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Authors: Stuart Evers
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thing I ever saw on Paul Daniels’ Magic Show , I mean honestly.’
Flagstaff’s smile faltered, then disappeared. His eyes went dark and narrow. It felt like the whole room had gone silent.
‘Don’t you ever mention that cocksucker’s name around me, okay? Ever.’
He blew out a Star of David.
‘Daniels . . . Daniels is a fucking louse. A bald fucking dwarf with a rug that wouldn’t fool a drunk Ray Charles.’
He knocked back his drink and blew a pentagon. David must have looked alarmed, so Flagstaff put a hand on his arm.
‘Look, Dave, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be so . . . I don’t know, but it still cuts me right to the quick. Twenty-five years later and still it cuts me. See, I was
supposed to open for Daniels on his world tour. Back in eighty-three. Two hundred dates worldwide, television specials, you fucking name it. He gives me the contract and I push him for more of a
cut of the door. The management, they give me a little extra but not as much as I wanted. I tell them that I’m a draw, that I’m selling ’em out every night. My manager tells me to
take the deal, that I’ve pushed them as far as they’ll go, and I say I’ll think about it. That weekend I go out and get high. Get so high I don’t remember nothing about it,
so high no one finds me for a week. My manager’s all trying to hush it up and he’s pretty certain that Daniels’ people haven’t found out. We do a rehearsal show and I
fucking rock the joint. And that’s when Daniels sees how much the audience loves me. The putz got scared. I mean he was real scared, jealous as all hell.’
He blew a perfect hexagon and laughed.
‘Or at least that’s what I thought at the time, right? I’m not naive, even back then my act was, shall we say, not without its controversy? But fuck it, the deal was on the
table and I should have taken it. Should have bitten Daniels’ fucking hand off, but ha ha, I knew best. Guts of the young, right? Only a fucking idiot would have pushed it. Everyone was
telling me to sign on the line that is dotted, but I was too busy playing a pissing contest with a midget magician. By the time I’d calmed down, Daniels had already won and had offered the
slot to some fucking trapeze artist or something.’
He shook his head and blew a complicated series of shapes that eventually formed the American flag.
‘Thing is that a few months before, back when we were still friendly, Daniels had warned me about throwing things away. We were backstage in the bar, after the show you saw. We’d had
a few drinks and I was asking him how a such a short, ugly dude like him had managed to get a prime-time television show, a sexy blonde and a two-hundred-date world tour. He turns to me and says:
“You know what, Flagstaff, I don’t know. All I do know is that you only get one talent in this life. Whether it’s god-given or comes from your genes or your DNA, I don’t
know either. But Flagstaff. I do know that you only get one talent. Only one. So you best make the most of it while you can.”’
The smoke faded and he blew on the end of his cigarette. He chuckled to himself.
‘Not much of a philosopher, that Daniels, but he was right. Maybe if I’d listened I’d have signed that deal and racked up enough money for my retirement and then I
wouldn’t be here telling fifty-year-old jokes, blowing smoke ring elephants and jacking off in my dressing room. Listening’s always been a problem for me. I hear, but I don’t
listen.’
Flagstaff rolled his cigarette in the ashtray, then put it out. David thought of John, the old flat, his Canadian girlfriend and all the times he had listened, every time he’d given a
well-placed hand on the arm, or offered the softness of ‘I understand’. David said, ‘I’m good at listening, actually. It’s what I do best, I suppose.’
To this Flagstaff just laughed, patted David on the back and said so long. By his drink a pale smoke trunk and a pair of tusks hung
Flagstaff’s smile faltered, then disappeared. His eyes went dark and narrow. It felt like the whole room had gone silent.
‘Don’t you ever mention that cocksucker’s name around me, okay? Ever.’
He blew out a Star of David.
‘Daniels . . . Daniels is a fucking louse. A bald fucking dwarf with a rug that wouldn’t fool a drunk Ray Charles.’
He knocked back his drink and blew a pentagon. David must have looked alarmed, so Flagstaff put a hand on his arm.
‘Look, Dave, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be so . . . I don’t know, but it still cuts me right to the quick. Twenty-five years later and still it cuts me. See, I was
supposed to open for Daniels on his world tour. Back in eighty-three. Two hundred dates worldwide, television specials, you fucking name it. He gives me the contract and I push him for more of a
cut of the door. The management, they give me a little extra but not as much as I wanted. I tell them that I’m a draw, that I’m selling ’em out every night. My manager tells me to
take the deal, that I’ve pushed them as far as they’ll go, and I say I’ll think about it. That weekend I go out and get high. Get so high I don’t remember nothing about it,
so high no one finds me for a week. My manager’s all trying to hush it up and he’s pretty certain that Daniels’ people haven’t found out. We do a rehearsal show and I
fucking rock the joint. And that’s when Daniels sees how much the audience loves me. The putz got scared. I mean he was real scared, jealous as all hell.’
He blew a perfect hexagon and laughed.
‘Or at least that’s what I thought at the time, right? I’m not naive, even back then my act was, shall we say, not without its controversy? But fuck it, the deal was on the
table and I should have taken it. Should have bitten Daniels’ fucking hand off, but ha ha, I knew best. Guts of the young, right? Only a fucking idiot would have pushed it. Everyone was
telling me to sign on the line that is dotted, but I was too busy playing a pissing contest with a midget magician. By the time I’d calmed down, Daniels had already won and had offered the
slot to some fucking trapeze artist or something.’
He shook his head and blew a complicated series of shapes that eventually formed the American flag.
‘Thing is that a few months before, back when we were still friendly, Daniels had warned me about throwing things away. We were backstage in the bar, after the show you saw. We’d had
a few drinks and I was asking him how a such a short, ugly dude like him had managed to get a prime-time television show, a sexy blonde and a two-hundred-date world tour. He turns to me and says:
“You know what, Flagstaff, I don’t know. All I do know is that you only get one talent in this life. Whether it’s god-given or comes from your genes or your DNA, I don’t
know either. But Flagstaff. I do know that you only get one talent. Only one. So you best make the most of it while you can.”’
The smoke faded and he blew on the end of his cigarette. He chuckled to himself.
‘Not much of a philosopher, that Daniels, but he was right. Maybe if I’d listened I’d have signed that deal and racked up enough money for my retirement and then I
wouldn’t be here telling fifty-year-old jokes, blowing smoke ring elephants and jacking off in my dressing room. Listening’s always been a problem for me. I hear, but I don’t
listen.’
Flagstaff rolled his cigarette in the ashtray, then put it out. David thought of John, the old flat, his Canadian girlfriend and all the times he had listened, every time he’d given a
well-placed hand on the arm, or offered the softness of ‘I understand’. David said, ‘I’m good at listening, actually. It’s what I do best, I suppose.’
To this Flagstaff just laughed, patted David on the back and said so long. By his drink a pale smoke trunk and a pair of tusks hung
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