Chapter 1

My GCSEs were finally over, and the summer holidays were here.

Of course, my first thoughts were to do absolutely nothing. After two years of studying, I deserved a break. Time off. Me-time. Except of course I hadn't exactly studied all the time, or even worked especially hard except the last six to nine months, and even then only really in the last few of those.

So I didn't actually deserve anything, but when you're sixteen and suddenly aren't being told what to do all the time, it kind of goes to your head.

So yes, I was going to do absolutely nothing, and enjoy it. Mum, of course, had different ideas. Dad just went along with whatever Mum said at home. They had decided early in their marriage that Mum could decide whatever she wanted in the home, and Dad would make the other decisions. They discussed everything, of course, but they each had their own place as decision-maker. It seemed to work. And meant I only had Mum to worry about in my ambition to reach the stratospheric heights of layabout.

Ambition is good, I'd always been told, but it appeared that mine didn't receive universal acclaim. I was supposed to get a job.

A job!

Who were they kidding? Spend all day in a shop interacting with old people, getting sore feet and swollen ankles? What about slobbing in my room instead and listening to music? Isn't that what teenagers were supposed to do? Wasn't it some kind of universal law of, well, the universe?

I could maybe get work at the local sports center teaching swimming to kids. I was good at swimming. I was on my school team, for goodness sake. And gymnastics. And it might be nice to be at the pool all day. Prancing about in just a swimsuit. Being looked at by the hunky life guard pool attendants. Ogled by all the old men. Stinking of chlorine. Skin wrinkled like a raisin.

Ok, not such a good idea. So, no shop work, no sports center. There was only one thing to do. The internet. Local ads.

I tried a few different approaches, using the default search engine, the local classifieds, even the infamous slightly naughty one listing goods and services for exchange. Only one advert looked at all interesting.

“Stage Magician seeks assistant.” I read on. Ugh, an old guy, he had twenty years in the business! The assistant must be presentable enough to distract the audience, as well as small and agile enough to participate in illusions. Well, that was me. And there was a phone number and email address.

What did I have to lose?

I wrote an application, noting that he'd said that previous experience although helpful, was not necessary. Despite that, I didn't expect to hear back having zero experience and being too young and too temporary. I only had the summer free, after all.

Since it was Sunday morning I was more than a bit surprised to get an almost instant email back. Didn't this guy work normal hours?

I quickly scanned through the message, then read it again more carefully. It wasn't instant rejection. He wanted an interview/audition. Physically challenging work, blah blah, only a few have the necessary attributes, blah blah, Open auditions Saturday and Sunday 3 pm, blah blah.

Hmm, it looked suspiciously like an impersonal automatic reply. Looked like you were meant to just turn up at the open audition and see how you got on. The address was a unit on an industrial complex next to a retail park not too far away. Another quick search told me that it was on a bus route.

I could do this.

Okay, so plan ahead. It might be cool to get this job. I could get there under my own steam, as Dad might say. If I didn't phone ahead then the guy wouldn't have my number, in case I felt I had to run away fast.

So, presentable and agile.

I could wear my gymnastics leotard? Long-sleeved, sky blue; over my white dancing tights it would look decent but still show off my figure, show how trim I was. I could demonstrate my agility, and he'd have to decide for himself how presentable I looked.

At lunch, nothing more was said about me getting a job, and I hoped to surprise Mum and Dad if I was successful.

So after helping clear the table and stack the dishwasher, telling them I was going out for a bit, I walked to the bus stop, baggy jeans and loose grey jumper over my dancewear; ballet slippers, and a few bits in my shoulder bag.

Chapter 2

At 2:30 I was outside the unit, which looked like a largish lock-up. Roll-up metal door, a bit like a garage for vans. White painted breeze block walls. One normal door with a window next to it, and peering in I saw what might have been an office or dressing room.

After kicking a pebble around for a while and scoring enough goals to make the England Ladies Football Team, an old Mercedes drove up with a quiet hiss of rubber.

The man who got out was somewhere near Mum and Dad’s age, tidy looking with a nice face and all his own hair, short and neat and dark. He was in a shirt and tie with shiny black shoes and office-type trousers. He didn’t look like a magician. Where was the cloak? The top hat? The tailcoat?

He started to unlock the office door so I hurried over, hopping from foot to foot just behind his left shoulder.

He turned to look at me, his eyebrows doing that arched surprise thing, then glanced from my face to my feet and back.

“It’s ok, I got my dance stuff under, I wasn’t going to audition like this,” I offered by way of reassurance, not wanting to make a bad first impression.

Except first impressions are formed in what, five seconds? That’s what Dad said some time ago when trying to explain to me how job interviews work.

Oh well.

“You’d better come in then, we can’t have you dancing out here, can we?”

He had one of those almost hypnotic voices that soothe and quieten and make you want to cooperate and sleep at the same time. It was deep and full-toned and almost melodic. I could listen to him some more.

Once inside he directed me to dump my bag on a corner table while he turned on lights and a coffee maker and settled himself at the tidy desk, taking from a drawer some paper and a very posh ink pen, the kind that uses bottled ink.

“First,” he told me, “we’re going to have a cup of coffee and chat, see if we get on and if anyone else turns up. Then I’ll take some details if you’re still here, and we’ll try out a few contortions. Does that sound alright?”

Trying to be helpful I went to the coffee machine, turned two very clean cups the right way up, placing them on saucers, and waited for the dark brew to fill the pot.

“Milk or sugar?” I asked, glancing over my shoulder at him, to be met with a frank and slightly amused look.

“On the shelf above. Neither for me, thank you.”

I decided not to bother either, not wanting to make this more complicated.

As I lowered myself into the visitor chair, insinuated myself into the chair, as my dance teacher kept telling us, he turned his own to face me, knee to knee about a metre apart.

“I’m Marvin, ‘Marvin the Marvelous’ is my stage name, and no I don’t pretend to be marvelous in real life. Magic is my business, but really it’s all about entertaining, giving our audience something that they crave and can’t find anywhere else. That’s the goal, at least. I mostly do children’s parties now, all age groups, and only a few clubs, since those gigs are drying up.

“The parties are also drying up, and I want an assistant so that I can improve the act, maybe even re-invent it, secure more bookings, and frankly make the show a bit more relevant to the modern audience. Which is where you, or someone like you, come in.

“So tell me a little about yourself, just what you want to tell me, no pressure, and especially anything you think might help me decide if I should audition you.”

Chapter 3

Oh, crumbs, I hate talking about myself. But this was a job interview, so it was kind of inevitable.

I told him what I thought was relevant, about the gymnastics I’d done, and the ballet before I had switched over to swimming as my main sport. I had no idea if he was impressed, but at least he listened and made a few notes on his piece of paper.

“And what about your home life? I would need to rehearse during the day, and hopefully, we’d be performing on Friday and Saturday evenings, possibly until late.”

“Oh, I live with Mum and Dad, I’m on my summer holidays so I’m available all the time, though obviously, I go to college in September to start my A-Levels. So yeah, maybe I’m not such a good candidate, huh?” I didn’t want to talk myself out of the job before I’d even auditioned, and added hastily, “but if you’ve trained me already, no reason why I shouldn’t be able to do the gigs at weekends? And I could do more rehearsal on Saturdays?”

“Okay, fine, thank you, Amanda. Do you think your parents will be happy with you doing this kind of work? Being on stage sometimes, otherwise, being with a man for a lot of hours and no chaperone? I’m used to the idea of working with an older person, and don’t want to land either of us in trouble.”

He frowned as he said that, and I realised that my youthful age was possibly turning into a problem.

“Um, well, I haven’t yet told Mum and Dad, in case I didn’t get the job. But I’m sure they’ll be okay with me helping out at kids' parties. The clubs and late hours? I just need a way to explain those so they don’t object. I mean, you’re not a convicted deviant or you couldn’t do children’s parties, and you don’t look like the kind of man I need to be scared of, and anyway, I’m over the age of consent which means I’m old enough to make my own decisions about my body, so um, I think it’s all good?”

Marvin was still frowning, and it occurred to me that I might not have expressed myself in the most diplomatic way.

“Look, Sir, you don’t need me to talk on stage or to the critics, so if I’m not good at saying what I mean, it’s not a problem I hope. I didn’t mean to be rude. I’d like this job, I’d like to audition. I’m sure we can work something out about the late hours and the clubs, don’t you think?”

I could tell that he wasn’t convinced.

“Please, can I just audition, at least?”

Marvin sighed a deep hadn’t-made-up-his-mind sigh and nodded.

“Stand in the middle of the room please, I need to see how agile and flexible you are.”

I got up, quickly removing my jeans and baggy jumper and swapping my shoes for dance slippers, and stood in the space he’d indicated.

I felt a bit on show in my white dance tights and blue leotard, obviously wearing nothing else because that’s what you do in dance. No underwear. I was acutely conscious that my whole body was very much on display despite being covered.

Marvin arched his eyebrows and again looked at me from top to toe and back. He gave a nod of approval which seemed to me to be a good sign. Maybe I was indeed presentable.

He wanted agile and flexible, so after a few warm-up stretches I did the round of touching my toes, legs straight and hands flat on the floor, the splits sideways and forward and back, the crab on hands and feet bent over backwards, and I finished with me scrunched as small as I could go, ankles crossed and arms wrapped around my shins, head tucked in.

“That was very impressive, Amanda. I think you could fit inside any of my special boxes. We can cut you in half, make you disappear, do all kinds of things.”

I grinned happily, thankful that I could do something right.

“Now, costumes. I want us to get away from the old-fashioned magician image. Do you have any thoughts on how you would like to be seen, let’s say on stage in a club setting rather than the children’s party? I have a feeling that clubs are the way we should go. You have wonderful, um, assets that would be very attractive, that is to say, very audience-friendly in a club. Especially if you were willing to wear things a bit like what you have on now? Would you be comfortable with that?”

I detected perhaps a crack in the professional demeanor, one that gave me a path to securing this job. I seized my chance.

“Sure, no problem,” making light of the skimpy dance attire, “I can wear whatever you like. I do like the idea of a top hat, and a tailcoat, maybe cut away to be mostly sides and back, and some sort of leotard or one-piece underneath? I dunno, knee boots, and stockings? I’m not very experienced at this?”

I could see that Marvin was thinking, and he was doodling on his notes. From where I stood I could make out a sketch of a figure in hat and tails and low front bodysuit and boots, with cross-hatched thigh high stockings above. He was taking my ideas seriously.

“I’m not sure that the coat will work for the box illusions, the cutting you up and making you disappear,” he pondered out loud.

“Well, how about one illusion is making my coat disappear? Me staying there but my coat gone?” I countered, thinking that was a brilliant idea.

“You wouldn’t mind that? A sort of stripping illusion?”

“Stripping? Well, maybe we won’t use it in the performance my Mum and Dad come to see, haha!” I felt a bit nervous, the word, stripping, resounding loudly in my head.

I had laughed but I was also serious even if a little uneasy. It was quite a good idea. Everyone knows audiences enjoy seeing girls lose their clothes. Parents, on the other hand, prefer the girls not to be their daughters.

Marvin glanced at me in a way that seemed to approve of what he was hearing. Was it that I was prepared to lose some outer clothing? Or was it that I was prepared to do things in the Act that I’d happily keep from Mum and Dad? I didn’t know, but I could tell that I was talking myself back into the job.

“Ha-hem,” Marvin cleared his throat like men do when they make a decision.

“Since no one else has turned up for an audition, it looks like you have the job. Shall we say a two-week trial, both of us to decide at the end of that if we think this is going to work? I’ll pay minimum wage for all rehearsal time over the next fortnight. I already have a gig booked for the second Friday at a small working men’s club. I was going to do it on my own, but if I think you’re up to it you’ll join me. Again, you will be paid minimum wage.”

I was quiet while Marvin collected his thoughts and continued, “If we decide after that to be a team, you will start on a quarter share of the profits, after expenses. Is that acceptable to you?”

“Um, yes, of course, Sir. So um, when do you want to rehearse?”

He took a large catalog off the shelves by his desk and tossed it to thump loudly on the desk surface while gesturing for me to sit back down.

“You can rehearse in your dance gear, it seems suitable, but I want you to look through those stage costumes and see if you like any of the coats and whatnot. If I approve I’ll order them online.”

And that was how I got the job. We spent every morning together for the next two weeks, rehearsing, Marvin training me, sorting costumes, and both of us having a lot of fun. He was actually a great guy, very funny and kind and good at his craft. We became “Marv ’n Mandy”. After that first audition I didn’t bother with the dance tights anymore, so most of our rehearsal time I just wore my blue leotard and slippers. At first, I felt a bit unsure about being so close to a man while bent over and in all kinds of compromising positions wearing only a single thin stretchy layer of fabric between my skin and his eyes, but I soon found it enjoyable.

It was almost like being nude with him. My nipples did poke a little bit, and although the gusset was lined my bottom wasn’t really hidden behind the leotard.

We decided we liked the cutaway tailcoat, which at the front dropped from the neck to cover the shoulders and then either side of my chest and round to the back, partly obscuring my bottom and the back of my thighs, except that the tail was split in two down the middle from the small of my back.

One of the tricks we practiced was the undressing. Marv decided to introduce a little humour into the act. I would step behind his magic curtain, he would say the words to make me disappear, the curtain would open and, ta-da! I was still there but my coat was gone. Then he’d do it again and my coat would reappear.

The alternative was he’d shrug and go on to the cut-the-girl-up trick, where I needed to be without the coat. He even had some fake blood to make it look like that one had gone wrong, too.

But there was an idea that was nagging at me. In our second week, when things were going really well and it looked like we might actually make a success of this, I made the suggestion.

Marv looked at me quizzically and pointed me at the costume catalog. After consulting the index and flicking through a few pages, I found what I was looking for and showed him. He raised his eyebrows.

“Are you sure about this?”

“Why don’t we try it? If you don’t like it, we won’t include it in the act.”

He seemed reassured by that, though I was aware that he’d be spending more money.

The next day we had the delivery and we tried the trick, in slow time.

I went behind the magic curtain. He said the words to make me vanish. The curtain opened, my coat was gone. Behind the curtain. He tried again. The curtain opens, and this time I’d swapped my leotard for a tiny white halter bikini. The top just two small triangles held together with thin elastic for a quick change; the bottoms similarly one small triangle and elastic.

“Maybe at that point, I make it clear I daren’t try again?” he suggested.

I grinned back at him, “I don’t think we’d be allowed to take it a step further, do you?” An amused glint in my eye.

I stayed in the bikini and slippers as we cleared away the props and Marv wrote out his thoughts for the order in which we’d do the various tricks the following night at the club.

He looked up at me frequently, eying the minimal costume I was still wearing, a slight frown on his face as if undecided.

Every so often he would be about to ask me something, but then back off.

Finally, he said, “Your parents aren’t coming to the performance tomorrow? You’re sure? And they’re okay about you doing this, this job?”

I could tell that he needed reassurance.

“It’s fine, Marv. Like I told you, Mum and Dad have said I can do this. And um, I told them that tomorrow was more like a dress rehearsal and not worth them watching?”

I knew I was biting my lip. To my relief, Marv just nodded.

“Okay,” he announced authoritatively. “Tomorrow night, we perform!”

Chapter 4

I was nervous.

Marv and I were standing in the wings of the small stage set up at one end of the hall, peeping out at the crowd. We were both surprised that there was a reasonably sized audience. Not a sell-out, but still good.

Since this was a working men’s club, which actually meant men and women, there were no children. It was grown-ups only. Marv was muttering about changing his patter to suit a different audience, losing the family-friendly banter.

Glancing back at me he commented, “Thank goodness I have you, or they’d eat me alive. You just do what we rehearsed, look gorgeous, and distract them. Shouldn’t be too hard, I reckon they’ll spend most of the time watching you anyway.”

We were booked as the professional act. There was a folk band and caller who would get the audience to do some country dancing once we’d finished, and there was food. It was a sort of Club Annual Dance or something.

We were given our call, with the compere stood next to us. The curtains opened and on he went to the sound of good-natured enthusiastic clapping.

“Good evening, Ladies and Gentlemen! Welcome to our Annual Dinner and Dance. Tonight we have, as usual, our regular band”-- more applause --“and food aplenty afterward, but let’s get the evening started with a little magic. Yes, literally. Tonight we have a mysterious magician, a deceptive duo, The Marvellous Marvin and Magnificent Mandy, give a warm welcome to Marv ‘n Mandy!”

And on we went.

Marv went on first looking very dapper in a white dinner jacket, frilled shirt, and black bow tie, his hair neatly combed, and I followed in a kind of crab walk, half-turned towards the audience. We had decided, Marv had decided, to go for the cutaway black tails over my blue leotard, black fishnet holdup stockings and black medium heels, attractive and showbiz rather than slutty, we hoped.

We certainly received a friendly and keen welcome, but I couldn’t tell how much of that was just the happy anticipation of good spirits.

The act started as we’d rehearsed with Marv doing some sleight-of-hand and me trying to look pretty and distracting, showing off my legs and pushing my small chest out, and it seemed like most of the audience was indeed watching me instead of noticing how Marv did his tricks, though even from close up it was impossible to tell.

Marv was good. Not only was he a talented illusionist but he also had the talk, and his quick wit and dry humour, and slick presentation had the audience just where he wanted them. He was so good, in fact, that I wondered why he needed me.

We moved on to the chop-the-girl-up phase, and things began to hot up.

First, they absolutely LOVED me losing my coat. Or rather, the ‘failed’ disappearing trick, and Marv gave me an amused look as we moved swiftly on. I could tell that it had him thinking.

Pretty soon I was cut in half, complete with, 'whoops!' as the fake blood dripped down the box, but thankfully he mended me and I was able to take a bow whole and complete. Marv even had me turn all the way around, slowly, as he held my left hand. So that the audience could see that I was really alright. Yeah, like I believed that. The audience didn’t seem to mind. In fact, the more Marv showed me off the better they seemed to like it. I didn't mind, either.

We finished the act and left the stage but did two curtain calls, Marv holding my hand to make me take a very low bow with him, and we even got a few calls for ‘encore.’

The compere went on and played the audience, gauging whether to go straight into an interval or have us back on. He decided they wanted us back.

“Mandy, we’ll do the disappearing girl routine, but with the bikini; I think this audience will like it. Are you ok with that? You can say no. What do you think?”

So after grabbing our props we went back on. I was back in my tails.

“Ladies and gentleman, I will now attempt one of my most difficult pieces of magic. I will make young Mandy here,“ and he held my hand up as I posed and showed off my legs again, “vanish from the stage and reappear at the back of the auditorium.” The audience gasped, clearly expecting him to be able to do it.

He was so solemn that I, too actually thought for a moment that he’d achieve it.

Up went his special curtain, he said the magic words, the curtain dropped.

And yes I was still there, minus the coat. The audience laughed, loving it. It was just what they wanted. I stood indignant, hands-on-hips as if I couldn’t believe he’d failed again.

“Oh, er, sorry about that, haha, let’s try again,” he said raising his special curtain once more.

Now at this stage, nearly everyone would obviously expect me to reappear with the coat back on.

He said the special words, dropped the curtain, and would you know it, my leotard had disappeared and I was wearing just the tiny bikini, stockings, and heels.

Yes, the audience was delighted. Some had hoped for something like this but I don’t think any had expected it, and we got a lovely send-off. Acknowledging the applause, Marv again held my hand as we bowed deep, but he told me to keep my face up towards the audience. Only later did I realise what a great view of my chest this gave them as the tiny top strained to contain me.

Back in the wings, we were greeted with grins and congratulations from the handful of stagehands and the band all of whom had been watching us from behind the flats.

Our props joined us in the dressing room and we both quickly changed into our street clothes, mostly a case of putting something suitable over our stage outfits.

“How about a spot of dinner?” Marv's eyes twinkled with the thrill of a good performance well received, and since I wasn't expected home for another couple of hours, I happily agreed.

Pretty soon we were sat in an Indian restaurant chomping our way through some shared dishes. He preferred more spicy food than me, but we did a great job of demolishing everything they put in front of us.

“So, Mandy, how do you feel about our partnership, about tonight's performance?”

To be continued in Part 2 …