Cocktales

“I don’t understand. The building should be right here.”

After I’d left Jay at the bar earlier today, I’d belated realized he never gave me the address for his show. Disappointment filled me. But then, later on, as I rummaged through my purse for a napkin, I found a neatly folded piece of paper that turned out to be a flyer for the club where he was performing. Again, he’d bamboozled me. I had no clue how he’d managed to slide it into my bag without me seeing.

“Do you want me to American technology company the address or not?” Marie whipped out her phone.

“Not. People located addresses for centuries prior to the advent of Google.”

“Or, they died in a tragic mugging on the streets of Chicago and were mourned by their cats. Forgive me if I’d prefer to use a little cell phone magic instead.”

There is no such thing as magic, I repeated in my head.

Sleight of hand, meticulously planned scenarios and outcomes, subliminal influencing and cold reading. That’s all it was. And yet, there was something mysterious about Jay Fields. Something truly…well, magical. I’d spent less than an hour in his company and already I was eager to see him again, eager for him to marvel and astound me. He was captivating, and just like a magnet, he pulled me in.

The main reason I wanted to see his show, however, was because today was the first time in a long time that I’d actually felt excited. Lately, a lot of things had been bringing me down; my job, my relationship, so I just wanted to spend tonight being entertained. Let Jay tap into my imagination and sense of wonder like he’d done with every person standing on that street today.

“So, Jon had to work late?” Marie questioned, tugging up the collar of her coat to defend against the cold.

“Yes, we were supposed to have a date, but you know him, he’s a workaholic.”

Marie studied me in a way that made me self-conscious. “How’s everything been going with you two?”

“It’s been fine,” I replied, not really wanting to talk about the man in my life.

My main squeeze.

My significant other.

My other half.

These days he certainly didn’t feel like the other half of me, or in any way significant. In fact, he merely felt like the person with whom I shared a bed, a bathroom and kitchen/lounge facilities.

I loved him but, well, something was missing. Maybe it was never there to begin with. Or maybe I just needed to accept that it was a real-life relationship. Real-life relationships were nothing like relationships in movies starring Kate Hudson.

Marie arched a brow. “Just fine?”

“Fine is good. Fine is better than not fine. Fine is better than very many things.”

“Janie, the fact that you’re using the word ‘fine’ so much makes me suspect things aren’t fine.”

“We’ve been together a long time,” I said. “And when you’re with someone a long time, things are no longer exciting, passionate, electric or a whole host of other adjectives. When you’ve been with someone a long time, things are usually fine, and so, that is what they are between Jon and I.”

“You’re talking in circles,” Marie griped just as the door opened to a building we passed. It was a black door, non-descript, and didn’t appear to lead to a business. However, when it opened, a loud round of cheers and clapping rang out, before a familiar Bostonian accent said, “And that’s why I don’t buy microwaves from gypsies no more.” Laughter ensued.

“Weird punchline,” Marie muttered as I grabbed her elbow and pulled her inside.

“This is the place,” I said as we stepped into the dark club. It was one of those bars that people only knew about through word of mouth. Pretentious, yes, but obviously a good marketing tactic since the place was packed. When people thought something was exclusive, they tended to want it more. It was psychological. Like, if someone told me there were only five hot dogs left in a hot dog stand, I’d automatically want a hotdog more than I did a minute ago.

Actually, now I did sort of want a hot dog.

“This is it?” Marie asked, not sounding very enthusiastic about being pulled into an unmarked building.

“Yes, look! There he is,” I replied in a hushed voice and pointed to the stage where Jay stood doing a card trick for a woman in the front row. He wore the same jeans from earlier and a black tank top. Now I could see the extensive tattoos that covered his arms, and though I’d never been particularly attracted to that sort of look, I had to admit they suited him.

Marie looked from the stage and then to me. “Okay, not what I expected.”

“What did you expect?”

“I don’t know. Some guy in a dickey bow pulling a rabbit out of a hat.”

“I guess that is what we imagine when we picture a magician.”

“He’s a bad boy,” Marie said, pointing her finger at the stage. “I never knew you were into bad boys, Janie.”

“I’m not. I have a boyfriend. Jon, remember?”

“And he’s cocky,” Marie went on, ignoring my statement. “Look at that smirk and those dimples. The poor woman might as well hand over her panties right now.”

The woman she referred to was the one Jay had roped into volunteering for his trick. I briefly wondered what she did for a living, still unsure if I was disgruntled or flattered that I wasn’t suitable as a volunteer. I liked to imagine it was because I was just too darn smart.

“He’s not cocky,” I replied. “He’s confident. Cockiness implies arrogance.”

“Well, too much confidence can lead to cockiness,” Marie said. “It’s a fine line.”

“Ladies, there’s an $8 entry fee, but I’ll let you in for $5 since you’ve missed a lot of the show,” said a man in a black blazer. Neither of us had noticed him sitting by the door.

“Yes, sorry, we got a little lost. You don’t make this place easy to find,” I said, keeping my voice low so as not to interrupt the show. I rummaged in my purse for some money and handed him a rumpled ten. He gave us two ticket stubs and Marie and I quietly made our way to some empty seats at the back.

We brought our attentions to the stage when Jay spoke. “For my next trick, I’ll need another volunteer,” he said and scanned the audience.

Marie nudged me with her elbow. “You should do it.”

I shook my head. “I don’t make a good volunteer, apparently.”

She frowned. “What? Why?”

Before I could respond, Jay said, “You, the red head at the back, you had your hand up, right?”

I blinked. Jay was staring right at me, confident smile in place. How had he even seen me back here? And I definitely hadn’t had my hand up. The slight twitch of his lips told me he knew well and good that I hadn’t.

“I think you’re mistaking me for someone else,” I called out.

“Aw, don’t chicken out now,” Jay teased and people started turning their attention to me, whispering and speculating.

I straightened. “Somebody once told me that I don’t make a very good volunteer for magic tricks.”

“This isn’t your typical magic trick. You’ll be more of a spectator than a volunteer,” Jay pushed, undeterred.

“Go on,” Marie whispered giddily and nudged me out of my seat, “get your butt up there.”

Disgruntled, I stood and wiped my sweaty palms on my skirt, suddenly nervous. I tried to recall if I’d ever been on an actual stage before. Maybe in a childhood school play.