Page 131 of The Witching Hours

Wow. That was an insight. Maybe I’m a recluse at heart.

I thought about all the hours I spend working alone at my job doing special projects. I live in one of the world’s major cities and work at a place that gets forty-five hundred visitors a day on average, but I spend almost all my time alone. And I guess I like it that way. I have a social life, but I don’t overfeed it.

At home in Cleveland, my siblings werealwayscooking something up, bringing people over with no advance notice. Sometimes my sisters would just decide to have family pizzanight at my house. No warning. They’d simply show up. No advanced notice. I wondered if I fled to New York to get some alone time.

“I see wheels turning,” he said. “What are you thinking?”

I looked at Winkleman. “I don’t get to know the most broad and basic things about you, but you get to know what I’m thinking every second.”

He smiled, crossed his arms, and leaned against a free-standing column. “Again. It’s all about you.” He chuckled. “You will be featured in my journal. And, yes.” He nodded. “It’s a privilege to make the cut. It’s atypical to the point of quirky that you want to shift the conversation from something about you to something about me. Most customers are more than comfortable with occupying one hundred percent of the focus. ”

I sighed. “I guess musical celebrity isn’t really my thing. But thank you. I almost feel like I did experience it while trying it on in my head.” I chuckled. “I even accepted roses, took a bow, and felt velvety petals against my bare forearms.”

“A rather detailed image.”

“I feel awkward when expected to respond to ridiculous levels of flattery. I’m a middle class, Midwest girl, with a public education and nothing particularly remarkable about me.”

“And there it is,” he said. “You underestimate yourself. So, when given the opportunity to experience elite levels of excellence, you think that kind of thing should be reserved for someone… what? More deserving? Raised on the coasts?”

Nailed it. “Maybe.” After the briefest pause, I asked, “Did you learn a lot from Freud?”

“I wouldn’t say that. His biggest contribution was naming things.”

“Things like projection?”

“Exactly,” he said with a chuckle then he pointed at a wall featuring photos of the best-known magicians. The display casefeatured all sorts of typical magician paraphernalia. There was even a live white bunny sitting in a top hat.

“Hello,” I said to the bunny.

“He doesn’t talk,” Winkleman supplied.

“I, um, didn’t think he did. My greeting was intended as a standalone comment.”

“Oh, well. What do you see here that interests you?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing?”

“Except maybe the mute bunny.”

“I’m surprised. I know how much you like April Fools.”

“April Fools is unique. It’s a holiday set aside for pranks and once a year is not too much. Anything more than once a year is going too far.”

“So, you’ve given this some thought.”

“I have. An April Fools joke done well is brilliant in concept and elegant in execution. It has to be a surprise delivered in a way that the target doesn’t see it coming even though they’reexpectinga surprise. Something so personal to them that they’d never guess you’d joke about it coupled with award-worthy acting.” I looked around. “And you’re missing my favorite magician. Chris Angel.”

Winkleman looked around. “Do you want to adopt his persona and experience being Christ Angel?”

“Gods no. I want to watch him. Notbehim. I’m not into pain and some of the stuff he does hurts. He dislocates joints and even breaks bones. What’s next?”

“Beauty and celebrity.”

Around the corner was a brightly lit side room. One entire wall was made up entirely of a grid of monitors, each playing one of my favorite movies with sound muted.The Princess Bride, Field of Dreams, Willow, Night at the Museum, Ever After. Wuthering Heights,and on and on.

“What about acting?” he asked. “If not movies, maybe the stage? Perhaps you’d prefer to star in a Broadway play?”

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