Six of Hearts(46)

God. Nobody looks better than Jay without a shirt on. He’s turned with his back to the audience, and at first I think it’s just more tattoos, but it’s not. There, painted onto his skin, is an exact replica of The Scream by Edvard Munch. Applause mixes with the catcalls.

“What is it?” Jay asks playfully. “Is there something on my back?”

The man who’d volunteered stands up. “You’ve got my favourite painting drawn on you, the one I wrote down on the card.” His jaw is slack, like he can’t believe it.

“That’s two down now,” says Jay, looking to the final volunteer where she’s sitting in the second row, a woman named Becky. “I’m coming for you next, Becky, so watch this space.”

She giggles, and Jay hops over to the other side of the stage, preparing his next piece.

I know it’s the obvious question, but how the hell does he do it? He’d have to have that painting drawn on him in advance of the show, which means he needed to know the answer before any of the volunteers were ever asked the question. Either he somehow planted the idea in the man’s head to write down that painting, or he really does have godlike super minding-reading skills, as Jerry Burke, the nutty fan claims.

As it turns out, guessing the favourite book of the last volunteer is the big finish. Jay went off stage for a moment, and now he walks back on, scratching his head. I’ve come to learn that this is how he pretends to be confused, when really everything is going exactly the way he wants it. I guess other people don’t know this because they haven’t spent as much time studying him as I have, which I’m sure he’d find disconcerting if he knew.

“Crap, Becky,” Jay says. “I still haven’t gotten you yet, have I?”

Becky shakes her head. She looks a little disappointed. Perhaps she was hoping she’d get a gift just like Rhona and her concert tickets. Jay pulls a small book out of his back pocket and lifts it up. “It’s not The Catcher in the Rye, is it?”

Becky’s brow furrows. “Um, no, that’s not what I wrote down.”

Jay throws the book aside and bites his lip. “Lord of the Rings?”

The place is quiet, and Becky shakes her head again, lifting her glass and taking a sip of her drink.

“Hey, it looks like there’s something in your glass, Becky. Can you see that?” He points.

Becky squints at her glass before fishing out an ice cube. She’s sitting in the row directly behind me, and it looks like something’s been frozen inside the ice.

“Oh, my God,” Becky breathes.

“Crack her open for me, would you, Becks?” says Jay confidently.

Jerry Burke was right about one thing — Jay is godlike, and that god would be Loki, the trickster. Becky cracks the ice, discovering the thing inside is a folded piece of paper.

She unfolds it and gasps, “It’s the first page from Neverwhere. My favourite book!”

Applause fills the venue, and Jay comes down off the stage, going to thank Becky for taking part. He takes her hand in his and brings it to his lips for a kiss. She blushes. He’s such a charmer. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I was beginning to think he might have a thing for me, but now I see that’s just the way he is with women.

Flirty.

He gets back on the stage, walks off, and walks back on, taking a bow. The clapping continues, and when he rises, he smiles wide before his body starts to shimmer and disappear. What the hell? Was that a projection? Then the real Jay walks out from backstage, taking the same bow the projection Jay just took. The cheering deafens me as I rise with everyone else to give him a standing ovation.

This might just be the best show I’ve ever seen.

The house lights come on, and people begin to gather their things, slowly exiting the venue or going to get one last drink from the bar.

“That was flipping amazing,” says Michelle. “My brain is hurting trying to figure out all those tricks. I think I just need to give up. The man is a genius.”

I rub at my arms, trying to get rid of the goose bumps, and they aren’t from the cold. Jay exudes charisma and sex appeal when he’s on the stage. It sort of leaves you feeling empty when the show is over.

“Yeah, he definitely thinks in a different way to the rest of us,” I say just as Jessie turns up.

“Hey. Did you enjoy the show?” she asks, all out of breath.

“Of course! I’ve never seen anything like it,” I exclaim as she links one arm through mine and the other through Michelle’s.

“Come with me, ladies. We’re having a small after-party backstage, and you’re both invited.”





Thirteen