The Magician’s Assistant

The Broadcast

A buxom blonde woman is bowing towards the audience as the camera watches her from behind. A tiny top hat is pinned into her hair on the right side of her head. Her golden short coat (with twin tails) mostly hides the back of her white tuxedo shirt, tucked into Lycra short pants. She has fishnet stockings and stiletto heels way too impractical to be wearing all day.

The curtain closes and the blonde spins around on the balls of her feet. Those viewers who have their equivalents of televisions equipped with sensory abilities beyond sight and sound really pick up smells of cheap cigar smoke, cheap liquor, and just a hint of black mold. Her tuxedo shirt has the top few buttons open to reveal an impressive amount of cleavage. She sighs and then addresses someone off-screen.

“Jasper, you gotta cut back on the drinking between shows. The theater manager is already annoyed that we don’t bring in enough business.”

“Shaddup! Who’s da magician? Me or you?” the drunk lout shouts off-camera.

“You are,” the blonde looks down, pensively. Always the same argument. Always the same result. I need a better talent agent. Hopefully this theater will pay us well enough when they get around to it that I can hire one. Assuming this idiot doesn’t just drink away my pay.

“Thads right. And who got their name in the lights?”

“Magical Jasper.”

“Thads right too,” the off-camera man hiccups, “And who is the dumb broad who I pay too much to stand there and look pretty?”

“You know I do more than that, Jasper. I activate the trick mechanisms while you sloppily attempt some prestidigitation. And, if you weren’t drinking so much, you could actually pull off your part of the act.”

“Toots, ya run yer mouth too much.” The sounds of sloshing liquid, presumably Jasper taking another swig of whatever foul cheap liquor he’s drinking, is heard.

Having enough of her latest crappy boss, the woman starts to walk forward. “Whatever. I need some air. Try to sober up at least a little? We got another matinee in 30 minutes.”

The camera spins and follows behind her. A broken glass is heard off-camera, then shouting. The woman doesn’t stop. She yanks the backstage door open so **** to get a moment’s peace that she doesn’t see the swirling nightmare vortex. The camera rushes forward, pushing her in. She falls. All is dark.

Josie

Josie ponders, What is this crazy lady babbling about?

Sounds of movement behind her. The prone woman rotates her shoulders to see a blonde wearing a small top hat, a gold bikini, and some painful looking stilettos wobbly get up and start shuffling towards the dune. Somehow, the narrow heels of her shoes don’t sink into the sand. She seems unresponsive. The shuffle turns into a strut as soon as she crests the berm.

I really should be panicking more, Josie continues thinking, What is happening here?

Tina Campbell

Tina finally comes to already walking towards a stage on a beach. She feels her hips roll as she struts, yet doesn’t seem to be able to stop. What is going on? she wonders.

Standing on the stage is, quite possibly, the ugliest woman Tina has ever seen. That’s saying something, considering how many senior living center shows she’s had to play to pay the bills. It’s like if a scarecrow and a heron had a particularly grotesque baby. Spindly limbs with knobby knees and elbows. Frazzled hair going in every direction. An almost spherical nose that looks bigger than her fist and glasses that make her strangely beige colored eyes look twice as big as her nose. Wearing an ill-fitting seersucker suit and holding a 1970s game show style microphone, the woman stands awkwardly. Immediately behind her is a wooden chest three times her height with the words “Master in Here” in gold inlay; somehow, she knows a person is locked in there, a stranger. 6 adequate looking poolside lounge chairs to the side.

Tina wants to scream, but she can’t seem to open her jaw or even the change the stupid fake grin she is sporting. She just struts forward until she smells the mothballs on the revolting lady.

“Welcome to Harem Hotel: Sapphic Seaside Edition! I’m your amazing host, Beckie Petersen. Why don’t you introduce yourself to the audience? Name, profession, last time you got laid, the contestant you want to bang the most, your relationship with The Master? You know, that sort of thing?”

“Uh... hi? What’s going on here? Last thing I remember, I was trying to get to the backstage alley of the Silver Dollar Theatre to get away from my drunk boss and woke up in a heap of women on a beach? Can I get some help here?”

“Now, sugar tits, I heard that you were a professional? Don’t make me use ****.”

Tina scoffs. “****? How are you going to **** me to do anything?”

“Simple. Magic. Boop.” The weird lady pokes Tina’s nose.

“Hello everyone, I’m Tina Campbell and I am the absolute greatest magician’s assistant in Gamblin’, Nevada. I am legally obligated by the city of Gamblin’ to say that Gamblin’, Nevada is like Las Vegas, but more economical. And yes, the apostrophe is a part of the city’s name. I work for wash ups and has beens that couldn’t hack it in actual showbiz, trying to raise enough money to pursue my dream of being an actual stage-show magician on the Vegas Strip. The last time I got laid was 3 months ago when my drunk then boss didn’t show to a private bachelorette party and the girls confused me for a stripper. I’m a bit embarrassed about that, so don’t tell anyone. I still touch myself while thinking about eating out bridesmaid number 3. While I was only minimally conscious when I was in and around the pile, my subconscious is telling me that the redhead in the blue monokini is the contestant I find the hottest, outside of myself, of course. I have no idea who The Master is. Did I answer everything?”

“I believe so, yes dear.”

Tina stares into space for a beat, then ask, “Wait, did you say magic? And what did I just say?”

“Yes, I cast a spell on you to make you answer my questions in embarrassing detail. Anything else you want to say to the audience before we move on?”

“Wait, magic’s real?”

“You aren’t very bright, are you dear?”

Tina starts to hop up and down, squeeing like a teenage girl going to a boy band concert. The broadcast camera zooms onto her chest, as her D-cup breasts are barely contained by her top in her exuberance. She shouts at the top of her lungs, “MAGIC IS REAL!!!!! Can you teach me some? I promise to only use it for good. And to get me rich.”

Beckie points to the first lounge chair. “Maybe later,” she replied, “Now go sit down. We have a lot more to do this afternoon.”

Tina skips over to the chair.

Magic is real. I am so done with bullshit.