Cover art by Erin Halfelven
©2026, SammyC

“Going riding again with Aaron, Lindsey?”

Dad looked up at me from his supine position on the bed nearest the windows, a wide yawn subsiding as he spoke. I hadn’t meant to wake him. He needed all the sleep he could get, as Dr. Rosenberg had advised he should avoid a too strenuous daily schedule, saving his energy for his nightly performances.

“I want him to spill the beans on what’s going on between this Maranzano guy and him—”

“Wouldn’t surprise me to learn he’s got some humungous gambling debts. Aaron’s been known to play the horses, among other things. And he must have lost a small fortune on the Dolphins in the Super Bowl.”

“Elena said she’s going to get in touch with Aaron’s mother in Boca Raton. She’s probably totally unaware of Aaron’s mess.”

“Poor woman,” Dad said, shaking his head. “She and her husband retire to sunny South Florida and within months he has a heart attack. Pffft…he’s a goner. Aaron was always a bad boy.” Dad was silent for a few seconds. “Lindsey, just stay out of things. And stay away from Aaron. He’ll try something…”

“I can take care of myself, Dad. If he loses the Lodge to this guy, we’ll be out of work. And not just for the rest of the summer. You said yourself the Catskills are dying. Even Grossinger’s is starting to fail—”

“It is what it is, Lindsey. Your dad will figure out a way. There’s a lot of opportunities in Vegas. Sherm tells me he can get me bookings in the magic clubs they’ve been opening there.”

There was a knock on the door.

“Did you order room service, Lindsey?”

“No. I was going to let you sleep late and bring you back something after my ride with Aaron.” I opened the door to find Grandma standing there, dressed in a purple velour jumpsuit, sunglasses perched on top of her head.

“Grandma!”

“Who were you expecting? Barbra Streisand?” She sauntered into the room. “I thought you might need a chaperone with that Aaron character. I don’t trust that schmegegge at all.”

“Do you know how to ride, Grandma?”

“Can’t be that hard, mayn eynikl. Now, show me the way to the stables.”

“Remember to bring back a couple of toasted bialys. Tell them to go easy on the onions,” Dad shouted after us as we left the room.

“What’s with grandma over there? Did you ask her to come along?” Aaron whispered to me from atop his horse as we rode side by side on the trail. He avoided turning his head to face grandma who was struggling with her mount to keep up with us, just giving her a sidelong glance.

“I can hear you, you know. I’m old but I have perfect hearing,” Grandma declared as she urged her horse to move faster.

Ignoring her, Aaron resumed his conversation with me. “Not to worry, Lindsey. I’ve got the situation under control. Sal wants everyone to think he’s a tough guy but he’s really a pussycat. He was just being overly dramatic yesterday. I think he was trying to impress the ladies, you know. His hero was Bugsy Siegel.”

“He didn’t sound like a guy putting on an act, Aaron. What about this ‘due date’ he was talking about? And exactly how much do you owe him?”

“I think my horse is a senior citizen,” Grandma said to no one in particular.

“He wants his money in two weeks…or sooner. But I’ve got it covered. Do you know who Joey Allen is?”

“Sure, I’ve seen him on Ed Sullivan.”

“Well, Joey got his start in the Catskills. His first big gig was at The Lodge. My father knew Joey’s father, Rabbi Shmulowitz, from back in the Bronx. He’s passing through on his way back to the city from Buffalo and is dropping by to do a special one-nighter on Friday. It’s an annual thing he does for old-time’s sake. He’ll float me the money, No sweat. I’m practically his godson.”

“If I were Mr. Allen, I wouldn’t want to help you pay off a mobster. Think of the scandal if that got out,” Grandma interjected as her horse surprisingly caught up to us.

“Mrs. Azoff, everyone in showbiz owes something to the Mob,” Aaron sneered.

“Shame on them if they do,” Grandma admonished.

“Have you been in touch with Joey? Does he know you’re in Dutch with this Maranzano guy?”

“No need to, Lindsey. He’ll write a check before I even finish asking. We’re tight. Like family.”

“Does your mother know about this?” I asked.

“Why bother telling her about it? She left the running of the Lodge to me when she and Dad retired. She’s too busy playing canasta with her friends in Boca.” He turned his head to look directly at me, an exasperated expression on his face. “And don’t go getting any ideas about contacting my mother and disturbing her retirement.”

“Too late, you yutz. Mrs. Ross is probably on the phone right now with your mother,” Grandma shouted back at Aaron as her horse started to trot away, unprompted by her.

“How is your father today?” Elena asked as she settled into the chaise lounge next to me by the north end of the pool. She was wearing a modest one-piece blue swimsuit with white piping down the sides. I nodded to her after lifting my sunglasses onto my forehead.

“He’s feeling well today. He’s talking to the stage manager right now about some lighting changes he wanted for the act. Something to do with an added trick that he’s worked out. He says he’ll surprise me at the same time as the audience.”

“Look at you, Lindsey! That bikini looks even better on you today than when you modeled it at the store the day we picked it up.”

“I don’t know how you did it, Elena, but not only am I filling out the top rather well, I’m getting a rounder bottom too.”

“You’re a growing girl, Lindsey. That’s all it is—”

“Hey, Lindsey! Watch this!”

Jeremy was on the springboard at the head of the pool, about to execute the second dive of his practice session. He had already done a basic forward dive, rotating away from the board and finishing with a minimal splash. In my role as Olympic judge, I gave him a 9.5, which drew his fake chagrin. This time, he announced he was executing a reverse dive with a twist, more difficult to finish perfectly in the water with a perpendicular entry. After the splash climaxed his dive, I threw up all ten fingers on both hands and shouted to him, “Perfect score for Jeremy Ross of the United States!”

“He’s such a showoff, that boy,” remarked Elena. “So, Aaron says he’ll get a loan from Joey Allen? “

“He says he’s practically his godson. So when is Aaron’s mother coming?”

“Friday. Just in time to meet up with Joey.”

“Why didn’t she get on a plane like today, this afternoon?”

“She’s in a canasta tournament with a group of other New Yorkers who retired to Boca. Her team’s in third place and gaining, she told me.”

“Doesn’t sound like she’s worried,” I said, puzzled by the carefree attitudes of mother and son.

“Inward dive from a backward press and takeoff, rotating toward the board while moving away. Finishing with a rip entry,” Jeremy announced as he stepped toward the edge of the springboard.

“He’s trying to impress me like I’m a real girl,” I sighed, watching as Jeremy pulled off a perfect rip entry, the splash he made in the water sounding like fabric being smoothly torn.

“But you are, Lindsey. You are,” replied Elena, a wide smile on her face as she reclined in her chaise lounge.

“Ladies and gentlemen, you’ve been a wonderful audience but our allotted time on stage is coming to an end. So, before Bucky Wilentz and his band can serenade you with their musical excellence, I must perform tonight’s final trick. Fellas, if you please. Bring out the Door To The Unknown!”

Dad moved away from the center of the stage as two stagehands wheeled a plain-looking wooden door in from the wings. The men placed it in the center but toward the back and, after Dad nodded to them, they hurried offstage.

“Yes, a door. Like a door you might have in your own house or apartment. But this door leads to The Unknown. I will be transported to another place or dimension. But, don’t worry, I can return through the same door. That is, I think so. I confess this is the first time I’ve done this. And you’re the first audience to witness it. So, Lindsey, open the door please.”

I turned the knob and swung the door open. Instead of the back of the stage, a green valley dotted with maple trees under a canopy of blue sky and puffy clouds gleamed through the doorway. The audience buzzed with hushed amazement.

“See you in a few,” Dad said as he stepped through. I closed the door behind him.

“Are you still with us, Dad?”

His voice seemed to be receding from the room. “It’s kind of dark here. I’m going to keep moving forward, see where this—” Silence. The audience gasped.

I swung open the door and through the doorway, one could see the back of the stage. No sign of the verdant landscape seen just minutes before.

“Dad said it would take a few minutes for him to return. I’ll give it 2 minutes.” I showed the audience a worried expression on my face. “He said it was going to work.”

The seconds ticked away. Finally, I shouted to nowhere in particular, “Dad? Where are you? I’m scared.”

Someone in the audience screamed, “Open the door!”

I rushed to the door and turned the knob. Flinging it open, there was nothing to see. Just the back of the stage.

“I’m going in and find him!” I stepped through, slamming the door behind me.

The audience was stunned as they looked at the empty stage before them, punctuated by the solitary doorframe. There came a loud knocking on the door. It swung open and my father magically appeared.

“Where’s Lindsey?” he asked the audience.

Several voices tried to tell him that I had gone after him through the door.

“Wait! She went in after me? Foolish girl! I barely made it back myself. For a minute there I thought I was lost!”

A loud rapping on the door quieted down the audience and Dad moved quickly to open the door.

“Dad!” I rushed forward out of the doorway and hugged my father. He hugged me back even tighter. We both turned back toward the audience and, smiling, joyously shouted, “Good night, ladies and gentlemen!”

The house lights extinguished and the applause from the crowd was loud and lasting. When the lights came back on, we bowed, our arms linked.

Afterwards, in our dressing room, Jeremy shook his head and asked Dad how the trick was done.

“Simple. It’s magic,” Dad laughed.

“So what’s the mark we earned for that bit of magic, Mr. Judge?” I asked Jeremy.

Out of nowhere, he held up a poster board with “10.0” hand-written in red magic marker on it.

“That’s for the trick and for you, Lindsey,” Jeremy said. I blushed.