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