"I know you've explained all this, but can you go through it once more?" I beg Julia. She takes her eyes off the road for a moment to glance at me and give a consoling smile.
"Everything is going to be fine...but sure. A large percentage of small public performances of magic are formal contracts between mystics, imprinting the effects on the magician, the assistant, or both. Everything's spelled out and agreed to in advance, with no surprises...at least if things go as they're supposed to." I feel a brief spurt of guilt again for how I horned in on her contract at the club, but Julie moves past it.
"Performances for large audiences, or even live television, are something else. Here, the magician, and sometimes the assistants, depending on how things are negotiated, can gain a lot of personal power in a short time. Both from rep, in and out of the mystical community, and from the attention of a whole bunch of normal people at once. The more they're captivated without being pushed over into outright disbelief, the better. In the old-old-old days, this was Aztec priests and such, absorbing the fervor of thousands at a time." I nod, though a question occurs to me.
"Does that mean the Aztecs didn't really sacrifice people?" Julie shakes her head.
"Well...imprinted effects usually don't cause lasting harm, or even cause the pain they ought to. But that's a choice...I'd bet in those days they let it feel exactly as it should, more screams and blood for the crowd, making it last longer than any victim would actually survive if it wasn't magic." I shiver a bit, imagining it, wondering if the assistants really got enough out of it to justify the experience. "That said, there were supposedly ways of drawing directly off of someone's true death, but there's a reason we don't do that anymore."
"You mean, a reason aside from it being horrible?" Julie sniffs.
"Yeah. It's inefficient. Genuine death, the transition from this world to the next, involves a ton of power, but only tiny bits actually leak off in a way someone can soak up. Which didn't stop 'em...they just used mass sacrifices to make it up in volume. The modern way's much better all around." I nod, though part of me wonders if Julia would really mind the horrible part if it wasn't a "bad deal". Only for a second though...I quickly scold myself. She'd never do anything like that, Julie is a wonderful person.
"And the Invite is like a big performance, but a little different?" I prompt, moving past the uncomfortable subject.
"Right. With an Invite, it's not a formal contract, nothing's specified in advance. But because it's so public, you're reasonably assured of safety, and you're likely to get imprinted with several good effects in one shot. In exchange, the presenter gets to draw off of the improved audience reaction from your genuine ignorance of what's coming, and the strong sympathetic links that form when something uses an 'audience volunteer'."
"But what if I recognize a trick and then don't act innocent enough and spoil everything?" Julie gives a short laugh, then sighs.
"Just from you playing around for practice, I'd say you have a very genuine demeanor. There's an innocence about you that just-" She cuts off for a moment, her smile fading. "I'm sure you'll do great."
"I wouldn't be so innocent if I had the option," I mutter. But as usual, she doesn't rise to the bait of discussing my love life, and I don't push. As ecstatic as I'd be to take Julie to bed, and even though she occasionally does something that suggests interest, she's consistently ignored enough questions and hints that it seems obvious that she's stuck on hetero. But really, she's wonderful enough as a best friend that asking for anything more would just be getting greedy.
The rest of the drive is spent in silence, until we're in sight of the theater. Julie pulls over a couple blocks short, however, as planned.
"Okay, just relax. You ready?" she asks, pulling a folded sheet of paper out of her bag, opening it, and setting it on the center divide between us. I nod and hold out my hands, squeezing lightly as she takes them in her own. "Close your eyes, and picture a flow, from everywhere, into you, and then through our hands into me." I do as she asks and try not to shiver as she begins to chant the strange-sounding ancient Greek words. After less than a minute, she finishes, and despite my effort, I can't repress a shiver as a cool tingle spreads over me. I open my eyes and see the other woman reacting similarly.
"Guess that means it worked," she says, sounding relieved. "Here we go, then!" She puts the car back in gear and pulls up to the theater, which actually has a valet station for the occasion. A valet opens Julie's door for her, while I get out myself. Once she has a ticket, we walk inside and to the box office window inside. She gets there a beat before me, but she doesn't say anything and looks to me. Right, it's my show now. I open my bag and pull out the card.
"I, um...got this?" I say, uncertainly, sliding it through the depression in the counter. The attendant doesn't even blink, just sweeps the card off the counter and deposits it somewhere underneath. His hands come back up with two tickets.
"Of course, I have your ticket right here, Ms. Doolittle, and one for your companion. You are in the Orchestra section, row F. Your seat is eight, and your companion's is nine," he says, and I don't miss the emphasis. I guess it's important they know which seat I'm in, though it seems odd they can't just know that...you know, magically? Like how he knows my "name"?
We head to the theater proper, and an usher at the door leads us to the proper row, after a glance at our tickets.
"'Companion'," I say, smiling, as we follow. "Good term, very neutral." Julia actually laughs.
"Better safe than sorry, I guess." When we reach our row, I take a moment to look around as we wait for people to stand so we can edge past. I'm relieved to see that Julie was right. As fancy as my white gown is, and Julia's dazzling black sheath, we're not particularly overdressed...a lot of other people are in formal wear, and no one is entirely casual. You'd think it was a Broadway opening rather than a random Saturday show in Pittsburgh.
We make innocuous small talk while waiting for the show to begin. I learn that the couple to my right are celebrating their fifteenth wedding anniversary, and we duly congratulate them.
"I heard about the performance and thought it would be a good way to show we're 'keeping the magic alive'," the husband says. I laugh, and Julia rolls her eyes, but smiles good-naturedly. His wife dimples, and I can tell she's embarrassed that he's talking to strangers but thinks it's endearing anyway.
Sometimes life does actually work out, I think. Julie squeezes my hand, and I look up at her in surprise. She looks a bit surprised herself, but gives another squeeze and then moves her hand quickly back to her lap. I must've looked a bit too wistful or something.
- - -
The show turns out to be an ensemble...several different performers with their own routines. It's all quite good...I can't tell with most whether it's mystical or just skilled illusion. I'm not really sure how the mystical stuff works with sleight-of-hand, either, Julia's never gone into that. But it's a pleasure to watch either way.
Eventually, a tall man walks out on stage in 'hip magician' mode - nice shoes, slacks and a suit jacket, but over a plain tee. His hair is a wavy brown, and our seats are close enough that I can see the blue of his eyes.
A soft classical piece begins to play. He turns sideways, then holds his right hand out in front of himself, making a slightly open fist. The magician pinches into his breast pocket with his free hand and drops something invisibly small into the fist, poking it down with a finger. His free hand dips into a side pocket, removing a small paper packet, "Miracle-Gro" clearly visible. He tears it open with his teeth, then tips the packet, sprinkling powder into his fist. Finally, one last trip to a side pocket brings out a small crystal bulb, from which he pours water into the fist, not a drop escaping to the floor.
The magician's left hand raises to his temple and he adopts a pose of intense concentration. A minute passes, and nothing has happened...the volume of the music has even lowered, encouraging the low mutters that float up from the audience. But then it suddenly surges, as a shoot of green begins to poke up from his fist, prompting noises of surprise. Over another minute, the shoot gradually lengthens into a long stem, and a lovely red rose blossoms from the tip. He opens his fist to show it's empty, holding the stem only by two fingers, and raises the blossom gently to his nose, smiling. The audience goes wild with applause, myself and Julie included.
"I hope everyone is enjoying the show so far," he says genially after the music and applause fades out, and the audience gives the additional light applause this remark expects. "I'm going to kick things up a notch, though," he continues. "See, I make it a point to only use volunteers in my act. I may know magic, but somehow making backstage drama disappear has always eluded me." Laughter. Women are already starting to raise their hands; he's definitely cute. I start to raise mine as well, but he raises his arms and gestures for everyone to put their hands down.
"I can't just pick, though...this magic needs someone just right. Can't let myself be swayed by...other considerations." He makes an exaggerated gesture on his chest as if he's pushing up breasts and primping his hair. More laughter, some embarrassed. The music starts again, modern guitar.
"I'm going to give this a toss," he says above the music. "If you catch it, stand up and hold it up high...if you're the one, we'll know. If not, toss it again and someone else gets a chance." Lyrics have been added to the tune, and there's some chuckling as people recognize the song.
"She's blood...flesh and bone...no tucks or silicone...she's touch...smell, sight, taste and sound..."
The magician raises the rose to his nose once more at the word "smell", then takes several quick steps forward to the edge of the stage and tosses the rose several rows into the audience with a strong underhand throw.
A tall blonde well off to my left catches it and stands excitedly, holding the rose high in one hand as he'd instructed. A screen behind the magician has lit up to show a close-up camera view of the woman, from the angle of the stage. The magician simply watches for a moment.
"But somehow I can't believe...that anything should happen...I know where I belong, and nothing's gonna happen..."
At the phrase "nothing's gonna happen", the stem of the rose suddenly droops, the blossom hanging down forlornly. The audience laughs, and the woman's expression becomes sour for an instant, then embarrassed. He shrugs, then makes an encouraging throwing gesture, and she gives it an overhand toss across the theater, landing a bit behind me and to the right.
A sophisticated-looking middle-aged woman in a sequined dress rises, her face a bit skeptical, the rose in her outstretched hand.
"First class and fancy free...she's high society..."
The rose droops again, and the woman actually laughs along with everyone else. Without waiting, she turns around, a mischievous look in her eye, and lobs the rose up towards the balcony seats above her. I twist in my seat and crane my neck to look. It's a good toss, and almost makes it, but the rose bounces off the balcony railing just short of the grasping fingers of a girl, then back down directly towards me. I raise my hands and barely catch it, an inch shy of smacking me in the face.
I stand, a bit shakily, all my nerves coming back, as people around me applaud, none louder than Julia and the anniversary couple. The latter look thrilled on my behalf, Julia looks mostly amused. I raise my arm, watching the rose curiously to see what the signal of acceptance will look like. Maybe bloom more? Change colors?
"What could a guy like me...ever really offer? She's perfect as she can be...why should I even bother?"
I feel a strong tingle over my body, and almost a dizzy feeling, like I'm going to lose my balance somehow. The rose twists in my hand slightly, snapping into a perfectly horizontal position.
"'Cause she's so high...high above me, she's so lovely...She's so hi-igh..."
In time with the word "high", I rise smoothly into the air, pulled aloft by the stem of the rose. I grab the stem with my other hand in mild panic, my feet swinging, before I realize that the fading tingle took with it most of my weight, and I have no difficulty holding on to the rose, even one-handed. I see my face blown up on the screen behind the magician, my genuine astonishment and near-alarm obvious. The audience erupts with equally surprised applause and laughter.
After rising a good fifteen feet above the audience below me, I begin to float gently towards the stage. A startled realization pulls my left hand rapidly off of the rose and behind me, pushing my dress between my legs so I can trap it there, clamping them tightly together. More laughter from the audience, the bright flush in my cheeks clear in close-up, even on the slightly-washed out video screen. Sure, part of my initial attraction to all this was the exhibitionist thrill, but there are limits of public decency, you know?
As I lower to the stage, the magician takes my hands and bows over the one without the rose, pressing his lips to it gently.
"She comes to speak to me...I freeze immediately...'Cause what she says sounds so unreal..."
I waver before the romantic gesture, but the playful impulse for payback wins out, and it fits the lyrics... I cough slightly, and he glances up at me. "An 'upskirt'? Really?" I whisper, my brows raised. He chokes on laughter for a moment, but quickly masks it with a smile that is pure charm. He leads me to the front of the stage and presents me to the audience, to appreciative applause. I smile, still a bit nervously. As the final chorus finishes, the rose twitches out of my hand to soar above us, and bursts with a bright flash, scattered petals raining down. After the lengthy applause ends, the magician produces a microphone from somewhere and holds it under my chin.
"Thanks for joining me on stage," he says, mildly. "What's your name?"
"A-...Stanza," I say. I don't look for Julia in the audience, who's surely shaking her head at my near-slip.
"Stanza," he repeats, "how lovely. Stanza, have we ever met before this moment?"
"No," I respond, shaking my head.
"And did you have any idea of what you're going to be doing...or have done to you...before you caught that rose?"
"Definitely not," I say, with another head shake. "If I had, I might have worn pants," I add impulsively. The magician actually loses it, holding the microphone away so his laughter doesn't blast out over the audience. Not that it would matter, as they're cracking up as well. I catch sight of Julia, and she has her face in her hands. I try not to let it worry me. If this guy is going to play with me, I'm going to play right back!
The show turns out to be an ensemble...several different performers with their own routines. It's all quite good...I can't tell with most whether it's mystical or just skilled illusion. I'm not really sure how the mystical stuff works with sleight-of-hand, either, Julia's never gone into that. But it's a pleasure to watch either way.
Eventually, a tall man walks out on stage in 'hip magician' mode - nice shoes, slacks and a suit jacket, but over a plain tee. His hair is a wavy brown, and our seats are close enough that I can see the blue of his eyes.
A soft classical piece begins to play. He turns sideways, then holds his right hand out in front of himself, making a slightly open fist. The magician pinches into his breast pocket with his free hand and drops something invisibly small into the fist, poking it down with a finger. His free hand dips into a side pocket, removing a small paper packet, "Miracle-Gro" clearly visible. He tears it open with his teeth, then tips the packet, sprinkling powder into his fist. Finally, one last trip to a side pocket brings out a small crystal bulb, from which he pours water into the fist, not a drop escaping to the floor.
The magician's left hand raises to his temple and he adopts a pose of intense concentration. A minute passes, and nothing has happened...the volume of the music has even lowered, encouraging the low mutters that float up from the audience. But then it suddenly surges, as a shoot of green begins to poke up from his fist, prompting noises of surprise. Over another minute, the shoot gradually lengthens into a long stem, and a lovely red rose blossoms from the tip. He opens his fist to show it's empty, holding the stem only by two fingers, and raises the blossom gently to his nose, smiling. The audience goes wild with applause, myself and Julie included.
"I hope everyone is enjoying the show so far," he says genially after the music and applause fades out, and the audience gives the additional light applause this remark expects. "I'm going to kick things up a notch, though," he continues. "See, I make it a point to only use volunteers in my act. I may know magic, but somehow making backstage drama disappear has always eluded me." Laughter. Women are already starting to raise their hands; he's definitely cute. I start to raise mine as well, but he raises his arms and gestures for everyone to put their hands down.
"I can't just pick, though...this magic needs someone just right. Can't let myself be swayed by...other considerations." He makes an exaggerated gesture on his chest as if he's pushing up breasts and primping his hair. More laughter, some embarrassed. The music starts again, modern guitar.
"I'm going to give this a toss," he says above the music. "If you catch it, stand up and hold it up high...if you're the one, we'll know. If not, toss it again and someone else gets a chance." Lyrics have been added to the tune, and there's some chuckling as people recognize the song.
"She's blood...flesh and bone...no tucks or silicone...she's touch...smell, sight, taste and sound..."
The magician raises the rose to his nose once more at the word "smell", then takes several quick steps forward to the edge of the stage and tosses the rose several rows into the audience with a strong underhand throw.
A tall blonde well off to my left catches it and stands excitedly, holding the rose high in one hand as he'd instructed. A screen behind the magician has lit up to show a close-up camera view of the woman, from the angle of the stage. The magician simply watches for a moment.
"But somehow I can't believe...that anything should happen...I know where I belong, and nothing's gonna happen..."
At the phrase "nothing's gonna happen", the stem of the rose suddenly droops, the blossom hanging down forlornly. The audience laughs, and the woman's expression becomes sour for an instant, then embarrassed. He shrugs, then makes an encouraging throwing gesture, and she gives it an overhand toss across the theater, landing a bit behind me and to the right.
A sophisticated-looking middle-aged woman in a sequined dress rises, her face a bit skeptical, the rose in her outstretched hand.
"First class and fancy free...she's high society..."
The rose droops again, and the woman actually laughs along with everyone else. Without waiting, she turns around, a mischievous look in her eye, and lobs the rose up towards the balcony seats above her. I twist in my seat and crane my neck to look. It's a good toss, and almost makes it, but the rose bounces off the balcony railing just short of the grasping fingers of a girl, then back down directly towards me. I raise my hands and barely catch it, an inch shy of smacking me in the face.
I stand, a bit shakily, all my nerves coming back, as people around me applaud, none louder than Julia and the anniversary couple. The latter look thrilled on my behalf, Julia looks mostly amused. I raise my arm, watching the rose curiously to see what the signal of acceptance will look like. Maybe bloom more? Change colors?
"What could a guy like me...ever really offer? She's perfect as she can be...why should I even bother?"
I feel a strong tingle over my body, and almost a dizzy feeling, like I'm going to lose my balance somehow. The rose twists in my hand slightly, snapping into a perfectly horizontal position.
"'Cause she's so high...high above me, she's so lovely...She's so hi-igh..."
In time with the word "high", I rise smoothly into the air, pulled aloft by the stem of the rose. I grab the stem with my other hand in mild panic, my feet swinging, before I realize that the fading tingle took with it most of my weight, and I have no difficulty holding on to the rose, even one-handed. I see my face blown up on the screen behind the magician, my genuine astonishment and near-alarm obvious. The audience erupts with equally surprised applause and laughter.
After rising a good fifteen feet above the audience below me, I begin to float gently towards the stage. A startled realization pulls my left hand rapidly off of the rose and behind me, pushing my dress between my legs so I can trap it there, clamping them tightly together. More laughter from the audience, the bright flush in my cheeks clear in close-up, even on the slightly-washed out video screen. Sure, part of my initial attraction to all this was the exhibitionist thrill, but there are limits of public decency, you know?
As I lower to the stage, the magician takes my hands and bows over the one without the rose, pressing his lips to it gently.
"She comes to speak to me...I freeze immediately...'Cause what she says sounds so unreal..."
I waver before the romantic gesture, but the playful impulse for payback wins out, and it fits the lyrics... I cough slightly, and he glances up at me. "An 'upskirt'? Really?" I whisper, my brows raised. He chokes on laughter for a moment, but quickly masks it with a smile that is pure charm. He leads me to the front of the stage and presents me to the audience, to appreciative applause. I smile, still a bit nervously. As the final chorus finishes, the rose twitches out of my hand to soar above us, and bursts with a bright flash, scattered petals raining down. After the lengthy applause ends, the magician produces a microphone from somewhere and holds it under my chin.
"Thanks for joining me on stage," he says, mildly. "What's your name?"
"A-...Stanza," I say. I don't look for Julia in the audience, who's surely shaking her head at my near-slip.
"Stanza," he repeats, "how lovely. Stanza, have we ever met before this moment?"
"No," I respond, shaking my head.
"And did you have any idea of what you're going to be doing...or have done to you...before you caught that rose?"
"Definitely not," I say, with another head shake. "If I had, I might have worn pants," I add impulsively. The magician actually loses it, holding the microphone away so his laughter doesn't blast out over the audience. Not that it would matter, as they're cracking up as well. I catch sight of Julia, and she has her face in her hands. I try not to let it worry me. If this guy is going to play with me, I'm going to play right back!