8 Gimmick

Chapter 8 Gimmick gimmick (n) a specially prepared object or device that makes an illusion work; one example is a rabbit box Evan checked the clock on the wall in the basement: quarter to three. His mother had said she would call at four. They'd missed her phone call yesterday because of the difference in the time zones. But now they had the time difference figured out, and Evan wanted to hear her voice. He wanted to know for sure that she was "safe and sound," as she would say, and he wanted to tell her that they were putting on a magic show. But he didn't want to tell her what he was doing in the basement at that very moment, so he was hurrying to finish up. Evan was sawing wood using the hacksaw that his mother kept on the tool shelf. It was not going well.

He'd already snapped the thin blade on the coping saw—the scrap wood he was trying to cut was too thick for that—and now the bigger hacksaw was making a messy, jagged cut in the wood. Plus, his arm felt as if it was about to fall off, and he hadn't finished even one side of the rabbit box. He figured it would take him about three days just to cut the six pieces he needed. But he was going to stick with it. If you wanted to be a real magician, you had to know how to build your gimmicks. In addition to listening for the phone, Evan had his ears open for the garage door. His dad was out, and Evan wanted to be sure to stop sawing and run upstairs as soon as his dad pulled into the garage. He could just imagine the lecture he would get about how he was too young to be using a saw and how dangerous tools could be and did he want to end up losing a finger? Or two? Which is why Evan was particularly surprised when he heard his father's voice. "Hey, what's up?" Evan jumped, the saw in his hand buckled, and the

piece of wood he'd been holding skittered forward and fell off the edge of the chopping block he'd been using as a tabletop. "Hey, Dad," Evan said, as he retrieved the piece of wood and then casually put it aside. His heart was thudding in his chest. What kind of punishment would he get? "Whatcha makin'?" asked his dad. "Just that thing I showed you yesterday. That drawing. Of the rabbit box." Evan had made a careful scale drawing of the box and all the pieces of wood and hardware he would need to build it.

His dad hadn't seemed particularly interested yesterday, but today he said, "Hmm. I don't think you have the right tools to cut this kind of wood. It's too thick. You're going to end up with some pretty rough edges." Evan couldn't believe his dad wasn't yelling at him for using the saw without adult supervision. In fact, he was acting as if it was the most normal thing

in the world for Evan to be sawing wood by himself. Evan wished his mom could be that cool and not treat him like he was a baby all the time. Evan looked at his dad. "Maybe you could cut it straight?" he asked. His dad shook his head. "Nobody can cut wood that thick with this kind of a saw. You need a power tool to do the job. Which is why... I went to the lumberyard and had them cut the pieces for us." Evan stared at his dad without saying a word. He couldn't figure out if this was a joke. "Are you kidding?" he finally asked. "Nope. I made a photocopy of your drawing and took it to Diehl's. The guy there said you'd done a great job with your measurements. Very accurate. He said he likes that in a builder. I told him, 'What do you expect? He's a Treski!'" Then he winked at Evan and headed for the car. The pieces of wood were cut perfectly, each one square and neat. Just like Pete would have done. No sloppy edges. No mis-cuts. No splinters. Evan and

his dad set to work joining them, first using wood glue and then carefully hammering in a row of finishing nails. Evan explained that you needed to spread the wood glue on both sides of the wood to be joined; it made a better bond. Pete had taught him that, and his dad seemed impressed. "It needs to dry overnight before we can sand it," said Evan. "We'll use a coarse sandpaper to start, maybe ninety or a hundred grit, and then we'll finish up with a fine grit, like maybe one-eighty." "You really know your stuff, Evan. Where'd you learn all this?" His dad was running his fingers over the hinges that they'd attached to the top of the box. The hinges were shiny brass—the expensive kind, Evan knew. He had measured and chiseled out spaces in the wood so that the hinges would sit flush. It's the little things—the details—that make a project beautiful, Pete had said to him last New Year's when they were repairing Grandma's farmhouse. "I don't know. Guess I just sort of picked it up. You know, from people." Evan carefully put the