Stone Junction

me for thirty seconds, consider yourself successful.’

The first day Daniel disguised himself as a window washer, renting a van and equipment. As he began washing the windows of the restaurant, Jean emerged, laughing, and told him that most professionals used some sort of detergent in the water since it seemed to get the windows cleaner.

The second day he joined a group of winos huddled in a doorway. As he passed by, Jean put a quarter in his hand and whispered, ‘It would have been a twenty if you’d fooled me.’

That night, Daniel had a brainstorm. He would disguise himself as the one person Jean might not expect, might not even recognize: He would disguise himself as Jean Bluer.

Daniel left early for the studio next morning, still excited by his plan. There were very few people on the street. An old black man, so drunk he’d entered another dimension, lurched past with his eyes rolled back in his head. A sturdy Ukrainian woman stood at the bus-stop. A sawed-off, pot-bellied army sergeant carrying a duffel bag fumed by, muttering to himself, ‘Fuckin’ reveille motherfucker and no fuckin’ sleep – fuck the fuckin’ army!’ Daniel hurried on.

Daniel crossed the kitchen toward the large dressing room where he usually changed into a jock and sweatpants for Tao Do Chaung. Volta was standing at one of the mirrored makeup tables, idly examining a color chart. The moment Daniel saw him he realized he’d just passed Jean Bluer on the street, and that he would most likely never see him again. It was an appropriate farewell.

Volta glanced up. ‘Daniel, how have you been?’

Daniel said, ‘Was that fat sergeant I just passed on the street Jean Bluer?’

‘It was indeed. Jean’s talents are required elsewhere. Not an emergency exactly, but a pressing concern, you understand. Your work here is through.’

‘Not quite,’ Daniel said, shifting his center of gravity into the Tao Do Chaung stance known as the Wounded Crane and simultaneously unleashing a flawless Do Rah Ran, a powerful side kick that swept Volta’s feet out from under him.

Volta, however, controlled his fall, tucking himself midair and rolling on his shoulder as he hit. He was on his feet instantly and assumed the .38 Colt Python stance, the front bead locked on Daniel’s navel. ‘Don’t make me defend myself,’ he said calmly. ‘I’m no match for your youth. I’d have to shoot you.’

Daniel said with certainty, ‘You wouldn’t kill me.’

‘I didn’t say I’d kill you; I said I’d shoot you. In fact, since the gun is full of snake-loads – birdshot instead of a bullet – I doubt if I could kill you, but I could probably perforate about a half mile of small intestine, which would slow you down enough to make it a fair fight.’

‘No,’ Daniel said in the same implacably certain tone, ‘you wouldn’t do that either.’

Volta shrugged. ‘You’re right.’ He released the hammer and tossed the pistol to Daniel.

Startled, Daniel grabbed awkwardly.

While he was still fumbling, Volta started talking. ‘What are you so ferociously peeved about anyway? That I’ve been neglecting you? Daniel, I’m not your father. I have responsibilities to many others as well as you. And I have my own life, too. Or is this because I didn’t have either the time or inclination to hear your dream? I told Robert to convey my congratulations, which I trust he did.’ Daniel began to say something but Volta rolled on. ‘Or was that spiteful kick the result of my high-handed presumption in ending your work with Jean and sending him to attend other business? Daniel, your work with Jean, by his report, was finished a week ago. Since then, again by his report, you’ve been trying to convince yourself that you’re adept enough to fool him – that is to say, his equal. You’re not. Though having said so, I hasten to add that I think you have the talent and passion to surpass him eventually. The opportunity is there. And have you noticed how opportunity seems to expand as it narrows?’

‘I sure have,’ Daniel said. ‘That’s why I’m quitting AMO.’

‘You’re welcome,’ Volta snapped. ‘Bye.’

Daniel flipped open the .38’s cylinder and ejected the shells into his palm. They were snake-loads. He looked at Volta. ‘Maybe you would have shot me.’ He tossed Volta the gun.

Volta caught it by the butt and in virtually the same motion flipped open the cylinder, magically producing a speed-loader in his other hand, and had the pistol ready to cock again before Daniel could blink twice. ‘I’m a man who draws lines, Daniel. That way I know where my edges are. One of those lines is a refusal to be brutalized for petty reasons, especially youthful petulance. If you were a Zen master, I would be bowing to you. But you’re not. As you’ve no doubt noticed.’

Daniel took a deep breath, and for a moment seemed to be gathering himself for a heated reply. ‘Okay,’ Daniel said. ‘I’m sorry. I apologize.’

‘Accepted and forgotten,’ Volta said. The gun disappeared into his jacket.

Daniel said, ‘It was a bit of all the reasons you mentioned, but the work with Jean especially. You think my work here is done, Jean thinks it’s done, but I don’t. Today I was going to try something that may well have worked – I was going to disguise myself as Jean.’

Volta sat down at the makeup table, turning the chair away from the bank of mirrors to face Daniel. ‘That might have proven difficult, since there is no Jean Bluer.’

‘I thought I sensed one.’

‘Possibly you did.’

They were silent a moment and then Daniel said, ‘I need a vacation, a serious rest. A year at least; maybe two.’

‘You quit, remember? I assumed you quit in order to do exactly as you please. Do so.’

‘“Accepted and forgotten?”’ Daniel reminded him. ‘Don’t beat me with my apology.’

‘Your apology was for the kick, not your resignation – for that, no apology is necessary. We couldn’t very well