Cover art by Erin Halfelven
©2026 SammyC

It was a little after 1PM on Sunday and Dad and I were eating our lunch in the deserted Supper Club. We had just finished running through Dad’s magic act for the third time. Seated at one of the 4-top round tables, we were noshing on the sandwiches Dad had sent me to the Lodge’s kitchen to bring back. The kitchen staff were, of course, familiar with Dad, who has performed here ten summers in a row. They quickly and eagerly made up our sandwiches and threw in a small carafe of coffee for Dad and a bottle of soda pop for me.

I had forgotten to put my robe on over my costume. As I walked through the hallway leading to the kitchen, several people, especially men of all ages, openly stared at my skimpy bustier (or is it corset or basque? Search me…no, don’t do that!) and my stockinged legs, long stems emerging from a very short flounce skirt. My occasional grimace was not in response to their ogling but the itching caused by the rolled-up athletic socks I used to stuff the bra underneath my bustier. I tried to run back to the Club with our lunch packed into a plain brown paper sack but only added to the spectacle as I verged on tumbling headlong into a closed door in my too tight black high heels.

“The best liverwurst on rye I’ve had since I went to Katz’s Deli the last time I was in New York—”

“I can’t believe you like that stuff, Daddy. Anyway, it isn’t kosher, is it?”

“Kosher? Who keeps kosher? Besides, we Azoffs come from Germany where liverwurst is king! When in Rome, right, kiddo?”

“Grandma won’t let me near anything resembling meat from a pig. She wouldn’t let me go to MacDonalds because she thought hamburgers were really HAM-burgers.”

“Mother’s side of the family are Orthodox. I never tasted bacon until I went to NYU. How’s your pastrami on rye, honey?”

“Good. Say, Dad, I bumped into Jeremy and his grandmother on the way back from the kitchen—”

“I bet you gave that boy an eyeful.”

“I could’ve died, I was so embarrassed. Everybody was staring at me. Men were leering at me!”

“Was Jeremy leering at you too?”

“No, Daddy! He actually saved me from crashing into the door to the Club. It’s these heels. I was running or trying to. He’s very strong but gentle at the same time. Fortunately he caught me around the waist and not my more ‘sensitive’ parts…”

“Maybe it’s best you don’t mingle with Jeremy and his grandmother too much. You don’t want him liking you in that way. He’d be very disappointed…and very angry.”

“I’m not aiming to be his girlfriend, Dad. You said yourself I should make friends my own age while we’re here—”

“He’s a teenage boy. He thinks you’re a girl. This could go badly…for both of you.”

“Don’t worry so much. Look, they made me promise to bring you along for dinner tonight. Elena is looking forward to meeting you. I kind of owe them that much for saving me from a broken skull…”

“Alright, kiddo, but as soon as dinner is over, we’re going back up to our room. I’m still slightly under the weather from this summer cold and some extra sleep might be the best medicine.”

Bucky Wilentz and his three bandmates came straggling into the Club as Dad and I ran through the act for the fourth time that day. Bucky signaled to us that they were willing to let us finish before going through their own rehearsal. The quartet of musicians scattered themselves around the room, sitting at separate tables, and proceeded to chain smoke during our run-through. All except the guitarist, still cradling his instrument, who kept a steady gaze on my movements on stage. It creeped me out and I think I must have made a face at him at one point because he suddenly donned a pair of Foster-Grant sunglasses. He was still staring though.

Dad moved to the segment of the act where he demonstrated his clairvoyant abilities. After I tied a snug black blindfold on him, he would try to identify objects held aloft by patrons in the audience. Of course, Dad wasn’t clairvoyant. I don’t think he even knew what ESP stood for. The secret was my participation in the process as the assistant who would seek out volunteers from the audience and stand by them as they brandished whatever items they chose to fish out of their pockets. Years of experience had taught Dad that there was only a finite number of things people could carry around with them on their person. Including guns and knives! My job was to memorize the codewords or phrases that would identify the object to my father. All delivered in a giggly fashion so that it wouldn’t seem like I was providing him with obvious hints.

In our morning run-throughs, either the stage manager or one of the porters would stand in for an audience member when we’d rehearse this segment. Feeling a bit annoyed at the guitarist for his lascivious attention, I walked over to his table to draft him into participating in our rehearsal. He nervously stood up, cradling the guitar in his arms, and alternated looking at me next to him and Dad on stage.

“Sir, may I have your name? First name only, please. Legal precautions. You understand,” joked my father.

“Vince…uh…Vincent.”

“Now, please produce from your person a random object and hold it aloft so that the rest of the audience can see what it is. I, of course, cannot see it. But, using my powers of ESP, an image of it will form in my mind and I will correctly identify it.”

Vince started rummaging through his pockets. It took a while since he used only one hand, the other always holding on to his guitar.

I whispered to him, “Maybe you should put the guitar down. Use both hands?”

“Well, well. This is Jack Ace! Master magician. You know, I’ve seen you perform every summer here for, what, a decade, and this is the first time we’ve actually met, let alone broken bread together,” Elena said from her seat at her customary table as Dad leaned down to shake her hand.

Jeremy pulled out a chair for me to sit down. I thanked him and smiled at Elena.

“Your daughter is so charming, Jack. If I recall correctly, she’s the spitting image of her beautiful mother. I’m so sorry to hear about your loss. But I see the family business continues undaunted.”

“I’m really just temporary…for the summer.”

“Yes, Lindsey was dutiful enough to replace the assistant I’d hired this Spring. She had some sort of family emergency and had to quit. I’m so lucky that Lindsey offered to take over as my assistant. Believe me, I had no illusions that she’d want to get mixed up in her father’s career, such as it is.”

We ordered the special of the day: Roast Vermont Turkey with Cranberry Sauce, beginning with the fruit of the day, Chilled California Melon, followed by Egg Barley Consommé, an entrée of Chili Con Carne, the main course, and ending with a selection from the dessert tray. Washed down with iced tea.

“So, Lindsey, if not following in your father’s footsteps, what are your career plans?” Elena asked.

“I’m not sure, really.”

“Well, you look great in your costume, Lindsey,” interjected Jeremy. “You’d make an awesome showgirl. Like The Golddiggers on The Dean Martin Show.”

“I can’t sing, let alone dance. All I do in Daddy’s act is point at things and smile a lot.”

“Jeremy, do you think that’s all pretty girls like Lindsey aspire to? Wearing skimpy costumes and having men ogle them? No offense, Jack. I know your magic act is suitable for family audiences.”

“Are you planning to go to college?” Jeremy asked.

“Grandma wants me to go to Yeshiva and become a rabbi—”

Jeremy spluttered his tea into his napkin. Elena looked puzzled. Dad bowed his head, thinking the jig was up.

“Your grandmother either has a crazy sense of humor or is a Reform Jew,” stated Elena.

“Yeah, she’s a regular comedian. She’s loads of laughs at Temple. Seriously, her side of the family is Orthodox,” Dad explained.

Elena took my hand across the table. “Personally, I have nothing against the idea of women rabbis. I’m a Conservative Jew myself. We don’t see male gender as a necessary qualification for the clergy. Good for you if that’s your calling.”

“This turkey is delicious. Especially with the cranberry sauce,” Dad announced, trying to change the subject.

“In the meantime, my dear, both Jeremy and I are extremely anxious to attend your opening night tomorrow. I’m quite a fan of magic acts, especially close-up magic, like Jack here specializes in.”

“We’ll be sure to call on you in the audience participation segments,” I teased.

“Our table’s close to the stage so we’ll be ready,” Jeremy replied.

The lemon sherbet was refreshing and sweet. As soon as Dad finished his, he slowly stood up from the table.

“That was a wonderful and filling dinner. And the company was delightful as well. Elena, Jeremy, Lindsey and I should go back to our room. Maybe a little TV and then an early beddy-bye for me. Tomorrow’s a big day. Come, Lindsey.”

“Wait, Lindsey!” Jeremy stood up and reached for my arm. “The Dirty Angels are playing in the Teen Lounge tonight. First show’s a half-hour from now. Please come with me. They’re really good. Their last single was bubbling under on WABC in April. ‘Don’t Tell Me Lies, Baby.’”

Turning to Dad, I importuned him, “Please Daddy, I want to go. The Dirty Angels are so groovy!”

Elena turned to Dad. “Jack, let the children have some fun. I’m sure Lindsey would like to be around kids her own age, listening to music she enjoys—”

Dad relented. “Okay, but don’t stay late. You need to get a good night’s sleep too. Good night, Elena, Jeremy.”

As he walked past me, his hand brushing against my shoulder, he whispered in my ear, “Be careful.”

The Dirty Angels gave a great performance in front of a near-capacity crowd in the Teen Lounge. I recalled Dad’s admonition each time Jeremy snaked his arm around my waist as we stood in the throng near the stage. I deftly turned my head every time Jeremy tried to plant a kiss on my cheek or lips. Although he remained persistent throughout the concert, my evasion of his gestures of affection didn’t seem to rankle him. After the final encore, he walked me back to my room. I allowed him to hold my hand as we walked.

I was surprised when we ended up at the door of Jeremy’s suite, which he shared with his grandmother Elena. My room was on the same floor but it was a single room with twin beds.

“Grandma, it’s Jeremy. I’ve got Lindsey with me.” He unlocked the door and ushered me inside. There, sitting on a couch in the common room of the suite, watching TV, was Elena, dressed as she was at dinner.

“Oh, Lindsey. I’m glad Jeremy brought you back as I asked. It’s a lovely summer evening. Quite warm with a light breeze. Would you like to take a stroll with me? I think we should talk.”

Jeremy waited at the door. “Let’s make this a short walk, Grandma. I don’t want Mr. Ace to be mad at me for keeping Lindsey out late.”

“Jeremy, you don’t need to come along. It’s girl talk. Just Lindsey and I. We’ll be back in less than a half-hour.”

We walked along lighted paths around the grounds of the Lodge. Strung on lines in the trees were lamps that resembled Chinese lanterns. Every few minutes we’d pass a couple similarly strolling along, their faces turned toward each other, blissfully unaware of us. The hills above us in the distance etched their outline against the night sky. The was a veritable blanket of stars above us in this rural locale many miles north of the big city.

“You must know Jeremy is besotted with you. Did he ask you to marry him yet?” Elena laughed softly.

“I’m not trying to encourage him, Elena. I mean, I like him but…”

“You’re not interested in him that way. I know. If it becomes uncomfortable for you, I’ll tell him to lighten up. I’m afraid he’s prone to flights of fantasy. He crushes on girls all the time.” She turned to me. “You’re different. You’re special. He doesn’t know how or why but you are.”

I didn’t know where this conversation was going. I just kept my head down and avoided Elena’s eyes.

“I believe in magic myself. Not the kind of professional illusion-making that your father does. Although he does it very well. I can attest to that. Ten years, ten summers, I’ve seen his act evolve, become bigger, better. Still, it’s sleight of hand, mentalism, the art of suggestion, understanding human psychology…not true magic.”

“You believe there’s real magic?”

“Perhaps. The mind is a powerful tool…or a dangerous weapon. It can bring about things that most would consider magical.”

“You sound like you’ve done this or experienced it done by others—”

“See the stars above us in the night sky, Lindsey?”

“Yes, of course. They’re beautiful. Sparkling like diamonds in a sea of blackness.”

“Instead of just sparkling in place, wouldn’t it be marvelous if they could dance? Trip the light fantastic?”

“That would be marvelous.” We stopped and stood still, looking up at the canopy of heaven.

“Close your eyes and take my hands, Lindsey.”

Silently, I slid my hands into Elena’s and shut my eyes. A moment passed.

“Open your eyes, Lindsey. Look at the stars!”

The stars bounced and spun in the night sky, larger now than they seemed before. There was a discernible rhythm to their movements. Something like a ballet of orbs. Now they changed colors as if a brush loaded with paint swept across the sky. The brush moved up and down, left and right. Colors pulsed to the rhythm. If I had a drum, I could have matched it beat for beat. Then, suddenly, the sky returned to normal. The stars sparkled in stillness as before.

“How did you do that?”

“There are no limits to the power of the mind. Reality is truly what we make it…if you have the power.”

“You went into my mind and made me see that, didn’t you? Can you read my mind as well?”

“Yes, I know things about you that are unsaid.”

“Like?”

“You’re not a girl, Lindsey. You’re a boy.”