Page 67 of Double or Nothing
“I know we can trust you,” I say. “Whatever happens next, we’re all in this together.”
“Yes, and next time, there will be no mistakes,” she says.
29
SEVEN
“Time for a break! Take ten minutes, everyone!” I push the damp strands of hair off my forehead, a thin layer of perspiration forming from the heat and my mounting frustration. As I hurry off the stage to clear my head, the scent of metal, sweat, and lingering traces of stage smoke fills the air.
Rehearsal for a new trick isn’t going well and I’m quickly losing patience. The trick fell apart, and with it the thin veil of magic we weave for the audience. If a live audience were watching, they could see my assistant attempt to curl her body into an impossibly tight space inside a hidden compartment in the box. Instead of giving the illusion she magically disappeared, they could clearly tell that she is nothing more than a talented contortionist.
To an illusionist, there’s nothing worse than the sharp sting of reality breaking through the world of magic. If that ever happens to me, I’m finished in this town.
As I leave, my assistant’s voice, tinged with desperation, calls out behind me. “I’m sorry, Seven.” Her footsteps hurry to catch up. “My heel caught on the box, and I couldn’t pull my legs up fast enough. I screwed up. Let’s try it one more time before we quit for the day.”
“It’s okay,” I murmur, trying to calm my own frayed nerves. I give her a reassuring smile. “You’ll nail it next time. We could both use a break. I worked everyone extra hard today.”
She nods quickly in relief and runs back onto the stage to practice again without me. I walk down the hallway to the staff’s break room and grab a chilled water bottle out of the refrigerator. Pulling my phone out of my pocket, I check it for the umpteenth time.
Nothing from Jade.
I’m anxious, waiting for her call to let me know everything is going smoothly. I should’ve insisted on shadowing her today at the Bora Bora during the practice run. But as always, Jade had been stubborn, assuring me she didn’t need any of us there since they were only practicing on one machine.
Leroy walks into the breakroom, his hulking form making the room feel smaller, and barrels straight past me. During rehearsal, he always stands at the corner of the stage, observing my every move. If anything were to go wrong, he would be there in a split-second to help.
“Is there anything to eat in here besides the fruit basket over there on the table?” He points to a big basket of complimentary fresh fruit I supply the crew with every day. “Bananas and oranges don’t fill a big man up. They’re more of a tiny snack than a real meal, in my opinion. Do I have time to run out and grab a hamburger before rehearsal starts again?” He slowly rubs his stomach. “I’m craving a Big Mac.”
“When are you not craving a Big Mac? You need to stop eating that crap.”
“Save your breath,” he says, rolling his eyes at me.
“If you’re not going to eat those bananas, then I need you to do something quick for me.” Hurrying across the room, I grab a banana from the fruit basket and peel it. “Hold this,” I say, handing over the banana to him after I toss the peeling into the trash can. “Go stand over there on the other side of the room.”
He glares at me. “Are you fucking serious?” he asks. “Do I look like I’m in the mood for your silliness? Because believe me, I’m not. I’m on the verge of being hangry, both hungry and angry. My blood sugar’s dropping again and I’m feeling faint.”
“It’ll only take a second,” I assure him. “Come on! I need to practice this trick one more time before I go live with it on stage. Only two minutes, I promise.”
With an exaggerated sigh, he takes the banana out of my hand and walks to the far side of the room.
“Is this far enough away?” he asks.
“Yeah, that’s perfect. Hold the banana at the bottom with your arm out straight.”
I pull out the deck of cards in my pocket and shuffle them quickly. “Ready?” I ask, grinning at him.
“Ready as I’ll ever be,” he replies. “Don’t you fucking dare hit me in the eye with one of those damn cards,” he warns. “If you do, I’ll swear, I’ll come right over there and punch you right in the nose. I’ll mess you up bad.”
“Then we’ll both be out of a job,” I tell him. “Who wants to see an illusionist who looks like he’s been in a street fight? Hold still. On the count of three.”
I grasp the deck of cards in my left hand and place the fingers of my right hand on top. Leroy holds the banana as far away from his face as he can get it and pulls his head back dramatically.
“For fuck’s sake! Quit being hysterical. I won’t hit you. I’ve thrown cards since I was a kid. One, two…”
In a fast eye-blurring motion, I throw the cards one at a time toward the banana, slicing it into uniform pieces right down to his thumb and forefinger.
“Yes!” I say, pumping the air with my fist. “Not a single miss. Damn, am I good or what?”
Leroy is clearly unimpressed. “I’m not picking up those banana pieces,” he says with a doleful glance at the smashed banana on the tile floor. “That’s your mess. I’m not your maid. You made the mess, you clean it up.”
