Magic Mansion by Jordan Price (best fiction books to read .txt) 📕

over twenty-eight, there is one more thing I can throw in to sweeten the deal.”

Ricardo. John almost blurted out his name. That’s what he wanted. But he kept up the appearance of being calm, and simply said, “Yes?”

“Your Aunt Rose. We know about her.”

The room was silent, save the shuffling of papers, the hum of the lights, and an intern shifting in his seat.

“What about her?” John said deliberately. His utter stillness was all a front, of course. His panic at the thought of whatever they might tell him next had caused his vision to go starkly black and white.

Marlene tapped her papers into a neat stack, and then said, “I’m sure it was necessary back in the forties to have her refer to you as her nephew.”

Dick stood up so quickly his chair nearly overbalanced, “If you think we’re gonna just sit back and take it if you drag Rose’s name through the mud—”

“Calm down, Mr. Golding, and let me finish. I’m sure no one would bat an eyelash these days to find out Professor Topaz was not actually the nephew of magic legends Glenn Forrest and Rose. Illegitimacy is practically chic—and the snapshot of five-year-old Johnny as the ring-bearer at their wedding is priceless. We’d be doing you a favor by leaking that—talk about a human interest angle. No, what I was about to say was that we know Rose’s greatest wish was to have a star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame.”

“They were nominated twice,” Dick said. “In 1964 and 1969. Lost both times.”

“And Glenn Forrest has been dead nearly six years now….”

Dick finished the thought. “Long enough for a posthumous nomination for their act.”

Shades of gray were coming back into John’s field of vision, and then, touches of color. If they’d known all those things about his late mother, gone these past forty years, they must have done some serious digging. Did they know that when she’d taken a tumble down the basement stairs, she’d been doing the laundry in heels? How could they? Glenn had known that particular detail would scent the tabloid waters like chum—certain that no one would understand that it wasn’t the heels to blame, but some freak (and perhaps temporary) peculiarity of the stairway itself: a loose nail, a pebble, a splinter—and he’d swapped the sequined pumps out for sensible flats by the time the paramedics arrived.

“You can make that nomination happen?” Dick said.

“We’re prepping the paperwork as we speak. The Chamber will only award one posthumous star every year—and this year I’ve heard the competition’s not too fierce. It’d be a good year to give it a shot.”

John watched Marlene’s eyes, searching for some kind of indication of whether this was just about the star, or if there was something else she knew. Rose Topasna from Mangilao Village had never spoken to her only child of True things in anything louder than a whisper. There was no way anyone could have dredged that up on the Internet.

At least, he hoped not.

Chapter 4

THE CALLBACK

The first room in which Ricardo had bided his time early that morning held a dozen hopeful magicians, including himself. There were only six magicians in the next room. Half the number they’d started with.

The current room held three.

If they halved that number again, things might get messy. Then again, they might not. They were all magicians, after all.

“Aren’t we going to break for lunch?” Francis West whispered. Francis had introduced himself as “Foxy,” presumably due to his red hair. Everyone proceeded to call him Francis. He was convinced that while they thought they were alone between the rounds of questioning, they were actually being taped. Maybe they were, and maybe they weren’t. But if they were, whispering certainly wouldn’t do them any good. “It’s nearly two. My blood sugar’s tanking.”

Kevin Kazan, a white street magician whose “street” was almost certainly exaggerated, allowed a pointed look to settle on Francis’ soft midsection. Kevin’s abs rippled beneath his clingy black T-shirt—although Ricardo’s notice of them was purely professional. Ricardo could have punished his own abs into that state of excessiveness with fewer reps and heavier weights, but he didn’t work out just for appearances’ sake. His body was honed for balance.

Though maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad idea to build up an impressive six-pack and parade around in a clingy shirt, because the supper clubs and bachelorette parties had dried up…and now he was seriously considering working a birthday party. Not that there was anything wrong with entertaining a bunch of eleven-year-olds…just that he’d always expected the trajectory of his career to go up, rather than flatline. Taking his first bachelorette party had been demoralizing enough—but the tips were surprisingly good. And seeing as how it was L.A., after all, he’d been reassuring himself that you never could tell when one of those drunk girls in the limo might work somewhere or know someone important.

Networking with middle schoolers would make it far more difficult to entertain the lie that his next big break was just around the corner. And he doubted they tipped nearly as well as drunk bridesmaids. Worse than that, what if he figured out a way to approach Professor Topaz and they ended up talking shop? Because eventually, the subject would come up. How could he admit to his hero that he’d been doing kids’ birthday parties without dying of embarrassment?

The bachelorette parties were bad enough.

Ricardo knew his career was on the line. Francis West appeared to be thinking no farther than his next meal. He leaned toward Ricardo and whispered, “Don’t you think we should break for lunch?”

“Have some water.” Ricardo gestured toward the water cooler. “It’ll take your mind off it.”

“But then I’ll need to use the restroom.” Francis squirmed in his seat, which Ricardo ignored. He’d trained himself to hold it for a few hours. One couldn’t very well have all the bridesmaids wait while he ducked out to tinkle.

Kevin Kazan steepled his fingers and declared, “You got too much sugar