Dark Passage

NINE

‘[Houdini’s] most famous escapes, like being locked inside a giant-sized milk can or shoved upside-down into the tall, narrow aquarium of water he called the Chinese Water Torture Cell, were thrilling examples of showmanship… The audience seemed to sense that they were watching something extraordinary, and more than a few have commented on the odd sensation of being in the audience when – those in attendance suddenly remind themselves – something might go wrong.’

Jim Steinmeyer, Hiding the Elephant,

Da Capo, 2004, p. 9

Our dinnertime conversation with David had depressed me more than I could say, reminding me, as it did, of our own family’s journey through despair when our grandson, Timmy, disappeared.

When Ruth and I arrived at the Orpheus Theater, Georgina and Julie were already there. My heart did a little dance when I saw them. From where we stood, ranks of comfortable red plush velvet chairs were arranged in tiered semicircles facing an enormous stage, and Georgina had snagged premium seats in the second row.

‘Good job!’ I said as we eased into the row.

‘They even have little tables for our drinks!’ Julie chirped, setting her glass of something clear and bubbly – Sprite, I presumed – down on the small round table that separated her chair from mine.

A server appeared immediately, so we ordered drinks all around, and settled in.

In spite of what Pia had told me about the comedian, I was looking forward to the performance. I recognized his name from the Comedy Channel – Tony Malone – but with the exception of a short stint on Comic Relief, I’d never seen his act.

At the appointed hour, Malone exploded from the wings onto the stage, literally tackling the standing microphone as he passed.

‘A funny thing happened on my way to the theater…’ He paused, anticipating the groans of the audience, and we didn’t disappoint.

When we quieted down, he continued, ‘You’re not going to believe it, but two vultures got on board my plane, and each was carrying two dead raccoons. The stewardess looks at them and says, “I’m sorry, gentlemen, only one carrion allowed per passenger.”’

I had to laugh, but then, I’m a sucker for puns.

‘Last night I was told that some passengers complained because of my material. Too adult, they said, a little too blue. Holy cow, I said, didn’t they see my act on television? Who were they expecting, Mother Theresa?’ Shading his eyes with a hand, Malone squinted beyond the spotlights and into the audience. ‘So, any children out there tonight?’

Julie squirmed, making herself small in the chair as if hoping she’d not be singled out as a ‘child.’

When I looked around, about a dozen small hands were raised.

‘OK, OK,’ the comedian continued, ‘so this is for the kiddies. What do policemen eat for dessert?’ He paused for a few beats, then shouted, ‘Cop cakes!’

Encouraged by a smattering of pint-sized laughter, he forged on with additional ‘clean’ material. ‘A couple of years ago, I heard this knock at my front door. I open it, right, but nobody there. So I start to close the door, when I spot a snail on the doorstep. I pick up the snail and throw in it the trash. Two years later I hear another knock at the door. Again, nobody there except this damn snail. You know what he says? “So what was that all about?” ’

Beat. Beat. ‘Ba-da-bing!’

A few people laughed, but I suspected most of them didn’t get the joke.

Malone changed tactics. ‘The captain tells me that we have an international group of passengers aboard this cruise, practically a United Nations. Any Americans out there?’

We raised our hands, as did about half the audience.

‘Brits?’ he continued.

Maybe twenty hands shot up.

‘Canadians? Australians?’ He shaded his eyes and peered into the audience. ‘No Australians? Good, so did you hear about the Olympic gold medal winner from Australia? He loved his medal so much he had it bronzed!’

Malone launched into a series of one-liners – ‘How does Moses make his tea? Hebrews it!’ – like an old-fashioned baggy-pants comic.

I was rapidly losing the will to live.

Julie slouched in her chair. Even in the darkened theater, I could see she was pouting. ‘This is so lame,’ she said at last.

‘I quite agree,’ I whispered, ‘but I have it on good authority that the magician will be better.’

She jiggled the straw up and down in her Sprite, then drained the glass noisily. ‘As if.’

By that time, Malone had lost most of the audience. The noise level in the theater gradually rose as people began talking, or making their way to the bar, and Malone had to shout to be heard over them.

‘Did you hear about the dyslexic devil worshiper?’ he yelled. ‘He sold his soul to Santa!’

After ten excruciating minutes where I was wishing – no, praying – for a shepherd’s crook to extend from the wings, hook this clown by the neck and drag him off stage, it was finally over. The curtain rang down, the lights came up, and servers materialized from every corner of the room to take our drink orders.

‘I think I need a double,’ Ruth groaned.

Julie perched on the edge of her chair and turned to her mom. ‘Do I have to stay? They’re showing part two of Breaking Dawn in the outdoor theater tonight.’

‘Haven’t you seen Breaking Dawn numerous times already, Julie?’

‘Well, yeah, but I could look at Robert Pattinson all day… you know? Please, Mom!’

For some reason, Georgina looked at me. ‘Do you think I should let her go up on her own?’

Before I could weigh in with my two cents, Julie quietly erupted. ‘Mother,’ she moaned, ‘I am not a child!’

Georgina patted her daughter’s bare knee. ‘I know you aren’t, sweetheart. Are you sure you know where you’re going?’

Sensing victory, Julie was already on her feet. ‘Of course I do. I’ve been all over this ship.’

Georgina checked her watch. ‘OK, but be sure you’re back in the room by eleven-thirty. And Julie?’ She reached out and grabbed her daughter’s hand, dragging the girl backward. ‘Don’t make me come looking for you.’

Julie bent down and brushed her mother’s cheek lightly with her lips. ‘Thanks, Mom.’

With a casual flip of her apricot hair, she turned and bounced up the aisle.

Georgina melted back into the upholstery. ‘I think I’ll take that refill now.’

I moved into the seat that Julie had vacated and set my empty wine glass down next to Georgina’s. Waving my hand, I caught the attention of a server a couple of rows over. ‘Help is on the way.’

I was in the middle of telling Georgina about our dinner with David Warren when an officer I recognized from the Neptune Club reception strolled out onto the stage – Bradford Gould, the entertainment director. ‘And now, ladies and gentlemen, it is my extreme pleasure to present to you, all the way from Las Vegas, Nee-va-da, the ah-maze-zing Channing!’

From all corners of the theater, spotlights focused, blood red, on the curtain. The theme from Star Wars came blasting from the speakers; the curtain rose to reveal Thomas Channing, dressed in traditional tails, his lapels glittering with sequins.

Channing was older than I had expected – in his late forties or early fifties – and extraordinarily tall, perhaps six foot four. His abundant silver hair was swept straight back and glistened blue in the spotlights.

The music grew softer. On a nearby table sat a large silver ball. Channing draped the ball with a black silk cloth and we watched in amazement as it began to rise. When he held the cloth by the corners, the ball didn’t drop. It began to dance, floating beneath the cloth. Slowly the ball crept up, until it was riding along the edge of the cloth, hypnotically, back and forth, back and forth. It dove under the cloth again, then up, then down as if the ball had a life of its own.

When the ball trick was over, the music changed. I recognized Zimmer’s theme from Batman the Dark Knight. The rapid urgency of the strings, accented by the percussion and low brass, washed over us like an oncoming steam locomotive, indicating that something big was about to happen.

Pia Fanucci drifted out on the stage wearing a pink Chinese gown and carrying a parasol. While she danced with the parasol like a lover, Channing wheeled a tall upright cabinet onto the stage. He opened all the doors, Pia climbed in and, one by one, the little doors were shut over her body.

The Zig-Zag Box.

Pia’s face, her hands and her left foot were clearly visible through openings in the cabinet’s front, and she waggled them just in case anyone in the audience had failed to notice.

As the music surged, Channing inserted two large metallic blades horizontally through the cabinet’s mid-section, presumably dividing Pia – ouch! – into thirds. He then slid the mid-section of the cabinet away from the top and bottom thirds, taking Pia’s mid-section along with it, turning her into a human zig-zag.

I stared hard at the cabinet, trying to shatter the illusion. I was still puzzling over it, watching closely while Pia’s parts were being reassembled, and the wicked-looking blades, one by one, were removed. Then Channing opened the cabinet and Pia stepped out gracefully, completely unscathed. She bowed prettily, then scampered off stage right.

The audience went wild. Spotlights roamed the theater, fog began to curl about the stage, smoky tendrils drifted into the front row of the audience as the familiar strains of Ravel’s Bolero began to weave their spell.

Pia returned pushing a four-legged, wheeled table. On top of the table sat a woven basket about three feet in diameter. She’d done a lightning quick costume change, and was now dressed in a sunshine-yellow harem-girl outfit, complete with ankle bells and matching toque.

Channing tipped the basket toward the audience and ran his hand around the inside, demonstrating that it was completely empty. He took Pia’s hand, holding it while she stepped up on the table and into the basket. Channing passed the lid to Pia, who balanced it on her head, then slowly sank until she was completely hidden inside.

From a nearby table, Channing selected a sabre with a long curved blade, held it overhead by its elaborately decorated handle and brandished the weapon – snick-snick – like a Saracen warrior during the Crusades.

Oooh went the audience as the highly polished blade flashed in the spotlights.

From his pocket, Channing produced an orange, tossed it into the air, and with a single thwack, split it neatly in two.

Aaah!

The music pulsed, throbbed, intensified. The magician inserted the tip of the sabre into one side of the basket, pushed hard on the hilt as if meeting some resistance, then with slightly more effort shoved it through. A second sabre was inserted in the opposite side of the basket, then a third, and a fourth. Only two sabres remained, and they went into the basket from the top as the audience oohed and ahhed over the urgent pounding of the soundtrack.

Placing both hands on the table, Channing spun the basket – one, two, three times around. Finally, with a flourish, he whisked off the lid.

For a moment, nobody moved or dared to breathe. Then, gradually, hands raised above her head, Pia emerged, unfolding slowly, sinuously, like a cobra.

We clapped like crazy, of course. Channing took Pia’s hand and helped her down to the stage. As gracefully as a prima ballerina, Pia spread her arms and bowed, wobbled slightly, put her hands together prayerfully, bowed again, then backed away on tiptoe, like a good little harem girl, still smiling.

Channing returned to the basket and whirled it around again three times. We thought the trick was done, that he’d take the basket and push it off stage. But Channing had another surprise in store. The music made a crescendo, the magician reached inside the basket once again, and pulled out another young woman, this one dressed in a lime-green harem-girl outfit.

I gasped – along with everyone else in the audience. After a split second of stunned silence, the theater erupted into wild applause.

‘Bravo!’ I shouted. I cupped my hands around my mouth and whooped-whooped like a mother at a Little League baseball game.

‘Where the hell did she come from?’ Ruth asked.

Georgina bounced in her seat she was clapping so hard. ‘I didn’t think there was room for one girl in there, let alone two!’

‘They weren’t actually in the basket, silly. There has to be a secret compartment under the basket, or a trap door.’ Sister Ruth, the skeptic.

If there was a trap door, I couldn’t detect it. The basket sat about two feet off the floor on a four-legged table that spun easily on casters. You could see completely under the table, all the way to the magician’s polished shoes and as far as the curtains on the other side.

Channing took each woman by the hand, raised their hands high, and the trio bowed in unison. Smiling broadly, Channing released their hands, indicating with subtle flapping motions that they should return to the basket. When they were in position, one on each side, the two assistants spun the table three times – was a third girl going to materialize? But no, the show was over. Except for wheeling the basket off the stage, their work seemed to be done.

As I watched the girls go, I noticed a dark spot on the leg of Pia’s harem pants. At first I took it for a trick of the stage lights, but then the spot began to grow, spreading quickly from the area of her thigh down to her knee. And was it my imagination, or had Pia begun to limp?

Channing apparently hadn’t noticed anything out of the ordinary because he continued to bow right, left and center, basking in the limelight and the applause.

‘Ruth, Georgina, look!’ I whispered. ‘I think Pia’s been cut!’

Their attention had been focused on the magician, but they turned to look just as Pia and the basket disappeared into the wings. ‘Maybe it’s her period?’ Georgina suggested. ‘God, how embarrassing!’

‘Not on the outside of her leg, it isn’t!’ Ruth pointed out sensibly.

I had visions of a wounded Pia smiling bravely in a show-must-go-on sort of way until she got backstage, then collapsing in a heap of bloody chiffon and gold trim. ‘I hope she’s OK,’ I said.

The second assistant skipped out onto the stage just then, smiling stiffly. Clearly this was not part of the act, because even from where we sat, I noticed Channing’s eyebrows shoot up in annoyance. The girl grabbed his hand and bent at the waist, forcing the magician into another bow. With her head close to his, she whispered in his ear.

Within seconds, the two had vanished. The stage was empty. As we watched, wondering and worrying, the emcee rushed into the whirl of multicolored lights and swirling fog, pressing a microphone to his lips. ‘Ladies and gentleman, wasn’t that spectacular!’ His free hand windmilled. ‘Please put your hands together for the Amazing Channing and his lovely and talented assistants, Pia and Lorelei!’

But Channing and his two lovely and talented assistants had already made their final bow.

Slowly the applause died out, the emcee bid us goodnight, the fog slowly dissipated, the house lights came up, and we were left to stare at a blank curtain. I wouldn’t find out until late the following morning just how talented Channing’s assistants actually were.