Murder By Illusion

Two-2

'OK, Charlie, for the best I reckon.' 'Considering the state you're in.'

'Tell Bert in the pit, he'll need to change his music. I'll keep the buggers out there amused. Or at least awake 'til you can cue me in.'

'Right.' She walks about the stage, posing and pouting, mouths 'finale' to the wings and then to the conductor in the as Charlie draws the attention of the audience, or at least that section of the audience that can still be bothered to watch, creating thunder flash explosions by throwing magnesium powder onto a brazier, so that it appears as though his hurling thunderbolts from his fingertips. He fans out a deck of cards in each hand, shot from his cuffs, drops them into a top hat, more cards magically appear to be dropped into the hat, Charlie managing not to drop them although coming close to doing so with the third deck that he fanned.

A drum roll starts up from the pits as two stage assistants carry out a three sided clear plastic box, about 24” square in section and 2' 6” tall and place it on end, like a pillar, the open side to the rear. Next Clarrie brings a hinged black lacquered Chinese screen in three panels onto the stage, the screen large enough to go around the pillar and of the same height, placing it around the pillar so as to screen it form view. The drum roll continues as the stage assistants' next carry on a second box and place it on the stage in front of the screened pillar. It is a solid box, some 36” by 36” by 24”, brightly painted in spangley sparkling paint and decorated with cabalistic signs.

A clash of cymbals and Eddie Puttock, the MC resplendent in the red tail-coat, much like a circus MC, strides onto the stage, microphone in his hand.

'Ladies and Gentlemen, ladies and gentlemen, the Seville Theatre is proud to present to you one of the most amazing feats of magic ever performed on any stage anywhere in the world. In the World! Here Tonight. Without the help of gadgetry, of trick camera work or any elaborate stage props, tonight ladies and gentlemen, BEFORE YOUR VERY EYES, The Great Santini will make his assistant, the very lovely Clarissa disappear. Vanish, As if in a puff of smoke'

Eddie stands back, well pleased with himself for remembering the intro at such short notice, he is another not averse to a sip or two of scotch at lunch and then forever after as the broken veins about his fleshy nose testify. 'Vanish,' he repeats, 'Disappear. As if in a puff of smoke'

'Can he do that to my old woman, then?' someone shouts from the audience, earning a sharp elbow to his ribs for his trouble.

'Now, now,' says Eddie, 'I'm sure your wife is a lovely woman.'

'Yeah, in the dark,' shouts another voice, with a nasal bray of laughter at his own wit.

'Get a move on,' someone else shouts, the audience is getting restless.

Eddie has been around too long to be fazed and spreads out his arms, making quieting gestures, letting the noise subside. 'Ladies and gentlemen, dear friends. I must ask for your cooperation. The Great Santini must, must have total concentration. FOR IT IS BY THE POWER OF HIS MAGIC, by the power of his mind alone, that this dangerous feat is performed. LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, I give you…The Great Santini and his amazing, fantabulous VANISHING LADY. I ask for your silence, Thank you. Thank you. Thank you,' and at that he makes his way off stage.

The lights dim. A spotlight spears through the darkness, picking out the spangled box. Clarrie steps into the spotlight and demonstrates that the box is empty, that it has a hinged lid. She removes her high heels shoes and daintily steps into the box and kneels down waving out towards the audience. The circle of the spotlight expands; the stage lights come up again.

The stage hands come back on stage and pick up the box and lift it, with Clarrie still inside and place it carefully on top of the pillar as Charlie creates more distraction with thunder flashes. The lights dim once more, leaving the box transfixed in the white light spot. Clarrie waves once more and settles down into the box, the hinged lid still open. To a rising drum roll, the lid of the box slowly, oh so slowly, begins to descend and finally comes to a close. The Great Santini covers the box with a black velvet cloth and then, with a flourish pulls away the hinged lacquer screen, leaving the box perched atop the thin transparent pillar. Cymbals crash, one, two, three.

A second spot now picks out The Great Santini., drum rolls reach a c****x, cymbals clash again, echoing around the half empty theatre like a Chinese dragon.

Sudden silence, as startling as a gunshot.

The Great Santini, tall, imperious, eyes closed as if in deep concentration begins to chant an incantation. Suddenly he swirls. A cymbal crash. He removes the black cloth, tossing it to one side, passes his cape over the spangled box whilst releasing a catch with the other. All four spring loaded sides and the lid of the box fall away.

To reveal Clarrie!

She is still on her knees, struggling to get through the hole in the base of the box, she should have been out and away long ago, waiting in the wings to be brought back on stage when summoned by Charlie.

The illusion is simple, as soon as she is lifted on top of the pillar she is supposed to slide head first through the hole in the base of the box and into the pillar, before the lacquer screen in removed, so that she has vanished before the audience even realise that the trick has commenced. She exits through the open side of the pillar and out through the rear curtains whilst the lights are still dimmed. Or at least, that is the idea.

The Great Santini stands there aghast; his mouth gapes, working like a goldfish. 'What the holy f**k has gone wrong?' Someone in the audience sniggers, 'Rubbish!' another shouts.

'Rubbish, b****y rubbish.'

The call is taken up, 'What a load of rubbish. What a load of rubbish,' in a sing song voice. Like a flash, the entire audience, take up the chant, stamping and clapping to the beat of the chant.

'WHAT A LOAD OF RUBBISH! - WHAT A LOAD OF RUBBISH! -WHAT A LOAD OF RUBBISH! - WHAT A LOAD OF RUBBISH! - WHAT A LOAD OF RUBBISH!

'Shut up. Shut up the lot of you' Charlie shouts, red faced and angry, sweat tracks gouging through his make-up, but this only serves to keep the chant going. Steaming waves of anger surge through him, he turns to Clarrie, still crouched on top of the box, backside pointing squarely towards the audience; he stomps over to her and slashes at her buttocks with his silver 'magic' wand. She yelps in pain and the wand snaps in two, the broken end spinning away, leaving Charlie with the stump in his hand, lashing away two or three more times before realising he has no wand left and throws the stump away in anger into the wings, narrowly missing Eddie Puttock who is standing there, enjoying the farce unfolding on stage.

The crowd howls even louder and begins to throw things, screwed up programmes, sweet packets, plastic drink cups, empty cigarette packets, anything, whilst the chanting and stamping go on.

'SHUT UP,' Charlie screams in fury, 'SHUT THE f**k UP. SHUT THE f**k UP.'

Clarrie slides off the box with all the grace of a stranded walrus, knocking over the box and pillar as she does so and lands heavily on her hands and knees, almost popping out of her tight bodice so that she has to suddenly clutch at her chest,, to even more jeers and derisive laughter, whilst to the wings Eddie Puttock is holding his sides, aching from laughter. The curtains drop to another round of jeers and whistles. Charlie stares at the curtains, unsure what has happened. How had the trick gone wrong, they had performed it a hundred times, a thousand times without a hitch, so what had gone wrong? It is simple enough misdirection, the audience look at the box and the slowly descending lid whilst Clarrie is already gone.

'Eddie, Eddie, get out there and try and keep them from tearing the place apart, at least until we can get Mandy on.' Benny Marsden, the theatre manager comes running over, flailing his arms about his head as though trying to prevent even more disaster crashing about his ears. One of his cuff links catches in his toupee and nearly rips it from his head and he clutches at it sudden panic, the worst catastrophe that could happen to him. 'Sam,' he calls to a stage hand, 'get Mandy up here toot sweet. Tell her to get her arse up here pronto. Eddie, what you waiting for, get the f**k out there.'

'Right boss, still, at least it's woken the buggers up.'

'Well send 'em back to sleep again, you're good at that.'

'Sarky bastard,' Eddie mutters, 'Hey, Charlie,' he says as he passes him, 'you should go into comedy, mate, that's the funniest routine I've seen in years, a real thigh-slapper. f*****g Magic!' seemingly unaware of the irony in those last words, but Charlie did not hear, still staring at the curtains.

Eddie, now audience side of the curtains, can be heard trying to calm down the raucous audience, striving to be heard above the chorus of whistles and jeers. The crowd is after blood, anybody's blood and Eddie's will do as well as the next.

'All right, all right, calm down, you not at home now you know, you know. Sorry about that …er…slight technical hitch, seems as though The Great Santini forgot to get his wand charged up last night. Story of my life is that, not getting my wand charged up at night, ta-da.' More boos and jeers. 'All right, like that is it, suit yourselves. Suit yourselves. Now then, did you hear about the little lad who took his Grand –dad out onto the South beach, right here in Whitburn, lovely Whitburn on Sea, ain't it grand, eh? Actually no, it's the arsehole of the Western World. – 'Anyhow, this little lad hands his Grand-dad his bucket, the one his Mum bought him for making sandcastles. 'What's this for then, son, eh?' Grand-dad asks, 'Well says the lad, 'Me Mam says that as soon as you kick it, I can 'ave a new bike. Ta-da. All right, all right, be like that; see if I give a tuppenny …furfurfur… fig.'

He gets the nod from the wings and can see Mandy Sweet, anxiously patting at her hair, nervous, apprehensive about having to face the baying crowd at such short notice. 'Now then,' continues Eddies, totally unperturbed by the hostile reaction to his feeble jokes, 'now then, have we got a real treat coming up for you? Straight from her record breaking engagement in Lost Wages, otherwise known as Las Vegas, back by popular demand, will you please give a big hand and welcome… Miss Mandy Sweet.'

A chorus of cat-calls and jeers ring out as Mandy takes the stage, as jittery as a Christian facing the lions. 'Come on, Mandy,' someone shouts, 'show us your tits.'

Meanwhile Charlie and Benny Marsden are at it, Benny dragging Charlie off into the wings and now giving full vent to his displeasure, spittle flying, spattering Charlie's shirt crumpled sweaty shirt. 'That's it Charlie. That's absolutely it, the last f*****g time you ever work summer season in this theatre. Ever! Absolutely for f*****g ever.'

Another chorus of jeers, the crowd are not to be placated, before she has even opened her mouth the audience are after Mandy, not prepared to give her a chance. Scenting blood. Benny anxiously glances across to Mandy on the stage before continuing his tirade against Charlie.' The last time. And if I had my way, I'd make sure you never work in any other place an' all, let alone here. A f*****g disaster. A disaster and it's not the first time, neither, not by a long f*****g chalk.'