The Magician’s Assistant

BY CECILIA TAN

 

The magician’s assistant is looking at herself in the mirror, trying to attach a sequin to just the right spot on her face.The makeup mirror shows the tiny wrinkles beginning to appear as she squints and turns her head from side to side, the white Vegas feather plume wig rustling against her bare shoulders as she looks at the curve of her cheeks, the dimple of her chin. The damn sparkle needs to be placed just so or it’ll look like a crystalline cancer on her face instead of a little bit of magic. The plastic gem poised on her index finger, a tiny dab of spirit gum glistening, she points her hand at her reflection, reflecting. He was going to put her in chains tonight, and then plunge her into a glass-sided tank filled with cold water, and then a bunch of other mumbo jumbo, the result of which always was she emerged elsewhere miraculously freed, but also soaked to the bone in her see-through dress, nipples erect . . . it’s Vegas, after all.

She waves the sequin in the mirror and thinks . . . hmm. She pulls the clingy white fabric away from her breast and plants the sequin onto her nipple. She gets another from the tray on her makeup table and makes the other nipple to match. She poises a third, but hesitates. This magician isn’t really much fun. He’s married and is putting two kids through college and she doesn’t really see very much of him beyond a few lame rehearsals and the show itself. She’s had bosses before who appreciated the situation a bit more, shall we say. Who could find the rabbit under her dress.Who sawed her in half after hours.

What the hell, she thinks, so he’ll never know. She hikes up the glittering Elizabeth-Taylor-as-Cleopatra dress and slides down in the chair. Her knees fall open and her hand hovers under the makeup table. Her face is ringed by soft white bulbs all the way around as her unseen finger places the last jewel in one place no one is likely to see it tonight. She presses it into place and gasps, transfixed by her own reflection, at the half-lidded look of longing on her face. Maybe tonight the dress will tear in the water, under the chains. Maybe tonight she will shine.