The Jokester

Skylar laughs. She wasn’t expecting an answer to the card trick, but she was amused nonetheless by what Remy had said in response. “I can respect that.” A nod follows her verbal response, decorated with a chuckle of laughter. “Is that what you do as a job? Like, for a career?” She unintentionally changes the subject; it was genuine curiosity taking over. “Because right now, I wouldn’t mind taking you up on a potential job as your assistant,” she laughs (again) breathily. “I’m in need of a little extra cash myself.” The girl sticks out a hand in greeting. “I’m Skylar Murphy. Nice to meet you.”

“That would be a lot more interesting than what I am employed to do right now, I wish I could say yes, but that would only afford you the salary of an unpaid intern.” Snapping his fingers, in an ‘oh darn’ manner, since he’s sure in an alternate reality magician Remy would thrive with an assistant.

Remy paused, recognition crossing his face of that name, it was somewhere in the pile of social media friends,a notable one from his high school days. “Skylar Murphy,” He repeated, seeing the name sounded right on his tongue, not that they were best friends, it was probably why they hadn’t known who they were speaking with right away. It was a strange place to be in, neutrality, he wasn’t thrilled to see Skylar, but mostly because he didn’t know her very well back then. “It’s me, Remy Pascal!” He really hoped his last name would jog her memory or that would be embarrassing. “I made a lot of jokes...” He added, lifting his hands up and moving them as if measuring two invisible objects.

Salem looked down at himself, in mock surprise as if to say: holy shit, you’re right. I’m not pizza. It was just second nature to him, to make light of things. But as he looked at Remy, really looked at him and allowed memories to filter back in, he found that inclination to make jokes fading away. He looked… well, Salem thought. Better than he’d hoped, wrapped up in a floral robe and half hidden behind a horribly unflattering green face mask. Beneath it was still the soft brown eyes of his old best friend.

“I’d have texted,” he said, folding his arms across himself defensively. “But since you’ve declined to answer any of my messages for however many years, I figured turning up on your doorstep unannounced was the best chance I had of actually catching a glimpse of you. But hey, glimpse caught. You’re alive. That’s all I wanted to know. Consider my worries assuaged - don’t let me disturb your evening.” He took a step back, prepared to leave. Salem had sort of accepted, over the years, that Remy had lost interest. Moved on, as everyone seemed to have done. But Salem was here, in Manhasset, and he wouldn’t sleep right until he at least saw that Remy was okay. He might be mad at the way Remy had let things fade, but his anger was born out of worry.

Swallowing down the lump in his throat, Remy blinked away some tears that had been forming in his eyes. Once one of the most important people in his life was standing in front of him, all the same he felt for letting them slip through the cracks came rushing back in, and there was no more denying it. “N-no. Salem, look, I-- give me a chance to explain.” He had to admit it was terrible what he’d done, out of all the shitty things he’s said for a laugh nothing hurt more than ghosting the people closest to him. He grabbed onto Salem’s jacket as turned to leave.”I’m sorry. I’m sorry for treating you like that.” Remembering that his mom and grandfather weren’t too far behind and the convenient silence coming from the formerly loud tv, that was buzzing with high pitched argumentative dialogue. 

“I missed you I did, I just didn’t know how to tell you that after-” He stopped himself and looked down. “Please talk to me,  preferably somewhere private,” Remy pleaded, glancing back quickly at their spectators, doing their best to be inconspicuous with faked interest in their phones. His grandfather did pipe in with a, “Is that Salem? Hello!”  Remy gave him a quick look back, and his grandfather went back to his business of crosswords.

There was something familiar about this customer. Antonio didn’t know what it was until he opened his mouth. How could he forget that voice? All of the memories came flooding back from there. “Fuck.” He whispered under his breath, scolding himself for being so forgetful. “Remy?” He inquired excitedly. “Shit, where have you been clownboy?” He asked, grinning from ear to ear. 

He should have known from the offensive beauty of the man before him that it was none other than Antonio, although squinting to make sure, there was no one else from his past that would quite fit. “Ah Antonio, I didn’t know they were hiring models. I should submit my resume then.” While his therapist had inspired him to be honest about his struggles, Remy knew time and place and being served in a coffee shop by an old friend was hardly appropriate for either. “So much wow, um, dropped out of med school,  currently trying to launch my art career, working at a dog daycare, and a movie theater.”  That summary would do for now. It was nice to see a friendly face, he would admit. “And yourself?  Besides giving poor thirsting customers grief over their ordering speed?”

“Oh my god.” His mouth hung slightly open. “Yes … what the fuck Remy, how do you do that?” He was a complete skeptic and hated magic, but he had to admit that was pretty impressive. 

With a not so bashful raise of his shoulders and sly smile,he tilted his head basking in the praise. “The internet and lots of time when I’m procrastinating.” Maybe he sunk into a hole after spending hours somehow googling that one old tv magician who did crazy  street tricks and thought he could do that too. “While you studied medicine, I studied magic. “I’m aiming for Vegas, baby, wait until the tiger comes out.” Two finger guns popped out, shooting at Jules.

“It is!” Skylar’s hand shoots forward as she holds onto the corner – not grabbing on hard enough to pull the card out of the guy’s hand, hopefully – and squints while moving in close just to make sure the card was, in fact, hers. Lo and behold, the paper really did read the ‘seven of clubs’, making another wave of surprise washed over Skylar as she let the card go and moved backward again. “That’s crazy, how did you do that?!” she asks with an amused and surprised smile on her face. It was a question she didn’t doubt that many had already asked in the past and also assumed she wouldn’t receive an answer. ‘Magicians never reveal their secrets’ and all that jazz, right? Skylar shook her head, smile not disappearing. “Never mind, you probably aren’t going to tell me.”

A smile bursts across his face, those magic tutorials had really been paying off. Flicking the card up and back into the deck, he wags his finger mischievously, then shrugs. “Eh, I’m not a dedicated magician, it’s just fun. I could but I think it ruins the fun. So I will keep it a secret for that reason.” With a wink he puts the deck away in his jacket pocket.  It was a bit of practice, he had to do something on his break, and funds were running low to go grab a coffee. “Things are a lot less impressive when you take the mystery away. I could also pull a dollar from your ear but I’m running low.”

Remy and his mother had gotten into the habit of self-care days since he left the hospital, she’d taken a few less shifts, and when he had a day off they indulged in masksaqws, wine, and trash tv, or a romcom, whatever they were feeling that week. There was a knock at his door, and Remy’s mom stood up, “Don’t worry about it, I got it, Ma.” He said, assuming it was the pizza they ordered and fished for the cash in his floral robe. Hand in pocket, swirling around for the contents, successfully digging out the charge plus a decent tip, he pulled open the door triumphantly. “Here’s the m---” Halfway through his sentence Remy stopped in his tracks. Salem was at his door. “You’re not Pizza.” By the lack of any logo or steaming box in his hand that much was safe to say. “How did you find out where I live?” It wasn’t like he lived there his whole life. he assumed no one would think he did and wouldn’t be able to find him, since it had been years. In none of the scenarios he composed when they’d meet again was Remy’s face coated in green goo, but time seemed to rewind as they were standing there.