Lovely Trigger(7)

It was a Godsend for me. I kept busy, productive, active. There was less time to dwell on the past.

The casino’s retiring magician, Tony Biello, had no hard feelings about me being his replacement. In fact, he turned out to be something of a father figure and a mentor for me.

I’d admired his act since I was a kid, so when he started coming by the theatre to see how things were coming along, I was more star struck than I’d ever been and stressed out to boot, since I had no clue whether his retirement was voluntary.

He quickly set my mind at ease. He was a strange old coot that wore a top hat in the middle of the day and large white framed glasses that matched his wiry hair.

He was a large man, and in his seventies was heading in the direction of overweight.

I was on my semi-built stage, showing the architect I’d been working with just what I needed for the spot directly below our feet, when Tony came striding into the theatre.

He took one look at me and started laughing. “Let me guess. This is going to be some sort of act where they make you take your shirt off a lot. No doubt about it, I’ve been outclassed.”

My mouth quirked up in a grin, and I hopped down to shake his hand.

“I made them put it in my contract that I wouldn’t go shirtless more than twice a night,” I joked. “Had to put my foot down somewhere.”

He clutched his big belly while he laughed. “And you can take a joke. Outclassed indeed.”

I scratched my head, trying to find the words to broach an awkward subject.

“Don’t worry, my boy, my retirement was voluntary. I’m old, I have a bad heart, and it’s time I started taking better care of myself. I’ve just come to welcome you to the team, and to let you know that my door is always open, if you need any advice. Hell, I’d love to help. I’ve been in the magic game for fifty years. I’d hate to think I was letting go of it completely.

I was inordinately pleased by this. Tony Biello offering his support was all that I, who’d been practicing tricks from the first time I’d gotten my hands on a deck of cards, could ever want. It was a surreal, dream come true kind of moment. “Thank you. I’ve been a fan of yours since I was a kid. That means a lot to me. I’m sure I’ll be taking you up on that. Also, I wonder if you could make some guest appearances, if you’re up for it.”

He grinned his jolly grin. “Now that’s what I’m talking about.”

He came by almost every day after that, watching the work being done, giving advice, and asking a million questions about the show I was planning.

I tried to stay busy twenty-four seven, but unfortunately, there was always downtime, while I waited for contractors to show up, or found myself at loose ends. Still, I avoided downtime like the plague.

Of course, the time that I did spend dwelling was more agonizing than ever now that we worked in the same damned building.

The art gallery was made of glass, placed high above the ground of the casino floor, designed to be a piece of art itself. Watching someone inside of it and not letting them know that you were watching them, well, it couldn’t have been more perfectly designed for just that.

There was a small indoor courtyard there, just some tables and chairs attached to a coffee shop. It was set below and at an angle to the glass gallery. I could sit there and stare for as long as I wanted, and she never saw, never took notice.

I did this a lot.

This was pure masochism, but I couldn’t seem to stop.

Every break I had, every time I came or went I stopped at that little spot. I’d grab food from somewhere else and bring it there. I put in time at that torturous little spot.

This was all particularly unfortunate when she started seeing some motherf*cker in a suit.

He must have worked in the building somewhere, because he started showing up often to take her to lunch.

It took every ounce of self-control, every minute of anger management and therapy I’d participated in, to keep from going up there and wringing his neck the first time I saw him wrap his arm around her waist, but I did it.

I walked away.

She’d smiled at him, looked genuinely happy to have him touch her.

No one deserved happy more than Danika.

Certainly not me.

My recovery had felt solid at the time, all of my twelve steps right where they should have been, but that night I very nearly had a relapse. With what felt like my last ditch effort, I called my sponsor, and he effectively talked me down. It wasn’t the first time, or the last, that I knew I owed him my life.

It was a mercy when she moved to L.A., and still I hated it.





I fell back into old patterns.

I started sleeping around. At first, it felt good. Abstinence was a bitch, and I’d been damn near a monk for two years.

It took a few months to realize that this was triggering the addict in me. I began to crave alcohol more than I had since my rehab days.

I went off sex cold turkey again, then tried something in between.

I was in denial at first, for months in fact, that it was a relationship, but those things had a way of sneaking up on you. I broke up with the poor girl immediately, trying to be as gentle as I could about the whole thing.

It was difficult to sleep with only one woman and not give her the idea that it was something more than friendship, something more than comfort.

I started dating. Not just sleeping around, but dinner, the whole deal. It was a new experience for me, and spending a bit of time with a woman before f*cking seemed to be a necessary component for me. The other way, with one-night stands and one clear cut agenda, hadn’t worked.