AllFreeNovel
Share Us
The last model returns to the group. The ten men all snap to attention at the same time as a finale.
I use the cue as a signal. I plead my case to David. I tell him this is just the start of the vision I have for his brand. I speak of seasonal derivatives for the collection. Fashion lines geared toward children. Co-branded opportunities with sponsors.
All the time I’m speaking, I read the room. Picking apart his body language, listening for a signal from Stacey.
When the music returns, and the arena fills with the sound of kettle drums, I punch a triumphant fist by my side. “Hold that thought, David. We’ve saved the best for last.”
She did it. The mascot is the linchpin of the collection. The piece that pulls everything together. Showing David design specs and photos on a flat screen would never be enough to convince him. He needs to see it like this.
“Ladies and gentlemen, are you ready?” Michael’s loud, boisterous voice echoes across the suddenly darkened arena. Only the overhead warming lights above David and me are left on. When another light flicks on by the arena entrance, Stacy holds her camera in front of her, the phone light creating a moving spotlight. It’s not powerful enough to light more than two feet in front of her, but one look at who’s standing next to her lets me know that’s all she’ll need.
Mr. Magic, my mascot, is standing inside the door, Stacy’s spotlight highlighting him pumping his oversized fist to a non-existent crowd. He waits for three heartbeats. Three long seconds for me to admire and appreciate all the hard work it took to get here. Not just me, Michael, and Stacy. But also for Mrs. Whitehead for allowing me to hang out in the café all day, always being there to lend an ear. Even for Devon, a strangerwho has had more belief in me and my dream than my co-workers ever had.
Stacy races toward us, her phone lighting a path for the mascot who races as if he’s attempting to break the Olympic one-hundred-meter dash record. I fail in my attempt to suppress my giggle. If this were Devon, three steps in, he’d be splattered across the arena floor. Whoever Stacy put in the costume must have a side gig as a track star.
They reach the center of the arena, and the lights flicker back to life, Stacy’s spotlight fades away, and she peels away toward the scrum of models watching from the sideline.
The familiar song, which I’ve listened to a hundred times watching Stacy and Michael rehearse, kicks in. The mascot takes up a hero pose. Hands on hips, shoulders back, head held high. I whisper to David, “Picture this. Packed arena, this is Mr. Magic’s first appearance since the match began. People on their feet, he makes this entrance. Kids stand on their seats, parents snap pictures, people on the concession lines suddenly tell the cashier to add a Mr. Magic doll to their order. He’s going to be everyone’s new best friend.” He’s seen my design skills. I now sell him on the other side of his brain. The business side.
Mr. Magic strides toward us. “Posters, appearances, commercials, the intellectual property on a character like this is priceless.” The mascot crosses his feet and spins, giving David a close-up view of his back.
My gaze lowers to his backside. A tight, perfect rear which makes me think of Devon. I’ll never get a chance to tell him about this moment. Just that thought stings.
I shake away the distraction. David is oblivious as he stares at the mascot’s name stitched between the shoulder blades. “If you take a closer look, you’ll see I’ve used a special ink for the uniform number. I’ve designed it with a few different numbers and shapes that are activated by a special overlay on thespotlight. One flick of the lights, and the numbers can disappear, change color, shift to a different number. To someone sitting in the stands, it will appear to be…”
“Magic.” I hear the wheels turning in David’s head. This unique element opens options few others have considered.
The sound of cymbals crashing echoes off the walls, and Mr. Magic is on the move again. He spins on the tips of his toes and performs a sidestep followed by a moonwalk, and I gasp. Not only did Stacy find someone who’s a perfect fit for the costume, but she found time to teach them the mascot dance.
She’ll never have to pay for a beverage in the café for the rest of her life.
David crosses his arm, one hand grasping an elbow, the palm of the other hand cupping his chin. I take advantage of every additional second I have with him. “We can hire a professional choreographer, but the vision here is to have a unique Mr. Mister dance. One that people will imitate. They’d post their versions of it on TikTok, across social media, creating FOMO moments that will have families crossing state lines to get to the next home game for the Magic.”
A snicker escapes David’s mouth, and it’s quite honestly the best sound in the arena. For the first time, I sense a crack in the detached demeanor he maintains. He’s looking at me as if I finally belong alongside the other competitors. “Belts and suspenders,” he whispers more to himself than me. I have no idea what it means, but I’m smart enough not to ask.
Mr. Magic races away as the kettle drums return. All that’s left is for him to take a final bow and exit.
But he doesn’t.
Instead, he races toward us, and I have no idea what’s about to happen. He bends, his giant hands landing on the floor in front of him, and he does the impossible. Two front flips. How his head doesn’t smack against the floor defies physics. It’s a moveworthy of a trained gymnast and when he performs a layout, his feet stomping to the ground in perfect synchronization with the last beat of the song, I wonder if he’s also a musician.
It takes everything in me not to clap. I laugh when David catches himself, his two hands suspended in the air, less than six inches from one another.
My gaze finds Stacy. The nervousness from earlier is gone, nothing but joy and glee on her face. I give her a nod and turn to Mr. Magic.
He tips his giant head in acknowledgment before placing his hands on his hips, his feet assuming a kickstand position.
My heart races. Kickstand is a remedial position, a safe pose. The only pose I felt comfortable enough having Devon assume giving his history of destruction. Stacy wouldn’t know this.
“Impressive performance.” David’s words snap me out of the mystery in front of me. “I don’t do committees. You’ll hear something in a few days.”
All I can muster together are two fumbled words, “Of course.” I walk with David as he heads to the exit, my mind too blown by what I’ve just witnessed to speak. We reach the door, and he confirms we are his last presentation for the day. He says goodbye, and I wait for the door to close before turning.
I expect to find Mr. Magic still in a kickstand position at the center of the arena. Instead, he’s joined the other models at the other side of the room.
Relief spreads through me, and I practically race toward the troop. “I can’t believe…” My sister steps forward, and I pull her into a crushing hug. “I love you so much. I can’t believe you did…” I wave to the group. “How did you find this many? How did you get my designs back from…” I stop short of saying Devon’s name, not sure what it might bring. Anger, pain, longing, hurt?
I step in front of the blazer model. “Thank you. When you unbuttoned the jacket and flared it out, I nearly died. It was perfect.” I shake his hand and work my way down the line. I give each of them a handshake, a hug, and an appreciative comment. I picked up the little details of each of their performances. Each one of them took the materials in front of them and put a little piece of themselves into it. That’s what makes a great design. It’s why no two designs are the same. Because no two people are the same.
