Club (The Magician – Chapter Ten)

This is the tenth chapter of the serialization novel I am working on, The Magician – < click here to read the other chapters if you missed them.

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Club

Freddy’s eyes widened as he watched Vanessa sashay out of her bedroom a few nights later.

WOW, he signed, using his facial features to also to indicate how impressed he was.

Vanessa blushed as she twirled in the small alcove just outside her bedroom door.  She felt ridiculous in her ensemble, but she knew the Piggy Whistle was a high-class establishment, even if it were just a club.  If she showed up in the kind of outfits she normally wore, she would be rejected even while she gave the words to get past the bouncer.  She knew she had to dress as if she were going to one of her grandmother’s more formal affairs.

Her dress was black with a lace princess-cut bodice and a chiffon skirt that flowed around her asymmetrically.  She wore black strappy heels and a pair of real diamond earrings that dangled and matched the diamond choker around her neck.  She had curled her hair and pinned her bangs back with silver clips. She detested appearing to be this elegant but was gratified she had the grace to pull off walking in heels. 

She got a good look at her best friend.

Freddy looked debonair.  Since he was part of the extended family and occasionally acted as Vanessa’s escort to various functions, he had an entire wardrobe to dress the part of the suave nightclub attendee.  Today’s outfit was a dark suit, the one Vanessa’s mother had personally bought for him.  A gray button-down shirt, freshly pressed, was worn underneath and polished black loafers were on his feet.  He smelled of spicy aftershave and his dark hair had been slicked back with hair gel, nary a lock out of place.  While he had forgone a tie, he still appeared posh and polished.  The dark gray fedora he wore on his head clinched the entire outfit.

We clean up nicely, she signed with a smile.

Freddy laughed.

Because she didn’t want to be memorable on public transportation, Vanessa arranged for a hired car for the night.  She only hoped the company would be prudent and not alert her family to her plans for this Friday evening.  She didn’t need her mother or her grandmother chiding her for taking any risks.

She and Freddy signed very little on the ride over.  Having already made their plans in her apartment without any watchful eyes, they observed the city lights fly by in the darkness as the driver mutely piloted the car to their destination.  If they spoke at all, it was in that code that was all their own.

“Thank you,” Vanessa said graciously as they climbed out onto the street.  She passed a bill to the front.  “I will call when we are done with our evening.”

The driver bobbed his head. 

“I will pick you up back here, unless your plans change, Miss.”

Vanessa grasped her purse, a vintage black beaded clutch her grandmother Agnes had given her long ago, as she contemplated what she was about to do.  She was nervously scared.

What are we waiting for? Freddy signed.

Nothing, she returned.

She took a deep breath and exhaled loudly as she waltzed up to the door.  She put her hand up to knock, but before she could do so, there was the sound of metal sliding and a pair of eyes peeking out through a spyhole grille on the door.

“What’s the word?” came a harsh command.

Vanessa gulped.

“Ray sent me,” she replied, trying to keep the stammer she was sure was there out of her voice.

The door swung open and a tall man, dressed in a dark suit and tie with a crisp white shirt looked the two of them over.  He cocked his head, indicating they should follow him.

Bright lights at the bar end of the room attracted her eyes first as she and Freddy were escorted into the lounge portion of the building.  Another set of bright lights illuminated a stage, where a solitary woman was singing some sort of jazz song as a trio played offstage.  The rest of the lounge was dimly lit, the sconces and chandeliers flickering as if driven by some sort of magic instead of electricity.

Freddy got Vanessa’s attention by waving and indicated with a flick of his eyes the direction in which he wanted her to look. A gentleman sat at a table close to the entrance, staring at her intently as he was surrounded by several empty glasses. A confused look seemed to cross his face as he watched the two of them standing nearby.

Doesn’t he look familiar? Freddy signed. Do you think that is who you are supposed to be meeting?

Vanessa shrugged. She noted two men weaving their way through the tables, their stumbling indicating the two of them had consumed more than their fair share of libations. They simultaneously dropped drunkenly into the booth with the man and took up their carousing once more.

No, Freddy signed, his face showing his discontent for the group. They don’t look intelligent enough to have arranged this meeting.

“Welcome to the Piggy Whistle,” a hostess called out.  “Do you have a reservation?”

Vanessa looked at her.

“I’m actually meeting someone,” she replied, biting the inside of her lip. She had no idea who she was meeting yet and she was hesitating as she glanced around the lounge.

Green booths and dark stained tables were filled with people drinking and enjoying the music of the evening.  As jazz filled the air, waitresses moved from table to table, their hands upright and lifting trays of tumblers and glasses filled with drinks of every kind.  Paneled pastoral scenes lined the walls, their details hard to make out in the dim light.

Suddenly, a spell was cast from one of the tables, emitting a cloud of blue that fell over the table like a waterfall.  She met the occupant’s gaze and he nodded.

Freddy tapped Vanessa on the shoulder.  

I’ll wait at the bar, he signed.

She nodded as he pulled a pen and notepad out of his suit coat pocket and the two separated to go about their own ways. 

The man was seated with his back to the wall.  He was heavyset and wearing a dark suit.  A graying reddish-brown beard, neatly groomed, graced his face.  The hair on his head, which appeared a darker shade than the beard, was curly and also neatly combed back.  On the table in front of him sat an ashtray with a solitary lit cigarette, a pack of smokes with a red label, and a fedora.

Vanessa walked to the table and reached out her hand.

“Hello my name is–”

“I know who you are,” the man replied.  “Let’s put the introductions aside for now though.  Drinks first.”

He motioned to a waitress, who appeared almost instantly.

“I’ll have a scotch on the rocks.  Give the girl whatever she wants.”

“Soda with lime please,” Vanessa replied with a smile.

The man flicked a large bill up with practiced ease and the waitress palmed it quickly, slipping it into her pocket with a sly smile.  She disappeared as quickly as she came.

“You’re a Rankin and you don’t drink?” the man asked with some surprise when he determined the waitress was out of earshot.  He shook his head.  “Never mind, it isn’t important.  I hear you are researching pathomotus magicians.”

Vanessa blinked.

“I wrote a paper on them, yes.  It’s what I am doing my thesis on as well. But I surmise you already knew that.”

“I did know that.  It’s why I asked to meet with you.”

“Are you one?” she questioned hesitantly.  When he scowled in confusion she added, “I ask because of the cloud of blue.”

He scoffed and laughed.  “Oh that?  That’s a simple parlor trick I learned long ago.  No, I do not hold any of the abilities of a pathomotus, though sometimes I wish I did.  Their magic is quite fascinating. You can call me Smith if you like.”

The conversion trailed off again as a waitress brought glasses to the table.  She placed the soda with lime in front of Vanessa and then a lowball glass with the bourbon on the rocks in it in front of Smith.  The man nodded and thanked the waitress.  He tossed down a second large bill and smiled at her.

“Keep the drinks coming, doll,” he said with a smile.  “At least mine.  I have a feeling my young friend will only be having the one.”

The waitress smiled at him and winked, pocketing the tip as she glanced quickly at Vanessa and nodded.  He lifted the glass to his lips and took a sip, waiting for the waitress to leave again.  The cigarette resting in the dish was swirling and dancing in ribbons, reaching into the emptiness of the air above it before dissipating.  The movements were hypnotically mesmerizing to Vanessa.

“Of course, I have seen a pathomotus in action,” Smith replied nonchalantly, breaking the silence in their corner of the club.

That got Vanessa’s attention. 

“Oh?” she questioned, feeling her eyebrows raising in surprise.

The man took another drag of his cigarette and flicked the ashes that formed on the tip into the tray before nodding.

“Yes.  He put on such a beautiful show.  It was a little melancholy, of course.  But it was memorable, too.”

“Melancholy?”

“Yes.  The final moments of his show were a sad little black and white number.”  The man took a swig of the amber colored liquid, the ice jingling as they bounced off each other and the glass.  “Of course, this was over in the old country when I was working there.”

Vanessa scowled as the excitement bubbling up in her burst in disappointment.  There was no way she would be able to get to the old country to see this fascinating show.  Even though she had funds, there was the simple task of getting a trip arranged on such short notice.

The man smirked as he put the glass down, wiping away some of the condensation. 

“But then again, I have heard that that particular show has come to tour the new country now too.  I hear the opera house will have a couple of performances next weekend.”

Vanessa felt that joy bubble up inside her over again.   “Really?” she asked.

The man smirked once more as he nodded.

“Yes, really.  But I also hear that tickets are hard to come by.  It’s such a popular show that everyone is wanting to go.”

He looked at her pointedly.

“Given your influence though, I am sure you will be able to get the tickets and do it discreetly.”

Vanessa looked at him, blatant confusion crossing her face as she watched him down the remainder of his drink.

“Why discreetly?” she asked.

The ice clanked in the lowball as he placed it on the table.

“Go see the show.  You’ll figure out why there.”

Click here to read the next chapter – Maria

 

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Disclaimer: This story is a work of fiction written by K. S. Wood, and thus is copyrighted 2023. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.  No part of this work may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the author.  All rights reserved.

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