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saw how Harry tensed. Max always could get on his nerves—those gray-blue eyes, the autocratic demeanor; like father, like son.
    “Do - you - understand - the - conditions?” Harry asked, once more verbally exaggerating.
    When Max still didn’t reply, Harry continued quickly, curtly. “Co-billing for Cassandra. Your policy regarding partial nudity to be dismissed. I’m talking topless at the very least. Not Cassandra, of course.” His smile was perfunctory.
    They gazed at one another and, like Harry, I began to wonder what my son was thinking; his expression was unrevealing, a face carved from stone.
    “Well?”
asked Harry.
    As though in response to his words, the sound occurred again, not faintly this time. Very distinct. A
chuckle
.
    Coming from the direction of the globe.
    Harry scowled. “That I know you heard,” he said. “I know you made it happen, too.”
    The smile on Max’s lips was somewhat more guarded than that of the Mona Lisa.
    Harry stood and moved toward the globe. Max rose tofollow. “Its a new illusion,” he said. “I’m not prepared to show it yet.”
    “You shouldn’t have used it on me, then,” said Harry with a tight smile.
    “You may not like it,” Max warned.
    “I’ll take the chance,” said Harry.
    Reaching the globe, he examined it, finding no special feature.
    He ran his hand across the curved surface.
    Then he jerked it back abruptly as the outer layer of the globe rolled downward, revealing a glass globe underneath. I reacted with surprise; to what extent I could.
    Harry positively twitched, so startled was he by the sight that he could not prevent a gasp from pulling back his lips.
    Inside the globe was a head.
    His
.

chapter 7
    Harry gasped at the head. There was no denying it was his. It looked real in every way.
    Its eyes were closed.
    “Jesus H. Christ,” said Harry. Bending over, he took a closer look.
    The head was larger than lifesize, I now saw. Still, it looked completely real.
When did Max do this?
I wondered. It had to have been at night when I was sleeping; when everyone was sleeping.
    “What the
hell—”
muttered Harry.
    He twitched again, shuddering this time and jerking erect.
    The eyes of the head had opened and were looking up at him.
    “Holy Jesus,”
Harry muttered.
    Then a grin of pleasure creased his face and he turned to Max.
    “You son of a bitch,” he said in delight. “You tricky son of a bitch.”
    “You like it?” Max inquired.
    “Like
it?
Love
it!” Harry exploded. He squinted at the head. “But what the hell
is
it?” he asked.
    “Laser-produced, holographically processed, stored imagery,” Max answered.
    Harry gave him a hooded look. “Yeah, that’s what I thought it was,” he said. He peered at the head, which peered back. (Two Harry Kendals in the same room; a true example of superfluity.) “A Three-D movie, right?” he asked.
    Max repressed a smile. “A bit more involved than that,” he said. I felt awed pride in him. He’d carried magic into the technological age, God bless him.
    “Controlled by—” Harry regarded him questioningly.
    Max removed a small remote-control box from the left-hand pocket of his smoking jacket and held it up. Harry beamed. “
You son of a bitch,”
he said fondly.
    He tapped the globe. “Now that’s what I’ve been talking about,” he said. “This is
today.”
    “Indeed it is,” said Max, meaning something other than Harry did (we soon discovered).
    Harry was enthusing now. “Audiences are going to
love
it, pal! It’s state of the art! Las Vegas will—”
    “Forget
it, Harry,” interrupted Harry’s head. “Las Vegas is out. Max didn’t ask you here to talk about Las Vegas.”
    Harry and I were both astonished, staring at the head. He began to laugh, then stopped as the words he’d just heard registered.
    “I don’t get it,” he said, the edge of irritation in his voice again.
    He looked back at the head as it began to speak once more.
    “Allow me to explain,” it