cloth so that you can’t do anything. I want to confirm that the magic will react to you as I think it will. The next illusion will be to see how you respond to the magic.”

“That makes it sound like you believe that magic is real, not a bunch of tricks and clever boxes.”

Simon intervened. “Trust me. The magic is real. I’ve seen him do things I would rather not have seen and the only explanation is magic.”

“Thank you, Simon. Not helpful. I want to convince Dot here that the magic was real and your testimonial acted a bit like a spoiler.” While he said this he moved to the chair under Dot’s shoulders and slid it away from being under the board, then swung it away, folding it and laid it on the floor.

Despite having seen the ‘exorcist manoeuvre’ and the flame from the thumb, Simon’s jaw dropped at seeing a cloth-wrapped Dot on a board supported by the back of one chair under her shins.

Seeing this reaction Dot tried to turn her head to see what had happened.

“Please don’t try to move too much,” cautioned Arthur. “Too much sudden motion might destabilise the set-up.”

“So, what did you just do, that caused Simon to look so shocked?”

“I took away one of the chairs; the one that was under your shoulders.”

“So, if it weren’t for the magic, or whatever kind of trick it is, I would be in a heap on the floor, with a bump on my head, right?”

“Yeah. Are you ready for the next thing?”

“Do I get much option?” Dot felt more peaceful than she had in a long time. Something about her situation was exciting her mentally, but calming her spiritually.

“While you're my assistant you will always have options; including quitting. But the next thing I shall be doing will be removing the board. Do you want to quit? The plan is that you’ll stay suspended and your shins will drop an inch to rest on the back of the chair.”

He took a grip on the handles of the board either side of Dot’s head and smiled down at her. He could feel magic washing about trying to float Dot up from the board and to the ceiling and he was resisting; if his confinement at the mental institution had taught he anything, it was the mental discipline to resist some of the magical impulses. He had found developing these skills had been essential after waking after a few days in the hospital with his bed six feet below him. He paused to wonder for a moment if his incarceration may have made him a better magician.

With a quick jerk he pulled the board towards him and the other end dropped to land on the seat of the remaining chair. He took a better grip of the board and waved it round the still horizontal Dot. She had felt a fraction of a second of falling before her shins made contact, via the cloth wrapping, with the top of the seat's back.

Arthur adjust his will for the magic and went to the other chair and lifting Dot’s feet by the heels of her shoes, extracted the remaining support from under his potential assistant. Despite knowing what had happened and her mind racing a mile a minute, looking for explanations for her remaining airborne, her spirit attained another level of serenity. She knew she was floating in mid-air wrapped in a blanket, but how this state of affairs was sustained she had no clue, but she felt that Arthur was keeping her safe.

“One last bit, to do,” Arthur reassured Dot. “Although I have never done this, except once, in rehearsal, with my previous assistant. Are you up for it?”

“If it’s not too risky. And perhaps you’ll explain why you didn’t get passed that first rehearsal.”

“I would not try anything on you that I felt was risky. Or, for that matter, you were particularly worried by. As to why I never brought this to the public, was that in trying it out in rehearsal I discovered that it needed the right kind of person and I was unlikely to find an audience volunteer that was the right type of person.”

“And what type of person is that?” asked Dot, following the direction the conversation was pointing.

“The right type of person is a compatible assistant. And I feel that you are a compatible assistant.”

“What’s one of those? And what happens if you are wrong?”

“If I’m wrong, you drop to the floor; not fall, just gradually lower until you land gently below where you are at the moment, nothing worse.”

“So, nothing too terrible, but a bit of a let-down; sorry, no pun intended. But that still does not explain what you mean by a ‘compatible assistant’.”

“That's a magician’s assistant that is compatible with the magician. It’s not easy to explain, but each magician does his magic in a slightly different way and ideally you need an assistant that works the same way. Most magicians can adjust how the magic works to accommodate the assistant, but it is extra effort that could be spent giving the audience a great experience. So each magician looks for assistants that are closely compatible to make life easier and the performances better. I knew you were at least partly compatible from the phone call, but I knew you were highly compatible when we shook hands outside.”

“Is that why it tingled?”

“Probably, your experience is likely different to mine, but I felt a certainty that you would be very good for me when we shook hands.”

“If the worst that can happen is that is float to the floor, why not give it a go, whatever it is.”

Arthur stepped up to Dot’s floating figure and flicked the blanket from being laid over her torso and allowed it to fall to the ground. Dot felt a slight wobble, but in an upwards direction; Arthur felt it too and put more effort into preventing Dot from being stuck on the ceiling for a time.

“That seemed very simple. Why were you making such a big deal about it? I would have thought that floating someone would be easier without the weight of the blanket.”

“It would be if the blanket did not perform another important role. It constrains the participant to working in particular ways which is how we can do the trick in the first place. And as you can see you don’t need to be constrained to working my way, because it is your natural way of working. In short you are compatible.”

“That’s good, I think? But how do I get down from here? It feels as if I can’t just sit up and hop down off of thin air.”

“Simon can help with that. All you have to do is pick her out of the air and put her on her feet.”

Simon hesitated before stepping forward. He put both arms under the middle of Dot and then spread them until they were under Dot’s shoulders and knees, in the process lifting the skirt of Dot’s dress that now hung below her legs. He stepped in close and bend his knees and then lifted. A small stumble later he re-stabilised and lowered the legs he was now carrying while raising the shoulders. Dot grabbed his shoulders to make a more controlled dismount and was soon back on her own feet.

Arthur indicated the group of chairs and they sat. Each trying to make sense of what had happened.

Arthur was mildly shocked that he had found an assistant who was more compatible than his previous assistant had been, or was ever likely to be, even although the compatibility was converging. He was also puzzled that she did not immediately sense the way their auras complimented each other, to the point of being cautious about the opportunity offered.

Simon wondered what was going on. He was afraid that Arthur might be pulling the wool over his eyes, but could not detect any subterfuge. He also wondered at the almost instant rapport between these two people who seemed to have such different characters; Arthur the outgoing eccentric and Dot, almost shy and very normal with a small dash of curiosity. He was caught between the suspicion that he was being fooled and his desire to see how this, seemingly instant relationship would pan out.

Dot was confused about how she felt; she had never felt so safe since her father had die and never in such peril either; her spirit wanted to do this all day every day, but her intellect queried how such things might be possible and her rationality felt challenged. It felt irrational to want the impossible, even if the impossible had just been demonstrated.