Sleight of Hand by Robin Hathaway

how—if used correctly—they could make people disappear. But to do this, you needed a partner.
    â€œOne night, I was playing a theater in Bayonne, New Jersey, and I found her. She was in the second row, on the left. All evening, my eyes kept straying back to her. She had red hair—and it was real. No rinses for her. And she had this milky satin skin to go with it. No freckles, either. And her eyes were green. So help me god, they were the color of an ocean wave just before it crests and falls. And she was tall, like you, Jo. And, like you, she carried herself well.
    â€œDuring intermission I sat in my dressing room, racking my brain for some way to meet her. I thought of inviting her onstage to take part in one of my tricks. But she beat me to it. Bold and brassy, she knocked on my door and introduced herself. Regina Cox was her name. She didn’t mince words; she asked right out if I needed a partner. No man could resist her.
    â€œI couldn’t believe how well we worked together. We seemed to know each other’s thoughts before we spoke them. Talk about being on the same wavelength. When we did a trick—for example, I made Regina disappear—it went perfectly, without a hitch, and the audience loved it.
    â€œAs soon as I took her on, our fortunes skyrocketed. At first, it was strictly a business arrangement, at least on her part, but it wasn’t long before she began to succumb to my charms …” Max winked.
    I groaned.
    â€œAnd we got married. We were invited to perform in bigger and bigger towns, and received more and more acclaim. One day I got a call from a theater in the biggest town of all—the Big Apple. Our acts became more elaborate and we became more adept. We played in Manhattan all winter to a full house, and during the off-season, we went abroad—to London, Paris, Rome. For five years, life was perfect.
    â€œThen Regina got pregnant. We were happy when we found
out. We had always planned to have a family, eventually. Regina continued in the show until a few weeks before she delivered. We were very ingenious at creating ways to hide her condition. We were magicians, after all. When the baby was born, we were thrilled. Then they told us … she had Down syndrome.”
    Max paused to collect himself. When he continued, he spoke more slowly, as if he was going uphill.
    â€œAfter that, things were never the same. Regina never accepted the baby, and she began to acquire expensive tastes—to compensate for her disappointment, I suppose. And she had to stay home to take care of Lolly. Day care was scarce back then and night care was unknown. I didn’t draw as big crowds when I was alone, my runs grew shorter, and the bigger theaters dropped me altogether. I tried to buy her the expensive baubles that made her happy, but it became harder and harder.
    â€œOne night, I was standing on the subway platform at Times Square, and this swanky dame swathed in mink and diamonds came up to me—the thing about Manhattan is, everyone rides the subway, even well-to-do people. She asked me for a light. You could smoke on the platform in those days. ‘Sure,’ I said. ‘Be my guest.’ I handed her my lighter. While lighting up, she turned her back and bent her head. I saw the gold clasp of her necklace just a few inches away. I lifted it. It was so easy. With my sleight-of-hand technique, she never missed it. She turned back, returned my lighter, and boarded the subway. I watched the train pull out and then walked deliberately—no running—up the subway steps to the street.”
    Up to this point Max had been sitting forward, telling his story with eagerness, even some pride. But now he sank back into the sofa and his words came more slowly, as if with an effort.
    â€œThat was the beginning of a long series of heists,” he said. “Regina was happier and life went on. Then one day, I slipped up. I must have been tired, or