When Joe Oxford awakened to his power of invisibility he did not turn to crime. He knew it would have been easy enough. A quirk like his could net a pretty penny. Still, he knew he would have to make some kind of move. A man wasn't given such a unique ability only to keep it concealed like a psychological tic. Something big was around the corner. He just couldn't say what.
He stood before his bathroom mirror, concentrating until the fractal images of light steadied into what he knew to be his face. Gradually, the rippling line of visibility swept over the physical dimensions of his body. When his person was fully there, love handles and all, Joe leaned over the sink and spat.
He was annoyed. When his invisibility had first occurred some months ago it had been only a momentary hiccup. Lately, though, his visibility had grown less dependable. At times, he had to focus all of his attention or risk public exposure.
He quickly concluded his toilet and dressed in his blue suit and red tie. He looped his elastic watch band over his fist and snapped it into place, checking briefly to see that he remained on schedule. He had bought tickets to the fabulous Molineux that evening, and he was loathe to get in his own way with frivolous expenditures of time.
The club where the magic show was being held was a small, dark place at the end of a cobblestone alley. He entered a cozy area with a mahogany bar and room enough for maybe a dozen round tables with chairs. He was able to steal a table immediately in front of the stage. A waitress dressed in a feminized version of a men's tuxedo came around to take his drink order. Joe covertly studied her behind as she left.
The crowd whispered and a moment later a tall brunette woman wearing a tiara and a purple sequinned leotard entered the stage from behind a green curtain. Her large dark eyes held the audience in a calm gaze. When there was no hint of movement, no idle coughing, she began to speak.
“Welcome to the dark.” Without meaning to, Joe moved forward in his seat. “My name is Glossiana. Tonight you will witness the powerful effect of illusion. Remember that everything you see this evening is happening. However, it is happening in a way that deceives the eye. We will ask you to consider then, one and all, what divides the real from the unreal. Look into what your eye beholds. And now, please welcome the worker of miracles, the fantastic Molineux!”
Glossiana stepped aside as the audience applauded Molineux's entrance. He was shorter than Joe had expected. Probably not more than 5'6 or 5'7 and of an indeterminate age. His shoulders belonged to a thirteen year old boy. Also, his costume was all wrong. His sports jacket was khaki, matching his slightly rumpled trousers. He did not even hold a top hat in his hand. Rather than centering himself on stage, he began to pace with his eyes fastened to the floorboards. When he spoke he did not lift his head to project sound. Everyone strained to hear his reedy voice.
“Good evening. Before we begin I would like to say a few words about the nature of magic. The world in which magic occurs is the same world where we sit in traffic. It is the same place that turns us into insomniacs. It is the same area even where we pay the price of admission for an hour's entertainment. Magic is real because it is the natural habit of the world to meet our expectations.
“What is most often misunderstood about magic, however, is its relationship to light. Too much time is devoted to what is commonly called 'sleight of hand.' What should be recognized instead is what I call, a selection of light. Like any artist, the magician is always conscious of light sources and how they interplay with the object being viewed. His 'selection' refers to the illusionist's choice of how to make that light become visible to the audience. If, for example, I choose to make you believe an object can disappear,” Molieneux drew a colored handkerchief from his hip pocket, wadded it in his fist and then opened his hand to reveal emptiness, “it is merely a matter of drawing your eye to that area which makes the disappearance possible. It would be foolish to ask how the illusion was created. A sensitive mind will guess that any explanation I might give can never yield the truth.
“But if I carry the illusion forward, showing how magic has come alive and appear in unexpected places,” he stepped down from the stage and placed his empty hand inside Joe's inner breast pocket. “I can reveal a truth that might otherwise evaporate in the unforgiving light of day.”
Joe felt a tug above his heart. His jacket pocket yielded a red satin handkerchief, a perfect mate to the one Molineux had made disappear moments before. Delighted sound rippled through the audience, followed by staccato bursts of applause.
“Now, on with the show!”
Most of the crowd had filtered out, leaving only the serious drinkers. Joe idly read the bulletin board of upcoming jazz performances, rocking slightly on his heels. His head was light from the discounted martinis and he tried to remember how many he'd ordered. The number was fuzzy and it seemed to grow fuzzier the more he tried to pin it down. He disliked the idea that he was drunk and hoped his enjoyment of the show had not been caused by chemical imbalance. Lost in this reflection, he did not immediately register the fact that someone had approached from back stage. Glancing up, he saw the magician Molineux staring hard into his face. Before either man could exchange greetings, the lovely assistant Glossiana appeared from backstage and flashed a withering smile.
“It was magnificent,” Joe thought, not realizing he'd spoken.
“I do hope you were meaning the show,” Glossiana laughed.
Joe stammered, his eyes riding shyly to the flood beneath her knife sharp heels. “Of course.”
Molineux inserted himself in introduction. The two men shook hands and exchanged names.
“Mister Oxford, this is my wife Melanie. That is to say, my Glossiana is also my Melanie.”
Joe took her slender hand in his. She was uncommonly beautiful, perhaps even more so now that she was divested of the heavy stage make-up. She said that she was pleased to make his acquaintance and asked if he had enjoyed the show. Joe once again felt constrained by his ability to utter only platitudes. In the awkwardness that had enveloped them, they parted company.
On the subway home, Joe let his mind dance over the spectacle of the evening. A pleasant if meaningless diversion. A way to consume the idle minutes. He allowed himself that all the way home and up to his front door. From there, he decided to shuck it away completely.
After undressing in his bedroom, Joe slipped naked into bed and pulled the blankets over his head. For the first time in many months he slipped immediately into unconsciousness, allowing him to reach places in the back of his mind he hadn't imagined for years.
Later, he woke to an insistent tapping downstairs. He sat up in bed and strained to identify it. Still, he couldn't be sure. He crossed to the closet on tiptoes and pulled on a robe.
The sound drew him down the stairs into the living room. When Joe reached the front door he stood listening to the tapping in utter darkness. He peered through the peep-hole. A second later he placed his hand on the deadbolt and turned it. When the door opened it revealed the battered shape of Molineux.
“I hoped you might still be up,” the little man said brusquely as he hurried past Joe and took an uninvited seat in the living room. He leaned from the club chair and switched on a reading lamp, pulling a pen and what appeared to be a small pad of paper from his breast pocket. Joe sat on the small green sofa watching him.
“How much do you want?” Molineux demanded.
“How much?” Joe asked, bewildered.
“The trick,” Molineux said impatiently.
“I'm afraid I don't understand.”
“Don't be childish. I've shown you my willingness to offer fair compensation.”
Now Joe could see that the illusionist held not a pad of paper but a book of personal checks.
“What in the world do you mean?”
“Look,” Molineux spoke with a rasp. “I have another show next weekend and I need to work in your invisibility illusion. It's exactly the kind of thing that gets attention.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Backstage,” Molineux hissed. “When I first saw you standing there. It was like I was looking at something out of H.G. Wells. Then, as soon as my wife stepped out, there you were in the flesh.”
A terrifying question occurred to Joe.
“How did you find me?”
The little magician frowned. His feet sidled.
“I'm afraid I followed you. I...didn't know if I should have approached you or not. But it was getting cold out and...” Molineux collapsed in his chair in a bent ruin. “Look, I need this illusion. My wife...she doesn't understand the seriousness of our debts. I have to have something...extraordinary. I'll pay whatever you ask, for God's sake!”
Joe remained seated, frozen in place. Despite the illusionist's small stature and crushed spirits, Molineux intimidated him. But there was something touching in what he said, something familiar.
“Perhaps I can help.”
After Molineux carefully laid his wife on the elevated table and spoke the words of illusion, Joe crept forward and slipped his arms under Glossiana's shoulders and the backs of her thighs. She sank easily into his lifting embrace, her body erasing the emptiness Joe inhabited. The crowd gasped as she rose without explanation from the solid surface. Joe slowly turned in a full circle so that Glossiana appeared to spin alone in space, prostrated before his magic.
As he moved throughout the theater and out into the crowd, it was as though he was the one floating among the audience. Their hushed awe moved in currents.
As he reached the end of the aisle and turned to come back to the stage, he could see curious members of the crowd had begun to reach out to touch what they couldn't see. Joe quickened his pace, dodging the groping fingers of the public. Joe felt a small hand strike his buttocks. He whirled round to behold a gap toothed five-year-old boy grinning madly.
He hurried up the stage and returned Glossiana to the table. He turned to Molineux, beholding the magician's pale complexion and trembling lips. Then, the little boy who had struck Joe during the levitation leapt from his seat and pointed.
“Look, Mom. That man is naked!” he cried.
The auditorium became a chamber of hilarity. The sound of it seemed to shake the building to its foundation. Joe stood quietly for a moment gazing down at his own pink body. The real outline of him was laid frank and bare. Then the house lights rose, bleeding away all shadow, and he could see the rippling movement of the audience's faces animated with joy. Then Joe began to laugh as well, his laughter as loud and distinct as any in the house. The applause was so great it could have shattered the sky.