The Magician

            They called him Jimmy the Magician because he could blow a lick from his sax, playing two notes at once, sustaining it for a whole chorus. He worked in downtown Richmond, miles from his native Philadelphia, yet close to the heart of transplanted jazz and blues. Most people had come out to California to work in the shipyards during the war, finding themselves in a hot pot of juke joints and jazz clubs, but Jimmy had come a decade later, purposely for the strains that emanated in the late nights and early mornings from the corners of downtown. Each night, after his work in the eight-piece band at the Highlight strip club, he would saunter a few doors down in his pin stripes to the Eagle or Dotha’s to join in, and end up staying for hours. MacDonald Avenue was the place.

At the Highlight he was known as reliable and friendly, tight curls circling his large, cheerful face with red cheeks, and the girls liked to tease him. But what they didn’t know—the wide-lapeled manager of the club who hired him seven years ago and the tall loud girls who paraded in front of his music stand every night—was that he could play the sax like a harmonica, with many tones at once.
            He thought he would be famous one day for his special technique, which he had learned when he was a kid in high school hanging out in the clubs when his parents thought he was at Aunt Charlotte’s. One night he saw a flutist play like he was from another planet. The guy had extended the head joint so he could slide it back and forth, changing the range of pitch—he could play higher and lower than other players. But the guy also played harmonics. And now that Jimmy had turned the technique into magic, he couldn’t help thinking about his father, who was cold under the ground, and his mother, who didn’t even know he played at the strip club, thinking instead that he was part of the regular music scene. For all she knew Jimmy was slinging hash to support his jazz habit, her baby Jimmy, the middle of five kids from a small town in Philly, working on a dime. But he didn’t have the heart to break his mother’s dream. His dream. He often thought of her during a performance, as a watchful eye of his knowing past. But some things could not be helped, like his friendliness with the girls after hours.

            How had Jimmy found himself in a strippers’ changing room in a dive off MacDonald Avenue, where the lights on the marquee flickered because they didn’t have enough money to pay the electric bill? He had to use the same changing room as the girls because the place didn’t have enough space for a separate room. The girls told the guys they could share, and he and some of the unmarrieds used the room to change their shirts and trousers after they had sweated them through. Every night, women in various stages of undress filled the room as he took his instrument out of its case. One by one, they came filing in. Often, he pretended to fiddle with one of the keys while they undressed from their layers of skirts, blouses, and nylons, to put on not much more than pasties over their nipples and little coverings for their crotches. Helga the Swede made her own, what she called “merkins,” and each one had a different face. One night she would wear the Groucho Marx one, with stitching making a mouth, cigar, and eyebrows, and another had a horse’s face with a laughing mouth. Over these items came the costume of the evening, depending on what show they were performing, for each had a theme.

After a long night, which he followed with the blues and jazz clubs, Jimmy would crawl into bed at four in the morning, often with one of the girls, and by the time he rose, took a shower, and got some grub at the corner diner, he had little time to do anything else. He wondered, was keeping time with girls after hours keeping him from aspiring to the serious life of jazz, or just bad luck?

            Jimmy had seen all the shows many times—he had seen “Fireflies” and “Spring,” as well as “Oriental Fantasy,” but one night it all changed. He sat down in the band pit as the curtain rose and played a low G, the introductory note, before the manager came out to announce the theme for the evening.

            “Ladies and gentlemen, I present our new show this evening, for the first time, with our new star, Miss Ida Bergman—‘Swans.’”

            The manager always said “ladies and gentlemen,” though there were only a few men who brought their girlfriends, and no wives came.

            Jimmy’s mother had taken him to the ballet when he was a kid before he beat a hot path to jazz, yet playing the overture from “Swan Lake” to a room full of mostly soused men seemed more funny than the tragic mood the ballet warranted. The grimaces of the men in the first row showed that they had been dragged to the ballet by their own mothers, Jimmy thought, but their mouths cracked to smiles as soon as the line of girls twirled out. You couldn’t call them pirouettes really, not that he was any judge, but it was beautiful, more beautiful than anything Jimmy had ever seen, sequins crowning the effect, more elegant than the usual cheap shiny costumes. He recognized each one through the white feathers and sheen of dark blue, the stage lights caressing each form into a real swan, wings slowly beating, sailing, weaving among the others, until he could not separate the individual shapes and it was all a deep blue blur.
            After all the girls had filed in, moving in circles, the head swan entered the room. “Ah’s” came from the crowd now. Looking up, Jimmy missed a few notes of an arpeggio which usually would have been effortless, and found himself hanging off a high F, until Mike the trumpet player hit him on the knee with his mute.

            The star, Ida, was new to the club. Her face, as she danced—or was it floated—to the front of the stage, was a small pale thing with two round pink circles for cheeks. She looked like a clown in a circus, a girl inside a girl, her white skirts shimmering under the heavy white lights. He almost thought she met his gaze as she went by, the orange-colored hair incongruous to her slender paleness.

            After half an hour when the curtain went down, his clothes were wet through with sweat from the hot stage lights. He made his way back to the changing room past the new girl.

            “Are you new?” he asked her. But he already sensed the answer. The manager had announced her as the star and he had spent time with most of the girls and this one hadn’t graced his small room.

            She nodded wordlessly, not meeting his gaze as she mopped off the heavy makeup from her face with a cotton ball. Her wings lay on the chair behind her, yet she appeared nonetheless swan-like, her shoulders proud, her whole being composed, still in the role.

            “Oh, Jimmy, leave her alone,” Mavis joked, rolling off her nylons slowly into the palm of her hand, red hair toppling over her face. “Can’t you see she’s got the heebie jeebies!”

            The long, narrow changing room—cluttered with chairs and lined with a continuous counter on either side and mirrored walls—felt like the side of his mouth after playing for a couple of shows, clammy and airless. But he didn’t mind. He removed his shirt, fanning himself with it, and the girls started whistling. Then he pulled at his undershirt, which clung to his skin.

            “Take it off,” said Ethel, smiling so she revealed her missing teeth. “We’ll wash it for you.”

            They loved to tease him and meant no harm, and it was the closest thing he had to family these days since his wife had left him years ago.

            “Jimmy, this is our changing room, get yourself another,” said Dorothy, hand on her hip, her dress half on, half off. “Hey, Ethel, give me a hand with this zipper.”

            He could dish it back. “Oh, pipe down now, I’m about as hot as a man can stand, and I’ve got much more clothes on than you. I can’t help it if they won’t give us our own room.”

            Dorothy came forward out of the restless but limp pack, pulling her full arms around his slim waist. He had kept in shape for just these moments, punching a bag at Mooches’ a couple days a week, and he walked the many blocks from his place to the club every night, his sax strapped to his back. Yes, her long arms fit around him nicely, though she was a few inches taller.

            “Ooo,” she cooed. “Aren’t we special. What do you need your own room for, when you’ve got us? It’s just like being back at your place, huh?” She took her arms away suddenly and twirled around, cackling loudly away from him, towards the other girls. It sounded like chalk across a blackboard. The rest giggled.

            Mike, the trumpet player, came through and patted Jimmy on the back. “You’re sure you don’t want to come? Beth would be happy to put another plate on the table.”

            “No, I’m okay—I’m heading to the session around the corner anyhow.”

            “Well then, I’ll be getting along.” Mike didn’t sweat as much as Jimmy and never used the changing room except to pass through on his way out to the stage door.

A few of the girls floated over to Mike, littering his cheeks with blood red kisses, which he immediately wiped off with his white handkerchief. “Thanks, the missus’ll love that.”

Jimmy didn’t want pity, but he did enjoy going home with Mike now and again, to an apartment filled with womanly things. Jimmy’s own apartment only had two rooms and he had no table to eat at, always sitting on the big old couch, a leftover from his marriage, the one thing he kept when he told her to take it all. After all, he had spent enough nights on it that last year.

            “Dot,” he said, “you really shouldn’t cause him grief—he’s lucky to have her, you know.”

            “Oh, we don’t mean embarrassment or anything,” she said in a softer voice, looking down now, unsure of herself. She sidled up to Jimmy again. “It’s just that he takes it so well.” She burst into a smile again.

            “Silly Dot, I love ya’.” He squeezed her against him and gave her a peck on the lips before releasing her, her body twirling back to her chair at the long mirrors.

            Then the girls turned, like dominos falling aside, as the new girl emerged from the back. She had changed from her costume into a soft white dress suit and fluffy white coat, and her light brown hair, hidden before with the red wig, fell against her shoulders like long grass, swaying. A pair of clear framed glasses surrounded her pale blue eyes. She had tied a bright green scarf on her neck as she approached the front, so Jimmy could just make out her freckles under a layer of powder, a reminder of the girlhood she gave up and whatever small town she must have left to come to Richmond—it was all written on her upturned face in a mixture of soft and hard lines.

            Dorothy was still on the same note as before. “Come now—don’cha think his wife is used to it by now, every night—”

            The new girl cut her off. “I think it’s high time you act like women instead of tramps.” She put one hand on her hip, the other holding her pocket book close to her other hip. Her teeth were clenched like an animal of prey, and the cheeks that had been drawn on before as round circles now had a natural color of their own—the red of embarrassment. She walked up to Dorothy with small but firm steps. Her head came up to Dorothy’s shoulders.

            Dorothy headed her off. “Big woman ‘round town, huh? Well, Miss—what do you call yourself—Ida. You better settle in before the lights fall down on you—ungrateful—we’re lucky to have a good place to work, and you start thinking you’re any better than us just because you were hired from outside. I used to do the big roles around here.” She boiled, her cheeks puffing out and her eyes getting redder by the second.

            “Now, now, steady on,” Jimmy put his arm around Dorothy. “We don’t want a rift.” He patted her behind, which she always seemed to appreciate.

Dorothy cackled loudly, before pushing the new girl to one side, causing her to trip and land against one of the chairs. “Run along missy, and we’ll see you tomorrow, if you come back.”

“She doesn’t know which way is the entrance or the exit—look, she’s trying to get out,” called Ethel.

“Not surprising, with those glasses,” said Dorothy.

“Oh, look what you’ve done,” signed Jimmy. “Why do you always have to push the new girls around?”

And that was the end of the hubub. They had all started giggling again and no one could stop them. The room shuddered with the force of it as the new girl stumbled out. Jimmy threw his shirt over his back, buttoning it as he could, and grabbed his jacket and his sax, threading through the back stage to the street.

He saw her turning the corner just in time and picked up speed. A few drops came down and he hoped it wouldn’t pour because he hadn’t brought his tight case and had no umbrella.

As Jimmy hit the corner he had to stop, for the girl, Ida, stood just a little way ahead, under a street lamp outside Woolworth’s. Maybe she was waiting for someone. He hadn’t decided what he was going to do or what he would say if he caught up with her. She stood out among the gray and black shadows surrounding the street lights. It was two in the morning and the usual high-spirited crowd was out, stopping into the clubs for a little music and drinking it up. She positively glowed under the lamp in her white outfit.

Jimmy slowly walked up to the girl, still standing under the street lamp, taking long drags on a cigarette—slowly lest she run away from him after her experience in the dressing room. Steam came from her nostrils and smoke from her lips, her pink lips, curled in a sad smile.

“Penny for your thoughts.”

“How original—I would expect more from a sax player. My father was the one who used to say…” But then her voice became inaudible.

“What was that? Shall we? There is a diner around the corner. We can have a bite?”

She looked up at him, her bottom lip pouty. “Why should I go with you?”

“Look, I’m sorry the girls treated you that way,” he offered.

“I don’t usually hang around musicians. Everyone knows…”

“All that stuff is untrue. I may seem one way, but I’m not like that,” he said.

“If you have to say it—”

He was blowing it royally. “Please. I would be honored if you would join me for a cuppa coffee.” He extended his arm.

“Very well. But don’t try anything.” And she allowed him to take her arm and they walked around to Al’s.

The glowing red neon sign was always a promise of some hot food and who knew what else, for Jimmy always seemed to meet people there—musicians that popped into town for the weekend or women who didn’t strip for a living—not that they were any better than the girls of the Highlight when it came down to it. Tonight, on the other hand, he would give all his attentions to Ida.

As they slid into the dark red booth, she began. “It happens every time. I can’t work in legit theaters and the whores treat me like that.”

“They’re not whores. You act like you’ve worked in a place like that too.”

She didn’t argue with him. Putting a fresh cigarette to her lips, she pursed them to hold it tight. She squinted her eyes and stared at a spot on the table before removing her glasses and folding them up and setting them carefully on the red mottled surface of the table.

“The girls don’t mean any harm really. It’s just a living,” Jimmy said. “For me, too—I didn’t expect to be there at the Highlight after a few months, and now it’s seven years.”

“Yes, but what you don’t realize—I know these women,” she said.

“And how are you not one of these women?” he asked her.

“Don’t start with me. My father used one, like Dortha there, tall, with a big mouth. She was his assistant.” She pushed her hair out of her eyes but it feel back against her face. Then she took a long drag and gazed out the large window out to the street before continuing. “Did you ever hear of Bergman the Magician?”

He hadn’t heard that name since he was a kid. “No, your father, really? The guy was famous. He had a great act. We saw him in Atlantic City, when we visited our cousins. He made a woman disappear. She stood in a tall box, all tied up with rope, then he closed it, and that was it! I was old enough to know he couldn’t really do it, but it was great, just great.”

Out the large picture window, he saw the moon emerge from behind some clouds before going back into hiding.

He said, “You know, they call me the Magician too.”

“Interesting… Well, that’s what I grew up with. From there to dance school, and now this.”

“I didn’t plan on it either—look at me. You would think I belonged there.”

Again, she pushed her hair off her face, and this time held it there with her hand, elbow on the table. Removing her gaze from the table, she looked up at him, no longer squinting, her eyebrows sliding back into their natural positions. “Look here, Jimmy, we don’t know each other. Even if you did see my father when you were a kid. You know where I was then? In a tiny apartment miles away. I only saw my father’s act three times.

He could hear Atlantic city in her voice now, an unmistakable twinge hidden in a layer of Manhattan overtones.

“I’m sure people thought he was pretty terrific,” she said emphatically.

Her hair had become a mess in front from the tireless way she kept pushing it off her face. His mother had no idea about the women he spent time with.

She blew the smoke in his direction. “Nothing to say, eh?”

“No, I shouldn’t be here myself, but I can’t make it in the big bands, what’s left of them.” Jimmy said.

“How come men only talk about themselves?” she said.

“I was—I asked about you.”

“Where is that waitress. I haven’t eaten since I don’t know when.”

It must have been true. She looked paler by the minute. Jimmy snapped his fingers at the woman standing at the counter, who in turn, nodded her head up and down, but to no effect.

Ida said, “I thought there were a lot of big bands out here still. I see the names on the marquees.”

“Well… if you want to know. There’s Don Ellis—he played with Glenn Miller, Chico Hamilton, Woody Herman gets around… and the combos, we’ve got tons of that here, but I can’t seem to get in solid with any of them. They make a big deal about my sound but they move on without calling me. Then, with the blues, there’s a great piano player right now at Dotha’s, but he told me he’s moving on soon. One day he’ll be there and the next day some other guy will be sitting there playing the blues. The other night this woman, thin black woman, Lady Bianca, ripped right through me with those raunchy lyrics…”

“Come now, I’m sure you’ll go soon enough,” she said.

“Thanks,” he said.

“I should be other places too,” she said. “I studied at the conservatory, in New York—I wanted to be a ballerina.” Her chin raised a little higher and she looked like a queen now, commanding a country.

A woman with a stroller came into the diner, passed their booth, the baby screaming. Patrons turned their heads and made cringing faces, diagonal open mouths. The shiny gold-colored paint on the walls seemed to vibrate, the overhead lights shake.

The waitress came by in a crisp orange short skirt, pen and pad in hand, her hair tall to the ceiling with hairspray. “What will you have, folks?” She looked towards Ida.

Ida could only stare and raise her arm, pointing it towards the mother and baby, and shaking, her eyes blinking, as if the waitress was invisible. Jimmy reached over, surprised that Ida’s arm was stone cold, her face more pale than before, her lips white. He got up and reached his arm around her and she felt thinner than he imagined.

Her voice trembled. “See there—look—that would have been me if I hadn’t gone through with it.” She spoke to no one, as if thinking aloud, her eyes searching the distance.

The waitress shrugged her shoulders. “I’ll come back when you’re ready.”

Jimmy took the cigarette out of her hand and placed it in the holder. Her hand in his felt colder. The whole place seemed to shake, as if an earthquake had struck, something he hadn’t experienced yet. He could feel his face turning red and Ida seemed to be losing life, as she continued to become colder.

“Someone call an ambulance!” he yelled.

He frantically looked around, but no one was paying any attention to him or Ida. The couple in the next booth ate their burgers, the waitress stood at a table nearby calmly taking a pencil from behind her ear to write an order. No one seemed to notice them and it didn’t make any sense.

Ida awoke from her state and fixed her eyes on the waitress, who had reappeared. Recovered from her transformation, she was able to  speak in a perfectly calm way. “Grilled cheese and tomato and black coffee. Please.”

Jimmy stood still, frozen.

“Jimmy, have a seat and order,” Ida said, as if she were normal now.

Jimmy slid back onto his seat. He didn’t know how he could talk but he did. “Ham and eggs and coffee, black.” He gulped and gave his menu to the waitress, who took it while staring at Ida before swishing off.

He placed his hand on Ida’s, waiting. But she didn’t say anything and he didn’t press her, reading her swirling delicate blue eyes as they turned darker. They sat in silence while they ate their meal, occasionally their eyes meeting.

Finishing her breakfast, Ida took out another cigarette and lit it, turning her head to one side. She spoke softly. “Look. I know you think I’m pretty strange.”

Setting his coffee cup down, he said, “Oh, I don’t know what to think. First you’re here, then you disappear on me. I though you were gone, but gone where? I don’t know.”

“I don’t want you to think—” she said.

“I don’t know what to think.” His face felt hot again and he pressed the water glass to his forehead. “But I can’t stand much more of this mystery.”

“I’m sorry.” She started to cry for the first time, blue tears falling down her cheeks, giving her face a pink hue.

“What I was going to say was, first you’re dead cold. Now there’s color back in your cheeks like there wasn’t back at the theater. I don’t know what to think,” he said.

“I don’t have much to tell you. I’m sorry,” she said. “Maybe we should go. I’ve gotta get going tomorrow.” She started to rise from her seat but paused. “You know, I’m not coming back.”

“You mean you’re going to let those girls run you off?” He couldn’t believe she would let them have their way when he knew if she hung in there they would accept her within a week. He had seen it happen again and again.

He got up and put her coat around her shoulders. She let it swing stiffly against her sides as she swished out of the diner ahead of him.

They halted outside a moment.

“Hold on,” he told her as they made their way to the curb. Jimmy didn’t want to leave her all alone after what had happened.

He walked ahead to hail a cab. A few drops started down. A Yellow whizzed up and he turned around, but she was gone. He ran one way and then the other, down the street, scanning around the corners of the long block. He ran back as far downtown as Woolworth’s and stopped at the lamp she had stood under, which was now vacant of life. Nothing. Breathless, he slumped down onto the bench at the bus stop. Pink edged the horizon. It was late, it was early. Why had she shared her secret with him, and where had she gone so suddenly? He was moving in the opposite direction from his place. Drops started again and Jimmy pulled his jacket around his horn. He got up and raised his arm and a cab lurched out from nowhere.

“Thanks, Mac, East 23^rd and Barrett.”

He was thrown back as the car peeled from the curb and then thrown forward again as they came to a stop light. When they took off again, Jimmy brushed the drops from his jacket. Not many. His hand brushed against something at his lapel pocket and he looked down. A piece cloth stuck out from the pinstripes and he pulled it out. Had something of the girl’s torn off? The small piece felt soft even with his calluses, but he couldn’t make out what it was in the dark.

“Hey Mac, can you flick the light on for a sec?”

The driver turned on the interior light, glaring back at Jimmy through the rear view mirror.

Jimmy looked down at the piece. He smoothed it between his fingers slowly, tears coming to his eyes, then welling up in the corners before falling over his cheeks. It was a piece of white fluff from her coat. He didn’t know why he was crying. He wondered why should he care about the girl, but couldn’t help wondering where the she had gone in the dark morning, leaving him at the curb. Would she come back to the club tonight, even though she had threatened to leave? He continued smoothing the piece for a few minutes before gingerly putting it back in his lapel pocket and faced out the window, long streaks of rain making it impossible to see anything but a shiny darkness on the streets.