Cover art by Erin Halfelven
©2026 SammyC

“You yawned wide enough to ingest a large woodland creature, Lindsey,” Dad remarked as I moved to cover my mouth.

“I didn’t know you wanted to start rehearsing so early in the morning, Daddy. I was up until almost 4 A.M. making alterations on this costume,” I explained as I unconsciously pulled down on the hem of the extremely short flounce skirt that barely covered my underpants. “And why did you need me to wear this costume just to block out the act? There’s no one here except the stage manager and that creepy guy hiding in the shadows at the back of the room.” I took a sideways glance at the guy. He was staring lasers at me with his eyes. Creepy!

“Kiddo, even on a Saturday morning in an empty supper club that’s supposed to look like The Copacabana or The Café Carlyle…they wish…showbiz professionals always appear in costume. Especially at your first run-through in a new venue—”

“Dad, you’ve worked this resort for years. Nothing’s changed. Everyone knows what you look like in civvies—”

“But everyone hasn’t seen you, Jack Ace’s new assistant,” the creepy dude interposed, drawling out his words in a distinct Bronx accent, as he walked out of the shadows toward us on the small stage at the front of the room, dodging the two dozen or so tables along the way.

“Lindsey, this is Aaron Felder, the General Manager of the Lodge. Aaron, meet my new assistant, Lindsey.”

“I had originally come down to see if you had added anything new to your act, Jack. I’m pleasantly surprised to see what’s new. A pleasure to meet you, Lindsey. May I say you look marvelous in that costume?”

Aaron Felder was a young man in his late twenties. His admittedly handsome face was framed by a thatch of slicked-back dark brown hair that was redolent with the scent of lemon shaving soap, like the kind Dad uses. He also seemed to have a perpetual smirk on his face.

I tugged at my skirt again, afraid that my tuck job wasn’t thorough enough. He didn’t seem to notice. Instead, he was eyeing my smooth, stockinged legs. I blushed.

“Well, I’ve got to make the rounds. Apparently, there’s some hubbub at the stables I’ve got to look into.” He turned to walk away but stopped to face me again. “Speaking of which, do you ride, Lindsey?”

“No, I’ve never been on a horse,” I replied, surprised he would ask.

“Our stables are one of our biggest attractions. Catskill Park has some scenic trails for horse riding. When you have some free time, I’ll be glad to help you get started. I’ve got the perfect gentle horse in mind for you to ride. Think about it. Just ask for me at the front desk. I’m here 24/7.”

“He thinks I’m really a girl,” I whispered to Dad after Aaron left the room.

“Sometimes I think so too, kiddo.”

The rehearsal went smoothly. After all, I’d seen Mom go through all the paces up close and personal for years. Dad’s act hadn’t really changed since he originally hired Mom as an assistant almost 20 years ago. Every prop used in the act was squeezed into the trunk that fit into the back of our station wagon. It had to be off-loaded at every venue on the first day we arrived. The porters would always joke with Dad. “What’s in here? A bunch of anvils?”

My mind wandered to memories of Mom on stage, beautiful and wholesomely sexy in her assistant’s costume, similar to what I was wearing right now. I fumbled the deck of cards I was pretending to fan out to an audience member seated at one of the tables near the stage. As I started to bend down to pick up the scattered cards, Dad stopped me.

“Don’t bend from the waist, Lindsey. You’ll moon the stage manager. Here, I’ll pick them up.”

Dad bent down and, stumbled, suddenly falling forward. I reached out to grab his arm and managed to keep him from face-planting.

“Are you alright?” I was alarmed.

“I got a little dizzy. Must be the start of a summer cold. I’m o.k. Thanks, kiddo.” He brushed some dust off his tuxedo pants and straightened the top hat on his head.

“You scared me, Daddy.”

He reached out and patted me on my shoulder. “Let’s break for lunch. Maybe I’ll order some matzo ball soup. That’s good for whatever ails you, right?”

After Dad had his matzo ball soup, we went back to the club and waited our turn to rehearse while The Bucky Wilentz Quartet took the stage to play through their daily sound-check. The guitarist kept looking at me, sitting at a table a few rows back while Dad chatted with the stage manager. He flubbed a few jazz chords, enough that Bucky, the leader and drummer, stopped playing and yelled, “Concentrate on the music, moron, not her legs!”

Finally, Bucky and his band finished their sound-check and left the stage to us. The guitarist kept his eyes on me all the way to the exit, cradling his Fender’62 Jazzmaster in both arms. The door slammed into him just as Bucky released it on the way out. I had to laugh. This costume poses some interesting if annoying problems. I wish the skirt was longer.

Since children were often in the audience at the early shows, Dad had come up with a trick that was always a huge hit with kids. A twist on the old rabbit out of a hat illusion. Instead of pulling a live rabbit out of his top hat, Dad would initially feign failure, turning the hat upside down, shaking it, and discovering it was empty. As the child expressed his or her disappointment, Dad would reach in and, after a bit of theatrics, pull out a plush bunny rabbit, hand it over to the delighted child, and place the top hat back on his head. For this trip, Dad had purchased a couple dozen of these made-in-Taiwan plush bunnies at wholesale prices.

Most of Dad’s act comprised close-up card tricks. He would pick out members of the audience and stand by their table. Usually, it was couples, husbands and wives mostly. This was where Dad’s stage patter was an integral part of the magic he executed. He’d chat up the people. Have them introduce themselves (first names only) and say where they were from. While he was acting really chummy, he’d place a card in a man’s jacket pocket or a woman’s purse without them even noticing, thinking he was shaking their hand or patting their shoulder. After the audience member selects a card and places it back in the deck, Dad would riffle and shuffle the deck. Dad would then ask what card was picked and attempt to find it in the newly shuffled deck. At first, it looks like he can’t find it. After a few moments of seeming bemusement, Dad asks them to check their pockets. Voila! The audience applauds as the couple are stunned into laughter.

My own part in all of this consisted of distracting the male audience members from Dad’s furtive sleight of hand movements. That and pointing here, there, and everywhere as Dad performed his magic. Hey, it’s a living.

“You’re doing good, kiddo. A couple of more run-throughs and we’ll be ready for opening night on Monday.”

I was making alterations on my other costume (same pattern, just different color) and searching my sewing kit for a thimble. I’d pricked myself with a needle. Fortunately, I hadn’t drawn blood…much.

“Lindsey, it’s almost six. Why don’t you go downstairs and get some dinner? You can finish that later tonight.”

“What about you, Dad?”

“I’m a little under the weather. Let me take a nap. I’ll order something up later. Some more matzo ball soup. Don’t bring back a doggy bag for me. You know what? Why don’t you check out that teenage lounge after dinner. Who knows? Maybe you’ll make a friend.”

“Dad, you’re a one-note symphony. This is a job, not a social occasion. Anyway, most of the guests are only here for a few days or a week at the most. What’s the point of trying to make friends?”

“I bet they play music more to your liking. You can sit and watch the other kids dancing.” I gave him a look of annoyance. “O.k., o.k. Suit yourself.”

I changed into my boy clothes. It didn’t make much difference though. With my flared pants, striped t-shirt and long auburn hair, I wasn’t too convincing as a boy. On my way to the dining room, more than a couple of men chivalrously allowed me to pass them in the hallways and opened doors for me. It was nice actually.

The dining room was half empty at this early hour. As the hostess led me to a table, Jeremy Ross waved to me. He was seated with his grandmother at a table off to a side of the room, next to a potted plant.

“Lindsey! Sit with us. Please.”

I hesitated before signaling to the hostess that I was going to sit with Jeremy and his grandmother. She followed me and placed the menu in front of me after I sat down.

“Hello Jeremy and…uh…”

“Call me Elena. Jeremy was hoping to see you at dinner tonight. The boy couldn’t stop talking about you all day today. ‘Grandma, do you think we’ll bump into Lindsey today?’ I told him if it’s in the stars… Oh, I’m embarrassing you. I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright, Elena. My father wants me to make friends my own age while we’re performing at the Lodge these next weeks.”

“I thought so, Grandma! She is Jack Ace’s daughter! And you led me to believe you were just his assistant.”

“I didn’t mean to deceive you. I just…well, it’s not important why I didn’t tell you. You know now.”

After an awkward silence, Elena picked up the conversation.

“So, do you have a boyfriend back home? I would think so. You’re very pretty.”

“Oh, no. And I don’t think anyone’s ever told me I’m pretty.”

Jeremy interjected, “I told her she was beautiful. That’s better than pretty.”

“I gather you like dressing down when you’re off-stage,” noted Elena, as our waitress approached the table to take our orders.

“I’m not a girly girl,” I said, my face reddening as I recognized the irony of my statement.

“We’re having the Prime Rib, with the Honeydew Melon appetizer, Egg Drop Consommé Soup, and the Chef’s Salad. It’s quite good. Highly recommended,” Elena said, smiling.

“Wow, that’s a lot to eat.”

“It’s Saturday night. Live a little, I always say.”

I nodded.

“Three of the same,” Elena told the waitress as we handed our menus to her.

Jeremy invited me to check out the Teen Lounge but I demurred. His face fell, betraying his disappointment. I explained that I had to make some alterations to my costume. Which was true!

“Maybe I’ll see you around tomorrow?”

“One never knows, do one?” I laughed. “But, really, Dad and I will be rehearsing pretty much all day. I’m new at this. In fact, this is the first time I’m assisting him.”

“Well, then Grandma and I will absolutely be there on Monday for opening night. Maybe we can do something during the day next week. We’re here for the summer. It’s Grandma’s summer home away from home, kind of.”

“Good night, Jeremy.” I extended my hand to shake.

When I came back to our room, Dad was eating the dinner he’d ordered up and watching All in the Family on the TV. He was laughing at some rant Archie Bunker was going off on.

“Dad, that’s a rerun.”

“When would I get a chance to watch prime time TV, kiddo? Hey, this show is funny as hell.”

“You feeling better, Dad? I see you’ve regained your appetite.”

“Speaking of which, how was your dinner?”

“Filling. Filling is the right word. I hope I can fit into my costume tomorrow.”

“Oh, Lindsey, you’re a slip of a…you’re skinny.”

“That boy Jeremy invited me to the Teen Lounge after dinner.”

“You didn’t go? Why?”

“Dad, I’m a boy! He thinks I’m a girl. He and his grandmother asked me if I had a boyfriend. I couldn’t tell them the truth.”

“God in heaven, Lindsey. Sometimes even I don’t know what’s true and what’s not.”

“I’ll be a girl for the act but come September I’ll go back to being a boy.”

“I wish I was really a magician, kiddo. I’d turn you into a girl. Yes, I would.”

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.”

Cover art by Erin Halfelven
©2026 SammyC

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

“How did you know? Everyone thinks I’m a girl! Jeremy’s in love with me,” I spluttered, half wanting to just run away, half afraid of this strange old woman’s intentions.

“It’s alright, child. I’m not going to expose your little masquerade. After all, you’re not doing this to hurt anyone. You’re being a dutiful…daughter. I respect that,” she explained, taking me gently by the shoulders.

“Are…are you going to tell Jeremy? I really do like him…as a friend,” I said, lowering my voice to a whisper.

Elena laughed softly. “Lindsey, no I won’t tell Jeremy. He needs a friend. Especially a pretty one like you. We’ll find a proper time to tell him about your circumstances.”

“He’ll hate me. Daddy warned me.”

“Your father is right. Playing with other people’s emotions can lead to bitter consequences. But, Jeremy will understand…when the time comes. For now, rest assured, like everyone else at The Lodge, he’ll remain absolutely convinced that you are what you seem, a beautiful young girl.”

“How did you know? You say I’m totally convincing—”

“Perhaps my powers of observation are somewhat greater than what others possess.”

“You’re some kind of—”

“Witch? Is that what you think?”

“Well, a good witch…I think.”

“I will make you a promise, Lindsey. I will do everything I can to help you and your father have a successful summer engagement at The Lodge. You may be surprised by the multi-faceted nature of the assistance I can provide. I do this because you’ve utterly charmed my grandson and I do not want his summer spoiled by heartbreak and sadness. Additionally, I find you very interesting.”

“Like a laboratory rat?”

“Perhaps, my dear, you can become my summer experiment. Heaven knows it can get rather boring in these bucolic surroundings for three months.” She turned me around as we headed back to The Lodge. “You can tell your father about my offer to help you. Reassure him that I have no ulterior motive than to see a daughter going the last mile to prove her filial love.”

“But I’m still unsure of what you can do for us in a concrete way. Other than just keeping my true identity under your hat—”

Elena stopped and looked me over from head to toe. She shook her head and laughed again.

“You’re very pretty, Lindsey. An auburn-haired vision. But what do you know about make-up, how to style your hair, what clothes are both flattering and appropriate in any given social occasion, how to act like a young woman among people your own age and older adults?”

I shook my head.

“Precisely. Let Elena guide you. First off, I’ll help you with your make-up and hair. Your first show starts at 7. I know the main dressing room at the Club has a dedicated bathroom so that’s convenient. Is that the one they assigned you and your father?”

I nodded affirmatively.

“Then I’ll arrive at 6. An hour should be more than enough to get you sorted out.” She took my shoulders in her strong grip and looked me straight in the eyes. “You’ll be the most beautiful magician’s assistant these Lodge guests have ever seen!”

“I still can’t believe you’re willing to do this for me…and my Dad.”

“Think of me as your fairy grandmother!” Elena’s laugh reverberated in the silent darkness of the late evening. A middle-aged couple, walking arm in arm, passed by us, puzzled by the unlikely pair of us loudly laughing.

“That’s nice of her but what is she getting out of this? Did she ask for a cut of our fees?” Dad leaned on his left elbow as he addressed me from the side of his bed. He was already in bed at a little past 9PM. Not like him at all.

“No, Daddy, not one dime. Why do you always think the worst of people? She’s a nice old lady. Isn’t that enough?”

“What about this Jeremy kid? Do you think she really won’t tell?”

“She promised. Why are you in bed? It’s only 9?”

“Feeling really tired, kiddo. Best to get some sleep. Tomorrow’s a big, big day…”

When I turned back to speak to Dad after switching off the TV, he’d apparently fallen asleep in mid-sentence. I was worried. I’d never seen my father so enervated. He was barely 50 years old after all.

I sat at the vanity table in our dressing room. Elena had already perfectly done my makeup. To accentuate my auburn hair and fair skin, she chose something called Coral Peach for my eyeshadow. Black mascara applied to my elongated eyelashes made the green flecks in my hazel eyes stand out. She brushed Bubble Gum Pink lip gloss on my lips and I was so fascinated by the way it looked that I puckered my lips as if in a kiss several times. What would it feel like to kiss Jeremy with these shiny pink lips?

“Pay attention, Lindsey!,” Elena scolded me. “Try to remember each step in the process we’ve just gone through. I’m not going to be able to do this for you every night. Now keep your head still.”

She plugged in a curling iron and proceeded to make cascades of tight waves on either side of my head. I marveled at the transformation I was undergoing as I inspected my reflection in the vanity mirror.

“Where’s your father, honey?”

“He’s discussing something with the manager, Aaron Felder. Something about a new wrinkle he’s put in for the finale of the act. He didn’t tell me what.”

Elena place her hands on my shoulders. She sighed. “I could swear I was looking at your mother in the mirror. Did your mother know she had really given birth to a daughter instead of a son?”

My only response was to shake my head and fight back a tear.

“Well, let’s see how you look in your costume.” She lifted the bustier to view and remarked, “Your mother must have known. Your sewing skills are first-rate. She taught you well—”

“Oh, that was my grandmother. She basically raised me since my parents were on the road 40 weeks a year.”

“Didn’t she want you to be a rabbi?”

I went behind the dressing screen. As I wiggled my way into my tight-fitting costume, I said, matter-of-factly, “I guess there’s no chance of that happening now.”

The Supper Club was filled to capacity. An audience of 60 to 70 well-dressed Lodge guests seated at 30 round tables trained their expectant eyes at my father and I as we strode out onto the small stage under twin spotlights. We bowed to the crowd before Daddy started his introductory remarks, filled with well-worn jokes and familiar chatter. Other than uttering a barely audible hello when my father introduced me, I remained silent while smiling into the smoke-filled darkness.

The act went smoothly. The round of close-up card tricks reliably amazed the audience. As Daddy had planned on, the male patrons couldn’t stop looking at my legs and other attractive parts while various cards were being surreptitiously on their persons, in coat pockets, behind shirt collars, and, even their wives’ purses. It was a testament to how dexterous Dad had become over years and years of performing. He had the fingers of a master pickpocket.

Since it was the early show, there were some couples who had brought along young children. For these tables, Dad performed his tried-and-true plush rabbit out of his hat trick. This evinced warm applause and parental chuckles from the audience. No one seemed to notice whenever I’d reach behind Dad and pull out another plush rabbit and furtively push it into the false top of his hat. I had to make sure there were no viewing angles that would enable someone in the audience to catch my skillful legerdemain.

The highlight of the act for me was the segment when I blindfolded Dad and sought out audience members to challenge him in guessing what object they held in their hand. I approached the table where Jeremy and his grandmother sat. I winked at Elena as I took Jeremy’s arm and pulled him up out of his seat.

“Sir. Is it sir or madam?”

“It’s a sir, Daddy. A young sir.”

“May I have your name? First names only. Legal precautions, you understand. You never know who’s watching or listening.”

“Jeremy,” he answered, looking at me rather than father.

“Jeremy, please select an object that you have, in the pockets of your clothes or any other places on your person…ahem…and hold it aloft so the audience can see.”

Jeremy took a few moments to pull out an object from his pants pocket. He held it in the air so the crowd could recognize what it was.

“I can tell from the audience reaction you’ve made your choice. Now I will try to sense without using my eyes to tell what that object is. Don’t try to do this at home, people. Only those with ESP can even attempt this.”

Dad splayed the fingers of both hands on his temples and seemed to strenuously concentrate. The audience was abuzz with hushed voices as the time seemed to drag.

“Please, everyone, be very quiet. It’s difficult for my father to sense the object when he has to cut through the noise of people’s voices,” I pleaded quite believably.

A few seconds later, after the audience went silent, Dad announced, “You are holding a knife. A penknife!”

The audience gasped and applauded. Jeremy looked at the top of my bustier. I scolded him. “You can sit down…uh…Jeremy, is it?”

“Thank you. That was a tough one. Now, Lindsey, please find me another eager audience member who wants to challenge me.”

To my surprise, after what I thought was the last segment of the act, my father walked into the center of the spotlight to address the audience.

“Before my daughter and I say good night, I would like to call up someone many of you know all too well. The Lodge’s general manager, Aaron Felder!”

Aaron hopped onto the stage and stood between me and Dad. There was tepid applause for him, mostly from the regulars, I suppose.

“I asked Aaron to participate in our final act of magic tonight. Shortly before the doors opened and the audience was seated, I asked Aaron to place my fees for tonight’s performance in an envelope and hand it to me. Right now, in fact.”

Aaron smiled as he pulled a letter-sized envelope from the inside pocket of his suit jacket and handed it to Dad with a theatrical flourish. Dad opened the envelope and fanned out several hundred-dollar bills for the audience to see. He replaced the bills in the envelope and closed it. The stage manager brought out a metal bowl in which my father then placed the envelope. The audience gasped as he threw a lit match into the bowl. The burning envelope was reduced to ashes in seconds.

“Don’t worry, people. That was a simple sleight of hand illusion. You thought I had burned the envelope with my fees for tonight’s performance in that bowl before your very eyes. Not so, my friends. I simply switched the real envelope containing the real money with a convincing facsimile. Aaron’s inside suit pocket still holds the real envelope with the real money.” He reached into Aaron’s pocket but found it empty. “Did you move the envelope, Aaron?” My father’s voice was filled with shock and surprise.

Aaron patted his suit pockets. “No, Jack, I handed you the envelope just like you asked me to. I’m afraid your trick backfired on you. Looks like you’re not getting paid tonight. Sorry.”

My mouth was agape. How could this happen? It was a new addition to the act but Dad was usually unerring in the execution of his tricks. I watched as Dad paced around the small stage, scratching his head. Finally, he stopped pacing and ordered the lights brought up in the room. Suddenly, the space was awash in the brightness of the faux chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. You could make out the features on all the faces in the audience going back to the far wall.

My father’s face lit up and he shouted to a man sitting at a table four rows back from the stage.

“Sir, yes, you sir, in the houndstooth jacket. Could you reach under the table? I think you’ll find an envelope taped to the bottom. Please bring it up to the stage.” The man did just that, a perplexed look on his face.

“Your name, sir?” Dad asked as the man handed the envelope to him.

“Hyman Eisen—”

“No, please. Just your first name. Thank you, Hyman.” Father opened the envelope and handed a clutch of hundred-dollar bills to Hyman. “Please verify that those are real hundred-dollar U.S. bills. Legal tender, as it were. Count it, sir.” Hyman thumbed through the bills. “And?”

“500 dollars even.”

The audience applauded as Dad took my hand and we bowed in unison. Aaron stood behind us and applauded, a big smile forming as he winked at me. The house lights came down as we exited the stage to a nice ovation.

“You had me there for a minute, Dad,” I said as we sat between shows in the dressing room, picking at the veal scallopini the kitchen had sent over.

“Not to worry, kiddo. Aaron was spot on with his part. For a minute, he had me too. But I knew where I’d put the real envelope before the show started.”

“We’re getting $500 a night, Daddy?”

“No, kiddo. It’s for show, literally. If I put in the actual fees, the audience would know we were practically paid slave wages.”

“You’re exaggerating, Dad.”

“Slightly. Only slightly.”

There was a knock on the door. I opened it to reveal Elena and Jeremy standing there. Jeremy handed me a bouquet of yellow roses.

“The show was wonderful,” gushed Jeremy. “You were definitely the star of the show.”

“Yes, all the men could barely take their eyes off you, Lindsey,” Elena said with a smirk as she took a seat on the couch across from Dad. Jeremy remained standing, his hands shoved in his pants pockets.

“That’s the point, Elena. The whole point. That’s why the magician’s assistants wear those costumes. They’re too busy getting an eyeful to see me doing my thing,” laughed Dad.

“On that line of thought, Jack, I think Lindsey’s wardrobe is woefully inadequate for a pretty girl like her. And I don’t mean her stage costume. I’m talking about some nice outfits for her time offstage.”

“I’ve got loads of t-shirts and jeans, Elena.”

“You need some dresses. Nice tops and fashionable slacks. Skirts! Your underwear must be a horror…”

“Maybe there’s some nice stuff in the Lodge shop that’ll fit you, Lindsey. We’ll check it out later this week, huh?”

“Jack, your daughter deserves better than that. I’ll tell you what. Why don’t I take you to Manhattan tomorrow and we can do some clothes shopping. On me.”

“I couldn’t accept your money, Elena. I’m her father. I’ll give you the cash. How much do you think it’ll come to?”

“Jack, it’s my gift to Lindsey. I’m not short of disposable funds.” She took my hands in hers. “Be ready downstairs in the lobby at 9AM tomorrow. We’ll take the Amtrak down to the city. Have you ever shopped on Fifth Avenue?” Stunned, I shook my head.

“I’ll be coming along too, Lindsey. Someone has to carry all the bags,” Jeremy declared, smiling broadly at me.

Cover art by Erin Halfelven
©2026, SammyC

After finishing the last bite of the buttered toast from our room service breakfast and kissing Dad on his forehead (he was surprised but smiled broadly at me), I actually skipped down the three flights of stairs to the lobby, excited by the prospect of a day of clothes shopping on Fifth Avenue in New York City, courtesy of Elena, Jeremy’s grandmother.

“Oh, my heavens, you really are in need of a new wardrobe!” Elena laughed when she saw me. I was wearing what I thought was the best outfit I could put together from my trove of clothes, intended as they were for a teenage boy, not Jack Ace’s female assistant. On top I was proudly presenting the Rolling Stones 1972 American Tour t-shirt that featured their famous “tongue and lips” logo. Dad had purchased it for me since there was no point in time this summer where The Stones and I would be geographically compatible. The shirt was neatly tucked into a pair of belted, bell-bottom blue jeans. The white Nike sneakers on my feet completed my ensemble.

“I think I look great,” I replied, smiling impishly. Elena hugged me in greeting and then traced the crook of her index finger along my cheek.

“I’m not referring to your pretty face, dear. Those clothes just won’t do for such a comely teenage girl who dazzles everyone with her beauty on stage every night.”

“I think you need new glasses, Elena. But, where’s Jeremy? I thought he was coming along with us.”

“He’s outside in the car. We’re driving down to the city. Come.” She took my hand. We emerged from the lobby out into the morning sun and there was Jeremy on the curb, standing next to a 1969 burgundy Chrysler Imperial, the type of luxury car I’d never ridden in.

“Good morning ladies. Your coach awaits.” Jeremy held open the door to the rear seat, beckoning to us with his left hand.

“It’s a few years old but still runs well,” Elena told me, misinterpreting the reason my mouth was agape.

After we had been on the road for a few minutes, Jeremy halfway turned toward me in the back seat.

“Don’t worry, Lindsey, I have a valid New York State driver’s license. I took and passed the driver education course when I turned 17 in February.” He laughed.

“Jeremy’s a very good driver, dear. No worries,” Elena reassured.

“Just keep your eyes on the road, Jeremy. I won’t worry if you keep your head pointed forward.” I turned to Elena. “How long a drive is it to the city? I have to get back in time for the first show tonight.”

“I’ve made this trip several times already this summer,” Jeremy interjected, turning his head toward us again. “I can get it down to an hour and a half easy if I switch over to the Palisades Parkway when we reach Exit 2 on US-6.”

“You’re turning your head again!”

“Silly girl, we’re in good hands. Jeremy drives me everywhere and we haven’t been in a fatal accident yet—”

“What about non-fatal accidents?” I smiled to show Elena I was just joking.

“Now, here’s our itinerary for you big day of shopping in the big city,” Elena enthusiastically began. “We’ll only need to stop at one place. A high-end department store that will provide all your wardrobe needs. They’re especially good with Juniors and Teens clothing—”

“Oh, Bloomingdales?”

“No, better than that. You deserve the best, my dear. We’re going to Ross & Stone on Fifth Avenue.”

“My grandfather, who passed 3 years ago, opened the store in the 1920s with his childhood friend Bernard Stone. They grew up together in Alba, Romania and immigrated to America as teenagers,” intoned Jeremy, keeping his head in its forward position.

I stroked Elena’s arm. “I’m so sorry, Elena. I didn’t know.” She nodded and patted my hand on her arm.

“Bernard Stone, né Stein, was my older brother. He sent for me after he and Jeremy’s grandfather got settled and started their business. I had always been infatuated with my Jacob, even though he was six years older. That, and it was a gift from God to be able to leave Transylvania—”

“Transylvania?! Isn’t that where Dracula was from? And…and vampires and witches?”

“Yes, that is true. But there’s nothing to fear from Romanian witches. We call them vrăjitoare. For centuries untold they’ve been called upon to heal people from heartbreaks, cure illnesses and diseases, place curses on evil-doers, predict the future… They are good people.”

“It’s just a load of…folklore, Lindsey,” Jeremy declared. “And Bram Stoker wasn’t a historian. Just a writer of Gothic novels—"

“Jeremy is not a believer,” Elena said, shaking her head.

“Are you?” I asked.

“Perhaps,” she replied, her dark eyes twinkling. “But to the matter at hand! I’ve come up with a list of the things you’ll need to fill out your wardrobe for the summer.” She took out a small notebook from her purse and licked her thumb before paging through it. “Ah, here we are. You will need: 5-7 sets of tops and bottoms that can be mixed and matched, including 3 pairs of pants and 2 skirts, 5 sets of bras and panties, 2 pairs of tights, 3 pairs of socks, 3 pairs of pajamas (for comfortable sleep…it gets bloody hot even in the mountains here), 2 pairs of shoes and a pair of sandals (you can keep those sneakers), a sweater (just in case), 2 nice dresses for evening events and formal occasions…and, oh yes, a bathing suit—”

“Oh, no. I can’t. I just can’t, “ I protested.

“And why not?”

“Well, I…I can’t swim. I never learned. My parents never taught me. In fact, I take baths in a shallow tub.”

“I can see you in a bikini, Lindsey. Quite a vision—” Jeremy whistled.

“We can revisit this later in the day, my dear. You don’t have to actually go into the pool. You can just take in the sun poolside,” Elena pointed out.

“I burn very easily. I have very fair skin…”

“So nice to have you drop in on us, Mrs. Ross,” the tall, patrician-looking woman said as she greeted us on the second floor Juniors & Teens department in Ross & Stone, a store that took up the entire corner of a city block at Fifth Avenue and East 48th Street. “And nice to see you as well, Jeremy. Who do we have here today? Another member of the Ross family?”

“Mary, this is my new little friend, the lovely Lindsey Azoff. She’s the assistant to her father, Jack Ace, the magician who’s playing the Lodge this summer. We’re here to fill out her wardrobe. She’ll need everything.”

“Oh, goodness, did she lose her luggage?”

“No. I’ve decided that she needs an entirely new look now that she’s performing in front of audiences on a nightly basis. You can see she’s a natural beauty. Now she just needs to clothe that form in the most flattering manner possible. I’m sure that we can provide that for her.”

“Do you have her sizes or shall we do a fitting?”

“Oh, no need. I’ve been in this business for decades. Long enough to determine her sizes with a cursory glance.”

“Very good. Where do you want to start, Mrs. Ross?”

“Lindsey, I don’t think you’ve had the exquisite pleasure of wearing silk next to your body. Come, child, to Lingerie and Intimates!”

I was still trying to wrap my head around Elena’s insistence that my bra size was 34 B when I didn’t have enough flesh to even fill an A cup. She just winked at me and placed her finger on her lips to quiet my protests. She clucked her tongue and said, as an aside to the saleslady, “These tomboys will someday realize they need support when this braless look isn’t as flattering as they imagine.” The saleslady gave me a knowing smile.

But, with Jeremy literally holding the bag, we moved to the section where Elena went through the racks to mix and match tops and bottoms to her satisfaction. Not mine, necessarily. At the end of almost an hour, I had tried on enough blouses, slacks, and skirts to clothe Marcia Brady for an entire season of The Brady Bunch. Elena had a penchant for picking out plaid slacks, floral pattern skirts, and bow collar blouses. All of which I resisted by vigorously shaking my head even as Elena made me model each outfit upon emerging from the fitting room. To no avail. Each approved outfit was added to the growing pile of shopping bags that Jeremy was eyeing with dismay.

“Don’t I have a say in what we’re buying?”

“Asking you for your opinion would be as useless as asking Jeremy. Trust me, Lindsey, I did this as a job for decades before you were even born.”

“I’m grateful, Elena, but I’d prefer not to look like a teenage version of Rita Hayworth.”

“Where to next, Gran? Those outfits really looked great on you, Lindsey,” Jeremy added as he hefted the multiple shopping bags in both arms.

“Put those down, Jeremy. It’s past twelve. Time for lunch. Just give those over to Veronica and she’ll hold them for us until we come back from lunch.”

“Where are we having lunch?” I asked, hunger pangs growing.

“Peacock Alley at the Waldorf-Astoria Hotel. Just four blocks away on Park Avenue. I made a reservation for 12:30. Ready for a brisk walk, my dear?”

An hour later we made the return trip back to Ross & Stone, lunch having been digested. I had wanted to order the same thing Jeremy did, a Black Angus Burger with Swiss Cheese, Onion, and Marmalade. Elena vetoed it, chiding me about watching my figure (which made Jeremy smile broadly). Instead, she ordered salads for both of us. A Cobb salad for her and a Caesar salad for me. At least hers had some meat in it.

The next item on Elena’s agenda was a dress or two for evening events or social occasions. Nice dresses were in a different department on another floor. Jeremy trailed us on the escalator, burdened with my clothing selections once again after our lunch respite. This time I was going to insist on having some input on deciding what I was going to have to wear. No loud plaids or oversized bows.

It took over an hour to wear Elena down but I was pretty happy with the two dresses I chose. The first one was what Elena told me was an A-line dress with a V-neck and ruffle sleeves that had buttons all the way down the front. It was lavender in color and the hem landed just an inch or two above the tops of my knees. Very prim and proper. And adult.

My second selection was a knee-length tunic dress with a floral print skirt and solid blue top. It had a Peter Pan collar and side pockets. I loved the side pockets! It took several minutes before Elena nodded her head in approval. She was hoping I’d choose the yellow dress with a bow that covered the entire front.

There were two more items left on Elena’s list as the day dragged into late afternoon. Elena and I compromised on the footwear issue. She picked out a pair of patent leather Mary Janes with low heels that made me feel like I was in 6th grade. I campaigned for a pair of knee-high dark brown vinyl boots, like the ones I’d seen Carly Simon wear. Elena gave me the fisheye but relented. Finally, I scored a pair of T-strap buckle sandals with chunky heels in beige.

“Oh, my goodness, we won’t have time for high tea at The Waldorf,” Elena sighed, looking at her $1,500 Van Cleef & Arpels yellow gold watch. “Just enough time to pick out a bathing suit for you, darling.”

“Uh…derp? Will we make it back in time? The show starts at 7 sharp…”

“This I gotta see,” said Jeremy as he stepped onto the escalator behind Elena and me, partially hidden by the bags he was carrying.

Cover art by Erin Halfelven
©2026, SammyC

I poked my head through the curtain of my stall and looked down the long corridor of the fitting room. Spotting Elena and Jeremy sitting on Bergere chairs in the waiting area, I swallowed hard and, in a voice barely above a whisper, called out to Elena.

“Elena. I need your help…” When there came no response, I ratcheted up the volume to a conversational level. “Elena! Come here, please.”

Elena slipped into my stall and found me clutching the first of the three bathing suits she had selected for me in front of my underwear-clad body. I was visibly shaking.

“What is it, dear?”

“Elena, I can’t put these on! Especially the bikini!”

“What’s the problem? Are you bashful? Lindsey, the costume you wear as your father’s assistant is just as revealing—”

“At least the costume covers the…the naughty bits…which I don’t have or have more than I should—”

“Which ‘bit’ concerns you the most?”

“They all do! But…but…how can I wear the lower part without announcing to everyone that I’m really a boy?”

“Oh, is that all?” She rummaged in her oversized Hermès black leather handbag. After a long minute, she presented a flesh-colored garment to me that looked like a pair of briefs for an indeterminate gender. “Put this on. It’ll solve the issue with your lower bits.”

After dropping the bathing suit, I eyed the briefs with uncertainty, then turned around to face away from Elena.

“Lindsey, get on with it. I’ve seen it all. I raised two boys and two girls!”

It was a very tight fit but, true to her word, the briefs, did a remarkable job of concealing my extra equipment. So much so that it gave me a flat front down there, with less irritation than I had feared. When I Iooked up to see Elena’s reaction, she had a broad smile on her face.

“Now try on that bikini first,” she implored.

“That solves one problem but, Elena, there’s the sad fact that I have no boobs. I can’t get away with stuffing socks into the cups. It’ll be hilariously obvious. My costumes are different. The bustier is so tight I can use tape to simulate having cleavage.”

“Pish posh, child. Just try it on.” She gave me a determined stare. “Lindsey?”

The bikini panties fit me perfectly and I looked like a biological girl from my waist down. But the bikini top just hung limp on my chest. I could see that stuffing it with anything would be futile. My frown grew as my eyes started to tear.

Elena took both my hands in hers and cooed, “You wish you had real breasts…like a girl…don’t you?”

I nodded as tears uncontrollably fell on Elena’s hands covering mine.

“Close your eyes, dear. Think. Think hard about having a pair of 34 B size breasts to fill that bikini top. Concentrate. Envision it, Lindsey.”

I did as she asked. I summoned an image of me, as if looking in a full-length mirror. I was wearing this bikini. Gradually, I could feel and see two fleshy hillocks filling out the top. They had some heft to them. I felt like jiggling them inside their cups. Suddenly, I heard Elena snapping her fingers.

“Open your eyes, child. Take off your top. Look at your new breasts.”

I slipped the straps of my bikini top off my shoulders and exhaling with anticipation, I fumbled with the clasp in the back until the thing fell into my hands. To my astonishment, I looked down at two perfectly formed, appropriately-sized breasts, their perky nipples seated in aureoles that resembled pink islands. Gasping, I turned to face the mirror in the stall. I shook my head wordlessly as the reflection confirmed the fact of my breasts.

“They’re real, Lindsey,” Elena assured me as I nervously touched them.

“How?”

“Remember I told you about the power of the mind? You can bend and reshape reality when you harness its powers.”

“Will you teach me?” I took Elena’s hands in mine. “Is there a way I can become a complete girl?”

“Do you wish this only to help your father’s magic act? Is this just for the summer?”

“I’ve always wanted to be a girl, Elena. I just didn’t think there was any way. Even with a sex change operation, I wouldn’t be a complete woman. One who could have babies—”

“It’s a very serious decision to make, Lindsey. After this summer, you’ll be going back to school and your father will hire a new assistant. Enjoy the present moment for all it’s worth, dear. Tomorrow is promised to no one.”

“You mean these breasts aren’t permanent. They could go away…disappear?”

My tears began to fall again. Elena must have seen the stricken look on my face. Her expression softened.

“I will need to be convinced that your destiny is to be a woman. The proof will show itself as the summer progresses. I will not make promises. Life is not a child’s game.”

“Yes,” I said solemnly. “I understand…I think.”

“Now I’d love to see you model these bathing suits.”

“Your young friend looks so cute in these swimsuits, Mrs. Ross,” Mary, the store manager, said admiringly, as I did my best catwalk impression in a white rainbow print bikini.

“My new protégée for the season is developing nicely, wouldn’t you say so, Jeremy?” asked Elena.

“You can say that again, grandma. I think you should definitely ditch the baggy tomboy clothes, Lindsey. And you should wear these at the pool. Even if you can’t swim. They have umbrellas for the sun loungers if you’re afraid of getting sunburnt.”

“Jeremy can teach you to swim, sweetie. Anyway, it’s good to find a buddy for the summer. Someone your own age,” Elena added.

“Well, Aaron Felder, the general manager, invited me out to go riding. He said the trails in the park are scenic and beautiful,” I said as I turned toward the fitting room to try on the next swimsuit.

“Aaron? He’s too old for you, Lindsey. I think he’s 30 if he’s a day. On top of that, he’s a well-known letch. And he’s only got worse since his parents retired to Florida and left him in charge of the Lodge. Stay away from him at all costs,” warned Elena.

“But he’s our boss. I can’t just ignore him. He could basically fire us without cause. Besides, learning how to ride a horse through Catskill Park sounds like a wonderful new experience. And he’s kind of very good-looking.”

“Do what you think is best but be very careful. He’s not someone you want to antagonize,” Elena cautioned.

“I didn’t think she was the type who’d go for older men,” Jeremy said to Elena as I disappeared behind the curtain of my stall.

On the drive back to the Lodge, Jeremy listed all the bad things he’d heard about Aaron Felder, including his penchant for dating teenagers and an illegal gambling habit. I wasn’t convinced any of that was true or if it was just Jeremy exposing his jealousy. But he didn’t really have anything to worry about. I’m not going to be dating either of them. After all, I’m not really a girl. Right now I’m a boy with temporary boobs.

What really concerned me was the time. With all the shopping we had done, Elena had managed to cut our return to the Lodge dangerously close to 7PM when the early show starts. The traffic in the middle of rush hour destroyed Jeremy’s optimistic prediction of an hour and a half drive home. I could imagine Dad’s nervous anticipation of my return. It was another boulder of stress Dad didn’t need added to his already mountainous pile of worries.

At one point I wanted Jeremy to stop at a gas station or roadside restaurant so I could use a payphone to call my father. Even if we didn’t arrive in time to start the show, Dad wouldn’t be envisioning me being in an accident. The guy who invents a portable telephone would make billions. I’d buy one!

“We can’t have this happen again,” Aaron Felder emphasized. “We’re on a tight schedule. The second show starts promptly at 8:30 and now Bucky and his boys will have to cut his set down by the 15 minutes you’re late getting out there.” Aaron was visibly upset, unconsciously punching his fist into his other open hand as he spoke.

“It won’t happen again, Mr. Felder,” Dad said, trying to placate him. “You can be assured of that.”

“Alright then,” Aaron said as he turned the knob of the dressing room door. “The audience is patiently waiting for you. One good thing is it gives them more time to order food and drinks. There’s that. But, I expect to see you two on stage in five minutes max!” He slammed the door behind him.

“I’m sorry, Dad. The traffic was brutal leaving the city—”

“Mrs. Ross, I appreciate your taking an interest in Lindsey but we’re here to do a job, for which we get paid a relative pittance to hit our marks on time, every night, two shows a night,” Dad said in a stern tone.

“I accept all the blame, Mr. Ace. We should’ve have minded the time more closely. Please forgive us. It won’t happen again,” Elena offered remorsefully.

Elena and Jeremy took their leave as I went behind the screen to put on my costume.

“My god, Lindsey, how much did Mrs. Ross spend on all these clothes? How can we ever manage to pay them back? You know the bookings for the Fall are really coming in slowly. I was hoping some good notices from our summer here at the Lodge would help drum up some business for us later in the year.”

“Elena said not to worry. It’s a gift. You know, she owns the store. Yeah, Ross & Stone. You’ve heard of it, haven’t you?” I stepped out from behind the screen and sat down at the vanity table to apply my stage make-up and brush my hair.

“Really? Ross & Stone? She’s the Ross half? Well, I’ll be. Say, are my eyes getting worse with age or do you look somehow different in your costume tonight?”

“I made some alterations in the bustier, that’s all, Dad.”

As Bucky Wilentz and his band trudged past the open door of our dressing room after completing their portion of the early show, Dad and I waved to them in a friendly, collegial way. Bucky stopped and halfway barked at us.

“Thanks a lot. That was the shortest set we’ve ever done. We barely got through the third number. There’s such a thing as being professional.” He threw up his hands, drumsticks still in his right hand.

Vincent, the guitarist, just winked at me as he walked past, giving me the thumbs up. I had to laugh. I turned to share my laugh with Dad when I noticed he was bent over, his hand over his abdomen.

“Dad, what’s wrong?”

“It’s nothing. My stomach’s upset. Must have been something disagreeable in the Danish I had before you arrived back from shopping. It’ll pass…one way or the other.” He made his way toward the bathroom connected to our dressing room.

I was worried about Dad. Lately he’s been complaining about fatigue, lack of appetite, and now digestive issues. There was a doctor on the premises at the Lodge. I’ll have to ask Mr. Felder about having Dad looked at by the doctor.

Cover art by Erin Halfelven
©2026, SammyC

“You’re only having a glass of orange juice for breakfast?” Dad asked me as he spread a dollop of butter on a slice of toast.

It was Wednesday morning, the day after I was late returning from clothing shopping in Ross & Stone On Fifth Avenue in Manhattan, causing Aaron Felder to read us the riot act. Nevertheless, our act went brilliantly, drawing even more applause than on opening night. I felt myself blush several times when I noticed the gazes of so many men in the audience directed at me in my revealing costume. One particular gentleman kept peering at my cleavage as I stood at his table and I had to remind him to produce an object for my father to guess.

“It’s bad to swim on a full stomach.”

“You don’t know how to swim, kiddo.”

“I know. Jeremy’s going to give me swimming lessons. We’re supposed to meet up at the pool in about an hour. It’s a good day for a swim too. The radio says we’re hitting 90 by noon.”

“Do you think it’s a good idea to wear a bathing suit? After all, there are some things you don’t have and other extra things you do have. Your stage costume does a fair job of keeping up the illusion that you’re a girl but…”

“You’re a worry wart, Dad. It’ll be alright. You’ll see when I put on the bikini we bought yesterday.”

“Bikini?! Lindsey, have you lost your mind?”

I got up from the breakfast table room service had wheeled in and downed the last bit of my juice. “No time to argue, Dad. I’ve got to do my make-up and hair and get dressed for the pool. It’s not like when I was a boy and just rolled out of bed in the morning. Some days I wouldn’t even shower.” That made me giggle and I stepped into the bathroom before Dad could respond.

I looked at my reflection in the mirror and followed Elena’s advice to consider a natural look. Apply a light foundation, use tinted moisturizer, and forego mascara and eyeliner (nothing is truly waterproof). I didn’t want to look like a raccoon for Jeremy.

“Daddy, I made an appointment with the in-house doctor here for you. First thing in the afternoon after lunch. I’ll come back up after my swimming lesson and change. We’ll have lunch downstairs and then I’ll take you to the doctor’s office—”

“No need, kiddo. I’m fine—”

“No, Daddy. You’ve been fatigued much too much lately. And you fainted the other day.”

“I stumbled. It was a little dizziness caused by the food they serve here. They call it food anyway.”

“Well, better safe than sorry. The doctor will look you over. It’ll take ten minutes. I’ll feel better if he gives you a clean bill of health. You’re the only parent I have now…”

“Okay, okay, kiddo. Let me see what you look like in that bikini. I don’t want you to cause a scene at the pool. If Mr. Felder finds out—”

I stepped out of the bathroom and did a twirl for Dad.

“How many pairs of socks do you have stuffed in there, Lindsey? And how much tape did you use to squeeze all that flesh together to simulate having cleavage?” wondered Dad as I buttoned my cover-up and strode to the door. I just flashed a smile. He wouldn’t believe me if I told him the truth. I barely believe it myself.

The Lodge had an indoor pool and an outdoor pool. The outdoor pool is Olympic size: 165 feet long by 56 feet wide. Even at this early hour of the morning, a sizeable crowd had plopped themselves on chaise lounges or were flopping around in the water. It was already hot and steamy.

Jeremy, in swim trunks with cartoon alligators all across the front, waved to me from the far end of the pool. The shallow end. I hurried along the side of the pool toward him, waving back, and passed the pool lifeguard sitting on his elevated stand. He lifted his sunglasses onto his forehead and winked at me. He said something about our magic act. Something complimentary, I think.

When I reached Jeremy, he pointed to an unoccupied chaise lounge and told me to leave my cover-up on it. When I turned around, he was already standing in the water next to the small ladder at the shallow end of the pool. He was beckoning me to get into the water. As I took small, uncertain steps toward the ladder, I heard a couple of wolf whistles and turned my head to see who they were coming from.

“Don’t pay them any attention, Lindsey,” Jeremy advised as he held out his arms to receive me. “Just some dirty old men looking to be slapped by their wives.” He laughed as I found myself standing chest deep in the pool. “I don’t blame them though. I can see what they were whistling about. But I’m nothing if not a complete gentleman, Lindsey. I’ll behave myself.” He raised his right hand as if in a pledge.

“First off, walk around. Splash the water all you want. Get comfortable with it. I’ll be right behind you just in case you slip…which you won’t.”

After I walked the width of the pool back and forth and splashed to my satisfaction, I splashed Jeremy, giggling like a schoolgirl (which I was, wasn’t I now?).

“You doing really well so far. Are you sure you can’t swim?”

“It helps that I’ve got someone nice and patient to give me lessons,” I said with a flirty smile.

“Now we’re going to have you blow bubbles in the water.”

“That’s for kids, Jeremy.”

“Well, it’s true. That’s one of the first things they had us do when I learned how to swim. I was like 4 years old. But it’s really an important skill to have. It helps you learn to exhale and keep your face in the water when you’re swimming. Look, I’ll show you.”

Jeremy sank down in the water until his mouth was below the surface and started blowing bubbles with his exhaled breaths. I followed his example and blew bubbles in the water, hoping my makeup wouldn’t wash off. It didn’t.

Jeremy blew bubbles with me. He started making funny animal noises along with the bubbles. That made me laugh and I mistakenly inhaled, causing me to choke on the intake of water. Jeremy rushed to my side and patted my back while keeping my head above the water. I coughed up some water.

“You’re going to kill her if that’s what you call giving her swimming lessons.”

It was Aaron Felder, standing poolside, his hands on his hips, a look of disdain on his handsome face. I took in the masculine vision he presented: slim, athletic, a chiseled body, wearing a skimpy pair of speedos. The only hair on his body was perfectly coiffed on the top of his head.

“I’m alright, Mr. Felder.”

“You can call me Aaron.” He kneeled down and spoke directly to me, ignoring Jeremy completely. “Why don’t you let me properly teach you how to swim? I was varsity swimming team captain at Cornell. Okay?”

I looked at Jeremy, a helpless expression on my face. Jeremy backed out of the pool.

“Maybe you should let Mr. Felder take over. I won’t mind, Lindsey. Honest.”

For the better part of the next hour, Aaron did a really professional job of teaching the basics of swimming. He was a little handsy (well, a lot) but I suppose it was necessary to keep hold of me while going through the process of learning how to swim. Every now and then I’d look up to see Jeremy sitting in his chaise lounge, moping the time away. He’d only smile when I waved to him. I didn’t want him to think I preferred Aaron as a tutor. It’s just…well he’s my damned boss.

We started by having me lie on my back in the water, with Aaron holding me under my back and neck to support them. Slowly, he released his support until I was floating on my own. Aaron reminded me to relax and breathe deeply. Miraculously, I stayed afloat.

Then Aaron walked me to the edge of the pool and told me to hold on to the wall. I was directly facing Jeremy, sitting glumly just a few feet away. Aaron told me to kick my legs, keeping my toes pointed and legs straight. Gradually, Aaron eased me away from the wall, having me kick my legs with my face in the water. Of course, Aaron kept a tight hold on me throughout.

Passing the kicking portion of the lesson with swimming colors, we moved on to using my arms. I held onto the side of the pool with my face in the water (blowing bubbles, of course) and was told to reach forward with one arm, pulling the water towards me, and then reaching with the other. Aaron said this was to accustom me to alternating arm movements while keeping my face in the water.

Finally, kicking my legs and moving my arms together, I swam short distances until I could navigate the width of the pool quite easily. I was exhilarated at learning this amazing new skill as well as getting free of Aaron’s groping hands. Aaron stole a kiss when we climbed out of the pool. I was about to protest his taking that liberty when Jeremy handed me a towel, my cover-up in the crook of his other arm.

“Now in tomorrow’s lesson, we’ll take you into the deeper part of the pool. You’re a quick learner. You could make a good competitive swimmer. Just stick with me, Lindsey. I see an Olympic medal in your future,” Aaron said with a gentle laugh.

“Thanks so much, Mr. Feld…er…Aaron. But I think I’ll have Jeremy continue the lessons. Building, of course, on the fine foundation you’ve laid down today.” I smiled reassuringly at Jeremy, who perked up and smiled in return.

“Well, I’m always available if you need me. I’ve enjoyed having you as my student. It’s not every day I get to tutor the most beautiful girl at the Lodge. I’m going to do my 40 laps daily workout now. Gotta keep in shape, you know. If you don’t have any plans for the afternoon, maybe I can give you some riding lessons. The horses like this weather. It gets their blood running.”

“I’m afraid I can’t this afternoon. I’m taking Dad to his doctor’s appointment right after lunch. I’m worried about him. He’s been under the weather lately. I hope the doctor will tell us it’s just a summer cold.”

“Well, Doc Rosenberg is the best doctor in the region. And I’m not saying that just because he’s my cousin. See you tonight then.” He slipped back into the pool and swam slowly off, picking up speed as he stayed in the lane roped off especially for him.

“He gives me the willies,” Jeremy said as he helped me into my cover-up.

Dr. Rosenberg didn’t turn out to look like what I envisioned at all. Instead of a wizened, close-to-retirement age double for Marcus Welby, he was a young man in his twenties with sandy brown hair, a neatly trimmed moustache, and the beginnings of a goatee on his chin.

“I caught your act on opening night and my wife and I were very impressed both by your father’s skills and you. I remember your mother from last summer. You’re the spitting image of her. Even more beautiful if that’s possible,” declared Dr. Rosenberg as he ushered Dad into his examining room.

“I heard about my cousin Aaron giving you swimming lessons this morning.” I nodded. “Just a word of advice. Stay away from him. He’s my cousin but he’s a notorious player and you’re…what? All of sixteen.”

“I’ll be seventeen in November. And don’t worry. I’m not interested in Aaron. I’m just being cordial because…you know…he’s my boss.”

“Well, keep it that way. That’s the most comfortable chair. The one next to the magazines.”

Half an hour later, the nurse told me to go into Dr. Rosenberg’s office. He and Dad would be waiting for me inside to discuss the results of the examination. I put down the issue of Cosmopolitan I had been reading, making a mental note to remember to pick up a copy at the Lodge’s newsstand. There was a really interesting article on how to do easy natural makeup without applying foundation and using only six products. It’ll come in handy when I go back to my Hebrew High School in Teaneck. I wonder if they’ll let me wear mini-skirts. Probably not. Especially since they think I’m a boy.

“Come in, Lindsey. Have a seat. I wanted to go over your father’s exam since there’s some concerns with what I’ve found.”

Dad sat there with a forced smile, not quite succeeding in hiding his own concern. I took his hand and held it tightly as we both turned to face Dr. Rosenberg.

“Your father has experienced a whole range of disturbing symptoms in recent days and weeks. He told me he’s suffered from extreme fatigue, tightness in the chest area, shortness of breath, erratic sleep patterns, digestive issues, and occasional dizziness. He has dangerously high blood pressure as well. What I’m saying is that your father has all the classic signs of an impending cardiac episode.”

“A…a heart attack?” I swallowed the latter half of that sentence. My father tried reassuring me by grasping my hand and squeezing.

“Yes. Precisely.”

“What do we do, doctor?”

“I’d like Mr. Ace to check himself into Catskill Mountain Hospital and undergo some tests that will solidify my diagnosis. Or at least provide us with a framework for treatment so that we can avoid a possible heart attack.”

“No, doctor. I can’t spare the time. This gig here during the summer is my best paying job for the rest of the year. I can’t afford to lose it. I won’t be able to pay Lindsey’s tuition for school. This past year has pretty much exhausted all the savings we had. And the magic business isn’t doing that well…for me at least. No, I need to keep working,” Dad insisted.

“Mr. Ace, you’re taking a big risk here.”

“The bigger risk is that your cousin Aaron will tear up our contract if I’m away from the show for any amount of time. There’s a lot of magicians ready to take our place, especially with so many of the Catskill resorts closing for good.”

“I’ll go back to public school, Dad. Do what Dr. Rosenberg recommends. Please.”

Dad stood up, still holding my hand. “I’ve made up my mind. Thank you, doctor, but no thanks. Come, Lindsey, we need to make sure we’re on stage at 7 sharp tonight.”

I looked at Dr. Rosenberg and just shook my head before following Dad out the door of the office.

Cover art by Erin Halfelven
©2026, SammyC

Aaron wouldn’t take no for an answer so here I was the next morning, being helped onto the saddle atop a horse for the first time in my life. I patted the horse’s neck before I took hold of the reins and spoke sweet nothings into his left ear, hoping we’d become fast friends. Aaron mounted his horse and stayed close by on my right as we sauntered off onto the trail.

“I chose Dusty for you to ride because he’s a mature gelding with a calm temperament who’s experienced with beginners like you,” noted Aaron as I bounced softly up and down in my saddle to the gentle four-beat motion of Dusty’s slow gait.

“Gelding? You mean he’s been…”

“Ah, the old fella hardly misses them. He seems totally unaffected by the mares in the stable. He’s better off really. The opposite sex can make a man do crazy things—”

“Man? Are you talking about Dusty or yourself?” I teased.

“The way you look, Lindsey, you must be aware of the effect you have on most red-blooded males. Take that kid Jeremy, Mrs. Ross’s grandson. If his eyes got any bigger, they’d pop out of his head.”

“He’s really nice, Mr. Felder. We’re just buddies. He and Elena have been so welcoming to me and Dad ever since the day we arrived at the Lodge.”

“It’s Aaron. Mr. Felder is—”

“Your father. My grandma always told me to be respectful to my elders. But if you want me to call you Aaron, I guess I can make an exception to the rule in your case.”

The sun was slowly climbing in the sky as mid-day approached and a warm breeze seemed to swoop down from the surrounding hills as we ambled through the valley. I was starting to rather enjoy the gentle up and down, side to side motion of my ride. I think I must have sighed at one point loud enough for Aaron to hear above the clop-clop of hooves. He measured me with his gaze and I started to blush uncontrollably. As I turned my head away, he resumed our conversation.

“Mrs. Ross used to vacation at the Lodge with her late husband several weeks every summer until he passed away. Since then she’s spent entire summers here. Jeremy’s accompanied her the last two summers.”

“It’s a nice getaway spot from the city. Quiet, lovely scenery, good food and entertainment…and gentle horses to ride.” I patted Dusty’s neck. He whinnied in response, I believe.

“Mrs. Ross never rides. Actually, she stays in her room mostly. I feel bad for Jeremy,” Aaron declared, surprisingly. “There aren’t ever that many kids his age staying at the Lodge. At least not for more than a week at a time. Hard to make buddies. It makes sense he’d fall hard for the first girl his age that looked to be around for a while…”

“So you think he’s just lonely? I mean he can drive. He’s only an hour and a half away from the city. Could be he has a girlfriend back there.” I steadied my gaze on Aaron as we rode side by side, even as unsynchronized as we were in our saddles, moving up as the other moved down. “I’m not interested in dating Jeremy. I’m only here because my dad has an eight-week engagement at the Lodge. Come September I go back to school in New Jersey.”

“That’s smart. It’s alright to hang around with Jeremy to pass the time between shows but you really should avoid getting involved with immature young boys. They have no idea how to treat a woman properly.”

“Your cousin, Dr. Rosenberg, told me you’re a real player. And advised me to avoid you at all costs,” I laughed. Aaron’s face clouded over.

“That schmuck! First of all, it’s not true about me and, secondly, he’d be unemployed if I hadn’t done him a big favor and hired him as our in-house doctor. He got his MD degree from a school in Trinidad.”

“But you told me he was the best doctor in the region!”

“He is! He is! Don’t get hysterical. I’m just saying he’s wrong about me. Forget about his medical qualifications. I mean, listen to his medical advice but disregard anything he says about me. He was always jealous of me growing up. He claims I got all the best-looking girls. Not true at all. I’m not timid and shy like he was. He was always afraid of rejection. I told him you’ll never find out unless you try.”

“Hey, Dusty’s turning around by himself. I didn’t pull on the reins or anything…”

“He knows this trail like the back of his hoof. He doesn’t need us to direct him.”

“Oh, okay. I was about to panic there. Runaway horse on my first ride? That’d be embarrassing.”

“It’s too bad you won’t be around next summer.” I snapped my head around when he said that.

“What do you mean? Are you dissatisfied with my Dad’s act? The Supper Club’s been packed for every show. We even got a review in the local paper. Shirley, the girl at the front desk, says we’re getting a lot of locals making reservations, not just Lodge guests—”

“I love the act, Lindsey. Especially with you as your dad’s new assistant. If I could, I’d book you and your father every summer until kingdom come.”

“So, what are you saying?”

“It’s complicated but it looks like I might have to sell the Lodge by the end of the summer. There’s no way to avoid it, I’m afraid.”

“But why?”

“Debts. A lot of debts. I hate to say it but my parents mismanaged the Lodge for years before they retired and handed it over to me. The business has been dwindling since the mid-60s. The younger generation doesn’t love The Catskills. They’re not too enthusiastic about seeing Shecky Greene or Alan King do the traditional Borscht Belt comedy routines—”

“Or magic acts like my Dad’s?”

“Yeah, times have changed and there’s little we can do to keep up with them. I don’t see arena rock acts clamoring to play Grossinger’s let alone our little hideaway here in the mountains.”

There wasn’t a cloud in the sky but things had turned dark for our morning ride. We glumly made our way back to the stables. Even Dusty’s whinnies seemed tinged with sadness.

Between shows that evening, Elena and Jeremy dropped by our dressing room to visit. I told them the bad news I’d heard from Aaron that morning. Dad was inconsolable and the anxiety and stress showed on his face as he paced the room.

After putting on a robe, I settled into a corner of the sofa. I peered over the rim of the glass of orange juice I held in my right hand at my father as he talked animatedly with Elena. They were standing by the door. Elena was helping Dad out of his tuxedo jacket.

“I can’t believe the year I’m having. First, the accident…” Dad paused, bowing his head. After a few seconds, he resumed. “The weeks out of commission recovering from my injuries. The new girl I hired as assistant up and left without warning. Lindsey takes over and the act is better than ever with overflow crowds. Now, it’s like the rug being pulled out from under me…again!”

“I don’t understand, Jack. I’ve been staying here for a decade of summers. Business is as good this year as it was during the Kennedy administration. Mismanaged? Aaron’s parents built the second most popular resort in the Catskills. Only Grossinger’s is bigger. What debts could he be talking about?”

Dad pulled the chair out from my vanity table and slumped into it. Elena sat down on the sofa next to me while Jeremy stood with his back leaning against the door. Elena took my left hand in hers.

“Maybe I should call his parents. I have their number in Miami. If there’s anything I can do to help. I’d hate to see the Lodge torn down and replaced by something like a shopping mall or whatever. Such a beautiful location that holds so many wonderful summer memories for so many families…”

“You could buy it from the Felders, grandma,” offered Jeremy.

“Oh, boychik, what would your grandmother do with a resort hotel? All I know is the dry goods business that your grandfather and I learned from the gonifs on Orchard Street. Resorts? No, if they need a loan, that I can do.”

“Grandma knows about money,” laughed Jeremy.

“You could hire people to run it for you, Elena,” I suggested. “Then you could book Dad all year round. He wouldn’t have to travel all across the country. And I’d be going to school close enough by to see him most weekends.”

“What school do you go to?” asked Jeremy.

“Kushner Academy in Livingston,” I answered proudly.

“I thought that was an all-boys school,” Jeremy countered.

“Well…uh, it was…until recently. It’s co-ed now. Otherwise, how could I attend?” I nervously asked.

“It’s very expensive too,” Dad interjected. “Now, how am I going to be able to pay the tuition? The money’s not just going to magically appear out of thin air…”

There was a knock on the door and Jeremy had to jump aside as Dad asked who it was.

The door swung open and Dad and I almost fell onto the floor, we were so gob-smacked by the sight of the person standing there.

“Mother!” Dad shouted out, startling Elena and Jeremy.

It was grandmother, alright. She was wearing her ‘traveling outfit.’ A burgundy velour pants suit. Despite it being the middle of July, she had thrown a sweater over her shoulders. She stood there, her right hand twirling a long string of imitation pearls hanging from her neck. Her eyes scanned the room before she spoke.

“Where’s Lindsey?”

Cover art by Erin Halfelven
©2026, SammyC

My grandmother, Mrs. Miriam Azoff, stood in the doorway of our dressing room. She was wearing her ‘traveling outfit.’ A burgundy velour pants suit. Despite it being the middle of July, she had thrown a sweater over her shoulders. She stood there, her right hand twirling a long string of imitation pearls hanging from her neck. Her eyes scanned the room before she spoke.

“Where’s Lindsey?”

Dad sputtered incoherently as I froze in place, my face turning a bright shade of red, bright enough to give off light. Before either of us could move, Elena adroitly placed herself in front of grandmother and enthusiastically grasped her right hand, shaking it vigorously.

“Ahhh, Mrs. Azoff, what a delightful surprise to meet you. I’m Elena Ross. Lindsey has told me so much about you. You should see the sparkle in her eyes when she mentions you.”

Still shaking grandmother’s hand, she nodded to Jeremy behind her.

“The three of you should spend what little time that’s left between shows getting reacquainted. I’m sure you haven’t seen Lindsey in weeks. You can hardly recognize Lindsey, can you? Children do grow up quickly, don’t you know. Jeremy and I…oh, that’s my grandson Jeremy…say hello, Jeremy.”

“Hello Jeremy…I mean Mrs. Azoff,” Jeremy gabbled, unsure of what was going on with Elena.

Elena took Jeremy’s arm and walked through the doorway before turning back to the room.

“Mrs. Azoff, we must chat. Lunch tomorrow? My treat. The Lodge makes a stuffed cabbage to die for. And the babkas are simply the sweetest in the Catskills. See you at noon tomorrow. Come, Jeremy.”

Everyone was silent for a few seconds after Elena and Jeremy disappeared down the hallway.

All at once, we spoke.

Grandmother: “Who the hell was that?”

Father: “What are you doing here? Out of nowhere! You could’ve called—”

Me: “I love burgundy on you, Grandma. It’s your color!”

Grandmother took my shoulders in her hands and peered at me as her sunglasses rested on the tip of her nose. She stepped back as if receiving an electric shock.

“It’s you, Lindsey! It’s really you!” She turned to father, her face a scowl. “Jackie, how could you do this to your one and only son? You’ve turned him into a drag queen. Oy gevalt!”

“It wasn’t my idea, mama,” Dad deflected, bowing his head in shame. “And the girl who I hired to be my assistant up and left. She ran off with some putz just before we arrived here at the Lodge. What was I going to do?”

“Well, perhaps not turn your son into a laughingstock in front of audiences on a nightly basis?”

“I think I look pretty good,” I interjected. “Everyone thinks I’m a girl. Jeremy’s in love with me—”

“I’m not hearing this. It’s a bad dream.” She grabbed my shoulders again. “He can’t be in love with you. You’re both boys!” She paced the room with her head in her hands. Suddenly, she looked up. “It’s a shame really. That boy is very good-looking. And his grandmother reeks of old money. If you were a girl, he’d be quite a catch. Wait! What am I saying? Jackie, for the love of God, do the right thing and just quit this magic thing. Go find a job with Uncle Bubby. Sure he does bookkeeping for some shady types but it’s legitimate work. And Lindsey can’t go back to Yeshiva looking like…like that!”

“I know, grandma, they won’t let girls wear skirts that fall above the top of the knees,” I snickered.

I hugged grandmother and looked beseechingly into her eyes. “Please, grandma, I’m doing this for Dad. And if he just quits this gig, how are we going to pay for Yeshiva this fall? I’ll have to stop my rabbinical studies…”

“No. N. O. No.” She crossed her arms and jutted out her jaw, turning away from my gaze.

“It’ll just be for the next six weeks. Besides, don’t you think I look really nice in my assistant’s costume?” I stepped back and pirouetted.

“I have to admit you make a beautiful girl, Lindsey. But, I don’t know. It’s just not normal for a 16-year-old rabbinical student to be wearing a bustier.”

“You should see her in a bikini,” Dad muttered.

“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that. Gott in Himmel!”

Just then, Bucky Wilentz and his jazz band walked by our dressing room, having finished their set.

“You’re on in five,” Bucky shouted through the doorway. “Nice crowd tonight. Aaron tells me the late show is over-booked. They’ll have to squeeze in some extra tables.”

Vincent, cradling his guitar in his arms like it was a baby, stopped outside the doorway.

“Hey, Lindsey, looking good. As usual.”

Grandmother shut the door in his face and shook her head, her sunglasses almost flying off.

“You’re living dangerously, Lindsey. What happens if someone finds out you’re really a boy?”

“We have to start the late show, mama,” Dad said, taking grandma’s arm. “I’ll have Aaron sit you at a table near the stage. Just enjoy the show and we’ll talk in our room later tonight.”

“Can you tell this Aaron fella to get me a glass of red wine too?”

“Sure, mama. Manischewitz?”

“I’d rather have a Red Moscato. It’s kosher too, you know.”

As you can imagine, our late-night conversation didn’t get anywhere. Grandmother enjoyed the show and said I genuinely looked beautiful under the stage lights but she was adamant about Dad quitting the act as soon as possible. She wanted me back in boy mode by the time school started again in late August.

“You weren’t kidding about the stuffed cabbage, Elena,” grandma said admiringly as she reached for her glass of iced tea. We were seated for lunch in the Lodge dining room. The din of friendly conversation and tables being bussed in rapid succession made chatting a little difficult, which is why grandma leaned forward and raised her voice as she asked Elena why Jeremy was absent from the occasion.

“He’s driving down to the city to pick up a gift for you from my store, Ross & Stone On Fifth.”

“Oh, my, Elena, a gift from Ross & Stone? And you’re THAT Ross? What are you doing in the Catskills? I’d think you’d be on a Mediterranean cruise or vacationing in the South of France.”

“When my husband was alive, we’d travel the world. From Khartoum to Katmandu and back. Right now, I prefer staying close to my family. That’s why Jeremy’s with me. He’s my sunshine.”

“Speaking of Jeremy…uh…you must know or you should be made aware of the fact that Lindsey is not a girl. He’s a boy. I hope Jeremy hasn’t gone and fallen for…uh…him.”

“Grandma, Elena knows. She’s been so helpful. Doing my hair, teaching me about makeup. She even gave me a whole new wardrobe. After lunch, we’ll go back up to our room and I’ll model all the outfits we picked out.”

“Elena, I’m not going to let you give those clothes away for free. At least let me pay you their wholesale value,” Dad offered.

“Nonsense, Jack, they’re a gift. Just like my gift of a new wardrobe that Jeremy’s picking for you, Miriam—”

“Oh, please, Elena, don’t go to all that trouble. I’m leaving tomorrow. Hopefully, I’m taking Jackie and Lindsey with me. It’s God’s way of telling us that the magic act has run its course. Uncle Bubby would give Jackie a bookkeeping job in a New York minute. And Lindsey can continue his schooling…as a boy.”

Elena reached across the table and took grandma’s hands in hers. She did not say a word until their eyes locked.

“Listen to me, Miriam. Lindsey is your beautiful granddaughter. The apple of your eye. You are immensely proud of her—”

“Her?”

“Shhh. Yes, her. Lindsey is a girl. You’ve known that from when she was just a toddler. And when you see her on stage, looking so lovely in her costume, displaying her deep filial love for her father by doing the mitzvah of being his assistant, your breast swells with pride that you have such a wonderful, beautiful granddaughter.”

“Wonderful, yes. Beautiful. Granddaughter. My Lindsey.”

“So, you will stay for a while. To spend time with your son and granddaughter. And enjoy the mountain air of the Catskills. The Hadassah can do without you for a week.”

“I’ll call Ceil and tell her to keep an eye on my tomatoes and squash for a few more days. She’s a good neighbor—”

“Then it’s settled.” Elena released grandmother’s hands.

“I would go easy on the babkas, Lindsey,” grandma advised me. “You’ve got to maintain a girlish figure if you’re going to wear that revealing costume, my shayna meydele.”

“Did you just call Lindsey a pretty girl, mama?” asked Dad.

“Is that strange, Jackie? You don’t think you’re daughter is a beautiful girl?”

“No. I mean yes. She’s the most beautiful girl in the world to me,” replied Dad.

“So, let me ask you, Elena. Is your Jeremy serious about my Lindsey? I think they’d make a great match—”

“Grandma! How embarrassing. We’re just friends. He’s a nice boy but that’s all,” I said with appropriate indignation.

“Miriam, they’re 16. Much too young to be talking seriously,” Elena cautioned. “I’ll admit Jeremy is smitten by the lovely Lindsey. Oh, don’t blush, dear. As I was saying, I don’t think we should be sending out wedding invitations just yet.”

“They’d make beautiful babies together,” Miriam sighed.

Elena winked at me. “You may be right. Perhaps we’ll see…someday.”

“I don’t think so,” I said under my breath.

“By the way, Elena, how would you know what sizes I wear?” grandma wondered.

She laughed. “Some people would say I can read minds.”

“My son reads minds in his act,” grandma declared.

I don’t know how she did it but Elena had my grandmother convinced that I was a girl and always had been. Immediately, grandma bestowed more affection on me than I’d ever known from her. Her voice took on a softer, less dictatorial tone. She felt an affinity with my female-ness. There was a new understanding between us that our brains were wired similarly. I was a girl to her now.

As we took a walk by the lake just outside the perimeter of the Lodge, she held my hand and told me she had decided to stay through the summer.

“What about your tomatoes, grandma?”

“Let Ceil have them all if she wants. I won’t need them since I’m here. Right?”

“Grandma, do you still want me to become a rabbi?”

She giggled. “A female rabbi. Really, Lindsey, where do you even get these silly ideas? No, you should go to college and study whatever tickles your fancy. In the end, you’ll probably get married and start a family anyway.” She stopped in her tracks and searched my eyes. “Lindsey, do you really like Jeremy?”

“Like Elena said, we’re still so young. We haven’t even finished high school—”

“But it might pay to keep in touch with him whatever colleges you go to. Your father’s not a rich man. And my sweet granddaughter deserves all the best things in life. Stay close to him if you really love him. Secure your future. You know what I mean?”

“I’ve been thinking, grandma, that I could do my own magic act…when and if Dad retires, of course. I’ve got some ideas for the act that could take it another level.”

“I know you want to help your father out but, honey, you’ve got better things to do with your life than playing tricks on audiences 200 nights a year. If you applied yourself, you could do well in business. Elena could show you the ropes in retail. You could start at the top. Ross & Stone On Fifth is a global brand.”

“Stop it, grandma. Jeremy’s not going to marry me. Just get that thought out of your head.”

“And why not? You’re smart, beautiful, and personable.”

“It’s not what I am. It’s what I’m not.”

“I don’t understand—”

The clop-clop of horse hooves interrupted our discussion. Riding one of the Lodge’s geldings was Aaron Felder. He pulled on the reins and stopped just feet away from us. Looking down from the saddle, he doffed his herringbone newsboy cap in our direction.

“Morning, ladies. Having a pleasant walk along the lakeshore?”

“Grandma, this is Aaron Felder, the General Manager of the Lodge. Aaron, this is Miriam Azoff, my grandmother.”

“Nice to meet you. I can see where Lindsey gets her looks. Beauty runs in the family for sure.”

“He’s full of it, grandma.”

“Oh, Lindsey, don’t disrespect your boss like that.”

“Your granddaughter’s a feisty one. I like feisty.”

“You know, Mr. Felder, I’ve noticed that you’re drawing beyond capacity for my son and granddaughter’s magic act on a nightly basis. Perhaps you could see your way clear to increasing their remuneration, if you catch my drift.”

Aaron gently laughed. “Well, I can see where Lindsey gets her feistiness from. Maybe we’ll need to look at that issue. In due time, ladies.”

A black Buick Electra sedan encroached on our space, its wheels throwing up some loose pebbles on the lakeshore drive. It stopped near where Aaron sat atop his horse. After a minute, a beefy man in a dark suit opened the passenger door and a man in a dark blue pinstripe suit, who looked to be in his early fifties, stepped out of the car.

“Felder, we have to talk. Your due date is coming up. I’ve heard squat from you so I decided to come to you and take a close look at the property in question. Do you mind? I don’t want to have to look up at you to talk.”

Aaron dismounted and stood next to the man in the pinstripe suit, still holding the reins in his left hand.

“I’m trying to get the money together, Sal. I need a little more time.”

“Time’s almost up. And when do you get to call me Sal? That’s for friends and family. You’re not that, Felder. Mr. Maranzano, okay, sport? Now get in the car and show me around the place.”

“I can’t just leave the horse here.”

“Hey, ladies, do Felder a favor and take his horse back to the stables.”

After the Buick departed, we looked at each other. Finally, I decided to just walk the horse back to the stables. It wasn’t that far.

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.

Cover art by Erin Halfelven
©2026, SammyC

“So, when do you expect Aaron’s mom to arrive,” I asked Elena as the five of us (me, Elena, Jeremy, Dad, and grandma) picked at our lunch on the patio by the pool. It was a sweltering Friday in late July, the noon sun ablaze in the sky, heat coming in waves stifling the air. Even so, there was nary an empty table. The din of conversation mingled with the sounds of tables being bussed and servers placing dishes in front of diners.

“She told me she was taking the 9AM flight from Palm Beach to JFK. That’s three hours. The drive up here will take another three and a half hours.” She glanced at her watch. “I told her I’d meet her in the lobby at around 5.”

“Isn’t Aaron going to be there when she arrives? You told him, didn’t you?”

“Oh, he knows. He said he was going to be occupied with greeting Joey Allen and getting him settled in his dressing room—”

“Which dressing room? There’s only two. Ours and Bucky Wilentz’s band has the other one.”

“He hasn’t told you?” Elena arched her brow. “He’s giving Joey your dressing room. At least until his set is over. Apparently he’s leaving immediately afterwards.”

“You, Jack, and Mrs. Azoff can sit at our table during Joey’s stand-up routine,” Jeremy suggested, his hair still wet from his daily session of diving practice. We were all wearing swimsuits but Jeremy had been the only one who’d actually dipped a toe into the water. The rest of us worked on our tans. I smiled at Jeremy but I was trying to hide my resentment at Aaron giving my dressing room to Joey Allen without an iota of discussion.

“Thank you Elena and Jeremy,” Dad said as grandma nodded sympathetically. “Lindsey, it’s the way of the world. Joey Allen is a star. It’s only for one night…”

I turned away from the table, my frown hidden from the others. That’s when I caught sight of Aaron sitting at a table at the far end of the patio, in the shadow of a cantilever sun umbrella. He was wearing a #24 Bill Bradley New York Knicks basketball jersey over his swim trunks. His hair was wet and slicked back. My eyes left his handsome face and landed on the left profile of a pretty blonde woman, sipping a Mimosa from a straw. She was in a blue floral print kimono that framed the white bikini she was filling out rather well.

“There’s Aaron,” I pointed out. “I’ve a mind to go and file my protest with him. At the least, he could have notified us before Joey Allen walked in on us as we were changing.” I got up and made a beeline to Aaron’s table.

“Lindsey, sit down. Honey—” I ignored Dad and only slowed down when I saw Aaron giving this woman a long, lingering kiss. Determined, I called out to Aaron when I was just a few feet from their table.

“Aaron, can I have a word with you?”

“Who’s this, Aaron? I thought you graduated high school a decade ago…at least.”

She made me feel self-conscious for no good reason and I wrapped my cover up tighter around me.

“Very funny, Amanda. This is Lindsey Azoff. She and her father are the headline magic act at the Lodge this summer. Lindsey, Amanda Kellerman.”

“Do you customarily address your boss by his first name, Miss Azoff?”

“We’re very collegial here, Amanda,” Aaron quickly interjected. “I insist on a first-name basis for the working environment here. Makes for a friendly workplace. After all, we’re in the hospitality business.”

“I’ll buy that for a dollar,” she snickered. Turning to me, she asked “What is so important that you need to disturb Mr. Felder’s lunch? Couldn’t it wait until later?”

Aaron sprung up from his chair and took me a little roughly by the arm.

“Excuse us, Amanda. I’m sure it’s something that involves stage lighting or props for their act. We’ll be just a couple of minutes. Order another Mimosa. It’s on the house!” He laughed as he hurried to an unoccupied table near the patio fence, dragging me along.

“Sit down, Lindsey. What’s up?”

“Who is that…that—”

“Bitch? Really, Lindsey. Such language. That’s Amanda Kellerman. Eldest daughter of David Kellerman, Manhattan commercial real estate magnate. You’ve heard of him?”

“No, can’t say I have.”

“Well, Amanda and I are…good friends.”

“Are you two involved?”

“Nearly. Nearly. Look, I can be totally honest with you. She’s got her father wrapped around her little finger. She doesn’t even have to ask her dad to loan me all of what I owe Maranzano. I can get the rest from Joey Allen. Like I told you, Joey’s like part of the family. He even came to my bar mitzvah.”

“You seem pretty sure she can get the money from her father.”

“She’s head over heels for me.” He sat back and ran his fingers through his still wet hair.

“And do you like her…equally?”

“Nah. She’s too much of a spoiled little rich girl for my taste. We don’t move in the same social circles. She’s always cracking wise about me being a Catskills innkeeper for a crowd of village bumpkins.”

“I…I don’t see you that way, Aaron. I mean, you’re a captain of industry to me. I’m just a girl from Central Jersey.” I think I was making googly eyes at him because he abruptly got up and asked me what I wanted to speak to him about.

“About our dressing room…”

“Yeah?”

“I hope Mr. Allen likes it. I’ve tried to keep it neat and clean—”

“I’m sure you have, Lindsey. And I appreciate it. So, I’ve got to get back to Amanda before she has her third Mimosa. I need her to be functionally sober when I spring the question on her. Say hello to your dad and grandmother for me.”

Talia Felder drew back the curtains of her hotel room’s windows and sighed.

“I had no idea Aaron would keep it from you,” Elena said, sitting across from me, at the bistro table in the room.

“Elena, that boy barely speaks to me once a month, never mind actually visiting me in person. Especially since his father passed. I thought things were going well. As well as it could. You know the whole Catskills resort is in a death spiral. The only hotel going great guns is Grossinger’s. Aaron even urged me to sell the place. If we could find a buyer…”

“I surmise, Talia, there’s no way you could come up with the money Aaron owes that mobster,” Elena said.

“When Aaron’s father and I retired, we had a nest egg of about a quarter of a million dollars. We thought that and whatever we’d get from selling the Lodge would keep us comfortable in Boca until the final sunset.”

“Aaron told me he’s got a plan to get the money he needs to pay this guy Maranzano,” I added to the discussion. Talia turned to me and looked me over, slowly and silently.

“I was under the impression that Jack had a son named Lindsey. At least, that’s what I recall. Of course, it’s been a few years.”

“Who ever heard of a boy named Lindsey?” I replied. “Lindsey’s a girl’s name. Right, Elena?”

“Lindsey with an e, not an a. Girl’s name, certainly,” Elena declared as she nodded in my direction.

“Well, you certainly are the very image of your mother. Bless her soul.”

“Speaking of Aaron’s plan, Talia, do you know Joey Allen well?” asked Elena.

“My husband, when he was a boy, was in the junior congregation at the synagogue Joey’s father, Rabbi Shmulowitz, presided over in The Bronx. He wanted to become a cantor. But the Depression came along and he had to find work wherever he could. He started out as a busboy in his Uncle Duddy’s hotel in the Borscht Belt. That’s where I met him, before the war, when he was assistant manager and I was a hostess in the dining room. We got married a month before he went overseas.”

Talia sat down on the bed, her head bowed. Her hands nervously fidgeted in her lap.

“After the war, Uncle Duddy, a confirmed bachelor, died and left the hotel to us. The Lodge started to do well, better than it did under Uncle Duddy. Aaron’s father had an eye for showbiz talent. We were booking a lot of up-and-coming singers, comics, and magicians, you name it. When Joey Shmulowitz became a regular during the summer season, my husband discovered Joey was the Rabbi’s son. We became fast friends and were so happy for Joey when he started appearing on TV and playing clubs across the country. Of course, he changed his name to Allen. Easier for the goyim to remember.”

Talia picked up her handbag and took out her wallet. She flipped through the photos and stopped, her expression softening, her lips slightly quivering, as she placed the wallet in Elena’s open palm.

“That’s the three of us in Central Park. Joey was appearing on The Steve Allen Show and got us tickets to the studio. He even put us up in the Ritz Carlton for two nights. All on his dime. Aaron had to stay home with my mother. Boy, was he mad at us for days!”

Elena passed the wallet to me and I scanned the black and white photo. It was unquestioningly taken in the mid-1950s. There were people in the background dressed in the fashion of the times. Men in suits or sportscoats. Many with fedoras on their heads. Women in mid-calf length dresses and skirts, purse straps languidly hanging off their slender forearms.

“You were so beautiful, Mrs. Felder,” I gushed.

“That was a long time ago, my dear.”

Joey Allen, displaying a slim silhouette in his tuxedo and black bow-tie, separated the microphone from its stand and leaned into the audience in The Supper Club. He was finishing up his 40-minute set. The capacity crowd in the room was still laughing at his previous string of one-liners. I was seated at Elena Ross’ table along with Dad, grandma, Talia Felder, and Jeremy Ross. I had to admit that Joey was one very funny man. In the back of the room, obscured in the shadows, stood Aaron, his arms crossed, a serious look on his face. It was apparent he hadn’t been raucously laughing at Joey’s comedy act, having other more sober things on his mind.

“As you might know, my father is a Rabbi and one of his quirks was sitting at breakfast every morning and reading the obituaries in the newspaper. He often observed to me, between bites of his bagel and lox or matzah brei: ‘Only in America does everyone die alphabetically.’

But, I guess he passed onto me his obsession with reading and collecting obituaries. Even to this day, people who know me and fans will send me unusual or peculiar obituary notices from their local papers.”

He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a single sheet of newspaper. He mimed having difficulty reading it, moving it back and forth in front of his eyes.

“Here, this is from a recent New York Times. Yes, from May of this year. You know, there’s something that always…well, disturbed me. A pattern. Women live longer than men. Yes, it’s a fact. Let’s see. All of these are from one page on the same day. This gentleman died at the age of 79. It says, ‘left a wife.’ Okay. This man passed at 86. A good age. ‘He is survived by his wife.’ Another man. 84 at the time of his passing. You guessed it. ‘Survived by his wife.’ And it goes on. ‘Survived by his wife…left a wife…he is survived by a wife.’ Eight out of the nine obits on this one page…all on the same day…survived by his wife!”

It’s enough to stop a man from ever marrying! Till death do us part? Which part of us are we talking about? Fellas, this is a warning…”

There was a cascade of laughter from most of the men in the room. I noted that Elena, grandma, and Talia weren’t very amused. My father was trying to sink down in his seat while Jeremy shrugged his shoulders while glancing at me.

Joey reached into his breast pocket again and pulled out a clipping from a newspaper he claimed a fan sent him recently.

“From The Los Angeles Herald. The obituary section. Uh…let’s see…November of last year. Now listen to this. ‘West Point’s oldest graduate dies. Brigadier General…mumble…died at 104. 43 years of active duty. Participated Spanish American War 1898, the Boxer Rebellion, Vera Cruz, World War I, four times awarded the Silver Star, Distinguished Service Cross, and the French Croix de Guerre.’ What does it say?”

He nodded his head as the laughter started to build.

“’He is survived by his wife.’ Here’s a man took care of Pancho Villa, fought the Indians, survived seven wars! But he couldn’t survive the old lady!”

Raucous laughter crossed the room in waves. Joey replaced the microphone on its stand and held up his index finger while reaching into his pants pocket with his other hand.

“But, ladies and gentlemen, I leave you with this article from a newspaper that a lady sent me along with this nice letter. A recent widow, she tells me that she came to one of my shows and it was the first laugh she’d had since her husband died. She enclosed this clipping. And it reads: ‘Mrs. Vera Cermak of Prague, Czechoslovakia, on hearing that her husband was leaving her for another woman, threw herself from a third story window to end it all. She was taken to a hospital and soon recovered. Her husband – on whom she landed – was killed on the spot.’”

That brought the house down. Despite everything, even I had to chuckle at that one. Joey bowed and waved to the audience, blowing kisses as they applauded. Everyone at our table rose from our seats as Joey left the stage, ripples of applause still redounding in the room. We saw Aaron move toward the backstage area.

“I guess we’re going to convene in Joey’s dressing room?” asked Dad.

“Our dressing room, Dad,” I replied, taking grandma’s arm.

Cover art by Erin Halfelven
©2026, SammyC

The door to Joey Allen’s dressing room was wide open. Correction: our dressing room and soon to be restored to us in the next five minutes. Joey was hurriedly loosening his bow-tie when we entered. Turning around, his initial look of annoyance melted away and a broad smile creased his face. He rushed forward and embraced Talia Felder, whose arms fell to her side limply.

“Talia! It’s been ages. How have you been?” He held her at arm’s length. “Oh, I’m an idiot. These two years since Harry died…I’m sure it hasn’t been easy for you. I’ve been so busy with my career and everything, it’s a crime that the last time I saw you was at Harry’s funeral. I wanted to call, to come and see you but…”

“Joey. It’s alright. You’ve been in movies, on TV, performed before the Queen of England. I wouldn’t expect you to—”

“Remember you? Talia, you know I could never forget you.”

“We need to speak to you, Mr. Allen,” I interrupted. Everyone turned to look at me. Did I do something wrong? After all, Aaron had an important question to ask him.

“Who is she?” Joey searched our faces.

Finally, Aaron stepped forward. “I’ve already asked Joey. I talked to him the minute he walked into the lobby this afternoon.”

“And?” I asked.

“He told me he couldn’t help.” We let out a collective sigh of disappointment.

“It’s not as simple as you think,” Joey said as he went behind the screen. My screen. The screen I used to change into my stage costume.

We could hear him unbuttoning his pants and sliding them down his legs. Then the swish of silk as he took off his shirt.

“I’m quite familiar with Sal Maranzano. Do you know he’s a silent partner in a number of Vegas casinos? Casinos I perform at? In particular The Desert Palace where I have an annual residency? For which I get paid a boatload of dough?”

He emerged from behind the screen wearing a sport jacket, blue polo shirt, and gray slacks. As he neatly placed his tuxedo outfit into a garment bag and zipped it shut, he gently placed his hand on Talia’s arm.

“Really, if I could help you, I would. But junior here picked the wrong guy to pile up gambling debts to. The wrong guy indeed. Talia, take care of yourself. If there’s anything I can do for you…personally…you can call my agent Barry. You remember Barry. I have to go, people. I have a car waiting to take me to Albany International. Ten o’clock flight to Vegas. I’m starting three weeks at the Palace tomorrow night.” He kissed Talia on the cheek and exited the dressing room quickly, his garment bag slung over his shoulder. He was whistling.

My eyes turned immediately to Aaron, who was whispering something in his mother’s ear. She was nodding.

“Some godfather he turns out to be,” I said, aiming my barb directly at Aaron.

“You don’t understand. Sal Maranzano is a real godfather,” Talia pointed out. “He’s in the pockets of half of Hollywood. Especially those who can’t curb their gambling habits.” Talia shot a stern shaming look at her son. Aaron hung his head briefly but recovered quickly, a devilish smile breaking out.

“Luckily, I’ve got another iron in the fire. A red hot one, in fact. I’ll tell you about it over an aperitif, mother. Let’s leave the dressing room to Lindsey and her father. Bucky’s set ends in fifteen minutes.” Aaron trailed Talia as they stepped out into the hallway.

“What iron is he talking about?” Jeremy asked.

“She’s red hot, alright. But I’ve got the feeling she won’t be able to help either. This Maranzano guy has Aaron in a vise over his stupid vice,” I cracked.

After the late show, Elena and I sat around the outdoor bistro table on the balcony of Talia’s hotel room. It was a warm mid-summer night with a trickling breeze coming down from the hills in the distance. Talia was pouring out three glasses of iced tea from a pitcher.

“Talia, you don’t seem that upset about the whole shmear,” observed Elena as she took her first sip of the cold liquid.

Sitting down, Talia handed me two packs of sugar to put in my tea. I offered one to Elena, who shook her head.

“To be honest, girls, the fate of the Lodge really doesn’t impact me very much…at all. Harry left all our savings, investments, and the house in Boca Raton to me in his will but bequeathed title to the Lodge to Aaron. Aaron never showed any inclination to pursue a career other than running the Lodge so…”

“I get the sense you and Aaron aren’t the closest mother and child I’ve ever encountered,” Elena declared.

“Don’t you love your son, Talia…er…Mrs. Felder?” I was naive enough to assume that a mother could never not love her child. Especially an only child. My parents and I had been and are very close.

“Yes, of course, I do, Lindsey. And call me Talia. Please. Aaron has always been guarded emotionally. Sometimes it really seems like we’re strangers rather than family.”

“When I look into his thoughts, I see a lot of darkness. Did he have a happy childhood?” Elena asked.

“Look into his thoughts? You’re telling me you can read minds?” Talia laughed.

“Perhaps not literally but, yes, he’s easy to read. Like an open book.”

“Well, I can assure you he grew up in a happy home with loving parents and everything a child could want. Harry and I doted on him. As an only child, we treated him like a prince. Perhaps he was treated too well. They say people who are handed everything from birth are often the victim of their own sense of entitlement.”

“What will he do if he loses the Lodge?” I asked. More out of concern for my Dad and me than for Aaron.

“I suppose he could continue to manage the Lodge. But as an employee, not the owner. Maranzano hardly knows the first thing about operating a resort hotel in the Catskills.”

“Then Dad and I could still keep our annual summer gig here, right?”

Elena turned to me and hesitated before speaking. “I don’t think Maranzano is interested in taking over The Lodge. The land would be extremely valuable to a real estate developer.”

I laughed. “Developing what? A horse farm?”

“If one were to buy up a couple of the other nearby hotels, the entire plot of land would make a perfect site for the biggest shopping mall in Central New York State.” Elena took a long sip of tea.

“Where do you get that idea?” Talia asked.

“Maybe I read someone’s mind?” She saw our stunned expressions. “Just a guess on my part. I think I saw something about the boom in shopping malls in The New York Times. Jeremy’s father has a subscription.”

Mondays were our one day off each week. I had planned to go riding with Aaron that morning as I had discovered a heretofore unknown pleasure in sitting atop a gentle gelding as he lazily trod the scenic trails around the Lodge. But Aaron was in the City, meeting with the Kellermans, father and daughter, in their high-rise Manhattan offices. He was confident that David Kellerman would crumble beneath the weight of his daughter’s pressure and lend him the entirety of the sum he owed Maranzano – a cool $900,000. He even came through the patio where Jeremy and I were having brunch on his way to the parking lot, dressed to the nines in a pinstripe suit and carrying an attaché case. He winked at me and gave us the thumbs up sign.

“You like that creep don’t you?” asked Jeremy in an annoyed tone.

“I feel sorry for him. Elena thinks he had a traumatic childhood. There was a lot of family drama we don’t know about. Like…” I leaned closer to Jeremy and, in a whisper, I said, “I think his mother and Joey Allen had a thing going on. It probably almost tore apart his parents’ marriage. Children of divorce can be emotionally damaged by all that drama.”

Jeremy just nodded and returned to reading the voluminous Sunday edition of The New York Times he had received in the morning mail.

“I wanted to have a quiet brunch but this is total silence,” I scolded Jeremy.

“Uh huh.” He turned the page and kept his head down.

“Can you at least give me a section to read?”

“Here. I finished glossing over the national news section. You might find it more interesting than I did.”

I scanned the headlines on the first page, found nothing of interest, and turned it over. More boring news about desultory people and places confronted my gaze. I licked my thumb like I’d seen my grandmother do when she read the Star-Ledger and riffed through several pages before something caught my attention. It was an article about an investigation into money-laundering at The Desert Palace Casino in Las Vegas. There were Nevada state warrants out on the principal owners of the Casino. Two of the owners had been arrested as they were boarding a plane to Mexico. A couple of others were still to be apprehended. Since these others were out-of-state residents, extradition protocol had to be arranged with the jurisdictions where they were residing or hiding out. Nevertheless, these guys were wanted men.

“Jeremy! Didn’t Joey Allen say that Maranzano was part-owner of The Desert Palace in Vegas?”

“Yeah.”

“Well it says here the owners of the casino have been charged with money-laundering. They’ve already arrested two of the owners and are looking to apprehend the other two who are out-of-state, like, on the lam.”

“My cousin Michael works in the Southern District D.A.’s office in Manhattan and he told me out-of-state warrants aren’t always honored. It’s not like a Federal warrant that can be served anywhere. Both jurisdictions have to come to an agreement for extradition. There are lawyers who make a living arguing fine legal points like this for mob clients.”

“So Maranzano isn’t going back to Nevada anytime soon,” I surmised.

“Not if his lawyers can help it,” Jeremy said. He put the newspaper down. “I can see the wheels turning in that cute head of yours, Lindsey. But there’s really nothing we can do about it.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right. If Aaron doesn’t get David Kellerman to loan him $900,000, I guess we’ll be working for Big Sal next summer.”

“Not according to grandmother,” Jeremy noted. “She thinks Maranzano will just turn around and sell the land to a developer to build a shopping mall, the biggest one in the state. He’s probably got a cut of the whole deal.”

Elena, Talia and I waited for word from Aaron about the success or failure of his negotiations with David Kellerman but we hadn’t heard from him since the late afternoon. At around 4PM he had called his mother to tell her that he’d be back at The Lodge late in the evening. He just said he’d be having dinner with the Kellermans at Peter Luger’s in Brooklyn. The drive back from the city takes three and a half hours so we calculated his arrival at around midnight.

The hotel bar didn’t close until 2AM, so we sat drinking cups of coffee to keep from getting drowsy. Finally, at a quarter of 1AM, Aaron walked in. The look on his face was not encouraging. We waved him over to our table in the far corner of the bar and he absolutely melted into a chair.

“Well?” we asked in unison.

“How did I miss it. Connect all the dots…”

“Miss what. Connect what dots?” Talia asked, her voice raised.

“David Kellerman is trying to buy out all the hotels or at least most of them in the Catskills and build a shopping mall. The biggest, damned shopping mall in the state.” He paused as a waitress came over to ask him for his order. “Give me a double Maker’s Mark, Cassie. Chop-chop.” He waved her away.

“And Big Sal Maranzano’s got a fifty-fifty stake in the development. Whether Kellerman likes it or not.”

Cassie placed a napkin and the double shot of bourbon on the table. Aaron picked up the glass.

“Here’s mud in my eye.”

Cover art by Erin Halfelven
©2026, SammyC

It wasn’t a cauldron and we didn’t throw in a toad but we probably did look like the gaggle of witches in Macbeth. Talia, Elena, Grandma and I surrounded a large pot of boiling salted water in the Lodge’s kitchen. Talia was showing us her recipe for Cold Borscht Soup, which she was going to serve us for lunch on this sweltering Tuesday at twelve noon.

“It takes about 30 minutes for the beets to turn tender. In the meantime, we can chat amongst ourselves,” Talia brightly said.

“Your people were from Russia, Talia?” declared Grandma rather than asked.

“Yes, from The Pale. Mostly Belarus. Although some came from Ukraine.”

“I don’t think Grandma ever made Cold Borscht, did you?” I prodded. “Oh, that smell. It’s like a damp field in the forest.” I made a big show of pinching my nostrils together.

“Silly girl. Stop that. It’s not that bad.” Grandma swiped at my hand. “Forgive Lindsey, Talia. She’s not very domestic at all.”

“I’ll bet she was a real tomboy until her breasts bloomed,” Talia laughed. I blushed.

“I’ve really enjoyed spending these last few days getting to know you girls. That’s why I’m making my signature summer dish for you all as my parting thank you gift.”

“But why leave so soon, Talia? Don’t tell me the Canasta they play in Boca is more exciting than our activities at The Lodge,” teased Elena.

“I can’t help Aaron. The only reason I came was the outside chance that Joey Allen might lend Aaron the money he needed…for old time’s sake. But…he didn’t…so I’m leaving. Anyway, it was you Elena who asked me to come, not my son. We’re barely civil to each other, as obvious as that must be.”

I held up a slotted spoon. “Are the beets done? I’ve got a large bowl ready for them to cool in.”

“Get another bowl so I can strain the cooking liquid through this sieve and let it cool as well.” She turned back to Elena and Grandma as I searched the metal shelves for another suitable bowl.

“I don’t mean to pry but what exactly is the beef between you and your son? Except for a couple of personality flaws like gambling and skirt-chasing, he seems like a fine boychik, if you ask me. Which, of course, you didn’t…”rambled Grandma.

I spooned the beets into a bowl after handing the bowl I’d found on the shelf to Talia. She used a ladle to pour the cooking liquid through the sieve into the bowl. She smiled and thanked me. “Elena tells me Jeremy really likes Borscht. Maybe you can make it for him. I’ll leave you the recipe.” I blushed beet red.

“Stop teasing her, Talia. She’ll give off enough of a glow to light up the kitchen,” giggled Elena.

“In the old country, a girl your age would already be betrothed. Of course, that’s village life. Girls have so many more options in life these days,” Grandma noted.

“You asked why Aaron and I are so distant with each other. I’m afraid I’m to blame. I was the bad one. A bad mother. A bad wife.”

“No! That can’t be!” gasped Elena.

There was more than a moment of silence as we watched Talia whisking the beet cooking liquid, 2 cups of chicken stock, sour cream, half a cup of yogurt, a quarter cup of sugar, 2 tablespoons of fresh-squeezed lemon juice, 2 teaspoons of vinegar, kosher salt and freshly ground pepper into a soupy consistency.

“Lindsey, do me a favor and go over to the counter and peel the skins off the beets. Use a paring knife. Then dice them into medium-sized cubes. There’s more room over there. Thank you, darling.”

Of course, I could still hear their conversation, keeping my head down as I peeled and diced.

“In the late ‘50s, Joey signed a contract to film some sitcom pilots for, I think CBS or NBC, I don’t remember, and he invited us…the three of us…to spend a couple of weeks in Los Angeles with him while he was at the lot during the day. He had just bought this beautiful house up in the hills. I was thrilled to go. So was Aaron. He was 13, turning 14 at the time. But Gabe said he couldn’t leave during the busy season, even for a few days. He left it up to me. Things weren’t going that well between Gabe and me at the time. He had picked up a nasty drinking habit and was irrationally angry a lot. Angry at the world, angry at the staff, angry at me, I guess. So, Aaron and I took up Joey’s invitation. It was our first airplane trip.” Talia gently laughed. She started to cut up some cucumbers, scallions and dill, adding them to the soup.

“Joey’s first words when we set foot into his new house in the hills was: ‘I live alone, Talia. I don’t know many people in this town. I haven’t even met my neighbors yet. Of course, I’d have to scale a 10 foot high fence to say hello but you get the point. There’s barely any furniture in the place. A single man doesn’t know from interior decoration, you know. What I’m trying to say is, this house…this man, me, Joey Shmulowitz, from The Bronx…needs a woman’s touch. Stay with me, Talia. Leave Gabe. He doesn’t appreciate you. You’re just another employee to him. I’ve always loved you. You know that. Look around, Talia. This is the land of milk and honey and Joey Allen is making the big time. I need you…’ I sputtered and lied. I told him I’d never felt that way about him. We were old friends, that’s all. And Gabe was a good husband and a good dad to little Aaron. Joey shook his head and approached me, taking me in his arms. He kissed me passionately. All this time, Aaron was frozen in place, an angry scowl on his face as he witnessed his mother’s betrayal of his father.

In the two weeks we spent in Los Angeles, Joey never stopped trying to seduce me. Well, he succeeded. A late night, after Aaron had gone to bed, a bottle of Pinot Noir in his right hand, glasses refilled as we strolled poolside, looking up at the Western starlit sky. It was so simple, so easy to slip. Joey is Jewish but he’s kissed the Blarney Stone. He could sweet talk anyone, anywhere, anyhow. I fell like a ton of bricks. Of course, Aaron was old enough to realize what was happening. And Joey tried to get on Aaron’s good side with every blandishment he could imagine a 13-year-old boy would appreciate. On successive Sundays, the only days off he got from shooting his pilot, we took Aaron to Disneyland and a Dodgers game at Memorial Coliseum, the first season they had relocated from Brooklyn. Aaron enjoyed the fun days we had but the sullen look on his face returned the moment he was in the backseat of Joey’s Cherry Red Thunderbird as we drove back to the house in the hills.”

I added the diced beets into the soup and, after stirring the completed concoction a few times, Talia covered the bowl with plastic wrap and walked it over to the enormous refrigerator.

“Three hours and it’ll be ready to be served.” She looked at her wristwatch. “Let’s reconvene in the patio at 12:30, everybody.”

“Wait a minute. You haven’t finished your story!” Everyone turned to me, startled by my outburst. “Well, I couldn’t help but overhear. I mean I’m just a few feet away. Anyway, I’m not a child. I’m aware of the ways of the world.” I crossed my arms and looked defiant.

“You’re right, Lindsey. You’re almost an adult. Maybe you can learn from my mistakes. Unfortunately, I acted like a lovesick teenager when I was already the mother of a 13-year-old boy—”

“And a married woman with a good breadwinner for a husband,” added Grandma.

“At the end of the two weeks, I had a stern talk with myself. A strong cup of coffee and a long drag on a Marlboro (‘The cigarette designed for men that women like’) finally convinced me that Joey and I had no future together. It was a silly notion, us being together. He was going places. In a few years, he’d despise me. The middle-aged hausfrau with the adult son stuck out like a sore thumb in a veritable sea of comely, young model-thin bleached blondes with their come-hither looks. I didn’t give Joey a chance to talk me out of leaving. I called for a cab and bundled Aaron and our combined luggage into the backseat, speeding toward LAX, passing Joey in his Corvette returning from the lot. Gabe barely noticed we had come back. He was embroiled in some mishegoss with the staff. Bless Aaron though. He never uttered a word about the whole episode to his father. But he never forgot his mother’s fall off the wagon in La La Land.”

Elena rubbed Talia’s shoulder consolingly. “I’m sure Aaron deep down loves his mother. The hurt fades away with time. It does. You’ll see one day.”

“I’m not so sure, Elena. Well, anyway, I’m leaving after lunch. I’ll be back in Boca in time for our weekly Canasta night.”

“Lindsey, didn’t Jeremy say he was meeting you in the lobby right about now to drive you to Woodstock?” Elena asked.

“Oh, that’s right! Why did I tell him that I was on the tennis team at school? Now he’s got me entered as his partner in mixed doubles for that match at Grossinger’s Friday. I’m such a twit.”

“Well you can’t play tennis in a t-shirt and blue jeans, dear. They’ve got some cute outfits in the sports shop on Tinker Street. Jeremy’s been there before. His older sisters bought their outfits from that store.”

“Oh, Lindsey’s quite the tennis player. She used to beat all the boys from the other schools,” remarked Grandma brightly. “Oh my, I’m getting senile. I meant she used to beat all the girls from the other schools.”

Woodstock is an hour’s drive north from The Lodge. Hard to reconcile the thought that just 3 summers before they’d held that iconic music festival in some farmland a few miles outside the town of Bethel. As Jeremy and I walked down the main shopping drag of town, Tinker Street, there were no head shops and other hippie establishments to be seen anywhere, as I had expected. Rather, it was the high street of an upper-middle class bohemian, artsy-fartsy, undeniably bucolic enclave in Central New York. The pedestrians wore Foster Grant sunglasses, mostly plain white or black clothes, and Birkenstocks in the blazing summer sun. These weren’t the types who would stay in a Catskill resort.

We entered Woodstock Sports Outfitters to the loud tinkling of wind chimes hanging from the top of the front door. The interior of the store looked like any sporting goods store I’d ever been in. The wind chimes were cute though. After a moment, a woman in her late forties/early fifties strode out from behind a partition in the rear of the store, a welcoming smile on her matronly face.

“Can I help you? Looking for anything in particular?”

Jeremy spoke up before I could answer her. “Mrs. Shapiro, don’t you remember me? Jeremy Ross. My sisters and I always buy new tennis outfits every summer from you.”

“Oh, yes. My, my, you’ve grown like a sprout. Hard to believe the young man I see before me today is the same little boy whose mother had to scold for running around the store, crashing into things.”

“Gee, Mrs. Shapiro, you’re embarrassing me—”

“In front of your beautiful girlfriend, I see.”

“This is my friend, Lindsey. She’s my partner this year for the mixed doubles match at Grossinger’s. My sister Rachael decided to take a Mediterranean cruise with my parents instead of staying at The Lodge. Lindsey played tennis on her high school team.”

“You’ll want the whole schmear then. Tennis dress, shoes, socks, racquet, etc. This might burst your budget, Jeremy.”

Jeremy held out Elena’s Amex card. “It’s my grandmother’s treat.”

“You must be one special girl, Lindsey. You’ve already won Mrs. Ross over.”

“Do you mind if I leave you in Mrs. Shapiro’s capable hands, Lindsey. I want to check out the Byrdcliffe Guild Gallery down the street.”

“I didn’t know you were interested in art, Jeremy,” I remarked.

“Oh, I think he appreciates beauty when he sees it,” Mrs. Shapiro smiled. I blushed.

The last thing I picked out was a tennis dress, after spending almost a half hour looking at shoes, socks, and racquets. Mrs. Shapiro was surprised at the racquet I selected. I went for something I was accustomed to. A heavier weight, longer length, and a larger grip size. “That’s a men’s size racquet! You must be deceptively strong for your size,” she marveled.

“Mrs. Shapiro, I’ve been thinking I’d like to pick out an outfit similar to what Chris Evert wears.”

“Oh, those are very popular these days! We can’t keep them in stock for long. In fact, we just reordered yesterday. But I’m sure we have something in your size. You’re a 4, right?”

“I guess. I’ve gained some weight in certain places recently so I’m not sure,” I explained.

“Of course, you’re still growing.”

I was about to take the dress Mrs. Shapiro had taken off the rack to the changeroom when I stopped, hesitated, and then decided to ask her if she carried Chris Evert’s unique ruffled panties. Her face brightened and she ran off to a corner of the store, returning with a pair of ruffled panties in my size.

“Try it on. I usually don’t allow customers to try on underwear but I’m sure this will fit you perfectly! Go on and put everything on, shoes, socks and all. Go!”

I emerged from the changeroom a few minutes later and positioned myself in front of the full length mirror on the adjacent wall. I turned around and around. I wanted to get a good look at my ruffled panties. I managed to turn my back to the mirror, bending over slightly, and looked over my shoulder at my reflection. The wind chimes tinkled loudly.

“Wow, Lindsey. You look great in that outfit!”

I saw Jeremy standing beside Mrs. Shapiro. I blushed. Again.

Cover art by Erin Halfelven
©2026, SammyC

“Give me your right arm, Lindsey.” Elena held her hand out to me, a serious expression on her face. I was just about to walk onto the tennis court at Grossinger’s, where Jeremy and I were going to play a mixed doubles match against the Rubinstein twins, a 17-year-old brother/sister pair who were already playing varsity tennis at Cornell University.

“The match starts in a few minutes, Elena. You’ve already wished us luck.”

“Humor an old woman. OK?” She took my arm and rubbed it firmly from shoulder to wrist. “Can’t have too much luck, can we? There! Now you’re good to go, sweetheart.”

I shook my head at her odd behavior but just smiled and ran to confer with Jeremy who was already trading practice volleys with Marshall Rubinstein. He waved me over to the deuce court and gestured for me to practice with Wendy Rubinstein, who was standing across the net with a smirk on her face, swinging her racquet in the steamy air of this early August afternoon.

As both sides toweled off the grips of their racquets before starting the match, I petitioned Jeremy again to position myself in the ad court instead of the deuce.

“Lindsey, we’ve gone over this all week. The better player always receives on ad points. Strength against strength.”

“You’re saying you’re better than me…just because I’m a girl? I’m the one who’s actually on the school tennis team.”

“I’d be on the tennis team too but my school limits you to one sport per season. Basketball in the winter, diving in the spring.”

“But…” The Chair Umpire, sitting above us in her tall chair, interrupted my objection in a loud voice.

“Time! Prepare to play!”

I reluctantly positioned myself on the deuce side of the court, still sneering at Jeremy. I thought I practiced really well all week. The best I’ve ever played, in my own estimation. Well, we practiced against an old, married couple in their sixties…

“Mr. Rubinstein to serve first. Play!”

Marshall Rubinstein and Jeremy traded service games before Wendy got her chance to serve the third game of the first set. A pattern emerged. She tried to overpower me when I had to receive or when I was at net. I have to admit, she was the better player. After the game, Jeremy patted my shoulder.

“Here’s your chance to get back at her. On the odd points, try to serve to her body. Don’t let her get an angle. She’s got a dangerous forehand.”

“I’ll serve to her backhand then—”

“Her backhand’s dangerous too.” I rolled my eyes. “Remember, right at her body.”

I toed the fault line, bounced the ball several times, looked up at Wendy’s fatuous expression as she moved closer to the net on her deuce side, displaying open contempt for the velocity of my serve. I tossed the ball a good two feet above my head and gave it my best overhand swing. I ended up on my toes just a half an inch behind the fault line. I don’t think I grunted. That might have been Wendy grunting…in pain.

It was the hardest serve I’d ever made. One hard bounce and it hit Wendy right in the bread-basket. 15-love. After that, she shook her head in disbelief and the next time I served to her she backed up farther and farther behind the baseline. I gained enough confidence in my serve to attack her forehand and her backhand. I even won a point off a long return by Marshall. As we switched sides after the third game, ahead 2 to 1, Jeremy looked at me in amazement.

“I didn’t know you could serve like that!”

“There’s lots of things you don’t know about me.”

I looked into the sparse stands and locked eyes with Elena. She smiled and gave me a thumb’s up. Reflexively, I rubbed my right arm. Did she do this to help me or Jeremy? Whatever the answer was, Jeremy’s mood was a lot sunnier than it was on the half-hour drive up from the Lodge to the town of Liberty, site of Grossinger’s.

We had taken Aaron’s car. Me, Jeremy, Elena, and Grandma. There wasn’t much conversation on the way. Aaron’s only contribution was joking that he had a standing bet with Greg, the assistant manager at Grossinger’s, on the tennis match. He had to convince us that his wager was on us, not the Rubinstein twins. Elena and Grandma just groaned at Aaron, still gambling as his inheritance from his father was in mortal danger. Jeremy, as I noted, quietly looked out the window at the mountain greenery of Upstate New York, already resigned to the probability that Aaron would lose yet another bet.

As for me, I tried to keep up a cheerful front but I was worried about Dad. He had originally planned to come along to watch me play but didn’t feel well after lunch. The situation with The Lodge had preyed upon his mind to the point where sleep wasn’t coming easily to him. I’d wake up in the middle of the night to see him sitting by the door leading to the terrace of our hotel room, staring into the dark night sky. He’d tell me not to worry about him and go back to sleep. Grandma and I insisted he see Dr. Rosenberg but he begged off and told us he’d go back to our room and lie down for a while before doing his usual run-through in the Supper Club.

“Thinking about your father, sweetie?” Elena asked.

“I keep telling him to go in for those tests that Dr. Rosenberg suggested. But he’s so stubborn.”

“He’s worried about losing the pay for the remaining weeks of the summer,” Elena surmised.

“I keep telling him I can enroll in public school. And after my senior year, I can attend a state college. If I keep my grades up, I’ll qualify for a full ride to Rutgers…”

“It’s a shame, Lindsey. Your father so wanted you to be the first female rabbi from the Azoff side of the family,” Grandma said in a disconcerted tone.

Elena and I exchanged knowing smiles, verging on giggles.

“Well, as they say in Yiddish, what a bummer.” Grandma nodded sadly.

Jeremy and I won the first set 6-4, having broken Marshall’s serve in the final game (game point won on a forehand winner I hit to the corner of the deuce court that Wendy completely whiffed on). But, the Rubinstein twins upped their game in the second set. After reaching a 6-6 score, the set would have to be decided on a best-of-13 tiebreak. If we won, we’d clinch the match. If they won, we’d have to play a third set. And I was getting a little winded, to be honest.

“I think we’re better off hitting it to Marshall,” Jeremy advised.

“Nah, it’s mano-a-mano. Me and Wendy. Sudden death overtime!”

“That’s football, Lindsey. First pair to reach 7 points and by a margin of at least 2 points wins the tiebreak in tennis. Don’t they play by the new Wimbledon rules at your school?”

“We’re very traditional at the Yeshiva,” I offered.

“Anyway, it can’t be mano-a-mano. You’re both girls,” Jeremy laughed.

“Hey, genius, mano is the Spanish word for hand. You know, hand-to-hand like hand-to-hand combat? And mano is already a feminine noun, stupid.” I stuck my tongue out at him.

“I took French in school…” Jeremy looked away.

“Ready? Miss Rubinstein to serve first. Play!” came the Chair Umpire’s stentorian command.

It came down to the 12th point of the tiebreak on Marshall’s serve. We were leading 6-5, needing this point to take the title. Marshall saved 4 ad points before Jeremy whistled a backhand past Wendy at the net to settle it. Jeremy and I high-fived, hugged and then decorously shook hands with the Rubinsteins and the Chair Umpire.

There was a brief ceremony as Grossinger’s assistant manager, the aforementioned Greg, handed us our gold-plated trophy for winning the mixed doubles championship. The small crowd politely applauded us as we walked off the court. Kisses and hugs were exchanged all around among our happy troupe but I noticed Aaron standing near center court. Greg was counting out Aaron’s winnings into his open palm. After Greg slapped Aaron on the shoulder and walked away, it shocked me to see Aaron running toward us. Running!

“Emergency! Emergency! Everyone to the parking lot and get in my car. Now! Pronto!”

“That’s Spanish for hurry up, Jeremy,” I teased.

Just seconds after Jeremy practically tumbled into the back seat, jostling me into Grandma, Aaron turned the ignition and got the car off to a roaring start.

“Where are we going in such a hurry? What emergency?” everyone asked.

“It’s your dad, Lindsey. He had a heart attack while he was doing his run-through—”

Grandma screamed. I was silenced by fear.

“Sam drove him to the hospital in Harris—”

“Is…is he…” I spluttered.

“Sam says he’s ok.”

“Who is Sam?” asked Grandma.

“Doctor Rosenberg. He’s the doctor in residence at The Lodge. Aaron’s cousin,” I breathlessly informed her.

“They say it’s a minor attack. They’re treating him with clot-blockers and painkillers.”

“Jeremy’s father had to have a stent put in when he had his heart attack,” Elena said.

“Sam gave him some aspirin immediately for blood-thinning. It’s a good thing the hospital in Harris is only 10 minutes away from The Lodge.”

“Did this just happen? Did Greg tell you this while paying out your winnings?” I was puzzled as to how Aaron found this out. He was sitting in the stands while we played two sets and a tiebreak.

“Well, it happened about an hour ago. Sam’s wife called Greg here at Grossinger’s. Greg called me over to tell me. I thought Greg was going to welsh on our bet. But it turned out to be about your father…”

“An hour ago? Why didn’t you tell us immediately? They could’ve stopped the match,” I practically shouted.

“You guys were leading 5 games to 4 in the second set. I thought for sure you’d break serve and finish the match. But then you needed a tiebreak. After all, they said your dad wasn’t in any real danger—”

I leaped out of my seat to choke the life out of Aaron.

“You’re trying to kill my father, you moron!”

Aaron started making gurgling sounds and the car began to weave along the road. Jeremy pulled me off Aaron’s neck and held onto me as I struggled to jump back up.

“I had a c-note on 2 to 1 odds,” Aaron weakly declared after clearing his throat and regaining control of the steering wheel.

Cover art by Erin Halfelven
©2026, SammyC

“Well, that was reassuring what the doctor said. Since you’re going to be here waiting for Jack to wake up in a few hours, you should all get something to eat. Keep your own strength up while you wait,” Aaron glibly advised as we walked into the hospital cafeteria.

I don’t believe any of us were particularly hungry but we followed Aaron in a dazed fog of concern about Daddy. The doctors had immediately treated him, stabilized him, and given him a mild sedative by the time we arrived at the hospital. They assured us that father had suffered a minor heart attack and was out of danger now, all thanks to the close proximity of the hospital to The Lodge and Dr. Rosenberg’s daredevil driving skills. We numbly sat ourselves at a table in the corner of the cafeteria but Aaron was still on his feet.

“I’ll get us some coffee and a nice selection of pastries. Any preferences?” We all shook our heads. “Okay. I’m going back to The Lodge after coffee. When you’re ready to return, just call the front desk and they’ll send a car for you. Mrs. Ross, Jeremy, are you coming with me?”

“No, Aaron, we’re staying with Lindsey and her grandmother,” Elena replied. “But, thank you for the offer.”

“Do you have to leave? Don’t you want to wait until my Dad wakes up?” I asked, my voice quavering.

“Sam said he’ll be fine. He’s a doctor. He knows from whereof he speaks. No, I’ve got to catch a plane to Las Vegas tonight. Amanda and I are pooling our money together and placing a prop bet on the PGA Championship this weekend that could win us a cool million.”

“That’s impossible. Don’t give me that shmegegge!” my grandmother retorted.

“No, it’s real, Mrs. Azoff,” Aaron smiled. “We’re putting down $10,000 on Jack Nicklaus not finishing in the top ten after the final round Sunday. At 100 to 1 odds, it’s a million-dollar payout! Everyone thinks he’ll win. He’s already won 2 majors this year. He’s bound to make a mis-step. Nobody’s winning streak goes on forever. Take it from me. I know.” He turned toward the food counter, stopped and said over his shoulder, “The coffee’s on me. Thanks to you two, I’ve got a spare $100 I’m itching to spend.”

“Am I the only one who thinks someone dropped him on his head when he was a toddler?”

We ate in silence, all of us deep in thought. Grandma, Elena, Jeremy and I were worried about father, even though the doctors said it was a minor heart attack and he was bound to make a full recovery. Aaron, on the other hand, was seeing dollar signs dancing in his fevered mind (and undoubtedly looking forward to spending a lost weekend with Amanda in Sin City).

My own thoughts swirled around what the doctors had told us outside of Dad’s room. Sam Rosenberg and Dr. Chowdhury tag-teamed their prognosis of Dad’s condition as we sat on the couches in the hallway. Fragments of what they said replayed over and over in my mind as I half-heartedly munched on the croissant I had dipped in my coffee.

Grandmother shook her head dolefully. “Year and years of being on the road, going from city to city, venue to venue. Staying in motels and eating terrible food. I remember your father telling me before he met your mother he’d even sleep in his car to save on hotel bills or cajoling club managers to give him a free sandwich for dinner after he finished his act. And disregarding his own health. Uncle Saul offered to give him an annual checkup for free but he never accepted. Baruch HaShem! At least he was lucky this time.”

“It wasn’t his time, Mrs. Azoff,” Elena said, brushing grandmother’s arm with her hand.

“Poor Lindsey. Jack won’t be able to work for months. Even if he could, by the time he’s fully recovered, everything will be booked through the first of the new year. I assume the insurance will cover his medical expenses but who’s going to pay Lindsey’s school tuition? I don’t know how Jack got you into a boys’ Yeshiva but—”

“I could do the magic act by myself,” I blurted out.

Before Aaron could speak, Elena jumped in. “Yes, Lindsey’s perfectly capable of doing her father’s magic act. And to be honest, more people are coming to see her than Jack.” She turned to me. “Such a pretty girl. Who wouldn’t?” She faced Aaron. “Now, Aaron, if you’ll give Lindsey until Tuesday to take over for her father, I will help her flesh out her act. Do I have your approval?”

“Sure. But what do you know about magic, Elena?” Aaron asked.

“Oh, you’d be surprised.”

Dad looked up from his hospital bed, groggy but smiling broadly at us. The four of us (Elena and Jeremy were allowed by Dr. Chowdhury to come in with Grandma and me) surrounded his bed. On either side of him, Grandma and I leaned over and kissed his cheeks.

“I ought to have a heart attack every now and again just to have my family show me a little affection,” Dad laughed as he stroked my right cheek.

“How do you feel, Daddy?”

“Glad I’m still alive. Good thing Doc Rosenberg is the Richard Petty of the medical profession. And we didn’t even get a ticket for speeding. I like Sam.”

“He’s a nice Jewish boy. A doctor like your Uncle Saul who you never went to see. He wasn’t even going to charge you! You know how difficult it is to make a doctor’s appointment? And for free?” Grandma crossed her arms in front of her.

“The doctor says you’re going to need at least several weeks of convalescence,” Elena said.

“I’m sorry, kiddo,” Dad glumly said. “I’m afraid we won’t be able to afford sending you back to the Yeshiva this Fall. You’re going to have to attend one of the fine public high schools in the bosom of New Jersey.”

“I’m still not clear on how you were able to get Lindsey into a boys’ Yeshiva, Jack—”

“There won’t be a need for that, Jack,” Elena quickly interrupted. “Aaron has agreed to let Lindsey do the act solo. I’ve promised to help her sharpen the rough edges, maybe even improve it.”

“You…you have a background in magic, Elena?” Dad was confused.

“Like I told Aaron…you’d be surprised.”

“Don’t worry about it, Daddy. I know the act backwards and forwards. That way Aaron can’t renege on the contract we signed. Don’t you think I can do it?”

“It’s not that, kiddo. You’re only 16. You’ll be up here all alone while me and your grandmother are back in New Jersey—”

“I’ll keep a close eye on her, Jack. Don’t worry. I’ll treat her like my own granddaughter,” Elena vowed, winking her right eye at me.

After dinner, back at The Lodge, Elena and I took a stroll around the grounds. It was a delightfully cool summer evening for August in the Northeast. A light breeze wafted in from the hills that encircled the valley The Lodge was nestled in.

“Do you remember that first night we talked under the stars, the week you met Jeremy and I?”

“Yes, of course, Elena.”

“And that spectacle in the sky I made you see?”

“Yes, yes! How did you do that?”

“You can do it too, Lindsey. I can teach you how.”

“Are you going to make me a witch like you made me a girl?”

“Silly girl, I’m not a witch. Come, sit here next to me.” She led me to a bench underneath a trellis festooned in vines of purple wisteria. Taking my right hand, she looked straight into my eyes.

“It is important to control the pitch and tempo of your voice. The distinct tone can imbue your words with incantatory power. My words will conjure in your mind the image I wish to project to you.”

“It’s telepathy you’re talking about?”

“That’s a scientific definition. This is beyond the empirical. Beyond the collation of data. Close your eyes, sweetie. Empty your mind of extraneous thoughts. Now, listen to my words.”

There was a brief interval of silence as I kept my eyelids shut. My mind was a blank (as my friend Sheila always claimed).

“You are sitting in a gondola in the Grand Canal in Venice. In the distance but slowly approaching as the gondolier’s oar slices through the water is the iconic Rialto Bridge. Do you see it?”

“Yes, it’s beautiful.”

“Feel the damp, cool breeze rustling through your hair. Sitting next to you is Jeremy. He is gazing at you with unalloyed devotion, a smile of joy on his lips. He opens his mouth to speak—”

“Lindsey! Lindsey! Here you are—”

I opened my eyes, shocked to hear Jeremy’s voice in the distance. I was sitting on a bench underneath a trellis of purple wisteria vines. Elena was next to me. And then, fast approaching was Jeremy. He stopped in front of the bench, a wide grin on his face.

“I was looking all over for you. It’s Dancers’ Choice Friday at the Teen Lounge and I brought a bunch of my records for the DJ to spin. I’ve got The Stones, Alice Cooper, Elton John, Chicago, Stevie Wonder…others too.”

He held out his hand to me.

“Go, sweetheart. Have some fun. Take your mind off your father. He’s going to be alright. We’ll continue your lessons tomorrow morning. Let’s meet in the Supper Club at, say, 10:30.”

I hugged Elena. “Thank you for everything, Elena. What would I do without you?”

“Hey, I’m trying to help too,” Jeremy declared, taking my hand.

I looked back over my shoulder to wave and, for an instant, saw the Rialto Bridge looming over the trellis covered in purple wisteria.

Cover art by Erin Halfelven
©2026, SammyC

“It’s too bad Daddy has to go back to Jersey with Grandma tomorrow. He’ll miss my solo debut,” I said as I stood on the stage of The Supper Club. My audience on Monday morning was Elena, the stage manager, and a couple of the porters. We were going through a dress rehearsal of the act Elena and I had scripted over the weekend. Somehow, Elena had procured a magician’s tuxedo outfit for me. You know, top hat, bow-tie, white starched collar, long coat with tails, panties, sheer stockings, and high heels. I demurred on the wand.

“He’d be too stressed watching you, Lindsey. It’s best that he just concerns himself with recovering. Now, let’s go through your grand finale again. You’re getting very good at this. Of course, you’ve had a great teacher,” Elena said proudly.

Gathering myself, I took a deep breath and began the coda of my act.

“Ladies and gentlemen, it is now time for me to bid you good night. I hope that you’ve been pleasantly entertained by my humble demonstration of magical skills. As a reward for your patience and hopeful appreciation, let me take you on a trip. No, we’re not going to consume psychedelics. You can do that on your own time—”

Elena laughed and broke my rhythm. “Elena, please!”

“It’s a funny line. And I wrote it. Jeremy always says I don’t have a sense of humor—”

“Elena!”

“Continue, dear.”

“…uh…you can do that on your own time.” I waited to see if Elena giggled. This time she kept quiet. “I will ask our stage manager to lower the lights in the room to a bare minimum. Thank you. In addition, everyone, please close your eyes and listen very carefully to my voice. Clear your mind of all extraneous thoughts. Concentrate on my voice.”

I paused dramatically as I envisioned the Supper Club audience sitting in silent darkness, waiting for the experience they were about to witness.

“Open your eyes. You are flying above the clouds. Yes, flying. Not in an airplane. You have the power of flight. You’re soaring above the deep blue ocean. The feeling of utter freedom fills your body and mind. Look over there, to your right. A land mass. It is an island. You can see it is comprised of concentric circles, filled with gleaming buildings of all sizes and shapes.

As you slowly descend from the sky, you see the inhabitants of this island, riding in vehicles levitated above the ground, ambling across lush parks scattered about the landscape, figures moving about in high-rise buildings that reflect the mid-day sun. You hear the sounds of laughter and idle conversation.

A family – a mother, father, and two children – approach as you ogle at the magnificent sights around you. They are smiling, dressed in colorful clothes made out of something that resembles spandex. You immediately observe they are all physically fit, paragons of health. The father extends a hand in greeting and speaks in a melodic language you do not understand. What you do understand is that you are welcome to their city. A name out of myth and lore stands out in his friendly speech. It is the name Atlantis. Slowly, you realize that you are in the fabled city of Atlantis. You have traveled back in time to a mythic paradise. The height of human achievement. A place of peace and harmony.

In the blink of an eye, you are seated at the dinner table of their home. The mother and father have poured a sparkling wine-like drink into the iridescent goblet in your hand. After a friendly toast, you take a sip of the liquid and savor its otherworldly taste, redolent of fruits and berries which defy naming. But, it is time to leave after the sumptuous meal. Again, you find yourself above the clouds, flying homeward.

Close your eyes. Stage manager, please turn the lights back up. Everyone, open your eyes! You’re back at The Lodge. I hope you enjoyed your trip back in time to the legendary city of Atlantis. You’ve been a wonderful audience. Good night!”

As I bowed to the imaginary audience, the sound of applause came from the back of the room. It was Aaron and Amanda, apparently just returned from Las Vegas.

“Brava! Brava! How did you do that?,” Aaron asked.

“Trade secret,” I replied.

“You seem very giddy, Aaron. Did you have a good time in Las Vegas while we all wondered how long The Lodge would stay open?,” Elena asked with a hint of disdain.

“My luck finally turned.” He put his arm around Amanda’s shoulders. “This lovely lady brought me good fortune—”

“And the $10,000 I gave you from cashing out my savings bonds,” Amanda interjected.

“Yes, that too, my dear. Jack Nicklaus finished out of the Top 10 in The PGA on Sunday, resulting in a payout of a cool million, minus fees and withholding. What this means is I’ve won enough to pay back Big Sal. The Lodge stays under Felder ownership!”

“And I’m booked for the rest of the summer?”

“Of course! You’re my biggest attraction. I kind of liked your other outfit better though—”

Amanda elbowed Aaron in his side. Aaron winced.

Daddy looked up from his wheelchair as we rode the elevator down to the lobby of the hospital on Tuesday morning. He had a wry smile on his face but kept quiet as he looked at me and Grandma. The three other people on the elevator faced the doors, oblivious to us.

“I’m sorry to leave you in the lurch like this, Lindsey. But your grandmother tells me she’s seen your new solo act and she tells me you’re better than dear old dad.” He laughed. “I wish I could be there tonight for your debut—”

“You need your rest, Jack,” Grandma insisted. “Lindsey will do just fine.”

“Who would have thought Aaron’s luck would change? Maybe Amanda really is his lucky charm,” Daddy mused.

“Amanda’s father won’t be too happy when he finds out his own daughter ruined his master plan to convert the Catskills into the world’s biggest shopping mall. He might even disown her.”

“I don’t have David Kellerman’s money but I’ve got the best daughter in the world,” Daddy beamed. He grabbed my hand and squeezed. I returned his smile and fought back tears. He called me ‘daughter.’ I couldn’t have imagined this moment just a few weeks ago when I was just a scruffy-looking teenage boy with a bad case of gender confusion.

I kissed both of them goodbye as we helped Daddy out of his wheelchair and into the luxury sedan Aaron had ordered to take Grandma and Daddy back home to Northern New Jersey. I waved to them as the car left the hospital driveway. Within seconds, Jeremy drove up to the curb to take me back to The Lodge.

That evening, my opening night went off like a dream. The applause was deafening. I took several bows before leaving the stage. I walked into the dressing room to an ebullient greeting from Elena and Jeremy, who crushed me between them in a loving embrace. Aaron rushed forward to hug me but Amanda grabbed his arm from behind.

“That’s enough, Aaron. Don’t harass the employees,” Amanda scolded.

Aaron shook my hand vigorously instead.

“You’re a hit! Lindsey, you’re going to increase business at The Lodge by leaps and bounds when the reviews circulate. We might even get someone from The Times this week. Amanda’s working on it. Aren’t you, babe?”

“My friend Suzy works on the Entertainment section of the paper. She’d get points for tipping them off on Lindsey’s act.”

“I told you, you could do it, Lindsey,” Elena burbled as she kissed my cheek. I proffered my cheek to Jeremy, who took my cue and planted one on my cheek as well.

“Well, well, I didn’t expect to witness an amazing showbiz debut when I arrived today. I enjoyed your amazing act, young lady.”

Sal Maranzano stood in the doorway, flanked by two beefy men in matching blue suits.

“Sal! You should have called to tell me you were dropping by. I’ve got great news!”

“What might that be?”

“You know the money I owe you?”

“Of course. Why else would I be spending my time here at this two-bit resort hotel in the middle of nowhere? There are lots of more exciting places to be, even on a Tuesday night.”

“I’ve got it! All of it.” Aaron reached into his suit pocket and took out an envelope straining to contain its contents. “Here’s every cent I owe you, Sal. Now we’re square and you can go back to whatever dark corners of society you usually inhabit.”

“Dark corners? I’m an upstanding member of society. A financier of sorts. Put that away, Felder. I don’t want it.”

“What? I’m paying you what I owe. You can’t not accept it. It’s $900,000. To the penny.”

“You forget, Felder. There’s interest on that. Overdue interest. I’d give you a break on it. Maybe only 33%?”

“That’s not the deal we had, Sal.”

“It’s the deal I made. I might have forgotten to inform you about the overdue interest. But, then again, you could’ve been on time in the first place. Tough luck, Aaron. Hand over the keys to The Lodge.”

“You can’t do this, Sal,” cried Amanda.

“Sweetie, your Dad wants a word or two with you. He’s a bit…how do I put it? Pissed.”

Sal turned to me with a broad smile on his face.

“Turn that frown upside down, honey. You’re gonna be my star attraction in Vegas when I clear up some minor problems with my casino. You’re going places and I’m going to take you there.”

I started to bawl as Elena tried to comfort me by stroking my arm and whispering consoling words in my ear.

Cover art by Erin Halfelven
©2026, SammyC

“I’m going back to school in September. Sorry, but Las Vegas is a no go for me.”

Big Sal gave me an incredulous look, took a cigar out of the breast pocket of his suit jacket, tore off the band, placed it between his lips, and leaned to his right as a henchman flicked a lighter at the tip. He took a puff, exhaled, and addressed my decision.

“Honey, sweetheart. I’m gonna make you a big star. Would you rather be sitting in some boring schoolroom—”

“She’s attending Yeshiva,” Elena interjected.

“Whatever. Huh? Yeshiva? Well, like I said. You’re gonna be on Johnny Carson before the year is out. I guarantee it.”

“I want to be with my Dad while he’s recovering,” I said emphatically.

“It’s what a good daughter would do,” Elena declared.

“Bring your Dad with you. We can set you up in a suite at the hotel. They have great doctors in Vegas. I donated a small fortune to the local University hospital last year. My father-in-law has a weak heart, you know.”

“You can’t get away with this, Sal. My father says you’re a fugitive from justice. As much as it pained him to say it. Now he’ll have to pay more to buy the other resorts in the Catskills. Cash isn’t very liquid in a recession—”

Sal interrupted Amanda and pointed a finger at her.

“Tell your dad not to worry. Our deal is still on. Those are state charges and I’ve got some inside juice at the Nevada AG’s office. If you know what I mean. Listen, people, this is all mute—”

“Moot. You mean moot,” Jeremy corrected.

“Whatever. You get my meaning, kid. The charges will be dropped shortly. Meanwhile, I’m going to be on the Amalfi Coast with my wife and family for the rest of the summer. In September, I’ll be back to bulldoze the place. Don’t try to do anything tricky while I’m gone. My lieutenants will be keeping watch on you. I expect you, Felder, to give them the best suite in the place.”

“When are you leaving?” Jeremy asked.

“My wife and kids are already there. Just between us, I’m not looking forward to spending three weeks trapped in a villa with my family. No disrespect but…it kind of puts a crimp in my style if you know what I mean. So, I’m going to decompress for a few days before flying out. You’ll have the honor of my presence until Friday. I might even catch your act a couple of times, little lady.”

At breakfast the next morning, I played with my half a grapefruit, stabbing it aimlessly with a spoon, staring into the distance. Usually, we (Elena, Jeremy, and I) chatted like carefree children while basking in the sunlit summer mornings of The Catskills region. After Sal Maranzano’s disastrous appearance the night before, we were all lost in our own thoughts. Finally, Jeremy pierced the silence in a burst of hopeful exuberance.

“I think we’re about to witness a deus ex machina to extricate us from this situation.” He smiled, almost giggled.

“Talk English, Jeremy. What are you going on about?” I asked with a violent thrust of my spoon into the grapefruit. It reacted with a splatter of juice that almost hit me in the eye.

“You remember I told you about my older cousin Michael, who works in the Southern District Attorney’s Office in New York?”

I nodded as I blotted my face with my napkin, making sure not to smear my eyeliner.

“He called me late last night and told me there’s a grand jury in Clark County, Nevada that’s about to indict Maranzano and his casino partners with Federal crimes. It might come in today!”

“They can do that?” Elena and I asked simultaneously.

“It’s called a dual prosecution. Happens a lot when the crime or its perpetrators involve interstate activities. If he’s indicted, Federal agents can arrest him…wherever he is. Like here in Upstate New York.”

“Don’t get me worked up for something that might not happen, Jeremy.”

“It’ll happen but it’s got to be before he leaves on Friday,” Jeremy clarified.

“Well, it’ll solve our problem anyway. He runs off to Italy and leaves The Lodge in Aaron’s hands.” I crossed my arms, a smile of satisfaction creasing my face.

“Not if Aaron’s already transferred title to The Lodge to the partnership Sal’s formed with Amanda’s father. Even if they extradite Maranzano from Italy, The Lodge will be owned by David Kellerman by default.”

“Don’t all the parties have to sign? When is that happening?” Elena asked.

“Amanda told me that the real reason that Sal’s here until Friday is that his lawyers are bringing the papers on that day. Kellerman’s signing too, of course. He’ll be up Friday morning.”

“You promised me that you had good news! Now you’ve dashed my hopes in less than five minutes,” I scolded Jeremy.

“We have until Friday, Lindsey. Michael says the indictment could be issued today or tomorrow. The FBI is ready to roll immediately when that happens. Michael says he might even be in on the collar.”

“Don’t let it affect your performance, Lindsey. Sweep all the bad thoughts out of your mind. Elena will figure something out,” Elena squeezed my hand across the table.

“My grandmother is a real miracle worker, Lindsey. Trust me. I know,” Jeremy assured me, his eyes sparkling.

I followed Elena’s advice and freed my mind of any disruptive thoughts when I took the stage every night that week. Two shows on Tuesday night, two shows on Wednesday night. My act was so well-received, the critic from The New York Times told Aaron she was planning to see the show on Friday night. That was the one bit of uplifting news I delivered to Dad and Grandma during my daily phone call before the first show every evening. Dad would emphasize that, regardless of whatever happened, he would beg, borrow, and even steal to pay my tuition for the upcoming school year at Yeshiva. After the call ended, I would seriously consider taking up Big Sal’s offer to perform in Vegas at his casino. I just didn’t think they could actually ever apprehend Maranzano either on state or Federal charges. After all, they’d never pinched him in twenty years in organized crime. They’re not likely to get him this time.

During the days, however, I was nervous and distracted. I would only crack a smile when the audience would applaud me at the end of my act. Often, the ovation was overwhelming. There was an undeniable thrill in performing before an appreciative crowd. It could be addictive. It was for my father.

On Thursday morning, Jeremy persuaded me to go riding with him. It was a pleasantly cool summer morning, a respite from the heatwave we’d been having. I was atop my trusty old gelding. Jeremy rode a frisky colt that strained at its reins, making me laugh at his attempts to keep the horse navigating the center of the trail.

“You’re laughing,” Jeremy noted. “Even if it’s at my expense, it’s good to see you in a good mood. Why so glum all the time?”

“Why? Are you kidding? We’re hoping for a miracle and you’re asking me why I’m glum? Not only is my father unable to work for probably months, with no income, I’m not going to be able to pay for school, not to mention the mortgage on our house, food, clothing, medical bills, etc., etc.”

“You don’t believe in miracles? My grandmother specializes in miracles,” Jeremy stated.

“You really believe Elena can perform miracles?”

“You’re a perfect example of it.”

“What? The visual illusions in my act? It’s a form of hypnotic suggestion. It’s all about incantation. The frequencies in your voice that trigger a hypnotic state in the subject. There’s scientific scholarship on it. I could cite some studies in the literature—”

“No. You know what I mean.”

“No, mister, I don’t. What are you on about?”

“I know you didn’t arrive at The Lodge as a girl. You were a boy before Elena started performing miracles on you.”

“You knew? All this time? I…I can’t…” I loosened the reins on my steed, gently squeezing with my legs, nudged with my heels, and yelled “Giddy up!” The horse galloped away in which direction I didn’t care.

It took two or three minutes before Jeremy caught up with me. He reached over and gently pulled on the reins to stop my horse. After a few yards, we were at a standstill, facing each other atop our saddles.

“I didn’t mean it as an insult or anything, Lindsey. I think you’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever met—”

“Elena swore she wouldn’t tell you! How could she? I’m humiliated.”

“I’ve known Elena my whole life. There are no secrets between us.”

“Was it because you could tell, even without Elena telling you? Was I so obviously a boy in girls’ clothing?”

“No. Of course not. Everyone is totally convinced you’re a girl. Including me.”

Jeremy dismounted and extended his hand to me. “Take my hand.” I let him help me off my horse and looked at him questioningly.

“There’s a brook over there. Walk with me. I want to show you something.”

We arrived at a freshwater brook a short distance away from the trail, leading our horses along with us. As the horses stepped into the stream and lowered their heads to drink the cool, clear water, Jeremy led me to the edge of the brook.

“What do you see, Lindsey?”

I peered into the calm stream which acted as a mirror and gazed at my reflection. Jeremy was smiling behind me, hovering over my shoulder.

“Us. I see us.”

“I see a boy and a girl. Me and a beautiful girl. As real a girl as there is in the world.”

I turned back to stand up and face Jeremy. “But I’m not a real girl. I’m sort of a chimera. Part girl, part boy. I can’t pretend I’m a real girl when I go back to Yeshiva…if I go back.”

Jeremy took my shoulders in his hands and kissed me forcefully on the lips.

“I love you Lindsey. I really do.”

“I’m not a girl.”

“Not yet. My grandmother is a miracle worker. Remember?”

Sitting in my dressing room between shows on Thursday night, I refreshed my makeup at the vanity, resigned to the fact that the next day, Friday, would effectively end my summer adventure as a girl magician. No, not only as a magician but as a girl. I’d probably have to attend a public high school back home as a boy. At least I had these wonderful memories to hold onto as I grew into an adult man. If I ever ran into Jeremy again in 5 years, 10 years, or 20 years’ time, would he recognize the woman inside the man? Or would he walk right by me, unseeing and unaware, consumed by the concerns of his everyday life?

There was a knock on the door.

“Come in.”

Jeremy and Elena rushed into the room, breathlessly excited. Jeremy took hold of my shoulders. I thought he was going to kiss me again.

“The indictment came through, Lindsey! The FBI is arriving tomorrow morning to arrest Maranzano!”

“When? What time?”

“Michael told me it could be a little before 11AM. They’re driving up from the city.”

“Isn’t that when they’re planning to sign over The Lodge to Sal and Kellerman? 11AM they’re supposed to meet in Aaron’s office,” Elena pointed out.

“We have to make sure that meeting doesn’t take place before the FBI gets here!” Jeremy exclaimed.

“I can think of a way we can arrange that,” Elena offered. “Are you with me?”

“All the way!” Jeremy and I shouted, holding hands.

Cover art by Erin Halfelven
©2026, SammyC

Jeremy and I had frantically roamed the grounds of The Lodge searching for Big Sal Maranzano. It was a quarter after 10 AM on Friday morning, only 45 minutes from the fateful meeting where Aaron Felder would be forced to sign away title to the resort to Big Sal and David Kellerman, the New York City real estate magnate. All because Aaron couldn’t quell his incessant need to gamble away the fortune his father had bequeathed him. What a poor excuse for a human being!

We found Big Sal, accompanied by his two hulking bodyguards, strolling through the rows of wisteria in the garden. He had plucked a clutch of blossoms from a vine and was sniffing its sweet, heady, sometimes over-powering scent.

“Mr. Maranzano!” I called out. He turned around and flashed a wide grin when he saw me.

“Ah, my star attraction! Wonderful morning, isn’t it? What do you call these flowers?”

“Wisteria. We’ve been looking all over for you.”

“What can I do you for?”

“You haven’t seen my act in its entirety since you’ve been here. I’d love to hear your critique of it. Tell me if it’s up to snuff for a Las Vegas audience—”

“Sweetheart, you have nothing to worry about. Especially if you wear that costume I saw you in.”

“I’d like to give you a private performance in the Supper Club.”

“Well…that sounds…very interesting.”

“I mean right now,” I quickly interjected. “You’re leaving for Italy later today. Everything’s set up for you. Please, it’ll take less than a half-hour.” I showed him my best cute and pleading face, with hands clasped in a beseeching gesture.

He looked at his gold Rolex and nodded. “Okay, I suppose I’ve got the time to spare before my meeting. I’ll need my friends to come along too.” He pointed his thumbs at his bodyguards.

“Of course. Come to the Supper Club in 5 minutes.” I clapped my hands excitedly in convincing fashion.

As Jeremy and I walked back to The Lodge, I turned to him.

“You know what to do when the cops arrive,” I instructed.

“I just hope they get here in time.”

“I’ll do my best to keep him detained until they show up. Just bring them in when I give you the signal.”

Big Sal, flanked on either side by his bodyguards, sat at a table in the center of the Supper Club. Sitting at the table, a confident expression on her face, was Elena. Nervously, I peeked out from the wing of the stage, my fingers crossed. I had changed into the most alluring costume I possessed. Of course, I had only two. One in green, the other in black with rhinestones. I was wearing the black one. It silhouetted my figure against the darkened backdrop of the stage. Aaron winked to me as he strolled past me onto the stage. Standing front and center, he introduced me to my private audience.

“Good..er…good morning, gentlemen and lady. Welcome to The Supper Club. Tonight…excuse me…this morning, we are proud to present the magical stylings of a young woman who I discovered just this summer. Since becoming a solo act due to the unfortunate illness that has sidelined her father, the famous, even legendary magician Jack Ace, this little lady has thrilled and mesmerized audiences here in The Catskills. In only a matter of days, she has become the talk of the season. A review of her act is set to appear in The Times Sunday edition. And I have it from inside sources that—”

“Hey, Felder. Enough with the intro. Time is money, if you get my drift. Let’s get the show on the road.”

“I give you…Lindsey Ace, The Magician’s Daughter!” Aaron hurriedly rushed offstage. After a beat, I sauntered into the spotlight, trying not to wobble on my high heels.

Big Sal whistled. “Hey, chickie baby, you’re looking nice!” He elbowed his bodyguards and they started to applaud vehemently.

“So that’s how you do the door into nowhere trick,” remarked Sal as he re-emerged into the spotlight of the stage. I had asked him to take part in the trick, telling him that there was a trap door in the floor that would lead him down below the stage once I shut the door behind him. He would listen for my cue and climb back up to magically reappear.

“Shhh. Don’t be loud about it. The audience will hear.”

“What audience? Oh, yeah my…friends.” He waved to his bodyguards, who had stood up, ready for action, when Sal had seemingly disappeared. “It’s okay, fellas. Oooh, it was weird. But I’m back!”

I peered into the darkened Supper Club to see if the cavalry had arrived. But there was only the solitary figure of one of the porters standing by the entrance doors. One final part of the act left.

“Since you’re leaving today to reunite with your family on their summer vacation on the island of Capri, Mr. Maranzano, my parting gift to you is to show you a preview of the sights and sounds of that beautiful destination. No, I’m not going to show you a travelogue film of Capri. I’m going to let you experience Capri here, right here, in your seats, thousands of miles away from the Amalfi Coast. Stage manager, please dim the lights. Everyone close your eyes and listen very carefully to my voice.”

After a few seconds, I broke the silence.

““Open your eyes. You are flying above the clouds. Yes, flying. Not in an airplane. You have the power of flight. You’re soaring above the deep blue ocean. The feeling of utter freedom fills your body and mind. Look over there, to your right. You are looking down on the Amalfi Coast of Italy. And there, past the promontory that juts out into the Gulf of Naples, lies the island of Capri.”

“How am I seeing this?” Sal was waving his hands in front of him.

“Sal, it’s a sunny late summer morning on Capri. Your wife and children have gone to the beach, allowing you to sleep late. Now that you’re up, you’ve decided to go out, see the sights of the island, and enjoy a Neapolitan brunch of Cacio e Pepe Eggs (soft scrambled eggs with Pecorino, grana, and black pepper), Zabaglione French Toast topped with fresh berries and cinnamon, and Espresso Martini (vodka, coffee liqueur, and Irish cream).”

“Yes, yes, that’s what I’d order—”

“But, first, you find yourself taking a walking tour of the island, on your way to the famous Aurora Café on the Via Fuorlovado, where the beautiful people dine. Here you are, strolling through an alleyway that ends in the Piazzetta, the bustling heart of the island, where locals and tourists alike mingle under the warm Mediterranean sun. You see luxury boutiques, traditional eateries, and experience the vibrant local culture that combines the Renaissance with the modern age. Despite being flanked by your ‘friends’ as you walk through the crowd, you are enjoying your anonymity.

You feel free of unwanted gazes as you enter The Augustus Gardens, hiking up to an elevation of 1100 feet above the sea, a scenic path that looks down on Marina Piccola and the beach where your wife and children are right now lounging. Breathe in the salt sea air. The warm breeze off the rocks above the nearby Via Krupp wafts the jasmine perfume of gardenias in your nose. You are at peace here in the homeland of your ancestors.”

Loud sighs came from everyone, including Elena and the porter stationed at the door to the Supper Club.

“You remember your original mission was to have brunch, so you find yourself having turned back to the center of the island, searching for the Via Fuorlovado and the famous Aurora Café. The crowd has thinned out somewhat as midday approaches. Temperatures rise. You are beginning to perspire and you’re tired from walking halfway around the island. You see the café a short distance away as you shield your eyes from the sun high up in the sky.

Suddenly, you hear the blare of police sirens coming closer. A trio of police cars convene at the intersection only yards away from where you and your friends are standing. You try to move your feet but it seems your legs are planted on the roadway. A squad of polizia, rifles at the ready, surround you. They shout at you: ‘Alzate le mani! Siete in arresto! Non muovetevi!’ ”

“Get me out of here, please!”

“Close your eyes. Stage manager, please bring up the lights. Now, open your eyes. You are back at The Lodge.”

“What was the idea? That wasn’t funny, sweetheart—” Sal bellowed.

“Don’t move! FBI. You’re under arrest. Cuff ‘em.” A gaggle of FBI agents, wearing bulletproof vests that displayed FBI on the back, rushed forward to place handcuffs on Sal and his bodyguards.

“On what charge?” Sal indignantly asked.

“International money-laundering. Read them their rights.”

As their Miranda rights were intoned to them, I came down from the stage and joined Elena, Jeremy, Aaron, and Michael Ross, Jeremy’s cousin from the Southern District US Attorney’s office, at a table some distance from the activities.

“Looks like we got here just in time,” Michael was saying.

“Do you usually accompany the agents on a collar?” Jeremy asked.

“Nah, it can get hairy. Gunshots and everything. But this was a big deal. I might even get a mention in the papers.”

They started to escort Sal and his bodyguards out of the room. Sal looked over his shoulder at me.

“I coulda made you a star, baby. Vegas, TV, maybe even movies!”

“So I gained back The Lodge…” Aaron began.

“No small thanks to Lindsey here,” emphasized Elena.

“And lost a fiancée. David Kellerman told Amanda he’d disown her if she intended to marry me. Sorry, she said, but she’s accustomed to a certain level of lifestyle. She’s going to spend the next month on Capri to lick her wounds. Wonder where she got that idea…”

“I’m sorry, Aaron,” I offered.

“The worst thing is that Kellerman’s giving up on the idea of building a shopping mall in The Catskills. Too complicated to put together all the elements. I was hoping he’d make me an offer for The Lodge. Bless my father’s memory but, as you can see, I’m really bad at managing a resort. Amanda tells me he’s jumping in on building something called a Galleria in SoCal. Whatever that is. Anyway, I’m going to turn in. Been a long, long day. Good night, ladies.”

Elena and I were sitting on a bench among the wisterias in the garden. It was after 11 PM. I had just done two shows that evening. To capacity audiences, I must point out. Jeremy had gone back to the city with his cousin Michael and expected to stay overnight in Michael’s bachelor pad. So it was just Elena and me.

“You know, it’s time for you to become a real girl, Lindsey,” announced Elena in a warm tone.

“I only wish I could.”

“Well, I gave you breasts and you have to admit you’ve developed feminine curves, don’t you?”

“And I’m so grateful to you, Elena. So, so grateful. But you and I know that whatever spell you cast on me and everyone who sees me is going to vanish when I go back to school next month. I’m not upset about it. You’ve given me a summer I’ll cherish in memory as long as I live.” I burst into tears. Elena hugged me and cooed into my ear.

“That spell, as you call it, won’t go away, dear.” She held me by my shoulders and looked directly into my teary eyes. “I can make you a real girl. I have the ability to do that.”

“You do?”

“It was an ability that was given to me when I was about your age. By a real witch. Back in Romania. In the village I was born and raised in. But I can only use this power once and then I can no longer have it. I have waited over five decades to select the perfect candidate. You are that candidate, Lindsey.”

“No, no. This can’t be real. You’re teasing me.”

“It’s real, dear. It’s happening as we speak. Do you feel it?”

My entire body was beginning to tingle. It wasn’t painful. I could feel parts of my body changing, being transformed. I looked into Elena’s eyes as the changes swept over me.

“It takes a little while. In the meantime, let me tell you how I came about my…special talents. You see I was very much like you when I was your age. Very much…”

Cover art by Erin Halfelven
©2026, SammyC

As I sat still on the bench, with pungent wisteria vines hovering above our heads, my body tingling as unseen changes were taking place, some in my most discreet precincts, I listened to Elena. Her eyes were closed, as if scanning a landscape spread out in her mind, from a place and time miles and decades far from The Catskills in the summer of 1972.

“I was born and raised in Alba, a middling-sized town in the principality of Transylvania, which, before The Great War or The War to End All War, was a part of the Austro-Hungarian Empire, not of Romania. It became part of Romania after The Treaty of Trianon was signed in 1920. My parents indeed were Hungarian. I grew up among Hungarians, Germans, Romanians…and, yes, Romanian Jews.”

“Of course you did, Elena. You’re Jewish, after all,” I laughed.

“No, Lindsey. I was not. When I was in my teens, the War broke out and Transylvania was caught between The Allied Powers, to which Romania was aligned, and The Central Powers, led by Germany. My father was conscripted into the Hungarian army, where he was killed in action within the first 6 months of the war. My mother, who suffered from what in that era was labeled ‘hysteria,’ fell apart completely and had to be sent to a sanitarium. Family from both sides were scattered across Central Europe. Because of the war, I fell through the cracks of even the rudimentary social safety net of that time. I became a street urchin. A 13 year old child with an unruly mop of matted hair and dirt-streaked face, foraging for food among the trash bins in the wealthier parts of the city. I was constantly looking over my shoulder, wary of being accosted by a constable on patrol.”

“Oh, Elena. How did you manage to survive?”

“One day, I was in the Jewish section of town. The richer Jewish section, that is. I came upon an open box of women’s hats, apparently discarded outside of a house built in the style of fancy homes in Bucharest. My hair had gotten very long and a hat would both hide the overabundance on my head and provide some warmth when winter came around. A red satin and straw braid number caught my eye and, after fingering the smooth fabric with unabashed delight, I placed it on my head at what I thought was a dashing angle.

It was then I heard someone clear their throat. I turned to see an elderly woman, dressed all in black after the manner of a widow in mourning, leaning on a walking cane, her expression more inquisitive than threatening.

‘I do admit that color suits your ruddy complexion,’ she declared in heavily accented Hungarian. ‘Of course, I’m presuming its ruddy beneath the patches of dirt that spoil your pretty face. How did you come to this…this unwashed condition? A girl as beautiful as you—’

‘I’m not a girl…madam,’ I interjected, doffing my hat like a gentleman. My hair tumbled out from underneath, framing my face and, at the least, covering up some of the dirt on my cheeks.

‘Oh yes you are, little girl. You can’t be more than 12 or 13. What is your name? And where do you live? Do your parents allow you to roam the streets like a wild animal?’

‘My name is Elek Szabo. I’m…I’m an orphan. I don’t have a home. My father was killed fighting to keep the Allies from invading our homeland. And my mother…my mother is sick. She’s in a sanitarium—’

‘Why would your parents give you a boy’s name? I will call you…let’s see…I will call you Elena. That’s a name that suits you better, pretty girl.’

I put the hat back in the open box and turned to walk away. I was beginning to think this old woman was showing signs of senility as she insisted on believing I was a girl. She even went as far as to give me a girl’s name.

‘Are you hungry? You’re so scrawny. Almost skin and bones. My name is Sofia Herskovic. Come with me. I live here. This is my house. I can warm up some leftovers for you. It’s Romanian cooking but you look famished enough to eat just about anything. No?’ She held out the hand not holding her walking cane. I rushed forward to take her hand, not because I was salivating at the thought of eating her food but I was afraid she would lose her balance and fall over.

As I helped her into the house, she explained that her husband had recently passed away. He had been a very popular milliner in the city. The hats in the discarded box were the last of the inventory she had taken from the shop. She lived in the house by herself. Her adult daughter had married a Hungarian man and she and her family lived in Budapest. As we walked past the wood-burning stove in the kitchen, she stopped and asked me to place some Beechwood logs and kindling into the stove’s belly. Then she tried to lift a large pot of water onto the stove top. Seeing her difficulty, I took the pot and did it for her. She thanked me, caressing my cheek. As she put a match to some rolled up newspaper and threw it in on top of the wood, I was curious.

‘Why are you heating up so much water? That’s enough to bathe a large dog in.’

‘Yes, it is, isn’t it? Now, little puppy, off to the bathroom. You desperately need a good wash. I’m afraid the only clothes I have that’ll fit you are my daughter’s clothes. They’re a few years out of style but it’ll have to do. After your bath and a change of clothes, we can sit down to a proper dinner. I haven’t eaten yet either,’ she noted as she stood by the stove, waiting for the water to heat up sufficiently. ‘I used to have a household staff when my husband was alive and before the war started. They were Hungarians. They decided to move back to the old country. They thought they’d be safer while the fighting was going on. I’m old and feeble, Elena. I don't know how much longer I can manage living here on my own. Oh, the water’s nice and lukewarm. Let’s carry it to the bathroom together. That’s a good girl.’

After I emptied the water into the tub, I expected her to leave me to my own devices but she began to help me out of my sodden clothes. I tried to parry her hands away but to no avail.

‘I’m very modest, Sofia. Please.’

‘Oh, nonsense. I birthed a girl child just like you. I’m a female myself. Haven’t you noticed?’ She stopped chattering the moment my underwear slipped down to my feet.

‘I told you I wasn’t a girl! Stop calling me Elena. I’m a boy named Elek.’

‘But you look so much like a girl. A very pretty girl too. Well, get into the tub anyway…Elek. There’s soap and a scrub brush right there. Use them…liberally. I’ll bring you a towel and those clothes I mentioned.’

‘Your daughter’s clothes?’ I asked, hoping against hope.

Later on, as we were sitting at opposite ends of a long dinner table, having some of her delicious, re-heated goulash, I couldn’t help but notice she was staring at me, her lips curled up in a sly smile.

‘I must look silly in these girl’s clothes.’

“I was right about your ruddy complexion. Rosy not ruddy. The blush on your cheeks really makes you look stunning. Pity you weren’t born a girl, Elena. I mean Elek. Sorry.’

‘How can I go out dressed like this, Sofia? The other kids will laugh at me and call me rude names.’

‘Are there so many of you homeless children?’

‘Oh, yes, very many. The war has orphaned hundreds like me. Of course, living in this section of town, you wouldn’t be aware of that—’

She dropped her napkin onto the table. ‘It’s decided. Elena, you will live here with me. I need someone to help me maintain the house, run errands, and perform some chores. At least until the war ends and my former staff returns. Would you like that? It’s better than living outdoors, foraging for scraps in trash bins.’

‘Would I have to dress like a girl and be called Elena?’

‘Those are my non-negotiables, Elena. As a Jewish widow living alone, it would be scandalous for me to have a non-Jewish boy in my household. As a girl, you would be perfectly acceptable. You could be my Shabbos Goy.’

‘What’s that?’

‘It’s a non-Jewish person who would help a Jewish person perform some basic chores on the Sabbath. You see, in our religion, we are forbidden to do work of any sort from sundown Friday to sundown Saturday. A Shabbos Goy will do things like chop wood for kindling, collect water from the town’s central pump, light and extinguish candles, run errands, etcetera, etcetera. Do you think you could do that?’

I took a long time to give her an answer. My life, all thirteen years of it so far, flashed before my eyes. I had to admit it was tempting to be a girl. To be given a girl’s name. To dress like a girl. To be complimented for my rosy complexion. Finally, like a defendant receiving their sentence from a judge, I nodded my head as if to accept my fate. Sofia smiled and dug into her plate of goulash with added fervor. I gulped audibly but put another spoonful of goulash in my mouth. For what it’s worth, my mother had always wanted a daughter as her first-born.”

“Go into the bathroom, Lindsey. Undress and look at your new self in the full-length mirror,” Elena urged.

We had come back up to my room. I was anxious to see if all the tingling as I sat on the bench in the garden had amounted to my complete transformation into a woman, as Elena promised. I was still a bit dubious.

“Elena, you haven’t finished the story. How did you turn into a woman? Was Sofia a witch? Did she cast a spell like the one you’ve cast on me?”

“It was 1921 or 1922, I forget exactly now. So many years ago. Anyway, Alba was part of Romania then and Sofia was nearing 80. It was clear that she didn’t have much time left. She had grown to love me like her real daughter…even though I was still a 17 year old boy. One day, she came to me with a plan. It turns out the son of a cousin of her husband’s had immigrated to the U.S. and was looking for a bride to bring over from the old country. That would be me, she announced. I, of course, pointed out I was a boy. This man would be sorely disappointed if I showed up on Ellis Island as his prospective bride. Sofia cackled and said she could remedy that situation. She asked me if I really wanted to be a girl, now and forever. I surprised myself by immediately admitting it was my most fervent wish. If only it could be granted.

That’s when she enunciated an incantation in some cryptic language and, with a wave of her hands, I became a real live girl. She slumped into a chair and needed a few minutes to recover her strength. She told me it had taken the last bit of magical power she possessed to transform me. ‘Now I can die in peace, my child.’ Less than a month later, Elena Herskovic boarded a ship to America, carrying two small bags of luggage. She was going to meet the man who would become her husband for the very first time. I found out later that Sofia had passed away while my ship was halfway across the Atlantic.”

“Elena! It’s true! I’m a real, complete woman. Every inch!” I rushed out of the bathroom, wrapped in the robe The Lodge provides to all its guests, and hugged a startled Elena.

“Of course, Lindsey. Why are you surprised? I said I’d make you a woman and I did, sweetie.” She kissed me on both cheeks. “Happy?”

“Deliriously!” Then I thought about what had happened to Sofia when she turned Elena into a woman. “You’re…you’re not going to die on me now, are you? Like Sofia?”

“No, silly girl. Her powers had diminished with her advanced age. The effort it took to turn me into a woman all but depleted her magical energy. Along with my transformation, she gave me magical powers of my own. In short, it was her time. She died of natural causes. It was how she wanted to go.”

“You still have your magical powers?”

“It’s been diminished but there's still some juice in the old gal. Now, as a bonus, you’ll discover you have magical powers too. Use your powers wisely, Lindsey. Don’t go around turning people into frogs. OK?”

“Oh, what’s the use of being a witch if you can’t have some fun…once in a while,” I cracked.

“Being a witch isn’t all it’s cracked up to be, Lindsey.”

Cover art by Erin Halfelven
©2026, SammyC

While the band played “Nights in White Satin” for the third straight time, I sat at our table in The St. Regis Hotel Ballroom, taking a long, sweeping look at the “Starry Night” theme decorations the Dalton School Prom Committee had installed, especially the giant inflatable five-point stars hanging from the ceiling above us. We had decided to take a short break from the dance floor and Jeremy had gone to retrieve two cups of Orange Sherbet Punch for us, leaving me alone at our table since all our tablemates were still out there slow dancing to their heart’s delight.

I used both hands to smooth out the lace applique skirt of my blue tulle prom dress while anxiously waiting for Jeremy to return. I felt so out of place here, at Jeremy’s senior prom, being held at a ritzy New York City luxury hotel ballroom. Surrounded by the children of doctors, lawyers, investment bankers, and politicians. Me, the daughter of a Borscht Belt magician who had just finished her junior year in a public high school in Summit, New Jersey.

Was it almost a year ago that I had to become my father’s assistant in his magic act at The Lodge in The Catskills? It was where I first met Jeremy and his grandmother Elena, who gifted me this beautiful prom dress from The Ross Collection of her Fifth Avenue store. It was where and when I became the girl I am today. Literally.

Dad and grandmother were surprised when I told them that, instead of returning to Yeshiva, I wanted to transfer to the public high school in Summit. Apparently Elena had cast such a strong spell to turn me into a girl that everyone I encountered remembered me only as female. When I registered for school that September, all my records showed the box checked to denote me as female. Even the cashiers at Kings Food Market greeted me with the obligatory “hey girl, how ya doin’.”

Dad had a slow recovery from the heart attack he’d suffered but was well enough to go back on the magic circuit in time for the holiday season in the Chicago and Milwaukee clubs he regularly booked. He’d hired a new girl to be his assistant. I offered to act as his assistant again (grandma declared I was the better magician, anyway, as she brandished the New York Times review from last August) but Dad insisted I stay in school. When school ends in a few weeks, I’m going on the road with Dad, come hell or high water. It’s true what they say about applause being food for the soul.

Aaron Felder had given me a hefty bonus for my weeks as a solo act. It turns out the normally stingy bugger had sold The Lodge after all, taking David Kellerman’s offer after the whole mishegas with that gangster Maranzano. Grandma and I attended Aaron’s wedding to Amanda Kellerman on the Saturday after Thanksgiving. The reception was held at Tavern On The Green in Central Park. The turkey was a bit dry though.

The school year had passed by quickly and I’d made a lot of new friends. I was very popular it seems. Especially with boys. But I was a good girl, kept my grades up and turned down a lot of dates from a lot of cute guys. Grandma was glad I wasn’t boy-crazy like so many girls my age. “A girl as pretty as you can get into a lot of trouble with bad boys. Even Jewish ones.”

Elena visited us several times in the Fall and Winter but Jeremy never accompanied her. I wondered if he’d found a new girlfriend at The Dalton School, like I was just a summer fling. But Elena assured me that Jeremy was deep into his studies. He was hoping to be admitted to Princeton after graduation. “He’ll need the best grades, Lindsey. Ivy League schools are super-competitive, you know. Don’t worry, sweetheart, he still talks about you endlessly. At least whenever I’m around.”

Somehow I didn’t believe Elena. Not a single phone call from him. Not even a box of gelt (chocolate coins wrapped in gold foil) for Hannukah like they used to give us as little children. Not a peep from him. Until, out of the blue, he asked me to be his date for The Dalton School’s senior prom. So, here I am, wrapped in a fluffy blue prom dress, waiting for my cup of sherbet punch.

“Penny for your thoughts,” Jeremy said as he handed me my punch. I smiled reflexively, seeing him in his tuxedo and bow-tie, wavy shoulder length dark brown hair framing his handsome face.

“I was just thinking about the year I’ve had. So much has happened to me. So many things have changed.” Absentmindedly, I dipped a spoon into my cup to capture a segment of sherbet.

“I’m sorry I’ve been so…out of touch…since school started. I thought about you practically every minute of every day—”

“Oh, really. I haven’t given you a thought. I didn’t even recognize your voice at first when you called—”

“I guess I deserved that.” Jeremy put his arm around my shoulders and gazed into my eyes. “You’re even more beautiful than the day you left The Lodge to go home. How is it possible?”

“Not beautiful enough to return a phone call or reply to a letter though.”

“Letter? You sent me a letter? When?”

“I sent three letters to be absolutely correct. Don’t they distribute your mail at school?”

“You sent me letters to Dalton? Lindsey, Dalton’s not a boarding school. I’m living at home.” He laughed almost raucously.

“You think I’m an idiot, don’t you?”

“No, you’re the most delightful girl I’ve ever met. But it is funny, don’t you think?”

“What about the phone calls? I’m sure your mother took my message more than once.”

“My mother? My mother never answers the phone at home. That was probably our maid, Lyla. I usually don’t get home until after she leaves for the day. Around 5PM. I’m sorry but we probably didn’t cross paths.”

“Likely story,” I sniffed.

“Well, it’s the truth. To be honest, I thought you’d forgotten about me. New school, new friends…new boyfriend?”

“Oh, look, they’re playing ‘My Love’ by Paul McCartney. I love that song!”

“Put the punch down. Let’s go cut a rug, babe.” Jeremy took my hand and led me to the dance floor.

They played “My Love” for the last dance of the night. I was a combination of tired and dreamy as Jeremy and I slow-danced to the band’s passable attempt to reproduce McCartney’s hit song. Leaning into Jeremy’s shoulder, I listened to his breathing as we tried hard to avoid stepping on each other’s feet. My thoughts strayed to the future. My future. Perhaps our future.

“How are you planning to spend your summer before entering college?” I asked.

“My mother wants me to go to Europe with her for a few weeks. She and her best friend like to go antique hunting in Italy and France every summer. Since grandmother can’t stay at The Lodge now that it’s been torn down for that Supermall that Kellerman’s building, mom has dragooned her to come along too. So I guess I’ll be riding the Eurail for a few weeks.”

“Can’t you decline the offer? And Elena’s not some doddering old biddy. She can spend her summer anyway she wants. She doesn’t need to be chaperoned by her daughter-in-law.”

“My mother’s very commanding. Even Elena acquiesces to her most of the time. My father is also very protective of her. With grandfather gone and me heading off to college, they don’t want her to be alone.”

“I was hoping we could spend some time together—”

“Didn’t you say you were doing your magic act with your dad this summer?”

“Well, part-time really. July 4th weekend, my dad got booked at The Steel Pier in Atlantic City. Sort of a compromise. He wanted me to stay home. Grandma wanted me to be his assistant all summer. But he’s got a new assistant and…well, he’s kind of…”

“Smitten? Yeah, it probably gets real lonely on the road. And your father’s not getting any younger. Anyway, it’s a shame but it looks like we won’t see much of each other this summer. It would take a miracle to get my mother to change her plans.”

The band finished playing. All the couples on the dance floor applauded politely before walking back to their tables, saying their goodbyes, not bothering to listen to the headmaster’s farewell wishes.

On the way home to Summit, we eschewed conversation. Throughout the 45 minute drive, a light rain fell. The pitter patter of raindrops on the windshield was the only sound to compete with our breathing. I lay my head on Jeremy’s right shoulder. I felt like crying. It was a reawakening of the fear I harbored last summer, before I discovered that Jeremy had known I was originally a boy all along. Elena hadn’t kept the secret as she had promised. At the time, Jeremy said it didn’t matter to him. That he loved me just the same. Now, as the sights along I-78 shot by in the glowering darkness of a late Spring night, I doubted Jeremy’s assurance. What would a year at Princeton do to that assurance? New friends, new experiences, new loves will change everything.

“Don’t cry,” I told myself, muttering into Jeremy’s shoulder.

“Did you say something?”

“Nothing. It’s not important.”

I steadied myself at the edge of the stage, ready to climb the three steps to meet the audience at The Steel Pier. My father’s new assistant came down the steps, giving me a thumb’s up as she walked past me. I took a deep breath and placed my right foot on the first step as my father started to introduce me.

“And now, ladies and gentlemen, it is my utmost pleasure to introduce you to the apple of my eye, my lovely and brilliant daughter. A magician in her own right. Some of you might have read the glowing review of her act in The New York Times last summer. Though still in high school, she is a magician of the first order. In fact, I think she’s better than her old dad. Lindsey Ace!”

Polite applause greeted me as I hopped onto the stage, wearing the sexy black outfit I’d worn last summer. Of course, I’d grown some in the ensuing months. Grandma had to let it out here and there. Especially the top. She grumbled about my modesty or lack thereof in this costume. Then she let out a screech when the needle pricked her finger.

I began by asking the audience where they were from. Most of the answers named places in New Jersey, a few named New York City. A solitary voice loudly announced they were from Mars. Everyone laughed.

“Welcome to Earth, my otherworldly friend! Of course, we all know Mars is a dead world. But perhaps a long, long time ago, maybe even a billion years in the past, Mars was a planet full of life. A home for intelligent life. An advanced civilization. Even more advanced than Earth in 1973 AD. Come, let me show you. Stage manager, please dim the lights. Everyone close your eyes. Don’t open them until I ask you to.

You are floating above a Martian city from the long lost past. You can feel the warm breeze as you descend. The city’s sounds grow louder in your ears. The chirping of exotic birds solicits your attention. Now, please open your eyes!"

"A canal of silver water glimmers below the double moons in the darkening sky. There are people, Martians, in streamlined boats going up and down the canal. On either side of the canal are curving rows of ornate buildings of Martian design, so beautiful yet alien to our eyes.

The laughter of children draws you to the torchlit parks and plazas that separate sections of the magnificent city. In the hills beyond there are colorful houses in which lit windows show glimpses of families settling in for the night. A closer look at the pedestrians in the immaculate streets below us tell us we once had brethren in our solar system.

What happened to this civilization? What disturbed their peaceful existence? What ended their time on the stage of cosmic history. We do not know. But we can listen to the music they made. Look! Over there. An amphitheater on a hillside. A band of musicians is playing some otherworldly chords, singing in an ancient lost language…”

After the second show, we emerged from the stage door into the sultry warmth of the July 4th night. The fireworks show was at its zenith, splashing red, white, and blue lights all across the sky above the ocean. “The Stars and Stripes” blared through loudspeakers as the crowd along the boardwalk cheered and applauded. Dad, Margie, his new assistant, and I weaved our way through the throng of onlookers to get closer to the railings. We got separated somehow and I looked all around to see where Dad and Margie had gone. Suddenly, I felt a hand on my shoulder and turned to see who it was. It was Jeremy with Elena standing a few feet behind him, smiling broadly at me.

“Jeremy!”

“Lindsey! We saw the show. Both shows actually. We paid twice. It was worth it. You were amazing. The audience was in disbelief at what they had just experienced.”

“Thanks to Elena, of course,” I waved to Elena. “But weren’t you two supposed to be riding the rails in Europe?”

“Oh, I wasn’t going to have Jeremy’s mother railroad me into spending the summer following her and her friend around checking out glorified rummage sales. Besides, Jeremy here had someone he wanted to spend the summer with instead…” Elena winked at me and then started to walk away. “I’ll be up in my room, kiddies. It’s sleepy bobo time for us senior citizens.”

“So what’s your plan for the summer now that you’re not going to Europe?” I shouted above the music and the machine gun bursts of fireworks.

“That depends on you,” Jeremy replied.

“Well, after this weekend, I’m stuck in Summit all summer until school starts again.”

“Great! You haven’t seen much of New York City, have you?”

“Very little. I’m a Jersey girl.”

“You need a guide. A very personal guide.” Jeremy took me in his arms and leaned in to kiss me. Our lips met as the fireworks show reached its loud and fast climax. And the rockets red glare, the bombs bursting in air.

Miracles do happen. I’m proof positive of that.