The Magician's Assistant

[5] Ruth's Test

          “You need to work on your self confidence,” Ruth commented, walking around me in circles. I was standing in the large living room of their ‘headquarters’, feeling more uncomfortable by the minute. “Chin up,” she order, tilting my head upwards with her hand.

          “Don’t slouch either,” she continued, showing me how to stand. “People will get the vibe you’re sloppy. You need to present yourself like royalty.”

          “Isn’t that a bit of a stretch? The magician’s assistant compared to royalty? No offense.”

          Ruth waved her hand in dismissal, “Close enough.”

          I shut up, realizing she was dead serious. “Anything else?” I questioned.

          “Well of course! I’m not even close to being done,” she sighed. “Are you clumsy?”

          “Not particularly, why?”

          “I can’t exactly have you falling on stage in high heels. Go and put those on, over there,” Ruth said, pointing to cherry red stilettos on the ground. My eyes widened noticeably, but I picked up the shoes none-the-less. “Those are a size eight.”

          Perfect size, then. Slipping on the shoes, I started walking back and forth across the room. Luckily, I managed not to stumble or wobble.

          “Okay, good enough,” Ruth said after a moment, nodding quickly. “Now, do you have a good memory?”

          “Average, I guess.”

          “Okay, well, don’t laugh at this ‘test’, okay? It may seem really childish, but it actually works,” Ruth scratched the back of her neck in awkwardness.

          “What is it?” I asked.

          “You’re going to play the memory game,” she said, picking up a deck of cards from the coffee table and shaking them at me. From the couch, William snorted in amusement.

          I could tell that James was staring at me, watching my every move. It was terribly nerve-wracking. Occasionally he would turn and direct his attention to William, looking like he was thinking deeply about something.

          Sighing, I plopped myself down on the ground, starting the memory game. What the heck had I gotten myself into?

          While I was playing, Ruth asked me questions about myself. She was apparently trying to throw me off and make things worse for me during the memory game. I still did fairly well, however.      

          “Now, why do I have to have a good memory?” I asked, not exactly sure.

          Before Ruth could reply, William cut in, “You’ll have to remember my routine.”

          Nodding in understanding, I continued answering Ruth’s questions.

          “How old are you?”

          “Seventeen.”

          “What have been your previous jobs?”

          “None yet.” That answer probably helped my chances a ton. Note the sarcasm.

          “Do you have available transportation for each rehearsal and performance?”

          “Yes.”