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to hear you talk like that.”
(He
didn’t want to hear it!)
    Max said nothing, looking at the contract.
    Harry swallowed, took a sip of Diet Coke, paused, then went on. “About the act itself,” he said. Back to business; that was Harry.
    Max directed a warning look at him.
    “Max,
it’s got to be discussed,”
said Harry. “You’re playing a game with yourself by ignoring it.”
    Max started to speak but, sensing a power position, Harry cut him off.
“Look,”
he said, “you’re a performer in the grand tradition.” He knew about grand tradition? What a shock. “You always have been. No one’s ever going to take that from you. You made magic into an art form.”
    “My
father
made it into an art form,” Max corrected him. “I merely sustained the tradition.”
God bless you for that, Son
.
    “Whatever,” Harry said, disinterested. “That’s not the point. The point is, you’re closing your mind to the facts of life.
    “It’s not nineteen-thirty anymore—or the forties or the fifties;
or
the sixties. What was good enough for your father and you doesn’t cut it anymore. By the way, does he have to be in here?”
    “Yes,”
said Max. “It’s his favorite room. Are you concerned about what he might hear?”
    “What’s that supposed to mean?” demanded Harry.
    “Nothing,” Max said.
Something
, I thought. “Go on.”
    Harry bared his teeth, then continued. “It’s
nineteen-eighty
, pal. Las Vegas. Lake Tahoe. Reno. Theaters in places that were the
sticks
when you started out. Television. Cable. Pay-per-view. Video cassettes.
    “Look at Henning; Copperfield. Everything they do is
now
, Max!
Now!
Quick. Smart. Vivid. State of the art. It’s no accident they’re where they are. It’s not the effects. It’s
not!
Your effects are
still
the best. But what you’re
doing
with them is behind the times, passé. You aren’t up to date, you’re
out of touch
. Can’t you
see
that? Cassandra can.”
    Max stiffened noticeably at that, but Harry, sensing his position strengthening, pressed on.
    “She knows what’s going on
, Max,” he said. “Let her help you.”
    He braced himself; that was easy to see. “Especially now that your health is … giving you problems.” I’m sure he was about to use the word “failing,” then didn’t have the guts.
    Even so, I saw the skin drawn tight across Max’s cheeks.
    “All right, I shouldn’t have said that,” Harry retreated.
    “But you did,” said Max.
    Harry’s features tightened then. “Yes, I did,” he said. “It’s
said
. And—” He gritted his teeth. “Well, damn it, it’s the truth, isn’t it?”
    Max said nothing, gazing at his agent with unblinking eyes, intimidating him.
    “All right,” Harry said. “I’m sorry. Shall we forge on?”
    He flipped over the first page of the contract. “You’re in luck,” he said. “The casino still wants you. Which, under the circumstances …” He let the sentence hang.
    “Baltimore?” asked Max.
    Harry’s gesture said, What else? (My
God, how bad had it been?
I wondered.)
    “Word travels quickly,” Max observed.
    “As quickly as a phone call,” Harry said. He flipped more contract pages. “The figures are on page six. And, I might add, lots more bucks than they cared to be parted from.”
    Max only stared at him.
    Harry was about to go on when he heard the same faintsound that I did and looked around. “What’s that?” he muttered.
    Max cupped a hand behind his right ear. “Pardon?”
    “I-heard-a-noise,” Harry said, exaggerating his pronunciation.
    Max gestured vaguely. “I didn’t hear anything,” he said. (If he hadn’t, he really
was
going deaf; I’d heard it clearly.)
    Harry nodded disgruntledly. “Okay.” He looked back at the contracts. “Never mind. You on page six?”
    “Page six,” Max said.
    “You see what it is then,” Harry told him. “Ten weeks. Two shows a night. Seventeen-fifty per. You understand the conditions?”
    Max remained silent, and I