Page 43 of Witch You Would

It was raining when we got back to the hotel. Mary, Isaac’s assistant, waited for me outside the van under a giant umbrella,

wearing a magenta dress and a deranged smile.

“Hey Mr. Presto how are you I’m great thanks,” she said in a single breath. “Isaac wants to meet with you right now about

the thing he talked to you about okay great!”

Penelope raised her eyebrows. “What thing?”

“I’ll tell you later.” I’d almost forgotten about it, honestly. So many things had happened since then, and Hollywood stuff

seemed to be, as my abuela used to say, mucho ruido y pocas nueces—a lot of talk, but no action.

A black sedan drove me and Mary through the usual slow and shitty traffic to a parking garage off Brickell. It took me a few

minutes to realize her dress was spelled to change colors; I thought I was losing it when I looked out the window, then looked

back, and it was suddenly orange. Her lipstick had changed to match, too.

A valet opened the door for each of us. Mary led me through a long hallway paneled in enchanted wood to Stefania’s Steakhouse.

I knew of it because my dad took clients here sometimes, and my mom ate here with friends, hoping to run into him so she could show how happy she was without him. So mature.

The walls were all coppery wood, carved into intricate geometric designs spelled to absorb voices while amplifying the soft

classical music coming from hidden speakers. The ceiling was more wood, the floors slate or gray marble. No cloths on the

tables, just ingrained patterns that likely held enchantments to repel water and stains. Leather chairs, some with arms, some

without, some those high-backed bucket-shaped kind. Instead of chandeliers, rippling curtains of light hovered in the air

like brighter versions of the aurora borealis in a uniform yellowish white.

Isaac sat in a bucket chair across from a guy with thick black hair and icy blue eyes who looked about my dad’s age, dressed

like a TV mafioso. Fancy suit, thick gold chain, big gold watch probably enchanted to do a bunch of random stuff like repel

mosquitoes, passively check for illusions, and summon his minions with a gesture. He flashed me his perfectly even white teeth

as I sat next to Isaac, who dismissed Mary by flapping his hands at her.

“Leandro Presto,” the man said. “A pleasure to meet you in the flesh.”

“Likewise, Mr....?” I asked.

“Ricardo Noboa,” he replied. “But you can call me Rick.”

Isaac nudged me. “Rick is producing the show I was telling you about, the street magic one.”

Yeah, I’d kinda guessed. “Isaac told me a little bit about it. Sounds cool.”

“Cool. Yes.” Rick raised a finger and a waiter appeared at his elbow. “Get the boy a menu and a drink.”

I was twenty-eight years old, but okay.

“What can I bring for you, sir?” the waiter asked as he handed me a spelled piece of parchment—no, vellum. Menu items magically wrote themselves in elaborate cursive on the surface as I watched. None of them had prices.

I wanted water, but this felt like some kind of man test. I rattled off the name of some whiskey I’d seen at my dad’s house.

Male ritual complete, hopefully.

Rick tapped his glass with a big gold ring on his forefinger. Tap, tap. “I’ll get right to it. We’re putting together a new

show for the network called Magic in the Streets , where the talent will walk around doing spells for random people. Sort of like what you do already.”

Sort of.

“We think you have a good rapport with people,” he continued. “It’s one thing to talk at a camera or a studio audience, and

it’s another to be out there mingling.”

“Totally different,” I agreed. I wasn’t sure I was as good at “mingling” as he needed me to be, but I probably wouldn’t literally

be running up to strangers.

“We want to bring you in for a screen test, but between you and me, you’re at the top of our list.” Tap, tap. “Isaac here

is producing and showrunning, and he says you’ve been particularly... open-minded about certain requests.”

I didn’t like his smile. Not the one Isaac gave me, either.

“You and your little spice rack are really selling the vibe,” Isaac added. “The high-five dance you came up with is great.”

Did he just call Penelope a spice rack? Who does that? “That was both of us, actually,” I said.

“No need to be modest. The girl isn’t here.” Rick brought his glass to his lips and took a swallow.

I swallowed, too, even though my mouth was dry.

“The point is,” Isaac said, “you can upgrade from himbo to the smooth-Latin-lover thing.”

Memories of his butt dance immediately came back to haunt me.

“It will be good for ratings to have you work your street magic on sexy women, is what Isaac is saying,” Rick clarified. He

gave me an appraising look. “We’d want to elevate your style. Nicer glasses, more expensive clothing. Less bumbling, more

panache. Selling the illusion that if you approach someone on the street, after the cameras stop rolling, there is a potential

for intimacy to follow.”

“Magic in the streets,” Isaac said, “magic in the sheets, know what I mean, eh?”

Wow. So the fake flirting with Penelope was getting upgraded to me going full fake man slut. Awesome. Toss rule number five

out the window. Thankfully my drink came, and the waiter wanted to take my order, so I had time to plan my answer as I sipped

expensive peat juice.

“I don’t normally interact with fans that way,” I said. “I try to be... respectful.”

“We certainly don’t want you to do anything objectionable,” Rick said, his icy eyes narrowing. “That’s how you get lawsuits.

You’d simply be playing the same game you are right now, with a larger scope and for a substantially higher pay scale.”

Except I wasn’t playing, but they didn’t know that, and I wasn’t going to correct them. I didn’t want either of these guys

to connect me to Penelope in a personal way.

I froze with the whiskey partway to my mouth, then made myself finish the motion. A terrible thought was digging its way into

my brain, a thought I’d managed to avoid since my last conversation with Isaac.

If I took this job, this show, I couldn’t be with Penelope.

It was one thing to keep my life and Leandro Presto’s stage presence separate when it was just online stuff, occasionally

filmed live with fans. Rick wanted me to deliberately blur lines I’d drawn for my own safety and sanity, and do it publicly.

And Isaac? He’d straight-up told me to hook up with different famous women to get press attention.

None of that would be fair to Penelope. Even if we were totally honest about it with each other, even if we both knew I was

pretending the whole time, it would be a level of gross and fake that neither of us deserved.

The thought of letting her go now made my stomach hurt, along with the whiskey. But this was potentially a huge career opportunity.

Was I really considering giving up fame and, more importantly, money, for love?

Was I in love with Penelope?

“I’m sure you have questions for us,” Rick said, gesturing with his glass. “Don’t be shy. What are you thinking?”

Questions. I’d better ask some normal ones. “Would we be filming here?”

Rick shrugged one shoulder. “We’d likely start in LA, since we have the crew on hand for it. Location shoots in tourist destinations

seem reasonable, depending on tax incentives and other considerations. Miami, sure, Vegas, New York, maybe Atlanta or Chicago

or Boston.”

“Would I still be coming up with my own spells?”

“We have people for that, but you can be involved if you want.”

I did want. That was most of what I enjoyed about Mage You Look . It definitely sounded like they wouldn’t be hiring me for my brains. And speaking of my existing work...

“What would the time commitment be?” I asked. “I do still have my channel.”

Isaac snorted, and the smile Rick gave me seemed... amused? Indulgent?

“You’ll make more in a few weeks than you do now in a year,” Rick said. “If you want to keep that as your little hobby, that’s

up to you. You’d have to be sure it doesn’t interfere with network commitments, of course, which would include filming as

well as publicity work.”

“So this would mean a lot of travel, potentially,” I said.

“Potentially. You’d want to relocate to LA, for convenience, which would also give you more opportunities for additional work

in the area in the future.”

If I took this job, Sam and Ed would have to work around my new schedule, whatever that looked like. Which would be especially

tough if I wasn’t even in Miami anymore. Would they want to move with me? Would Mage You Look be over? Probably. It would be too hard to keep it up.

Fuck, everything would change. Whether the show failed or took off, whether I ended up in LA permanently or came back to Miami

within months, I’d be busting my life apart and I’d have to deal with whatever pieces were left when it was over.

I told myself to chill. Like Grandpa Fred said, everything in Hollywood was “yes, yes, yes” until it was suddenly “no.” This

might never happen. But every yes was a step away from where I was now, toward a future that looked nothing like my current

normal.

The waiter brought appetizers. I’d gotten fancy smoked bacon, Rick had tuna tartare, and Isaac slurped back a half dozen fresh oysters so quickly it made me sick.

He also consumed a truly disgusting number of martinis, which kept appearing and disappear ing every few minutes.

The staff never hovered or came by to ask us anything, but Isaac would wave his hand and they’d appear like magic.

Not actual magic, just really good customer service. It still felt weird to me, maybe because I was used to other ways. Felt

like a metaphor for everything happening right now.

Another question occurred to me as I ate. “You said you’re going to run this new show?” I asked Isaac. “What about Cast Judgment ?”

Isaac sucked an olive off a bamboo toothpick, talking as he chewed. “It’s toast. Circling the drain. Ratings are down, and