William Gresham - Nightmare Alley

Molly still lay on the couch, looking like a sleeping princess waiting for the kiss of a deliverer. The room was in a hubbub.

“The deuce of clubs! And the color-they picked chartreuse and she couldn’t decide whether it was yellow or green! Isn’t it amazing! And Alabama!”

“How would you like to have him for a husband, darling? Someone I know would have to scoot back to Cannes.”

“Miraculous. Nothing short of miraculous.”

Stan sat beside Molly, took one of her hands in his and said, “Wake up! Come now, wake up!”

She sat up, passing the back of her hand over her eyes. “Why -what’s happened? Oh! Was I all right?”

“You were splendid,” he said, looking into her eyes. “Every test was perfect.”

“Oh, I’m so glad.”

Still holding her hand, he drew her to her feet. They walked to the door, turned and bowed slightly and passed through it, applause clattering behind them.

“Stan, don’t we stay for the party? I mean, the rest of it?”

“Shut up!”

“But-Stan-”

“I said shut up! I’ll tell you later. Beat it upstairs. I’ll be up in a little while and we’ll get to hell out of here.”

Obediently she went, pressing her lips together, fighting back an impulse to cry. This was nothing more than any other show; she had hoped there would be a party afterwards and dancing and more champagne.

Stan crossed over to the library, and the dog met him, jumping up. Heedless of his starched shirt bosom, Stan let him. “You know a pal, don’t you, boy.”

“Mr. Stanton-”

It was the old man who looked like a judge.

“I couldn’t let you go without telling you how miraculous your work is.”

“Thank you.”

“I mean it, my boy. I’m afraid you don’t realize what you’ve stumbled onto here. This goes deeper than you realize.”

“I have no explanation for it,” Stan said abruptly, still scratching the dog behind the ears.

“But I think I know your secret.”

Silence. Stan could feel the blood surging up over his face. Good Christ, another amateur magician, he thought, raging. I’ve got to ditch him. But I’ve got to get him on my side, first. At last he said, smiling, “Perhaps you have the solution. A few persons of unusual intelligence and scientific knowledge might be able to guess at the main principle.”

The old man nodded sagely. “I’ve guessed it, my boy. I’ve guessed it. This is no code act.”

Stan’s smile was intimate and his eyes danced with fellowship. God, here it comes. But I’ll handle him somehow.

“Yes, my boy. I know. And I don’t blame you for keeping your secret. It’s the young lady.”

“Yes?”

The judge lowered his voice. “I know it isn’t telepathy. You have spirit aid! ”

Stan felt like shouting. Instead he closed his eyes, the shadow of a smile passing over his mouth.

“They don’t understand, my boy. I know why you have to present it as second sight. They’re not ready to receive the glorious truth of survival. But our day will come, my boy. It will come. Develop your gift-the young lady’s mediumship. Cherish it, for it is a fragile blossom. But what a soul-stirring thing it is! Oh, to think of it-this precious gift of mediumship, this golden bridge between us and those who have joined the ranks of the liberated, there to dwell on ever-ascending planes of spiritual life-”

The door opened and both men turned. It was Molly. “Oh. I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were busy. Say, Stan-”

“Miss Cahill, I should like you to meet Judge Kimball. It is Judge Kimball, I am certain of it, although I do not recall ever having seen your photograph.”

The old man nodded, smiling as if he and Stan shared a secret. He patted Molly’s hand. “A great gift, my dear child, a great gift.”

“Yeah, it’s a gift all right, Judge. Well, I guess I’ll be going back upstairs.”

Stan took both her hands in his and shook them. “You were splendid tonight, my dear. Splendid. Now run along and I’ll join you shortly. You had better lie down and rest for a few minutes.”

When he released her Molly said, “Oops,” and looked at her left hand; but Stan urged her toward the door, closing it gently behind her. He turned back to the judge.

“I’ll confess, Judge. But”-he tilted his head toward the room across the hall-“they wouldn’t understand. That is why I dropped in here for a moment. Someone here does understand.” He looked down at the dog. “Don’t you, boy?”

The Dane whined softly and crept closer.

“You know, Judge, they can sense things that are beyond all human perception. They can see and hear presences about us which we can never detect.” Stan had moved toward a reading lamp beside an armchair. “For instance, I received a very faint but clear impression just now that someone from the Other Side is in the room. I am sure it is a young girl, that she is trying to get through to us. But I can tell nothing more about her; I cannot see her. If only our handsome friend here could talk he might be able to tell us.”

The dog was staring into a dark corner of the book-lined room. He growled questioningly. Then, while the old man watched, fascinated, the Dane leaped up and shot into the corner, standing there alert and quiet, looking upward.

The mentalist slid his hand unobtrusively into his trousers pocket. “They know, sir. They can see. And now-I bid you good evening.”

The house had grown full of unseen presences for the old judge; in thinking of some who might be near him now, his eyes grew wet. Slowly, elegantly, his shoulders straight, the Great Stanton ascended the stairs with the tread of an emperor, and the judge watched him go. A wonderful young man.

In the room with the tilted ceiling Molly was lying on the bed in her brassière and panties, smoking a cigarette. She sat up, hugging her knees. “Stan, for crying out loud, tell me why you got so mad at me when I wanted to stay for the party! Other private bookings we always stay and have fun and I don’t get lit on three champagnes, honest I don’t, honey. You think I don’t know how to behave!”

He shoved his hands into his pockets, pulled out a slip of paper and crushed it, then flung it into a corner of the room. He spoke in a savage whisper. “For Christ’s sake, don’t go turning on the tears until we get out of here. I said no because it wasn’t the spot for it. We gave ’em just enough. Always leave ’em wanting more. We built ourselves up and I didn’t see any sense in knocking it all down again. For Christ’s sake, we gave ’em a goddamned miracle! They’ll be talking about it the rest of their lives. And they’ll make it better every time they tell it. And what do we get for it? Three hundred lousy bucks and get treated like an extra darky they hired to pass the booze around. This is the big time, all right. Get your name in lights a foot high and then come out to one of these joints and what do they hand you-a dinner on a plate like a hobo at a back door.”

He was breathing heavily, his face red and his throat working. “I’ll sweat it out of them. By Christ, that old guy downstairs gave me the angle. I’ll shake ’em loose from a pile of dough before I’m done. I’ll have ’em begging me to stay a week. I’ll have ’em wondering why I take my meals in my room. And it’ll be because they’re not fit to eat with-the bastards. I’ve been crazy not to think of this angle before, but from now on I know the racket. I’ve given ’em mentalism and they treat it like a dog walking on his hind legs. Okay. They’re asking for it. Here it comes.”

He stopped and looked down at the staring girl, whose face was chalky around the lips. “You did okay, kid.” He smiled with one corner of his mouth. “Here’s your ring, baby. I needed it for a gag.”