Disappearing Nightly (4 page)

“What happened to your assistant?” I countered, squeezing his hand as hard as I could. He winced.

“She vanished, I tell you! I use a simple, old-fashioned prop box for the disappearing act. I put Clarisse inside, and she never came out. The box never left my sight, and there was nowhere for her to go.” He downed half his spritzer in a single gulp. “I tore the thing apart, but she wasn’t inside. Then things got really grim. Little Betsy Broadmore started wailing like the damned, the Biddle-Bond twins physically attacked me, and the nanny kept screaming that I should be sued for reckless endangerment.”

“I see.”

“I just don’t understand what could have happened. Clarisse and I rehearsed that illusion dozens
of times!” He downed the rest of his spritzer and reached for
my
drink.

“Could Clarisse be playing some sort of malicious joke on you?”

“She’s not that clever. Anyhow, Adelaide Mercer’s bridal shower was yesterday, and Clarisse never would have willingly missed that. They’re bitter enemies.”

Overlooking the baffling mores of the upper classes, I asked, “Was she nervous about your first real booking—performing at the Magic Cabaret?”

“No, she was looking forward to it. Planning what to do with her hair and makeup, that sort of thing.”

Still searching for a clue, I said, “You said your father doesn’t know about what’s happened?”

Barclay finished my wine. “He doesn’t even know I still perform. I promised to give it up after I graduated from Yale.”

“What about Clarisse’s family? Surely they’re worried about her?”

“The Stauntons? They’re still in Europe.” He started turning red again. “It’s a big apartment, but they’re bound to notice she’s missing when they get back, don’t you think? What am I going to tell them?”

“That’s a tough question.” I frowned at the table and wondered what logical conclusions could be drawn from any of this.

“Miss Diamond, why is Equity investigating this? I mean, Clarisse Staunton and I aren’t even members.”

I decided to tell him. He could obviously keep a secret, and perhaps his magician’s mind would recognize some common clue in the two cases that had eluded me. He ordered another drink (a Scotch and soda this time) when I told him about Golly, and he looked positively ill by the time I told him about the second message I had received before this morning’s rehearsal.

“What are you going to do?” he asked.

“I’m going to get into the cage tonight. What choice do I have?”

“You mustn’t! You’ll go wherever the other two went!”

“It could be a coincidence,” I said.

“You don’t believe that.”

“I find it a lot harder to believe that the laws of physics have changed since last week.”

“Can’t you talk to Herlihy about this?”

“He’s hysterical,” I said.

“I don’t blame him. You have no idea what it feels like.”

“I can imagine how you feel.”

“No, I mean, what it feels like to make a woman disappear. What it felt like the moment she vanished. Because, you see, I
knew.
Before she failed to reappear, before I tore apart the box looking for her, I knew she had vanished for real. I felt it somehow.” He buried his head in his hands and mumbled, “I don’t know. There must be some kind of atmospheric disturbance or molecular dissolution when they dematerialize.”

“You have been watching
way
too much of the Sci-Fi Channel,” I said, not liking how believable he was making this lunacy sound to me.

“Then how do you explain it?” he shot back.

“I don’t know, but if I work on it long enough, I’ll think of something.”

“How long is ‘long enough’?” He looked at his watch. “You’ve got two hours till show time.”

Dressed in Virtue’s Act One finery, I stared at myself in the dressing room mirror and listened to the intercom as Joe and the chorus performed the opening number. I had about ten minutes, and I was so nervous I couldn’t remember a single line, lyric or piece of blocking.

“Calm down,” I ordered my reflection in a dry, husky voice that would never carry past the first three rows. Nothing eased my tension, not breathing exercises, vocalization, meditation or stretching. Not herbal tea, nor even the feel of Magic Magnus’s protective crystal resting against my skin.

I tried to look at the positive side of things. The vanishing act was almost two hours away. Anything could happen between now and then. Why, Joe was so nervous, he’d probably stab me or set me on fire before I had a chance to get into the crystal cage….

“Oh, that makes me feel so much better,” I told my hollow-eyed, red-cheeked, perspiring reflection. I was afraid I was going to toss my cookies again.

I turned away from the mirror just as a breeze ruffled my hair and made my wispy costume flutter. I looked up at the room’s single window. It was closed, as always. Judging by the intensity of the odors in the women’s dressing room, we figured that the window had been painted shut in Fiorello LaGuardia’s time. I looked over my shoulder. No, the door was closed, too.

“Pssst!”

“Yah!”
I nearly jumped out of my skin.

“Pssst! Over here!”

I looked around the room but saw no one. It was a man’s voice, though. I picked up a blow-dryer and waved it like a weapon. “Where are you?”

“I’m sorry. I’m having trouble materializing.”

“What?”

“If you’ll just be patient…”

“Patient?” I bleated. “Who
is
this? What’s going on?”

A voice behind me said, “Ahhh. There we go.”

I whirled and faced him, my heart pounding so hard it hurt. He had come out of nowhere! “Who are you?” I snarled with false bravado. “How did you get in here?”

“I’m terribly sorry. I didn’t intend to intrude this way,” he said. “I meant to wait for you outside earlier, but I’m running late today.” His voice was soft and scholarly, and he spoke with a slight foreign accent.

“Wait for me? Why do you—?”
I stopped and stared. He was an absurd-looking figure. A small, slightly chubby white man, at least seventy years old, with unkempt white hair and a beard, he wore a fedora and a duster. “It’s you!” I screeched.

“We must talk. You can’t—”

“You!” I shrieked again, beside myself. Finally, here was someone upon whom I could vent my wrath. Surely this was all
his
fault. “Who are you? Why are you after me?”

“After you?” Great, furry, white brows swooped down when he frowned. “I assure you—”

“Writing mysterious notes! Sending me newspaper clippings! Lurking around the theater!”

“Lurking? I never—”

“I’ll have you arrested, you pervert!”

His eyes widened. They were sky blue, as clear and round as a child’s. “Pervert? I think you misunderstand—”

“How did you get in here?” I demanded, pointing the hair dryer at him.

“Now, let’s stay calm,” he urged, backing up.

“Freeze!” My hand tightened on the blow-dryer’s grip. I must have pressed the “on” switch, because it roared and started shooting hot air at the stranger.

“Arrrgh!” He dropped to the floor.

I squealed in surprise and hit him with the thing. His fedora flew off, and he crouched there, clutching his forehead while his long white hair blew around him in a wild torrent.

“Wait!” he cried. “I’m trying to help you!”

“By turning me into a nervous wreck? If I wanted that kind of help, I’d call my mother!”

“Excuse me?” He looked up, squinting against the blast of hot air. “Could you possibly turn that thing off?”

“Huh? Oh. All right,” I said, “but make one false move and you’re dead, pal. I’m obliged to warn you that I’ve got a black belt in kung fu.” I turned off the machine.

“So have I,” he said absently, hauling himself to his feet.

“Oh.” This worried me, since I had been lying.

“Now can we please talk? We have very little time.”

“How did you get past the guard at the stage door?”

“I transmuted and slipped through the wall. Now you must listen—”

“This wall?” I pointed to the foot-thick brick wall.

“Yes. I’m here to tell you that you mustn’t participate—”

“Wait just a goddamn minute. You’re trying to tell me you simply walked through
this
wall?” I thumped it with my fist.

“‘Walk’ would be a misstatement.”

“Oh, God forbid we should have a misstatement here. How would
you
put it?”

He stroked his beard. “Well, in classical terms, it’s generally referred to as transference, although the development of modern psychology has made that phrase a trifle—”

“Okay, buddy, that’s it. I’m calling Lopez.”

“Lopez?”

“The cop investigating—if you can call it that—Golly Gee’s disappearance.”

“No! You mustn’t!”

“Don’t touch me!”

“No police!” he cried, lunging for me.

I screamed and clobbered him with the hair dryer again.

“Ow! God’s teeth, that hurts!”

“God’s teeth?” I blurted. “No one has talked like that since the Restoration dramatists.”

“I’m a very busy man,” he explained. “I find it difficult to keep up with trends.”

“Never mind that. What about Golly? Are you responsible for what happened to her?”

“No, of course not.” He winced and rubbed his forehead. “I’m going to have a considerable lump, you know.”

“Serves you right.”

Over the intercom, the voices of the chorus swelled with the final notes of the opening number. The faint applause sounded like static. Just a couple of minutes left before my entrance.

I knew I should call our sole security guard and have the old man arrested, or at least thrown out of the building. But I had a feeling that this strange person could answer the question that was plaguing me. “What happened to Golly?”

“She vanished, of course.”

The brief silence on the intercom echoed through the room.

“What do you mean, ‘of course’? People don’t just vanish,” I snapped.

“Do you mind if I sit down, Miss Diamond? I’m somewhat fatigued. I find transmutation rather difficult.” He slumped into a chair in front of the mirrors.

“Who are you?” I asked again.

“My name is Maximillian Zadok.”

“M.Z.”

“Yes.”

“What are you doing here?”

He blinked. “Surely that’s obvious. I’ve come to stop you from going onstage tonight.”

I backed away from him. “Did you try to stop Golly, too?”

He shook his head and frowned. “No. I didn’t know she was in any danger. It was her disappearance that alerted me to the Evil among us.”

“There you go again.” I was annoyed. “Evil?”

“Yes!”

I studied him closely. “Look, are you on some kind of medication? Did you maybe forget to take your Thorazine or something?”

“No, no, no! I assure you, I’m quite sane. And frankly, considering the life I’ve led, that’s saying a great deal.” He shot to his feet with surprising speed and seized me by the shoulders. “Plea
se, listen to me, Miss Diamond. I became alarmed as soon as I realized you intended to go onstage in Miss Gee’s place. You must believe me when I say that if you do that, you risk meeting the same fate that she did.”

“What was her fate? Where
is
she?”

He looked a little embarrassed. “I’m afraid I don’t know. Yet.”

My heart was thundering inside Virtue’s dress. My voice was barely a whisper. “Is she dead?”

“Not necessarily.” He was apparently trying to be comforting.

The Prince’s voice crackled over the intercom. “I’m looking for a woman of virtue,” he proclaimed.

My vision swam. “That’s my warning cue. I’m on in a minute. I have to go.”

“No! Please! You must believe me! She really did vanish! And so did the Great Hidalgo’s assistant!”

“I’ve got to go on. I have no choice,” I hissed, trying to get away from him.

He threw his arms around me. I struggled. He tripped me and bore me down to the floor. “Of course you have a choice! Especially considering what they’re paying you!”

I gasped and tried to roll away. “How do you know what they pay me?” I stuck an elbow in his eye.

“Please, we must stop this,” he said frantically. “I deplore violence!” Then he pulled my hair and got me in a half nelson.

“Ow! Stop it! They’re in the m
iddle of a performance. If I don’t go on now, my career will be over! I’ll be lucky to play a cavity in a toothpaste commercial!”

“No! The performance must be stopped. There is great danger here.
Oof,
” he added as I kneed him in the stomach.

“If you don’t let me go, you lunatic, I will prosecute you to the fullest extent—”

“You won’t be in any condition to prosecute! Don’t you understand? Golly Gee and Clarisse Staunton weren’t the end! They’re just the beginning!”

“How do—
oy!
Get off me!”

“No.” He sat on my chest. “Not until you listen to reason.”

“Reason? First you tell me those women really vanished, and now you’re trying to tell me there will be more,” I panted, shoving at him.

“Exactly.”

“Oh, and what makes you think that?” I snarled.

“Because there’s been another.”

I stopped breathing. “What?” I croaked.

He nodded. “Last night. On the Upper West Side.”

“No.” I shook my head. “No, that’s not possible.”

“At the annual gala dinner of the Urban Cowboys Club of Greater New York.”

I felt ill. “Who?”

“Duke Dempsey the Conjuring Cowboy. For the big finale to his act, he put Doll
y the Dancing Cowgirl inside a large, wooden, rhinestone-studded horse for a disappearing illusion.”

“Don’t tell me any more,” I begged.

“And she vanished.”

“W
hat are you doing?” Maximillian Zadok demanded as I lunged for the sink.

“One of the faeries has a bad ankle. She brought this bag of ice to put on it during intermission, in case it starts acting up tonight.” I hauled the ice out of the sink.

“So?”

“So I’m not just going to walk out of the theater in perfect health and destroy my career.”

“Stop that! You’ll make yourself sick,” he exclaimed as I opened the silk bodice of my costume and hugged the ice to my linen-clad chest.

I sat down in a chair and curled my body around the freezing cold bag. “I read that Meryl Streep did this once before shooting a death scene.”

“Zounds!”

“Zounds?” I shook my head. “Anyhow, it worked so well that when they finished shooting the scene, they thought she really was ill.”

“I don’t understand. Why do you—?”

“When I miss my cue, which will be any second now, they’ll come looking for me. If I simply walk out of the theater, Matilda will fire me and turn my name to mud. But if I appear to be sick, she’ll have to let me come back to the show.”

I heard my cue over the intercom and suddenly
did
feel sick. What the hell was I doing?

“This is crazy,” I muttered, starting to shiver. “Keep a lookout for me. Tell me when someone’s coming.”

“How is my presence to be explained?” he asked nervously.

“You’re the doctor I called when I started feeling ill.” That was the part of the performance that worried me. I knew I could play near-dead, but could Zadok fool anyone into believing he wasn’t hopelessly insane?

“But shouldn’t there be an ambulatory vehicle?”

“What?”

“You know. With the red lights and the wailing.”

“An ambulance? No. I’ll regain consciousness slowly and ask you to take me home. You tell them all how dangerously sick I am, and then we’ll leave the theater together. Got that?”

He looked anxious. “But—” Then he flinched. “Someone’s coming!”

“Quick! Put the ice back in the sink.”

I sank to the floor and sprawled across it in a shivering heap. Zadok had just deposited the ice bag in the sink when I heard Matilda’s strident voice in the hallway.

“Where is she? I’ll
kill
her for this. I’ll make her rue the day she applied to drama school! Of all the irresponsible, witless, unprofessional…” Her voice trailed off as she entered the dressing room. Then she must have spotted me. She also spotted Zadok bending over me, about to check my pulse. “Help! Help! Someone’s attacking Esther! Help!
Get him!
”

Things went awry then. Joe, the Prince and the stage manager all came rushing in behind Matilda. The intercom blared with the noise of the chorus singing my introduction over and over, waiting in vain for me to appear. Two of the men jumped on top of Zadok and started beating him to a pulp while he cried, “I’m a doctor! Really! Oxford University! Class of 1678! You may verify it if you don’t believe me!”

“Esther. Esther, are you all right?” Joe cried, shaking me like I was a rag doll.

Matilda slapped me sharply across the face. I’d have paid real money for the chance to hit her back. Instead, I moaned feebly and muttered feverish nonsense.

“My God, she’s freezing!” Joe said. “And wet.”

“She’s also supposed to be onstage right now,” Matilda snapped. She hit me again.

“Darling, stop! She’s unconscious. And very ill. She can’t go on like this.” Joe sounded relieved.

“Doctor,” I moaned.

Zadok pounced. “You see? She’s asking for me.”

“What were you doing to her, you fiend?” The Prince brandished his sword.

“Matilda, I think we should let the doctor have a look at her,” Joe urged.

“Oxford University, did you say?” Matilda asked.

“Yes. Dr. Zadok.” Panting from his fight, Zadok added bashfully, “I distinguished myself in science and theology.”

“Can you get her up and on her feet, Dr. Zadok?”

He knelt beside me. Through my lashes, I could see that he had a split lip. “I doubt it. All her symptoms indicate cryogenic fever.”

“Come again?”

“She’s got to be put in a warm bath right away. I’m prescribing a strong dose of
aqua vitae,
to be followed by a course of
pollo brodo
—I’d say four times a day for a week.”

“A
week?
” Matilda said. “Now wait a minute. She’s got to perform—”

“And I’d advise you all to stand back,” Zadok added. “Her condition is highly contagious.”

Well, it’s amazing how fast that room emptied out. Dismissed from work, I leaned feebly on Zadok as he escorted me through the stage door. I knew there was no such thing as cryogenic fever, but I was curious about his prescription. As soon as we were outside, I asked him what
aqua vitae
and
pollo brodo
were.

“Brandy and chicken soup.” He dabbed at his lip and winced. “What a week I’m having.”

“You did well, Mr. Zadok.”

“It really is Dr. Zadok, you know.”

“Oxford University?”

“Yes, among others. Shall I escort you home?”

“I’m not going home. I’m going with you, to talk to Cowboy Dan.”

“Duke.”

“Whatever. I want to know what’s happening to these women. The sooner we wrap this up, the sooner I can go back to work.”

“But—”

“And if we can resolve this…this thing before another actress has time to learn Virtue’s part—”

“Miss Diamond, you—”

“Call me Esther.”

“Max. How do you do?”

“Max, no one has a greater stake in this mess than I do. I can’t go onstage now, and I very much
want
to go onstage.”

He wrung his hands. “There may be great danger.”

“I live in New York City—don’t tell
me
about danger.”

“I have to do this, but you—”

“Why do you ‘have’ to do this?” I asked.

“Well, it’s my job.”

“I see,” I said, not seeing at all. “Well, if I’m ever going to do
my
job again, it seems
that I must help you with yours. After all, three women have already disappeared, Max. Isn’t that indication enough that you need a little help?”

“Oh dear. Perhaps you’re right.”

“Thank you.” It was so nice to be told, for the first time in this whole affair, that I was right. “Shall we go?”

We took a cab up to the Waldorf-Astoria on Park Avenue. I figured Max must be from out of town—
way
out of town. Aside from his general strangeness, he had to be physically forced into the taxi; then he sat with his eyes closed and a fine sheen of sweat covering his face while he muttered incantations nonstop until we arrived safely at our destination. He was shaking when I paid the driver and helped him out of the cab.

“I could feel the forces of chaos encroaching on my cosmic destiny,” he said in a shaken voice.

“New York cabs take some people that way.”

I saw the doorman give us a doubtful glance as we entered the hotel’s elegant lobby. Max looked peculiar enough, but I was still wearing Virtue’s costume. I might have gotten away with the gaudy, low-cut, fluttering gown and ballet slippers, but the gold stars and fake bird nestled in my hair, not to mention the glitter dusted onto my cheeks, shoulders and chest, probably dented my credibility.

“Do you know what room the Cowboy is in?” I asked Max. I had a shrewd suspicion the desk clerk might not want to tell us.

“Yes. I wrote it down somewhere.” Max started searching through the pockets of his voluminous duster.

“Nice coat,” I said. “Looks genuine.”

“Oh, it is. It was bequeathed to me by a gunfighter.”

“A gunfighter?”

“The bullet hole left by his final encounter wasn’t that difficult to repair, but I did have some trouble getting the blood out of…Ah, here it is!” He waved a piece of paper at me.

“This looks like a shopping list.”

“Oops! So it is.”

While he continued rummaging through his pockets, I looked over the list he had absently handed me. “Licorice, deodorant, honey, oil of roses…” I frowned. “Dare I ask why you need cobalt and zinc?”

“New experiment. Now, where did I put it?” He plucked an assortment of dried leaves and roots out of his breast pocket.

I continued reading. One item stopped me cold. “Dragon’s blood?”

“I’ve been looking for months. I don’t suppose you know a good source?”

“Not offhand. Uh, Max…”

“Oh! Here’s that formula! I thought I’d lost it.” He dropped a sheet of that familiar M.Z. letterhead onto the pile of stuff accumulating at his feet. It was covered with scribbling, strange charts and symbols. The lettering looked vaguely familiar.

“Is that Hebrew?”

“Aramaic.”

“Why do—?”

“Aha! Cowboy Duke’s room number.” He showed it to me.

“It’s on the ninth floor.”

“Nine. That’s a very good number,” he murmured, shoving things back into his pockets. “A trilogy of threes.”

We crossed the lobby and got into an elevator. “I prefer stairs,” Max said uneasily.

“Not nine floors of them.”

A respectable-looking middle-aged couple got into the elevator with us. “Twelve, please,” the man said. I pressed the button.

“Costume party?” the woman asked me.

“Funeral,” I said.

We rode to the ninth floor in silence.

Cowboy Duke Dempsey welcomed us personally into an enormous, plush suite overlooking Park Avenue. East Texas fairly dripped from his tongue. “Well, howdy! Come on in, come right on in, young lady!” If his handshake got any more enthusiastic, my arm would fall off.

“I’m real pleased to meet you!” the Cowboy assured me. “And it sure is a relief to see you again, Maximillian. Come on in, come in and make yourselves at home. That sure is a pretty outfit you’re wearing, young lady. Now just set yourselves down, and Dixie here will get you whatever you need. Dixie, honey?”

“I thought Dixie disappeared,” I said.

“That was Dolly,” Duke explained.

“Oh.”

“This here’s my little girl.”

“How do you do?” I said to Duke’s “little” girl. She was about eighteen years old, tall, buxom and wasp-waisted, with miles of flaxen blond hair, cornflower blue eyes and sun-kissed skin that fairly glowed with good health.

“Ain’t she pretty?”

“Oh, Daddy!” Dixie blushed becomingly.

“Are you in the act, too?” I asked.

“She sure is,” Duke said. “And she ain’t doing that disappearing act until we find out what happened to Dolly.”

“Oh, Daddy!” Dixie said again.

“You
want
to do it?” I asked.

“She’s got show business in her veins,” the Cowboy said proudly. Clearly a love of spectacle ran in Duke’s veins; the sheer drama of his fringe-edged and rhinestone-studded clothes made it clear why my own costume didn’t give him cause to pause.

I looked around the suite. “I can see that show business has been good to you, Duke.”

“Oh, I don’t earn nothing for the act. Magic is my hobby. Clubs, charity events, family gatherings. No, all this—” he gestured carelessly at our palatial surroundings “—is paid for by my business interests.”

“Oil?”

“Condoms.”

“Good investment.”

He grinned. “I got in on the ground floor. Now what’ll you have to drink, young lady?”

Max and I both declined food and drink before settling into comfy chairs and getting down to business. Cowboy Duke and Dixie, it turned out, lived on a vast ranch in Texas but had been staying in New York for the past six weeks. Dixie had finished high school one semester early, and with honors. Since she wouldn’t start college until the fall, she had asked her father if she could come to New York this spring to participate in a prestigious (and expensive) eight-week drama program at one of the leading institutions.

“Of course I agreed,” the Cowboy said. “I can’t refuse her nothing, not since her mama died.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. When was that?”

“Fifteen years ago.” He smiled at Dixie. “Anyhow, there was no way I was gonna let my little girl live all alone in New York City. No, indeedy. I can operate my business interests from here, at least for a couple of months, so I came along with her.”

“How nice.” I suspected that half of Dixie’s motivation for coming to New York had been an understandable desire to escape her father’s watchful eye.

I said to Duke, “So tell me what happened last night.” There had been no point in trying to get a coherent explanation out of Max during the cab ride.

Although the Cowboy was too much of a gent
leman to say so, especially in front of his daughter, it became pretty clear that Dolly the Dancing Cowgirl was his mistress. She and Dixie had been performing with him for several years, ever since a chance meeting with David Copperfield had gotten him interested in magic. Apparently, Copperfield had managed to make the Cowboy’s whole house disappear on one occasion.

A relative newcomer to the art of magic and illusion, Duke (like Barclay Preston-Cole III) had the drive, money and time to acquire knowledge and props faster than he acquired skill.

“But it’s just a hobby, after all. I’m really a businessman and a rancher,” he said somewhat wistfully.

“Oh, but you’ve been doing real well, Daddy,” Dixie said encouragingly. She seemed like a sweet girl. “You should see how much the act has improved, Miss Diamond. I’ll bet Daddy could give up condoms and be a professional.”

Duke blushed. “Oh, pshaw!”

I’d never actually heard anyone say that before. “So the Urban Cowboys Club invited you to perform at their annual gala?” I prodded.

“That’s right. I flew Dolly up from Texas for the occasion.” He shook his head sadly. “I sure do blame myself for what’s happened.”

“Oh, Daddy!” Dixie took his hand.

Like Joe and Barclay, he had put his assistant into a vanishing box (in this case, a large, complex and extremely expensive hollow horse decorated
with—what else?—fringe and rhinestones) that they had used many times in the past. Dolly had disappeared right on cue. And Duke, somehow sensing that she had
really
disappeared, tore that horse apart backstage, looking for her.