The Old Magic                          

2492 wds       

"Howdy, Cowboy, how bout some breakfast?" the woman with the empty tray said. She waited for the other woman to speak.

"Hmmm, good. Getting better. But not quite there, " the other said. "Needs something, more heart, higher pitch maybe, listen." She delivered the line herself, being herself, shoulders relaxed, speaking form deep inside. The two women looked alike, both slim, large-eyed, with a wide forehead, both elegant and yet, according to most of the press, All-American and dynamic.

The woman holding the empty tray delivered the line once more.

"What are you thinking about when you say it?"

"About him, like you said, daring but gentle."

"Well, good. Okay, let's stick to that, that's good, that's the way to be with him. You know he was a lifeguard once, a real lifeguard. It was his favorite role. There is nothing he likes more than being treated like a young man, handsome and sexy. When you look at him, when you talk to him, see a young man and feel yourself like a young woman and, without violating your own moral standards of course, see both of you together and fresh and life just beginning. Okay, fill your mind with this image and let me hear the line again." 

"Howdy, Cowboy, how bout some breakfast?"

"Good, very good. I think you could fool him on a good day! Now, let's see if we can find some breakfast around here. It's supposed to be ready by now."

She walked around her desk, picked up a phone and was about to stab a button when a tall young man came into the office. He held a tray like the one the women had used for a prop and still held in her hands. On it his tray were covered plates, cutlery, coffee and orange juice.  

"Here we are and not a minute too early, of course. Now, we're all set. You know which notes to point to, you know which door it is." As the woman who would soon deliver her line took the tray from the young man her coach said, "Break a leg!"

Taking the breakfast, smiling, her instructor and almost twin nodding and smiling and the young man smiling, she left the office and, glancing back halfway down the hall, got thumbs up from both of them. She approached the door and set the tray beside it on a folding stand. Breathing deeply and centering herself, she knocked. This was the moment she was later to reflect, the most electric, the wildest, for she saw him in her imagination beyond the door not just a man, but part of history of the nation, a unique face in the vast tapestry of humankind. His dramatic role in the life of the world, for decades spread heavy yet thin as a mist over The United States and, for eight years, every country and people on earth. This scene was wide as a continent, herself a particle on the stream among others living and loving, having children, losing or laughing, sometimes both at the same time and all the while his eye, hand and soothing voiceover all. It was still fun and comforting to watch him on television although now the news was all about his decline.  

There was a sound, a voice, a thump, a signal.  She opened the door.

The room was flooded with sunlight. How he loved sunlight! And there was the man himself, in a wheelchair now because it was so much easier for everyone. There was the fine, full hairline, now completely gray and streaked with white, the sturdy features, the broad shoulders, now slumped and tired. How she had admired his physique, carried so proudly, with such ease. He looked so good on television. Now that dream is over, now he is history.

She was well briefed. The room smelled faintly of urine. This was to be ignored. No matter how clean you kept a patient the urine would be there, lurking. 

Looking at him sunken into his bathrobe with notes written large so he could read them without glasses, gummed to his sleeves, worn only in private ~ these to remind him of names, routines, jokes or stories ~ it was easy to see why this man's wife, who at first did not inspire sympathy, would hire an understudy. Thus his wife would be able to love him on his good days and he could love her all the time. On his bad days he was simply not there.

No more would the eyes glitter shrewdly or merrily or the jaw flex with determination, yet something was still there, she saw it in his eyes, a readiness that brightened as he looked up at her. The man looked at her, steady, until she found her line..

"Howdy, Cowboy, how bout some breakfast?"

He looked at her, said nothing. 

She heard her voice, hollow, false, insufficient, almost breaking, pity and awe ardently surging in her. Should she speak again?

She set the tray on a table nearby and pointed to his left sleeve, lower forearm (9am) note. His day was arranged clockwise, from his left wrist around his shoulders to his right wrist. The note took hold, for he nodded and gathering his mouth into a smile. 

He said, "Good, let's have some breakfast."

The clarity of his voice stunned her. Having heard his only electronically, the immediate presence, the fullness of his voice startled her. She served his breakfast despite her confusion and amazement. Wheeling a small table to him, adjusting it with a knob on the stand, she set his breakfast tray before him. She removed the stainless steel covers from the plates and turned upright the coffee cup and juice glass, all without speaking. Her voice more than anything else would give her away and he was growing more alert, she felt it. What would she do if he realized she was not his wife and became angry? There was no room for lack of confidence with these people. They had been part of her life, they had been in her living room, she had admired them most of her life and knew the essential qualities; confidence and good timing.

His hands were over the tray and she saw he knew what he was doing. He spread jam on toast and said, "Is today a work day?"

"Yes sir, it is a work day." It was all wrong, her voice was all wrong! His wife would not call him sir!

He paused and looked at her. She busied herself by pouring his coffee, which turned out to be herb tea.

"That's good, i feel like working. I'll only eat a little of this breakfast, i don't want to feel heavy."

"Are you better?"

He paused again. Oh God, his wife would not say that!

He sat up straight and smiled and chuckled. "Excuse me," he said. "You surprised me. I thought you were my wife. Are you new here?"

"Yes, i am," she said enthusiastically. She introduced herself. They shook hands. He  introduced himself and they laughed, to think she didn’t know him!

"Always nice to see a new face," he said. "Are you temporary or permanent?"

"Temporary so far."

"Well, i hope you make it to permanent."

"So do i, i really do. Can i get you anything else?"

"How bout more orange juice? I just can't get enough orange juice."

"I'll get some and be right back." She turned for the door but didn't leave. She stopped and looked back at him, eating carefully, taking small, regular bites. He looked good. The phrase, 'the old magic,' came to mind. He calmly smiled at her. She saw him as a young lifeguard. "I'll be right back," she said and left the room.

In the hall she was surprised his wife was not nearby listening at the door. Listening at doors is what happens in the movies and in politics, right? She walked down the hall to the office where the woman sat behind her desk, opening envelopes beside a computer screen. At that moment the screen was covered with screen saver images of galloping horses. 

She stopped, her hands on an envelope and knife, looked up, surprised and said, “Did you leave him alone?” 

"Oh he’s fine, very alert, He's very alert," she said to his wife. "He asked if today was a work day. I told him yes and he looked eager. He knew i was not you right away."

The woman at the desk smiled and stood up briskly and walked to the door. She stopped. "Anything else?"

"Only that he wanted more orange juice. "

"Wait here. Please wait here." She hurried to walk down the hall to his room.

The understudy sat in the office and glanced through a magazine and when it seemed the woman would not return  sooner took from her handbag a dictionary of dream symbols. A refreshment counter stood along half of one wall and a large tv peered into the room from a cabinet, the doors open to reveal a dark screen. She had made a good impression, she knew it, could feel it, so she refrained from fixing a drink or turning on the television. With this job which was actually an audition, after all she had to go through for it, she would take no risks.  She would not spoil a good impression by appearing impatient, impertinent or slovenly. She held herself ready, even as she read the book on dreams and paid attention to the words for she felt herself on this job, in this office, in the middle of a dream. In this book she had read the words before and from day to day casually followed them. The author wrote; “In waking life ask yourself, ‘Is this a dream?’ And when asleep and dreaming ask, “Am i awake?’”

Thirty-five minutes later the woman, her employer for this day, returned, very happy, very light on her feet.

"You were a hit! He's doing very well this morning, he's very clear. He wants to work today."

"That's nice, that's so good."

"We're getting him dressed to walk. That's always the first thing, get him out of that damn chair and walking."

She talked and walked behind the desk and made a phone call and from a drawer removed a slim notebook all at the same time. "He was working on this last month, maybe he can pick it up again. Oh, it'll be a good day!"

"I'm so glad for you."She hurried away with the notebook. The understudy waited F for about fifteen minutes concerned, not worried, about the status of her employment and was still waiting but seated now and reading when a young woman she had not met came into the office with an envelope in her hand. 

"This is a check for a full day," she told her, "and not to worry, you got the part, you can go home now and she will call you later. You did very well." The young woman appeared genuinely impressed. 

The understudy took the envelope and thanked the young woman with perhaps more courtesy than was necessary for one so young.

Now what to do with the rest of the day? On the way home she stopped at the bank, did some shopping, went for a swim. At home she worked in her garden, had dinner with her family and was watching the recording of an old movie, a film of the very people, man and wife, she had worked for that day, when the telephone rang. 

"Mom, it's for you."

"I just called to thank you. It's been the best day we've had in a long time," the voice on the phone said. "But we don't know of course how long it will last. We need to keep you with us, starting just in the mornings, for now, until noon and we'll work you into full days. Does that sound good?"

"Yes it is, very good. And thank you."

"No, thank you! I'll see you in the morning then, same time?"

"I'll be there."

"Good. You're the best understudy we've had. You really are."

"Thanks. It's very nice of you." She put down the phone and shuddered. She could barely remain standing, she felt so drained of energy. Thoughts flooded in, she had to go somewhere and think. She couldn't write her sisters or brothers or tell any of it to family and friends, she had made a confidentiality agreement. Now she was so astonished she had to be very careful. Loose lips sink ships. He had said that. She heard him say it a long time ago, in a navy film, she heard him when she was a girl resting her head on a sofa cushion pulled out onto the floor so she could lay on the carpet and watch him on the black and white tv, the same tv her mother, now known as Gramma, still watches at home in Pasadena, the tube so old the image shot through with bubbles and wavering lines, but that's how Gramma sees everything anyway. Loose lips . . .

"Hey, Mom, you going to finish watching your show?" Her son's voice was mild but it returned her to the present time and place with a jolt. She walked into the living room and said, "No, go ahead and take it out. It’s okay. I'm just going to sit outside for awhile." Her son said something in an agreeable tone and she left the house. He would now put in a DVD, or check out what was on cable but nothing so ancient as what she was watching.

She had to sit alone and let her thoughts flow and discover where they might go, what they might run into. She suddenly wanted to smoke a cigarette and drink wine right from the bottle. She hadn't wanted a cigarette in thirty years!

As she stepped onto the porch into the cool evening and the door closed behind her, her son removed the film she had been watching and cradled and spun his DVD, the newest spectacular spectacle action packed track to track with awesome special effects; flaming explosions, automobiles thrown up like pebbles and bodies torn apart.. Sweet! 

Like his mother, he was contemplative, a thinker who often talked to himself. He looked at his mother's video disc, put it in the box and read the title and the names of the cast.  

"What is this? Why does she watch this? All these dead people. Why is she watching these dead people?" 

End of “The Old Magic”