Read Online Nude Men by Amanda Filipacchi - Free Book Online Page A

disbelief that this flower-out-of-boot business is to be considered a magic trick. I’m bewildered. She does a touch of tap dancing, a touch of belly dancing, a bit of moonwalk, a modest leap, and pulls a small toy rabbit from inside her jacket. Oddly Incompetent Magician. I’m astonished. She skips some more, jumps, spins, kicks up one leg, and takes a big white marble out of her mouth, which explains why her mouth looked deformed. She is much prettier now. She raises the shiny wet marble to the audience victoriously. It’s appalling. I try hard not to grimace. She claps her hands, slaps her thighs, swings her arms, pivots on her heels, and from her other boot pulls out a stick, which I think is supposed to be a wand. She waves it wildly, at first like a lasso, then, more appropriately, in the manner of a witch. She turns her back to the audience for a few seconds, doing something we cannot see. She then faces us and (ta-da!), she is wearing glasses. Her grand flourish of a pose leads us to understand that she has just accomplished her fourth magic trick, unless the wand-out-of-boot was supposed to be one, in which case this would be the fifth. It’s exhausting, trying to pinpoint her tricks; I must give her credit for that.
    Not trusting my own judgment, though, I lean toward Henrietta and whisper, “I don’t understand.”
    “There’s nothing to understand,” she whispers back.
    “It’s very unusual. Is she very successful?”
    “No.”
    “Then how does she get hired?”
    “Connections, first of all. The club belongs to a friend of her father’s. Other than that, the way I see it is that the dancing compensates for the mediocrity of the magic.”
    “The dancing? But it’s as... problematic as the magic.”
    “Well, the magic makes up for the lack of skill in the dancing.”
    “The overall effect is not unpleasant, though,” I lie. “Lack of competence in magic and dance mix quite well.”
    For the first time, Henrietta laughs rather hard at my wit and looks at me with interest through her squinting eyes. I want to milk my witty idea, so I add, “That’s what you have to look at: the whole.” This does not make her redouble with laughter, but oh well.
    Back onstage, Laura takes a tennis ball from the box, holds it in her hand, slowly turns her back to the audience, and when she faces us again, her hand is held out in front of her, gloriously empty. I feel like hiding under the table with embarrassment for her. She resumes her skipping, shakes her head, wriggles her shoulders, leaps, waves the wand. From the box she takes a little orange hard candy, wrapped in a conventional transparent wrapper. She unwraps the candy, pops it in her mouth, and presents her open empty hands to the audience, letting the wrap, per flutter to the floor. It’s heartrending. She rocks her head, undulates her hips, flutters her fingers, flaps the sides of her jacket like wings, curves her spine concave and convex, shuffles her feet, meanders, zigzags. She takes off her top hat, pulls out some sort of stuffed animal, raises it with a flourish. Ludicrous. I smile stiffly. She bends her legs, twists and wiggles her body as though she has ants in her pants, shakes her hair, crouches, stands up, and pulls a knife out of her sleeve. I think: Oh, good, maybe she’ll do something traditional, like swallow it.
    But no, she drops it in the box on the floor. She takes a handful of white powder from the box, vigorously extends her wand, as though casting a magic spell, and throws some of the white powder in the direction of the wand, which thankfully is not aimed at the audience. She casts many rotten powdery magic spells in various directions, like a proud witch. Suddenly, she bows, and all her hair falls forward, and it is rather pretty; she has nice hair.
    People clap very softly. To clap with less enthusiasm would not be possible, but I am surprised they are clapping at all. A young man at a neighboring table claps with the tips of