The Amazing Mister Ridley

“I can’t do it anymore Frank, I just can’t. It’s too much now, just too much. I’m telling Stevens the deal is off, n-no more shows. I just wanna get out, you hear me, just wanna leave. N-no finale, the shows over.”

Roy Rids paced back and forth in the dressing room, wringing his hands and adjusting his ratty tuxedo nervously.

“Now, now, bucko, cheer up. You’re just jittery, s’all. Y’always get jittery before the big finale. Don’ get all jittery on me, Ridley-boy, ya hear?”

Frank’s thick, northeastern accent suppressed the high-pitched squeaks of Roy. Frank sat there in his signature high-backed wooden stool, watching Roy frantically swerve around and retrace his steps.

“Ridley-boy!” he shouted.

Roy turned to face him, dropping his shoulders slightly, bordering on cowering away from him.

“Listen up, Ridley-boy! Here’s the scoop: we’re gonna go on stage and knock ‘em dead, ya hear me, knock ‘em flat on their A-man-ee suits. We’re gonna kill tonight, me and you. Nottin’ to be jittery about, eh, Ridley-boy?”

Roy rested his hands uneasily on his thighs, squirming in a tux that matched Frank’s down to the last detail, except in its decrepit state. Frank’s was pristine. He couldn’t go on stage looking like a fool. That was Roy’s job.

“Frank, you know I don’t like it when you call me that,” he muttered, adding sheepishly in a hushed tone, “My name’s Roy…”

Frank laughed derisively.

“Wrong, bucko! Ya name’s the Amazing Ridley, the best magician this side of Manhattan. Then, there’s me, the star of the show, the real talent. You keep ‘em busy with a lil’ of that ol’ magic, I’ll keep ‘em in stitches.”

“But I don’t want to go on tonight, I don’t feel too good. I just need some rest, just a little rest. Too many shows, just too many. Maybe we can take a break tonight, huh, maybe skip the finale, Frank?” he implored, smiling weakly.

Frank wasn’t amused.

“Sit down, Ridley-boy.”

He obeyed.

“You wouldn’t lie to ya pal, ya best buddy in da’ whole wide world, now would ya, Ridley-boy. Ya wouldn’t lie to Frank, would ya?”

Roy gulped.

“N-no, Frank, of course n-not.”

Frank let go of a mock sigh of relief.

“Well, that’s good, eh, Ridley-boy. Good to know ya can be honest with me, eh? Now tell your buddy, Frank,” he said, his emotionless gaze focusing in on Roy. “Tell your pal what’s da’ matta’, eh, Ridley-boy?”

Roy adjusted his collar. It had become sticky and oppressively strangling.

“I just don’t feel too good, Frank, that’s all, honest to God that’s all. Got some of them heart murmurs, you know Frank, the ones the doctor told me I had. Makes my chest hurt. Hard to talk. Hard to do tricks. You know, right Frank? The ones the doctor said I had?”

“Now, Ridley-boy, you ain’t gonna let a few missed beats throw off our big finale, are ya? What kinda partner would do that, huh Ridley-boy?” he asked, eliciting no response from Roy who gazed at his worn leather shoes. “Now, I said, what kinda partner would do that to his pal, Ridley-boy, do that to good-ol’ Frank?”

Roy fidgeted again, his tiny spectacles slipping a bit down his small, pointed nose. His few gray hairs among the straw mat upon his head made themselves significantly more noticeable whenever he squirmed like that.

“I don’t wanna do it anymore, Frank, just don’t want to! I’m done! N-no more! I can’t take it!” he yelled, rising to his feet.

Frank didn’t move an inch.

“Now, now, Ridley-boy, we don’t want any outbursts, do we? We don’t want d’em murrrrrmurrrrs to get any worse, do we, Ridley-boy?”

Roy couldn’t be calmed.

“No, Frank! I’m finished! We’re finished! I’m not going to finish, so you can just go out there yourself!”

“Now, Ridley-boy, we signed that contract, ya remember…”

“Damn the contract and damn you! We’re over! No more “The Amazing Ridley” and no more Frank!”

Frank’s formerly level tone became polluted with anger.

“Now, you see here, Ridley-boy, we’re not done till I says we’re done, kapeesh? We’re gonna walk out d’ere like every night, like Vegas, like Atlanta, and we’re gonna nail the big finale and knock that crowd out, ya hear?”

Roy moved to the door.

“I’m done, Frank, I’m leaving. There’s nothing you can say to change my mind.”
Roy’s hand reached out for the knob, then quickly with and clenched his chest in pain.

“Now, see what ya did there, Ridley-boy, ya started up them heart murrrrmurrrs again. Ya got all excited and planned to walk out on ya pal, Frank, and them started up again.”

Roy fell against the door and slid to the ground, panting, holding his chest with all his might.

“Now, listen up bucko. We’re gonna walk out there, gonna do the trick like we always done, and gonna forget about all this jitters. That’s all it is, right Ridley-boy, just jitters?”

Roy’s face was clenched in dire pain. He managed to nod slowly.

“That’s good, Ridley-boy, that’s real good. Ya can feel ‘em going away already, eh Ridley-boy, I bet you can feel ‘em going away now that ya ready to go back on stage, eh?”

Roy’s hand slowly fell to his side as his body abandoned its restricted form and slowly became more relaxed. He nodded.

“Good deal, Ridley-boy, good deal. Now, we’re gonna go on stage and knock ‘em dead, right Ridley-boy? Gonna forget about all these jitters, eh, Ridley-boy?”

“Knock ‘em dead…” he managed to mutter, energy drained from his voice. “N-no more jitters…”

Roy thought he saw the faintest grin play about Frank’s lips.

“Then it’s showtime.”

“Ladies and gentlemen,” the announcer boomed throughout the packed theatre. “I’d like to present the final act of the Amazing Mister Ridley and his assistant, Frank.”

“Who you’s callin’ assistant?” Frank cut in playfully on the microphone, Roy standing next to the signature high-backed stool Frank sat upon. “Everyone here knows I’m the real star.” His head turned to look at Roy. Their eyes met.

“Right, knucklehead?”

The following silence was not part of the act, but drew the audience in closely, as everyone leaned over their seats to see what the Amazing Mister Ridley would say. A mix of fear and pain was shown in Roy’s eyes as he felt the audience’s gaze focus on him. Nothing.

“What’s the matter, Ridley-boy, cat got ya tongue?” Frank cracked, chuckling. This brought Roy back into the act, back into the pretend.

“N-n-nothing, Frank. You’re the star, big star,” he stammered. The audience broke out into laughter.

“That’s right, Ridley-boy, and don’t you ever forget. And now, ladies and… well, this is really directed at the ladies,” Frank joked into the mike, turning back towards the audience. “It’s time for the last trick of the night.”

This was met with boos and cries of “More!” from the audience.

“I’m sorry folks, but this has to be it,” Roy said, a false smile on his lips. “Audrey, my lovely assistant—“
“—I’m the prettier assistant—“
“—here to bring out the amazing disappearing closet.”

A young blonde dressed in the skimpiest show outfit wheeled a man-sized purple box on stage with a flourish. The audience clapped wildly. Roy took a deep breath and began the showmanship.

“Right before your very eyes, ladies and gentlemen, I will enter into the closet and disappear. Then, with a moment’s notice, I’ll reappear, right before your eyes. No smokes, no mirrors, just…” he trailed off, perfectly measuring the pause.

“Magic.”

Frank decided to chime in, to do his humorous bit.

“Let’s just hope he doesn’t come back, eh?” he asked the audience. They roared with laughter. Roy motioned towards the box but froze. He felt Frank’s eyes bore into his skull. He turned to meet his cold, expressionless eyes.

This pause was not part of the show either.

“Get in the box, Ridley-boy,” Frank whispered so low that only Roy could hear him. Roy eyed him with the same mix of contempt and fear, anguish and pain. He turned, grabbing the mike adjacent to Frank’s mike, and walked into the box.

“How ya doing in there, Ridley-boy?” Frank called to the audience. They laughed, obligingly.

“It’s a little cramped, Frank,” Roy whispered into the mike, following his script exactly.

“Now you know how I feel, Ridley-boy!” he exclaimed. The audience chuckled.

“And now, ladies,” Frank boomed in his theatrically thick voice. “It’s time for my eyesore buddy Ridley-boy to disappear!”

The transition happened fluidly, perfectly rehearsed. As soon as Frank fell on the word “buddy,” Roy kicked out the trap door beneath him, falling onto the cushion below the stage. As he swapped the cushion for the ladder, he heard Audrey open the closet with a flourish, producing thunderous applause and cheers throughout the theatre. With a measured, perfected calculation, Roy Rids found himself back in the box as Audrey shut the door to the audience. Roy took a deep breath.

“Time for the big finale… time to knock ‘em dead…” Roy muttered to himself, mimicking the tone Frank used. He reached into his tuxedo pocket.

“Ladies, as unfortunate as it is, I’m gonna have to make Ridley-boy reappear! Hocus pocus, presto change-o, bring back our poor, ol’ bucko!” he chanted into the mike.

Audrey threw the door open as a gunshot went off. People began to applause when they saw the Amazing Mister Ridley emerge from the vanishing closet. They stopped when he hit the ground with a dull thud, revolver skidding across the freshly waxed stage wood, soaking in the blood pouring from his mouth.

There were screams, cries of panic, and calls for an ambulance. Audrey ran offstage in tears. Only one person made no motion or sound.

There Frank sat, in his signature high-backed stool, his body motionless and wooden. His eyes were still wide open, frozen in the humorous laugh that he shared with the audience before Roy went inside the box.

With no voice to create his thick, accented voice, no hand to guide his wacky antics and facial expression, for the first time in the career of the Amazing Mister Ridley, Frank, his ventriloquist dummy, was silent.