The Art of Disappearing by Ivy Pochoda (popular romance novels .txt) 📕

How could they? I plummeted into a tank in the middle of a magic trick and reappeared in a world created from your loneliness. Toby, you were always a lonely magician. No friends. Nothing but your incomprehensible tricks.” Now Eva laughed a laugh that sounded like cascading gravel. “That’s why I am so surprised you didn’t look for me. I wound up in the perfect place for you and your magic.” She blinked again, her smoky lids eclipsing the whites of her small eyes. “That’s why I’m so surprised you didn’t come.”

Toby cleared his throat. “I didn’t know how to find you. All I could do was wait.”

“For some reason, I don’t believe you.” She folded her arms across her chest and looked at Swenson.

“I’m getting seasick,” he muttered.

“There’s more,” Eva said. “I still don’t know where I am most of the time. I don’t trust my surroundings.”

“That’s your work, Toby,” Swenson said. Then he turned to Eva. “You should see him with the ladies following him around the casino. Wonder where they’re gonna wind up.”

Toby turned to Eva. “You’re going, already?”

“I don’t stay in one place for very long. That is what has happened to me.”

Swenson tapped his ring again. The boat was approaching the dock. He linked his large arm through Eva’s and began to lead her belowdeck.

“Careful with your tricks,” Eva said, her words light and fading. I watched her walk away, jealous of her carriage and her clothes. Then she and Swenson were gone.

We stayed on the top deck as the other passengers disembarked.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“At least you found something you were looking for.”

“No,” Toby said, “she found me. It’s different.”

“Why?”

The magician didn’t reply, but kept his eyes on the spot Eva had left.

Six

In the days following our anniversary cruise, Toby clung to me but never mentioned our meeting with Eva. He threw himself into the preparations for the Winter Palace opening, crafting a show he hoped would be unlike anything Las Vegas had seen before.

I never told Toby that when he was busy I often ate my meals at the Red Rock Diner simply to see if Greta was all right. When it was crowded, I tried to avoid her section, choosing to watch her from a distance. Greta made no secret about which customers she preferred, but I could never decipher her preference. I simply felt sorry for the people whose cups came half-empty and whose orders were never quite right. Of course, whenever it fell to her to be my waitress, Greta gave me special treatment—sometimes waiting ten or twenty minutes before taking my order. And yet, on certain occasions when the diner was empty, she would linger, doodling on her pad as I considered the menu. I knew she wanted to ask me about Toby.

In recent weeks, she had begun to scrub off her goth façade. First the chipped nail polish went, replaced by a well-maintained beige. Then she’d trimmed her hair and recolored it an unremarkable shade of honey brown. Her lipstick went from dark purple to red, then to pink, and finally to a coral gloss that would have pleased Sandra. Greta swept neutral eye shadow over her lids and coated her lashes with brown mascara. Between shifts, she had made time for sunbathing, darkening her already coppery complexion. She might have passed now for a run-of-the-mill teen working at a diner to save for her prom dress.

I was not particularly hungry when I opened the door to the Red Rock. The grease and steam from the industrial dishwasher hit me full on. I saw Greta at the far end of the counter near the kitchen, examining her freshly painted nails as she flirted with one of the cooks. The diner was nearly empty, so I sat at the counter. I didn’t bother to signal to Greta. She’d come or she wouldn’t.

As I waited, I pulled out a textiles catalog and began to note bulk prices for some replacement fabrics I thought the Winter Palace should keep in stock. Without warning, a cup of hot tea slid down the counter, landing in front of me and splashing onto the open page.

“Greta, thanks,” I said. I didn’t bother looking up. I figured that by the time I did, she’d be gone. But as I lifted my cup, she was there.

“So. How’s it going?”

I looked up. “I’m fine.”

“I’m not asking about you.”

I sipped my tea.

“How’s the show coming? Toby’s show.”

“I’m sure that’s fine, too.”

“So, he keeps secrets from you, too.”

“He’s a magician. That’s his business.”

Greta patted the top of her neatly combed hair. “Must bother you.”

“It doesn’t.”

She considered her nails once more. “But when he gets an assistant, he’ll share everything with her. It’ll bother you then.”

“I keep telling you that Toby doesn’t work with an assistant.”

“He will.”

“Greta, it’s getting old.”

She waited a moment before giving me her mocking smile. “Who are you to talk about what’s getting old?”

I opened the menu and pretended to be interested in it. Greta reached over and drummed her nails on the lacquered page.

“What do you think of the color?”

“Your nails?”

She nodded.

“Pretty basic.”

“So you think I should go longer. Brighter, maybe? You think hot pink would be more suitable?”

“For what?” I asked.

“For the stage.”

“And what stage might that be?”

Greta removed her hand and took away my menu. “You know.”

I shook my head. “Give it a rest.”

“Even Jim Swenson said Toby’s going to use an assistant eventually.”

“Please stay away from Jim Swenson.”

“Whatever,” Greta said, walking away without letting me order. In a moment, she was back with a new cup of tea. “I’m just saying, two people ordering hot tea on a hot day is kind of weird.”

“I didn’t order,” I reminded her.

“Well, you know.”

I hadn’t wanted either cup of tea. I’m a coffee drinker. But since our first encounter in the Red Rock, tea was all Greta ever served me.

“I don’t know what’s up with people like you.”

“People like who?” I asked.

“You and that other lady. The