For Evarts Zteglef

Published by
DELL PUBLISHING CO., INC.
1 Dag Hammarskj'old Plaza
New York, N.Y. 10017

Acknowledgment
"Heartbreak Hotel," wurds and
music by Mae Boren Axton, Tommy
Durden and Elvis Presley.
© 19,56 by Tree Publishing Co., Inc.
Reprinted by permission of the publisher.

Copyright © 1976 by William Goldman

All rights reserved. No part of this book
may be reproduced in any form or by any means
without the prior written permission of
Delacorte Press, New York, N.Y. 10017,
excepting brief quotes used in connection
with reviews written specifically for inclusion
in a magazine or newspaper.

Dell ® TM 681510, Dell Publishing Co-., Inc.
ISBN: 0-440-15141-4

Reprinted by arrangement with
Delacorte Press
Printed m the United States of America

First Dell printing—August 1977

All magic, it goes without saying,
is illusion. The effect of the
illusion is how it appears to the
audience. The preparation
for the illusion is everything—
from the crimping of a card
to the practicing of ten thou-
sand hours. If the prepara-
tion has been sufficient and
proper, then the execution
of the illusion is inexorable:

before you're even -started,
the work is done.

By the great ones, and I would
be lying if I didn't include
myself, magic is the ultimate
entertainment: they, the audi-
ence, will never forget you,
or hold you less than kindly in
their hearts. What I'm saying, all
you beginners out there, is this:

you do it right, they can't love
you enough . , ,
Merlin, Jr.

He was old, and usually he did not hunt near Melody
Lake. But just before dark he had startled a decent
buck, and tracked it, forgetting time. It was cold when
he gave it up, and across the lake he saw the main
house lit, and lower down by the shore, a single lit
cabin.

The screams started coming from the cabin.
4* first he thought they were female screams, but
sound can be deceptive over water, and after a mo-
ment, he began to have serious doubts. They could
have been coming from a man, a woman, some giant
cat. Finally, he wasn't certain'they came from a living
throat at ail.

Even with the loaded shotgun in his arms, he began
to shiver. The screams drew him closer, though they
had every reason not to: he was frightened, he was
'old, it wasn't his business, he didn't know the people,
his own wife would start worrying soon.
Still the screams forced him forward.
And slowly, step by doubting step, gun ready, he
moved around the water toward the sound, toward
the one lit cabin and whatever was left inside . . ,

1. EFFECT

1

Trust me for a while.

I understand that's really the line the spider hit the
fly with, not "come into my parlor" as popular legend
has it, and I also realize I am not always your most
Walter Cronldte type fella, sturdy, staunch, etc. But
in this particular instance, there is Just no doubt in my
you-should-pardon-the-expression mind that I know
whereof I speak.

Corky thinks I'm crazy, natch.

Somebody sure is.

DoubleSpace.

I don't know quite how to put this without sounding
unduly melodramatic, but something, and I wish to
Christ I understood what, is happening to Corky.

He is changing.

Look—nothing wrong with change. And I'm not im-
plying this is something out of Invasion of the Body
Snatchers and there's some giant pod from outer space
beginning to inhabit his cranium.

And I'm also aware that he's functioning full out, his
career is rocketing right along and the broads he's all
the time picking up never seem to have any complaints
—why he always only sees them once though, I'll
never figure, it's like they fall off the face of the earth
or something, but his sex life isn't all that much my
business, probably he bores easy—and not only is he
doing good and screwing good, he's still as decent and

12 -WILLIAM GOLDMAN

thoughtful a guy I guess who's come down the pike of
late.

But goddammit, I see signs.

Example: the moodiness. Never used to be there.
And if he would get down on himself in the old days, I
could always zing him a little, force some kind of rise
out of him, snap him to. No more.                '*

Now there's these long silences.

And he's closing oE. He used to be so open you*d
almost want to advise him to he a little. Well he's
lying now. And not just a little either.

My deepest fear? I think Cork/s cracking.

DoubleSpace.

Query: define for those of us with less intellectual
equipment than thee, oh wise one, "cracking."

A kosher Freudian would answer thusly: the state of
being balmy; of having misplaced the marbles, loos-
ened the screw.

Follow-up query: and you actually mean to con-
clude that just because a close friend gets quiet on
occasion and on other occasions fibs—this is proof to
you that he is becoming loony tunes?

No, I guess not, but I also can't sit here and ignore
the fact that this very afternoon in front of God and
everybody, he got, for the first time in his life, a mi-
graine—can you believe that?—in the igyo'sP—it's right
out of a Joannie Crawford flick for chrissakes.

He was being quiet for what I thought was too long
a period, so I asked, "Something the matter?"
No, should there be?" Corky answered.

But a little too innocent for me to buy completely,
so I hit him with a follow-up: "You sure been staring
out the window for a while."

"I'm thinking is all."

"About?"

He shrugs. "Things."
"That's pretty specific."

MAGIC 13

"Nothing, really, fust a couple little things that are
maybe kind of bothering me,"

"Schmucko," I said logically and soft *Tf things
are bothering you then logically, by definition, some-
thing must be the matter. So I simply ask again,
what?"

—and he explodes—

Corky. Yelling, screaming. The same Corky who is
so sweet you want to whoopse, as I never tire of point-
ing out to him, is insulting the shit out of me.

This is my journal, and I can put in what I want to
put in and leave out what I want to leave out and I
choose to leave out the details of the abuse. But it
goes on and on and on until finally I say, "Aw Laddie,
please Jesus, I was only trying to help."

He cut off then. Started to pace. Stopped. Started
again. Slowed- Then the blinking. You could sense
something. Now he stopped the second time^T.ittle al-
most imperceptible pulsing in his temple area. He
stood there and you could actually see the moment
when the pain whipped down, descended like a snow-
fall.

Do I have to tell you I had tears behind my eyes?

Tactful comment: this is starting to seem Just the
least bit flitty. Fats old stick.

Honest reply: I know, I know, and we're not, but I
can't help the way it sounds. "Tears." "Migraines."
Sometimes I think that if me and Corky only had one
of those infinitely complicated unceasingly sado-maso-
chistic homosexual relationships, boy, how simple life
would be ...

14 WILLIAM GOLDMAN

The Wisdom According to Fats
Entry for: 10 October, 1975

Found at: 7 Grade Terrace
Penthouse One
so October. 1975

The Contents of This
Entire Journal Will
Be Listed As:

POLICE EXHIBIT D
2

In the middle of Manhattan is the Frick, and in the
middle of the Frick is the Garden Court, many col-
umned, a gently curving glass roof over it all. There is
a small fountain in the center, and the room is filled
with plants imbedded in dirt so rich and black it seems
almost painted. There are a few marble benches where
you can sit and rest and look at the plants and listen
to the quiet falling of the water. If there is a more
peaceful place in the central city, it remains thus far
undiscovered.

And it was in the Garden Court of the Frick Museum
at dose to six o'clock, on the nth of October that
Corky Withers, seated alone in the comer, began
silendy to weep.

The crying gave no warning, had no build. One mo-
ment he was staring at the fountain, dry-eyed, the next
he was caught up in quiet tears. He reached for his
handkerchief, wiped a few times, but it didn't help, so
he buried his face in his hands.

"1 don't suppose you want to talk.**

Corky looked up into the old woman's face. He had
seen her around, sometimes helping at the little stand
where they sold books and postcards.

"You come here often," she said.

Corky made a nod.

"You like the paintings?"

This room," Corky said. "It's so peaceful I feel good
here."

She pointed to his face. "If this is what you're like

l6 WILLIAM GOLDMAM

when you feel good, I'd hate to see you when you're
happy."

Corky had to laugh. After a moment, he dried his
eyes. "Thank you," he said.

"Things will get better, you'll see."

'Things are getting better, that's what's so crazy."-,

She sat down alongside him on the bench. "I'm Miss
Flanagan, what's your name?"

"Corky people call me."

"Why really were you crying—I'm a terrible snoop."
"You'll laugh."

**Never at tears."

"I got a piece of wonderful news yesterday.*"

*Tm not laughing," Miss Flanagan said. "But thafs
not to say I don't see the humor."
"Why are you looking at me like that?" Corky said.
''Because I've noticed you before and you've always
reminded me of somebody and I just realized who.
You look like a young Spencer Tracy."
"Big ears and big nose you mean?"
She shook her head. "It's in the eyes. I believe you.
You should run for president I always thought that
Spencer Tracy would have made a wonderful presi-
dent"

From a doorway, a guard appeared. "Closing up
shop. May."

Miss Flanagan nodded and stood. Corky did the
same. "Where do you live?" he asked. "You're not the
only snoop on Ac block."

"I have a room up in Yorkville."
"I go that way. Let me taxi you home."
Tm not in the habit of traveling with strange men."
"I only drink blood on Tuesdays," Corky told her.
She studied his eyes. "Just like Spencer Tracy," she
said, she held out her arm. "It would be my pleasure."
He smiled his good smile and guided her to the street,
helped her into a cab. It was the first time she had
taken one, she said, in eleven years, except once when

MAGIC 17

a rainstorm hit just after she'd bought a brand new
pair of shoes.

They got out on the comer of 8/th and First—her
room was halfway in toward York—and on the corner,
as he paid, she stopped and stared at the tiny jewelry
shop that was closing up on the comer. She waved to
the little man inside. "He's very nice, Mr. Shaber, he
lets me window-shop all I want," she said when Corky
came alongside.

"You do it a lot?"

"Before I go home."

"Every night?"

She nodded. "Just for a minute or two." She pointed
to a lovely design of silver chains. "I always tell Mr.
Shaber I'm saving for one."

Corky took her into the shop. "Gold would look bet-
ter on you," he said. He pointed to a slender strand of
gold. "Price, please?" he said.

"For the choker? Hundred and ten plus tax."

"Fine," Corky said and got out his wallet, put two
hundred in cash on the counter, held out his hand for
the choker. Turn around," he said to Miss Flanagan.

"Don't you play games with me."

"Turn around, that's an order."

She half turned. "Why are you doing this?"

"Because I can," and he gestured for her to finish
turning. When she did he put the choker around her
throat, fixed the clasp properly.

She just stared at herself in the mirror, then at Corky.
"Are you rich?"

He shrugged. "Not yet. Maybe I could be."

Mr. Shaber returned with the change, handed it
over.

Miss Flanagan was looking at herself in the mirror
again. "It's really mine?"

"Oh stop it"

"You don't think it's too tight or anything?"

"I think it's just the newness of the feel," Mr. Shaber

l8 WILLIAM GOLDMAN

told her. "Wear it awhile. I can always have it made a
little longer if you. decide."
" 'Night," Corky said, and he opened the door for

her.

As they turned onto Syth she said, "Thank you but I
really want to know why you're doing this."       -*

"I don't know. You made me laugh when I was cry-
ing. I like to please people."
"Have you done this kind of thing before?"
"Never. Probably never will again."
"What can I do in exchange?"
"You don't get it. May—we're even now."
"Can I at least make you some coffee?"
"I'm not in the habit of coffee-ing with strange

women."

She laughed, touched the gold. "It does feel tight."*

"Probably just the newness."
**Will you have coffee?"

"I'll walk you to your door. Maybe you'll change
your mind, not want me inside."
"No. I trust you."
"Everybody does.**

"Is there any reason they shouldn't?"
Corky felt bis eyes go cold. "Not for me to say ,. .*

3

THE MYSTERY OF THE GOLDEN CHOKER

I'm not about to knock Georges or Dame Agatha off
their thrones, but right from the start, as soon as I saw
the thing, I knew it was weirdo time. I asked, as cas-
ually as only I can, what the fuck it was.

Corky shrugged, as casually as only he can. "Just a
thing. Choker I think they're called."

"And we're wearing gold this year, is that it. Her-
mione?"

"It's not mine."

"Possession is nine-tenths, schmucko."

He looked af me. "Please. I would really appreciate
it more than you can imagine if we don't pursue this."

"I'm not pursuing, who s pursuing, but when some-
body spends what must be a grand for a hunk of
jewelry, can you blame me since I'm only known far
and wide as being that somebody's manager, for being
a little interested?"

"It didn't even cost hardly a hundred." Corky got out
a cigarette. "Want one?"

I said sure and we smoked awhile.

"Don't do this, huh? I asked please,*' he said finally.

"Just smoking is all I'm doing," I told him.

"It's the silence."

"You want I should put on my tap shoes and do my
Annette Funicello routine?"

"It was just an impulse. I bought it for Miss Flan-
agan, she's an old lady."

20 WILUAM GOLDMAN

"Oh I believe that. I get those impulses hourly. Tm
acquiring the Taj Mahal for the milkman tomorrow."
Hes starting to pace now, inhaling tense and deep.
"It was too tight for her. She asked me to take it back.
The jeweler said he'd loosen it but when I got to the
store he was shut so I'll take it in later."          ^

"Why the impulse?"
He looked at me. "You'll make more out of it than

I feel like just now."

"Why the impulse?"

"You just gonna keep on saying that?"

"Throughout eternity, Heathcliff—why the impulse?"

He wouldn't look at me and he was talking lickety-
rucldngsplit. "I was at the Frick, I was listening to the
fountain, I started to cry. Miss Flanagan works there,
she got me out of my mood, I felt I owed her some-
thing, no big deal, see?"

"You cried? In public?^

"I knew you'd make more—"

"—just hold it—day before yesterday, you play Babs
Stanwyck and get a migraine—which just happened to
be the day the agency called and said there was some
tv interest. The next day, weeping, which just hap-
pened to be the day the agency called again to say
things were starting to simmer on the tv deal."

Corky put out his cigarette. "Why couldn't this leg-
endary Miss Flanagan take the choker back to the
jeweler herself?"
"I volunteered."

"I don't believe you. I think you're biding some-
thing."
"What would I be hiding?"
"I don't know—call the Frick and get her on the

phone—"

"—no reason—"

"—all right, I'll call her. Flanagan you say?" I start
to dial information for the Frick.

He's got his hand on mine, stopping the dialing.
"She won't be there, I just remembered."

MAGIC ai

I waited.

"She was going on vacation. That's right. She won't
be back for a while. She told me that. While we were
having coffee. I just remembered now."
I still waited, staring at him.

"I want you to say you believe me."

"Oh Laddie, 'course I do," and I hit the sincerity
with all I had and he bought it Then I did a quick
subject change. Creasey or Erie Stanley would have
probably kept backing away, but who can deal with
those kinda consequences, not me. I mean, what if it
was all a lie? Or worse, what if it was all true, and he's
losing control bad, tears for the world to see. Or worse,
what if it's kind of true. And there is a Miss Flanagan.
Or was, maybe, till yesterday . ..

DoubleSpace.

The Wisdom According to Fats
Entry for: 12 October, 1975

Found at: 7 Gracie Terrace
Penthouse One
so October, 1975

The Contents of This
Entire Journal Will
Be Listed As;

POLICE EXHIBIT D

4

"In that book, ylmow, you kill me.**

Corky looked at the fat girl, smiled. He took her
arm when the light changed, guided her across 66th
Street

"Did you read it?"

"Looking for Mr. Goodbarp" Corky shook his head.
It was almost midnight and they hadn't even gotten to
her place yet

"But you know about it?"

"Sort of by default; any girl in a singles place brings
it up sooner or later. I guess by mentioning it they
figure they'll ward off evu spirits."

"Are you an evil spirit?"

**I wish I was that colorful," Corky said.

She didn't smile or anything.

Corky stopped on the sidewalk. "Hey, you're very
frightened."

"Um-hmm." Then: "Should I be?"
"I'm very gentle," Corky said, very gently. Then:

"All my victims say that."

She still would not smile.

"Now you please listen, okay? It's late, and you've
probably got to get up early for work tomorrow, and
there's no law says we've got to do anything at all,
either with or to each other. Let me walk you to your
door and well call it quits. Or I can leave you here if
you'd like."

"Are you always so considerate or is it an act?"

24 WILLIAM GOLDMAN

"I don't know. It's an act" He thought about that
"No, it isn't"

She started walking. "Come on," she said. "I trust
you. Why do you think that is?"

Corky shrugged. "People do."

"Always?"                                       ->

"Pretty much."

"To their regret?*

"You're still frightened."

*Tm down to edgy."

"Have you ever been picked up before?"

"That's what's so crazy, this is my forty-sixth time."

Corky broke out laughing.

"Why is that funnyf

"I don't know; the accuracy surprised me."

She gestured to the canopy Just ahead. *Tm in
there."

Corky escorted her to the door. There was an old
man asleep inside, clad in what was once a uniform.
"Up to you," he said.

She studied his face. "You don't even remember my
name, do you?"

"You said your name was Diana, but you probably
lied."

She sort of smiled, did nod. "On the money. Really
I'm Fern." Now she looked at him. "111 bet you're not
really Charles, though, are you?"*

"It takes a lot out of you when you lie, so I try to
avoid it whenever possible. Charies Withers, that's me.
Most everybody calls me Corky."

"I can't make you out"

"You're not supposed to, Diana slash Fem. My God,
Fve spent a whole lifetime getting my disguise on
straight, you think I want just anybody seeing through
it without at least a little effort?"

"Fm not just anybody."

"I can tell that, Fem my beloved; it's reaUy quite
apparent, Diana my sweet—you take longer making
up your mind than just anybody. But we are now in;

MAGIC 25

the crunch. Do we go up or do we part? Because we
have prattled enough in this October night and frankly,
although I don't know you well enough to be poetic,
my ass is freezing standing here."

She gestured inside. "Oh, we go up. We always go
up. Almost always anyway. I just like dragging things
out if I can."

"Well feel proud, you've done royally.^

"Corky? You were never an 'almost'"

"Gratefully received," Corky said-

"You talk nice and I like your face," Fem said. She
glanced up at him. "Besides," and for a moment, she
paused.

Corky waited.

"You look familiar . . .'*

"You're still dragging things out," Corky called from
the bed.

Inside the bathroom, the sink went off, the door half
opened. "What?" Fem from behind the door.

"You are awaited," Corky told her.

"Give me one sec more; I've got a cleanliness thing,
you don't mind?"

"Just so you wear the spike heels and the rubber
suit. 111 forgive anything."

She laughed, closed the door. Again, water from
the sink.

Corky lay on his side, studying the door, wondering
if he should have picked up the one with the body
instead. Fern had a pretty face in spite of her flesh.
but the other one, the one two stools down, had been
splendidly stacked. Corky had wavered, wondering
which he should try for, and from the way the built
one had watched him, he felt there was a decent
chance she would prove accommodating. But some-
thing about the aggression in her, some shoulder set
perhaps or maybe just the way she gripped her glass,
made him decide no. The one with the body looked
like a hbber—"you can screw me, buddy, but lemme

fl6 WILLIAM GOLDMAM

tell you, you're gomia suffer—sad he was in no mood
for grappling.

The sound of the sink continued. Nothing to do but
wait Corky waited, eyes now dosed*

• • • ^ggy Ann Snow
Peggy Ann Snow
Please let me follow
Wherever you go ., •

Corky blinked. The little poem always had a way
of surprising him, arriving almost unbidden from some-
where inside. No matter what girl he slept with or how
many, at some point Peg would appear, just to let him
know she was still around.

"Duh-dumm." Fern stood in the doorway, pretty
face shining, a large towel held in front of her large
body.

"Worth the wait," Corky said.

She nodded toward the bed lamp on his side. *Tm
the shy type."

"You haven't got a comer on the market, Fm still
wearing my underwear." He flicked the room into
darkness. She crossed to the bed with the speed of
familiarity and then she was beside him. He reached
for her, pulled her close.

She touched him. "You aren't either wearing any-
thing," Fern said, surprised, for a moment, childlike.

"Trying to make you happy."

"Make me happy."

Corky was gentle with women. He had started late,
and when he first began socializing, that gentleness
was probably bom of plain blind panic, but it seemed
to work well, and it came naturally to him, so he never
felt the need to change. Now. slowly, he began touch-
ing Fern's body, the tips of his fingers tracing mindless
patterns on her skin.

"Fem," he whispered,

"What?"

MAGIC 27

"Try and remember one thing.**

"Tell me."

This isn't a dentist's appointment"

"Am I that tense?"

"I would say so."

"It takes me a while to get in the swing of things."

"111 be right here waiting."

"Listen?"

«ri       »

Sure.

"I'm sorry, usually I relax faster."

"Time is not one of our major problems," Corky
said, gently and soft, and then he kissed her, kissed her
again, ran the tip of his tongue along her neck. She
reached for him, held him too tight, feigned passion.
He waited for her to unclasp and when she did he
began the soft touching again, his fingertips moving
constantly now, circling her breasts, moving around
without quite approaching, and she held him again,
this time the passion less feigned, and they kissed, she
relaxed a bit more, and now his fingers grazed her soft
breasts, touching the flesh, not the nipple, keeping a
fine rhythm going until her nipple began to distend
and harden and

• • • ^ggy -^nn Snow
Peggy Ann Snow
Please let me follow—

/

"Corky?"

"Shh."

"No. Really. Listen, I hate people who ask 'what are
you thinking' but what are you thinking?"

"It doesn't matter."
"I did something wrong, didn't IP—that's why you
hesitated?—what did I do?"

"A girl I had a crush on, that's aIL"

"When?"

"I haven't seen her in fifteen years."

"So why'd you think of her now?"

S3 WILLIAM GOLDMAN

Tor sustenance* he couldn't say. 'Because I always
do' wasn't much better. "I guess you must remind me of
her," Corky said.

"I like that," Fern said.

Corky kissed her breasts.

That too," from Fern, sorter this time.

The pace picked up then. She was relaxing easily
and he felt in control Besides, there was something oc-
casionally pleasant about being with an overweight
woman—especially when they were still young enough
to have £esh tone. No matter where Corky placed his
skilled hands, there was nothing to jar him, nothing
sharp to injure. It was a round world he was visiting,
and getting there was probably a quarter of the fun.
Their bodies were in synch now, and when she was
moist he was ready, so he moved in, being careful to
keep his weight off her as he rolled on top, because
she was, if the signals she was sending were to be
believed, enjoying herself thoroughly and he had no
wish to add any discomfort; balanced on his elbows
and knees. Corky moved in happy silence, a silence
that went on for he hadn't really any exact idea, but
it ended when Fem said "The Carson showF quite
loudly.

"Yes?"

"No wonder you looked familiar—my God, I saw you
on The Johnny Carson Show, you were a guest after
Don Rickles, that's right, isn't it?"

Corky stopped what he was doing. "Right"

"I'm fucking somebody famous, that's just so won-
derfuL"

"I'm not famous."

"Oh but you will be, I know it—you were sensational,
better than Bickles—I swear to God I'm not just saying
that because you're here.**
Corky said nothing. Could-not-say-anythmg.

"Just wait till I tell them at Brearley—I teach at
Brearley, that's a school..." Her voice lost the excite-
ment. "No one would believe me. 'Famous Man Fucks

MAGIC 29

Fat Girl.' I wouldn't believe it either." She was quiet a
moment "To hell with 'em, I won't tell anyone." She
moved out, groped around for the bed lamp, turned it
on. "But I'll know, won't I?"

Corky made a nod.

She reached up, touched his face. "You know what,
Mr. Withers? You are my memory now . . ."

Corky waited till she turned the light off. Then he
put his lips to her throat. Her throat was lovely ...

5

Fats was sprawled in an armchair, the latest Variety
nearby. Corky came out of the bedroom. He had been
lying down in his slacks and button-down, and now
the pants were wrinkled, the shirt torn. Nobody said
anything for a moment. Corky walked slowly to the
window and opened the blinds. The October sun
wasn't all that strong, but even so, it made him cry out
with sudden pain. Quickly he closed the blinds again,
yanked them tight shut

"Schmucko," Fats said then. "You and me have got
to have a powwow."

"No we don't," Corky told him. He glanced at his
watch. "Christ, how long was I in there?"

"I don't know; two hours, more maybe, what dif-
ference does it make?"

"Curious is all."

"What you mean is, are they getting worse?"

''You blame me for wondering?"

"You're the only one that can answer that." Long
pause. "Are they?"

Another. Longer. Then; "I think."

"That's two migraines right?—the first migraines of
your life, let's not forget, and you stand there and say
we don't have to talk?"

"Nothing to talk about I'm fine now."

"Sure you are: your hands are twitching, your eyes
are all sunk in, your face is the color of cream-of-fuck-
ing-wheat—we all look like that when we're fine."

Corky turned away. "Go easy on the sarcasm, huh?"

3& WILLIAM GOLDMAN

"Aw Christ, Laddie. I'm worried, that's all,"
"I know"

•Butt me?"

Corky got out cigarettes for each of them, lit them
both.
"Anything happen last night?" Fats asked.

*Tou mean anything so unusual it would cause a
goddam migraine? Don't you think that's reaching?*

"Spiel."

"I picked up a girl, bought her a couple drinks, went
home with her."

"And?"

"You want me to get graphic? You want a rundown
on the texture of her thighs?"

"Let me be the smart ass, okay? Now you're with this
girl and it went fine?"

"It did-for me. I think she was kind of sorry to see
me go. She even asked would I sign her Latin text-
book."

"Textbook—was this a school kid you were boning?"

"No, no, a teacher, at Breariey; very fancy place.

"Sounds it—at least one of their teachers is a hooker
with a signature fetish—that's just the kind of fine out-
standing individual I want getting my kids ready to
face life."

"It's perfectly logical—she caught the Carson show
and liked it and anyway, you don't have any kids."

"If I did, I wouldn't send them to this Breariey—my
God, I wonder what the gym teacher's into?"

Corky started laughing.

"It wasn't that funny," Fats said.

"I thought it was."

"No. I'm onto something and you're trying to throw
me off the track—did she know who you were right
off?"
Corky hesitated.

"Before or after—when did she recognize you?'

"During."

"Oh, Laddie. That's got to be it"

MAGIC 33

"You telling me that's significant, Doctor?"

"You telling me it isn't. . . P What happened after
she recognized you?"

"She just turned on the lights and looked at me.*

"And after that?"

"When it was dark again you mean? I guess I
kissed her throat"

"And then?"

Corly shook his head. "That would be telling.. .*

'   ^       ..

s   6'

•      The Postman was land of a legend. For many reasons,
[      most notably two. (i) He was the only agent now op-
J      erating who had been given his nickname by Jolson.
This was back in the zo's, a summer Sunday and the
singer needed a large amount of cash; hard to find
now, harder then. But Ben Greene—the Postman's
given appellation—had scrounged up the proper
amount, handed it to the pleased performer at a large
luncheon party. Jolson had put his arm around the
then kid, and said out loud, "This one is gonna be
heard from—he's like the Postman, he always comes
through." For the ensuing half century, the Postman
he had been.

(a) He was the only agent ever operating who had
moved through all the branches of show business with
never a remotely bad year carrying all that while the
Single stigmata that had ruined so many careers; he
wasn't Jewish. "How is such a thing possible?" he
would thunder. "How such a miracle? Was it because
I was more brilliant? Yes, but that wasn't all. Because
I was more industrious? Yes, but others labored and
fell by the wayside. The secret was simply this:"—and
here he would pause, drop his voice to as close as it
would come to a whisper—"I triumphed because, with
a name like Ben Greene, how could I possibly be
gentile?" Then he would wait for his laugh, timing it
perfectly, always.
Probably he should have been an actor—he was, in
fact, a compulsive and not unskilled amateur magician

36 WILLIAM GOLDMAN

—and he cultivated his theatricality whenever possible.
"You are looking at a fella who is criminally flamboy-
ant," he liked to say. "Christ, I invented conspicuous
consumption." It might have been true—he was terribly
rich. "For many reasons," he liked to say; "most notably
three: I had big earning years when there weren't a,
lot of taxes, but that's not as important as investing
sensibly, which I also did, but that's not as important
as marrying an heiress, which I also did." And then a
pause. "God bless and rest her soul."

He became, on his wife's death, the chief stockholder
in one of the three largest hairbrush companies in the
world, which only proved, he liked to say, that God had
a sense of humor, since the Postman had been bald
before even Jolson came into his life. Frail and small,
bald and weak-eyed, with the energy of the truly
driven. "If they could harness me, Con Ed could light
the world."

He was long past retirement age, but the Morris peo-
ple let him keep his office and work when he wanted.
"They're kind to me," he liked to say. Tor many
reasons, most notably one; if they're not, they know
goddam well I'll buy the company and fire the fuck-
ers."

He adored money. He knew, to the half dollar, how
he had done that day on the market. Whenever pos-
sible he liked getting hourly reports and was constantly
computing on tablecloths, coming out with statements
like "I lost eleven thousand dollars during coffee."
Gain or loss, it never bothered him.

Because the purpose of money was to spend. "I am
unabashedly oldveau riche" he liked to say; "nobody
my age is allowed to be nouveau anything." Only the
best would satisfy, and if he couldn't get the best, $(®
got the most expensive. Which was why he drove v
white Comiche convertible, and smoked only MootV
Cruz Individuals, and drank only Lafite until he. found.
that Petrus was selling for higher, so he switched brand
allegiance overnight And why, since it had made its

MAGIC 37

comeback, he lunched, daily, at least this year, at the
comer table farthest from the door of The Four
Seasons ...

Corky hated fancy places. Overstatement He had
not been to enough of them to develop anything ap-
proximating hatred. But he disliked them plenty. It
was mainly a matter of belonging—all the other people
in whatever rich room he found himself—their creden-
tials were in order, they understood the dimensions,
got the decorum right Corky simply felt false—he had
no business being there, soon he'd be found out, then
thrown out, humiliated publicly, never the happiest
way.

When the Postman had invited him to lunch. Corky
tried to make it an office meeting but the old man
wouldn't hear of it, simply said, "The Seasons, tomor-
row, one, gTiye." and rang off.

Now, Corky stalked the sidewalk across from the
restaurant He had waited until he had seen the Post-
man go in—if he bad arrived, first, they never would
have seated him, they would have spotted right off he
didn't belong in a nice place like that, they would have
blown him right back to the street with their laughter.

But if the Postman was already there, he would be
all right, could just walk right up to the reservations
man and say, "Mr. Ben Greene is expecting me, Fm
positive he is," and they would nod and ask for him to
follow and then once he got to the Postman's table, no
one would ever dare to throw him out, he was safe.

He opened the door to the restaurant, walked past
the coat checking room, up the stairs to the reservations
desk. Halfway up the stairs more accurately.

That was when the reservations man glanced at
Corky's throat—where he didn't have a necktie.

Corky froze.
^ The reservations man went back to his lists.

Why do you do this to yourself? You should have
Worn a tie or called and asked if one was necessary.

38 WTLUAM GOLDMAN

Either way. But you do not go to a place like this place
improperly attired.

Unless you want to get thrown out

Corky began to fidget. The reservations man looked
up again, again at the bare throat.

I don't want to get throw out. I don't court failure.
True.

"Were you looking for someone, sir?" the reserva-
tions man said from behind his small desk.

Corky nodded.

The reservations man gestured for him to come
nearer.

Corky did.
"Who did you wish to see?"

I'm sorry about the necktie. Corky was about to
say. It was Just a mistake, I didn't mean anything,
Corky almost said. Instead he said, "Ben Greene," and
the reservations man said, "Of course, follow me," and
smiled—smiled—

See? You're as good as any of *em.

He walked across the room, passing all the wealthy
people who belonged there.

As any of 'em!

The Postman was waiting in the comer. "Have I
got news for you. Sit. Want a drink?"

"I figured you did when you called. No, nothing."

"Have a cigar," the Postman said, handing over an
Individuale. "Four bucks each. I got a special deal,
Dunhill's loves me. I get 'em ten for forty.

Corky put it into his inside blazer pocket. "For later.
Thank you. What's the good news?"

"I'm building the suspense, don't interrupt." He
handed over another Individuale. "Take two, they're
big."

Corky nodded, slid the second cigar beside the first.

"How's your manager?" the Postman asked, with his
usual sour smile; Fats always referred to him, both -in
public and anywhere else, as "Gangrene," which the
Postman felt a bit undignified for one of his years.

MAGIC 39

Tats is imrucldngpossible as always," Corky said,
imitating Fats flawlessly.

"What's that speck on your blazer?" the Postman
asked, reaching across the table and Corky tried not
to smile because there wasn't much he could do about
it, it was magic time.

The Postman's hand burst into flame.

Corky did his best to look surprised.

"Pretty good, wouldn't you say?" the Postman said.
"Brand-new flash paper—improved—Tannen's just got
in a shipment." Tannen's was the best magic store
probably anywhere, with a catalog hundreds of pages
long. The Postman owned at least one of almost every
trick they sold and spent as many hours per week as
he could talking with the magicians who used the
place as a clubhouse when they were in town.

"You really fooled me," Corky said,

"You shouldda worn a necktie," the Postman said,
going into his right-hand suit pocket. "Here." And he
pulled out a blue silk scarf. "This'11 go nice with your
blazer," and he handed it out to Corky, but by the time
Corky had gotten it, the Postman had run it through
his hands and the scarf was now green. The Postman
winked at Corky. "Pretty good, wouldn't you say?"

"Yessir." Then: "Do you think we could get to the
good news now?"

"Show is over." The Postman nodded, and he
reached into his inside pocket. "No more magic, you
got my word. Here's the terms I've worked out—" He
stopped suddenly, looking at his hand. "Why, what's
this I found? Look, Corky, it's a sponge ball, I wonder
how it got there? Looks like an ordinary sponge ball
to me, what do you think?" He held it out for Corky
to examine.

"Very ordinary," Corky said.

"Let's just see," the Postman went on, a certain
practiced note coming into his voice now. "I have a
strange feeling this just might be one of those rare
sponge balls recently discovered off the coast of Tibet

40 WILLIAM GOLDMAN

—surely you've read about the mysterious disappearing
Tibetan miracle balls."

"I haven't; nossir."

"They disappear. Corky. If you squeeze them hard
enough, they turn into atmosphere. Now I'm probably
a little too old, my fingers probably lack the strength,
but let's just see."

Corky watched as the Postman put the ball between
his hands and exerted pressure.

"Amazing," Corky said.

"Hold on, goddammit," the Postman said, "it ain't
gone yet," and he opened his hands, showing the tiny
sponge ball He started to squeeze again, making^tde
grunt sounds as he did. "Now you can say 'amazing,'"
the Postman said, opening his hands, the ball gone. He
winked at Corky. "Pretty good, wouldn't you say?"

Corky nodded.

The Postman pulled off his thumb tip with the
sponge ball inside, stuffed it into his pocket Then he
just looked at Corky for a long time, studying him.
''What's wrong?" Corky said finally.

"I'm trying to freeze you like you are right now—
you'd be doing the both of us a favor if you'd do it
too. Remember who we are that's sitting here.*"

Corky waited.

"You're a good kid, Cork. I've been a little bit around

—I was Cain's agent when he went in the ring against
Abel—and I've seen it a thousand times out of a thou-
sand: you hit it big, you turn shitheel. Thafs an auto-
matic. I'd love it if you'd beat the odds."

"Maybe I won't hit it big," Corky said.

"Two years ago, you couldn't get arrested; two years
from now you're gonna have it alL I conned CBS into
giving you the pilot special. Which, as you might have
guessed, is the reason I've called'us all together.**..

Very quickly Corky said, "What's a pilot special?"

"How old are your

"Just over thirty."

"How can you be so old and so stupid?—My Christ,

MAGIC 41

when I was your age I'd already turned down Jean
Harlow as a client."

Corky put his hands in his lap, made sure they'd stay
there.

"A pilot special," the Postman went on, "is like what
they give Rich Little last year. When they're hot for
somebody—and believe me, I didn't con anybody at
CBS, Goldstone wants you—they do a special that if it
delivers, off you go. Bob Hope does a special, it's part
of a bigger contract. So many shows, so many years.
With you, they're kind of testing."

"And it's all set and everything?"

It's set, but it's not set-set, if you follow me. There's
boiler plate to be slugged out, and they want to know
what kind of publicity will you do free and we got to
find out what kind of publicity will they do free, and
we got the medical exam to go through, and I'm will-
ing to gamble on taking less for you if they'll go a little
higher on the total budget for the show, and on and
on, agent bullshit. But the bottom line is, we want it
we got it, what do you have-to say? You want to kiss
my hand, I don't mind."
Silence.

"May I quote you on that?" the Postman wondered.

Corky began to shake his head.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

1 don't think I want to take the medical exam,"
Corky said.

The Postman shrugged. "Okay, I'll try and see about
getting it waived. Any special reasoar

"Just principle."

1 don't get it"

"Okay. I don't know if I can explain this but don't
get impatient For openers, how long have we known
each other?"

"What, two years, little more? You were working
that place in Los Angeles—"

"-the Stardust"

The Postman nodded.

4& WILLIAM GOLDMAN

"Youll never know how important that night was for
me. You came ambling back, in that shy way you have,
kind of indicating 'don't look now, folks, but God just
walked in—*"

"I don't do that," the Postman said. "Do I do that?"
He shrugged. " 'Course, it's not totally untrue, go on."

"You came backstage and said who you were and did
I know and I said of course I knew and you said you
were about to give me the break of my life and sign
me up as a client" Corky looked at the old man a
minute. "Do you remember what I answered?" ^

"Effing well I remember—you said I could represent
you but you wouldn't sign, I had to karate chop the
agency into going along with that."

"That was principle," Corky said. "I knew what you
could mean to me but I never would have signed—
because if you're happy with me and I'm happy with
you, we don't need to sign. Our word is all we have
and that's plenty. For me anyway."

"But what's with the medical exam? Why is that
principle?"

"They're saying there's something wrong with me,
don't you see that? I say I'm fine, and they say, we
don't trust you, we want our doctors to go around
looking inside. We'll tell you if you're fine.

"There isn't anything wrong with you?"

" 'Course not"

The Postman looked at Corky for a while. "Are you
serious about this principle thing?"

"Serious?"

"That's right. Is it a dealbreaker?"

Corky shrugged. "I guess it is."

The Postman raised his eyes to anyone up there.
Terfonners," he said. *T should have been a cesspool
cleaner like my mother wanted," he said. Then he took
a silver dollar out of his pocket and turned it into
gold...

7

WHAT IS THIS PRINCIPLES BULLSHIT?
DoubleSpace.

Not that I'm upset but WHERE ALL OF A SUD-
DEN DO THESE FUCKING PRINCIPLES COME
FROM?

Calm down.

Not so easy. When you consider that all we have
busted our humps for is just a prayer for a shot at
making it big. Why has all that sweat been spilled? I
try going over and over die ecofuckingnomics of it
with him.

He won't listen.

"Corky," I say to him. "Let's not waste our time con-
templating the twenty-five thousand we'd get for doing
the special That's Just walking around money. Just
contemplate what happens if the pilot special gets
picked up. Gangrene could gouge us an easy fifty thou
per show. Fifty thousand. Suppose we only do one
season. Twenty shows. That's a million, schmucko. Six
zeros following the one."

This is just the kind of thing you'll never under-
stand."

I go into my big pitch.

"What if we don't bomb?" I begin. "Suppose we turn
into Andy Williams or Ann-Margaret. Give us a five-
year run, let's be conservative. Five million.—And
Vegas?—! mean, a tv head-liner only gets maybe a hun-
44 WILLIAM GOLDMAN

dred and fifty per week.—Forever.—My God, Dean
Martin was pulling his drunk act on the plebes out
there since before Carlo Gambino had a police record
and he's still hot.—They're faithful m Vegas.—They're
foul weather friends.—So," I sum up to old buddy
Cork; "so what we've got is enough to pay the bills a
year or so no matter what, and if we charm the people
enough, all we've got is a minimum six figures for
life."

"Sorry, it's a matter of principle, I won't take the
medical exam."

He won't let some ancient hacksaw see if he's still
got a knee jerk.

"WHYPWHYPWHY?

"Please God," I beg, "tell me."

"Principles."

"You're not letting me in on something, admit it"

"Don't bug me, principles are principles."

"Principles," I scream, "are guys you got sent to see
for smoking in the boys' room."

He laughs, "I wish I could be funny like you."

"Is it the migraines?"

"For the millionth time—"

"—brain cancer?—you think they're.gonna find some-
thing just terrible inside?"

Silence.

"Is that it. Laddie?"

Silence.

"If there is something wrong, let's for God's sake find
it now, while we can do something."

"THERE'S NOTHING TO FIND. FATS, NOW
LET ME ALONE."

"THIS SHOW IS OUR FUTURE AND I WANT
IT."

Double silence.

Loooooooooooooooooooonnnnnnng one.

Then: Him: "Listen, I'm sure the Postman will get
them to waive the medical."

"Yeah? And if he doesn't?"

MAGIC 45

He didn't have the answer and neither do I. All I
know is that if he doesn't, there's gonna be blood.
And not mine.

The Wisdom According to Fats
Entry for: i October, 1975

Found at: Gracie Terrace
Penthouse One
20 October, 1973

The Contents of This
Entire Journal Will
Be Listed As:

POLICE EXHIBIT D

*"I couldn*t budge 'em," came the Postman's voice.

Corkv held tight to the phone.

"You'still there, kid?"

I thought you said Goldstone wanted me—*

"—he does but-"

"—did you explain about the principle?—'*

"—this is company policy—"

"—it was company policy when I wouldn't sign with
you-"

"—this is legal— they're not about to spend half a mil-
lion on a special and then find-out on taping day there's
a health problem—"

"—there's no problem—*

"-Corky-"

"—you make them understand!—'1 Corky said, and he
slammed down the phone. He started walking crazily
around the desk. "You heard all that?"

"I'm not saying doodledyfucking doo," Fats told him.
"You dug this hole."

"You're with the Postman."*

**I know you gotta take that exam."

"Well I won't."
"Then teU me what this is all about!"

Corky went to his left temple, started to rub.

"Don't pull one of those migraines now goddam-
mit-"

The phone rang again.

"Hello?-"

"Listen, I'm coming over—**

48 WILLIAM GOLDMAN

Harder at the temple. "No reason."

"We got to talk."

"About what?"

"Kid, are you afraid to take it?"

"No."

"And you're telling me everything?"          ,

"I don't know, what's everything?"

"I'm coming right now—*

"—I won't be here—"

"—Kid—listen to the Postman—"

**— mean it—you come and I'm gone—"

"—ni take the goddam thing with you—how^ that
for an offer—Christ, I've had cancer, I got emphysema,
my varicose veins are in all the best medical texts—if
I'm not afraid to take it, what have you got to worry-
about?"

"I'm—not-afraid."

"Just wait right there."

Corky heard the click. He put the phone down. *Tm
going."

"Where?"

"I'm not sure—you coming or not?"

"You want me?"

"Tm not sure—you coming or not?"

"Tell me where you're going.**
Quietly then: ". . . home?"

"You haven't got a home."

Quieter still: .*'.., tell me something I doa*t
know ..."

1 PREPARATION

MUTT

First picture: Joe and his girl standing on the beach.
Bully with Muscles shouts across the sand—"Hey
SKINNY1... yer ribs are showingi"

Corky Withers, nearing 10, examined the Charles
Atlas ad over and over. No point to it, all wasted effort;

he knew the thing by heart. Still, better safe than sorry.

Second picture: Joe and his girl still on the beach.
Bully with Muscles standing with them now. Joe's girl
(worried): "Don't let him hit you, Joe." Joe (to Bully
with Muscles): "Watch what you say, fella . .." Bully
with Muscles (shoving Joe in the face): "Shut up, you
bag of bonesi"

Corky lay on his back and studied the ceiling. What
a terrible thing that must have been for Joe. Nothing
you could do but stand there and take it. Sure, you
could try and hit the big guy, but that's what he
wanted, the chance to make mincemeat out of you,
leave you bloody on the sand, steal your girl, maybe
]s3ss her if it got dark.

Corky got up and walked to the mirror. He took off
his shirt and looked at his chest. There was no doubt
about it: he was skinny and bis ribs were showing.
He made his arm stiffen and flexed it, forming as big
a muscle as he could. Holding his right arm that way,
he moved next to the mirror and examined the result:

it didn't seem possible but his bleep looked smaller
flexed than normal. Corky skipped back to the bed
and grabbed for his comic book.

g2 WILJLIAM GOLDMAN

Third picture: Joe, alone and miserable in his room,
talking to himself. Joe; "Dam iti I'm tired of being a
skinny scarecrow. Charles Atlas says he can make me
a new mani I'll gamble a stamp and get his FREE
BOOK."

Corky went over the ad very carefully, because here
was the tricky part: between the third picture and the
fourth there was one large diagonal word:

L
A

T

E
R

How much later though, that was the thing they
didn't tell you exactly. Fourth picture: Joe, still alone,
still talking to himself, watching himself in the mirror,
only now he had muscles. Joe: "Boy! It didn't take
long. What a build. Now I'll take care of that bully."

God, Corky thought, if I could do that overnight,
would I knock them on their keisters tomorrow at
breakfast. Mutt would be sitting in the kitchen, blow-
ing on his steaming coffee and big brother Willie
would be spooning in the Wheaties and here I'd come,
only I wouldn't make any big deal about it, I'd Just
walk in casually in my bathing trunks and maybe flex
a couple times and ask for the milk and Mutt would
say, "Corky, my God" and I'd say, "Something wrong,
Dad?" and he'd say, "Corky, my God, what happened
to you overnight?" and I'd kind of expand my chest
until Mutt's eyes practically popped and he'd say,
"Corky, I never seen a build like that, you look even
stronger than Willie and he's eight years older than
you" and then Willie the football star would say,
"Wanna trade six inchers?" and I'd kind of yawn and
nod and then he'd cream me on the arm, only cheating,
drawing his hand back at least ten inches, slamming
all he had and he'd wring his hand and cry "Oww,

MAGIC 53

Tesus, Dad, the kid's a rock" and Fd say, "When are
you going to hit me?" and he'd say, "I did already,
Jesus Dad, he's so powerful he didn't even feel it and
I hit him hard enough to drop most guys" and I'd say,
**Here's a love-tap from your bag of bones brother" and
zap him a little and Willie the football star would go
"Jesus Dad I think he broke my arm ..."

Overnight was probably unrealistic. Corky decided,
studying the fourth picture carefully. Even though
Atlas built muscles fast, you couldn't go from being
skinny to a superpower in one day, no matter how hard
you tried. At the very least, it had to take a week.

Fifth picture: Joe and his girl back on the beach.
The gu-1 is'watching as Joe smashes the Bully with
Muscles so hard on the chin there were stars around
the Bully with Muscles' face. And all Joe said was,
casually: "Here's a love-tap—from that 'Bag of Bones.*
Remember?"

Last picture: Joe standing there, nothing but raw
power. His girl clinging to one arm. Joe's girl (love in
her eyes?): "Oh Joel You are a real he-man, after all."
And in the background, two beautiful girls saying at
the same time to each other: "And he used to be so
^kinny!'*

And above them all, in big big letters surrounded
by a sunburst:

WHAT
A

MAN

Corky stuck his feet up on his wall and lay that way
awhile, right-angled.

WHAT
A

MAN

54 WILLIAM GOLDMAN

What must the world be like when people actually
said that kind of thing about you? "What a man that
Corky Withers is." You walk along and people just
come up to you and say, "Oh Corky, you are a real he-
man after all." And wherever he went on the streets
of Normandy would be this trailing whisper: \.. and
he used to be so skinny . . ."

Everyone would know inside a day. Normandy just
wasn't big enough for secrete. It was your standard
Catskill town, ninety miles from New York, nine from
Grossinger's, ringed with mountains, and totally de-
pendent on outsiders for survival.

Naturally, everyone would be looking for you to
get conceited, so you couldn't let that happen. And
you couldn't let your grades slip either, although that
wasn't likely in his case.

As good as big brother Willie was in sports, he was
at whittling. And as good as he was at whittling, he
was twice that good in school. It used to bother him
sometimes that it wasn't harder. For a while, through
third grade at least, he had tried to make it seem
harder, tried to act nervous when it was quiz time,
used to worry aloud at recess that he'd goofed. But
after awhile he stopped the feigning, it wasn't working
anyway. He wasn't necessarily smart, he decided, but
he was good at school. Even before he was ten, he
knew there was a difference, which probably meant
that he was both smart and good at school, but he
never much bothered pursuing the thought.

Besides, Mutt didn't give a damn.

Maybe if his mother had stayed around, she would
have done sufficient oohing and stuff, but she'd had it
one winter evening when Corky was eight, just packed
and fled for Oregon with an equally unhappy plumber
from the other side of town.

Corky was the only one she told beforehand. She
came into his room late one night going "shhhh" and
smelling, as she always did, of sherry wine. She crossed

MAGIC 55

Ac dark room, sat on the edge of his bed, and got right
to it *Tm gonna miss you, Cork," she said.

Corky waited in the night.

Ton gotta promise not to think bad, but when you
get a shot at waking up without a hangover 'cause you
don't need the booze, you gotta take it, you'll under-
stand that someday."

Corky nodded.

"Ford's waiting outside in the pickup, I can't take
but a sec', I just hadda give you a wet one for good-
bye."

She kissed him then.

"Drunk as a skunk," she said. "Wow, I bent down too
fast, the whole place is spinning."

"Don't go," Corky said. "I promise 111 be good."

"You are good, Cork. You don't cry, you do nice
tilings, you clean up your room without no one telling
you. You want the truth why I came back tonight?"

Corky nodded.

"To pick up the menagerie you made for me." He
had given her a half dozen tiny animals he'd whittled
for Christmas. "That and the heart." The wooden heart
he'd made for her birthday. She touched her purse.
""Got *em all in here." She stood. "Gonna miss me?"

"... oh Jeez-"

"—come on now."

Corky got control

"That's my Cork."

"Will you write? IT1 whittle you a merry-go-round
for Christmas if youll write. It'll rum and everything."

"If I can, you know I will."

Corky knew a *no' when he heard one.

"Bye. Cork."
"What about them?"

"Willie don't care about nothing but sports and Mutt
Only cares about Willie. If you play your cards right
|md don't tell him, I don't flunk Muttll know I'm
gone."

56 WILLIAM GOLDMAN

The truth if it was she was probably right; at least
Mutt never mentioned her name again. At least not
when Corky w^s around.

Mutt was small and he was tough and the Gods
had pissed on him all his life—his way of putting it—
and for proof he always showed his legs—the right was
a good inch and a half shorter than the other. He'd
been born that way and if he hadn't, there wouldn't
have been a stadium big enough to hold his fans. He
knew that in his feisty heart. Grange would have been
trash and the Four Horsemen would have been dog-
meat alongside him. Maybe Bronko Nagurski might
have been his equal, but no one else, no one.

Except he couldn't run well, not well enough, not
with his legs, and if the Gods pissed on you, there
wasn't a shelter anywhere you could hide, so he never
heard the cheers, never saw the girls dance and wave,
he gave rubdowns at Grossinger's and talked sports
with the guests.

And made WUlie Withers a star. He fed him right,
nursed him through muscle pulls, taught him moves,
drove him, drove him, and when Willie was a fresh-
man he ran back a punt for a touchdown the first time
he touched the ball and by the end of that season he
was Willie the Wisp Withers, the biggest thing in
Normandy since ever . . .

Corky got off his bed and went into his big brother's
room. Willie was seventeen now, a junior, but already
he had visited Syracuse and Perm State, and Cornell
had as much as promised they'd take him if he could
get his grades to an even halfway decent point.

Corky looked at the photos on the wall Willie
scoring this. catching that, Willie on shoulders, Willie
held high. "If brains were dynamite you couldnt blow
your nose." Corky said to the face on die walls, then
ran back to the Charles Atlas ad.

Dare he?

Corky studied the picture of Mr. Adas standing

MAGIC 57

there, one perfect arm flexed, modestly smiling by the
CTpdon that identified him as The World's Most Per-
•Jfectly Developed Man." He read the copy again, about
tow this incredible being was once actually ashamed
to strip for sports. "Just watch your scrawny chest
and shoulder muscles start to swell. . . those spindly
arms and legs of yours bulge."*

Corky examined his legs. No doubt about it. Spindly.
"niousands were becoming husky. The ad said so. All
over America chests were ballooning and here he was,
afraid.

Of what?

Of anybody finding out. obviously. Corky looked at
the coupon.

CHARLES ATLAS, DEPT 605
ii5 East 23rd St.. N.Y. 10, N.Y.

Send me-absolutely FREE-
a copy of your famous book,
Everlasting Health and Strength,
answers to vital questions and
valuable advice. The book is
mine to keep, and sending it
does not obligate me in any way.

Then it |ust asked for your name, age and address.
Phis you had to mark if you were under fourteen for
Booklet A. Corky filled out the coupon, decided Book-
let A wasn't for him, didn't check me box, lied, wrote
his age as seventeen- He didn't mail the coupon. He
put it in an envelope, addressed it, stamped it and
stuck it underneath his arithmetic homework in the
bottom of his desk.

If it had said anything guaranteeing a plain brown
return envelope, he might have sent it off. As it was.
he felt like a fool, forgot the whole thing.

Until the Saturday Willie scored three touchdowns
against Liberty High giving Normandy its first victory
ax eleven years. There was honking in the streets that

58 WILLIAM GOLDMAN

afternoon. And his coupon was in the mail that eve-
ning.

Within a week he actually owned Everlasting Health
and Strength. He grabbed it before anybody eke
looked at the mail and ferreted it up to his room and
lay on his bed and before he read anything, even the
letter from Mr. Atlas himself. Corky studied the*
booklet.

Oh to have a mighty chest. A stomach made of iron.
Legs that ran forever. Corky looked at picture after
picture of perfection. And all of them, every specimen
had once been skinny and beaten, had been saved only
by dynamic tension for fifteen minutes a day.

Corky was crushed when he read the letter. It was
friendly. It was encouraging. It talked frankly of his
problems—Mr. Adas sensed Corky's growing dis-
satisfaction with the way he looked.
But the course cost $64.00.

He closed his eyes and lay on his bed. Mutt was
right, the Gods pissed on you and that was the way of
tihe world. Not that Mr. Atlas was charging too much—
a thousand sixty-four would have been fair to look
like you had to look to belong in Everlasting Health
and Strength.

But he had—he always knew exactly how much
money he possessed—one dollar and forty-five cents,
period, with no real hope of increasing his fortune till
Christmas when Mutt always hit him with a fiver.
Briefly, he wondered if his rather might lend him his
next thirteen Christmases on account, but that was
foolish because who had that kind of money.

That night just before he slept. Corky decided that
what he needed more than anything else right then
was a piece of good news.

It wasn't long in coming. Two weeks was all it took.
And it came in the form of a letter from Mr. Atlas
himself, nice and chatty, wondering how things were,
wondering why he had not received an answer. If it
was money, Mr. Atlas went on, that was never a prob-

MACIC 59

lem. If you were interested in bettering the condition
of the human race, money was a secondary motive.

Corky could have the identical course for $48.00.

He almost wrote a thank-you note explaining his
position, but he decided that Mr. Atlas was much too
busy to read letters from kids, no matter how great
their sense of gratitude. Besides, probably his hand-
writing would give him away. He glanced at Everlast-
ing Health and Strength again (it resided beneath his
mattress, obvious but safe—no one else made his bed),
did a few push-ups, and tried for sleep, deciding that
what he really needed more than anything else was a
piece of great news.

It came two weeks later. Not only was Mr. Atlas
lowering bis price for the secrets of Dynamic Tension
all the way down to its all-time record breaking low
of $32.00— not only that there was more! Not only
.would Corky get the identical $64.00 course, if he
ordered by return mail he would also get, -at no ad-
ditional cost whatsoever, Mr. Atlas' own book on de-
fending yourself against all odds plus a photo album
portraying The Greatest Feats of Strength of the Cen-
tury.

But this was it, Mr. Atlas said. There would be, if
this offer was spumed, no more correspondence be-
tween them.

Corky put the letter along with the other two under
his mattress. That night at dinner, while Willie and
Mutt talked sports, he listened even less than usual.
Was he imagining things?

Or was Mr. Adas getting mad at him.

Two weeks later left no doubt. What is this with
you, Mr. Atlas seemed to be thundering. I spend my
kfe getting my system ready so that anybody can have
mighty thighs and I offer you a chance and you say
no and I offer again and again after that and you still
say no? Is money all you care about?

"Well it's not all I care about. I care about you. And
you care about your body, or you wouldn't have

60 WILLIAM GOLDMAN

written in the first place. All right This is it. The final,

final offer.

$16.00.
And because I can tell you're the land that needs

coaxing, here's the deal. You get the $64.00 course. The
identical not one syllable changed course. And you
still get the pamphlet on defending yourself against all
odds, not to mention the photo album of The Greatest
Feats of Strength of the Century.

But there's more.

The Atlas Secrets of Success with the Opposite Sex
is yours free. If you can find it in a bookstore, it's

$5-95.
But you get it free.

Add it up: The Atlas Secrets of Success with the Op-
posite Sex.
The Greatest Feats of Strength of the

Century.

Defending fourself Against AU Odds.
Plus the $64.00 Original Atlas Course in

Dynamic Tension.
That is a saving of unparalleled value. Act Today.

Offer expires midnight Saturday.
The PS below the signature was when Corky real-
ized genuine fear. It seemed innocuous enough. A sim-
ple little additional thought: "If for some reason you
cannot accept this offer, perhaps you would feel better
if one of our many field representatives called on you."

Corky could not control his heart.

They were coming after him now.

He tried to imagine what a "field representative" for
Charles Atlas would look like. A knock at the door.
Mutt would answer. A pair of shoulders wider than
the frame would be outside. A voice like gravel would
ask for a certain seventeen-year-old Charles Withers.
Mutt would say, you got it wroag, Corky's not even

ten yet.

TenI" the field representative would cry. "Ten? We

been wasting our stamps on a ten-year-old punk? He

MAGIC 61

didn't check that he was under fourteen on the coupon,
that's against the law." Maybe Corky didn't know he
was doing anything wrong. Mutt would say but now
the monster was in the house, roaring. "I DROVE ALL
THE WAY UP FROM DEPARTMENT SIX-0-FIVE,
ONE HUNDRED FIFTEEN EAST TWENTY-
THIRD STREET NEW YORK CITY, WHERE IS
HE, WHERE IS THAT LIAR, LET ME GET MY
MIGHTY FINGERS ON THAT LYING CHARLES
WITHERS."

Corky could not—not—sleep that night till close to
morning. He just lay there thinking that he hadn't
meant to cause trouble, hadn't wanted any anger, he
was just a kid who whittled and one day wondered
what it might be like to be strong, please, I'm sorry,
just let me alone.

But they wouldn't. Two weeks later; $12.00.

The Charles Atlas organization was after him now.
This letter was really angry. Angry and hurt and there
would definitely be a field representative in the area
in the near future.

He hadn't meant to upset anyone. Yes he had lied,
sure he had claimed age he hadn't earned yet, but
that wasn't worth their anger.

Why were they crucifying him?

Jail? Was that even a remote possibility? Corky
could not stop his imagination. At school it was.relent-
less, coming up with torments and humiliations. His
mind dogged him day and night; for the first time,
school was perplexing, he couldn't concentrate and one
of his teachers even admonished him, which had never
come close to happening before.

But how could you think about adverbs or per-
centages when the world's most perfectly developed
man was pissed off at you?

He wanted to talk to somebody, anybody, but there
wasn't anybody. He knew people; everybody knew
people, it wasn't that he was unpopular. But it was
hard for him, people were hard for him. He was able

62 WILLIAM GOLDMAN

to stay by himself and he did, he whittled, made fig-
ures, dogs and horses and cows and faces and that had
been enough to get him through.

All he ever really wanted was to please people. His
mother had liked whittling and while she was around
that was fine, and after she was gone he kept it up
because at least he knew how to do it and do it weU.

He began to wonder if they ever came in groups, the
Atlas men, traveling in pairs in case they ran into tough
customers. Except he wasn't a tough customer, he was
just a kid, leave kids alone.

When the offer reached $8.00 he waited till very late
and then he told his father. Mutt was lying propped in
bed watching wrestling on the tube. When Corky
started. Mutt's eyes were on the falling figures, but af-
ter a while they began flicking back and forth, from
his son to the fighters; finally he focused on the boy.
"Pal, you gotta watch that imagination of yours."

Corky nodded.

"Quit the crying and listen now."

*". . . listening . . ."

"IBM hasn't got that many field representatives, you
get me? There's no way some bimbo with muscles is
gonna come up here after you, now stop the crying
like I said."

"... they said a man would be in the area .. .**

"Forget what they said, just remember Mutt says
don't be afraid. Tell me that"

". . . not afraid . . ."

"And you really mean it?"

Corky decided it would be best to nod.

"Sleep good."
Corky headed for the door.

"Hey Pal? Remember something huh? God gave
you the brains. The muscles leave to Willie,"

Corky did that very thing till Willie was killed.

Stupidly. Drunkenly. In a car crash. At the age of
eighteen. Corky had been having dinner alone with
Mutt in front of the tv when the call came. Mutt an-

MAGIC 63

swered, nodded, muttered a few words, hung up.
"They got Willie" was all he said, and Corky knew he
was talking of the Gods, they pissed on you, but it you
were tough, you survived, and Mutt was tough, he
hobbled when he walked, but you didn't mock him
about it, and no matter what they did to you, you
had to fight back until you died.

Which was why, the week after they put Willie in
the ground. Mutt began teaching Corky football . ..

"He's got the good hands, he's got the good speed,"
Mutt was saying to the coach. "I'm not saying he's an-
other Willie, but the kid can help you, that's a guaran-
tee."

Coach Tyier looked across the field at Corky. It was
a steaming August day and Corky stood awkwardly
in his brother's old football uniform, holding tight to
the helmet. "Not much size," Tyier said.

"Did I say he was big?"

"I don't know. Mutt—he's way behind. We've been
working out all summer." He turned, gestured to the
rest of the freshman team who were running through
the heat, getting their wind sprints done.

"I been working with the kid myself, Tyier. I been
devoting myself. I would never bring him over if he
^.wasn't ready."

Tyier shrugged. "I owe you. Mutt; what do you want
from me?"

"Just a chance for my pal over there."

"As a what?"

"Goddammit, he's got the good speed. He can catch
punts, kickuffs, give him a shot"

"Later," Tyier said, and he jogged back to his team.

"Gonna work out just fine for all concerned," Mutt
said, coming back to the boy. "Sit awhile." They
walked to the old wooden grandstand, took seats alone
on the front row. "Still nervous?"

Corky made a nod.

"No one expects miracles.'*

64 WILLIAM GOLDMAN

Corky nodded again.

Mutt watched Tyier with his players. "Best years
he ever had he owes to me—I brought him the best,
didn't I?"

"WilMe was sure wonderful," Corky said.
"He was a pal all right"           -       ,
"Daddy, I'm not like him."

"No one expects miracles, I said that, just listen to
Mutt and that's all you have to do. What are you
gonna do when they kick to you?"
"Catch it"
"How come you won't drop it?"
"I'm gonna see the ball into my hands."
"That's all there is to it—ya see the ball into your
hands—never take your eyes off it no matter what till
you got it cradled. Then what do you do?**
"Run fast."

"Why do you think you can do that?"
" 'Cause you said I got the good speed."
"And with that good speed, do you run at *em?"
"No. you juke 'em, you give 'em the leg and then
take it away."

"I'm really proud of you," Mutt said.
The heat was terrible and Corky contemplated faint-
ing.

"But that don't matter," Mutt said then.
Corky wondered how much it would hurt, being
slammed around. And what did you do with the pain?
Where did you put it—you couldn't cry, not on the
football field, but the pain had to dram on someplace,
where though? I got the good speed, he told himself.
Maybe they won't hit me at all. Give 'em the leg, take
it away, juke 'em, fake, then run for safety. He looked
at Mutt then. "Huh? What do you mean, it doesn't
matter if you're proud. I want you to be proud."

"No," Mutt told him. "You got to want you to be
proud. You want me to be pleased, sure; but you're the
only one you can be proud of."
"Daddy—listen-please. I don't want to try this—I'm

MAGIC 63

fust gonna goof it up—lefs go home, maybe there's a
baseball game on the tv."
"You got to go through the caldron. Pal. You got to
come out the other side. Willie was scared worse than
you. And he didn't just have the speed and the hands,
he had the size and the strength working for him. And
he said over and over again. Take me home. Mutt'
Until I told him about NagurskL"

"Nagursld?"

This was the best thing ever happened to me, the
high point of my life, y'understand? And I was there,
I saw it all, and I cried, so you pay mind."

Corky stared at bis father.

*Tve read about 'em all and I've seen *em all, every
man ever run with a football, you name 'em, I made
it my business to be there. Only not Nagurski. Bronko
Nagurski and they said he was the greatest ever tucked
a football under an arm. He was from Minnesota,
went to school there, played pro in Chicago, I never
got my chance to really check him out. But he was so
great that when he wasn't runnm', they couldn't just
let him sit on the bench so they played him in the line,
played him at tackle, and to this day he is the only one
in the history of the world ever made All-American at
two positions in one year—do you realize how great
that man must have been? No one else ever dreamed
of being All-American at two positions all the same
year. and he done it. Nagurski. Weighed two thirty-
five. Fast they said. Couldn't be brought down, they
said. No one ever came close, they said.

"But I never got my shot to really see. I was east
and he was out there. He played pro, tore the league
apart, then went back to Minnesota and I never saw
him. Well, you get over things, I got over that.

"Then one Sunday I was passing through Chicago on
my way back east—1 did a lot of truckin' during the
war, driving valuable stuff all over, good work, hard,
but it paid, better'n massagin' I can promise you that,
and I read in the papers that Nagurski was gonna

66 WILLIAM GOLDMAM

play. Now that wasn't the news. See, it was wartime,
there wasn't enough blue chippers around, so to fill
out the rosters they brought m what they could get,
and I read that Nagurski was coming back, but only
to play substitute tackle, not to ever run with the ball.

"But this Sunday in Chicago the papers said maybe,
maybe they would have to try to let him run, on ac-
count of there was only three fullbacks and one was
injured and another wasn't up to snuff. So if the half
sick one got hurt and his replacement too, well, they
had no choice but to give the ball to Bronko and they
asked would he do it if that happened and he said
he didn't much want to but he'd try.

"Fourteen years. Corky. He'd been out of college
fourteen years. He'd been retired from the pro game
for half that long and for an athlete, that's seven life-.
times. He was old. Old I'm telling you. And I'm in
Chicago, remember, and I'm due back east, but I
thought, I got to see this today, I got to watch, even
if it's a million to one against him ever carrying, I got
to be there if the Bronko gets the ball."

'^ou said you cried," Corky said.

"I took the bus out to old Commiskey Park. See, this
wasn't just an ordinary game. this was a city rivalry,
the Bears against the Cardinals, and Nagurski, he was
with the Bears and it wasn't even an ordinary city
rivalry—the division title was on the line. The Bears
had to win to get to the play-offs. The Cardinals were
dying to stop 'em. This was something—think of a
Normandy-Liberty shoot out and multiply it a hundred
times-and you got some idea what it was like for the
Bears to be going against the Cardinals, two Chicago
teams, with everything riding. If you'd have given the
players lead pipes, they would have all been dead af-
ter the opening kickoff, that's how hard they hit And
I was there to see it alL

"And the Cardinals slaughtered 'em. Just really took
it to 'em. And Nagurski sat on the bench. I tried get-

MAGIC 67

ting a look at him but I didn't have binocs, he just
looked like anybody else. Big, sure, but nothing spe-
cial, and in the second quarter I think it was, the full-
back for the Bears who was feeling poorly, he got
racked up bad and he was done and I thought omi-
jesus, am I glad I come to this, there's only one healthy
fullback left.

"Then in the third quarter the Cardinals went to
town. They were the underdogs, see, but they weren't
going to let the Bears go on to glory and when it got
to be twenty-four to fourteen with the Cardinals stop-
ping the Bears cold, well, some people even started
getting ready to beat the crowd, and the Bears tried a
run and the Cardinals wouldn't let nobody go nowhere
and everybody unpiled—everybody except the Bears'
fullback.

'The whole park knew it, Corky. You could tell. The
word was whizzing all around the stands. °He's comin*
in. The Bronko. The Bronko.' And I sat there thinking,
omijesus, what a great spot for a legend to be in,
coming back after so many ysars, one quarter to play,
the title on the line and ten points behind. You lead
your team to victory, you can't ever die after that.

^And then the crowd started screaming like nothin'
you ever heard because on the bench, he stood up.
Nagurski. And he reached for his helmet. And he come
onto the field. And right then as I watched him I knew
I was the fool of all the world and if there was one
place I didn't want to be it was Commiskey Park in
Chicago with Nagurski coming in to play."

"Why. Daddy?"

"Because you could tell when he lumbered on. He
was slow. Fourteen years since college. Old. Old. It
was gone, every bit of what he had was gone, he was
nothing, you could see that when be was to the huddle
and I knew they were gonna piss on him, they brought
him back from Minnesota just so they could piss on
him, it didn't matter if he was All-American at two

68 WILLIAM GOLDMAN

positions in one year, what matters is how are you re"
membered at the end and this was the end but there
was still one chance."

"Tell me, tell me."

"Well, everybody knew they were gonna give the
ball to Bronko but the Bears, they had this Jew quar-
terback, Luckman, and I don't have to tell you he was
smart do I, and if you're smart and everybody knows
what you're gonna do, well you don't do it, you fake it
and do something else and when they came out of the
huddle, and when they lined up with Nagurski at full-
back and Luckman at quarterback, well, it bad to be
a decoy thing, they had to pretend to give him the ball
and then Luckman could throw one of his long passes
and maybe the Bears would be only behind by three
with a chance to win it all."

Mutt leaned back against the row behind him and
closed his eyes to the sun.

Corky waited.

"Only it wasn't no decoy."

"You mean they gave him the ball?"

Mutt nodded. "They gave it to him and he put it
under his arm and just kind of ran slow, straight into
the Cardinal line. They were all waiting for him. All
these big guys and Nagurski tried, you could see that,
but they just picked him up, the Cardinals did, and for
one second they Just held him on their shoulders."

"And then they threw him down?"

"Not exactly, they all fell backwards and he gained
four yards."

"He gainedP—bu-t you said—"
"—I couldn't believe it either. He kind of got up
and shook himself off and went back into the huddle
and out the Bears come again and this Luckman, he
hands the ball to Nagurski and he lumbers up and
they're waiting only this time he falls forward for eight
more. First down."

"How did he do it?"

"I couldn't figure it myself. But it was starting to get

MAGIC 69

a little eerie on the field. You could see all the Cardinal
linemen slapping each other on the asses and the Bears
come out again and this time they did fake and the
pass was good for another first down and the next
play was Nagurski kind of slipping down for six. He
was like an ax hitting a tree. It doesn't matter how
big the tree is, when the ax starts coming, you better
look out.

"Now the Bears were inside the twenty. And there
wasn't any doubt about what was gonna happen. It
was gonna be the Bronko up the middle and all these
Cards, they bunched, waiting, and sure enough, here
he comes, and they hit him and he hits them and for a
second they did what they could but then he bursts
through and he's doing five, six, eight, and then they
knock him down and he's crawling— crawling for the
goal, and everybody's screaming and there's a Cardinal
on his back, trying to make him stop but he can't, he
can't, and finally about six guys jump him at the one
and stop him short of the TD. But they were scared
now. They knew he was coming and they knew there
wasn't anything they could do about it, and they
waved their fists and tried to get steamed up but old
Bronko, he just lined up behind the quarterback and
the quarterback give him the ball and they're all wait-
ing, Corky—eleven fucking Cards are waiting and this
old man starts forward and they're braced and he
jumps sideways at them, the old man flies at them and
they parted like water and he was through and the rest
of the game was nothing, the Bears slaughter them be-
hind the Bronko who gains a hundred yards in one
quarter and for a while the Card fans were screaming
'Stop him, stop him' but after a little they quit that,
nothing could stop him, and after it was over I sat
(here bawling, and I tried to get at it, what was it that
had happened out there, because it couldn't happen
but it did, a man pissed back at the Gods, Corky, and
finally I realized you had to be so proud of yourself

70 WILLIAM GOLDMAN

that nothing else mattered and that's what I taught
Willie all those years but not good enough because he
got taken, and it's what I'm gonna teach you if you'll
listen long enough, and when you go out there today
you just think 'I'm proud of me I'm proud of me' and
then you'll be pissing at the Gods and won't that be
the day."

Corky did his best, tried very hard, and in the end
got both legs broken for the effort.

Not that first scrimmage. He Just caught punts then,
and he didn't drop any, being careful always to look
the ball right into his hands. He caught and he ran
but they kept him out of real contact until he knew
which way the runbacks went and once he got that
straight he did well enough until the second week
when he was trying to juke, had his left leg planted in
the grass when someone hit him from the side and be
could hear something snap and in the pile up it all
got very messy, and the other leg got bent the wrong
way too, and just before he passed out on the grass,
Corky had a moment left to think, and what went
through his mind was that he wasn't ever going to
have to do this anymore, so all in all, on balance, it
was a very lucky day . . .

The magic came out of the pain.

He awoke in Normandy Hospital, a cast from the
bottom up. It was dark. Mutt sat in a chair. Corky
managed to mutter a few things and his father an-
swered back, but it was impossible to tell who was the
more subdued. Finally Mutt looked at his watch.
"Gotta go give massages," he said.

Corky nodded.

"Want me to bring anything?"

Corky couldn't think.

"Whittling stuff?"

Corky shook his head. "Too messy. The shavings."

"Get some sleep. Pal," Mutt said-

MAGIC 71

Corky did as he was told.

He awoke several hours later, feeling better and
bored. He asked a nurse for something. She brought
him what she called the game box, but it was only a
dirty deck of cards, a pair of dice and a lotto board.
He asked for something to read. She brought a pile of
magazines, left him. Corky thumbed through. Comics.
Romance magazines.

And Classy Classics Volume I by Merlin, Jr.

Card tricks? Corky studied the faded pamphlet.
almost put it down, didn't. He opened it instead, read
page one;

All magic, it goes without saying,
is illusion. The effect of the
illusion is how it appears to the
audience. The preparation
for the illusion is everything—
from the crimping of a card
to the practicing of ten thou-
sand hours. If the prepara-
tion has been sufficient and
proper, then the execution
of the illusion is inexorable;

before you're even started,
the work is done.

By the great ones, and I would
be lying if I didn't include
myself, magic is the ultimate
entertainment: they, the audi-
ence, will never forget you,
or hold you less than kindly in
their hearts. What I'm saying, all
you beginners out there, is this:

you do it right, they can't love
you enough . . .

/2 WILLIAM GOLDMAN

Corky reached into the game box, took out the dirty
deck of playing cards. He squeezed them a few times,
bent them one way, then the other. They felt okay.
But then, he always did have the good hands.

And the good speed didn't matter anymore.

PEG

He wasn't sure she even knew his name until the after-
noon she called out "Corky, can we talk?" He was
leaving high school for the day, walking down the
front steps; she was at the bottom, surrounded as al-
ways by boys. It was early April, only starting to warm,
and she was in her plaid skirt and the white sweater
plus the oxblood loafers with the dimes.

It wasn't one of her best days, she looked barely per-
fect. With the dark blonde hair and the dark blue eyes
and the incredible this and the glorious that that could
drive you crazy if you thought.about it long enough.

Pointless going on. You could not. Corky realized
months ago at the start of freshman year, explain the
impact of Peggy Ann Snow by talking about specifics.

He used to spend a lot of time figuring how to best
impress her. He rescued her from burning buildings
and runaway cars. He fought thieves and rapists, not
to mention smugglers and spies, though why the spies
were after her he never quite worked out, or, for that
matter, what it was the smugglers wanted up in the
Catskills. But that was the thing about Peggy Ann
Snow. She put weird thoughts in your head.

And they didn't go away.

"Corky, can we talk?"

He stopped where he was on the steps, watched as
she left the group of junior boys, hurried over to him.
"I guess we've never really met, I'm Peggy Snow,
you're Corky."

Nod.

74 WILLIAM GOLDMAN
"HL"

He gave a kind of small, casual wave.
**I hear you do ..." and she mimed something, prob-
ably pulling a rabbit out of a hat ". . . stuff."
Nod.

"Listen, I'm facing a real problem and it would

mean Just the worid to me if you'd kind of help out."
"Depends."

"See, Lucas—that's my twerp of a kid brother—Lucas
is having an eighth birthday a week from Saturday and
Mom said it was time I pulled my weight so she's
cooking but I have to handle keeping them quiet So
if I paid you, would you do a magic show?"

"Never done one."

"I can spring for two dollars."
"It's time for my debut."

Not much of a line but it made her smile.
Ahhhhhh.

He spent the intervening days working out his
routining. Start with the flashy stuff or save those for
the end? If you started big, you could lose interest be-
fore you were half done. If you started small, you
might never get half done. Corky did a lot of list-
making. Probably eight-year-olds were a tough audi-
ence so what he decided to do was only flashy stuff,

one climax to another, constantly knocking them dead.
Peg introduced him.

Corky stood behind the pinned up sheet in the base-
ment of her house by Lake Melody. He was wearing
his top hat and magician's cape and carrying his wand
and he listened to the commotion out front as the
dozen kids got seated. And suddenly, it was very hard
to breathe. He inhaled a few times, cleared his throat,
Ahead of him Peg went, "Say heUo to Corky Withers^"
unpinned the sheet, and be was on.

"Maw-nelle," he said and bowed to Peggy. He smiled
at the children. "Mes amis."

"Why is he talking that way?" one of the kids in the
middle front said.

MAGIC 75

"Shut up, Lucas," Peggy said. "He's a great French
magician."

"I thought he went to school right here."

"He happens to now," Peggy answered, "but he's
spent a lot of time in France, so Just zip it up. Lucas."

Corky brought out two billiard balls from his cape
and held them high. " 'ooo would like to play zee heel-
yards? Eet is impossible, non? Farce que zere are
needed three balls for to play zee beel-yards. VoilaT
Corky made a big gesture with his left hand and
while they followed that, he pushed the billiard ball
shell into position with his thumb so that when he held
his right hand high, it looked like there were three
balls now.

"Terrific," Peggy said, leading the applause, or doing
her best to, because no one else did any clapping.

"I got that trick, it's a shell," the one next to Lucas
said.

"Mats non" Corky got out

"Then throw us the three baHs," Lucas said.

"Fat lip time is coming up," Peggy said. "Anybody
interested?"

Corky got out the disappearing cigar. "When some-
one try to smoke in mah pre-zahnce, I am poo-Iite. I
ask, sil vous plait, out wiz zee see-gar. Eef zay say oui,
I do nozzing. Eef zay say non—" and he clapped his
bands together, raising the right one higher, the one
with the cigar, because that activated the gimmick on
his inside sleeve and pulled the cigar up and out of
sight. You had to do it Just right to give the impres-
sion of disappearance with any skill at all, and Corky
knew as he made the move that he'd never done it
better. Peggy clapped. Corky bowed.

Lucas farted.

Uproar. Shrieks and screams and when Corky tried
to begin the mystery of the bottomless milk pitcher
there was no way of being heard, and he tried going
on until Lucas belched and that set off a chain belch
reaction that went on until Peg struck like an avenging

76 WILLIAM GOLDMAN

angel, grabbing her brother by the neck, dragging him
up to the stage crying, "Get the stuff Corky—now," but
Corky didn't get it and Peg said, "The French stuff
for God's sakes, the "stuff you demonstrated in science
class, the stuff that freezes your tongue to the roof of
your mouth" and now Corky managed, "The French
freezing stuff, right," and as he started off Lucas was
screaming, "Don't do it—don't freeze my tongue" but
Peg was having none of it, saying, "It only lasts an
hour, you'll love it" and then Lucas was going, "1*11 be
so quiet, I will I will, gimme a chance please!" Eventu-
ally Peg relented.

And the rest of the performance went wonderfully
well.

"Sorry it couldn't be more," Peg said, when it was
over, the basement quiet now, the children upstairs
eating. She handed him the two dollars.

Corky shook his head "no."

"C'mon, a deal's a deal."

TIease."

She looked at him. "Hey you mean it."
Nod.

"How come you're so quiet?"

Shrug.

"Boy, you're just as weird as they say—"

"—who says I'm weird?—'*

"Gotcha that time." She smiled. "Nobody. I was only
trying to get a rise out of you,"

"Do people?*' he wondered, since it was something
he suspected all along to be true.

"You are awful quiet. Corky."

"Nothing much to say."

"Okay." She helped him gather up his tricks and
boxes, put them into a shopping bag so they'd fit neatly.

Then she walked him to his bicycle. "Bye, Corky,
thanks."

He nodded, started riding off.
"And you're good," she shouted after him.

"Gonna be," he shouted back. "Someday ..." .

MAGIC 77

*   *   *

After that they always nodded in the halls, and if
there was anything to talk about, spoke. He helped
her with her homework sometimes—she spelled atro-
ciously—and tried to make himself, unobtrusively,
handy, and there were times when he was almost
positive she liked him.

That summer Mutt got him a fob chopping lettuce
at the G. A thousand guests a night, salads twice a
day, it made for a busy summer. He made up his poem
at the start of the second week to stop from going mad.

• • • ^ggy -^nn Snow
Peggy Ann Snow
Please let me follow
Wherever you go ...

„ It wasn't much of a poem really, but then he never
fancied himself to be a poet. And regardless of its
merits, it was a lot better than others he tried.

... Beautiful Peg
Beautiful Peg

Don't go away and forget me
I beg...

P. B. Shelley didn't have a lot to worry about. . .
It was natural that, sooner or later, she would take
up with Ronnie Wayne and that fall, she did. Corky
wasn't even jealous, that's how natural it was; Ronnie
Wayne had it all. His nickname was "Duke" and he
was a senior and he had his own car, a convertible.
That was nothing. His father ran the most successful
real estate operation in Normandy. Still nothing. Ron-
nie "the Duke" got decent grades in school without
cracking a book, he could shoot pool better than the
poor kids, he was more popular than any other senior
but best of all, at that time, in the year of our Lord
1959, he looked shockingly like Elvis Presley.

78 WILLIAM COLDMAN

"Withers," he whispered one autumn day. *Take
this to Stuck-up."

"WhoP" They were in the school library, study hall,
everyone in their own seat and no moving around, a
rule that didn't apply to Corky, since he worked in
the library for extra money and besides. Miss Beckmire,
the librarian, liked him, probably because he had a
sweet face and was always polite and could read faster
than anybody else in Normandy High.

Duke held out the note for Corky. "Snow, for chris-
sakes."

Corky took the folded paper and strolled the length
of the enormous room, dropped it on Peggy's desk.
"From the DuKe," he whispered.

Peggy unfolded the note, read it, then got out her
pencil and scribbled a reply on a sheet of paper of her
own. She stopped in the middle, whispered, "Is con-
ceited i-e or e-i?" He told her, she finished the note,
folded it, and he took it back to Duke.

There were three complete exchanges that study
period, three again the next day, culminating in Duke
taking Peggy out for Cokes after school. Corky stood
by his bicycle and watched the parking lot as Duke
tore out toward town. The top was down. Peggy's dark
blonde hair was blowing. Corky felt, no question about
it, really good about the whole thing.

Peggy's right, you are weird, be told himself.

And peddled home.

He passed notes between the two of them for all
that week and well into the next, and if Miss Beckmire
suspected, she didn't do anything. And the second
Wednesday, Peggy invited Corky to come along.

They went to The Hut, which was only the biggest
and busiest place in town as far as the high school was
concerned, and they had Cokes and Duke ordered a
plate of crisp fries and they devoured them so fast
Duke had to order another.

Corky sat there, trying to not look impressed. But
it was hard. My Corky, why shouldn't it be, you're

MAGIC 79

sitting between the prettiest girl and the most popular
boy and they invited you.

They did it several more times that October and
afterwards. Corky made quick notes when be got
home, because probably he had never had better times
than those and you never knew how long they'd last.

Mutt got fired before Thanksgiving. He'd been be-
coming increasingly morose ever since Willie's crash,
and one day he Just slugged the head of the gym at
Grossinger's and wised off to a couple of the customers
who tried to intervene, and you didn't do that kind of
thing and expect to stick around.

He lucked out though, latched onto an opening at a
private club in Chicago near the Loop, and it was
amazing, after living all those years in one place, how
fast you could leave when there was nothing holding
you back.

His last day at school. Corky went to Peg's house to
say good-bye, and give her a wooden heart he'd whit-
tled but it was cheerleading practice afternoon, so he
went to the girls' gym and waited outside. It was after
four when he got there and after five when the first
girl left

It wasn't Peggy.

Corky waited. It was getting cold now. Inside the
lit building he could hear the cheers going on over
and over, getting perfect so that the Normandy Tigers
might somehow beat the Liberty Wildcats in the final
grudge game of the season. The darkening afternoon
was filled with strident voices:

Look out (clap-clap-double clap)

Here we come

We've got those Wildcats on the run.

So

Look out Wildcats (double clap twice)

The Tigers (clap)

The Tigers have (clap-clap)

CLAWS.

80 WILLIAM GOLDMAN

(hey-hey)

Corky walked around the front of the building
awhile, always glancing back to the door, checking to
see no one came out. The wooden heart was burning
in his hand now. It was stupid. Making it was sturyd,
waiting was stupid.

No one came out.

Five-twenty.

Five-forty-five was when he took the heart, threw it
as far as he could, away for now and ever.

Going on six.

Look out (clap-clap-double clap)

Here we come

We've got those Wildcats on the run.
So

Look out Wildcats (double dap twice)

The Tigers (clap)

The Tigers have (clap-clap)

CLAWS.

(hey-hey)

-Corky?"

That you. Peg?" He sauntered over in the dark,
smiled at her. "Boy am I ever lucky, running into you."
They started away from the gym.

**What are you doing?" he asked.

"Cheerleading practice."

Corky nodded. "Well I'm sure glad I got the chance."

"Chance?"

"Family's kind of heading on. Mutt got a big break
in Chicago.

Her turn to nod.

He could tell from the way she did it that she knew.
"You heard I guess."

"About the thing at Grossinger's? I'm really sorry."

"Well, he's a scratchy guy, it was bound to happen."

"I'm still sorry."

MAGIC 8l

"So ni see you. Peg."

She started away.

He watched in silence.

She said "oh" out loud then, and spun in the night,
running into his arms. "I just realized something
awful."

"What?"

"I'll miss you." They stood like that awhile.

(hey-hey)

MERLIN
The giant kept falling up the stairs. He would land
hard, sit puffing, rise, try another step or two, then his
balance would go and he would fall again. He never
lost his temper, didn't seem to mind the time the trip
to the second floor landing took. It was as if the only
way to make it was up, then down, gather strength,
then onward and upward again.

Scared, Corky watched from the second floor
shadows.

The giant made it to the top step, panted awhile.
Then he reached an enormous hand into a jacket
pocket, fumbled around. The hand eventually came
out empty. Now it was the turn of the other hand to
try the left jacket pocket. Empty. "Fug," the giant said.
Then he grabbed hold of the top of the banister, stood.
His right hand tried his pants pocket and the giant soon
nodded, took out a key, hircbed to the nearest doorway,
pushed the key in the lock. Or at least that was the
theory. He missed again and again, sometimes coming
closer to the keyhole, never close enough to attempt
insertion. The key slipped from his fingers and bounced
along the floor. The giant bent for it, a mistake, tum-
bled down hard, lay there.

"Don't worry, Mr. Merlin," Corky said, and he
dashed out of the shadows, picked up the key, unlocked
the door, helped Merlin up, guided him inside, found
a wall light, flicked it on, moved the slumping giant
to the sofa, went back, flicked the room to darkness.

The giant awoke hours later, parched. He made it to

84 WILLIAM GOLDMAN

his feet, made it to the kitchen, got a glass, drank.
Then he returned to the couch and closed his eyes.

"Would you like me to make you some coffee?"

On went the couch lamp. The giant looked at the
kid. "How'd you get in here?"

"I brought you in here."                          ,

"Oh."

"Maybe an Alka-Seltzer? I could run out and try
and find a drugstore. Someplace is sure to be open."

"What are you, some kid genie?"

"Nossir, my name's Corky Withers and I want to be a
great magician like you."

"A dumb genie, just my luck," Merlin said. Off went
the couch light and he slept.
When he awoke next it was late morning and break-
fast was ready. Coffee and toast anyway. Merlin sipped
the dark liquid. "Okay, down to cases, what's all this?"

"Nothing. Only what I told you already. I want them
to never forget me. I want them to hold me kindly in

their hearts."
"Where'd you hear that shit?" Merlin wanted to

know.

"You wrote it. Classy Classics Volume I. I've got the

whole series, all four pamphlets."

"Supposed to be twenty. Fugging publisher skipped
on me." Merlin shook his head. "I'm not up to private
students anymore. Usually all you get is bimbo psychia-
trists who use it for therapy."

"You don't understand, Mr. Merlin. I've got to be
great. I'm very good now. Better than practically any-
body. But I'm not great yet That's why I've come to

you."

"You do close-up magic?"*

"Yessir."

"Do me something."

Corky got out a quarter, put it in his right hand,
thumb palmed it, closed both bands, blew on them,
opened his hands empty.

"Shitty," Merlin, Jr. said.

MAGIC 83

"When you say shitty, you don't mean shitty, you
mean not great, right?"

"I never saw a worse thumb palm. You're an ama-
teur, kid. Who'd you study with?"

"Books mostly."

"Do a drop vanish."

Corky did one.

Merlin just looked at him.

"Shitty?"

Merlin nodded.

"Cards are more my specialty."
"Amaze me."

Corky pulled his pack of bicycles from his Wind-
breaker jacket, held them out. "Want to examine
them?"

"Get to it"

"Okay, do you know Paul Le Paul's Double Deuce?"

"Get to it I said."

"Ordinary deck. 111 shuffle the cards." Corky did a
faro shuffle, followed up with the Hindu.

"Shirty."

"I didn't do the trick yet."

"And you're not gonna, not for me, I got a weak
stomach."

"I'm not that bad."

"I'm sorry Idd; y'are."

Corky put his cards away in his Windbreaker jacket

"What's your name again?"

"Corky Withers."

"Withers—look around you. This pit is my home. The
Collier Brothers would be happy here, but I'm not."

Corky glanced around. It was a small apartment, liv-
ing room, a bedroom, kitchenette and bath. And
crammed. Corky had never seen so much magic ap-
paratus in his life. There were shelves full of magic
books, boxes piled all over. Vent dolls and egg bags
and top hats and gimmicks, fakes and pulls, escape
boxes, silks of every color and size.

Corky thought it was land of terrific.

86 WILLIAM GOLDMAN

"Magic's on the skids. Withers. Before my dumpling
died last year—" he pointed to a photo of a round,
smiling woman "—we had to travel ten months a year
to survive. Ten years ago we had to travel four. Once I
could stay right here in Los Angeles and eat steak
whenever. So what I'm telling you, kid, is why not get
yourself an Edsel franchise, you'll do a lot better. Cor-
ner the market in cable cars. if you want But ride
dear of this."
Corky shook his head.

"I'm talking to you 'cause you're a handsome kid,
you got a sweet look, you made me coffee. I'm level-
ing, believe that I, Hymie Merlin, Jr., am as good as
the game. That's no shit gospel. I been forty-two out
of fifty years in magic. And why have I failed?"
"You haven't failed."

"I'll trade you bank accounts blind, the Rockefellers
wouldn't make you that offer. Why is because of what
magic is and that's one thing and one thing only;

entertainment. Why can't I entertain? I'm charming,
I got good patter, the magic's as good as the game."
"I don't know."
Take a peek at my face. Withers."
Corky looked at the huge nose and the wide eyes
and the wild hair and the bad mouth with one corner
always fumed down.

"I'm ugly. Withers; I got a puss stops clocks. I can't
get on the tv, I can't do schtick with kids, I survive on
a limited market. Now, how do we know that if you
get great like me, if you spend those years, maybe you
won't be ugly but maybe you won't have charm. Maybe
you'll eat your guts out seeing guys who can't do shit
getting all the marbles 'cause they got charm. You got
charm. Withers?"
"Nossir."
"Then good-bye."

"I came to you because it began with you but there's
a million others. You can't stop me."
"I'm just trying—"

MAGIC 87

"—I'ce-got-to-do-this-thingr

Merlin looked across. "Hey, you're crazy, aren't you,
Withers?"

"... yessir..."

"How old?"

"Be nineteen,"

"How much you got; I cost"

"Three thousand dollars."

"From what?"

"My dad helped run a health club in San Diego the
last couple years. It's his life insurance money."

"We'd have to start from the top, unlearn all the
shit you picked up."

"I'm a terrific learner."
"You also thought you were a terrific magician."

"Okay I'm a shitty learner."

A nod from the giant "You just started learning."

Lesson number one was holding cards in your hands.
That was all. Corky couldn't believe it. But those were
the instructions. You went to sleep with a pack of
cards in each hand and you woke up that way and
when you took the bus, you carried the cards and you
carried them to the cafeteria, putting them down when
you ate but that was all, and in the movies you carried
them and ran your fingers along the edges, getting the
feel, getting the feel, you weren't going no place until
you had that feel, and Merlin told of Baker, the Prince-
ton kid who was the greatest hockey player of them
all and how he used to flash across the rink in total
darkness, guiding the puck blind, because if you had
to look for it, if you didn't feel without seeing, forget it.

Merlin lived in what the real estate people called an
"interesting" area between Wilshire and Pico near Fair-
fax, but what it really was, was a slum on the make,
though there were still enough old Jews and aspiring
blacks and musicians and artists to make it bearable.
Corky took a room at the nearest Y and bought a small
mirror and a close-up pad, a thin sponge, and he sat

88 WILLIAM GOLDMAN

and stared at his hands in the mirror holding the cards
and when lesson numbers two and three came, they
came together, strengthening the ring and the pinkie.
You needed the one strong for dealing bottoms and
the other for any kind of decent pass and Merlin said
that with most, the thumb was too strong if anything,
the index and middles strong enough. But the ring
and the pinkie were problems, especially with the left
hand and both hands had to be the same if you wanted
to be great, so Corky sat in front of his small mirror in
his Y room and he did lifts with his pinkie, stretches
with his ring, then reversed the procedures, over and
over till his fingers started cramping. That was good,
Merlin said, the cramping showed you were serious
but you had to wash your bands awhile then, get them
warm so the muscles would stop their rebellion-
Then back to the mirror, back to the mirror, you had
to get the pinkie strong, look out for the ring, work
the pinkie, work the ring, forget the cramping, keep at
it, keep at it, you had to keep at it if you wanted to be

great,

Merlin was great. Corky could tell that the second
week of his apprenticeship when the giant brought
him along to an Elks' smoker in the Valley and Merlin
did his close-up stuff, an escape or two, some terrific
silk changes, but the audience liked it better when he
talked. Merlin made terrible jokes about always getting
mistaken for Gary Grant—his jokes seemed mostly to
kid about his beauty—and they gave him a decent
enough round of applause before they went back to
their serious drinking and Merlin picked up fifty in
cash from the chief honcho, then drove Corky back
to the Y, on the way asking what he thought of the first
Gary Grant Joke and Corky said fine, why, and Merlin
said I was covering a mistake, you always got to have
something ready, Leipzig made mistakes, I make mis-
takes, remember the knife throwing story and Corky
asked what that was and Merlin said it was from a

MAGIC 89

play where an actor had to throw a knife at a wall and
what the actor said was, if the knife stuck, "I'm the
best in town" and if he missed be said, "I used to be
the best in town." Remember that advice, and Corky
said he would and when they were at the Y Merlin
said, get lots of sleep, tomorrow we begin with the
palm.

There are coin palms and card palms. For coins you
had to know the classic and the edge and the thumb,
those were crucial, but the back palm and the back
thumb palm were handy to have around too. For cards,
you weren't going anywhere without the diagonal palm
and the swing palm, the top, the flip over, the cross-
ways and the bottom.

When you went on in coins you had to get your
switches and your flips and then all the vanishes.
Cards had a different world of sleights: lifts and deals,
shumes, slips and, naturally, the passes.

Corky was good inside a year, good but not, no one
needed to tell him, great, and his money was gone but
that wasn't as tragic as it might have been since Merlin
had a little stroke after the tenth month and Corky
moved in with the giant for what at first was going to
be temporary, tending him, sleeping on the couch,
talking magic, working magic, reading reading reading
the bookshelves through, and when Merlin was around
and active he liked the company, he'd always had it,
he'd married the dumpling when he was still in his
teens. So Corky stayed, and drove the old man's station
wagon to Jobs, assisted with the act, and when it came
time for the maJor swings up along the coast. Corky
chauffeured and watched and packed and learned,
when he wasn't quite twenty, that be was, astonishing-
ly, good at picking up girls in bars, secretaries and
stews and clerks, and at first he thought it was some
kind of fluke streak he was riding, but eventually he
realized it had to do with a pleasing impression, that's
what they said mostly, he seemed to be nice.

QO WILLIAM GOLDMAN

He hoped they were right, thought they were too.
And prayed fervently that they never changed their
minds.

He and Merlin moved all across the West, Nevada,
Colorado, every place big enough to have an order of
Elks or some Freemasons, Lion's Clubs, Knights^ of
Columbus, Pythian Sisters. They went to cocktail
parties in Seattle, fund raisers in Ashland, Oregon;

trade shows, women's clubs, sales meetings, and be-
tween jobs. Corky sat by his mirror and worked, im-
proving his forces, getting the estimations down, flour-
ishes of all kinds, many his own. He was starting to in-
vent his own moves now, maybe not better but dif-
ferent from before, things that never existed were
starting to flock to him.

Once that started. Merlin pointed out the StardusL

"What's that?" Corky asked. They were seated in the
wagon, driving home after a tough time in Santa
Monica. Merlin was aging badly. The Cary Grant
jokes were carrying him now.

"Club."

"So?"

"It's a regular nightclub. Sophisticated. But for you,
special."

"I don't think I'm gonna like this." Corky said.

"You're getting very good. Corky."

"But?"

"No. You are. It's time you went out on your own."

"I knew I wasn't going to like it"

"You never yet performed in all your life alone."

"I'm not ready.

"You're going to have to face it someday. I don't
mean helping me set up either. I mean going out alone
on a stage. You against them and you come out cham-
peen- It's time.'*

"No it isn't."

"How old are you please?"

"What difference does it make, I'm not ready."

MAGIC 91

"You're goddam near twenty-six and you are ready.
This place"—he gestured to the Stardust—"it's perfect
for you. Mondays anyone performs. No pressure. You
just sign up early enough and the first couple dozen
do an act. Sing, tell jokes. They never get magicians
hardly. You'd be a novelty. I know they'd take to you."

Corky shook his head.

"You're not skyrocketing with me exactly."

"I'm learning."

"Learned."

"Let's go home."

Merlin started the car. "What are you afraid of?"

"I'm not afraid, I'm Just not great yet."

"Remember what I said that first day?"

"That I was crazy, you mean?"

Merlin nodded. "Don't let me turn out to be right"

The next weeks Merlin's work took another drop,
and he raised Corky from a 10 to 25 percent partner.
Corky wasn't doing any performing, but everything
else was his responsibility now. Pinning the gimmicks
into just the right places on Merlin's magic suit. (He
couldn't do straight close-up anymore, only stuff with
gimmicks and fakes.) Making the bookings, driving
the car, setting up the act in its entirety. Merlin got
more reflective, going back a lot to when he worked
with Cardini getting equal billing, how he stumped
Thurston once with a sleight of his own that he worked
into The Miser's Dream. How he, the last week his wife
was alive, spent all the time with her in the hospital,
got so he could catch her thoughts.

Corky didn't know what was true or wasn't, but on
general principle, he believed it all.

They went, to humor the old man, to the Stardust
on a Monday, sitting in the back, watching the entire
three hour show. The owner-MC introduced the acts,
explained that none of them had ever performed be-
fore—"and if we're lucky won't ever perform again"
"somebody shouted from the audience but the MC

02 WILLIAM GOLDMAN

shut him up with "I thought they got you last week for
child molesting" and there was laughter and some
applause.

Then the talent started. The MC read each name
out from a card, giving an intro the performer had
written himself. Then the MC went to a comer table,
took a big hourglass, and turned it upside down.
"You're on," he said as the hourglass touched the table,
and the first talent Jumped onto the stage, nodded,
bowed, quickly turned on a small tape recorder, made
sure it was going, faced the crowd again and said, *'!
don't want to say that my wife's a rotten cook or any-
thing but last night she woke me and said, 'Herbie,
Herbie, I think there's thieves in the kitchen, I think
they're eating the pot roast I made tonight* and I said,
'Go back to sleep, what do we care, as long as they
don't die in the house.'"

He was the best comedian.

He was followed by a lit maJor from UCLA who
froze halfway through her Ronald Reagan imitation.
After that came a young man who sang, a cappella,
*What Kind of Fool Am 1?' two middle-aged men who
played harmonica duets, a black comedian who said
"motherfucker" constantly, three black high school girls
who tried the Supremes, a piano player/composer/
comic who sang bis own ballad called "Charles Man-
son Was a Good Dancer" plus a lot of other people
who wanted to be Rob Dylan, Woody Alien and Lenny
Bruce.

When it was over. Merlin just said, "Bullshit you're
not ready."

Corky had nothing to reply.

But from then on, he really started to work. He sat
silently in his room hour after hour, studying his hands
in the mirror, producing aces, putting cards into the
middle of the deck only to have them instantly appear
on the bottom, then they were back in the middle, then
they jumped to the top. He dealt seconds for hours on
end, taking the next to the top card perfectly, and

MAGIC 93

Merlin watched him once and no one knows how hard
dealing seconds is except another magician and Merlin,
Merlin said out loud, "Head of the fugging class."

Corky began polishing his spring flourishes, sending
the cards flying from one hand to another, then the
drop flourish, the cards almost reaching the floor. He
did one hand cuts and double cuts and false cuts and
triple lifts, which are extraordinarily hard, where you
lift the top card only you don't, you take three and
hold the three out pretending they're only one and
when he had that pat he did the quadruple lift which
is that much harder because when you have four cards
held out, they have bulk, they seem thick, and it be-
comes almost impossible to handle them as one card
unless your hands are extraordinarily graceful.
Corky's hands were that, even on bad days.
Merlin's days got better, strength returned in partial
quantity, they did another hop skip and jump tour up
the coast, to Portland and back, touching base with all
the Elks and Lions and any Rotarian order of any
persuasion that had even the tiniest entertainment bud-
get, and when they returned to Merlin's L.A. home it
was the holiday season, party time, and he did a lot
of private shindigs, sometimes mingling with the
guests, usually standing at the end of some room or
other, telling his Gary Grant jokes, doing his routines,
like the Miser's Dream, a favorite of his and a classic
piece of business where the magician asks for a hat
from the audience and it's empty and his sleeves are
empty but then wham—wham—he's producing coins
from the air, six, eight, a dozen half dollars, and the
way Merlin worked the trick, he had the halves
pinned to the inside of his magic suit and Corky
placed the money in piles of four so that Merlin could
misdirect with the hat, flick one of his giant hands to
the familiar spot, pull out four more coins, on and on
until the audience, if he did it right, applauded spon-
taneously, and now he had fourteen and now sixteen
and he misdirected with the hat, waving it up and

94 WILLIAM GOLDMAN

jingling it and the audience watched the hat as they
were supposed to and Merlin's right hand stopped
working, he tried another grab, no good, and Corky
was running forward from his place in the comer of
the room before the old man really started to drop
completely and his right leg was giving on him and all
he said was "I must be getting old" before Corky
grabbed him, stopping his crumple midway.

Merlin finished his fall the following Tuesday when
they put him in the ground.

"You got till the end of the month." the landlady
said to Corky, who nodded. They were standing in
front of Merlin's apartment, the day after the burial.
"If you want to keep it, I don't mind that if you pay."

"No money."                  \

"Till the end of the month, then," she said, and went
back upstairs where she lived. Corky watched her go.
Ten days wasn't a whole lot of time.

Except that one of them was a Monday.

He went to the   Stardust that very night and asked
for the owner.   Eventually the guy came out. Corky
recognized him   from when they had been there a year
ago; his beard   was grayer now.

"It's about the amateur night," Corky said,

"That's Monday."

"I know. But I'd like to put my name down now.
Corky Withers."

"We don't work it that way—you show up Monday
afternoon after four—the first two dozen are it. All
very American."

"How early do I have to be here to be sure to get on
do you think?"

Shrug. "Depends."

"I mean, is it better to go first or in the middle or at
the end do you think?"

"Depends."

"Are there ever people here to see you? I mean, if
somebody was terrific, would there ever be maybe
an agent or manager or like that do you think?" and

MAGIC 95

before the guy could shrug or speak. Corky said, "De-
pends."

The manager looked at him. "You don't wanna make
the audience nervous, ylcnow."

"Oh I would never do that"

"Yeah?—well you're making me nervous right now."

"Monday," Corky said. The manager started to leave
him. He glanced in at the stage. Business wasn't much.
"One last thing? If someone, say, comes on a Monday
and is, for example maybe temffic, would you hire
him to work here regular?"

"Once that should only happen," the manager said.

Corky ran back to his cards. Five minutes wasn't
much time, so you had to program it nght. Start off
easy, end big, but always leave a little something in re-
serve. If they wanted an encore you had to have a
topper so—

An encore?

Just get through it. Jerk; just do it right, so they'll
never forget you and always hold you kind in, their
hearts.

Do it right

Do it right

Corky put in sixteen hours on Wednesday before he
broke, walked around the block a little, napped, made
some coffee, got back to it. Another eight hours was
plenty, didn't want to empty the gas tank before the
race started. Again he napped, a good one. Friday
another eight on, four off, eight on, then Saturday he
hit it big, staying glued to his mirror, watching his
hands, looking for the least clue that might blow it
for an audience.

Do it right

Do it right

Sunday he began to taper off. Don't leave your fight
in the gym. He had his routine down so that depending
on applause (if he got applause—thmldng about ap-
plause was maybe even a little less helpful than wor-
rying over encores) it would run four minutes thirty

96 WILLIAM GOLDMAN

to four-fifty-five. No point in stretching for the full
five or running over. If it only took four-ten, that wasn't
gonna hurt either. Don't push. Always leave 'em
laughing. Less is more.

He got to the Stardust at eleven Monday morning.

It didn't open till four.                          ,

He laughed out loud. A good sign. He hadn't pan-
icked or berated himself. He thought about going
back to his mirror, working some more but enough was
enough, he'd done his eighty hours for the week, better
to take your mind away.

A James Bond double feature was playing in the
area, and that seemed just about perfect. He checked
the time when he went in, saw that if he stayed for
both features he'd be cutting it a little close, so he
stayed for the first and half the second and got back
to the Stardust at quarter of four.

Thirty people in line.

Please, nol

He counted again. Thirty—wait though—a bunch of
them were talking—they knew each other—moral sup-
port—and one bunch of four looked like a group of
some kind—it was gonna be fine, it was, it was.'Tie'd
worked too hard for it not to be.

He was given number twelve. The bearded manager
remembered him. "I don't know if it's a good position
or not," he said.

"Depends I guess," Corky answered. Then: *'What
happens now?"

Fill out the card—name—address if you want-
agent if you got one—and how you want me to intro-
duce you. Put that part in quotes. Then you're on your
own."

Corky nodded, wrote an introduction on a card,
handed the card to the manager. The manager gave
him a number. A red plastic 12. "I'll call your number
and you come on. Be here by eight-thirty, show starts
at nine."

Corky went back to Merlin's place. A nap would

MAGIC 97

have helped but too risky, what if he overslept, beat
himself that way.

In the end he just sat there for two hours. Then he
cleaned up, changed—he'd long ago decided not to
wear anything fancy. Of course, he didn't own any-
thing fancy which made the decision a lot easier. Gray
slacks and a white shirt and gray cardigan sweater.
Casual. No mumbo jumbo crap. A pack of bicycles in
each pocket and scoot.

He didn't start getting unpleasantly nervous until he
reached the Stardust. He was there at 8:30 on the
money, but in order to make that work he'd had to
take a twenty-minute stroll around the area. Still, he
wasn't the first. The performers bunched outside in
the bar area. In the middle was the desk with the
entrance to the club. The manager waited there, escort-
ing people to their tables. It was going to be jammed,
one of the girl performers said.

Good or bad. Corky wondered, then decided, didn't
matter, nothing like that mattered.

Do it right.

Do it right

What's your act? another girl asked a curly headed
boy. Nostalgia, I imitate Mort Sahl was the reply.

I wonder if he's good. Corky thought. If he is, I
wonder if he's before me. And if he's good and if he's
before me, is that good?

It doesn't goddammit matter. What you do matters.
That's it. It's on your shoulders. No excuses. You've
spent the time, you know the moves.

—quit making me nervous—

The show started promptly which was a surprise.
The first performer never showed. Panic. Neither did
the third. Same. The second sang the "Age of Aquar-
ius" and the fourth did comedy birdcalls.

Christ I wish that guy was just ahead of me. Corky
thought. After this is over I'm goima hire that birdcall
guy and have him come on before me all over the
country.
9§ WILLIAM GOLDMAN

The black girl that was five was funny.

So was the white guy that was sixth.

The seventh person carried a box on stage and for
one minute of blind horror Corky thought he was an-
other magician, but that was Just nerves, imagination,
the guy was a singer and the box held his tape re-
corder.

Number eight. Now nine. The acts were beginning
to blend on him.

Ten didn't show.

Nor eleven.

"Say hello to Corky Withers," the MC read.

Corky walked through the room toward the stage.
All he heard were couples ordering drinks from waiters
but that was imagination. Maybe one guy ordering one
Scotch, rocks, no big deal. He stepped onto the stage.
People were all around him, very close.

He blinked from the lights. He hadn't expected the
lights. No. He knew they were there, just not so bright
He hadn't expected the heat. They'll think it's nerves,
he realized, and ifs not, I'm fine, I was a fool to wear
the sweater.

"Ordinary cards," he began. "See?" He took one
pack, pulled the cards out, handed them to a pretty
girl at a ringside table. She showed them to her date.

Somebody coughed.

Corky took the cards back, riffled through, "Now I'd
like you to pick one," he said to the pretty girl, and he
used the Annemann Force, doing it perfectly, so that
when she took the king of spades she had no idea he
had made her do it. "And you sir," Corky said to her
date, doing Can den Barks Force on the guy, so in
case anyone was watching close for him to repeat him-
self, they'd never catch him. The guy picked the heart
queen—it was amazing the way that worked, women
picking kings and men the other way. But it did.

It was very quiet.

"Show the room your card please," Corky said to the
pretty girl.

MAGIC 99

She did.

"Can't see," somebody called.
"Too dark," from somewhere else.

"It's the king of spades," Corky said. "And his is the
queen of hearts."

"He got it right," the girl said to the room.

"Mine too," her date said.

He moved to the next two tables, gave each a deck
of cards. "Please make a cut into two piles," he said
to them. "Then hold the piles up."

When the four piles were held Corky wondered if
he'd made a mistake—estimation was one of his
strengths, but if you even missed a little, you blew it
from the audience's point of view. If you hit it, though,
you had them. He took a breath, concentrated, then
pointed to the four piles in turn. "Seventeen. Thirty-
five. Twenty. Thirty-two, Would you each please
count your piles and tell me how many you have.
Thank you." They nodded, started to count.

Corky stood there.

"Five, six, seven," one of the women said half aloud.

"Shhh," her date said, "I forgot where I was."

Corky stood there sweating. Why were they count-
ing so slowly?

Silence.

"Um-hmm," the first counter done said. "Twenty is
the answer."

"Thirty-two here."

"Thirty-five."

"Seventeen."

Corky took the cards back, waited for some ap-
plause.

Still the silence.

He wiped his forehead with his cardigan sleeve.

No reaction.

Some girl wanted a Virgin Mary. The waiter nodded
and hurried off.

"For my next trick . . ." his voice trailed.

Do it right.
100 WILLIAM GOLDMAN

Do it right

But I am! Why don't they see?

The MC whispered, "Half your time's gone."

Half? Corky wiped his forehead again. It was bad,
no question so far there wasn't triumph in the wind,
but that was his fault, and winning them back was
up to him too and the best way to do that was go right
for the throat, forget the order, he'd programmed
wrong, the estimation was wrong, a' bad idea, it took
too goddam long for everybody to count their cards, a
mistake, sure, but not irreconcilable, not if you do it
right, and that had to be his bombshell number, the
encore number, the one you lay it all out on, live or
die with.

"The rising aces," Corky said.

It was as difficult a sleight as there was, involving
a five lift—he'd never done a five lift in public before,
never even for Merlin, just over and over in front of
his mirror, because in a five lift you had to take the
top five cards only you plucked them so it looked like
one. Your fingers had to be so deft that you casually
grabbed the top card but all the time you were betting
four more but if you slipped, if your hands were wet
or shaky or in any way less than perfect, you blew it
all.

He went back to the pretty girl he'd used first. He
handed her a pack. "Would you take out the four aces
please?"

It took a while.

Silence. Cloaking the room. But that was all right.
It was build. There was a purpose to it. You had to
make them think you were in trouble for the rising
aces. You had to misdirect them, let them thinic you
were scrambling so they didn't watch all that dose.

"Now what?"

"Put them on top of the deck."

She did.

"All right now. The four aces are on the top of the
deck next to each other, is that right?"

MAGIC 101

"Um-hmm."

"Now take a card from the bottom and cover the
aces."
She put the bottom card on top of the aces.

Corky reached for the deck, held it out in full view.
No quick moves, no moves at all, just kept the deck
there. "All right. In this trick . . /' His voice trailed off
again, this time intentionally. He tried to smile, "I did
that wrong. You don't cover the aces yet, that's a dif-
ferent trick." He flicked off the top card.

With a five lift.

And he did it right. He had all five cards in one hand
and he waved them a second, his wonderful hands
moving so gracefully, as if it was really only one card,
and then he casually shifted hands, and while he
did, back palmed the four aces perfectly, stuck the top
card into the middle of the deck. Then he returned the
cards to the girl. "Okay, what have we got now? Four
aces next to each other on top, right?"

"Umm-hmm."

"Okay. What I want you to do is make the aces
rise."

"Me?" the pretty girl said.

"That's right. Just say, 'Aces rise.'"

"Aces rise."

Nothing happened.

"Hmmm," Corky said, "it doesn't seem to be work-
ing." Sweat was covering his face now. He could feel
his shirt sticking tight to his skin.

A guy ordered a bourbon and branch water, no ice,

Corky paused until the waiter was gone. He had
them now and he didn't want^to blow his climax. Be-
cause the whole room knew the aces were on top of the
deck in the girl's hands while all the time he had them
palmed in his own. "I can't figure why this trick isn't
working," Corky said, sweat streaming down, "unless
it might be because aces don't like cold weather and
it's freezing in here. Brrr." And while he said "brrr"
he reversed the back palm, started rubbing his hands

102 WILLIAM GOLDMAN

together as if to get them warm. Only now the aces
were between his bands.

"Brrrr," Corky said again, rubbing his hands harder,
giving a quick flick with his thumb. "Brrrr, I'm just so
cold."

And the aces started to rise.
"Oh look," Corky said, "here come the aces now.
Look at them rise." He kept rubbing his hands to-
gether, feigning cold while the sweat poured down.
"Two aces. Three aces. All four." Corky looked out at
the audience.

They looked back at him.

Two girls wondered where the ladies' room was. A
waiter pointed it out

Corky just stood there- They should be applauding.
That was his encore number. Not five guys ever in the
world could do what he'd just done. WHY WEREN'T
THEY CLAPPING?

"For my next . . ." Corky began. He stopped. "I'd
like to do for you now ..." He stopped. "This one . . .
ummm ... it's .. ." He stopped. And then suddenly it
just burst out of him, "Jesus Christ," he said to the
room, "do you know how hard that was? That's a
thousand hours of my life you just watched."

The MC was beside him now. 'Time's about up,"
he said. "Thanks."

"I did it right," Corky told him.

The MC nodded. "Swell."

Corky started off.

"What about your cards?" came the pretty girl's
voice.

He stopped, shook his head, kept on going this time
for the door. When he got outside he thought he'd
probably go to pieces or something.

It didn't dawn on him for maybe half a block that
he'd already gone . . .

Corky. The mirror. The cards. Ten fingers. Top card?
Diamond four. He did a shift, controlled it to the

MAGIC 103

center. Another shift, controlled it to the bottom. Dia-
mond four on the bottom now. Now back to the top.
His eyes. His eyes never left the mirror. The sleights
were right. His eyes could not tell the moment the
shirts came. It looked like magic. Now here, now there.

Corky. The mirror. The cards. The fingers like spi-
ders now. He fanned the cards into a perfect semi-
circle. Snapped them together. He made the cards
spring from one hand to the other, back and forth, the
cards looked like an accordion.
Mistake #r. starting with the force on the pretty
girl. Looked too easy. Should have started with a fan.
Make the cards dance. Mistake #2: never do the esti-
mations in public. People think it's a trick.

Corky. The mirror. The cards. The fingers moving
on their own now. The mind moving too. Mistakes #3
to infinity: CORKY WITHERS. He was the only thing
wrong. It didn't matter if he started with a flourish
or a force, what mattered was he failed. He failed be-
cause Merlin said what magic was, magic was enter-
tainment and he didn't entertain. Magic was winning
the people and what had he won? Ever? All the years
of his life, he had wanted most to please people and
who had he ever pleased. So what did it matter if you
started with a fan, the truth was the truth.

Nobody gave a shit.

Nobody had, did, or would.

Face that.

He shivered. How cold was it? He dialed weather.
Not so cold. Why the shivering then? The mechanical
voice said it might drop down on Wednesday. Corky
hung up.

Corky. The mirror. The cards. The—Wednesday?
The voice said Wednesday and that meant Wednesday
was tomorrow and that was wrong, Tuesday was to-
morrow, he had come straight from the Stardust and
had sat by the mirror and so it had to be still Monday

evening.
All the

curtains and blinds were closed. Corky

104 WILLIAM GOLDMAM

peered outside. Blinding. I must have sat the night
through without knowing it. Weird.

Corky. The mirror. The—he called the mechanical
voice again. Now it told him tomorrow was Thursday.
Could that beP Another day gone. How long had he
been sitting without sleep?

And how could he haw shouted at the audience
like that? What difference did it make the number of
hours he'd practiced? That wasn't their problem. They
were there to be entertained and pleased. And that he
would never be able to do.

What time was it now? Probably he should eat
something. He went to the icebox. The milk smelled.
What day was it? How long had he been sitting at the
mirror? He had to leave by Friday. He looked outside
the window again. Night now. Thursday probably. A
hundred hours without sleep? Smart. What a clever
way to kill yourself. He'd have to be gone tomorrow.
Out of the place tomorrow. All packed by tomorrow.
Packed? What was there? Some cards and a mirror and
forget it

Corky. The cards. The fingers in the mirror. Look
at the fingers. They never tired. A hundred hours they
moved and watch them go. And who cared. Not him,
not anymore. He didn't care about much of anything
except he was bored with sticking around. Don't be an
amateur anymore.

Do it right

For once in your life do it right

He turned off the lights and turned on the gas and
lay on the couch, starting to drift. Comfortable. At last
he was comfortable. And warm. No shivers anymore.
He worried that the gas smell might be bad, but it
wasn't, and as it grew stronger he grew used to it His
body was draining now. Emptying wonderfully. His
eyelids flickered. That was fine. They deserved it Af-
ter a hundred hours, they had a right to close. His
breathing was deep now. Deep and regular and fine.

". . . what is that stink . . ~

MAGIC 105

"Huh?"

**... smells like gas ..."

"It is gas." Corky blinked. "Who are you, how'd you
get in here?"

". . . been here all the time . . . why are you killing
yourself, it seems silly, killing yourself with your
future..."

"What future—who are you?"

". . . that's not what Merlin said . . ."

''What did Merlin say?"

"... he said you were better than Thurston at the
same age . . ."

"No he didn't"

"... and as good as Leipzig ... he said if you kept
at it, you were going to be as good as the game . . ."

Corky found himself weeping. "I just don't want to
fail anymore, I'm tired."

"... of course you're tired, you haven't slept for a
hundred hours ..."

"Did he really say as good as the game?"

"... no ..."

"I didn't think so."

"... better... if you kept at it, you could leave them
all behind . . ."

"I would like that"

"... of course you would .. .'

"Merlin never lied. He must have meant it"

".. . you better get some rest. . . you have to be in
perfect shape to leave them all behind . .."

"Yes."

". . . sleep . . ."

I will."

". . . turn off the gas first, why don't you . • ."

"All right"

'*. .. that's a good boy . .."

"I hope I don't fail again. I don't know if I could
take that"

".. . you can't fail... not anymore ... I won't let
you . . ."

106 WILLIAM GOLDMAN

"Promise?"

". . . promise . . ."

Corky got up, turned off the gas, lay back down on
the couch again. He shook his head a little, kind of
smiled. "Merlin used to think I was crazy. Sometimes
I think he was right."

"... no ... you were crazy ... you're fine now ..."

THE POSTMAN

The line snaked down the block. The Postman moved
along the sidewalk, idly counting. Forty-six. Forty-six
people waiting for what maybe at the most could be a
half dozen cancellations.

When you're hot, you're hot.
He glanced at his watch, saw it was nine, moved
to the sidewalk in front of the Stardust because if
nothing else, Goldstone was prompt.

At 9:02 the limo pulled up. He was land of an aging
boy wonder, Goldstone, thirty-eight now, but he'd
been head of programming jor CBS when he was
thirty. NBC stole him, ABC tried like hell to crib him
from the Samoffs, and the kicker on the whole thing,
at least from the Postman's point of view, was that
wherever he worked, when George Goldstone ran
things, eventually your ratings went down.

But he had that survivor's instinct of knowing just
before the Titanic would hit the iceberg, and moved
on accordingly. He was your standard show business
example of failing upwards, and the Postman had no
doubts that eventually Goldstone would be running a
major Hollywood film studio into receivership.

They shook hands perfunctorily and the Postman,
who like many bald men knew more about wigs than
beauticians, was struck again by the perfection of
Goldstone's mop. Must have cost a thousand.

They started into the club. The Postman indicated
the line, muttered "slow night tonight" and Goldstone
answered nothing, just paused briefly and looked at

108 WILLIAM GOLDMAN

the sign in the window that said, "Say Hello to Corky
Withers" and below that, the standard smiling photo.
"So that's your latest wunderkind," Goldstone said.

"Twenty-six record breaking weeks," he said mod-
estly.

"Then how come I never heard of him?"      -.

"You were so busy coming up with a sequel to Bea-
con Hill you probably missed a lot of things. Tampax
got invented. The world rockets along, George."

They walked into the club. It looked even shabbier
than usual. Goldstone cased it a moment. "High tone
establishment you booked him into. Postman."

"I didn't book him, he was here. Likes it. I'm break-
ing my balls trying to budge him."

"I'm supposed to help with the budging, is that it?"

The Postman looked at the taller man seriously.
"Nossir, you are not. You are in the talent business and
I am not selling this kid to you or nobody. But when
a blockbuster is about to explode, I don't want you
running around screaming why didn't I give you a
chance at him."
They were escorted to a table in the most distant
comer. "I see they know you, ringside and everything."

"We can talk better here, we can see good enough."

"Blockbuster you said."

"Fucking skyrocket with luck. Never been a magi-
cian like him."

"Shit," George Goldstone said. "You dragged me
down here for a magician?"

"Don't start, huh?"

"Magicians bomb on the tube—we can't book *em
into kiddie shows on Saturday anymore."

"Your father was an agent working for me, you little
fart, don't tell me what bombs."

"That was before you got senile," Goldstone said.

"This kid-"

"—Ben, you're always trying to hustle magicians—
you're a magic nut, terrific, don't inflict your neuroses
on the rest of us."

MAGIC 109

"What's magic—don't answer, that was rhetorical-
magic is misdirection. And misdirection is getting them
to look in the wrong place at the right time. Well of
course magic's had troubles with tv—you can't mis-
direct a goddam camera—ginger ale," he said to the
waiter and looked at Goldstone.

"Scotch on the rocks. Pinch or Chivas.*"

"We got Clan MacGregor."

Goldstone looked at die Postman. "What am I doing
here? With a lot of soda," he said to the waiter.

The club was full now.

The drinks came.

Goldstone sipped his Clan MacGregor. "Ill get you
for this," he said to the Postman.

Now, on the stage, the bearded MC. "Say hello to
Corky Withers," he said.

Goldstone watched as the magician in the gray cardi-
gan and slacks walked onto the stage. There was con-
siderable applause. Withers looked around nervously,
nodded a few times. The applause quieted then. and he
reached into his cardigan sweater.
"Ordinary cards," he began. "See?" He took one
pack, pulled the cards out, handed them to a stunning
girl at a ringside table. The girl looked at the cards,
gave them back.

"He's not exactly loaded with stage presence," Gold-
stone whispered.

"He warms up as he goes along," the Postman an-
swered. "And I think he knows you're here."

"I'd like you to pick one," Withers said to the stun-
ning girl and she did. "Would you look at it please?"
She did that too. "Is it the six of clubs?" She nodded.
"Thank you," he said and took the card back.

Silence in the club. One or two people clapped
once or twice.

Goldstone bent close to the Postman. "Dynamite
opening," he whispered sarcastically. "Does he actually
get better? Hard to believe."

The Postman just gave him a look.

110 WILLIAM GOLDMAN

"The rising aces," Withers said.

The Postman leaned close to Goldstone. "This trick
is really incredible,"

"Would you take out the aces please," he said to
another girl at a ringside table, not as pretty as the
first one, but with a better body. She fumbled through
the deck, finally got the aces together. "Now put them
on top of the deck and cover them with another card."
She followed his instructions, handed the deck back,
Then Withers said, "I'm sorry, my mistake, you don't
cover the aces yet, that's a different trick, and he
reached to take off the top card.

And someone shouted, "He's gonna do a five lift,
watch him, watch him—"

Goldstone looked in the comer, tried to spot the
heckler. "Fuckin' drunks," he said.

Withers ignored the interruption, took off the top
card, started to go on. "All right, what we have here
are the four aces on the top of the deck and—"

"—bullshit," came from the corner. "They're in your
left hand."

Withers blinked. He was beginning to perspire
lightly now. "Um . .. yes, the aces—"

"—show us your left hand—that's right, show the
hand not holding the deck, go on, go on—"

Withers glared into the comer. "I'm sorry," he said,
"I'd appreciate it if you let me do what I get paid for."

"This isn't a charity ward?"

A few people started laughing now.

Withers was more flustered. "I'm not capable of
working like this—if you know so much and you want
to take over, by all means feel free."

The heckler said, "Don't wanna break my neck get-
ting up there, give me a hand." Withers moved into
the crowd.

And the crowd began applauding.

"What's going on?" Goldstone said.

No reply from the Postman.

Goldstone looked over in the comer where Withers

MAGIC 111

and the heckler were. "You really think you know a
lot, don't you?" Withers said to the heckler as he
moved back onto the stage.

Goldstone smiled. "Cute idea," he said to the Post-
man. "The heckler being a dummy."

"I'll guaranfuckingtee ya I'm an expert," the dummy
said.

"What's the dummy's name?" Goldstone wondered.

"Fats is what Corky calls him," the Postman said.

"Well you ruined the rising aces," Corky said, stand-
ing there, holding Fats in one arm.

Fats leaned close and started whispering. "Do you
see that beautiful girl, the one you did the trick with?"

"What about her?"

"I think she likes me."

"Don't be ridiculous."

"I wonder if she does—maybe she'd enjoy a little roll
in the shavings with me."

"I don't think you're funny," Corky said.

"Well they do," Fats said, pointing to the audience,
who were laughing. "Women ^o for me in a big way
—I can do everything except get a soft-on. I suppose if
I really needed one, I could always borrow yours."

"I don't want to talk about my sex life," Corky said.

"Tell us all about it, we've got half a minute to
waste."

The audience laughed louder. "Don't encourage
him," Corky told them.

Goldstone watched as the audience began applaud-
ing. "Is that a punch line of his?"

The Postman nodded.

"I'd like to do something for you now," Corky told
the people. "Even I don't know how or why it works,
but for some strange reason, if I take a diamond and
hold it long enough, it turns into a heart." He turned
to Fats, and held out a deck. "Choose any diamond."

Fats clutched a diamond six.

"Show the people."

Corky helped him raise his arm.

112 WILLIAM GOLDMAN

"Now if you'll give it back I'll just—"

"—give it back my ass. If you're a real magician,
change it while I'm holding it."

"Moving on," Corky said, "I would now like to—"

"—you mean you're not gonna make it change?"

"Not with you holding it, obviously. You're really
impossible tonight, I'd like to change the subject until
you simmer down." Corky stopped, pointed out toward
the Postman. "Ladies and gentlemen, a man who
means a great deal to me is here this evening, say hello
please to my agent, Mr. Ben Greene, the Postman.
Stand up, would you Ben?"

The Postman stood and everybody looked and ap-
plauded.

"Keep standing—please—I'd like to say a few things
about what you mean to me and Fats."

"He's a great agent," Fats said. "Corky and I feel
honored because mostly, the Postman handles the big-
gies: Dick Contino—he's the fella told Mario Lanza
to go on a diet—it's thanks to the Postman that right
now in Stratford Tab Hunter is playing Gertrude—
that's a coup, folks—and he's not just interested in
show biz, nossir, he knows his politics too—handles
Wilbur Mills' presidential campaign, don't you?—
and here's the climax folks—and remember you heard
it here first: tonight the Postman has concluded an
exhausting session of negotiations climaxing in the
following announcement: Miss Vicki has just been
booked into the Superdome. Thanks, Ben, you can sit
down now.*"

The Postman sat down and glanced across the table.
"Sorry you came?"

Goldstone drank his Scotch. "Bad's good," he said.

"That was nothing—1 got maybe the best magician
in fifty years matched with the first X rated dummy on
the block. Eat your heart out."

"I'd like to do some estimations now," Corky said.

"Hey wait—" Fats said. "I got this six of diamonds.
you said you'd change it to a heart."

MAGIC 113

"You ruined that too," Corky said.

"Omigod," Fats said then. "Look—" Corky helped
him raise his arm. "It turned into a heart while I was
holding it." He looked at Corky, shook his head.

"How'd he doooo that?" Fats called loudly, and the
audience applauded again.

"How did he do it?" Goldstone asked the Postman.
That was before he ordered a double Clan MacGregor.

The Postman just sat back and smiled . . •

On the way to the dressing room between shows,
the Postman said, "It's a funny thing, but he bombed
here bad on an amateur night"

"Hard to believe."

"Well he didn't have the dummy then. He disap-
peared about a year, came back again with Fats, and
they booked him regular. The rest, as they say, is
gonna be history. I don't think he's hit twenty-eight
yet." He knocked. "Me," the Postman said.

From inside Fats said, "Oh shit, it's gangrene."

Goldstone laughed. "Gangrene—that's funny."

They walked in. "Just wanted to make an introduc-
tion, Corky. This is George Goldstone."

Corky got up. "How do you do, sir." He held Fats in
one arm.
"Nice act," Goldstone said- "Lot of potential"

"Wouldn't it be nice if you were right," Corky said.

"What about me?" Fats said.

"Behave, huh?" Corky said.

Goldstone smiled. "Lot of funny stuff. Fats."

"Thank you, Mr. Wigstone." Fats was staring at
Goldstone's hairpiece.

"That's what I call funny," the Postman said.

Fats leaned close to Corky. "Is this the same George
Goldstone that's so famous in the tv trade? The one
known as 'Limp Dick George'?"

"He doesn't mean anything," Corky said.

The Postman was roaring.

"Youll strain your pacemaker," Fats said. He turned

114 WILLIAM GOLDMAN

to Goldstone. "I don't know why he's laughing, he
hasn't had an erection since Coolidge was president."

Goldstone began to go on that.

"I apologize," Corky said, "He's been impossible all
day."

"You're a very talented young man."

Corky smiled.

"Is it true you've never missed a show of Captain
Kangaroo?" Fats asked Goldstone.

"On that," Goldstone said, and he waved and started
outside. "Can I ask one thing? How did you change
the diamond to the heart?"

"I'm the misdirection." Fats said, "While we're bull-
shitting around, he could bring an elephant onstage."

"Which is why," the Postman said, "this magician
wouldn't be anything but sensational on the tube. The
camera watches their faces, not Gorky's hands." He
looked at Goldstone. "Be with you in a sec'."

Goldstone nodded, left.

The Postman shut the door.

"It went okay?" Corky asked.
"Calling Mr. Goldstone 'Limp Dick George* may
not have advanced our cause, but on the whole I would
say, if I play him smart and don't get pushy, it was
incanfuckingdescent." He looked at Fats. "See? You're
catching."

"What happens now?" Corky wondered,

"Nothing very dramatic. A lounge in Vegas for a lit*
tie. I can get you on the Shore and the Walters and the
Griffin. Eventually youll shift headquarters to New
York, better media exposure there. You'll come back
out here, do a couple Carsons, and how's that for
openers, enough?"

Corky nodded.

"You're a good kid. Corky."

"The dummy is the talent," Fats said*

The Postman left them then.

Silence.

Then whispering: "Corky?"

MAGIC 115

"Hmm?"

"Remember the night we first teamed up? When you
did that dumb thing with the gas? Remember what I
promised?"

Corky nodded. "No more failure."

"Do you believe me now?"

Nod.

"Corky?"

"What?"

"You know what I think?"

"What do you think?"

"We're gonna be a star . . .*

3. THE WORK IS DONE

1

"How much farther do you think to Grossinger's?"
Corky asked.

"Dunno," the cabdriver said. He was a kid, quick-
eyed, always with a cigarette in the left comer of his
mouth. He slurred when he spoke. "We'd a been there
now if you hadn't said 'take the shortcut.'"

"Sorry," Corky answered. "I thought I knew this
area better than I do, I guess. Been over fifteen years
since I've seen it."

"Well get there," the driver said.

Corky nodded. The sun was starting to drop rapidly
now—in half an hour it would be dark. The quiet road
curved downhill through the remains of a multicolored
forest The turning of the leaves was |ust about over.
The Catskills were still pretty, but age was coming
fast.

There were two suitcases on the seat beside him.
Corky opened the fat bag and reached in for a deck
of cards. He sat back then, did a one hand shuffle. It
was extraordinarily difficult to execute under ideal con-
ditions, but riding fast in a badly sprung car didn't
help. The first time he tried it he got through it, but
not neatly. He tried it again; holding the deck in one
hand, with that hand alone dividing the deck in half;

then the hardest part, forcing the cards through each
other, an ordinary riming motion, simplicity with both
hands, with one alone God knows how many hours of
practice.

Corky shifted the cards, did the stunt again, with his

120 WILLIAM GOLDMAN

left hand this time. For no reason he could ever fathom,
he always did this better with the left hand than the
right. Corky watched his fingers dancing. What a
dumb thing to be able to do—it was of no value in
close-up work; there were no tricks that depended for
completion on being able to shuffle a deck of cards
quickly and efficiently with but one hand. Sometimes
it held its weight as a kind of flourish, to show dex-
terity, but all in all, it was pointless. There were prob-
ably six around anywhere who could do it with either
hand: the two Japs, the Frenchman, maybe two more
here in the States. Corky wondered for a moment if
they ever watched their hands and reflected on the
waste involved. How many times had their fingers
cramped trying to get the riffle right? Merlin was
always after him to give it up, quit throwing away the
days.

What else did he have to do with them back then?

"Stop hereF Corky said suddenly.

"Huh?" from the driver.

There had been a quick flash of blue water to the
left. "Just slow down will be fine."
The car slowed.

Corky rolled down the window and stared out at the
water. "I think that's Lake Melody."

"If you say so."

"Looks just the same." He continued to stare. *'No it
doesn't, it looks a lot smaller; it's nothing really and I
would have sworn it was huge."

"You want me to stay slow?"

"There should be some cabins up around the curve."

There were. Set down in the woods, a good distance
off the road. A larger main house and then, below it,
maybe two dozen white cabins around the lake. A
bungalow colony. They passed a flaking sign: FINAST
BUNGALOWS. And below that, in smaller lettering:

ALONE ON THE SHORES OF LAKE MELODY.

"Now stop," Corky said, and this time, the car did.
The driver looked out "Must have beeo pretty."

MAGIC 121

"Oh yes," Corky answered, getting out, quickly
walking across the road, staring down at the empty-
looking buildings below in the woods. "I won't be a
sec'," he called to the driver, and with that, be put his
hands in his pockets and started down toward the main
house. The ground was covered with leaves, and his
steps made the only sound. It was colder up here than
it had been back in the city, and he shivered suddenly.
He was wearing just a cotton shirt and his blazer and
his shaking began to grow. He slapped his arms across
bis body, rubbed his hands across his chest, broke into
a half run, getting the circulation going.

He was still cold.

"Anybody?" he called as he reached the main
house. "Hey?"

"What do you want?" from indoors. Female voice;

distant

"Cabin?"

"We're kind of closed."

Above him now, behind screens and glass on the
second floor, a face was vaguely visible. "Something
near the lake is really what I'm after. Close as you've

got"
"We're not really set up for guests just now."

"This is just the kind of place I'm looking for is the
thing. I won't be disturbed here."

"That's for sure."

"Pay you for a week, I won't stay near that long."

From behind the window now, hesitation. "I've got
no services to offer."

"Pay you fifty bucks a night, how's that?"

"I'm not turning down fifty bucks."

"Lemme get my stuff," Corky said, and he spun,
started back up the long hill toward the road. He
jogged easily, conscious of his breathing, the little
bursts of white hitting the air as he exhaled. It was
getting colder fast, but he wasn't shivering anymore.

The cabdriver was standing by his car, smoking.
-All set?"

122 WILLIAM GOLDMAN

"Little change in plan," Corky told him.

The driver looked at Corky.

Corky looked back, then quickly away, because he
had caught the guy studying him a couple of times
is the rearview mirror, and usually what that meant,
nowadays, was that they recognized him from soine-
where. Corky got his two bags out of the back. "What
do I owe you?"

The driver sat behind the wheel, glanced at the
meter. "Exactly eighty-eight dollars and ninety-five
cents, as you can see for yourself."

Corky reached for his wallet He had gone to the
bank Just before leaving town, and he took out some
bills. Now he glanced at the driver again. Corky hesi-
tated. "Whatll make you happy?" he said finally.

"Let your conscience be your guide. I might get lost
on the way back, have car trouble, all kinds of things,
but don't let that enter into your thinking."

"Here's a hundred," Corky said, handing over one
bill.

The driver took it, said a very quiet, "Thanks."

"You don't understand," Corky told him. "That's fust
for you. This"—and he brought out the second hundred
—"this should cover the meter with enough for maybe
a cup of coffee thrown in."

"Hey you're my man," the driver said,

"You're welcome," Corky said; "I like the way you
handle a car. Plus one more thing."

"What's 'at?"

"You didn't bring me here."

The driver looked up at him.

"Am I still your man?"

The driver nodded.

"Keep it that way." Corky picked up his luggage,
smiled, "Take it easy."

"Any way I can get it," the driver said, starting the
car, waving, gunning off, gone.

Corky turned and headed back down the hill toward
the main house where the woman he had spoken to

MAGIC 123

before was waiting. She wore a blue sweater over gray
slacks, blue sneakers. "You said near the water, didn't
you?"

"That should be the quietest, don't you think?"

They're none of them exactly noisy just now."

"Well the prettiest anyway."

She nodded, started leading him down away from
the main house through the woods toward the water.
The sun was almost gone now, and the remains of it
rebounded off the lake into their eyes.. Corky walked
quietly behind her, carrying his cases. "I'll give you
the best we got," she said, as they approached the
farthest cabin, set very close to the water, a good
hundred yards from the main house.

"I have the money ready," Corky said.

"Don't you want to see it first?"

"I'm sure itil be fine."

She got out a key, shook her head. "What a weird
thing, keeping everything locked up—not a whole lot
to steal."

Corky nodded.

She opened the door, stepped inside. He followed.
"Nothing all that special. Living room here, bedroom in
there"-"she pointed. "Bedroom's small but the bed's
good." Now she pointed again. "And the fireplace
works. You got a view of the lake out this way, you can
look up into the woods across there."

"It's fine," Corky said. "Let me pay you now." He
put down his bags.

"Bathroom in there—kitchenette behind the curtain
there. That's it."

"Like I said," Corky told her. "Fine," He held out
two fifties. "One for tonight and one in advance. If I
stay tomorrow, we'll talk finances then, okay?"

"Whatever." She folded the money, rolled it again,
held it tight in her hand, "If you need—" and she
stopped.

"Go on."

"I was gonna say 'if you need anything, call' but

124 WILLIAM GOLDMAN

t

there's nothing up at the main place. When I said we
were closed, I wasn't whistling Dixie." She started to-
ward the door. "Probably I should have said, 'if you
need anything, don't call.'" She gave a little wave.
"Bye."

Corky nodded.

The second she closed the door Fats was saying,
"Open up, open up," in a muffled tone from the larger
suitcase.

"Shhhh-"

"—don't you 'shhh' me, schmucko, just open the god-
dam lid or there's gonna be major league trouble."

Corky got Fats out, then went to the window away
from the lake and watched as the girl walked up to-
ward the main house.

"I hate the country already," Fats said. "It's quiet
and full of leaves. AH you hear when you walk around
is crunch crunch crunch."

Corky said nothing.

The sunlight hit the girl's long dark blonde hair.

"I thought we were going to Grossinger's. At least
Grossinger's got action. This dump here, maybe it'd
do for a coroners' convention, but otherwise, forget it."
Corky still was silent, still watched.

"Hey, why the silent act, what's up?"

Corky shook his head. "She never once remembered
me."

"Who? The broad? How can you blame her, she's
verging on the gorgeous and you are a pretty forget-
table fella. No. Take that back—actually, your pointy
head is quite distinctive, I wouldn't think anybody
could forget that. Must have been your acne clearing
up that made her not know you."

"You're not funny! Not even a goddam little."

"Sounds like I stepped on a corn—how come I'm not
funny?"

Corky *s voice got soft " 'Cause that was Peggy Ann
Snow."

2

She walked into the house and locked the door, which
she always did when she was alone around the place.
Then she went to the tv, flicked it on, which she also
always did whenever it got dark, whether she was alone
around the place or not

News.

She looked at it vacantly for a moment; the local
news guy was as intelligent as ever but she had dif-
ficulty focusing her attention on what he was saying.
Financial stuff. Cities going bust.

Maybe some music.

Off with the tv, on with the radio. She listened.
Eiton John? It was hard for her now to tell them from
each other. She had a bunch of cousins who were like
twelve, and they always hooted when she said it was
all the same, every one of them, boom, boom, boom
with the rhythm section, that's all there was. No words
anymore, why shouldn't they sound the same. But
then her folks had been like that, unable to distinguish
Anka from Rydell from Fabian when she'd been a kid
and they were old-
Only I'm not old,

Elvis!

Off went the radio and now, for the first time since
she'd entered the house, she picked up the pace a
little. She knelt quickly by the record shelf underneath
the hi-fi, took out the first Presley she happened to hit.
It was his "Golden Records" and Peg looked at his
126 WILLIAM GOLDMAN

face on the front for a while, then turned the record
over and studied the listings:

Hound Dog

Teddy Bear

Love Me Tender             ^

Don't Be Cruel

Those were songs. Peg turned on the machine, took
out the record, reached for her special cloth and went
over the disc carefully before she put it on the spindle.
All her Elvis recordings were in perfect shape and that
was not about to change. Now she pushed the start
lever, waited . . .

'Since my baby left me'-WHAP-
'Found a new place to dwell'—WHAP—
'Down at the end of lonely street
At Heartbreak Hotel. . .'°

She knew exactly who she was and where she was
when that first Presley hit home. Sneaking a cigarette
in Viola Schenker's car. Closing in on thirteen. Body
already formed. She'd listened then and could not be-
lieve—there was no way she could hear what she was
hearing. Never mind what the sentences said, what the
singer was saying was "Let's screw—you I'm talking
to, don't look away. Now!"

Not in the mood for Elvis either. She lifted the tone
arm off, and in the ensuing silence, put the record
back in the sleeve, then into the envelope, then back
to the shelf.
Eat something?
Not hungry.

She got out her high school graduation yearbook.
Turned to the full-page picture. It was the front of the
sports section, and there she was, caught at the peak of

""'Heartbreak Hotel" © 1956 by Tree Publishing Co., Inc.

MAGIC 127

her jump, arms out, legs spread, smiling. The caption
said simply: "Peggy Snow scores one for our side."

She looked at the picture awhile. Of course the
cheerleader's costume was ridiculous, but otherwise ...

She carried the book to a mirror, lifted up the photo,
put it beside her face. Studied them. She looked fine.
Fine.

But her depression only deepened.
She walked to the kitchen, opened some cat food,
put it in Sherlock's bowl. Then she opened the back
door, knocked the dish against the knob, called his
name. He was waiting and inside in no time. She put
the dish down. Sherlock ate. He was a large, powerful
and totally individualistic beast and he never allowed
her to hold him except when he was done eating.

She picked Sherlock up then, walked to the window,
stared down toward the lake and the one lit cabin.

"He didn't remember me," Peg said . ..

3

Corky scuffed his way along the shore of Lake Melody.
In Chicago it might get dignified with the word
"pond." Not more than a mile around probably. But up
here, anything you could get your body into was Lake
something. This one wasn't even all that pretty—the
land surrounding, yes, lovely, but the water itself had
a mud bottom and even on the nicest days, you always
were on the lookout for snapping turtles. No one had
even seen one around, but you just knew that if you
were a snapper. Lake Melody was the kind of place
you'd like to call home.

He glanced up toward the main house. The lights
glowed out, a bright barrier against the surrounding
darkness. Corky stopped and turned, taking in the
whole place. A little light from his cabin; the others,
nothing but shapes. Dead beasts.

When he was a kid, the Catskills had millions of
these places, bungalow colonies. Mom and Pop opera-
tions. Often they made the cabins themselves or hired
the local carpenter, usually drunk. And they survived
by their summer rentals. AU the people who couldn't
afford the big places would come, and book a cabin for
the summer, and let the kids run while the mothers sat
in chairs, rocking and gossiping till the weekends when
the breadwinners arrived. You did your own cooking,
cleaned for yourselves. What you rented was the roof
mainly. Usually a game room in the main house where
the Mom and Pop ruled.

Only now, at least from the way things looked on

130 WILLIAM COLDMAN

the drive up, it was hard times in the Catsldlls. Sure,
Grossinger's was probably minting money and The
Concord was still trying to convince the masses that
they'd stumbled into Vegas, but the smaller places, the
colonies, good-bye and amen.

Sad.                                               •.

Corky started walking faster, heading for his cabin.
When he got there, he unlocked the door, went inside.
started to undress. He had bis pants half off when he
glanced into the bathroom, saw there wasn't any soap
or towels. He slipped his trousers back on, rebuttoned
his shirt, reached for his blazer. After that he grabbed
Fats and took off. There wasn't much moon, but
enough to make out a kind of worn route that led
toward the main house. Corky hurried, stumbling
once or twice over tree roots, but never enough to make
him come close to falling. There was no sound coming
from the main house and his knock echoed. "I'm sorry,"
Corky said loudly.

From above, on the second floor. "What do you
want?"

"No soap."

"I told you you wouldn't like it; you leaving al-
ready?"

Corky started laughing. "I didn't mean 'no soap' that
way—1 meant there wasn't any. Or towels either."

*we never really supplied that stuff."

"Oh."

"Hold on a sec'. 111 get you something."

He waited on the steps listening to her footsteps
inside. She was coming down the stairs. Then, the door
was opening. "C'mon in—no sense waiting outside—"

"Thank you," Corky began, and as he took a few
steps inside, he was prepared to say a good deal more,
to apologize for being a bother, to—

"—omigod, you brought Fats along" Peg cried with
excitement

Corky just stood there.

"And you thought Peg didn't remember,** Fats said.

MAGIC 131

She looked at Corky. "You knew who I was too?"

Corky made a nod.

"Why didn't you two at least grunt at each other or
something?" Fats wanted to know.

"I don't—I'm not really sure," Corky stammered—
"See, she was upstairs and I couldn't really tell at first
—there was the screen and the sun reflected off the
glass—by the time I thought I knew, I figured she
didn't know who I was or she would have said some-
thing."
"What's your story?" Fats asked.

"It's been so long," Peg said; "and I watch every
chance I get—I see a lot of television so I don't think
I've missed you once—I didn't want to embarrass any-
body in case . . ."

Fats shook his head. "We're all so goddam sensitive
I could whoopse."

Peg started laughing. "He's just as cute as on the
tube."

"Cutel" Fats said loudly. "Virile, yes; sexy, absolute-
ly. 'Cute' is for Disney, if you, don't mind."

"I'm really excited," Peg said. "C'mon, c'mon," and
she closed the door. Then she looked at Corky for a
moment Neither of them said anything.

The little old matchmaker—me," Fats cut through.

Laughter.

Then: "Oh, can I hold him? Would that be all right?"

Corky hesitated.

"The answer is lemme at her,'" Fats said.

"Be kind of careful," Corky said.

"Promise." Peggy took Fats with both hands. "He's
heavy," she said, surprised.

"Husky, you thoughtless creature," Fats said.

Peg looked at Corky. "His lips didn't move."

"That's because you didn't work my levers, baby."

"What levers?" Peg asked.

Corky took Fats, laid him face down on a tabletop.
"All a ventriloquist's doll really is, is a large wooden
head, heavy like you said, with a wooden pipe leading

132 "WILLIAM GOLDMAN

down where the neck should be. There are levers on
the pipe and when you work them, the dummy seems
to come to life. At least, that's the theory." He pointed
to Fats' overalls, slit up the back. "All dolls are slit like
that—so you can get your hand in to the levers. The
rest of the body is mainly strong canvas bindings an^
stuffing." He lifted Fats back into her arms. "Now try.
Sit in a chair; might be better. Fats has extra levers,
'cause I've fixed him so he can smoke and cry, but don't
bother with those."
Peg sat, took Fats, reached into the slit

Fats began groaning sexually.

Peg broke out laughing.

"Don't mind him," Corky said.

"Let me look at you," Fats said.

"How do I do that?"- Peg asked.

"That same pipe where the levers are—just turn it
See?"

Peg turned Fats* head till their eyes met "This is
kind of fun."

"Come wiz mee to zee Kazz-bah," Fats said.

"I still can't get his lips going."

"Up a little," Corky said.

She touched the right lever and Fats' lips went up
and down.

"You don't know what life's like till you've had your
levers fondled by a beautiful girl. Hit the lever just up
from your hand," Fats told her.

She followed his instructions. His right eye winked
at her.

Peg hugged Fats, both arms around him tight Then
she carefully took him, handed him back to' Corky. "I
really did enjoy that," she said.

Corky took Fats, said,'"Anytime."

"Whisper," Fats said. Corky brought him up close to
his ear. "She's very nice."

"Thank you. Fats," Peg said. She stood. "How do you
do that? Ifs really like he's talking."

"Illusion mostly. I just turn my head and look at

MAGIC 133

him when he shoots off his mouth, he does the same
for me. You follow our eyes. Just illusion and practice
/ is all."

"But your lips don't move."

"Neither do yours. Seriously. Open your mouth about
a quarter inch and keep your lips still and try saying
'Hi Corky.'"
"Hi Corky."

"See how easy? Now try 'Bye Corky/ "

" 'Bye Corky,'" Peg said. Then; "My lips moved that
time."

"I know. OD the 'B.' 'B' and Y" and 'M' and 'W-they
are the toughies. Give six months or so to each letter
and you'll be able to say Taeep' without moving your
lips, big deal."

" *Wham' is also very hard," Fats said. "I went crazy
till he got those right. 'Wham-beep-wham-beep.' If
you're an intellectual sex pervert like me, that can get
kind of monotonous. 'Pervert' is also hard. Usually
Corky chickens out and says 'deviate.'"

"You should record all this.." Peg told him, starting
upstairs. "I really mean it."

"That's an interesting idea, thanks."

"Make a fortune, selling it to insomniacs," Fats said.
He starting intoning like a speech teacher. "The peb-
bles were moping because—"

"—enough outta you," Corlcy said.

Peg gestured for them to follow. "Come get what you
need." They were all moving up when the scream came.
Corky stopped. Peg continued on.

Again, from outside, the high pitched scream.

Peg looked down, smiled. "That's just my big old
cat," she said. "Probably found a dead bird."

"Probably made a dead bird," Fats said.

"Sherlock isn't any too friendly. I call him Sheriock
because he's always nosing into things. Loves poking
around." She led them along the second floor corridor,
opened the large closet at the end. "Help yourself."

Corky handed her Fats, moved into the large closet

134 WILLIAM GOU)MAN

Most of its contents were in closed cardboard boxes.
Corky pointed to them. "Shutting up for the winter?"

"Permanent. Trying to get it ready to sell. Not that
there's any mad rush on to buy the place. But the hope
is that someone'll think the property's valuable, what
with the lake and all.**                             •*

"Folks still around?"
Till a couple of seasons ago—now they've got kind
of a one bedroom condo near Lauderdale in Florida—1
tried keeping the place going, gave it my best shot,
but the winters are too hard to cut anymore."

Corky took down some towels, several cakes of
soap. an extra blanket "You used to have students
during the winter."

"Sure. Married ones   from that little college over the
way. They closed it   up this fall. That's dosed, we're
closed, most places   like us are closed. Pretty soon. I
think they'll paint   a big sign in the sky: 'Hey, every-
body, the Catskills   are closed/ "

Corky took Fats back, started down the stairs. "And
what'll you do then?"

Peg shrugged. "Whatever."

Corky descended through the ensuing silence. He
moved slowly down, then turned at the bottom, nodded
thanks, turned, headed for the front door. He had his
hand almost to the knob when Peggy said, "Hey you
wouldn't want any coffee or anything?"

"Thank God," Fats replied, T was just about to in-
vite you to ask us."

"I'd like that a lot," Corky told her.

"Have you even eaten supper?"

Corky shook his head.

"I Just know I've got a bottle of wine around some-
place."

"Terrific," Corky said. "Let me just get my stuff
down to the cabin and—"

"—stuff?" Fats said. "What stuff are you talking
about? There's mostly me and I want to stay."

"Quick shower and 111 be up."

MAGIC 135

Til be in the kitchen slaving." She waved.

He returned it, then headed on out the door. He
looked around, hesitated till he found the path, then
hurried on down toward his cabin.

"She hugged me," Fats said.

"I saw."

1 suspect she found me irresistible."
"Don't we all."

"I wonder why she isn't married?"

"How do you know she isn't married?"

"Because, schmucko, if you weren't so unobservant
you'd have noticed she didn't have no ring on."

Corky shrugged. He continued on in the moonlight
until Fats screamed "Christ!" as the giant cat leaped
out onto the path, the bloody remains of a headless
bird in her mouth.

"Say hello to Sherlock," Corky said.

The cat dropped the bird and was gone.

"Look at that—Jesus."

"I think we were Just made a peace offering." Corky
slowed, studying the carcass. "Sparrow?"

"Who cares, let's go, let's go." Corky stepped over
the bird and picked up his pace till he got to the cabin.
Then he put Fats in the overstuffed chair, showered.
Quickly, he dried himself, put on a different shirt,
took his time combing his hair. Then he casually tossed
his Jacket over one shoulder, headed for the door.

"Question." From Fats.

Corky waited.

"How come we came here? I don't mean the Cats-
Idlls, I mean this particular hot spot, Caesar's Palace
transplanted to the shores of Lake Melody."

Corky shrugged. "No reason. Impulse. Luck. Fluke."

"Good," Fats said. "Then there's really no reason for
our sticking around long."

" 'Course not."

"Make damn sure you lock that door, huh?"

"Why?"

136 WILLIAM GOLDMAN

"Because, schmucko, I don't want that beast getting
its claws into me."

Corky got the key. "Whatever you want" He started
for the door again.

This tune Fats said, *THow long you gonna be?"

Corky shrugged. "Depends."
*Tou could be a little more specific."

"I don't think late."

That's also good."

"Why?" Corky asked,

"If you were late, old Fats might start getting
jealous ..."

Long beat.

". . . and we wouldn't want that."

A longer one.

"... would we now..."

4

"You never really told why you were here."
Corky answered, "The truth, I guess, is I'm hiding.**
She looked at him. They were finishing dinner in the
living room where she'd set up a card table by the fire.
At first, it had been too hot, but as the meal went on,
the fire softened, and they kept moving closer and
closer, table, wine bucket, folding chairs. "From?"

**I just have to get my head on straight about a few
things."

She nodded, took out the wine bottle. "I don't think
^you're supposed to chill it wheo it's red, but I figured
the bucket added the proper note of elegance. When
you entertain a lot, you learn little touches can really
add up." She started to pour. "I was bemg funny," she
said. About my entertaining."

"It's very good wine."

"Gallo Hearty Burgundy. Won lots of blind fastings
against those higher-priced French imports."

"I'm not really into wine much."

**When you run a fancy resort, you have to keep
track of the trends," Peg told him. "Your head seems on
pretty straight to me."

"I've been acting weird, believe me.**

"If you say so."

"See I thought I was having an argument with my
agent about a matter of principle. But earlier today, I
was walking around the lake and I realized I'd been
bAing myself. It's the future's really got me scared.
138 WILLIAM GOLDMAN

See, I guess I've got an outside chance at making it big,
and I'm not sure I want to take it"

"I guess you are a little weird."

"Nobody's arguing with you about that But there's a
lot of hassling that goes along with success."

She nodded. "Should we eat at Sardi's or '21'? Should
we hit the opera or the dance? Should I switch to Hal-
stoo or stay faithful to Balenciaga? Could be murder."

"I'm a private person," Corky said.

"And if you make it, you think they'll find out all
your secrets?"

Corky smiled.

"More?" She pointed to their plates.

Thanks, I'm stuffed, it was delicious."

"I don't like to sound conceited, but anything Swan-
son freezes, I can thaw. For dessert there's Miss Lee's
brownies or Mrs. Smith's pie." She smiled. "Years ago,
Ronnie told me, 'Whenever possible, Birdseye.'" She
stood up, reached for the plates. She was wearing a
white satin blouse now, unbuttoned at the throat, and
just the start of her breasts was occasionally visible in
the firelight

"Maybe dessert later, if that's okay."

"Whatever." She took their plates and started for the
kitchen, concentrating on being careful not to spill, so
Corky's "you're really beautiful, took her by surprise.
*Tm not, she said before she said, "I only wish I was,"
followed by "but" and then she turned. "You think
so?" She shook her head, remembering. "Hey that's
right, I was always pretty for you."

"I didn't say you were pretty."

"Whatever." She finished her trip to the kitchen and
called, "You didn't pick up on Ronnie."

"Is he important?"

"Mate. Consort. Spouse. I'm very big on enlarging
my vocabulary."

"Are you very big on Ronnie?"

She came back. "How come you ask?"

He pointed to her hand. "No ring."
MAGIC 139

"We're separated as of this moment. We separate
about every moon phase. It hasn't been your everyday
Debbie Reynolds romance."

"Where is he now?"

Peg shrugged. "Humping some local beauty, I ex-
pect. I don't know where he is, but he'll be back to-
night or a week from tonight or in between or after."
She stopped by the couch. "You even remember who
Vm talking about? Ronnie? 'Duke'?"

"I always figured you'd marry him."

"Why?"

"I don't know, just did, does he still look like Elvis
Presley?"

The question sideswiped her. She managed an "Oh-
mi—*' before she sank to the sofa, put her head to the
cushions and wept.

Corky hurried over, sat down, reached out, almost
touched her dark blonde hair, got up, hurried back to
the table, brought her wineglass over. "Here," be said.
"Hearty Burgundy. Very medicinal."

She continued to cry.

Corky sat there beside her. Again he reached out for
her hair.

,.. Peggy Ann Snow

Peggy Ann-
He brought his hand back, made it go to his lap,
kept it there.

Peg got up, kept her head turned away as she ran to
the bathroom, closed the door. When she came out a
few minutes later, she'd washed her face hard,
scrubbed it, all makeup gone. "Admit it," she said,
"now I'm beautiful."

"Little moist maybe."

She sat down again, began talking like Emily Post.
""Whenever the party shows signs of winding down,
a quick burst of hysteria from the hostess is a sure way




140 WILLIAM GOLDMAN

to get things giddy again-'" She looked at Corky. ''Hey
I'm sorry."
"You don't remember high school much I guess."

She shook her head. "Never think of those days."

"Not the cheerleading or anything; all the boys?"

"It's like it could have happened to somebody else."

"Thank God I didn't mention Pat Boone, you'd have
really come unglued."

Peg thought that was funny. "You wanna know some-
thing crazy?" she asked after she was done laughing.
"You're different when you're not working."

"What do you mean?"

"Doing your act. Like before with Fats. You are
different when he's not around and that's the truth."

"You're very perceptive—you want to know some-
thing big league crazy, it's this: Fats does most of bis
own lines."

"I don't get that."

"It's like an acting exercise: 'make believe you're a
tree.' Only I make believe I'm Fats. I do it all the time.
Not on the bus or in Grand Central Station—people
might run for a straight] acket. But when I'm rehears-
ing, if I get stuck for a joke or an insult, I just call on
old Fats."

"And it works?"

"He's been infuddngfallible most of the time," Corky
said, doing Fats.

"I wish I was talented," Peggy said.

"I don't know if I'm so talented," Corky told her. "I
think I'm a little flaky if you want to know the truth."

Peg stood up and smiled. "You always used to do
that."

"What?"

"Put yourself down. Why do you think that is?"

Corky shrugged, watched her empty the wine bottle
into her glass- "Well split this last, okay? No—tell you
what—Ill send the sommelier— pretty impressive, huh?
—I think I've got another Gallo job, it hasn't been
breathing but let's open it and live."

MAGIC 141

Corky didn't know what to say.
Tm not trying to get you drunk, don't worry."

Corky smiled. "I really oughtta be getting back."

"You have to take the sitter home, is that it?"

"It's been kind of a wild day; I'm beat"

"Sure?"

Corky stood, stretched. "I ought to get back."

"Fats doesn't like being alone?"

Corky laughed. "Ya got me."

She walked him to the door, kissed him. Quickly.
Up on tiptoe, lips to cheek, no big deal.

Still, Corky didn't mind it a bit. He waited outside
a moment after she closed the door, almost knocked,
turned, hurried back to the cabin and had the door half
unlocked when Fats asked, "How was the orgy?" from
the overstuffed chair.

"Oh stop it." Corky closed the door behind him.

"What was it, a fifty course meal? You sure didn't
break your ass getting back here."

"I could have stayed longer!"

"Ohh-hoo-hoo—stepped on a. corn again."

Corky started getting undressed.

"She got the hots for you?"

"You will be thrilled to learn that the high point of
the evening was when I reduced her to tears."

"Hey schmucko, attaway."

Corky finished undressing, went into the bathroom.

Distant: "Hey, when are we bugging out of here?"

Corky said, "I don't know, haven't given it all that
much thought Tomorrow, the day after."

"Well I'm a city boy, the sooner the quicker."

Corky closed the door, closed his eyes.

• • • ^ggy •A031 Snow
Peggy Ann Snow
Please let me fol—

Muffled: "Hey, what'd you close the door for?"
*Tm pissing, do you mind?"

142 WILLIAM GOLDMAN

"Ooh-hoo-hoo; dainty, ain't he?"

Corky peed, washed, brushed his teeth. He walked
back into the bedroom, turned off the lights, got into
bed, lay there.

"That's it, huh?—no recap of the evening?"

"Nothing happened—no—not totally true—she pecked
me on the cheek when I left"

"Was it a French peck? Were her lips open?"

Corky laughed. "A French peck is a funny idea."

"Just don't you ever forget who the real talent is."

Corky rolled over and faced the walL

" 'Night," from Fats.

Corky grunted, shut his eyes.

. . . Peggy-

"—are you thinking of her?"

"What?"

"The truth."

"Oh, Jesus."

"You were."

"Bullshit."

"And in the bathroom too—that's why you closed
the door—"

"—for chrissakes stop!"

Pause. Then, softer; "You're not lying?"

"I don't Not to you. Have I ever?"

Long pause. "I sound like a fucking fishwife, don't
I?"

"You said it, I didn't."

"I don't know what's with me today."

"It's all this fresh air most likely."

"Sleep well. Laddie. And I'm sorry."
Corky tried a snore. Another.

Nothing from Fats.

»• • I^ggy Ann Snow...
• • • I^ggy Ann Snow...
Pleese-Please-Please!...

5

Peg happened to be looking at her watch at the time,
so she knew it was precisely at 3:35 the following af-
ternoon that Corky began to behave, for want of a
'better word, crazy.

"Began" wasn't really it. His behavior had been
growing erratic for a while earlier, only she had chosen
not to pay attention.

Mistake.

But the day bad begun so well. First contact came
mid-morning, with a knock on the front door. She'd
gone to answer it, asking "who?" all the time knowing
Corky was the one. Only there was no reply. She called
again, "Yes?" and still silence.

Now, a little edgy. There was a tiny hole in the
door, a protective device through which you could
see who was standing there without opening. She
peeked out.

No one was standing there. It was empty space.

But someone was knocking at the door again.

If it had been midnight, she would have been
scared. Daylight was courage-making, so she said "Not
funny" and threw open the door.

Only it was. Fats was sitting way down on the step,
holding a bunch of fresh-picked weeds in his hand.
His lips didn't move, but his voice came from around
the comer of the house, saying "Roses for you, my
dear."

Corky stepped into view. "He insisted on giving you
" ^ those; he thinks they're roses." He picked Fats up.

144 WILLIAM GOLDMAN

"They are roses, schmucko."

"Humor him," Corky whispered. "It's best; he's
scratchy before his morning coffee."

"Thank you," Peg said, taking the weeds.

"'Before my morning coffee,'" Fats said with un-
disguised emphasis.

"I'm sorry—sometimes I'm slow—would you by any
chance like some instant?"

"I hadn't thought of it till now," Fats told her. "But
why not, why not." They followed her into the house.
"You know," Fats explained, "if you plant those care-
fully, they grow into oak trees—

"—jerk, you're thinking of acorns^" Corky said.

Fats shook his head. "Life's not so simple in the
country."

"You're pretty simple in the country,'* Corky said.

"A joke, listen to that—schmucko made a funny,
wonders must be ceasing."

They went into the kitchen and Peg managed to get
the water boiled without once coming dose to burning
herself.

All the earmarks of a good day.

They chatted a lot through coffee, mostly just her
and Corky, with occasionally Fats throwing in a zinger,
but Corky didn't really need too much help, he was
kind of on, not so quiet, not so shy.

They split when coffee cooled. Corky taking Fats
back to Uie cabin to work on routines or whatever,
but not before she'd invited him up for lunch if he
wanted. And he seemed to.

But that meant there had to be lunch, which meant
the trip into Normandy. She bought some luncheon
meat, put it back. picked up some cold roast beef in-
stead, put that back and decided to risk a chefs salad.
And in case he wanted dinner, a couple of steaks, and
frozen peas and nice frozen fries to go along. She
stopped at Baskin-Robbins so the brownies and the pie
could both be a la mode, in case he liked it that way,
always assuming, of course, he was even there at all.

MAGIC 145

Lunch and supper cared for, she was on her way
back before she did a U (illegal) and headed for the
liquor store. She had enough for a bottle of Scotch
and three bottles of a nice French wine- That gave her
the idea for French bread, so back she went to the
market, and got a loaf that was two feet long, a waste,
but if he was there and if he was hungry, it would go,
assuming, of course, he liked French bread at all.

What with one thing and another shopping took a
while. She didn't get back to the cabins till quarter of
one, didn't call Corky till half past. Lunch was success-
ful, and so was the wine. They finished an entire bottle
just before three.

Just before three was when the magic began.

She was the one who began it. She could not re-
member feeling that good that early in she didn't want
to think how long, and she'd always loved tricks, so
she asked him if he'd brought any.

"I don't do tricks."

"But you're a magician."

"Yeah, but, I don't know, tricks are like when I set
up something—a fake deck of cards or a box with a
false lid. It means some kind of secret preparation no
one's supposed to know about. I don't work that way."

"You use whatever's available?"

Corky nodded. "In a club I have to use my own
stuff because people just don't walk around with decks
of cards."

"Coins though; everybody has them."

"I guess."

"Can you do magic with coins?"

Corky waggled his hand. "I ain't Leipzig," be said,
and when she looked puzzled, added, "he was the
master when it came to coins."

"I didn't know it was so specialized."

"Listen, there are thimble nuts—guys who spend
their whole lives mainly on that. Cigarette guys. You
kind of have to be a little weird to be a magician."

Peg got her wallet out of her purse. "Okay; fool me."

146 WILLIAM GOLDMAN

Corky lit a cigarette; inhaled. "I didn^t know T was
going to have to sing for my supper." He went over,
sat on the living room couch, brought an ashtray, put it
on the coffee table.

Peg came over, sat beside him. "Here's a quarter. Be
wonderful."

"That's all? Thanks a lot."

Peg watched him. He hesitated, holding the quarter
in his right band. She took one of his cigarettes, lit it,
waited.

"I'm trying to think what might be a good way to
begin," Corky said.

She sat, inhaling deeply. The cigarette tasted won-
derful after all the wine. Sometimes they tasted like
hay, but this one was worth the cancer scare. She in-
haled again, and then started looking around because
Corky had been smoking but now he wasn't, and the
ashtray was empty, and she didn't want her very best
piece of furniture catching fire.

"Okay," Corky said, *Tve got it Could I have a coin
please?"

"I gave you the quarter."

"No, you said you would but you didn't"

She looked at    his right hand. He hadn't moved it or
done anything    else. But the coin was gone. Peg
watched as he    inhaled on his cigarette. Funny, she
thought, he's    smoking again.

"Have you started doing tilings yet?"

"I can't very well do anything until I have something
to do it with. Let me have a quarter, huh?"

She gave him a quarter.

And his cigarette was gone. Peg glanced at the
empty ashtray.

"If you haven't got a quarter, give me a dime."

She looked. The second quarter was gone. And he
was smoking again.

"Oh you bastard, you have too started."

"What?" He looked very innocent

Peg started to laugh.




MAGIC 147

"If you'd ever give me a coin and I flipped it all the
way to the ceiling and had it land on edge on the coffee
table, that would be incredible, wouldn't you agree?"

"Do it, do it"

"I don't know how to do it," Corky told her. "I told
you, I'm not an expert with coins. I think you're sitting
on the quarters maybe."

Peg got up. The quarters were on the sofa cushion.
She looked at Corky. His cigarette was gone. She
picked up the quarters, handed them to him. He was
smoking again. "Oh wow, that's wonderful."

"If I ever get around to doing anything, maybe it
will be," He put the cigarette out in the ashtray,
reached over, pulled a quarter from her ear. Then he
found another on top of her head. He took them back,
closed his fist, blew on it, asked her to stand again.
The quarters were back beneath her on the sofa
cushion.

Then he really started putting on a show. Peg just
sat there staring because she'd loved magic since she
was a kid, loved being fooled but knowing it was all
going to come out right if you Just waited, and after a
little she went and got more wine, opening the second
bottle, pouring a large glass for each of them, and she
put all the change from her purse on the table, nickels
and pennies and dimes, and he picked them up idly,
talking about whether or not he should try the Sympa-
thetic Coins sleight or maybe Thieves and Sheep would
be easier and each time he suggested something he
would argue himself out of it because he wasn't really
secure on all the moves and while he was talking the
coins seemed to fly, appearing and disappearing and
reappearing. Jumping from place to place as if they
were doing it on their own because he certainly didn't
seem to be doing anything to help them, just sitting
there trying to figure out what to do, always deciding
against doing anything at all because he could try the
Tenlda Exchange, sure, any jerk could try it but any
jerk could goof it too, so that was a no-ao and maybe

148 WILLIAM GOLDMAN

the Waiters Tip would impress her but not if he blew
the flip, if that happened she'd probably laugh at his
fumbling, so finally what he decided to do was nothing
at all, he really wasn't a coin man, he'd never really
been into coins enough for public consumption, and
while he went into his final apology he went into a
double roll and Peg stared as the two quarters walked
across the back of Corky^s hands—they seemed almost
to be doing that, walking, as they went from the second
finger across the middle to the ring, then around the
pinkie and under on the thumb, then back to the index
again, chasing each other around his hands in a final
wonderous flourish and he was done.

Peg just sat there.

Corky got up, walked to the window that overlooked
the lake, stared down in the direction of his cabin-

"Have you ever considered a career in magic?" Peg
said.

Corky glanced over at her, smiled.

Peg watched him. He was looking down toward his
cabin again. "Is it getting late for you again? You have
to leave?"

"Of course not."

"Then listen, I know magicians never tell and all
that, but how do you do that stuff?"

"If you really thought, you'd figure it. People just
don't much want to know the truth. If they did, we'd
all be out of business."

"I don't know how you did that with the cigarette—
sometimes you were smoking, sometimes it was gone,
and you never once moved your hands up to your
mouth."

"If I tell you just the one, can we change the sub-
ject?"

Peg waited.

Corky lowered his voice slightly.   "That looked like
a real cigarette, but actually it   was rolled in vanishing
paper, you inhale on it a certain   way, it gets invisible—
I don't do that one a lot because   the paper costs a

MAGIC 149

fortune, you have to cure it for weeks to get it to dis-
appear properly. If you buy the cheap kind, instead of
getting invisible it turns green."

"You're really a crumb."

"Think."

"C'mon, Corky, you said you'd tell me."

"Changed my mind; you do the telling. If it isn't
invisible and I don't use my hands, where could it go?"

"Your mouth? You just zap it inside and leave it
there, burning and all? That's got to be it."

"It's called tonguing," Corky explained. "It's a tech-
nique. Like everything else in magic."

"My God, doesn't it bum?"

"You can singe yourself pretty good when you're
learning, I'll admit that."

"When you say everything, you don't mean every-
thing. Like sword swallowers don't really swallow
swords."

"Sure they do."

"Don't they get sick to their stomachs?"
"They do that too. If they, keep on getting sick to
their stomachs, they generally tend to drift into another
occupation."

"Nerts," Peg said.

"This shouldn't bother you. You were the one who
asked about knowing secrets in the first place."

"Can you explain everything?"

"Pretty much."

"Pretty much isn't the same as everything though—
what's there you can't explain?"

"You mean what do I know about that's 'magic'—
impossible, something that couldn't happen but did?"

Peg nodded, turned her wineglass.

"Hey, I'd really like changing the subject Right
here."

"How come?"

"Magic's to entertain—you don't take it seriously.
Don't look for more than's there."

"And you think I'm doing that?"

IgO WILLIAM COLDMAN

"I think."

"I'm really not, I'm having a very good time, it's
just that I get bugged when—" She gestured outside.
It was already beginning to darken slightly. Peg looked
at her watch. "Three-twenty and the shadows getting
longer."

From somewhere in the surrounding woods now,
another cry from the cat.

"Probably got himself a grizzly," Corky said.

"Tell me about the impossible thing, please?"

Corky came back to the couch, picked up a couple
of coins, began fiddling them around. "Okay, briefly.
I'll thumbnail it and then over and out, deal?"

" 'Course."

"I didn't see this, I wasn't there, ordinarily I would
never believe it, except it was Merlin told me."

"Who?"
"Merlin, Jr. He was my teacher. I guess I kind of
worshiped him, if that doesn't sound too unmanly."

"What was the impossible thing?"

"First," Corky said, and he made a flourish; ^the mys-
tery of the Alchemist's Coin."

"Do that later—come on—why are you putting me
off?"

Corky spun the coins on the table. "Because I don't
know where this is going, and it's bad for magicians
when they don't feel in control."

"Just stop worrying so much."

Corky started talking very fast "Merlin was a great
artist, as good as the game, and I know you've never
heard of him but that's because he wasn't successful,
not because he didn't have the skills—he was ugly;

fierce-looking. Big, powerful. He frightened people.
Kids mostly. He scraped all his life. It made him
tough. He was a hard man, you better believe that. So
when he told me about this, even though I knew it was
bullshit, I wasn't so sure it was bullshit, if you follow.'*

Peg had her wineglass in her hands now, fingers
locked.

MAGIC 151

\

*T never knew his wife, but he adored her. He called
her his 'dumpling'—you can't believe how weird that
sounded, this giant of a ferocious guy with this dopey
tone coming into his voice whenever he talked about
his 'dumpling.' I've seen her picture. She had a sweet
face, pretty as hell, at least for those days, and this
blimp body. A tub. They made some colorful team, I
guess—they worked together in his act—him with this
hussar's face and her "looking like a Shirley Temple
doll perched on a barrel. Anyway, that's the cast of
characters, the two of them."

"And the impossible thing?"

**He claimed he could read her mind.**

The coins started dancing over Corky's fingers again.
"Not all the time. And not often. But toward the end,
tile days before she died, that's when he said it hap-
pened."

"You really believe it, don't you?"

Corky shrugged, the coins stopped parading. Tm
not sure. I guess I want to." He shivered. "I'd love a
fire."

"Finish up, then we'll have one."

"Nothing to finish. Merlin and his wife, when they
were doing their act, they used to include the standard
telepathy crap, with cards mostly, all the fake stuff
that works best in the small towns. Then, toward the
end, in the hospital, they began passing the time with
this and that and they tried it for real. It never worked
until just before the cancer got her. The week she died
it happened. He always blamed himself for that—he
never wanted it badly enough to happen before. He
never concentrated enough to try and grab onto what
she was trying to send him. Those last days they
both wanted it enough; wanted to touch each other
enough, was how he put it They were desperate for
something to remember."

* Peg finished her wine, poured some more. She filled

lg2 WILUAM GOLDMAN

Corky's glass too. "Do you know how they did it? I
mean, the exact procedures and everything?"

"Sure."

*'How?"

"Why?"

"Interested is all."

"Well I'm not and I'd really like a fire."

"I have lots of cards."

1 told you already, I don't want to get into this."

"We're not getting into anything. Corky; we're just
two old acquaintances passing the time."

"That's not so and you know it"

"Let me just get the cards. It'll be fun."

"You want me to try it"

"Why would that be so terrible?"

"Because I'd fail."

"Don't get so all hot and bothered. You wouldn't
be the first; people fail all the time."

"You woufdnt like it"

"Oh, Corky, I wouldn't care."
"Believe me on this."

"Are you afraid?"

"Of course I'm afraid,"

"Of what, dummy?"

Corky drank half his wine. "Let's Just say I don't
want you thinking bad of me."

"But I wouldn't."

"Good. You say so, I believe you, let's not push it"

"I can't conceive of me ever thinking bad of you—
frankly, the only thing that might upset me is if you
wouldn't try, because that would show you didn't trust
me when I said I was only interested in a little fun."

"I'm under enough pressure without this. I'm trying
to get away from pressure, that's why I'm here, I told
you all that"

"I think we should forget the whole thing."

"Don't use that tone, please. Peg."

"You're already mind reading me, aren't you."

"Don't use that tone, please. Peg."

MAGIC 153

"All I said was let's forget it"

"But you don't mean that."

look at him," Peg said, "Mind reading me again."

Corky finished his wine.

There was a long pause.

"Well, what do you want to talk about now," Peg
said, finally.

"If you're going to disapprove of me, I guess it
doesn't matter if I fail or not, get the cards."

She got up right away, went for the foyer closet
where the cards always were, wondering why she was
acting this way, making him do something, why was
she being so bitchy. She wasn't, almost never, it
wasn't her way.

But you are now, she thought as she opened the
closet door, started to rummage around. "Any special
kind of deck, color or anything?"
"Any two."

She grabbed contrasting bicycles, a red and a black,
brought them to the coffee table, put them down.
"How did this Merlin do it?"^he asked.

"Shuffle both the decks. Get the jokers out if there
are any."

There were. She put them aside. "Now shuffle?"

"First one, then the other."

She shuffled, and he sat beside her watching her do
it. When she was done she waited.

"Which deck do you want, red or black?"

She surprised herself and picked black.

"The red one's mine then; push it away from you
and leave it there."

She did.

He got up and walked away, his back to her. His
back still turned, he stopped. "All right, pick a card
from your deck."

She reached in, came up with the ten of hearts. .
"Okay."

"Now look at it"

"I did."

lg4 WILLIAM GOLDMAN

"You must really look at it."

"I'm looking, Jesus, don't get mad at me." Tea of
hearts, ten of hearts; she repeated it half a dozen fanes
to herself. "Ready."

"Put it on the pack and cut the pack."

Peg did.

"Cut it again, cut it half a dozen times if you want
Then square it up."

She decided three cuts were enough. Then she made
the pack neat. "Ready for orders."
"Take my pack."
She picked up the red one.

"Go through it till you find the same card in my
pack, then take it out"
She found his ten of hearts.
"When you're done, put my pack away. Just keep-the
one card.

When she was finished she said, "What's going to
happen now?"

"Tell me what's happened so far."

"Well, I got out the cards and I shuffled both decks
and I picked the deck I wanted and I picked the card
I wanted and I cut the cards after that"

"And where was I?"

"Standing with your back turned."

Corky turned around and faced her. ''Well, that's
kind of it. What happened next was Merlin took his
wife's pack with the card in and she held the card
, from his pack, and she put it next to her heart and
cleared her mind except whatever that card was and
he went through her pack trying to pick up her card
and those last few days, he was able to."

"What's my card?"

"I don't know—I've got a one in fifty-two chance of
guessing. The reason you go through all the rigmarole
—your cards, you doing all the work, me with my back
turned—that's so if it works you know it really did,
no one can question any—"

"I'm thinking of my card," Peg said. Ten of hearts,

.;                                           MAGIC 153

ten, ten, keep thinking of the ten, Peggy old girl, ten
ten ten of hearts ten of hearts. "What is it?"

Corky looked embarrassed, "Sorry."

"Well you're not concentrating, pick up my pack, go
through it like you're supposed to."

He reached over, picked up her pack, looked at the
faces of the cards, going through them one at a time.

Peg put the card by her left breast and closed her
eyes wondering why she wanted this so badly, she
hadn't the foggiest, but she did, she did want it

Very badly.

Ten, dammit please, ten of hearts, Christ, just say
ten of hearts. Corky, I'm thinking so hard of the ten
of hearts the ten of hearts the ten of hearts say it.

She opened her eyes.

"Nothing," Corky said.
Peg stared at him and pushed the card harder
. against her body and thought of nothing but the card,
the one card, the ten, the red ten the red goddam ten
of goddam hearts.

She saw the expression hit his- face, and then he was
whispering, ". . . omijesus it's red, isn't it? . . ."

"I—I wouldn't know, it might be, maybe not, go on."
She^ started to close her eyes again.

"No," Corky managed. "We must watch each other.
And'you've got to think harder than you ever thought
about anything because I want this to happen now
Peg and it will. I know it's red, I saw the color in my
mind now look at me and please think."

Peg thought. Ten, ten don't think of anything else
but the ten, the heart ten, it must be the heart ten, if
/- it isn't the ten of hearts get rid of it, banish it, make
him see the ten of hearts—

"—you're not thinking,"

"I am!"

"Harder then," and now he was starting to perspire.

Peg looked into his eyes, they were nice eyes. Corky's
brown, sure, but they had a nice shape, they were
friendly and gentle and—

156 WILLIAM GOLDMAN

"-HARDER1"

Omigod, I wasn't thinking about it at all, Fm sorry,
sorry, please, don't guess what I was doing then, I was
wandering, your- eyes don't matter only the tea of
hearts matters the ten of hearts the ten the ten please
God the ten of hearts the ten of hearts I WANT THIS.

"Yes."

Ten of hearts, ten ten ten ten—

Tes."

Ten hearts heart ten heart ten heart ten heart heart
omigod, he's got it, he's got iti I can see it in his eyes.

"Turn ..." his voice was very dry. "Turn over your
card, please." They showed their cards at the same ex-
act time.

She turned over the ten of hearts.

He turned over . . . the diamond deuce.
For a minute Peg was really surprised, she'd been
that sure, but then she realized it was ridiculous, the
whole thing was ridiculous, feeling hurt and upset was
ridiculous, and disappointed, he was human, that's all
anybody was, and she said, "Hey that was fun," and
her tone was convincing as she quickly stood, said,
"111 Just see about some wood for a fire now" and
started to stand.

It was 3:35.

And Corky started acting crazy.

"That ..." he said, and he stiung the word out long
—"was your fault all your fault," and now the words
were running together.

"What was?" She was standing by the couch now.

"Sit back down Peg you will sit back down." Again
the words ran together.

Only this time he was rubbing his left temple as he
spoke.

And his left eye was beginning to blink.

"Let me just get the fire—"

"—get your dss back downT' and he reached out,
spun her around to the couch again.

Roughly.

MAGIC 157

"You didn't think enough. You started to do fine,
I got the red fine, but then you decided not to go any
further, isn't that so?"

She watched him pacing around and around, small
circles, as if in some kind of round cell. The bunking
was, worse.

"Why did you do that to me. Peg?"

"Do what?"

"You made me try that with the cards. I knew I
couldn't get it right but you made me try. And then
when I was close you didn't think hard enough. You
humiliated me. Peg, and I want to know why."

"Corky, my God, it was nothing, a trick—"

*—I don't do tricks. You think bad of me, don't
you?"

"No. of-"
"—you're disappointed in me. Tell the truth, I know
the truth so you might as well tell it."

After a while she nodded. "A little maybe. I wanted
that to happen, I guess."

"You wanted it—don't you know what it meant to
meP—if I could have made it happen it would have
proved that no matter what any man said to you, no
matter how many lies, whatever I'd said you'd have
believed, because we'd have proved it, just like Merlin
did, if you care for someone enough, if you want some-
thing enough and you care, you can make it happen."

"Can I get up now?"

"No. I was in bad shape back in New York, Peg."

"You said."

"Terrible shape—"

She nodded; he was rubbing his temple harder now.
Peg shivered from the cold.

"I had to run but where do you go when there's no
place to go, you go home. Only I didn't have a real
home, but Father, you know he worked at the G so I
thought, I'll start there, I'll backtrack to where I was
okay and try and do it right this time, only when I got
•up here I thought, Jesus Christ, your father was noth-

158 WILLIAM GMJ>MAN

ing to you, he never even looked at you, so I stopped
here, I had the driver take a shortcut and it brought me
past here because I wanted to find out what had hap-
pened to you, where you were living, what country,
what, world, how many kids, anything. I came here be-
cause I wanted a good piece of news about Peggy Ann
Snow, Fve loved you all my goddam life, you never
once thought bad of me, when I was growing up, you
were the only one. And you never did till now."

"I don't think bad of you."

"Disappointed. You said that"

"All right, I did, true, but only for a little, I don't
anymore, true, I feel terrible I meant that, but Jesusi I'd
been alone, you were the first person in days I'd talked
to, you always had a crush on me, it was flattering. It
was then it is now only now you've gone and made a
success of yourself and I didn't, my marriage didn't
work, there's no kids, my life's been shit, Corky, and it
was very romantic, being able to be so dose you could
tell without talking."

"This time it won't be your fault," Corky said then.
Peg looked at him.

"We're going to do it right this time. Peg. I know
that." He would not stop staring at her. "We both want
it enough. It's going to be fine."

"What if it isn't? Fine."

"I know. You have to trust me. When people are
desperate for something to happen it can happen if
they're desperate enough and I am, we are, both of
us. Merlin did it and so can we."

"How . . . upset will you be if you miss?"

"I won't."

"But if you do?"

"Very. But I won't. Shuffle the cards. Peg. Do every-
thing just like before."

She shuffled, took the black deck again, picked—the
three of clubs this time—put it back on top, cut, cut,
cut again, then another time, squared her cards. She

MAGIC 159

picked the three of clubs from his pack, held it to her
heart.

Corky sat beside her on the couch. He'd had his eyes
closed from before she picked her card. Now he went
through her deck in silence.

Peg thought of the three of dubs. Thought of it
hard. Then she began thinking about what would hap-
pen when it didn't work—i/ it didn't—would he get
more strange, start acting crazier, or would they just
do it and do it, spending their lives trying to get the
right card from one mind to another. "Are we gonna do
this until we get it right?" she asked.

"Don't talk.' He was staring at her eyes now.

"But are we?"

"I told you. It's going to happen now. This tune. But
you must think."

"I'm thinking."

**No. I can tell from your eyes. You're not."

Well, maybe that wasn't much of a mind read but it
was at least accurate. It would be nice if he could—
when be got it right Correction. It will be nice when
he gets it right. It was nice that he loved her, that
hadn't happened to her in a while—she should never
really have left high school, it had been downhill all
the way since then. What was my card? Bight, three of
clubs, three of clubs, the ever-loving trey.

"Why are you afraid? You're not thinking."

They were staring at each other harder now. "I
didn't want you getting more upset."

"I'm not upset anymore. I'm very serene. Peg. I'm
confident and you should be confident because we
are special people, and special people belong with each

other-"

«         -   *•

—yes—

"—are you thinking?—"*

"-not like I should-"

"-but you will?-"

"—now—" she nodded, still staring, still watching his

l6o WILUAM GOLDMAN

nice eyes set in his sweet face, the eyes of someone who
loved her, who loved her, and wanted to prove it, that's
all this was really, just—three—proving that you cared
for someone—three of clubs—and that nothing else
mattered, just—three of dubs—three of clubs—his eyes
are burning, pinning me down—making me—three of
clubs—making me helpless and pinning—three of clubs
—three of clubs, in all the World there is only the three
of clubs, the three of clubs, the three the three, the
black club three, the club the club dub club three club
three three three three club three club three dub three
dubthree clubthree dubthree clubthree . . .

". . . three of clubs . . ." Corky whispered.

Numbly, she put it down, nodded,'

Corky sat back, looked about to cry.

Nothing really important happened then until about.
five till four, when Ben Greene the Postman came
knocking.

6

Corky was out back by the kitchen, bringing in a sup-
ply of wood for the fire and never heard the first raps.
Peg said, "Who is it?" and when the answering
"Greene" sounded friendly enough, she opened the
door. "We're kind of closed," she said to the tiny bald
man in the probably tan cashmere overcoat.
"Thriving wasn't the adjective I would apply to your
enterprise. Would you tell Mr. Withers the Postman—
I happen to be his representative—has come to fetch
him."

Peg just looked at him.

"Fraulein, I don't seem to be getting through to you.
Is it a matter of your thickness or my ineptitude?"

"You're kind of funny," Peg said.

"Ill show you my reviews someday; 'riotous'—At-
kinson, Times. Get Corky, huh, I'm not doing my aging
bohunkus much good out here."

"I went to high school with Corky Withers," Peg
said. "Whyever do you think he's here?"

"Know he's here."

*'You haven't answered."

"Because, signorina, a very corrupt and eager young
taxi driver called me and asked was I Corky's agent
and I asked him how he found that out and he said, 1
caught his act on the Merv driffin show and I called
them and asked who his agent was and they said
you.'"

"I'm sure this is all very interesting, Mr. Greene, but
Tm trying to get the place ready for sale and—"

l62 WILLIAM GOLDMAN

"—you are wrong, my pigeon, what I have thus far
explained is not interesting, but it gets that way, so
have patience. This young and corrupt cabdriver says
to me, *You can rest easy, he's safe.' 'Safe?' say I?
'Safe where?* And he replies, 'He bribed me not to tell
and I could never break my word, not when a guy's
given me an extra hundred.' By now, since I have been
dealing with charlatans since my early days when I
handled Rasputin on his Russian tour, I knew exactly
what had to be done and who had to do it. I doubled
Corky's bribe, salved the cabbie's conscience with soft
words about it all being for everybody's own good,
met him in front of my apartment, exchanged cash
for whereabouts. Those whereabouts, according to my
informant, are where we fence at this moment.

"Gee I'm sorry," Peg said. "But I haven't seen Corky
in what must be fifteen years."

The Postman nodded.

"If I do though, I'll be sure and say you're looking
for him, Mr. Greene."

The Postman laughed. "Somehow that misses being
reassuring. If he hasn't come for fifteen years, why
would he change habits now?"

Peg shrugged.

The Postman didn't go, just watched her.

"Probably that cab man was lying," Peg said.

The Postman went into his Jolson routine. "Some-
body sho' am."

"Whatever." Peg said. Then: "Good-bye."

"Until we meet again might be more accurate," he
replied, and then he turned, his disbelief open, and
took a few small steps away.

"Were you a friend of his or something?" Peg called.

"Why does that matter?"

"You haven't answered me again."

"I was a good acquaintance, but my question still
stands."

"Because he's under a lot of pressure and I wouldn't
want anybody but a friend to see him."

MAGIC 163

"He's here then?" -

"Was. He came in yesterday afternoon not long be-
fore dark. I was kind of a school pal. He asked could
he spend the night in one of the cabins and I thought
'why not?' even though we're kind of closed. We had a
big night last night—hours of talking, school stuff- He
told me he was being pressured bad. He seemed
nervous I thought."

"He was fine with me when we talked in person—but
then he did this disappearing act. He's a very delicate
mechanism; that happens with talent,"

"See, on account of this pressure, I don't think he'd
want anyone but friends to be with him. I don't want
to sound conceited but I think all the talking we did
about the old days, that made him feel better."

"You're an undeniable morsel, and I can't imagine
you having an adverse effect on the general public."

"It didn't last though is the thing. This morning he
was all edgy again. Upset about whatever it is that's
going on back in the city."

"When did he leave?"
"I had to go into town to get some stuff for my hus-
band. Corky asked would I take him to the G. Gros-
singers."

The Postman nodded. "Being an agent, I suspected
what the G was."

"Corky didn't have much luggage. Just the two
pieces. I drove him over. His father used to work there.
Rubdowns. Stuff like that. If you want to know what I
think. Mr. Greene, I think Corky's going after his past.
I looked up one of my dream analysis paperbacks—"

"—he told you his dreams?"

"No, but those are the only kind of books I have
that talk about when you're whacked up. He's at the G
now, but I'm guessing he's going upstate."

"Why?"

"'Cause he said something in passing about his
mother and how he'd never visited her grave. His
mother was from the Binghamton area."

164 WILLIAM GOLDMAN'                   __

The old man made a face and rubbed his bald head.
"Binghamton, Jesus, That's all I needed." He started
away again, then stopped. "When you dropped him off,
did he say he'd get back in touch with you, anything?"

"Nothing like that. The usual 'thanks' and 'take cares'
and when he/was out of the car, he came around to
my side and I rolled down the window and' he said,
'I'll tell you something crazy. All my life I fought to
get successful and you know what? Success is a fail-


ure.

"Performers." The Postman shook his head. "Would
you believe I was once six-foot-six, blond, and I'm only
thirty years old? It's dealing with performers that's
made me what I am."

Peg smiled.

The Postman sighed. "Back to the chase." He looked
up at Peg. "May I tell you something? The first part of
our talk, you were not convincing. You're a rotten liar,
I like you much better like now, when a few truths get
thrown around."

"I just didn't want anyone bad going after Corky."

The Postman pushed his old body into an attempted
bow. "Joy to thee and me," he said, and then he left.

Peg stood in the doorway watching until he was
gone. Still facing out, she said, "How much did you
hear?"

From inside: Corky. "I think all."
- "What did you think?"

"Binghamton was an inspiration."

Peg broke out laughing.

"Hey."

"Huh?"

*T owe you."

Peg stared out at the edge of the sun. "Something
will come to me."

They made love for the first time early that evening.
She came down to his cabin and asked could she come
in and he said it's unlocked and she said the weather
report is for cold so I brought you a sweater and he
said thanks but they both knew it was bullshit.

He wondered how cold did they say it might get and
she answered she couldn't quite remember but pretty
and he said again, thanks, and tried the sweater on and
she said seems to fit okay and he said feels warm too
as the bullshit continued.

She told him it was Duke's and he said the-sweater
and she shrugged yeah and he said well that was
thoughtful of him even if he doesn't know it and she
said well that was always a strong point of his and he
said good old Duke and she shrugged yeah again and
he wondered if he grabbed for her what if she re-
jected him, better not to try and she hesitated too long
before turning to go which led him to think otherwise,
it was worth the gamble so he grabbed and they em-
braced and Christ it was clumsy but when they broke
she didn't try going anywhere, only laughed a little
and he said is that at me and she told him no, at me,
I was gonna say we mustn't and then I thought dum-
my, that's why you came down here in the first place
so they embraced again, not so clumsily this time.

They walked in silence past the curtained kitchen-
ette toward the little bedroom and still in'that silence,
started taking off their clothes, and Corky knew he
should be caressing her or at least keeping the con-

l66 WILLIAM GOLDMAN

versational ball somehow going but his three fears
shut him up so they just went on, the silence building,
their clothes piling garment on top of garment. His Brst
fear was the least of his worries, that after all his day-
dreams, she wouldn't measure up, die body only seen
before in fantasy wasn't fifteen and things happencd-Jbo
you, gravity and disappointment etch and change you,
but when he finally turned and faced her, both of them
without clothing, the first fear went and then she
moved into his arms as the second fear took hold,
that he would be incompetent, lacking in sexual power,
but that fear disappeared as they lay "together on the
bed and he went inside her which left the third fear
only, that he would explode instantly, or soon there-
after, and then there would be that awful colloquy
that was really the male national anthem:

Tm sorry*

listen, it's all right*

'no, i'm really sorry'

*don't be'

'i feel like such a jerk*

'you did fine'

'you mean that?"

*would i lie to you?*

But many minutes later they were still locked and
rhythmic, and the third fear vanished leaving Corky
with nothing.but the realization that what he wished
for he was getting, which didn't happen to everybody,
not every day, for there he was, deep within Peggy
Ann Snow and wherever her body went on the'bed,
he followed her with his, firmly, gracefully, all of it
proving only that sometimes, when you really needed
Him, God put in an appearance after all.

In the next room, in the overstuffed chair, eyes wide,
sat Fats, his head slightly turned, as if listening.

MAGIC 167

"I'll bet they don't give service like that at Gros-
singer's," Peg said, inevitably, later.

Corky lay quietly, his arms around her.

"That was more fun even than a Tupperware party."

Corky smiled.

"Drop in again in fifteen years."

"Why the jokes?"

"I'm kind of feeling my way along, I never played
around before. True, I'm not claiming that I'm so pure
.and virtuous, I just never gave that much of a damn.
Sex wasn't a big thing in my family; I don't think my
mother was ever absolutely positive what her vagina
was for. That's what my old man used to indicate,
anyway."

"What about Duke?"

"Mainly he blows in my ear a lot."

Corky started laughing.

"True."

"How come?"

"I deceived him into thinking it drives me mad; I
feel crummy about that sometimes. He's tonguing
away and I'm doing my best to moan while I think
about shopping lists. I can be a very crappy lady if I
put my mind to it."

"Why'd you fake in the first place?"

"Ah. I've done a lot of thinking about that and you've
got to remember that when I graduated from high
school, there were nine different guys who claimed
they were boffing me regular. Here I was, eighteen
years old, undeniably the town pump, and still virgin.
So I had a very good inkling that my future didn't
have me sticking here in Normandy. Off to college.
Dumb. Not so much that maybe, as distracted. One
semester and now I'm off to be a stew. Bad move. I'm
terrific on the ground, in the air, not so hot. Shuffle off
to Buffalo- Doctor's assistant. Give shots, console, and
I'm really not bad. But big city life isn't for me. Back
to Normandy. Twenty-two now. Getting a little long in
;;< the tooth. Dah-dum; in his white charger, comes Duke.

l68 WILLIAM GOLDMAN

Drives a Lincoln, looks like Elvis, due to take over his
old man's real estate office and his old man is old. We
date. Hints, lots of sex talk. He's confident. He knows,
according to him anyway, his women- No real moves.
Still hints. Chitchat. But he's getting interested in roe.
I give him that. Once he cared plenty. So, as it must
happen, we arrive in his apartment one night alone.
This move, that fake. 1 wasn't all that in the market.
He can sense I'm not succumbing. Proposes. Will I tie
the knot? Well lemme tell ya, that was the best offer
I'd had that day. Not so terrible being married to a
rising young executive that looks like Elvis Presley.
And then, in desperation, he's going to it with my ear.
It was so sad I didn't know whether to laugh or fake
it, but I knew if I laughed, it was Elvis g'bye. So I
moaned and eventually spread and a couple eventu-
alities after that, we got married and Duke's old man
died on schedule, and there he was, his own man at
twenty-five, and in less than five years he managed,
with no help from anyone, to not only go bankrupt but
bald." She kissed Corky on the mouth. "Now you
know all my secrets. Fair is fair. Tell me a sex story
back."

"I don't even have to think. It's not even much of a
story."

"If it's not juicy, forget it. If I go to hell for this, I
want it all to've been worth it."

"Shut up It's not long Freshman year, the end of
class, the teacher is calling us up to hand in our home-
work assignments. I was Just sitting there, not a
thought to my name. That's what's so incredible. I
went from zero to sixty and no time passed."

"I don't get you."

"What I mean is, I wasn't thinking about cards or
coins or anything Just a kid waiting for class to be
done. I'd handed in my paper. If I had an emotion, it
was just bored. Getting on in the day. Okay, now
you've got to picture this. The teacher calls for this
broad's paper and she gets up and walks to the front.




MAGIC 169

And Fm watching. And as she walked, she passed
between me and the outside sun. That's important. The
sun is behind her. I'm still watching remember. And
this girl walks past me. She's wearing a white sweater.
And the sweater bulges out some in the front, because
this one is land of stacked. And as she passes me, I
realized this amazing thing; the sweater bulged out,
brit with the sun behind her, I could see through the
thing, and I could see her breasts curving back. You
get it? I was just thirteen and 7 saw this girl's breasts.
I don't want to oversell it, but my heart—1 mean this—
it pounded. From nothing to sixty—it just started
smashing around inside me. It was the most power-
ful thing I think I ever saw in my life."

"Why?"

"Because that was the first moment I knew what my
cock was for. I understood it earlier, but that was the
second that I realized the world had changed and it
wasn't ever going back. To this day, I can tell you
everything about that room and the sun and the color
white the sweater was."

"I guess that's kind of sweet," Peg said.

"It was you, dummy; that was you walking past me
in French class."

"Well why didn't you say that before; now it all
makes good sense. The sight of my boobs would un-
hinge anybody permanent." She paused a moment
"Was it really me?"

"Oh yes."

"That's just terrific."

"Z thought so."

"I'll tell you the truth, Cork. Things have sure no
shit changed a little around here since yesterday after-
noon." She rolled her body gently against his. "What
exactly do you call what we've been doing?'*

"Fokking," Corky told her.

"I think it may catch on," Peg said. "Let's do it
until we get it right"

170 WILLIAM GOLDMAN

"I don't think I'm ready."
She touched him. "Surprise."

Corky stood in the living room, called out to the
kitchen, "How come you have all these same kind of
books?"                                         .,

"Which?"

"Two weeks to learn this, thirty days to build that"

"That's my self-help collection. I'm an addict."
Corky walked out into the kitchen. Peg was unwrap-
ping the frozen peas and fries. "It's how come I speak
funny—my grammar sucks but I can spell 'antedilu-
vian.' It's a-n-t-e not a a-n-t-i. I forgot what it means
though. Right now I'm into creating a better memory."

"Why're you such a self-helper?"

Peg shrugged. "I started a couple years ago, when I
realized no one else was gonna give me a hand."

"Want mine?" Corky held out bis right.

She kissed it, touched the fingers to her cheek. "Don't
think I'm not appreciative, but I'm a basket case in the
kitchen—should I put the steak in first or start to warm
the French bread? That's why I like one-dish meals;

it's the only way I can get everything to come out to-
gether.6

In a very corny voice. Corky said, "Let me take you

away from all this, Madeleine.'

"Oh Cuthbert, dare we?" She picked up the French
fry wrapper, reread the instructions.
Seriously, Corky said, "Seriously."

"Huh?"

"Let's take off. I got a lot of money with me. We         ••1
could go no place and stay awhile. Just us,"                       »|
"I should dump Duke and you'd leave Fats. is that         RJ

your offer?"                                                   |

"That's exactly my offer—it's not so crazy—you don't        j|
care a crap for Duke—he probably wouldn't even real-        ,^
ize you'd gone from what you say about him. And I       •4"
-wouldn't work on my act. See, that's why Fats is help-
ful, practice, to stay on top of things, but today, when

MAGIC 171

I did those coin sleights for you, all that patter about
should I try this stunt or that and deciding against it
while I was doing it—1 never came up with that kind
of thing before you—you give me confidence, Peg—1
don't need anything else around—I could do maybe a
whole different kind of thing if you were around for
support—maybe I wouldn't need Fats at all, I could
kind of please people on my own."

"You're on your own when you're with Fats."

"Of course I am, I know that, but the audience, see,
they think Fats is the funny one—really—people laugh
at him putting me down."

"I'm guilty of that, I admit it."

"I'm the talent though—that's the real truth .of it but
now I'm gonna tell you something that's gonna rock
you—sometimes even I get to think that Fats is the
talent. Without him and those wisecracks, I'm just an-
other schlepper. I didn't feel that way with you
though. When I was making those coins dance, that
was me getting the smile- Let's not make more of a
deal out of it than it is. Peg, I'm just saying, throw
away the first thirty years of your life and come wiz
me to zee Kazz-bah."

"That's very sweet, I appreciate it, it's probably only
the best offer I've had all decade, but the answer has
got to be no way, can't be, impossible."

It became improbable over the Scotch and water.
While they rescued the French bread from the smoking
oven, it moved to a distant but not inconceivable pos-
sibility. The steak was raw, but the offer she agreed to
at least put on the back burner. It got to the front
burner when they finished the wine. By the time Corky
left after the Baskin-Robbins, she said she'd give an
answer soon. That week, that night, who knew, she
had to ponder. At the door, Corky kissed his own index
finger, moved it to her nipples, touched them. He had
seen something like that once in a French film and
wondered at the time what it would feel like doing it
to Peggy Ann Snow.

172 WILLIAM GOLDMAN

•                                         /

All in all, not bad.

"What'd'ya say. Sports Fans," Corky said as he
walked into the cabin living room.

From the overstuffed chair. Fats Just grunted.

Corky hung his jacket up in the living room closet.
"What's up?"

"Kind of blue."

"About?"

"All ^his atmosfuckingphere has got me down."

"The country grows on you."

"So does cancer—hey pardner?"

"Speak."          ,

"Ah thank the time has come fer you'n me-to be
moseyin' on. Let's haul ass, Shane."

"We will, we will."

"Our work is done here. Masked Man—there's no
reason to stick around—and rustlers is causin' a ruckus
in Dodge—"

"I said we'd go."

"I'm speaking of an imminent departure, schmucko
—that's our bone of contention."

"Sorry," Corky said.

"I want to blow this crib, goddammit."

"Simmer down."

"What's so great here?—"      '

"—nothing, but—"

"—screw-the "buts'—I want out—"

"—no and that's it—"

"—listen. Laddie, there's no reason for us to have a
confronfuckingtation over something as easy to solve
as this; you want to stay, terrific, stay. Just get me back
to New York. You come when you want."

Corky started unbuttoning his shirt.

"I take it your silence indicates a lack of enthusiasm
for my suggestion."

"The discussion's over, period."                  ,

"I don't think I've been getting through to you—I
want to hit New York in the forfuckingseeable fu-
ture—"

MAGIC 173

"I told you before. Just simmer the hell down—"

"—I won't—I won't—

"—you will—"

"—won't won't won't won't won't—"

"-will!"

"—just because some bitch of an aging ingenue puts
out for you—"

"—you watch it mister—"

"'—oh Corky, you do it so good, oh Christ Corky,
you are some hung stud, oh God don't stop—'"

'You stopi Right now—or there's gonna be conse-
quences!—"

That was when Fats screamed.
Ashen and trembling, old eyes wide, the Postman
stood staring from the doorway . ..

**How do you like it?" Corky said brightly. "I think it's
gonna be terrific."

The Postman could only shake his head.

"I haven't got it to performance level yet, but it's
got the potential to add a whole new dimension; at
least I hope so."

"How long you been like this, kid?"

"Like what?" Corky started laughing. "Oh come on.
You don't think that was for real? Christ, how do you
think I rehearse?"

"No good."

"You been in the business half a century—how can
you not tell a routine when you hear one?"
"Gangrene never was the brightest," Fats said.

"It's for the art—you're really getting senile. Postman

—here's my reasoning: Fats insults me, I do tricks. Fats
insults me, I do tricks—eventually that's got to get a
little repetitive wouldn't you say? So what I decided
to do was expand the format, add more give and take,
increase the banter, use the sleights more for climax
or punctuation. Lemme give you an example." He
grabbed Fats, held him in position. "Ladies and gen-
tlemen, for your viewing enjoyment, my version of The
Miser's Dream."

"Was it a wet dream?"* Fats wondered.

"No—shut up—ladies and gentlemen, imagine if you
will-"

"—when I have a wet dream, all that happens is I
wake up covered with sawdust," Fats said.

176 WILLIAM GOLDMAN

' Corky looked at Fats. "If you don't stop interrupting,
there's a Mafia woodpecker who'll go to work on you."

Fats looked at Corky. "I would like very much a
wood pecker."

"Don't encourage him please, ladies and gentlemen
—now, once there was a miser, and like many misers,
this one had managed to secrete a fortune—"

"—would trade my fortune for a penis."

"You haven't got a fortune."

"that's all right, I havent got a penis either." Corky
looked at the Postman.

The old man just shook his head. like I said already
once, no good."

"I don't get it," Corky said. "What's going on in your
head? How can you not see what great stuff I'm work-
ing up?"

Is this why you wouldn't take die medical exam?
You figured someone would find out?"

"Bullshit—I'll take the stupid exam—I just needed to
get my head on straight; I was afraid of success, as
dose as I can figure. But now my mind's made up one
hundred percent. I'll take the exam, do the show, what-
ever you want."

"What I want," the Postman answered, "is for you to
see somebody."
"See somebody? Who would I see?"

"Quit with the games!"

"Quit the goddam yelling," Fats said.

"Shut up," Corky said.

"He shouldn't yell at you," Fats went on. "You been
up here busting your hump coming up with new stuff
for the act—that was blockbuster material, mister-
when he says about the Mafia woodpecker and I come
back with wanting a wood pecker, they 11 howl in
Vegas on that. That was major league funny."

"Nothing's funny anymore," the Postman said, and
he started for the door.

"What're you gorma do?" Corky said.

"Ask around. Make a few phone calls."

MAGIC 177

Tell people, you mean."

"Corky you're not in control—yes I'm going to tell
people—qualified people—we got to do what we can
to help you."

"Put me in the hatch, that's what you're saying.
You're so fucking old you can't tell a rehearsal from
real conversation and on the strength of eavesdropping,
you're going to spread the word that I'm bonkers."

"No one's going to spread any word. Whatever I do
J do for your good, not mine. I just want to help you,
kid."

"Somebody play *Hearts and Flowers/ " Fats said.

"Close your goddam hole," Corky said.

"Butt me," Fats saidL

"Listen, for just one second," Corky said to the Post-
man. "Don't you owe me that?"

The Postman nodded.

Corky gestured toward the couch. "Please."

The Postman sat

"Got any of them jazzy see-gars?" Fats wondered.

*T was kind of out of control—back in the city-
nothing loony tunes or anything, but I could feel my-
self beginning to come apart at the seams a little."
"So you took off."

"That's right," Corky said.

"And now you're telling me you're fine."

"That's right again."

The Postman sadly shook his head, rubbed his eyes.

"I owe it all to Peg is what you've got to understand,"
Corky said. "She makes everything different"

"The one with the knockers," Fats said.

"Shut up," Corky said.

"Just wanted the Postman to keep the cast of char-
acters straight," Fats said. "Once you hit senility, two's
company, three's impossible."

"I remember this Peg plenty well," the Postman said.
"She sent me halfway to effing Binghamton."

"She was just trying to look out for me, protect me."

"Make your point, kid, it's closing time."

178 WILUAM GOLDMAN

"Maybe I was too much with Fats, maybe I fUd take
the act too serious, but I swear to you. I got a way out
now. Peg. Tme. She believes in me. She no shit does.
And that's why she's my ticket out of here. And if you
told her all lands of lies, if she heard bad things about
me, stopped believing—that would be kind of hard ^or
me to take. I really don't much want that to happen."

"Corky, listen to the Postman, huh. I listened to you,
you listen to me. You gotta let this settle into your
cerebellum, kid: you ore not, right now, as we sit here,
responsible."

"I am though."

"Sorry."

"And that's what you're gonna do, right?—go all
'around, tell everybody, take out a full-page ad in
Variety. 'Corky Withers is not as we sit here responsi-
ble."

"Kid, you've got to let me help—I've got friends, I
know people, great doctors—"

"—he means headshrinkers." Fats cut in.

"Shut up," Corky said,
"Kid listen to the Postman!—with your talent comes
problems, I know, I've seen a half century easy—I knew
Houdini—Ehrich Weiss, and he was a card man before
he got into the escape racket—but you're a bigger talent
—yes—with talent comes problems and Houdini was a
fruitcake, believe me—"

"—he just called you crazy—" Fats saidL

"—shut up—" Corky said.

"—he said, schmucko, that Houdini was a fruitcake
and you were bigger than Houdini which makes you a
bigger fruitcake—"

he didn't say that, he's on our side—"

"he's the rucking villain, don't forget that—newr
forget that-'

"1 can prove it," the Postman whispered.

"Prove what?" Corky asked.

"That you're not responsible."




,        MAGIC 179

"How?"

"Easy. I'll make you a deal. Til ask you to do^a little
something that anyone ought to be able to do, and if
you can do it, we'll forget the whole thing, and if you
can't, well think about you seeing somebody fast, is it
a deal?"

•"Name it," Corky said.

"Make Fats shut up for five minutes," the Postman
said.

Corky couldn't help but laugh. "Five minutes? I can
make him shut up for five years."

"Good. You sit in the chair with Fats and 111 sit here
on the couch and we can pass the time."

Corky sat in the chair. "I feel like a jerk if you want
to know," he said,

The Postman got out an Individuale.

"Is it okay if we talk?" Corky wanted to know. "Or
does it have to be like we've locked our mouths and
thrown away the key?"

"At your service." The Postman lit his cigar, blew a
stream of smoke.

Corky asked, "How long so far?"

The Postman looked at his watch. "Thirty-five sec-
onds."

"Gosh," Corky said, "that gives me four minutes and
twenty-five seconds to go, think I'll make it?"

The Postman tried to smile.

Corky said, "You don't happen to have another one
of-those?" He pointed to the cigar.

The Postman handed over the package.

"Take two, they're big," Corky said. He laughed a
little. "Remember when you said that?"

"A pro never forgets his good lines," the Postman
said-

"How long now?" Corky asked.

The Postman looked at his watch again. "Over a
minute."*

l8o WILLIAM GOLDMAN

"Do you think we'll laugh about this someday? If
the special works and I get a series, we could give a
big article to TV Guide."

"Maybe," the Postman said.

Corky said, "I wonder what we'll call it?"

The Postman shrugged.                        ,

"How long?" Corky said. "Two minutes yet?"

The Postman shook his head.

Corky smiled, sat back, inhaled deeply on the cigar.

The Postman drummed his fingers.

Silence.

Silence.

Corky smiled again.

The Postman flicked some ashes.

"This is very cruel of you, you know that," Corky
said.

The Postman said, "I don't mean it to be."
Corky went on; "I don't know if I'll ever be able to
forgive you."

Quietly, the Postman said, "Well just have to see."

Corky explained, "It's the principle—there's only
trust, and once that's gone, what else is there?"

The Postman flicked some more ashes. "Not a whole
lot. But we never signed, remember? On account of
principle. I got no hold on you, kid. You're free."

"How much longer?" Corky wondered.

The Postman glanced at his watch again. "Two min-
utes or a little more to go."

Corky closed his eyes. "I can't make it"

The Postman answered softly back: "I didn't think
you could."

"Hello everybody, this is Mrs. Norman Maine," Fats
said. "My mother thanks you, my father thanks you,
my sister thanks you and I thank you," Fats said. "You
have nothing to fear but fear itself, nothing to give but
blood sweat and tears, nothing ventured nothing
gained, nothing to lose but our souls. Here I am boys—
here I am world—here's Fats!"

The Postman stood slowly.




MAGIC l8l

"Where the fuck you think you're going?" Fats said.
He turned to Corky. "You're not letting him the hell
out of here?"

"No more games," the Postman said.

"I think you better sit down," Corky said.

"Kid, I lived through Tallulah Bankhead and the
death of vaudeville, I don't scare easy." He stared at
the door.

"I'm not gonna let you out of here until you prom-
ise not to tell," Corky said.

The Postman started walking.

"1 need my chance," Corky said.

"The only chance you got is to get help, kid, and
that's what's gonna happen."
Corky grabbed for the old man, spun him back to-
ward the couch, but the Postman never lost his balance
and then he was screaming at Corky, louder than
Corky had ever heard from him before, screaming,
"Don't you ever raise a hand to me again."

Corky sagged.

The Postman resumed his journey to the door.

"You're taking my one chance," Corky pleaded-

"Not taking, giving," the Postman replied, and then
he was out the door with Corky standing in the middle
of the room, slumped, watching the outside night, and
before the door was even shut Fats was on him, going,
"He's right, he's goddam right, you're some crazy fuck,"
and Corky said, "I tried" and Fats shouted, "Tried?
Trwdy You failed"

Corky started pacing while Fats blasted on—"Ever
since we got together we knew one thing—one thing—
we were special— different, sure, to them, to all those
pissant drones who make up the western world but not
us—and they'll never understand us special ones, they
never have, the world'll look level before they ever
do—and—and—Goddammit look at me—"

Corky stopped the pacing.

"You know it's the hatch for you."

"Maybe not He only wants to help, you heard—"

3.82 WILLIAM GOLDMAJT

"Dream on—"

'There's nothing wrong with me—'*

"—I know that and you know that but those pissants,
they hate the special ones—they doa^t know what to do
with us—so they hide us—they put us somewhere deep
and lonely—and keep us there till they kill us or -we
die-"

"—don't talk that way—it's not true—"
- "—I don't understand you anymore—truth is all Fm
talking—why does it bother you to bear it, don't you
care about anything anymore?—Jesus, don't you even
care about the girl?—"

"-Peg?-I love Peg-"

"—well maybe if she really loves you back she'll
bring you Crayolas on visiting day and you can color
together—" Corky covered his ears. "Oh that's good,
that's helpful, that's gonna accomplish a lot—Peg's
gonna see it all, gonna see them come for you here and
put you m your nice white jacket and cart you off to
the hatch and that'll make her feel swell, you'll both
have a lot to be proud of, you can face the future great
that way, you in your padded cell, her outside trying to
mouth words like 'How doyou feel this week. Corky?
Are they treating you nice. Corky, well I'm glad. Corky
because I can't take it anymore. Corky, I'm not coming
back to see you ever, Corky, good-bye, good-bye, gooor-
byeeeeeee.'"

"What do you want from me?"

"—you know—"

"-I don't-"

"-liar-"

"-tell me-"

"—weakling—f>

"—I'm not, I'm not, tell me—"

"—stop him—"

"-I can't-"

"—stop the Postman—'*

°-I tried-"

"—gutless fuck—"

MAGIC 183

"-I did try-"

"—stop him—"

"—how—"

"—stop him—"

"—How? How? With what?" and before the words
were barely spoken Fats was going "MEE-MEE-MEE-
MEE-MEE—" and before the Postman was barely half-
way up the path the first blow sent him backwards but
not down and he looked amazed, managed "Huh?"
before Corky swung again, holding Fats by the feet,
swinging him like an ax, and this time Fats' heavy
wooden head crashed into the Postman's nose and it
cracked and now there was blood as the Postman
started staggering, tried raising his ancient arms but
Fats penetrated the defense as if it wasn't there and
this blow started blood from the right eye and the Post-
man was on his knees now and Fats smashed the top
of bis bald head this time and now the Postman could
only crawl giving Fats a chance at the back of his neck
and now they were off the path in the trees and brush
and Corky swung again and again and the blood was
spraying now but Fats kept crying "A-gam, a-gaira"
and each time he connected there was less from the
Postman and when there was nothing left from the
Postman, nothing at all. Corky dropped the dummy
beside the old man and fell to his knees in the under-
brush until he could control his tears . . .

Groaning. Intense and continual. Corky Jumped up.
The night was dark enough so that even though he
wasn't far froirfthe Postman, Corky couldn't make him
out clearly. He scrambled back.

The Postman lay silent. The sound came from Fats.

". . . Laddie... Laddie ..."

"What?"

". . . my head . . . you broke it..."

Corky grabbed Fats, tried to see. It wasn't light
enough to see so he put his hands beneath Fats' wig.
The skull was starting to splinter.

184 -WILLIAM GOLDMAN

"What'll I do?"

". . . can't think . .. help me. Laddie . .."

"I will, I will," and he ran the distance back to the

cabin, lay Fats down on the sofa. He stripped Fats

naked, carefully took off his wig.

u         i       __           n                            ~

.. . hurry...                                   •*

"I'm trying"

Corky went to Fats' special fitted case, took out a
change of clothes, some extra canvas strips. He ripped
the strips into thin pieces, like long shoelaces, deftly
bound them around the skull, knotting them tightly
until the fit was right. Then he replaced the wig, went
back to the case, got out a railroad cap that matched
the overalls outfit Fats would now have to wear, pulled
it down tight. "Better?" He picked Fats up.

"Oh Christ, I guess so. Does it show?"

"Not with the cap down tight. Let me get you into
these other clothes."

"Get off that shirt first. You're blood all over. I don't
want to risk getting it on the new clothes."

Corky nodded, tore off the bloody shirt, threw it in
the closet, grabbed the   sweater Peg had brought down
earlier in the evening,   pulled it on. Then he went back
to Fats, made sure none   of his levers had been dam-
aged, began getting him   into his clean outfit.

"We'll have to dispose of the body," Fats said.

Corky said "How?"

"I'm not sure yet, I can't think straight yet, but I'll
come up with something."

"I know you will, you've got to." He buttoned Fats
into his kid's-sized coveralls. "I think maybe the best
thing would be to bury him—there's millions of acres of
woods around here."

"Oh that's good," Fats said. "That's a humfuckmg-
dinger of a notion—why don't you just amble on up to
the house and ask for a shovel—Peg would never think
that was a strange request or anything—hell, everybody
goes around here digging in the middle of the night.**

"Please don't be sarcastic."

MAGIC 185

"Just go get the goddam Postman and let me do the
thinking, all right."

"Anything," Corky said, and he carefully propped
Fats back into his overstuffed chair and then ran back
out into the dark. It was getting colder, or maybe it had
always been and he hadn't noticed it earlier, but even
with the sweater on he was shaking terribly. He hur-
ried up the path and moved into the brush where the
Postman was, only the Postman was gone ...

When Corky had touched her nipples with his index
finger and then gone out the door, at that moment Peg
felt, no pun intended, snowed. The barrage of affec-
tion he had, no pun intended, laid down, well, it
wasn't the kind of thing you listened to every day.

And he meant it.

Didn't he? Peg went into the main room and got the
fire going, sat in front of it, stared. Well he would have
to be some kind of creature from the black lagoon if
he was lying, since the whole point to b.s.ing women
was to get them to put out and he'd done most of bis
after the deed was done.

Twice.

And I don't even feel guilty, she decided. I feel ter-
rifw. For years she had wondered about the aftereffects
of unfaithfulness and to her horror, there weren't any.
You could have been doing this for years, she told her-
self. Would probably have been good for your com-
plexion.

But leave her husband? Leave Duke? For a wander-
ing magician she hadn't seen in fifteen years? People
just didn't do things like that.

Why didn't they?

Peg stretched out, watched the wood. They didn't
because a bird in the hand you could at least grab hold
of and hang on. It was there. What if she decided
okay, screw my life. 111 zoom off into the wild blue etc.
with Cork and it didn't work out Sure, he said they'd

l88 WILLIAM GOLDMAN

go off alone. Just the two of them, but eventually he'd
have to go to work, there'd be agents like that old guy
from the afternoon, and workouts with Fats getting
their routine honed and tension and maybe he wouldn't
make it, it was the iceberg era for magicians nowadays,
so she'd end up stranded someplace maybe with a miSc-
erable Corky and some slobby dummy staring down
from the mantelpiece.

Stay where you are. sister, Peg decided. Maybe
you're forlorn, lost, unnoticed, but at least the man
selling you tv dinners knows your name. And that
means something.

Don't ask what

She got up and went to the self-help section of her
library. There was a time when The New You was
kind of a bible to her, but that was a while ago, when
she was considering going back to college, commuting
to Rockland maybe twice a week, but Duke had ridi-
culed the notion and she had to admit it, he was more
than probably right.

The truth was, she decided all on her own, that s)ae
was limited. Not such a terrible thing. Better than
being bright but cruel Better than a lot of things.

Limited.

Limited.

She bored people eventually. Or she would if she
hung around them long enough. Corky she'd bore too,
Oh for now she might make him happy. He dreamed
she was fifteen, and when she was fifteen she was, and
she knew it, something, and as long as he kept that old
image fresh, they'd be fine.

Otherwise, forget it. Forget it, forget leaving, forget
it .all, keed.

She took down The New You.
She went back to the fire and thumbed around until
she got to the chapter on men. The particular sub-
section that came as close as any to her situation was
called "Two Is Less Than Half as Much as One," and
the point of it was simply that when you were torn

MAGIC 189

you couldn't give yourself to anybody the way The
New You wanted to. So what you had to do was make
a list and add it up and make a choice. The book was
very big on lists. You wrote your problems down, made
script of your emotions, so you could judge them bet-
ter. Lists of ten. And you put the lists side by side to
compare. Peg got a large piece of scratch paper and on
one half wrote CORKY in capital letters and on the
other, DUKE. Then she scribbled down qualities.
When she was done, she studied her work;

CORKY

i) I don't love Corky.

a) I like Corky a lot
though, (From what
I've seen of him.)

3) Corky understands
me.

4) Corky loves me.
(Says he loves me.)
(Means it?????)

5) Corky and I see

things the same way.

6) Corky's attractive.

7) Corky is sweet and
nice and kind and
gentle.

DUKE

1) I don't love Duke ei-
ther.

2) Duke's okay.

3) Duke doesn't give a
- shit.

4) Duke doesn't give a
shit

5) Duke and I don't talk
so much. (Not to each
other anyway.)
6) Duke doesn't look
so much like Elvis
anymore.

7) Duke tries.

8) Corky is a good fuck.   8) Duke tries.

1QO WILLIAM GOLDMAN

9) Corky is a success.

10) Corky is romantic.

9) Sorry about that,
Duke.

zo) Duke couldn't spell
"romantic."

She was thumbing through to the List Analysis seo
tion when the phone rang. She got up and answered,
knowing it was Duke, because when he was away on a
selling trip or whatever, whenever he was coming
home, he always called an hour before he got there,
so if he was hungry she could have time to get some-
thing heated. "Finast Cabins," she said.

"It's the Duker on the hom."

"Hi honey."

"Be home in *bout an hour."

"Be waitin'." She could hear the Jukebox going in
the background. Probably he was with a woman, more
than probably he was drinking. Just to hear him lie she
asked, "Where you calling from?"

"Your friendly Standard station."

"Sell lots of cutlery?"

"Never doubt the Duker."

"Never have, never will. Hungry for anything spe-
cial?"

"Thaw me out some chicken, maybe. No, wait—you
got any of those ham steak dinners?"

"Better'n that—how would you like a real steak din-
ner? I bought a couple today."

"Gettin' awful fancy in our old age."

"They were on special and I just wanted to surprise
you; you've been working hard enough, you deserve
it"
"Aren't you the smart one?" he said, and they hung
up.

Peg went back to the List Analysis. Being a new you
meant change. But the trick was to know when to do
it. Because, the book said, the reason we were unhappy
and wanted change was because we made ourselves

MAGIC 191

unhappy on purpose, only we didn't know it, and some-
times we made changes thinking we were making good
changes only what we were really doing was making
things that much worse, forcing the old you to stick
around.

In a list of ten, if it was five-Bve or six-four, the ad-
vice: stay where you are. If it was seven-three; think
hard about changing. Anything over seven-three the
new you was calling and you had to go. Peg went back
over her list, totaling it up.

Duke lost, nine-zero with one even, the first, she
didn't love, really love, either of them. My God, Peg
realized, nothing's supposed to be that high, the book
doesn't even have it listed. If something's that one-
sided, you changed.

Go with Corky.

Leave with someone you haven't seen for fifteen
years and then for less than thirty-six hours.

Run away with someone who loves you.

Go with someone who remembers what you were.

Pray be never sees what you are.

Limited.

And don't you dare ever grow old.

More confused than ever. Peg put the book back,
got out Johnny Mathis' Greatest Hits, had the record
all cleaned and the needle in place before she realized
her blunder.

Without even grabbing a coat, she ran out the door.
And down along the path toward bis cabin, hurrying
through the trees, not stopping until she heard Corky
crying out, "No closer," and why was he standing off
the path in the bushes, sounding that way.

"Corky, listen-"

"—go on back up to the house, please—'

"-Duke called."
"Tell me later. Peg, huh?"

"What's the matter?"

"I'm just trying to get my head on straight, nothing's
the matter."

192 WILLIAM GOLDMAN

Peg took a step back, away from him.

He moved out onto the path. "1*11 come on up in a
while."

"We don't have a while."

""What's so goddam important about your husband
calling?"

"I didn't tell him you were here."                   '"

"So?"

"He's going to know why. The second he gets here
and finds out, he's going to catch on—I told him there
was steak and he thought that was funny, I could tell
from what he said, and there's Scotch and French wine
and he's going to know what we did. Corky, and I'm
afraid."

"Youll get sick, standing around without a coat—get
back to^the house, it's cold."

"Why are you acting so funny?"

"How am I acting?"

"Why were you wandering around outside if it's so
cold?" -

"I had some thinking to do."

"About me?"

"No. I swear."

"If it is, say so—we've got to be honest with each
other, Corky—I don't like what's happening all of a
sudden—I don't know what I'm getting into."

"Hey ..." He put bis arm around her. "Come on. Let
me walk you back."

"He's going to know."

"You're Just making trouble for yourself."

"I can't hide it. It's going to show all over my face."
"Not if you don't let it."

"You were thinking about me outside, weren't you—
you were having seconds thoughts."

"Not about you."

"Tell me. I never did anything unfaithful before,
Corky—I'm not very confident just now—" and then her
voice got strident again—"that's Duke's sweater. If he
sees you in that, he'll know what we did."

MAGIC 193

Corky started rubbing her shoulders. "If he sees us in
bed, he'll have a good chance of knowing; otherwise,
it's kind of circumstantial. The way you're going on, if
the sun comes up tomorrow, he'll know what we did.
If the tides go out, heTl catch on. God forbid the stars
should come out"

They were by the front door now. "You think I can
lie my way through?"

"You did great with the Postman."

She nodded- "I did, that's right"

"Everything's okay then?"

"You wouldn't feel like maybe coming in for a night-
cap or coffee or anything?"

T; don't think it's too smart for me to be up here in
case be comes early. My God, if he saw us having
Yuban together, he'd be sure to catch onto what we
did."

"You making fun?"

"Little maybe."

"Deserved." She looked at him. "But, see, I never
acted like a whore before." •

"Look on the bright side," Corky told her. "At least
you don't feel guilty about it"

Peg started laughing. She moved into his arms and
he held her until it came from down in the brush, the
terrible scream of the cat "Don*t be frightened, it's just
a bird."

Without meaning to shake his head. Corky shook his
head: the cat had found the Postman.

10

"Wanna bet?"
Corky blinked. "Bet?"

''You were shaking your head I was wrong when I
said it's a bird. Ill betcha I'm right—c'mon, 111 prove
it." She took a step down the path.

Corky puUe4 her to a halt

Peg looked at him.

"Go inside. Peg."

"What's the matter with you?"

"You want to know the truth, I don't think it's very
smart for us to be seen together. I think if he sees us
together, we might not be able to pull it off."

"You're scared too then?"

Td love for you to show me Sherlock's bird, but I
think our cause would be better served if you went in-
side and did whatever you ordinarily do when your
husband comes home."

"Christ," Peg said, "the list. I wrote some things
down on a piece of paper. I didn't throw it out yet. It
wouldn't be so hot if he saw them."

"I think we both have things we have to do, don't
you?"

"I guess."

"Let's do them then." He opened the door for her,
she slipped inside, he closed the door.

Then he broke into a wild run down the path, a
mistake because he tripped on the goddam roots, fell
headlong, didn't care, got up again, ran on. When he
reached the area he stopped, looking around, trying to

IQO WILLIAM GOLDMAM

figure out where the cat scream had come from,
turned around and around on the path, staring at the
woods and brush and then he saw the cat's eyes glow-
ing and he plunged toward them and the night was
dark, but when he got there he could see the animal
sitting on the Postman who lay facedown and still»
Corky looked back to where the assault had been and
it was amazing he'd been almost dead, the Postman,
but he was like Rasputin, when they tried to kill Ras-
putin he kept popping back from death on them, al-
most but not quite taking the final plunge and the
Postman had been tough like that too, at his age and
with what he'd taken, he'd somehow been able to
crawl, what, twenty yards through the thick brush,
maybe more.
Corky came close to the body but the cat didn't
like that. He kept sitting on the Postman, perched
there ready to spring, his claws digging into the back
of the Postman's tan overcoat. Corky knelt down and
the cat snapped—it was his toy, this body. it belonged
to him and he was going to drag it somewhere and
devour it like the dark birds—he stared at Corky, eyes
insanely bright, hissing, and for a moment Corky
wondered if it would be safe to reach for the Postman
but when he tried the cat jumped at his hand, he
knew it wasn't so he grabbed blindly for a stick, swung
it at the animal, missed, but the cat at least was ten
feet away now. Corky grabbed the Postman's feet,
dragged him quickly back to the cabin with the cat
tracking them all the bloody way.

The blood was going to be a problem and he asked
Fats about it once he was back inside.

"You're just going to have to beat everyone else up
in the morning," Fats said. "You're rising with the
dawn, schmucko, and doing your best to cover up.
Need I say your best has only got to be perfect?
Where's the Postman now?"

"'Just outside—the goddam cat thinks he's a toy."

"Bring me any identification," Fats said so Corky

MAGIC 197

went outside into the dark, took off the Postman's
watch, took his wallet and bill clip thick with hundreds
and brought them inside, put them on the arm of the
overstuffed chair. Take off your clothes," Fats said
then.

"Why?"

"The Postman's going for a swim."

"I can't."

"Not only can you, you're on your way."

"I'm not a strong swimmer," Corky said.

"You're going to have to be strong enough to get
him out in the middle before you let him sink,"

"I can't do that—see, I'm really not at home in the
water—and besides, I know this lake—there's snapping
turtles in there—it's true—and there was a water moo-
casin scare once—"

"I don't care if the Loch Ness Monster's out there
and ravenous—"

"-don't talk like that-"
"I don't want to go out in the water—I'm not sure
what I want to do but maybe . . ."

"Don't trail your voice off on me. You think I'm
going to beg you to tell me what follows your 'maybe.'
Well, I'm quite content without knowing, thank you,
very much-"

"Maybe I should give myself up," Corky said then.

Fats made no reply.

Tou think?"

"Fine. Do it"

"I'm afraid is the thing."

"You're kind of scared of everything these days,
aren't you?"

"I killed somebody, for God's sake—1 took a life—**

Fats got ministerial. "Dearly Beloved—"

"—the Postman is dead, don't make jokes."

"Why is he dead? Do you remember your logic?"

"He was gonna have me put away."

"And now, what do you think would happen to you
if you gave yourself up?"

198 WILLIAM GOLDMAN

"They'd put me away, I guess."

"Kee-rect. And since you have just proved con-
clusively you're not thinking logically, let me take
over. Situation: a corpse outside the door. Problem:

how to dispose of said object. Now, since corpses tend
to sink when given the opportunity, if we had a larga
enough body of water in the vicinity, we could dip
the one into the other and all our troubles would be
over. But wait—what is that liquid mass just beyond
the cabin edge? It is a large enough body of water.
Solution: even to a pointy head like yourself, it should
be clear enough."

"I'm really scared, don't you understand that?"

Tm SCARED TOO-YOU THINK I WANT YOU
GOING TO PIECES ON ME. GODDAM YOU. DO
WHAT YOU HAVE TO DO."

Corky got undressed down to his shorts, turned, left
the cabin. The cat was still by the body but he shooed
it away easier this time, picked the Postman up under
the arms, dragged him to the edge of Lake Melody. As
he got closer, his feet began to sink slightly into the
moist sandless shore. The air was terribly cold now,
but the water was worse, and Corky stopped for a
moment when he was up to his knees and genuinely
wondered if he could go on, but since there wasn't
any choice, he went on, moving slowly along the mud
bottom of the dark lake until he was up to his waist-
Then he tried moving the Postman into a lifesaving
position, one arm around the body, over the shoulder,
curving around the chest, gripping tight under the
armpit Once the grip was secure he pushed off, and
slowly, very slowly, began to sidestroke out toward
the middle of Lake Melody. The lake was shallow for
a good portion of the way, not really getting deep for
well over a hundred yards. Corky continued kicking,
tried to ignore the incredible cold, tried to figure just
how far he would have to go before it was safe to un-
load his cargo and get back to blessed land. He was
probably fifty yards from shore now—he could only

MAGIC 199

guess by the receding light from his cabin—not nearly
far enough, and for a moment he thought his left calf
was starting to cramp but he moved it very fast several
times and the discomfort went away. The Postman
was getting heavier and heavier as he stroked slowly
along, the tan overcoat sponging up water, and that
made it slower, harder, and Corky was starting to labor
now, starting to shake terribly from the cold and when
the snapping turtle struck at first he was so numb he
didn't quite know what was happening, but then when
the jaws started pulling at his thigh flesh, when the
blood began pouring from the wound—

—stop it—tney sleep—they sleep at night and thero
aren't any after you, don't think—

Corky kept his mind blank, and when the turtles
bunched for an attack he thought them away and kept
on and when the fangs of the water moccasin dug into
hjs neck, he thought that away too, just kept on and on
and nothing frightened him at all until he realized that
in the middle of the murky lake surrounded by dark-
ness and cold he was no longer the only one alive,
there wasn't any doubt, and he wasn't going crazy, the
Postman was breathing and Corky screamed, and the
cry skimmed along the slick surface and he dropped his
bundle and was about to start for shore except the Post-
man would not let go—the old man would not die and
he would not let go, his thin fingers held to Corky's
wrist and Corky struck out with his free hand but no
good, the old man was indestructible and now they
were facing each other and the Postman's eyes were
open and blinking slowly like a withered crocodile's
and now his hands were moving up Corky's body and
when the thin fingers reached his neck they locked on
tight and Corky pounded but the Postman was beyond
pain, and as his fingers continued to constrict around
Corky's neck he realized omigod, omigod, he's trying
to kill me and they sank below the dark surface then,
Corky trying to grip the old man's fingers, trying to
break them like stiff twigs from his Jugular but they

200 WILLIAM GOLDMAN

would not loosen, they held, they held, and Corky
hadn't gotten a decent breath, the surprise had taken
him too quickly and he could feel his heart already
trying to break from his chest and his temple was
pounding too and the old man held, held, he had been
alive a million years and he had no intention of going
quickly or quietly or at all and Corky began to think
he was about to drown and he fought hard and some-
how kicked briefly to the surface and they thrashed
awhile for air and then down again, and Corky, re-
juvenated, reached out his hands and grabbed the
Ancient's and as they sank deeper and deeper into the
lake center he began to get leverage and men he had
one hand loose and then the other and my God he'd
done it, he was safe, safe, he'd won and he kicked to
the surface, panting but alive and that was the object
of it all wasn't it, staying alive, and he treaded water
before he realized that somewhere in this chilled dark-
ness the Postman was alive and swimming more than
likely for shore but where—where—and Corky tried
listening but he couldn't hear because he was panting
too terribly and he turned around in the water, around
and around, and this time he really did feel something
around his legs, but it didn*t matter, there wasn't time
to fill your mind with wildness now, now there was an
old man to find in a dark sea and Corky realized that
what had been around his legs had been his muscles
starting to surrender to the cold, cramping, and if they
got bad enough, good-bye, but until that happened he
had to keep looking, keep looking, and now his
stomach was starting to tighten slightly and that would
have been funny, getting murdered by a corpse, come
epitaph, except he wasnt going to get murdered and
the Postman wasn't a corpse, yet, and Corky turned
in the water, turned and spun and there he was, at last,
the Postman, swimming feebly for shore, and oh,
Corky thought as he covered the distance between
them, oh oh oh, he thought as he overtook the Ancient,

MAGIC 201

pushed and held him down till death and after, and as
at last the Postman sank at last forever. Corky could
only shake his head in awe at the things we do for
love . . .

ll

.i

i

i
11

"There's breakfast anytime you want it," Peg said.

Corky stood in the doorway of the cabin. "What's
wrong?" The morning was chill.

"Just make believe everything's fine—Duke's watch-
ing us from the house I think."

"Why?"

"Because what I said would happen happened—we
had a steamer last night—"Why didn't you tell me
someone was here? You lied, why did you Iie?' I said I
didn't I only forgot. I didn't tell him anything about
yesterday. Not word one."

"You think he wants me up there now?"

"I think he wants to watch us together."

"Give me five minutes, I'll be there, can he read
lips?"

Peggy shook her head confused.

"Then I'd like to say thank you for the invitation, and
I adore you, and I appreciate the opportunity of having
breakfast, and rucking you was just maybe the experi-
ence of my lifetime, and I take my coffee black, and
your breasts belong in the Louvre which is a museum
in Paris which is a place I would love to visit with
you once you decide to leave that suspicious asshole'
up in the house."

"Are you ever something," Peg said, careful to stop
smiling before she turned, faced the house, headed up.

Corky hurried inside, started shaving. "Getting very
suave with the words there," Fats said. "Urfuddng-
bane."

204 WILLIAM GOLDMAN

"Praise from Caesar." Corky glided his razor down
along his cheeks. "Wanna come along?"

"I got nothing else on the agenda. Besides, I wanna
see what the old ear-blower looks like."

Corky was rocked by the change. The Ronnie Wayne
who had him take his notes across the library, the sen-
ior with the convertible and the Elvis hairdo; not a
remnant left. The one sipping coffee at the kitchen
table was almost completely bald, beer-bellied, with
the puffiness under the eyes that only an excess of
alcohol supplies.
"My God Ronnie how are you," Corky said, crossing
the floor with Fats, right hand out.

"The Duker's doing okay," and he stood, and they
shook, then they sat

"You take your coffee—" Peggy began, about to say
"black," but the quick turn of Duke's head warned her,
and she ended with the word "how?" which was fine.

"Nothing," Corky answered, and she nodded, poured
him a cup.

"Sorry I wasn't here to greet you yesterday. Help
with the entertaining and all. But somebody's got to
earn a living, I guess."

"You're still in real estate, isn't that right?" Corky
asked.

"I gave that up," Duke said. "Dull. Who needed all
that bullshit, the goddam pressure all the time when
what I really love is just to fish and hunt, take your
pick. When I want to think, I just go out on the lake
here and cast a plug around and let my mind clean
out."

"He fishes every chance he gets. God knows," Peggy
said.

Duke looked at her. "I'm out of real estate awhile
now. Just doing a little selling nowadays. Surprised
Peg didn't bring you up to date."

"She may have, the truth is, I was so whipped when
I got here she fed me and the wine hit me fast which
I should know by now it always does/'

't
^

MAGIC 205

"Gorky's a lot of fun when he's bombed," Fats cut
in. "He spends half his time trying to be witty—you
might cafl him a half-wit."

Corky looked at Fats. "You can do better than that"

Fats looked right back at him. "Why bother, you'd
miss the punch lines." He turned to Duke. "Corky here
is afflicted with diarrhea of the mouth and constipa-
tion of the brain, very rare."

"I'd Just like to drink my coffee in peace, do you
mind?" Corky said.

"He's that dumb?" Duke asked.

Fats answered, "Dumb? If it started raining soup
and we all quick ran outside to eat, Corky would be
the one carrying a fork."

Duke began to laugh.

"Don't encourage him,'* Corky said.

"Clever," Duke said to Corky. "It really is."

"Don't tell him that, tell me that," Fats said. "I'm
the talent"

"My mistake," Duke said.

"So what are you selling," Fats wanted to know.
"I'm in the market for a penis, my last one caught
Dutch elm disease, it's murder getting an erection."

Both Duke and Peggy went on that one.

Corky sighed. "No one is interested, I assure you."

"Corky," Fats said, "you just don't understand—sure-
ly someone of your acquaintance must have had an
erection sometime, ask them about it"

"Back to the lumberyard with you, I mean it."

"Tell us about your sex life. Corky, we all love short
stories."

Corky put his hand over Fats* mouth and asked,
"What kind of selling do you do exactly?" while at the
same time. Fats was going "Mmm-mmm-mmm."

Duke just shook his head. "My God, how do you do
that? Your lips don't move or anything. You're terrific,
you are. I'm really glad you're here for me to see."

"Thank you," Corky said. He looked down at Fats.
"Will you be good now?"

206 WILLIAM GOLDMAN

Fats nodded.

"I mean it; promise?"

Fats nodded harder.

Corky took his hand away.

Fats whispered, "Ask him if he's glad that I'm here
too."                                             ,

Duke smiled. "The both of you," he answered back.
And after that, whatever tension there might have
been at the beginning was gone, and it turned out
Duke sold kitchen items to housewives, mostly door-to-
door, he liked personal contact work was why, and he
had a terrific line of only top quality merchandise,
everything from can openers to cutlery, and he also
sidelined in baby things, an addition he had thought of
because a lot of young mothers had trouble finding
time to get to the store, and Fats got excited about
the baby clothes, since he was running short of under-
wear and asked what the largest size Duke sold was
and Duke said 111 give you a dozen pairs free so Fats
said how about throwing in some cutlery, Corky's a
great whittler and Duke said sure, why not, but Corky
insisted that whatever he took he was going to pay for
and Duke said let me get my line, pick what you want
and he hurried upstairs where his suitcases were.

"How'd I do?" Corky whispered when it was safe.

"Just unbelievable,*' she whispered back.

"Too bad Fats wasn't here," Fats said, hurt in his
tone; "Fats might have been a little help now and
then getting the old conversational ball going."

"You're always unbelievable," Peggy said.

"Brains as well as boobs." Fats turned to Corky.
"No wonder you love her."

"Shhhh," Peggy said.

But she was smiling.

Duke came back with his merchandise and Fats was
crushed because none of the baby stuff would fit him
but Corky liked the cutlery and Fats insulted Corky a
few times about things in general, and they talked
some about selling techniques and Duke explained

MAGIC 207

where the skill came but in spite of his success with it,
enough was enough, the main thing was to close up the
cabins and get the house in the best order possible
and just sell the whole place, property and all and
move on, so while Corky finished his second cup of
coffee and Peg set to work tidying the kitchen Duke
excused himself, put on his Windbreaker and went out-
side to work on the grounds awhile, and when they
were safely alone again Corky applied a little pressure
on Peg to get out, but not in a pushy way, and she
responded gently, explained she was really confused,
really trying to get her head on straight now, and they
talked quietly, nothing much of import happening at
all, until Duke came in a little while later with the
news that he'd found the Postman's Kolls-Koyce in
the woods.

He didn't know it was the Postman's of course. He was
sure it was a Rolls though. "Strangest thing," Duke
said. "I thought I was losing my mind. There I was,
walking along, trying to figure out which I should do
this aft, go hunting or stay around here and fish, and
I'm nearing the back road—"

"—wheres that?" Corky wondered.

Duke pointed out past the cabins. "It's not even
much of a road. It's just kind of a rutty path that leads
along the edge of the property. Down out of sight
from the main drag you take to get here. And then I
saw this thing. And I thought, son of a bitch, what is
that, that looks like a goddam Rolls-Royce but that's
ridiculous, only when I got closer, it wasn't so ridic-
ulous, because there it was bigger'n life. Somebody
took that stupid rutty back road into here and got
stuck—it's muddy as hell—and left it Left if"

"I wonder who it could be," Peggy said.

"Shouldn't take me long to find out," Duke told her.
"It it was a Ford or something, yeah, but a white
Rolls-"

"—wAtte did you say?" Corky cut it, and now his
voice sounded excited.

"White. Off-white—around in there—"

"—was it a Comiche?"

"-what's that-?"

"—did the top come downy

Duke nodded.

210 WILLIAM GOLDMAN

"Show mel" Corky said and he took off out the door,
Duke behind him.

"That's gotta be the Postman's," Corky said when
they got there. He walked around the car. It was side-
ways on the almost invisible road, and the front wheels
were stuck in deep mud. "Why would he leave 4
(hough?" He looked at Duke. "A car like this must cost
over fifty thousand. I know he's rich—he smokes noth-
ing but four-dollar cigars—but this is ridiculous. I hope
nothing's the matter with him."

"Can you find out?"

"Goddam right I can and I'm gonna." He pointed
to the car. "Can you get it unstuck without hurting it?"

"I'd sure love to try," Duke said. "I never even sat
in a fifty-thousand-dollar car, much less drove one."

"Don't force it, huh?"

"I won't. Corky. I know cars pretty good. You can
trust me."

"Be back in a couple minutes," Corky said, and he
started running again.

Peggy was waiting in the kitchen when he got there.
Tve got to call New York right away, is that all
right? That may be the Postman's car and I've got to
check that he's okay."

"Where's Duke?"

"Getting it unstuck."

"Did he say anything about me or anything?"

"Not now, huh darling? This could be kind of im-
portant Living room phone okay?"

She nodded, stayed in the kitchen. She had the
broom out and was starting to sweep the place when
she heard Corky. She swept a little more.

"Sadie it's me, let me speak to the boss."

Pause.

"I know he's worried about me,   tell him to worry
about the stock market. I just   got a tip IBM's about to
go into receivership. Tell him   that, it'll give him car-
diac arrest. Now would you put   hnn on?"

Pause.

MAGIC flu

Peg went over and poured herself a speck more
coffee.

"Never mind where I am, I'm peachy, you're the
one's causing all the trouble, you okay?"

Pause. Then, louder:

"Don't come on to me like that. Postman—I don't
need your views on my erratic behavior, my behavior's
just fine, thank you—"

Pause. Very loud now.

"So what if I ran away, running away's good for the
soul, read the Bible, Postman, and if you want to know
what I think, you're the one with the erratic behavior
mister, at least I'm not senile, at least I'm not leaving
fifty-thousand-dollar cars all the hell over in the god-
dam woods—"

Short pause.

"Forgive me for insulting you, I didn't know it was
an eighty-thousand-dollar car."

Now a long pause. Very long.

"What do you mean how do I know where your
car is, I know because ... because ..."

Quietly now."

Teah. Yessir, that's right I'm at that place, I've been
here all the time. Boy am I smart, here I call you to
find out how you are and you make me slip and tell
you where I am."

Pause.

"No, Fm not coming back, not yet, not till I get my
head really on straight once and for alL When it is. 111
be there, you can count on that"

Loud.

"Don't even think about coming for me—I'm stay-
ing."

Soft

**. . . because . • . because . •."

Whispered.

"... there's this girl..."

Peg moved across the kitchen to the sink and poured
out her coffee, washed the cup, put it upside down to

212 WILLIAM GOLDMAN

drain. She picked up a washcloth next, fiddled with
it, then couldn't help herself, got quickly back to the
near door, out of sight.

**. . . quit saying it's ridiculous, I told you, it's not
some moonstruck thing like I just met her. Postman, I
went to school with her—I don't care what you say,
it isn't crazy—yeah, she's the one you talked to yester-
day, the one that told you I might be in Binghamton, I
was listening right behind the door."

Peg couldn't help but smile.

".. . I know she's beautiful, she always has been ...
I think she likes me, yeah, she was glad to see me, I'm
positive of that"

Long pause.

"No, she isn't married, never was."

Laugh.
"You've got some fantastic memory for an old fart,
I forgot she told you she had a husband. It's not a. good
marriage though, I swear. I'm not breaking up any-
thing that wasn't in trouble to begin with. I'm not a
home wrecker, I'm just a guy with his fingers crossed,
I got hopes, and I don't want to talk about her anymore
just now, I haven't got that much privacy."

Peg went quickly back to the broom, busied herself
with getting the floor done, got the dustpan, swept it
full, emptied it all into the wastebasket. She had her
back to Corky when he came in a little later. He put
his arms around her, gently raised his fingers till they
cupped her breasts. "We got troubles, baby," Corky
said then. "I goofed on the phone call—1 let slip where
I was."

"You mean he's coming back?"

"I got him to promise not to at the end."

•Well then."

"Tie's not a patient man. Peg. The Postman gets his
way. He's just as liable to limo on up here as not so
what I'm saying is I don't want to put on any pressure
but there's more pressure now, you've got to make up
your mind about leaving."

MAGIC 213

<t! will. Soon."

•Today?"

She nodded.

Corky kissed her. "I think you better come along
when I explain about the car to Duke. I'm gonna have
to start lying and I need all the help I can get. I don't
want Duke knowing you told the Postman I wasn't
here. With his suspicious nature, that doesn't help our
cause a lot. Cross your fingers."

She kissed him gently. "You are a terrible liar. It all
shows in your face."

"There you go, insulting me again."

Duke was waiting when they got there. "Got her out
easy," he said, pointing to the car. "Wasn't stuck bad
at all. Just started her rocking and out she came."

"I shouldn't have let you do it," Corky said. "It's my
fault."

"Why?"

" 'Cause the Postman happens to be hysterical about
his goddam Comiche. He yelled at me for saying it
only cost fifty, it was eighty on the hoof."

Duke could only shake his head and mutter, "Eighty,
Jesus." He turned to Corky then. "Why'd he leave it
behind?"

"Because like I told you, he's richer than Croesus
and he's probably got it insured to the teeth, it's no
more than if you or me abandoned a flexible flyer."

Duke studied Corky for a while, waiting.

"If I tell you something can I ask you not to nose it
around?"

"I guess."

"I'm in hiding. Fve got a lot of career problems and
Fm not behaving all that normal. I took off when the
Postman was coming to my place to pressure me—"

"—what is this Postman name?"

"It's just what he's called in the business. Ben
Greene. 'Gangrene* Fats calls him, drives him batty."

"Go on."

"What he just told me was this: he came up here

214 WILLIAM GOLDMAN

looking to go to GrossiBger's—I've been doing a lot of
talking about coming back to my beginnings lately—
my dad gave massages at the G."

"Oh that's right, sure."

"Well, the Postman took a shot that I'd be at Gros-
singer's so he tooled on up in his chariot here, only
when he passed this place, he said he remembered it
but he'd gone by the main entrance and he spotted the
back road here and took it."

"Whoa-why in the world would he remember this
place?"

"I talk about it all the time, Ronnie. I gave my very
first magic show here. In the basement Peg's kid
brother's eighth birthday. It was where it all started."

"I'd forgotten that," Peg said.

"I hadn't," Corky said, "not a bit of it You saved
me. Your brat brother farted and no one was watching
my act and you came up with some nutty threat—"

Peg got all excited. "We were gomw glue his
tongue."
"That's it" Corky cried. "Scared him into shutting
up. I still remember the tricks I did."

"Hey hold it, huh?" Duke walked over to Corky. "If
he came here looking for you, why didn't he find you?"

"It must have been when Peg drove me into town—1
told you I got out of New York in a helluva hurry—I
needed stuff, toothpaste, toothbrush, that kind of
thing."

"You're still not telling me why the goddam car's
herel"

Corky smiled. "The Postman didn't plan on leaving
it, obviously. He snooped around, decided this place
was shut, came back, got in the Bolls, found out he
was stuck. So what the hell else was there to do but
what he did—walk up to the road, get a ride to the G
and call the Rolls people in Manhattan. I just told him
I thought he was crazy, let some Exxon-jerk do it and
he almost came through the phone wires at me: 'No-

MAGIC 21g

body touches my Rolls but a Rolls mant He told them
to come get him and they said it was a little late,
they'd be up tomorrow." Corky looked at his watch.
"They should be here within a couple hours. Anyway,
the Postman wasn't about to be caught dead in a tacky
place like Grossmger's—he's what you might call snob-
by, as you can kind of guess by what he drives—and he
hired one of their limos to get him back to town."

Duke looked at the car awhile.

"Frankly, I think the whole story's crazy," Coriy
said.

"Well," Peg told him; "it makes perfect sense to me."

Corky looked at Duke and shook his head. "Women,"
Corky said.

"You must be getting hungry, let me fix some lunch,"
Peggy said.

Duke said nothing, sipped his Scotch. They were
alone in the house now, in the living room, and Duke
would not stop pacing.

"What difference does it make for God's sake? So a
car's here, who cares?"

"There's something crazy and I think you know what
it is, and I care."

"Oh Jesus, I'm sick of that record."
Duke finished his drink, poured himself another.

"That's smart," Peggy said.

"What's the matter, you bought it with money I
earned, or is it reserved only for the rich and special
guests around here?"

"Go ahead, get drunk, if Fm lucky youll pass out, at
least then it'dbe quiet."

"He's really tricky—at breakfast all that   shit with the
dummy, I really believed it. But now with   the car, I'm
not buying nothing anymore. People do not   leave
eighty-thousand-dollar cars lying around,   I don't care
what anybody tells me."

"Well what, then?"

2l6 WILLIAM GOLDMAN

"Maybe it isn't this Postman's car. Maybe it's his.
Maybe he's hiding it there just waiting for the chance
to take off with my wife."

"Good thinking. Really using the old bean. I hope
you noticed I didn't even bother getting mad at your
crack about me going off into the sunset We had
enough of that kind of talk already."

"Why goddammit, there's gotta be some explana-
tion-"

"—there is and you've had it—"

"-bullshit-"

"—oh bullshit yourself—"

"—don't wise off back to me—"

"—I'm over twenty-one I'll do what I damn please—"

"—why didn't he get the car out of the mud, I did, it
wasn't that hard answer me that goddammit—"

"—maybe he tried, maybe he couldn't, he's old, may-
be he was a rotten driver—"

"-old?-"

'-that's right-"

"—how do you know he was old. Corky never said he
was old—"

"—last night he did—we were talking about why he
came up here and he said this agent was pressuring
him and he said how old he was—"
"—you told me you never talked about anything
and he said the same—you didn't even tell him I
changed jobs and wasn't in real estate anymore—you
fed him and be went to bed now what happened last
night?"

"I won't go through this again."

"Did this Postman stop by? Did you see him? That's
how you knew he was old, wasn't it?"

"Goddammit nol"

"Was this before or after you fucked for Corky—"

"—you stop this Duke—"

"—before or after or was it during, did you invite the
old guy in to watch?" He put his drink down then and
slapped her in the face.

^

y

-i^.

M/i

MAGIC 217

Peg tried running.

No chance. Duke slapped her again. "Did you fuck
him, you did, you did goddam it, didn't you?"

"Wo/"

"I'm gonna pound the crap outta you till we get to
the truth, did you fuck him?"

•No."

He backhanded her. "Did you fuck him?"

"No-Jesus-"

"Did—you—fuck—him?"

"NO BUT I WANTED TO."

He pushed her down into a chair then. "Okay," he
said quieter now. "At least we know the truth."

Peggy was crying.

"Those don't work with me, dry the baby blues,
don't cut no ice with the Duker." He sipped his
Scotch. "I'd like to check out his cabin I can tell you."
"... why .. ."

Duke shrugged. "Might be interesting, that's alL
Might clear up the car thing and who knows, if you
wanted to fuck him, maybe you will when my back's
turned—who knows, -it would sure save a lot of time
if you had everything nice and ready, a nighty hanging
m the closet, your diaphragm handy by the bed. That
way you could just zip on down there and rip off a
little something whenever your nice pure little heart
desired."

Peggy dried her eyes and stood, "I'm going out."

"Down to the cabin, pay a little visit to the star?"

"No," Peggy said, and her voice was dry and brittle.
*Tm going to town, I'll shop and then I'm going to
drive for a long long time. Hours. I've got some deci-
sions to make." She looked at her husband for a while.
"Except maybe you've made them for me ..."

"C'mon," Duke said; "it'll be fun." He stood outside
the open door to Corky's cabin and gestured to the
rowboat he'd brought to the edge of the lake and the
Hshing poles and tackle resting inside.

2l8 WILLIAM GOLDMAN

"I'm not crazy about fishing," Corky said from the
doorway.

"You can row then, itil be nice and quiet and we can
talk. I Just had a good talk with Peg and now I'd like
one with you. I told you how fishing just cleans out my
mind—who knows maybe it'll do the same for you.**^

"Where is she?"

"In town. Making a 'decision,' she said."

"You seem upset, Ronnie."

"Why should I be. Surrounded by a good wife, old
friends. Peg and I did some talking about you. Might
be interesting if we did some talking about her."

'Til just get a jacket," Corky said, and he quickly
went inside. Duke moved into the doorway, started
looking around but Corky was back right away. "Lefs

g^
They went outside. Corky stopped. Duke watched

him. "What are you locking the door for? Ain't nobody
here but us chickens."

"Habit," Corky said.

"I could take that as an indication that you don't
trust me. I don't, of course. We trust each other, don't

we?"

"Sure," Corky said.

"Make certain it's really locked up tight and every-
thing," Duke said. "Give it a good shake to be posi-
tive."

"I don't have to do that"

"Let me then." He rattled the door hard. "Safe as a
baby," he said and they started for the boat. Duke
held it for Corky, then got in himself, gave it a shove
and they starred drifting out toward where Corky
had gone swimming.

"Let's row over that way," Corky said. "Give me

the oars, I'll do it"

"I know the best fishing spots," Duke explained.
"When I get us to the vicinity, you can take over."

"Fine," Corky said. He looked into the water. It was
not clear more than a foot or so down.

ft

MAGIC 219

"What are you looking for?" Duke wondered.

Corky jerked his head up. "Nothing."

"You were sure examining the water awful close."

"Habit. I like staring down, see what I can see."

"You're full of habits, aren't you?" He brought out
the bottle of Scotch. It was almost empty now. He of-
fered it to Corky who shook his head. "It was bought
for you special. I don't get Scotch."

"I'm not much of a drinker, I told you that." He
was staring down at the water again. They were get-
ting very close now.

Duke put the oars up, picked up a rod, opened the
tackle box for a plug. Peggy told me you fucked her
last night."
.Corky smiled. "Bullshit."

"She went into detail."

"Did she tell you how we smashed the champagne
glasses into the fireplace? We thought that was pretty
romantic at the time."
Duke weighted his plug, cast it out, let it sink,
started reeling in slowly.

"Is that-"

"—shit," Duke cut in. "Snagged on something."

"Is that why you brought me out here? To try and
trick me into admitting something that never hap-
pened? 'Cause if it is, I'd like to go back in now."

"Heavy," Duke said, pulling with his rod.

*Td like to go back in now. Duke."

That's got it," Duke said, and he reeled in his line.
, He looked at Corky then, cast again, reeled. "What she
said was she wanted to go to bed with you. X made
her say that. I acted like a fucldng animal and she—"
He stopped, trying for words. "I'm afraid I'm gonna
lose her and I don't want that to happen."

"Come on," Corky said. "Get bold of yourself. You've
got to stop going around accusing people. Duke. My
God, you gave me just about the happiest times I had
: in this town. You don't even remember but I was this
" nothing and you were everything and a couple of times

220 WILLIAM GOLDMAN

you took me along for fries at The Hut and I sat there
with you and Peggy and I thought, I'll never forget
this, and I haven't."

Duke shook his head, kept on fishing. "I don't re-
member any of that, you're right"

"Sure I had a crush on Peggy, my God, everybody
had a crush on Peggy. I wasn't even jealous when she
started dating you, it was fitting. Shit, I remember
carrying notes between you two during study hall and
I felt so goddam proud. That someone like you would
see fit to even use me as a go-between. That was a
moment for me."

"It hasn't gone so good for me since then," Duke

muttered.

Oh Jesus, Corky thought, I'm trying to steal your
wife, don't go getting human on me please . . .

"I fuck around a lot. I'm not proud of it I just hate
it; when I touch Peggy all I feel is I don't deserve her
so I take anything I can get from anybody I can get it
from."

Tomorrow you're not gonna be happy you got into
this so let's bag it, don't you think?"
"It's important you know. See, that period when you
tagged along, that was kind of the high point tor me.
I never finished college, I wasn't the greatest thing to
hit the real estate business. I hate the goddam selling
door-to-door. But Peggy, she came in at the top and
she's stuck with me all the way, and I'm afraid that it I
lose her now . . . well what is there?" He said "Shit,"
then and tried to get his plug loose but it was stuck

again.

"It's cold," Corky said. "Let's go in and build a fire or

something."

"I can't get it loose," Duke said. He pulled and
pulled. "Christ it's like a whale."

Corky picked up the oars, put them in the water.

"Don't do that, youll break my pole."

"Just trying to help."

"Well don't help, it's coming, I'm getting the whole




MAGIC 221

thing up now." He put his pole down and took hold
of the strong line, pulling it hand over hand.

Corky stared down through the water because some-
tiling was beginning to become visible.

Hand over hand Duke kept at it.

Corky leaned far over, continued staring down.

"Fuckin' logs," Duke said, grabbing his plug, pulling
the hook from the log, letting the log sink back down
into the dark water.

Corky cleared his throat and asked, "Anything left
in that Scotch bottle?"

Duke handed it over. "You look like you could use

*. n
it

"Freezing my nuts off," Corky said, and he drank,
waited, drank again. "Okay if we go in now?"

Duke nodded. "I've said my piece," and he took the
oars, and they were well on their way back to shore
when Duke spotted what looked like a body, half in
water, half on land, not all that far away.
13

Corky looked down at the tiny bald man. "I wonder
^-   who it can be?"

Duke knelt by the body, turned him over. "I was
thinking it might be your Rolls guy."

"You kidding?" Corky said. The Postman's only
^   about six-foot-three. See what his wallet says."
|     Duke went into various pockets. "Nothing. Stripped
"   dean.

^      "Doesn't make sense, there must be something, be
^    sure before—"

?     "—Christomighty," Duke cut in. "I think he's still
alive—"
"—fantastic-"

"—it's just a wild chance but it's worth a whack-
can you do artificial respiration?—"
"—don't think so—"

"—all right, goddammit, I'U do it, get up to the
house, call Normandy Hospital, tell them to haul ass
over—"
*      "-right-"

"—and stay at the house tiU they get there so you
can bring them straight here—"

"—gotcha," Corky said, and he got in the boat, got
right out again, said "Faster if I run" and took off
around the lake going like crazy.

Duke straightened out the body, tilted the head
,' back, opened the mouth. He checked to see that the
tongue was all right and it was, not swallowed. Then
,• he glanced at the teeth to see they weren't dentures.

&.

224 WILLIAM GOLDMAN

Finally he put his fingers together, pinched the old
man's nose shut, tilted back his head and blew hard
down his throat He blew a second time. Then a third.

The heart cavity was swelling.

Duke bent down, pressed his head against the aged
chest, tried to catch a beat Nothing. He knelt over t^Q
old man then, started pressing very hard on his heart,
every second a press, not enough to crack the rib
cage, but damn near.

He bent down after a minute of that and listened
again.
Nothing.

He started regular mouth-to-mouth resuscitation af-
ter that, trying to do it twelve tames a minute. Breathe,
two, three, four, five, six; breathe, two, three, four, five,
six. He kept that up for several minutes.

Still nothing.

He'd been wrong; the old man was dead. Still, as he
stood and loaded the corpse into the boat, he felt bet-
ter for the try. He lowered the body gently down,
began rowing across the lake.

Toward Corky's cabin.

Because there was just no doubt in his mind, this
one he was ferrying now had to be the owner of the
Rolls. It didn't make sense any other way and there had
been a tone in Corky's six-foot*three line that rang
false. Or maybe it had come too quick. Or maybe any
number of things.

Whatever the case, Duke wasn't buying.

He was careful when he drew close to shore to keep
Corky's cabin as much as possible between himself and
the main house, trying to keep the chances of Corky
spotting him as low as possible. He glided the last
yards, pulled the rowboat up less than twenty feet from
the cabin.

Then he got out, reached into his pocket for his
master key, and moved quietly to the locked front
door. He had trouble getting it to fit, his hands were

MAGIC 225

trembling, which was the first tune he realized he was
afraid. He didn't really know what^of, didn't know,
for that matter, what the Christ he could find in the
cabin that would prove much of anything.

But it was worth the whack.

Corky was lying, about something or everything or
inbetween, and wouldn't it be nice to let old Peg know
that kind of info. Peg hated liars, always had, and
Duke wanted to be first to spread the news.

He got the door open, stepped fast inside, shut it
just as quickly, and the place was darker than he
figured, blinds drawn and all, and he waited a mo-
ment by t^e door. relocking it, getting accustomed
to the dimness.

He was several steps into the cabin before he cried
halt aloud, because the goddam dummy was sitting
there, watching the door, sitting in a chair by the little
kitchenette area and it seemed, for the moment, hu-
man, ,with its staring eyes.

Duke took a breath, got down to business. There
were four places he had to look. The bedroom closet,
the living room closet, the desk out here and the
dresser in there. The living room closet was closest, so
that's where he began. Not much really. Corky's clothes
on hangers and not many of them. Two suitcases. He
opened the first Empty. Put it back. He opened the
second. It was full of dummy crap. A lot of long canvas
tapes and changes of clothes.

It scared him again.

There was something rucking loony tunes about
walking around carrying kid-sized coveralls for a piece
of wood. Probably Edgar Bergen felt like an asshole
whenever he went traveling, because he didn't just
have Charley, there was the hick, Mortimer Snerd.

Duke closed the closet door, started on the desk.
Nothing, nothing nothing. Not a goddam shred.

Shit

The kitchenette was between the bedroom and living

226 WILLIAM GOLDMAN

room and he moved past Fats quicker than he bad to,
because the dummy was voodooing him, DO question
about it.

The bedroom wasn't quite as dark. He went to the
closet but it didn't have anything at all so that left the
dresser and if that had nothing, he could always give a
glance at the bathroom and the kitchenette maybe—

—but the dresser had everything.

In the top drawer, under some shirts. Duke flicked
them over to one side and the first thing he saw was
the watch. He brought it close. "Patek Philippe" it
read, and he didn't know if it kept decent time or not
but it sure as hell looked expensive.

Next to the shirt was a bill clip. Duke sat on the bed
staring at it. He pulled the money loose and started
counting the hundred-dollar bills.

Three thousand dollarsi

Duke Just sat there. It was incredible, there were
actually people in this world who walked around with
that kind of bread in their pockets.

Could it be Corky's? What kind of money did you
make when you did guest shots on the tube? Plenty,
probably, but this much?
Maybe. Duke wasn't sure.

The wallet was what made up his mind. It was in
the next drawer down, deep in the corner. Fat. Duke
opened it and looked at the credit cards. American
Express. Diner's Club. A dozen more. All made out to
Mr. Ben Greene.

Duke closed his eyes. What the fuck was this Post-
man's name. Was it Ben Greene? He couldn't remem-
ber.

"' "Gangrene," Duke said out loud. It was the Postman.
Cork) had told that out by the Rolls, how the dummy
called the Postman that, gangrene.

Now he started studying the photographs.

A dozen of them, snapshots all of two people, one ot
them always famous, the second one always the same.

r-"t -

MAGIC 227

The same little bald guy with Bing. Crosby. With
Berle. With Sinatra and Hope and it was the same
little bald guy who was dead out there now in the
rowboat

It was the Postman. And he wasn't six-foot-three.
But Corky lied. Wait, Just wait till little old Peg got;

the news. Maybe at dinner. They'd all be sitting around
and he'd bring out the evidence one by one, the watch
—and then the bill clip and then—

—wait a minute, why bother with the bill clip, tfeat
would be great, he'd keep that out, and if Corky asked
for it, he'd be proving himself guilty and if he didn't
ask for it, wefl the Postman didn't need»the three
thousand anymore now, did he.

Duke stood up, stuck the watch and wallet in one
trouser pocket, the bill clip and the money safely in his
shirt pocket, one that buttoned, and started out of the
bedroom in a hurry now—

—and then Fats raised his hand—

—Duke screamed, frozen by the kitchenette curtain
because it was moving now and the hand had a knife
in it and Fats struck straight ahead, stomach level,
and the knife slid in easily above Duke's belt and now
the curtain was moving again and here came Fats'
other hand and it had its own knife and it curved into
Duke's side and Duke bent double and Fats' first knife
jammed into the shoulder and the second hand, the
left, caught the neck and now Duke was screaming
but Fab kept on, right left right left, like a kid's toy
beating a brass drum, only those weren't drumsticks,
they were knives, and they kept slashing and hitting
and Duke thought I'm going blind, Fm going blind but
he was wrong, it wasn't that, there was just too much
blood in his eyes for him to see ...

Corky stepped out from behind the curtain, stared
numbly down at the corpse.
Take these goddam things," Fats said and Corky

228 WILLIAM GOLDMAN

took the knives carefully, laid them in the sink. "The
guy was right, he sold top quality merchandise," Fats
said.

Corky blinked.

"Those were his knives, schmucko, get with it."

Corky ran to the door, unlocked it, looked out..,
"What am I gonna do," he said, "Christ, I got the
Postman out there and now the other guy and what if
Peggy comes home?"

"I'll tell you just what you're gonna do you—"

"—maybe I should get the Rolls—1 could fit them in
the trunk and—"

"—goddammit listen to me—you go right into my
suitcase and you take some pieces of that canvas tape
and you take these two and you stick 'em in the boat
and you put a rock from outside on their legs and tape
'em there and row right out and over the side they go
and if you're not back in fifteen minutes you're a big-
ger nincomfuckingpoop than even I give you credit
for—"

Corky was back in twelve.

He leaned against the inside of the door, closed his
eyes. "They dropped like they were being pulled."

"Did you tie a rock to each of them?"

Corky managed a nod.

"Nuts," Fats said; "now I can't say 'two birds with
one stone.'"

"Stop with your goddam jokes for once!"

"I'll be glad to if you'll quit standing around with
that faraway sensitive look plastered on your face,
I got to shock you to get any activity—you're not doing
what's got to be done, get to work on this place, clean
the knives, get some towels and wash away this blood,
you want Peggy to walk in and find out what a sloppy
housekeeper you are, move."

She didn't walk in. She called rather, standing on the
path halfway down. It was over an hour later and
Cork)' had finished showering. He hurried up to her.
It was cold and getting dark and she looked tired.

MAGIC 229

""you've been through a lot," he said.
She shrugged. "Whatever. Where's Duke?"
"We had kind of a scene. I guess you told him you
were interested in me. He wants me outta here. He
went hunting. He said he was going to take his time
but I got the impression he didn't much want me here
when he got back."
Peg nodded.

"Are you going to be here when he gets back?*
Corky asked. "Or are you coming with me?"

That's what I wanted to talk about," she said, and
turned, led him up into the house where they sat across^
from each other by the fireplace.

"Okay," Corky said.   "Who wins? What's the answer?
I don't want you to   think I'm pressuring you because
I'm not really, the   fact that I'll kill myself if you pick
him shouldn't enter   into your thoughts one way or tho
other."

She smiled. "You're really wonderful, y'know that?"
"I feel my chances just went up a notch."
"Well you must be something pretty special, because
we've been together for a fat forty-eight hours after a
little absence of fifteen years and we weren't exactly
intimate then, and you get me to lie for you and sleep
with you and the most incredible thing of all, you got
me, today, to thinking, which I have been avoiding
with ease for most of my natural life."
"I think I Just lost the notch," Corky said.
"You gotta try and understand my decision, Cork,
'cause it didn't come easy. I've drunk more coffee in
more luncheonettes and driven more miles and argued
with myself and screamed out 'loud in the car—true—
and let me get to it"
Corky nodded.

"Okay. Duke: married all these years, not the best
advertisement for the tradition but till today he never
hit me and I think—don't laugh—he cares. I married
him when he was riding high, now he's pretty low,
makes me kind of a terrific fella to do that. That's what

230 WILLIAM GOLDMAN

Duke would think anyway and Tm not sure he's

wrong."
"Can I say something?"

*"You can shut up, please, I'm doing my best Okay.
You; talented and terrific and on the come and listen,
it wasn't |ust that for a second there our thoughts
touched like you said it happened with your Merlin
and his wife, that was important, sure, but the truth
is, I don't know a whole lot in this world but if you
don't love me, I don't know anything. Question: for
how long? Answer: none possible. Problem: what if it
stops."

"It wont"

"You cant know that. People change when they get
famous and no doubt about it, you're gonna get
famous and I'm not fifteen anymore. Corky, you think
I am but I'm twice that and my breasts are starting to
-sag."

"I can prove otherwise with my own hands."

"You don't see me, that's the damn point You see
her, Peggy the cheerleader; well what happens when
that stops? Don't say 'it won't stop,' I'm working to my
climax.

"Okay. It crossed my mind during my endless driv-
ing that here's the situation; Duke's not perfect and
you're maybe not gonna be perfect either. But, then it
hit me: I'm miserable anyway. Corky. So why should
I stick around, it's my life. I'm taking off."

"With me, right?"                  -   .

"Get this please: I'm leaving, and you're leaving,
so it happens we'll go together but I'm not running out
on Duke because he's at the bottom, I'm going because
Tm at the bottom, so it happens by coincidence that
you and I are heading the same direction, out, and if it
works that we stay headed that same direction, terrific,
but if it doesn't, the world's not ending for me, which
is what I was afraid of, going off and leaving one guy
and then getting dumped by another and not having
the first one around to take me back but that's no

MAdC 233

problem, not anymore, 'cause if I get dumped, Tm no)

coining back."

Corky blinked. "My God, you mean I win?"
"If I'm a prize, then you're the winner." She leanec

back wearily, closed her eyes. "And as soon as I finis!

explaining all this to Duke, we can take off ..."

14
"Gee**' Corky said, "do you think you ought to put
yourself through all that?"

"I owe him that much."

"But you're tired, you know you are. I think you're
jnst letting yourself in for a real emotional bloodbath.
Can him when we're settled somewhere decent. Or
write him a long letter; that's what I'd do."

She looked at him. "I've done dumb things all my
jiris, not faced up to stuff. Today's about the hardest
day I ever had but I feel really good about it. Corky.
I've got to make Duke understand this—for my own
good as well as his pride. He's got to know he didn't
get dumped for another guy. We failed together. He's
got to hear that from me." She looked at her watch.
THell be home soon, it's getting dark, you can't hunt a
whole lot when that happens."

**I wish you'd let me convince you I was right"

She went into his arms, held him a moment. "You
go on back to the cabin and get ready. I'll pack too.
.JIell come in and we'll talk and then I'll come get
you and g'bye."

"Hello, Corky said, and kissed her.

She kissed him back, then broke it. "Go on now.
Please." He started for the door. "How come the Rolls-
Boyce people never showed?"

Corky smiled at her. 'That was gonna be my sur-
" prise. I called the Postman when you were gone and
said could he cancel them and would he trust me to
take the car awhile—"

234 WILLIAM GOLDMAN

"And he said yes?'

"He's awfully fond of me. He's only charging me
£fty cents a mile."

Peggy started laughing. "Peggy Snow riding off into
the sunset with a man who loves her and an eighty-
thousand-dollar car." She sighed. "Into each life some
rain must fall."

"I love you," he called as she started upstairs.

"You better, you bastard." He waved from the front
door, left, closing it behind him.

"What was all that about?" Fats asked when Corky
got back to the cabin.

"Nothing important. Just the future.'*
"And. Avwtr

Corky got his suitcase out of the closet

"She's leaving him?" Fats cried out. "Fantastic."

Corky made a little bow.

"Unbefuckmglievable."

"You think I'm not a little shaky?"

*"So what now?"

"I figure we kind of tool off in the Rolls and get to
know each other some."

"Where though—where are we going?"

"Don't get emotional, but I was kind of wondering
if you'd mind if it was Just a honeymoon for two."

"What's the punch line?"

"Dead serious."

"You mean leave me behind?"

"I asked you not to get emotional. I fust think it
wouldn't hurt for me and Peg to get to know each
other alone."

"You drive a hot white Comiche around youll get
to know the inside of a jail cell, period. You can't go
without me. Cork—Jesus, who'll do your thimdng—
admit it, you hadn't Bgured that about the stolen car."

Corky shrugged, started packing. "So I'll dump it
somewhere in a couple of days, big deal. No one's
looking tor it now. I'll leave it in a nice slum area, be-




MAGIC 235

me, someone*!! find a use for it and Pee aad I
be long gone. I want to show her Paris."
u sound like MauricefuckingChevalier— you've
been to Paris yourself, schmucko—what is this
her' routine?"

'."^^l just want to be with her. The rest of the world.
Wl take care of itself."

, "Hey, you're serious."
'\ Corky nodded.
'' "Aw come on. Corky, this is me."
,> 1 know. Don't think this is easy."
"Then why are you doing it at all?"
Corky sighed. "Because, frankly, there've been times
when you've been almost too strong for me. You're a
very imposing force and it's scary—I want to try getting
a little objectivity."
"You don't dare leave me."
"Please don't make this terrible."
TU tell—I swear—in the middle of the act some
flight when you don't expect it I'll tell every goddam
thing you've done up here—I mean it. Corky—"
Quietly, Corky said, "I don't think so."
"What makes you so goddam confident?"
"Because I'm doing a single from now on."
Fats didn't say anything.

"I think I've got the confidence to try it now. Peggy
gives that to me. I did some coin stuff for her that was
really charming. It's her. Fats- That's what she can do
for me. I'm going to grab it while I can."
- "You want me to beg?"
"Don't go on—"

"—Christ, kid, remember where you were before I
Came on the scene? The gas was on."
<t. . . I know . . ."

"You're killing me, you know that?—I saved you—I
was present at the creation—you just can't dump me
now that you're on top—"

*Tm not on top—I've always bombed without you

&36 WILLIAM GOLDMAN

before, maybe I will again> all I'm saying is I want to

try:"

Hey Cork . . . puh . .. please . . . keep me around

at least... I can help . . . throw in a few hues maybe
now and then . . . thafs not something you can't live
with ..."

Corky kept on packing.

". . . I'm praying . . . please God change your mind
. . . please God say okay. Fats, you can tag along . . .
please ..."

Corky shook his head.

"Christ, do you know what loneliness is?"

Corky looked at Fats and nodded. "I been there my-
self," Corky said. "But no more . . ."

An hour later Peg came knocking. "I don't under-
stand. I'm packed, I'm ready, I've practiced my speech
till I'm. getting bored with it, where is he?"
"Maybe he Just hiked a long way and it's taking
longer to get back than you figured."

"Possible." She nodded. "Usually he just tromps
around this area but sometimes not"

"I really feel more strongly than ever that you're
facing something you don't have to face. Be better for
us all if we were gone."

Peg shook her head. "It's gotta be my way. But.. .**
She stopped.                                    "'

Corky looked at her to go on.

"I don't like waiting up there alone, too many
memories, kind of scary almost, you mind if I stay
down here till he comes?"

"Oh, yeah," Corky said smiling. "I'd mind that like
anything."

"And in honor of your stay with us," Fats said, "I'd
like to sing a little song of my own composition. It's
called, 'Duke.'

'Duke is a spook
Who makes some of us puke

MAGIC 237

But I won't sing no more
'Cause I ain't got my uke.'"

"Not one of your better efforts," Corky told him.

"Just trying to help little Peggy pass the tune."

^ just hope he's not out drinking somewhere."

There a oar around here?"

"No, but twice last year about this time he went out
and he met a couple of other hunters and they had
their car and went into Normandy and Duke didn't
come rolling in till one in the morning."

"What time is it now?" Fats asked-

"Not even six," Peggy told him.

Fats did his Bette Davis. "Fasten your seat belts
everybody; it's going to be a bumpy night"

"Who was that supposed to be?"

"That sound you heard was my ego breaking," Fats
said. "That was Ezio Pinza, my dear."
Peggy broke out laughing.

"Don't encourage him," Corky said.
" "Okay, all right, I can tell when I'm not appreciated,
1 just locked my mouth and threw away the key."

"Thank God for huge favors," Corky said.

Peggy got up, looked out a window across the lake.
"Did' he take a flash along, did you notice?"

"AH I noticed was the elephant gun be was carrying
—it was probably a peashooter but it looked mighty
convincing to me. He just indicated like I said, that
maybe it would be pleasing to all concerned for me
to consider vacating the premises. And if he'd just get
back, would I ever vacate."

"He can't be much longer," Peggy said. "Patience
above all things." She sat down at the desk. Corky took
fee chair. They waited.

At six-thirty Peggy wondered if she should start to
Worry. Corky said that was up to her.

At seven Peggy said should she call the cops do you
think. Corky said he thought she should call the bars.
Peggy decided to hell with it.

&38 WILLIAM GOLDMAN

But she was tensing.

"Goddammit," she said at seven-thirty.

"Well let's get the hell oirf," Corky answered.

"No"

"It's senseless just waiting—"

*Tm aware of your opinion. Corky, you don't have
to say it again—"

"—a little common sense never hurt, Peggy."

"Ahh, sweet mystery of life at last I've found you,"
Fats blasted. "AHHHHHHHHHH at last I know the
meaning of it all."

"I thought you were locked," Corky said.

"Well somebody's got to rescue you two from your-
selves."

"And you're a guaranteed ray of sunshine, is that it?"
Corky said.

"Well I don't want to brag, schmucko, but they
didn't make me social director at Devil's Island for
nothing."

"Not so good," Corky said.

"I could always sing my 'Duke* song again."

"Spare us," Peggy said.

"You're a tough house but—wait—wait—I've got it,
well have a Vera Hruba Ralston festival—no, nuts, I
forgot my projector."

Peggy started smiling. "God she was terrible. My
mother was a movie freak—she even named me after
Peggy Ann Gamer."

"I didn't know that," Corky said.

"Well my God, you guys are just beginning with each
other—Peg probably doesn't know you save your toe-
nails—he does—fabulous collection—he's been written
up in Nails Unlimited^-thsA's kind of the bible of the
toenail crowd—it's a minor subculture, like Star Trek
freaks and people who keep Ring Ding wrappers." He
looked at the two of them. "Things are warming up a
little, right, right?"

"Some," Corky admitted.

.'i     ,

T£-

/s_^
•r ••

k1'
v

4
^

^

MAGIC 239

Fats said to Peg, "Get Corky's cards, I'll read your
fortune."

"Does Corky have cards here?"

"Does a bear evacuate in the woods?—notice how
fm toning up my language?—I got to, the Pope's hot
for me to play the Vatican next Holy Week and I don't
want the Pontiff getting pissed at me." Pegg\ laughed.
"Tfl the case. There should be half a dozen decks."

"I need to keep in practice," Corky said as Peg
brought back several decks of cards.
"Security blankets and you know it, schmucko." Peg
held out die cards. " Give me a hand," Fats said, and
Corky came up and helped.

"Spread the cards," Fats said, "so I can concentrate."

Cork) fanned with one hand.

"Hmmm," Fats said, studying the cards. The cards
ten all."

"Like what?" Peg asked.

Fats shut his eyes. "Your name ... is ... it's coming
through clearly, yes, your name is Peggy Ann Blow—
oops—

The Pope's gonna love slips like that," Corky said.

Fats looked at the cards again. "Snow, and you're—
die sex is coming now—a woman."

"Host definitely," Corky said.

"And you're scared," Fats went on, "about are you
doing the right thing, going off with the king of the toe-
nail hoarders but the cards say chances are pretty good
because he is a drooler, true, but an honest one, and
you are a lady who digs honesty so all in all 1 would
say if you can teach him to take a bath once a week
whether he needs it or not, you got as good a shot as
anyone of walking off into the sunset together."

"Thank you," Peggy said softly.

"Enough treacle. Fats said. "Corky, entertain us,
make a little magic."

Cork\ shook his head. "Not in the mood."

"All right, HI do it then."

"You do magic too?" Peg asked.

&40 WILLIAM GOLDMAM

Fats shook his head. "Corky does magic, I can only
do tricks, self-working stuff mostly, the garbage end of
the legerdemain business. HowTl I start? Hmmm." He
closed one eye, tilted his head, paused. Then he said,
''What the hell, let's start with a You Do as I Do."

"A wtwty from Peg.                         "

"Time passers is all, a series of tricks all with the
same basic gimmick, they work great if you don't
know, once you do they're a yawn."

"Show me."
"You want the patter or just the trick?"

"Whatever."

"The bare bones are kind of nothing, you take two
decks and shuffle them separately and then you pick
a card from one of the decks and cut the cards and
hand me that deck and you take mine and find your
card and I take yours and pull the same card from
your deck."

'That's not a trick," Peg said.

"It is, believe me," Fats began—

"—it is not a trick—'*

"You're gonna make me give away the gimmick, you
keep on like that," Fats told her.

"Magic," Peg said. She was starting to slump down.

"It's so simple you're gonna whoopse." Fate said.
"See, die whole secret is that when you shuffle I peek
at the bottom card of your deck when you're shuffling
and then when you pick a card well, you've put the
card you picked on top and complete the cut and that
brings the bottom card which ZKQOW on top of your
card that you know so when you give me your deck,
all I have to do is find the card below the bottom card
and that's your card."

**          1   •   ^_     "

. . . lying . . .

**I know you can't believe it," Fats said, "'cause it
sounds too dumb to fool anybody but Corky, he makes
a big production out of it sometimes, especially when
he wants to fuck some broad he's picked up and he
gives a big spiel about how they were meant for each

MAGIC 241

other and he can read her mind and usually the first
(fane he suckers her in by missing and so when he does
ft she thinks, my God, this is kismet, let's hit the sack,
you can't believe how much people want to believe in
magic, my God, Gorky's fucked stews from coast to
coast with that one and . . ."

And then Peg stood and her determination to with-
stand attack had been so strong that when it crumbled,
there was nothing left behind it. no defense, so the
hysteria came fast and her face fell apart and she spun
for the door and was halfway up the hill before Corky
could grab her but she was a powerhouse by then and
he oomdn't keep hold, and he couldn't get a word m
at the door of me main house and he couldn't hold her
tightly enough in his arms on the stairs and when she
locked herself in the bedroom he pounded, pleading
till his hands bruised but she was weeping far too out
of control to hear or care or understand and when
Corky finally realized she would not let him in, would
never let him in, he found his way back to the cabin
and Fats was staring at him as he entered and before
Corky could get a word in Fats was screaming. "That
Was fust the beginning" loud and clear.

Corky shook his head. "That was the end-"*

"I don't think so."

"I would have left you nice before. Comfortable. A
warm place, decent, safe. Now I don't care if the cat
gets your eyes."

"Listen to him."

"Done talking."

"Hear me out"

"Sorry"

"Yott'oe got to hear me"

"Makeitfast"

"I will, I will. more Jesus, but don't stand hovering
like the Frankenstein monster, sit down."

"No more jokes either," Corky said, as he sat in the

242 WILLIAM GOLDMAN

desk chair. Fats was in the overstuffed one, eyes wide
open.

"Why do you think I blew the whistle?"

To cause pain."

"That's not the main reason though, why else?"

"Because you were jealous. Because I was leaving
you. You were angry. Want me to go on?"

"You're missing why I did it"

"Educate me then.

"You ready?"

"Ready as I'll ever be."

"It's a lulu."

"Hit me, I'm braced."
"I DID IT BECAUSE I COULD."

Corky blinked.

Fats started laughing. "You don't get it yet, do
you?"

Corky shook his head.

"WHY DIDNT YOU STOP ME?"

Corky just waited.

"YOU DIDNT BECAUSE YOU COULDNT." Fats
was roaring now. "He still doesn't get it He's such a
major league dimfuckmgwit numskull he's sitting there
and he doesn't understand. Remember a lime ago
when you were dumping me you said I was a very
imposing force and it's scary? You said there were
times when I was almost too strong for you? Schmucko,
I've been too strong all along, all those stupid goddam
wisdoms you helped me hunt and peck. Tin worried
about Corky' 'Corky's afraid of success* "What hap-
pens to all those girls Corky sees only once,' you
thought you were faking me when it was ass-back*
wards, I was faking you,

"You got your rocks off now?"

"Not quite. I laid low, kept the quiet profile, tilings
were going good enough, I don't mind a little limelight
sharing when there's common gain, but then tonight,
when I begged you, when I humbled myself and you
said tough buddy. I'm out for number one now, well,

MAGIC 243

that tore it. Where was she when the gas was on? I
took a-nothing, a technical whiz with the charm of
Dick Nixon and I created a dazzler. And no two-bit
hunk is gonna come along and ladle off the cream. It's
you and me, not you and her, only from now on, it's
gonna be me and you."

"Think it's maybe time to change the record?"

''If you're bored sitting there, by all means walk
around."

Corky started pacing.

"Go in and splash some water on your face, maybe
that'll help arouse your interest."

Corky went in to the sink, turned on the cold spigot,
splashed some water on his face. When he came back
out. Fats was laughing. "I must have missed the joke."

"You are the joke."
"You're too fast for the room I guess."

Fats was laughing so hard now it was hard for him
to get tile words out "Those tricks—the ones we told
Peggy about, those are called You Do as I Do."

"Well?"

"You could call our trick You Do as I Say. Sit down,
Corky."

"I don't feel like it"

"Have a chair, keed."

Corky sat in the desk chair.

-Yawn."

Tin not tired."

"Sure y'are."

Corky yawned, and stretched.

**Attaboy. Crawl."

Corky started crawling around the floor.

"Imitate me."

"Hey this^is fanfuckingtastic," Corky said.

'•Up and at *em."

Corky jumped to his feet

Fats picked up the rhythm—"Okay skip, okay hop,
okay spin around, okay touch the ceiling, touch the
floor. Fats says giggle. Fats says stop," and Corky,

244 WILLIAM GOLDMAN

after skipping and spinning and giggling stood there
catching his breath.

"Believe me now, sdamucko?"

Corky nodded.

"It's our secret, yours and mine. Ill handle it smooth
in public, well never let on. And then in private, 111,
have my little games like this just to remind you that
it was a little bit of a boo-boo when you decided to
dump me for the broad."

Corky continued to breathe heavily.

"You can talk now, say whatever you want, as long
as I want you to, when I'm bored, well play some
more."

"Lis-"

"—I'm bored, let's play, get the knives."

"Knives?"

"The Duker's, go get 'em."

Corky went to the kitchenette, brought out the
knives.

"What do you think we ought to do with 'em?" Fats
said.

"Want me to whittle something?"

"Maybe."

"I'm very fast. I can make things in a flash. Really."

"I'm looking for something with a little more pizzr
azz."

Corky Just stood there waiting.
/ Fats had to laugh. "What is that whittling shit?
Trying to fake me out? Those days is gone, schmucko.
I'm with you every step of the way. Now. Tell me.
What do you think we ought to do with those nice
sharp knives of old Duke's?^

"Don't," Corky said.

"I don't feel any passion in your tone yet"

"Please don't kill her."

"I would never deprive you of that pleasure, you
think I'm cruel or something?"

"I can't."

I got faith in you."

MAGIC &45

"She won't let me in. The door's locked. It's thick. I
"can't break it down."

"You'll use the old noggin. I'm just gonna wait
dowa here nice and comfy and then when you get
back, you can tell me all about it"

"I WONT."

"How's your head, Cork?"

"My head?"
"Yeah. I think you're getting yourself a little mi-
graine."

"No. I'm not." But his left eye was starting to blink.

"Feels like it could be a bad one. One of those gut
wrenchers that can go on for days."

Corky's hands went to his eye, pressed hard,

"Drop your hands"

Corky put his hands down.
f       "It's getting bad fast, Cork, I can tell. You're losing

!*                  if*

•s       color.

"Please stop it."

I         It's really drilling deep, isn't it?"

g         "Yes. Yes."

"Surprise!"

Corky stopped blinking.

"Going away now?"

Corky nodded.

"Not deep at all, right? Almost gone?"
^       Nod.

*TotaUy gone?"

Nod.

"Want it back? Want it back a hundred times worse,
a hundred times worse and a hundred days long?
Yes?"

Shake.

"Then get a wiggle on."

Corky put the knives in his back trouser pockets,
started for the door.

"And do it beautifully," Fats called.

15

"Duke?" Peggy called when the knock came. She was
lying across the bed, tears past, past tears, empty.

"Me."
Peggy stared at the ceiling.

"I left schmucko down at the cabin. I had to talk
to you Peg, open the door, huh?"

"... Duke doesn't want you here when he gets back,
that goes for me now ..."

"Duke's got nothing against me. He laughed at me
at breakfast."

**...! mean it, Corky . . ."

"I told you, he's down at the cabin, we're the only
ones that can straighten this out. Peg. That's why I
came up alone."

To her amazement. Peg started to cry again. Funny;

she didn't think there were any left.

"I've got a present that'll make you smile."

"... go 'way. Corky . . ."

"Fats"

"... all right, go away. Fats."

"Well, at least that's done, at least we know who we
are."

Peggy began wondering about Duke, pushing her
mind to him, trying to figure how it might work out.
They'd sell this place, get beans for it, but maybe
enough for a camper, a trailer, something so they
could live cheap. Head west maybe to Washington.
The country was supposed to be beautiful. Rainy a
lot, but-

248 WILLIAM GOLDMAN

"Don't you want my present, Peggy?"
"I don't want anything. Fats."

"... Peggy Ann Snow
Peggy Ann Snow

Please let me follow                  •*
Wherever you go..."

—but so what if it rained, she'd still have a roof over
her bead, a man—she groaned. The man would be
Duke. Blowing in her ear forever.

"That's a little poem Corky made up about a jillion
years ago. I wanna tell you something: it's kept him
warm a lot. Please take his present. He made it for
you to remember him by. He's leaving, Peg. But would
you keep this thing?"
"What thing?"

**A heart. He whittled it for you before he sent me
up here. It didn't take him long, he's quick with his
hands—it's the second heart he made for you—the first
was when be left in high school but he threw it away
in case you laughed at it or something."

She was momentarily, goddammit, touched.

"Ill just say this last and then 111 go. The reason I
told about the mind reading. Corky was too embar-
rassed to tell you himself. I lied when I said he'd done
it before, that was just to make it as bad as possible.
He felt that crappy about himself. But, see, Cork hasn't
got a lot of confidence and he did the mind reading
because he didn't think anyone as perfect as you would
look at him otherwise."

She said nothing but it was true; Corky was always
running himself down.

"And Peg, he never thought you'd actually care for
him. Then when you did and he'd lied, well, it killed
him. It just destroyed him because you hate liars and
he hates liars but for love he'd lied and he couldn't go
off with you for the rest of his life with a lie at the
foundation. So that's it Would you take his heart. Peg?

MAGIC 249

At least if you did, he'd know you understood and
didn't feel contempt for him."

"Oh I never felt contempt."

"At least that's something."

"Leave it outside the door."

"You won't open it then?"

"Just leave it"

There was a pause. She heard something touch the
bottom of the door. "G'bye."

Peg waited awhile before she said, "You didn't walk
away."

"Brains as well as boobs."

Peg caught herself before she smiled.

"—he needs you. Peg. He did stuff for you be never
did for anybody—the coins dancing around his fingers
—he doesn't need me anymore—that's what you mean
to him, you give him that much confidence, now take
the goddam heart or he'll die?'
It was really stupid not to at least take it. She'd been
talking, was there any difference really in talking to
someone through a door or with it open? Who was she
kidding? Take the heart, nod, say good-bye. She got
off the bed, unlocked the door, opened it and was
twice surprised. Once was how lovely the heart was.

But why were the knives in his hand . . . P

Corky dropped the bloody knives on the overstuffed
chair beside Fats.Take a load off," Fats said.

Corky walked slowly to the sofa, sat.

"You seem a little glum, a bit morose, don't be, I
got a piece of good news for you."

Corky only shrugged.

"A: I wanna apologize. I was too rough before. It
had to be done, things had to be got shipfuckingshape
fast, but all in all, I wasn't any too delicate and Im
sorry. But the biggie is this: I'm not gonna make you
remember."

Corky nodded.

"I'd like a little more enthusiasm, please. My God,

&5° WILLIAM GOLDMAM

if I wanted to I could have you seeing her corpse and
hearing her cry out and all that but I don't carry a
grudge like some people, so I hereby give you my
promise I won't let you remember. Say Thank you.' **

"Thank you."

"Now don't you feel better?"                  '•

Corky shook his head and started to ay. He
stretched full out on the sofa and sobbed.

"—aw Laddie, come on now—**

"—please—"

"—don't go to pieces on me—"

Corky could not stop crying.

"All right, it's been a big day, get it out of your
system.**

Corky kept on sobbing.

"Wanna tell Fats about it?"

"She . . . liked the heart . . ."
"You're a great whittler, she damn well should have."

*'.. . I pleased her... no tricks . . . just me ..."

"Sure, sure. Feeling a little more under control
now?"

Corky nodded.

"Okay, good, pay attention now because I think it's
time we did a little serious changing in the act, so let
me hit you with a couple notions: what say we cut
down on the magic and replace it with me doing a
couple of snazzy musical numbers, say you like it.

"I like it"

"Good, I kind of had a feeling you would because
... because . .."

"What's wrong?"

"I don't know how to say tills since I haven't got a
stomach, but my stomach hurts."

"Bad?"

"Getting . . . bad."

Corky's arm slipped to the floor.

"Getting . . . real bad now . . ."

"Yes . . ."

**, .. what—is this . .. ?"

MAGIC flgl

".. . we're dying I think is what it is ..."

".. . dying . . . ?"

Y. . after I gave her the . . . heart ... on my way
back down ... I put them deep in me . . ."

".. . Christ it's spreading . . . getting worse..,"'

*'. .. I know ..."

".. . don't leave me here alone..."

"... I would . .. never . . ."

<*... can you get over ... ?"

Corky slowly used his arms, got across the floor.
**... what now .. . ?"
".. . put me . . . flat. . ."

Corky did his best. ". . . help any . .. ?"

Fats lay on the soft chair cushion."... I hope I don't
go first is all. . ."

Corky had to close his eyes. **... Fats ... ?"

".. . right here. Laddie . . ."

". . . she really liked my heart . . *"

". , . why didn't you . . . take off with her then ... ?
you had control... why didn't you just go ... ?"

". . . cuz . . . she would never have left with me ., •
I couldn't face failure again . . . see, I couldn't even
make her open the door alone ... it was never me ...
always us ..."

"... schmucko ... us was you ..."

"... huh ... P"

"... it was you all the time ..."

". . . you sure . . . ?"

"... trust me for a while ..."

16

Peggy lay on the bed for a Ipng time and studied the
lovely wooden heart. God he had wonderful hands.
She stayed on the bed, turning the heart over and over.
Then she got up and examined herself in the mirror.
She looked fifty easy, what with the puffy eyes and the
wrinkled clothes, but a change of wardrobe could fix
the one. Max Factor could go a long way toward help-
ing with the other. When she was pretty again, she
put on a nice dress because even though she didn't
love him, Corky's kind of talent you had to string
along with, and with that thought firmly in mind, she
went down to the cabin to tell him so ...

Fc