Date: Sat, 15 Nov 1997 19:41:21 GMT
From: Kirk Brothers <kirkbros@gte.net>
Subject: That Old White Magic (#4 in Benedict/David series)
* * * * * * * * * *
FOURTH ADVENTURE IN THE BENEDICT/DAVID SERIES
* * * * * * * * * *
THAT OLD WHITE MAGIC
Part 1 of 2
By Kirk Brothers
Characters copyright in "Night of the Coven" (1990)
All Rights Reserved
"What a beautiful Christmas tree!" exclaimed Sally Burke in
genuine surprise and admiration. "And here I thought all along you
were a pagan!"
The corners of Benedict's mouth twitched a little, but he
managed to keep a straight face and his usual dignified, even
voice. It was Tuesday, December 21, and his witchcraft shop on
Christopher Street was decked out for the 1999 holiday season.
"I am a pagan," he said, "--though once, if you could believe
it, I was an altar boy. However, the tree is, in fact, a pagan
symbol which was so popular throughout medieval Europe that early
Christians adopted it--as well as the Santa Claus myth--into their
own practices."
Sally now appeared a bit surprised, and then her face cleared.
"Oh," she said, "sort of like if you can't beat 'em, join 'em,
huh?"
"You might say that. What brings you to my shop again? About
seven weeks ago you told me you couldn't use my story until next
Hallowe'en--maybe." He emphasized the final word to make his
point.
Sally Burke, a street reporter for Channel Six News, had swept
into his store a few minutes ago, an hour after Benedict had opened
his shop for the day. She was accompanied by a cameraman named
Hank--a cheerful black man with the habit of whistling through his
teeth--and a younger man carrying sound and light equipment.
While Sally talked with Benedict, Hank began to look around
for camera angles from which he could shoot silent pictures which
would be edited as needed into the final tape, so as to show what
was being talked about. He took close-ups of various displays--
candles, amulets, medicinal herbs and dried flowers--and candid
shots of early customers browsing through the merchandise or
talking with David Martinez if they needed assistance.
Sally had her microphone ready, and was checking a list of
notes before her interview with Benedict. Suddenly she looked up
ant asked, "Where's Satan?--the big black pussy with the yellow
eyes?"
Benedict smiled wanly. "Oh, you remember my old alley cat?
--He's buried in the back yard, Ms. Burke."
She was at once contrite. "Oh, I'm sorry!"
"No need to be," smiled Benedict. "He died in his sleep on
Thanksgiving night--of old age, apparently. I figure he was at
least fourteen."
"Well, we'll have to cut the black cat shot," she said. At
that point saw David, apparently for the first time. "Who's that
handsome young man working for you? Is he a witch, too?"
The sound/light man looked bored with the assignment, but
curious about the surroundings. A life-size plastic skeleton
wearing a red stocking cap with a white tassel seemed to smile at
a well-shaped blue spruce tree twinkling with hundreds of tiny
lights, colored glass balls and strands of silver tinsel. The tree
was live, and its spicy fresh scent was part of the pleasant
mixture of odors that filled the air.
"The young man's name is David--he is my foster son. He is
not yet advanced enough to qualify as a full-fledged 'witch', but
he shall be some day. Right now he is studying occult lore with
me--like a medieval apprentice learning a trade."
"Oh, a student witch!" said Sally. "But, about my being here
again. Well, our producer really liked the pictures we had for the
Hallowe'en story we couldn't use because of time, and since we do
a lot of stories on holiday themes--you know, Christmas shopping
stuff, and the street Santas collecting money for the poor, and the
dinners for men on the Bowery in the shelters, and so on--he said
we should have a bunch of little features to fill time--you know,
especially Saturday. You know--it being Christmas Day this year,
and there not being much news sometimes, and having a skeleton
crew--oh, that sounds funny with your skeleton here--and he thought
it might make a nice change of pace, with a humorous twist, you
know, to show the screwy things some people give each other--like
what you sell here, so here we are."
She paused for breath while Benedict bit his lower lip.
"Of course there are always the usual holiday downers, like
pickpockets and counterfeiters and shoplifters, and people who
steal credit cards and pass bad checks. And did you know a woman
was raped yesterday by a man wearing a Santa Claus costume? He
followed her to her apartment building, ringing his bell, before he
attacked her. What will some men think of next?"
Benedict had no answer to this barrage of talk, but Sally
apparently did not expect one. Hank now moved into a position for
the interview, with Sally on the right facing Benedict in front of
the Christmas tree and the skeleton looking over Sally's left
shoulder.
"Where's the cameraman--Sam, I think it was--who was with you
on Hallowe'en?" asked Benedict.
"Oh, Sam called in sick with the flu. His doctor gave him
shots for it." As an afterthought she said, "Witches don't use
doctors, do they? What do you do if you're sick?"
"We are our own doctors, Ms. Burke. We use natural remedies
rather than man-made chemical compounds. For the common flu, I
find Belladonna to be the most helpful as a general rule."
"Belladonna!" she exclaimed. "Why, that's a poison, isn't
it?"
"All medicines are poisons," answered Benedict, "and all
poisons can be medicinal. The crucial factor is the dose. That
principle was stated by Paracelsus."
Sally cast a glance over her right shoulder. "Do you teach
David everything you know?" She was apparently drawn to David.
"I'd really like to talk to him, too. I didn't see him last time."
Benedict smiled. "Of course." He turned his head left to
where David was taking cash from customers. "David," he called,
"when you're caught up with your work, Ms. Burke would really like
to talk to you."
David's eyes met Benedict's and exchanged amused winks. Then
David nodded in agreement.
"Well," began Sally in her interview--a process, Benedict
discovered, which would be greatly enhanced by judicious editing--
"tell me, Mr. Benedict, what does this holiday mean to a witch?"
"As I'm sure you know," began Benedict tactfully, "the winter
solstice this year begins tomorrow. It is one of the four most
important astronomical days in our calendars, because it marks the
moment when the sun reaches its southernmost point--over the tropic
of Capricorn--and then begins to return northward in its annual
cycle. All nature religions celebrate such cycles--the first day
of winter, which is also the longest night of the year, is tradi-
tionally a cause for joy, because it means that life will be
renewed with Spring. The summer solstice, and the two equinoxes,
are the other three major astronomical days."
"You talk like a teacher," smiled Sally.
"I am a teacher," replied Benedict, good-naturedly.
"But how does that tie in with Christmas?" she asked.
"Well, in pagan days--the days of the old magic religions--
there were many tales of a god who was born to save mankind. The
god was born on or near the solstice as a cosmic sign of his pur-
pose, as a signal of salvation from the eternal night. In many
such legends the stars themselves moved so as to herald his birth.
It was also common in such legends for the god to be born of a
virgin mother and in a humble place, such as cave--"
"Or in a stable?" interrupted Sally.
"Or in a stable," answered Benedict, "--or under a tree and,
because his birth signaled the return of the sun, which was vene-
rated in many nature religions, such stories are now classified as
the sun-god myth. There have been sixteen such sun gods that I
know of."
"Well," said Sally, disturbed by the serious trend of the
interview, "did the Christmas tree come from that?"
"By a process of evolution over many generations, or perhaps
even centuries, quite so. The custom of taking a tree into the
house and decorating it to celebrate the renewal of life was the
basis for feasting and exchanging of gifts."
"You mentioned magic religions. I suppose you mean what you
call white magic instead of black. Could you tell our audience
what the difference is--I mean really?"
"I would sat that black magic uses magic for selfish ends, and
white magic uses magic for universal good--not to try to alter the
natural course of events for personal gain."
"Well, could you give us an example?"
"Certainly. Suppose a woman is lonely and she wants to
attract a man. A woman using black magic will try to force a man
to fall in love with her because it is she that wants him. That's
selfish. I believe that such magic rebounds against the woman who
tries to use it.
"But a woman using white magic will learn to radiate love from
herself, and so she will naturally attract a man who needs her love
as much as she needs his. Of course it appears to most people to
be just a coincidence. But I believe we get back only what we
give. Black magic tries to get something for nothing."
"That's very interesting," said Sally, sounding not too inter-
ested. "Oh, your young man David is free now. Could I talk with
him?"
"Of course," answered Benedict. He walked over to the counter
where cash transactions were conducted. "I'll take over here," and
under his breath he added, "Good luck."
Benedict made no effort to follow the rest of the news team's
activities. He talked to a middle-aged man about one of the new
books in his small stock, and permitted him to post a business card
on a small bulletin board which listed men and women offering con-
sultations on occult subjects. Nobody, however, bought anything.
Finally David's interview was over and the news team made
preparations to depart. Sally walked over to Benedict.
"You'll think I'm crazy," she began, "but your talk about
using white magic to attract what you radiate gives me an idea.
What do you have to attract success? I mean, if you don't have
success, you can't radiate it, can you?"
"No, Ms. Burke, but success is merely the indirect result of
achievement by personal qualities that you can certainly radiate.
You may wish to succeed as a result of honest, or virtue, or
platonic love, or passion, for example."
"And how does somebody radiate these things? By body oils or
burning candles or wearing charms?"
"By doing what you sincerely believe in, Ms. Burke. The magic
is in your mental state, which must be joyful. If you enjoy burn-
ing candles or wearing occult fragrances, by all means do so."
"Well," she said, lowering her voice, "I'd like to try a
candle and a bottle of oil to radiate virtue. Do you have anything
like that?"
"Naturally," he answered with a straight face. "White candles
symbolize virtue, and this oil," he said, selecting a tiny vial,
"is regarded by most people as subtle and pleasing. If you'd like
to try them I'd be glad to give you a sample."
"Oh, no," she answered. "I don't take payola. I want to pay
the same as anyone else. How much?"
He totaled the items, added the tax, and she paid him in one-
dollar bills and the exact change. "I don't need a bag," she said,
"I'll just stick them in my purse." It was big enough to hold a
dozen candles.
At the door she turned. "Mr. Benedict," she called, "I want
to say thank you so much. And I want you to promise me you'll
watch the program--you and David. I'll call you to let you know
for sure it'll make air tonight. Will you give me your solemn
promise?"
Benedict gave her a friendly smile. "Of course I will, if you
insist."
"Cross your heart?"
"No. But my promise is just as intense and sincere."
"Oh. Well, thank you again."
"Blessed be."
"And you be blest, too. Bless you too, David." And so Bene-
dict and David were alone in the store once more.
David grinned. "With luck it won't make air. Maybe there'll
be another fire or plane crash, like on Hallowe'en" [see NIGHT OF
THE COVEN - author].
Benedict shook his head in a mild reproach. "I know you said
that as a joke, because of that terrible episode. But you must
eliminate negative thoughts from you mind--even as a joke. That
would be black magic."
David's expression sobered. "You're right--it would be. I
didn't think--sorry." Then he seemed to remember something. "I'll
need some more small bills for the cash drawer. I had to make
change a while ago."
Since an attempted robbery Benedict kept only tens and smaller
bills in the cash drawer, and removed twenties and higher denomina-
tions to his wallet. He opened the drawer to find the compartments
for tens and fives empty. There was a twenty-dollar bill by itself
in the end compartment.
Benedict picked it up casually--then stopped to look at it
closely. Then he placed it under a small fluorescent light equip-
ped with a special purple filter. He raised his eyebrows and
extended the bill to David.
"It's counterfeit," he said.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
An hour later a neatly-dressed man in a trenchcoat and felt
hat extended a leather card case for Benedict to view.
"Tom Morris, investigator for the Treasury Department," he
announced. "You called us about a counterfeit bill, Mr. Benedict?"
"Yes. I was referred to you by the Village precinct of the
city police."
"That's right," said Morris. "A shoplifter or a case of a
stolen credit card would be in their jurisdiction. Funny money is
strictly Federal. I'd like to see it, please."
Benedict handed it over to Morris who examined it with trained
eyes and nodded. He took out a notebook and pen. "I'll have to
take the bill for evidence," he said. "The Department will send
you a letter certifying your loss for your income tax return. Now
what I'm interested in is a description of the person who passed it
to you. Your full name, please?"
"John Sandman."
Morris looked curiously at his notebook. "Alias John
Benedict?" he asked.
"Benedict is my religious name," he answered. "I chose it in
honor of St. Benedict of Nursia--the spiritual leader who founded
the Benedictine monasteries."
"Where they make the Benedictine liqueur?"
"I believe the liqueur was an afterthought," Benedict said
drily.
Morris chuckled, and then became serious again. "If you have
religious tax exemption, I'm afraid you're just out the full twenty
dollars," he said.
"Oh, I pay income tax," answered Benedict. "I haven't taken
a vow of poverty--", he smiled, "--that's just the way things have
worked out."
Morris' eyes crinkled with amusement, and his tone became less
formal. "Okay, you'll be Sandman on my report and Benedict to me.
Now, did you get a close look at the passer?"
"Not I. David was at the cash drawer then."
"You're David?" asked Morris, turning to him. "Your full
name, please?"
"David Martinez."
"Your address?"
"I live here."
"Oh?" It was an unspoken question.
"David is my foster son," explained Benedict briefly.
There was a brief pause. "Oh," went on Morris, "Now, can you
remember who handed this to you?"
"Yes. It was a blonde woman who was either wearing a wig or
had dyed her hair red."
"Why do you say that?"
"Her eyebrows were blonde. And she wore heart-shaped sun
glasses."
Morris' mouth made an "o". "Was she a flashy dresser?"
"Sure was."
"So you think she was in disguise?"
"At first I thought she was a drag queen. I mean, those
sunglasses and hair job. Then I decided no, because she had too
real a voice, and no Adam's Apple."
"She gave you this twenty? She bought just one or two cheap
items, I suppose."
"Yes. A green candle and a rabbit's foot."
"What the hell would she want those things for!?"
"Probably for money and luck," put in Benedict. "Black
magic."
Morris kept his eyes fixed on his notebook for a moment, then
looked around the shop quickly as though seeing all of it for the
first time. "Interesting stuff you have here," he remarked. "In
my report I'll call them novelties, if you don't mind. Well--I can
tell you that you're just one of dozens of merchants here in the
Village alone who've been swamped with these counterfeit twenties
in the past couple of weeks. And there are dozens--maybe hundreds
more--all over Manhattan alone. They're all over the city, except
in Spanish Harlem--so far. We've got a new ring to worry about,
and our first problem is always to get a good description of the
passer.
"Most stores don't notice they've got a bad bill until an hour
or two afterward--and by then they've had lots of people in and out
during that time, so they can't hope to pin the bill on any one
person. The fact that this happened just an hour or so ago, when
business was slow, gives you a clearer memory of it. That could be
a break. How tall was she?"
"Maybe my height. Maybe shorter, wearing high heels. I
didn't notice her shoes."
"Age?"
"About forty, I'd guess. A bit hard-looking up close. Trying
to look younger and sweeter."
"They all do," said Morris. "Well, I'll see if our computers
have any data on possible suspects, based on this description. We
cross-check city and state computers, of course."
He handed Benedict a card. "Here's a number where I can be
reached. If you happen to think of anything more, call the number
and ask for me. I'll get the message." He departed briskly--but
stopped briefly to cast a curious eye at the skeleton as he passed
by.
THAT OLD WHITE MAGIC
Conclusion
By Kirk Brothers
Characters copyright in "Night of the Coven" (1990)
All Rights Reserved
The day's routine passed uneventfully. Benedict and David
worked easily together, as they always did. They fitted each
other's needs as one hand fits the other.
They had agreed in June to lead double lives, to fulfill their
mutual and complex emotional and sexual needs. Despite the genera-
tion gap there was sincere love on both sides--David had never
known his father, and Benedict had always wanted a son, but his
wife had died childless.
When they first bonded in June, David had given up hustling to
work and study with Benedict. When David finally gave up any hope
for a show business career and moved in the first of November,
Benedict began adoption proceedings to formalize their mutual
acceptance as dad and son. That part of their lives would be their
public image--when in the shop, or the world outside.
But there was a dark side to their private lives, based upon
a passion for violent expression of David's sexual drive. He had
always been a sadist, cruising Village bars for masochists. When
they first met, David had discerned in Benedict an attraction that
fulfilled David's need to abuse and humiliate the older man as a
sex slave for virtually every perversion in the books on abnormal
psychology.
For his part, Benedict needed a sadist to enforce vows of
penance which Benedict had imposed upon himself, in the hope of
achieving a psychic state called astral projection--which he felt
he could attain only if he were in a state of shock from physical
pain. He had offered David a home and partnership which would
fulfill both their emotional and sexual needs. David, after some
uncertainty, and reluctance to cruelly hurt the father-figure he
sincerely loved, accepted.
The drape separating the store from their living quarters was
the demarcation line. In front of the drape they were dad and son,
and Benedict was the authority figure that part of David needed.
But behind the drape David was an insatiable and relentless Master,
and Benedict was his to abuse in any way that was both sexual and
medically safe. David had accepted Benedict's limits, and their
private lives were intensely satisfying to both.
Now they worked in the shop as almost-equals, and each made
quick trips to the kitchen for snacks when business was slow. On
three occasions when the store was temporarily empty, David hung a
"Back in Five Minutes" sign on the door, turned the deadbolt, and
ordered Benedict into the back room for one of David's "pit stops"
--he never used a flush toilet.
The store would be open until nine tonight--an hour later than
usual--because of the Christmas shopping season. And tomorrow the
shop would be closed as it always was on Wednesdays for lessons and
private readings--but that schedule had been cancelled because it
was the solstice, one of Benedict's major holidays each year. They
would take a break from routine and get out of the store to explore
mutual interests.
At eight forty-five David made his nightly trip to the bank
night depository with the day's cash income. At nine o'clock
Benedict locked the door and activated the electonic controls that
lowered the burglar gates, while David put the counters in order.
Together they walked through the opening in the drape.
David snapped his fingers and pointed to the floor. "Pit
stop, slave! A long one! I've been holding my load a long time
and my back teeth are floating!"
Benedict knelt at David's feet and, without a word, slipped
out his dentures and opened his mouth to receive David's penis.
With a wordless grunt of pleasurable satisfaction, David released
his pent-up urine in a powerful stream, while Benedict gulped down
what was in fact his principal fluid intake each day.
"Thank you, Master," said Benedict when David at last with-
drew his penis. "May I please have some more, sir?"
"Later, pig," was David's usual reply. "Get dinner ready. I
think tonight is special, so we'll eat at the table together."
"Yes, Master," answered Benedict, and headed for the kitchen.
They were at the table about to begin their late meal when the
telephone rang.
"That'll be Sally Burke," predicted Benedict--and he was
right.
"Mr. Benedict," she said warmly, "I just wanted to let you
know you're on tonight! Positively! The ten o'clock newscast.
Your story will be in the feature section after sports. You'll
love it! Now, you promised you'd watch it, remember?"
"I remember, Ms. Burke," he said politely. "David and I will
watch it with bated breath."
"I'm so glad! And the way the story worked out, it's just
super! Isn't it a small world? I've got to go now. Goodbye."
"Blessed be," answered Benedict to the dead line before the
dial tone resumed.
"Our debut in show business is not quite an hour away," he
said. "I dread seeing what they'll do to us." David grinned and
made no reply.
At ten forty-five they sat before the television as a long
list of scores rolled by on the screen, followed by three or four
high-volume commercials, all pitched at the Christmas shopper. At
last the final segment of the news program resumed.
The anchor man read a clever but tongue-in-cheek introduction
to what was to follow. Then the story began, and Benedict groaned.
"The music!" he exclaimed. "They're playing the dancing broom
theme from 'The Sorcerer's Apprentice'!" It was, unfortunately,
too true. The jerky bassoon solo gave a comic touch to the visual
element, and Benedict angrily turned down the volume. "I promised
her we'd watch the damn thing, but I didn't say we'd listen to a
lot of crap!"
He had to admit the visual effects were cleverly done. After
a wide shot of the storefront on Christopher Street and a closer
view of the Colonial-style window and its display, there was a
close-up of a pair of green eyes surrounded by black. The camera
pulled back just enough to reveal the face of a black cat.
"Hey, that looks like old Satan!" said David. "How come?"
Benedict was angry. "It's not Satan--this cat has green eyes!
The producer wanted to create the idea that witches have black
cats, so he had a cameraman find any cat and take a close-up to
edit into our story for a visual effect!" He was angry.
Now the shot of the cat's green eyes melted into the empty eye
sockets of the skeleton, and the shot widened to show the toothy
skull with the red stocking cap and white tassel. Then a wide
shot--Benedict and Sally in front of tree, with the skeleton
grinning over her shoulder.
At the rear in the picture, David was about to take cash from
a dumpy, dark-haired woman. At that moment another woman made an
entrance into the picture from the right side--a sleek, glamorous
figure with red hair and heart-shaped sunglasses.
"Wait a minute!" shouted David. "That's her!"
"Of course," said Benedict. The woman for just a brief moment
seemed by chance to turn full-face to the camera, but not noticing
it. She was smiling seductively at some private thought--and then
the moment passed. In a second she had turned her back to the
camera to face David.
"No, that's not the woman!" said David excitedly. "I remember
now! It was the other woman! The Borinquen!"
Benedict knew that the word "Borinquen" was Hispanic-American
slang for a Puerto Rican. He switched off the television. "What
are you saying?" he asked. "You mean the redhead isn't the
passer?"
"That's right! I remember, now that I see her and the other
one together! I'm just about to take a twenty from the Borinquen.
Then this glamor-girl waltzes in, like she's on stage somewhere,
with her green candle and rabbit's foot. She pulls a twenty out of
her purse and makes a fuss getting the money. A classy act!
"When I tell her the price, she puts the twenty back in her
purse and gets out a five, and hands me that. I'm trying to follow
your interview--and I can see Sally is getting nervous, because
you're giving her a lot of long answers as a pagan teacher, and she
can't use what you say for her audience during Christmas week. I
hear her say she wants to talk to me, and you're coming over to get
me to be on camera, and I'm in a bit of a hurry. I give the
redhead her change, grab the twenty from the other woman without
looking at it, and give change to her, using the redhead's five.
Then I leave the counter to talk to Sally Burke. It's the
Borinquen we want--not the broad with the sunglasses!"
Benedict found Morris' card and called the number on it. When
he said he had an important communication for Morris, the man at
the other end said, "Go ahead and talk--this call is being
recorded, so he'll get the message in your voice." Benedict
talked.
When he hung up he told David, "They'll be on it right away.
Now, tell me if you can what did the real passer buy with her bum
twenty?"
David recalled instantly. "A red candle and a bottle of
Passion Oil."
"She's in love, then, and the man doesn't love her back--and
she wants to do black magic to get him. Well, it's a law of the
universe as I perceive it that her attempts to force her man to
love her will cause her downfall. We won't talk about that--but it
reminds me that a little passion might be good for you and me
tonight! Master, what would you say to love for a change? I'll
rub you with Passion Oil to see if it's any good!"
Ninety-four minutes later David, pleasurably exhausted, looked
down at Benedict. "Well, what's the verdict?" he asked with a grin
on his handsome features. "Was I passionate enough for you?"
Benedict looked up at David and sighed contentedly. "You're
just a tease, Master," he said deadpan, "but you'll do."
That night they fell asleep in each other's arms.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
They were having a late brunch together the next morning,
before a trip to the Brooklyn Museum, when the phone rang. "That's
Sally Burke," said David, "to find out if we liked the M-G-M
production number."
Benedict shook his head. "I don't think so." He picked up
the phone. "Benedict," he answered as usual.
"Good morning, Mr. Benedict," said a man's voice. "Tom Morris
from the Treasury Department."
"Good morning to you, Mr. Morris. You got my message, I
trust?"
"We not only got the message, Mr. Benedict--we got the gang.
I thought you and David should know."
"Congratulations. You work fast."
"We try to," said Morris in a satisfied tone.
"How did you do it--or is it confidential?"
"Well, the details are confidential, of course, because we're
preparing a legal case. But the basic story will be in the Post
this afternoon and all the other papers tomorrow.
"As soon as you told us that Channel Six News had a picture of
the suspect, we sent an agent over to ask them for a copy of all
the tape on your story. Newsrooms are very cooperative with law
enforcement agencies, as long as we want just visual footage and
nothing involving their private sources. We made a copy of every-
thing they shot in your store, including the out-takes--you know,
the left-over shots that didn't fit their story, or look good
enough to put on the air.
"From the wide shot we saw the little dark-haired woman at the
counter--she had a red candle by the way, and bottle of something
we couldn't make out, even with computer enhancement. But in the
scrap footage we found a clear close-up of her at a display--taken
with a telephoto lens from across the room, probably. The camera-
man had taken some candid shots before the interview began.
"So that's the picture we put into a new computer we have that
electonically matches a photograph of a head, taken from almost any
angle, to any photograph of a known suspect. We looked for her in
city and state police files.
"She's a hooker with a long record and, as luck would have it,
we found her in a hospital. City police had arrested her boyfriend
for attempted murder last evening, after he neighbors called to
report a domestic fight next door. I can't give you names or
addresses, of course, but they live in Spanish Harlem, and her
boyfriend was in jail waiting for arraignment while she was in
intensive care.
"When we had her linked to a counterfeit ring, we woke up a
District Court Judge to sign a search warrant, and went over where
they were living. We got the press, the plates, blank stock, ink,
and a stack of bills worth forty thousand if they were real--and
some phone numbers linking them to some big fish. A very neat
haul."
"Congratulations again. Sorry about the bum steer on the
other woman."
Morris chuckled and sounded amused. "That's okay. As soon as
we saw the footage we recognized her, of course, so we knew she was
out of it."
"Why? Who is she?"
"You don't get out too often, do you Benedict?" he asked--and
then he was apparently interrupted at the other end. "Yes?" he
said to someone there, and then there was a long pause. Finally he
returned to the phone. "Sorry, I have to leave. I'll try to get
back to you later." And he hung up.
Benedict sighed as he cradled the phone. "They knew the red-
head wasn't the passer," was all he said to David. "Let's get
started, so we have plenty of time to see that special exhibition
of Druid artifacts."
On the walk to the Seventh Avenue subway station, David
suddenly grabbed Benedict's arm. "Look!" he exclaimed, pointing to
a billboard ahead.
The sign showed a closeup of the face of a red-haired woman
with glamorous features, a seductive smile, and heart-shaped sun-
glasses. The wording announced the Broadway debut of Sylvia Moore,
fresh from Hollywood triumphs, in a revival of John van Druten's
comedy, "Bell, Book and Candle". The text read, "She was a witch
who fell in love with a mortal and lost her magic--opens at the
Ambassador Theater December 25".
"I thought she made that entrance like an actress," said
David. "Just a ham." They both laughed.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Late that afternoon they returned home to find mail on the
floor that had been pushed through the slot in the front door. On
top was an envelope with no stamp, and addressed merely to "Mr.
Benedict and David," underlined. Benedict picked it up. It bore
the return address, "Channel Six News". He handed it to David.
"Here's what you were expecting," he said. "Your name's on
it, too, so why don't you open it and read it to me while I fix
something to eat." He gave David a knowing glance. "She was
interested in you."
"I could tell." David opened the envelope as Benedict locked
the door and led the way to the kitchen. While Benedict set a bowl
of shrimp cocktail on the table as a "nibble" while he used the
microwave oven to heat home-made fricasseed rabbit with pasta and
salad, David read it aloud. By tacit consent, they were still in
their dad and son roles.
"Dear Mister Benedict," he read, starting to mimic Sally's
inflections as he spoke, "I'm so happy, and I think I owe a lot of
it to you. I didn't even see Sylvia Moore until we screened the
raw tape at the station! So, of course, we located her through
Celebrity Serivces and called her for an interview. I mean,
really! She plays a witch, and she buys things at your shop! Of
course, she's terribly superstitious--a lot of show people are.
And she was nice enough to grant me an exclusive interview!"
Benedict interjected, "Meaning nobody else would give her free
publicity."
David went on, still mimicking Sally. "Anyhow, we were able to
use your pictures to lead into the interview with her! I didn't
think much of that funny music, but it was the producer's idea,
like the shot of his own black cat. That wasn't honest."
"Score two for Sally," commented Benedict.
David went on. "And later the G-men came over to get our tape
from your story--"
"She means T-men," put in Benedict.
"--and now we're getting credit for helping break up the big
counterfeit ring! With one story! And you know, I put on that oil
you sold me and lit the candle on my desk--everybody laughed and
said I was dropping my marbles--and this afternoon the boss called
me into his office and said he wants to try me out as a weekend
anchor!" In his own voice David added, "With three big exclamation
points."
Benedict grinned. "That job will keep her out of our hair,"
he said drily. David returned to the letter.
"But I like to think that the candle and the oil for virtue
made me radiate my own virtue--you know, my real worth as a person
--and virtue is its own reward--", David paused and said, "under-
lined twice. At least she didn't say honesty is the best policy."
"Or it's a small world," put in Benedict. "That seems to be
a favorite with her."
David returned to the letter, and his voice sobered as he saw
the last lines. He read it quietly. "I think your David is just
beautiful, and I hope you and he will be happy together for many
years. Merry Equinox from Sally Burke."
Then he did a double-take. "Merry Equinox?!" He howled.
At the stove, Benedict chuckled quietly. "Don't laugh at her
mistake, David. It's not the words--it's the spirit that counts.
That's a love-letter to both of us, straight from her heart. Let's
send her a Chrismas card tomorrow." He paused. "And I think, as
a witch's blessing, we'll scent it with Passion Oil. Our gift, so
it's white magic."
They sat down to their dinner, when Benedict had a belated
reaction. "I wonder how she figured out that we're lovers. I
didn't give her credit for being so perceptive."
"I told her when she asked me what I did here," said David
casually.
"Ye gods! In a television interview?"
David chuckled at the memory. "It was funny watching Sally
try to think of what to say next. I knew they couldn't use you and
me in the story after that--she was confused and trying to hide it.
I could see the camera shaking, and the sound man was having a fit
of coughing to cover his laughing."
David smiled, and reverted to first names--something he did
only when he was completely serious. "Why not, Benedict? I'm not
in a closet any more, and I'm proud to have you for my lover--and
I don't care who knows it. I've told my mother. She's never for-
gotten you from Beltane. When I told her I was living with you and
we love each other, she said, 'He's a good man. Be happy'. Are
you ashamed if people know we're lovers?"
"Oh, no, David--oh, no. But if you must tell others about our
relationship, I do hope you don't go into--uh, the gory details."
David laughed, and then added in a suggestive tone of voice as
the Master, "Well, slave, you can always hope."
THE END