MAGIC (16 page)

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 ass back down!”
and he reached out, spun her around to the couch again.

Roughly.

“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 blinking 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 me?—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 something 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 nothing
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 happened to you, where you were living, what country, what world, how many kids, anything. I came here because I wanted a good piece of news about Peggy Ann Snow, I’ve 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 Jesus, 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 close 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 everything 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
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 clubs. Thought of it hard. Then she began thinking about what would happen when it didn’t work—
if
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 time. 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 he 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? Right, 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
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 clubs—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 club club three club three three three three club three club three club three clubthree clubthree clubthree 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.

Corky was out back by the kitchen, bringing in a supply 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.

“
Fräulein
, 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.

“I’ll show you my reviews someday: ‘riotous’—Atkinson,
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, ‘I caught his act on the
Merv Griffin
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 I’m trying to get the place ready for sale and—”

“—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. “Somebody 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.”

“He’s here then?”

“Was. He came in yesterday afternoon not long before 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 husband. Corky asked would I take him to the G. Grossingers.”

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.”

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 failure.’ ”

“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?”

“I 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 rejected 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 embraced 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 dummy, 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 kitchenette 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 conversational
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 first fear was the least of his worries, that after all his daydreams, she wouldn’t measure up, the body only seen before in fantasy wasn’t fifteen and things happened to 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 thereafter, and then there would be that awful colloquy that was really the male national anthem: