Invisible Threads--Chapter 03

Writer's Note: Please read Invisible Threads--Prologue and Chapters 1 and 2 before this.

CHAPTER THREE

Cherie and Gary worked through the night. She had started the marathon session by asking him: "What are you good at?"

"Research."

"Not helping. What else?"

"Nothing else."

"You have to be good at something."

"Nothing."

"What about computer games?"

"They bore me."

"That goes against type."

"Sue me."

"What else does a physicist do besides research?"

"Grant applications."

"What else?"

"Teach."

She stopped. "So, you teach... in a classroom... in front of students?"

"Sometimes. And sometimes online."

"So, you have to prepare a lecture and deliver it."

"Correct. But it's not my favorite part of the job."

"I'm shocked. But what I want you to do is to lecture me about magic..."

The rest of the night had been spent refining the lecture notes.

***

"Who the hell is it?!"

Al Parker as a rule didn't care for profanity and chastised herself whenever she used it. She had chastised herself seven times today.

The conference room door opened just enough for Lacy Birkland's head to slide in "Ms. Parker?"

Al shook her head. "I'm your boss, not your elementary school teacher. Call me Al or even Alyson if you want to be formal. Anything but Ms. Parker. I'm not that much older than you." Or maybe she was. "What is it?"

"You told me to come get you at the end of the break."

Al looked at the large watch which she kept on her wrist. "Damn!" (Make it eight) "I never got anything to eat. What's the next act?"

"Gary Richardson - magician."

Al thought through the videos she had been watching through every break all day. "The loser with no personality?"

Lacy shrugged. She was still getting accustomed to the blunt harshness inherent within the entertainment industry. "Yeah. That's him."

"Lamb to slaughter. Let's hope it's a funny slaughter. Thanks for getting me." Al watched Lacy dart from the room and go running down the hall. Walking was not an option during a taping.

The director made her way up to the booth at the back of the audience, listening to her empty stomach grumbling the entire way. For those working in the cast and crew, the director seemed lofty. She had thought so herself during her climb through the ranks. But after over twenty years in the business, she knew that tight boundaries were dictated to her by executive producers. She was just the biggest fish in the small pond. .

Director was the highest position that was still considered 'talent' by the corporates. She had authority over the baby-faced neophytes with the simple title 'producer'. When they were wandering confusedly around looking for someone to tell them what to do, she was glad to oblige. Take the director's instructions and use the credit card and a lot of gas to make it happen on time. But, once they had actually secured financing for a production, the tables turned. They got the word 'executive' put into their title, and then she was answering to them.

Not surprisingly, when she got to the booth, she found Natalie Thompson waiting. Natalie was the most hands-on of the executive producers and kept a close eye on the production costs.

"The network called."

Above executive producers were the network shills.

Al shook her head. That was never good. "What do they want?"

"They want more special effects acts. They were popular last year."

"Which is exactly why we need to give them something different this year."

"You know they hate different. If something works, stick with it."

Al smiled sardonically. "Until it doesn't and then fire the director."

"Exactly! Now you're catching on. What's the next act? Something good?"

"Nah. Just some buzzer fodder. A magician."

She put on her headset and double-clicked, making two clicks go off in the earpieces of the judges to inform them that she was about to start speaking with them. A moment later a sandwich, a bag of potato chips, and a ginger ale slid into her peripheral vision.

She looked up to see Lacy turning away and heading out the door. She was gone before Al could say 'Thank you'.

***

Exhausted, Cherie she sat far audience right of the theater in the section that Superstar reserved for family members and others that might make for a good reaction shot. There was nothing left for her to do but watch and see if Gary could pull this off.

In the break, as they cleared the confetti and water from the stage, the judges heard Al's voice in their earpieces: "The next act does not have a strong tag or back story. The only notes we have are that he has a unique personality which might give Danny the opportunity for some one-liners."

Brenda Blair was the only one of the four judges that had ever sung on stage. She took a sip from her drink. "Can we just vote thumbs-down now and save having to sit through 90 seconds of whatever it is that our beloved producers think might make for good one-liners?"

"Not an option. You'll just have to tough it out with the rest of us. And he requested that we give you two decks of cards prior to his act. Are they there?"

Bob Standifer had spent his career as an announcer and was best known as a daytime game show emcee. He accepted the playing cards from an intern who had been standing by with them for about a minute. "Got 'em. Playing cards. A magician, then."

"You'll know in a minute."

Backstage, another intern handed Gary a microphone and went through where his mark was on stage. He looked at her and nodded, hearing none of it. The act before him had just finished. They were a quick-change duo. From this angle, he easily saw how the quick changes were occurring.

The stagehand grabbed his elbow. "Step on over to Fisher and get ready. Good luck."

Gary mouthed a thank you and then stepped over to Fisher Tyndall - a former women's basketball player whose agent had managed to get her a gig as host for this show. She was at least six inches taller than Gary. Holding her hand over her ear, she was talking into a microphone. Gary stood quietly next to her and watched the crew sweep and mop the stage.

Fisher looked up from the microphone. "You have your microphone, and you understand about your mark. Anyone here with you?"

"No. I'm alone."

"You nervous?"

"It would be unusual if I weren't."

She laughed, "That is true. But you've rehearsed this and you're ready. So just go out and have some fun."

He shook his head. "I don't do that well."

Her laugh seemed genuine. "Don't worry..." Pause. Finger to ear. "Okay, you're on. Head on out there. Good Luck."

Gary walked out onto the stage to a pattering of applause. He had made it to the X and looked up into the blinding stage lights. Cherie had warned him not to squint. He failed. He could see the silhouettes of the judges. They were seated at a table in front of the stage with a name placard for each: 'Danny', 'Lindsey', 'Brenda', and 'Bob'.

Bob spoke first: "Can you tell us your name, please."

"Gary Richardson."

"And what do you do, Gary?"

"I am a graduate student in Physics."

Danny Michaels, a nightclub stand-up comic who made occasional visits to late night talk shows before landing this gig, interrupted, "I bet that gets you all the babes." The audience laugh was polite.

Bob continued, "Where do you study?"

"The University of Illinois."

Lindsey Connally, who was unknown to the audience after a career as a producer, took her turn. "Do you always dress this way?"

"No, I never dress this way. Ch... My manager told me that I needed to be a self-aware nerd so that people would like me. So, I'm dressing like a nerd from a Hollywood movie."

"How do you normally dress?"

"Like a real nerd."

The audience laughed. It was not a big laugh, but it was enough to demonstrate to the judges that he had established some rapport and provided a possible sound byte.

Bob looked up from some notes on his desk. "What are you going to be doing for us today?"

He tried to remember what Cherie had written. It had been flamboyantly worded. His memory failed him and he ended up answering "Magic."

"The stage is yours."

Gary noted the hush settling over the audience as they waited to see whether they should react joyously or raucously. As taught by Cherie, Gary took a step forward on stage to establish himself as he began to speak.

"As Aristotelian physics begat Newtonian physics which begat Einsteinian physics, we are now on the cusp of a new breakthrough in the way we perceive our physical world. A new physics that has been called through the centuries by the name of 'magic'. What you have traditionally called magic is illusion - created through sleight of hand. For the illusionist to be successful, he must come into physical contact with the object of the illusion. Without that contact, the trick fails. So, to judge the difference between magic and illusion, simply watch for that contact. I asked the producers to provide you with two decks of unopened cards."

Bob held them up. "They're here."

Gary pointed at the cards in Bob's hand. "I have never seen nor touched them before."

Bob looked at them closely, "So stipulated."

"Please open one pack and take any card. You may show it to anyone other than Mr. Michaels. Leave the other box wrapped and unopened."

"Give me just a moment, the cellophane wrapper is a bit tricky. There it goes."

Bob didn't really appear to be struggling with the wrapper. Instead, he was making it clear to the audience that there was a sealed cellophane wrapper.

"Do you have a card?"

"Yes."

"Write something on it. It doesn't matter what."

Bob used a sharpie. "Got it."

"Now, please take the card and hold it between your flat palms like this." He demonstrated.

Bob placed the card on the center of his palm and closed the other palm over it.

Gary turned to the other end of the table, "Now, Mr. Michaels. Could you please hold your hands together as if you're praying?"

"Should I be?" he quipped.

Another polite laugh from the audience.

"That is at your discretion."

The audience laughed more loudly at a joke that Gary did not realize he had made.

He turned back to Bob. "Now, Mr. Standifer, please check that the card is still in your hands."

"It's still there."

"Put them back together. Mr. Michaels, please open your hands."

"What the...!" Danny Michaels pushed back in his chair, exaggerating a startled reaction. The card was clearly stuck to his palm.

"Was that card there before?"

"No."

"What is the card?"

"It's the eight of diamonds."

"Is there anything written on the card?"

"It says Danny is not funny."

The audience was now being entertained and the laughter grew. "That's what I wrote." Bob confirmed

"Mr. Standifer, can you confirm whether the card is still in your hands?"

"No, it is not."

Some of the audience were already beginning to applaud. Cherie had rehearsed him on this. He looked out at the audience and he raised his voice slightly.

"We aren't done yet."

The applause died down.

"Mr. Michaels, could you please tear the card into pieces."

"How many pieces?"

"Indulge yourself."

Gary's deadpan delivery coupled with his costume had the audience thinking he was a comedy act. They laughed again which confused him, but he kept on script.

When Gary saw that Danny had finished tearing up the card, he said his next line, "Now, take the pieces of the card and put them in your hands holding your hands tightly closed."

He turned to Brenda Blair. "Ms. Blair, please put your hands together." He paused a beat. "Now open them again."

Brenda Blair laughed as the card fell from her hands, "I'm not believing this! This is just not possible."

"Please examine the card to make sure it is the same one."

Brenda Blair laid out the pieces on the table before her like a puzzle. "It looks like it but there's a hole in it."

"A hole?" Gary pretended to act perplexed. It had been difficult trying to match the facial expressions and voice tones directed by Cherie. He knew he was not doing it well. "Mr. Michaels, please check your hands."

"One of the pieces of the card is still here."

"Could you please hand that piece to Ms. Connelly? And Ms. Blair, could you please hand the card to Ms. Connelly." Lindsey received both pieces of card.

"Ms. Connelly, does the piece of card match the hole?"

"Yes."

"Now please place the two pieces of the card together in your hands and then reopen them. As quickly as you wish."

She followed instructions and then held the card up. It was whole. "This is incredible!"

The audience began to applaud again but were stopped when Gary raised his voice. "One last thing. Ms. Connelly, please put the card back between your hands, close them, and reopen them."

She followed instructions and then opened her empty hands. "It's gone."

"Mr. Standifer, could you please check the original deck for the eight of diamonds."

Bob thumbed through the deck and, as the audience began to applaud again, a perplexed look appeared on his face. "Wait, there's something not right."

"What's wrong?" Gary asked on script.

"There is an eight of diamonds here but it's not the one I wrote on."

"Oh, then could you please try the other deck?"

Brenda Blair shouted out. "No way!"

Bob looked up at Gary on stage. "Do you mean the unopened one that is still sealed in cellophane?" His voice was incredulous.

Gary could hear gasps in the audience. He knew that was a good thing. "Yes, please."

Bob unwrapped the box, pulled out the cards, and thumbed through it. "I don't believe this."

Brenda Blair shouted again, "No way!"

Bob held up the card clearly showing his handwriting on its face. "Here it is."

The audience knew their cue and stood as one in applause. Brenda Blair also stood. Followed by Danny and Lindsey. Bob remained seated but smiled broadly and looked over his shoulder at the audience's reaction. The applause lasted a full ten seconds.

The judges' comments were positive, albeit redundant and clich When all four of them had taken their turn, Danny Michaels spoke: "I think we're ready to vote."

Bob took over: "Judges, please pass me your votes."

Each judge had two tiles: one with a thumbs up sign and the other with an X. They passed one of them down to Bob who studied them for far longer than it took to count to four. With the suspense built sufficiently, he looked up at Gary and gave the show's tag line.

"Gary... it looks like... you're MOVIN' ON!"

On cue, the crowd went into overdrive.

Cherie had told Gary that he was supposed to show excitement at this point. He brought his hands up next to his ears and put on what he thought was an excited facial expression. The end result looked like the McCauley Culkin mirror scene in Home Alone. But it served the dual purpose of allowing him to cover his ears and shield them from the barrage of noise. When the noise died down, he dropped his hands to his side.

He nodded and said, "Thank you." With that, he left the stage.

In the booth, Al spun in her chair and looked at her assistant. "Lacy, was that the same act from Phase Four?"

Lacy Birkland's mouth was agape. "It's the same guy. But not the same act."

"No shit. I've never seen a turnaround like that before. Go ahead and put him on the B-Roll list." The B-Roll list meant that a film crew would be visiting his home to get background footage.

"Do you want me to find out what happened?"

Al's normal answer would be that she didn't have time, but she was curious. "Yes. Please. Whatever made that happen, keep doing it."

"I'll get right on it."

***

Cherie's mind was still in a sleep-addled fog as she entered the Authorized Personnel Only door to backstage, where she ran into a breathless Lacy.

"I've been waiting for you," the assistant director said.

Cherie's sleepy mind had difficulty with this. "Why? Is something wrong?"

"I don't have much time. Long story short. We want to terminate you as an intern for Superstar so you can focus on 847."

The fog would not lift. "I... what?... huh?"

"I was just talking with the Director. She likes what you did with 847. We're putting him on B-Roll for an interview at his home. Keep working with the guy. If he goes as far as it looks like he might, his success will be one hell of a resum/FONT> builder for you."

Adrenaline is an amazing thing. Cherie was now wide awake. "Where is he?"

Lacy looked over her shoulder. "They're working his final exit shots backstage." Her phone rang and she turned away to answer it. The conversation was over.

Cherie made her way backstage. She saw the cameras and lights first and then spotted Gary looking bewildered. Running over to him, she waited behind the cameraman as they got the shot of him walking to the exit door, waving at the camera, making an effort to smile, and exiting. After the exit, the cameraman said "Got it!" and walked off toward the wings.

Gary's head poked back through the door, "Am I finished?"

"Not by a long shot." Cherie said to get his attention.

When he saw her, the anxiety lifted from his face. Words spewed out: "The stage part that we practiced felt okay. I'm doing everything else wrong. I know you work for the show, but I need your help. Is there any way that you can keep working with me?"

"Sure. Why not?" She said.

***

Jim Harriman's audition had gone well. The judges had been briefed about his mother and asked questions that led him straight to describing her failing health and how he used the money he made on the road to support her.

He had already spoken to her twice during the day: once to tell her he was going through and then a second time to be filmed telling her the same thing again.

Now he was alone and called her a third time. It was late and the phone rang several times before she answered.

Her voice was a little groggy, "Hello?"

"Did you take a sleeping pill?"

"I didn't know you would be calling again. Do they need to film some more?"

"No. I'm back at the hotel. I'm just too wound up to go to sleep."

There was a long pause filled with the soft sigh of his mother's yawn. The part of his show backstory about her worsening health was exaggerated. But she still couldn't sleep at night without sleeping pills due to the various pains she felt throughout her nervous system coupled with the anxiety of having gone to the hospital without insurance and being in the shadow of a mountain of debt.

He went with small talk. "Did you go to work today?"

"Yes. Both jobs. I need this month's rent."

"I can't. Even with the stipend they gave me I had to use it to get down here with my stuff."

"That doesn't keep the electricity on. Mr. Regent from the magic club called and told me that he offered you a full-time job."

"I'm thinking about it."

"He said you turned him down. You could be making a good living doing what you love. How many people can say that?"

"I don't want to be a house magician at a two-bit magic club in a second-rate market! I'm too good for that. I can make it. I know I can."

"What's wrong with making a steady income? He told me what they offered you. You would be able to help more around here. Do you know what it costs to keep this house running?"

"You've told me."

She kept going, "The mortgage is twelve hundred dollars a month. Utilities and internet are another five hundred. Taxes are three hundred a month. Food is six hundred. That totals up to $2,600 per month. Half of that is $1,300. And you pay me $200 in rent. I can't keep going this way!"

"You need to get some sleep." He hung up.

When he had won Superstar and was living his true dream, he would pay off his mother's mortgage and shove it in her whiny mouth.

***

"I'm moving in with you." Cherie spoke as if this was not completely inconceivable.

Gary locked up. "Moving... in... with... me?"

Cherie reached up with her right hand and grabbed his face, intending to pull his head down so she could look directly into his eyes. He jerked reflexively back from her thrashing with his arms to knock her hands away.

"Don't do that!" His scream was child-like.

She stepped back, startled, and spoke slowly, "I'm sorry. Grabbing your face is off-limits, Got it. But here's the deal. You did a lot right on stage, but you did a lot more wrong. If you're going to have a chance at winning this thing, you're going to have to listen to every word I say and do things exactly as I tell you.

"In order to have enough time together for that to happen." She slowed down the cadence of her voice. "I... am going to pack a suitcase... and then drive in my car... from Nashville to Shitsburg, Illinois. And when I get there, I am going to take my suitcase from my car and bring it with me into your house, or apartment, or zoo exhibit or whatever the hell you live in, and I am going to stay with you. And you are going to learn to be an entertainer. And then you are going to win this show."

He processed her statement. She - a woman - was going to live with him! He looked at her again. No, she was not attractive. But she was not really unattractive. If she was going to be living with him, he should at least keep the door open to amorous possibilities. He needed to carefully craft his next statement.

"Uh-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h."

She sighed. "I'll take that to mean I completely understand, Cherie, and I appreciate your turning your life upside down so that I can better my chances in this competition. Now, hand me your phone."

He did.

She touched the screen. "What's your password?"

"I'm not going to tell you that."

She handed the phone back to him. "Type in your password, dumbass."

They saved each other's contact information and then she stuck her phone back into her pocket. "I'll give you a call tomorrow to tell you when I'm coming up. We will work and make you into a headliner. Even if it kills you."

"Thank you. I know that I can't do this without your help."

Cherie looked up into his face. No sarcasm. Her voice softened. "I'll call you tomorrow. Answer it. I'm not spam."

She turned on her heel and strode off. He needed to head in the same direction that she was going so he waited a minute before starting. The conversation was over, and it would be awkward if he overtook her on the way.

***

Lacy Birkland was exhausted. She had spent her day at a dead run and was now sitting in the editing room with Al and one of the editors going over the day's footage.

"Damnit!" Al's voice almost shook the small room that they had filled with computers and cables.

Lacy had almost nodded off. "What?"

"We missed the side angle on that juggling act. We can see his feet, but the knives disappear off the top of the screen. We're going to end up having to show that whole act as a single camera."

Lacy blinked, trying to get her foggy mind into the conversation. "Will it be that bad if we stick in a three second cutaway?"

Al looked back at the screen, pointed, and spoke to the editor, "Run that back again." She nodded. "If we use two cutaways to book-end an audience reaction shot and a judge reaction shot, it'll probably look okay." She turned back to Lacy whose head was starting to droop again.

Al clapped her hands and Lacy jumped. "Wake up, sleepyhead. There will be plenty of time to sleep when we're all six feet under. But for now, we have to OD on caffeine and soldier through."

Lacy stood. "I think I'll get another cup of coffee. You want one?"

Al was back looking at the screen. "Get six. That'll be two for each of us."

Lacy made her way to the craft table and found the coffee urn freshly filled - thank heaven for small favors. Four years earlier, with her freshly minted bachelor's degree in theater from Wynona State University, she had driven from Minnesota to Los Angeles and started submitting head shots and resumes to talent agencies. She had no contacts and just showed up in the entertainment capital of the world with some money her parents had given her and a dream.

After innumerable rejections, she had uploaded her resume to the website of an unknown new show named Superstar. Three on-line interviews later, she had won the opportunity to work for no pay. Her parents had feigned excitement.

But the internship had spawned a second internship and then, in the third year, she had been offered an actual paying job in talent management. And now this year, she had won the job of Assistant Director which required multiple talents - one of which was balancing six styrofoam coffee cups on a cardboard tray and making her way back to the editing room.