Chapter Nineteen #2
“It’s Art McKenzie ,” Arun says, and I have to smile.
The Ryser Cares folks aren’t even from Greenstead and yet they’ve adopted the town’s Art McKenzie idolatry just the same.
Much like how they’ve adopted the entire town as their own.
A worry pushes forward at what will happen when they learn the Ryser Cares office, the place keeping them employed in the town they’ve chosen to call home, might close. My smile drops from my face.
When Jen spots Art disappearing through the brewery’s doors, we follow after. As I walk through the door, I mentally calculate the odds of this night ending with a restraining order.
We spend the first hour watching. From our table near the back, we watch Art sit at the bar with his fellow musicians as a steady stream of people walk up to him, exchanging a few words or asking for a photo.
Art always obliges. When they walk away, Art turns back to continue his conversation with his group—and as we’re debating whether this is the moment to make our move, someone else comes up to him and the cycle continues.
The light filtering in through the windows slowly wanes as dusk mellows into evening, and still we wait.
The stream of approaching fans has lessened to nothing, but now Art seems to be arguing with one of the men he’s with.
He’s frowning, talking animatedly, gesturing his arms out—and then he pushes back his barstool with a loud squeak and stalks off for the restroom.
“That doesn’t sound good,” Tessa remarks. But Arun’s staring at the closed men’s room door like it’s an opportunity.
“I’m going in,” Arun announces. His words are immediately met with groans.
“Let the poor man pee in peace,” Jen says.
Already, though, Arun is standing. Moments later, he’s slipped in through the restroom door, leaving Tessa to remark that we may have to allocate some of our budget to bailing Arun out of jail for stalking.
The laugh that escapes my lips is forced, too bogged down by the knowledge that our budget is all but nonexistent now.
I just need Art to gently let Arun down so we can leave and I can go back to holing up in my room, searching for a solution that doesn’t exist.
When Arun emerges from the restroom a few minutes later, he’s grinning in triumph. Even more miraculously, Art McKenzie—now back to looking friendly and personable—follows Arun to our table and pulls up a chair.
It’s so counter to what I expected that my brain short-circuits.
All budgetary worries fly out of my head.
I become all too aware that I don’t know how to act in Art McKenzie’s presence.
I straighten my spine, but that feels unnatural.
Next to me, Marina tucks a lock of hair behind her ear, while Randy, sitting across from us, brushes his hand down the front of his shirt a few times, as if dusting away crumbs.
Arun goes around the table introducing us, and the five of us break into stilted hellos and frozen smiles. Art, ever professional, says it’s nice to meet us. I mean to nod, but I think I forget to.
“Like I was saying, it would be a real honor to have you at our apple festival, if you can manage it,” Arun says. “Your music means a lot to us.”
“Yes, I’m…aware,” Art replies, looking uncomfortable. “But I’m actually stepping back from music, some.”
Marina gasps, but my hopes latch onto Art, clamoring for an easy letdown that will let me deny reality for a little bit longer.
Art chuckles, his eyes shifting to Marina. “It’s true. I only did today’s gig as a favor to a friend.”
“But…why step back?” Randy asks. “You’re a legend.”
Art’s smile looks forced. “Appreciate it. I’ve just…gone as far as I want to go with music. I’m looking to make a change. Well,” he says with a tilt of his head, “some might see it as a change. For me, it’s going back to my roots.”
“You’re reuniting with Cranefly?” Randy asks excitedly.
“No,” Art says with an amused shake of his head.
“Before I ever even touched a guitar, my first passion was this.” He waves his hand over the straw in Arun’s water glass once, twice, then lifts his hand higher and higher, his fingers rubbing together.
We all watch, transfixed, as Arun’s straw rises from the glass and hovers in the air.
“ Witchcraft? ” Tessa guesses.
Art laughs. He snaps his fingers and the straw drops back into the glass. “Magic.”
“You’re leaving music to…be a magician?” Jen says. Her voice is tinged with disbelief, but I’m still staring at the straw, trying to figure out how Art has the power to levitate. Arun sweeps his hand over the glass, but going by his puzzled expression, he can’t work it out, either.
“Yep. I’m actually moving to Orlando in a couple weeks. Big magic scene down there.”
Arun glances up from the glass he’s still studying. “Oh. Our apple festival’s in October.”
My chest loosens with relief, but I try to look just as disappointed as Arun does.
Art makes a sympathetic sound. “I’ll be long gone by then. Just like your wallet,” he adds to Arun.
“What? My wallet’s…” Arun pats his back pocket, then gazes at Art with wide eyes. “Where is it?”
“All in good time. But first, pick a card.” From seemingly nowhere, Art summons a deck of cards and fans them out to Arun.
What follows is a magic show I can’t begin to understand.
Art tells Marina to check the bottom of her shoe for Arun’s card.
She does, only to reveal Arun’s driver’s license.
More and more items from Arun’s wallet appear in various places—a credit card under the napkin holder, a debit card in Tessa’s purse, a Luau Hut loyalty card, which explains where he gets all his colorful shirts, under my water glass—until finally, Art points up, where Arun’s nine of diamonds is stuck to the ceiling above our table.
I’m sure there’s a logic to how he did all this, but it truly does feel like magic.
It’s a pleasant feeling to lose myself in the wonder, even briefly.
I join the rest of the table in applause when Art finishes his trick.
Arun marvels over Art as he places his cards back in his empty wallet (which Art returned to his back pocket somehow). It’s Tessa who gets us back on track.
“So there’s no chance you could come out for the festival?” she asks. “It would really make a difference if you came. Greenstead’s always been a big supporter of your work.”
“Oh, I know,” Art says. “Greensteaders are very…enthusiastic.”
“We mean well,” Marina pipes in. “I promise there’s nothing scary about us. We’re just trying to save our community center. It’s the whole reason we’re throwing this festival. It would mean a lot to have you.”
Art seems to consider the idea, his dark eyes roving in a way that makes me think I’m not out of the woods just yet. “I do my magic act under a different name—Arthur Frost. That an issue?”
“Well…” Tessa’s voice trails off.
“Art McKenzie carries a lot of weight,” Arun says, an apology in his voice. “We were hoping you’d play music.”
“I’m focusing on magic-only gigs to get my name out there,” Art explains.
A silence falls. The uncertainty on everyone else’s faces reveals their doubt that a performance by the unknown magician Arthur Frost probably wouldn’t motivate any Virginians to travel to Greenstead for a festival.
“Of course your magic is impressive…” Jen begins.
“But you want Art McKenzie,” Art finishes unenthusiastically. He sits back in his chair with a sigh. “It’s what I was just arguing with my buddy about. He thinks I’m ridiculous for going all in on magic.”
“You’re not ridiculous,” Arun says, subtly reaching behind him. I think he’s checking to make sure his wallet is still there.
“Maybe we can compromise,” Marina says. “Art McKenzie, featuring a performance by Arthur Frost.”
Art lifts a brow. “I’d consider it. And you’d cover travel and lodging?”
“Yes,” Tessa says slowly, exchanging a look with Arun. Art’s move to Orlando wouldn’t have factored into their giddy calculations this afternoon.
“Okay.” Art nods slowly, interest lighting his eyes in a way that makes my stomach plummet. “We might be able to make this work. And since it’s for a good cause, I’ll even cut my usual fee in half.”
“What does that come out to?” Tessa asks.
Art gives an elusive shrug and cocks his head in the direction of the napkin holder. “Grab a napkin.”
Giving him a suspicious look, Tessa pulls the first napkin from the container. Once she smooths it out, she gapes at it in disbelief. “This is half your fee?” She tilts it toward Arun, whose hopeful expression falls from his face. It’s terrible that this is what makes my hopes stir.
“Yep.” Art checks his watch. “I’ve gotta head out. Just shoot me an email if you’re interested.”
“But I don’t have your—”
“Yes, you do.” With a wink, Art turns and exits the brewery, leaving the rest of us to stare in confusion—except Arun, who’s grinning into his wallet.
“He put his business card in my wallet,” Arun explains, lifting up a shiny black card. “He’s good.”
“And he knows it.” Tessa waves the napkin in his direction.
“Right,” Arun says with a resigned sigh.
“He’s out of budget?” I guess, trying not to sound too relieved.
Tessa nods, and the table falls silent. Seeing their dejected faces, I start to worry I’ve caused this somehow, that my desperation for Art to let them down made this happen. Now that they’ve all been brought down to my level, an impulse to cheer them up tugs at me.
“Maybe his price will go down,” I try. Arun lets out a dejected grunt in response.
“Maybe you can put it all on your Luau Hut credit card,” Randy jokes.
A corner of Arun’s lips perks upward. “It’s a platinum-level loyalty card, thank you very much.”
Tessa laughs. “And what does that get you?”