William Goldman - Magic

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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.

Reprinted by permission of the publisher.

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

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

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 ,. .*

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

"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?"

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ForEvartsZteglefPublishedbyDELLPUBLISHINGCO.,INC.1DagHammarskj'oldPlazaNewYork,N.Y.10017Acknowledgment"HeartbreakHotel,"wurdsandmusicbyMaeBorenAxton,TommyDurdenandElvisPresley.©19,56byTreePublishingCo.,Inc.Reprintedbypermissionofthepublisher.Copyright©1976byWilliamGoldmanAllrightsreserved.Nopartofth...

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William Goldman - Magic

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