The Funhouse

stage at one end of the tent.
        A moment later Marco appeared in a cloud of blue smoke, taking a bow as a tape-recorded fanfare filled the room. It was painfully obvious that he had merely stepped through a slit in the rear wall of the tent, using the smoke for cover. In fact he hadn't even stepped onto the stage, he had stumbled.
        Liz glanced at Amy. They both giggled.
        “Thank God he's a magician and not a tightrope walker,” Richie whispered.
        Amy felt as if she were standing on balloons, balancing precariously, about to perform some splendid magic act of her own.
        What had Liz added to that joint?
        Marco's appearance was as pathetic as his entrance. He was a middle-aged man with bloodshot eyes, and he was heavily made up to resemble the Devil. His lips were red, his face was frost-pale, his eyes were outlined with thick black mascara, and his widow's peak was also accentuated with mascara. He wore a shabby tuxedo and a pair of white gloves that were marred by several large yellow stains.
        “He shouldn't wear those gloves when he jerks off,” Liz whispered.
        They all laughed.
        “Gross,” Richie said.
        “He looks gross enough to do it,” Buzz whispered.
        Marco glanced nervously at them, unable to hear what they were saying. He smiled at them and doffed his top hat in a feeble attempt to win their silent attention.
        “Whatever you do,” Liz told the others, “for God's sake don't let him shake hands with you.”
        They all laughed again.
        A few of the other spectators were glancing at Amy, some just curious, some disapproving, but she didn't care what they thought. She was having so much fun.
        Marco decided to ignore them, and he picked up a deck of cards that was on the small table in the center of the stage. He shuffled the cards and wrapped them in a silk handkerchief, with only one edge of the deck exposed. He placed that bundle in a clear glass goblet, every movement performed with a flourish. When he stepped back and pointed at the goblet, cards began to rise individually from the silk-swathed deck: first the ace of diamonds… then the ace of clubs… the ace of hearts… and finally, mistakenly, the jack of diamonds. Marco looked embarrassed, quickly swept the cards away, and went on to his next trick.
        “Boy, does he stink,” Buzz said softly.
        “It's those gloves you smell,” Liz said.
        “Richie, is this guy really your Uncle Arnold?” Amy asked.
        Marco blew up a balloon and knotted it. When he touched a burning cigarette to the balloon, the sphere popped noisily, and a live dove appeared in the heart of the explosion. It was a better illuion than the card trick, but Amy still saw the bird dart out from beneath the magician's tuxedo jacket.
        Marco performed two more tricks that drew only half-hearted applause from the audience, and then Liz said, “Are you guys about ready to 8put?”
        “Not yet,” Richie said.
        This is a fuckin' bore,” Liz said.
        “I want to see the finale,” Richie said. “The guillotine.”
        “What guillotine?” Buzz asked.
        “The one on the poster outside,” Richie said. “He chops off some broad's head.”
        “That's the only way he's ever going to get head from a woman,” Liz said, giggling.
        Marco spoke for the first time. His voice was surprisingly rich and commanding. “And now, for those of you who are connoisseurs of the bizarre, the macabre, the gruesome, the grotesque… I will close my show with what I fondly refer to as The Impaler.”
        “What about the guillotine?” Richie said Buzz.
        “Asshole,” Liz said. “That's just a come-on.”
        Marco rolled a large upright box to the center of the stage. It was a foot or so shorter than a coffin, but otherwise it looked exactly like the centerpiece of a funeral.
        “I hear you mumbling out there,” Marco said. “I hear you saying… the guillotine… the guillotine. Unfortunately, that device belonged to my predecessor. Both it and he are being held by the police due to an unfortunate accident. The last lady who assisted him lost her head and caused a messy scene.”
        The audience laughed uneasily.
        “What a cornball act,” Liz said. “Jesus.”
        But on the contrary, to Amy, Marco appeared to have undergone an eerie metamorphosis. He was not shabby and silly-looking now, as he had