Page 74 of Double or Nothing
The audience shrieks as she continues to circle right above our heads. After her third trip flying around the top of the theater with no sign of stopping, he lets out an exaggerated sigh.
“Any day now, Elsa,” he chides, playful irritation in his voice. “I know it’s hard to choose the perfect volunteer, but you need to decide. Hurry and pick someone! Our guests have dinner plans.”
Elsa ignores him, flying to the highest rafter and preening her feathers, settling in as if ready to roost for the night. Tiny white feathers drift down like snowflakes onto the seats below.
Seven 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.”
His words are barely out of his mouth when 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. The audience laughs at how ridiculous I appear with a big white dove perched on my head.
She’s heavier than I would have expected, and I freeze, fearing I might hurt her if I reach up to remove her. Instead, I sit still as she leans down to preen my long hair with her beak.
His eyes meet mine, and he grins, a spark of mischief dancing in his eyes. For a fleeting instant, the theater disappears, and it's just him and me. Elsa's so-called random choice was a ruse. I realize he trained her to fly to my seat. This moment was meticulously orchestrated by the master illusionist himself.
He has played me once again, knowing I’d be too timid to volunteer. “We’ve finally found our volunteer,” he declares, approaching the edge of the stage and extending his hand. “Come on up, miss! It’ll be fun, I promise.”
I try to shake my head, but the stubborn dove won’t budge. I stand carefully, and Seven gently scolds, “Elsa! What are you doing still sitting on this lovely lady's head?” She flies to his upturned palm. “Fabulous job, my love. Now go backstage and enjoy a snack. Ladies and gentlemen, a round of applause for my assistant, please?”
The dove coos and bows, basking in the attention, before flying backstage as the applause dies down.
He extends his hand again, and this time, I accept it. Our fingers interlock, and a spark of something unspoken passes between us. My hands are cold, but his thumb rubs my knuckles gently. His grip is grounding, a reminder that this is all part of his game. He guides me up the steps to the stage, leading 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, his voice oozing charm. “Very unusual. Are your parents geologists, by any chance?”
Laughter ripples through the theater, believing his words to be mere teasing. He continues, his eyes twinkling, “Just kidding. Now, where are you from, Jade?”
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.
“Orlando, Florida,” I lie, hoping my shaky voice doesn’t give me away.
“Did you hear that?” he calls out, turning to the crowd. “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 reply, playing along.
“I can’t say I blame you,” he concedes with a warm, genuine laugh. “Ready to be the star of my show? It’ll only take 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. He opens the lid with a flourish, then 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 is tiny and cramped.
My heart beats faster.
Oh, shit!
He chose the wrong damn volunteer for this trick, because I’m extremely claustrophobic. Tight, dark spaces are the one thing I’m terrified of.
This is not happening.
Not today.
Not tomorrow.
