The Star of the Show

There were rumors that Max Valiant made a deal with the devil for unconditional stardom, because every night of his shows drew people in droves. That in itself wouldn’t be entirely out of the ordinary if Max Valiant was good at what he did. 

If Max Valiant had the sleightest of hands, or even the suavest of stage personas, then the large crowds at his shows could be entirely excused as people lining up to see a master magician at work. If he were a lovely role model, perhaps, a wholesome presence, then maybe it would explain his popularity as well. There is nothing America loves more than a squeaky-clean golden boy with a cherub’s face. 

However, in both morality and magic, Max Valiant was severely lacking.

Max would guess the wrong card on card tricks. He’d drop his top hat full of rabbits because one of them bit his hand, and the trick would be spoiled. He’d miss his cues, and stumble on his words. 

Only the velveteen transitions done by his assistant, or the sole tricks she had to offer, with contortion, fiery baton twirling, and being cut in half, all to accent Max’s act-could be called good in any sense of the word. 

The sin of terrible magic, however, paled to the sort of person Max Valiant was offstage. When the curtains closed, Max Valiant was a hedonistic, machiavellian bastard. He abused the assistants backstage, making them run to fetch him the pettiest of things-a freshly made croissant from a bakery two cities away, a glass of freshly pressed lemonade made with lemons plucked right from the tree (and if it was premade or made with lemons that’d been plucked yesterday, he would know, and the unfortunate soul who offered it would be…fired.). 

He also had the urge to bed as many women as possible wherever he went, feeding them empty promises of commitment, along with the type of persistence and pick-up lines that’d make even the most dogged skirt-chaser blush.

In all truthfulness, Max Valiant should’ve been nothing more than a petty vagrant. However, he didn’t need to worry. A certain someone always had his back. 

No magician was complete without an assistant, and Max’s assistant was a cut above the rest. Kitty Byrde was a beautiful young woman, with long fiery hair, full red lips, and an hourglass figure that complemented her sparkly unitard. Max, who had his expensive, velvet suit do most of the heavy lifting for him looks-wise, was dull in comparison to Kitty, who always glowed with an aura of otherworldly perfection.

He’d never let her know that, though. He would never tell her just how much she shines in comparison to him. It’d bruise his ego too much, to tell Kitty just how incredible she was. Maybe, if Kitty had some perception of her own brilliance, he’d have to own up to it. 

Luckily, she didn’t. Max’s word was gospel to her. Max had lucked out in the devoted childhood friends department, and he knew it. 

Kitty had let Max guide her towards their destiny for years now. Everything about their act was Max’s idea-his definition of perfection. 

Everything about who Kitty Byrde and Max Valiant were was all because of the latter’s unwavering vision of who they ought to be.

“You’re going to need a name. Stars must have names, so that people can latch onto them, and love them.” 

“Like your name, Maximus Smith?” 

“It’s Max Valiant to you. That’s my true name. The one that people will call me when I’m a star.” 

“I thought we already are stars.” 

“I already am a star, yes, but it’s all about getting others to know I am one, and to treat me accordingly.” 

“Oh, okay. So…what should my name be?” 

“Something foxy and cute. To get people to wanna have you on their arm. To get them to fawn over you, almost as much as me. I’ve come up with a few. Look at this list.” 

“Oh…I…I do like kittens. And birds. All animals, really. I always liked watching them from the sky, the way they’d fly and pounce and chirp-” 

“So, Kitty Byrde? Sounds fine to me. No need to continue prattling on about animals, though.” 

“Sorry, Max.” 

“I heard that little shithead Abernathy Hodgkins is in the audience,” Max said, practically pouting as he put his face into his gloved hands (the gloves being torn up by rabbit bites), “He said I’m a charlatan. In that shitty newspaper of his.” 

Max Valiant read every review of his show. Every instance of his name being in print warranted Max’s attention. He basked in the near-unanimous praise that came with his name. Mostly. The few that weren’t snowed were quickly ferreted out through Max’s meticulous, ego-fuelled search to make sure he was universally loved. 

His current obsession was a small ditty written by reporter wannabe Abernathy Hodgkins, reporter and current chief editor of the Baxtonville High Gazette. That little upstart, not even old enough to drink, had the nerve to call Max an immoral fraudster. He claimed that not only were Max’s tricks utterly devoid of any showmanship or technique, as he cited a report of Max releasing a horde of malnourished rabbits from his suit, that Abernathy claimed were so clearly emaciated that they had to be shaken from the coat, and could barely hop. 

The only positive part of his review had been mentioning the dazzling presence and undeniable charm of Ms. Kitty Byrde. Max, true to form, had thrown the newspaper in the trash before Kitty could read a lick of it. He’d tell her the important parts anyway, the part where Abernathy Hodgkins called him a “villainous mountebank who’s only genuine feat of magic is convincing a ray of light like Ms. Kitty Byrde to chain herself to his Titanic of an act.”

Abernathy had then promised to attend Max’s next show in Baxtonville, to unmask how someone with so little talent could attract so much success. 

Max couldn’t bear to see anything written about him that wasn’t glowing praise of his act or his character. This review in particular made him punch the nearest wall, and he’d busted two of his knuckles. So much for next week’s card trick, which involved fluid motions and steady hands. 

Maybe that could be another trick he’d foist on Kitty. Honestly, Max had Kitty do a lot of the tricks, and he merely stood in the spotlight, basking in the adoration of those in the crowd. Just his presence should be enough for these apes to love him. 

Sensing his glowering rage, Kitty perched next to him on the love-seat in his dressing room. She smoothed back his hair with a hum. 

“Max,” Kitty said, “You’re absolutely brilliant, and anyone who says otherwise doesn’t deserve to breathe the same air as you. I know that one day, you’ll get everything you deserve. Your name in lights, among the heavens where you belong.” 

Max bit back a smile as Kitty proceeded to hum a simple tune, three little falsetto notes, as she clutched at a translucent, shimmering brooch pinned to the side of her costume. The brooch was a faux-opal, one that Max had pinched at a pawn shop six years ago for Kitty, to celebrate the anniversary of the day they’d met. 

The brooch began to glow and pulse, as it became nearly unbearable to look at. The brightness stung, and it began to heat up the dressing room to nigh-unbearable levels. Max unbuttoned a few of his collar-buttons, still watching as Kitty sank to her knees.

Kitty hunched over, and groaned in pain, a sound that used to make Max wince in sympathy, before he became used to it. Now, he was a bit annoyed by her guttural screeches, or the way she convulsed like a fish out of water. It was all a bit over dramatic, really.

“Max, do I really need to-” 

“Kitty, I’m supposed to be the star, not you. I know what I’m saying. You’ll still shine. Just…not enough to take from my light. You wouldn’t want to do that, right? It’d be selfish to take from another star.” 

“No, Max. I’ll try and concentrate my luminescence somewhere else…oh! The necklace you gave to me. I always wear it.” 

“Of course. I know what you need. I spent loads on it too. But I wanted something to fit the assistant to a star.” 

Kitty shifted further, her fiery hair literally beginning to glow and burn, turning it from a strawberry blonde to a flickering, billowing pyre that stretched behind her. Her skin glowed as well, giving off a warm, overwhelming aura.  As she stood, her posture was straighter. Her nails were just a bit sharper, the paint on them just a bit brighter. Her teeth were so white they nearly shone. Everything about Kitty Byrde had been enhanced. 

Kitty was already stunning, but now, she was her true self. She was undeniably perfect. She’d catch Abernathy’s eye, no problem. 

“I’ll be back, Max,” Kitty said, her voice a perfectly lilting hum, one that nearly made Max shiver with anticipation. His body went stiff, with the involuntary urge to bow to her. Or to cry.

“Do your worst, Kitty,” Max responded, making sure to keep his voice level, and his gaze trained on the wall as Kitty left with a seductive glide. 

Max knew better than to truly entertain the idea of being with Kitty Byrde. It would be so boring to love someone that was already devoted to him. It’d be like swimming in the shallow end of a swimming pool. It was just too beneath him, to look at Kitty as anything other than a trusted lieutenant in his quest to conquer the wonderful world of showmanship and acclaim. 

Kitty didn’t need to know that, though. She also didn’t need to know how hard it was for Max to resist her innate, shining power, the power that naturally bent so many others to her will. It was only Max’s god-like ego that shielded him from her light.

No one else, though, had been safe.

Max Valiant sat back in a comfortable recliner backstage, knowing that at his next show, there would be only positive feedback. Kitty would make sure of it. Honestly, showing her that shred of kindness on a summer’s day sixteen years ago was probably the smartest thing he’d ever done.

She’d fallen from the sky, expelled from the heavens and into his arms. 

At thirteen, Max had already realized that there was a way of things. 

There were those who shone, and those who did not. Max, after a humiliating seventh grade talent show, had realized it. His singing, pitchy and off-beat, had been laughed off stage. Even after he’d convinced himself that he was the next Presley. And it wasn’t his fault that the school microphones were so shitty. 

It was pity, that’d given the first place trophy to Henry Hobart, some wheelchair-bound invalid who’d done some card tricks, and pulled several roses from his wand for Sophie Glick, the prettiest girl in all of Cherny Middle School. It was so dumb. Henry didn’t shine. The only glow he had was from his nervous flop sweat. 

His wheelchair had squeaked on the floor of the stage, causing an unpleasant whine as he moved around, performing tricks and talking to the audience. It was a lack of taste that caused the crowd to laugh with him at his jokes in between tricks. It was utter insanity on the end of the principal to award Henry the win, and utter calamity for Sophie Glick to date Henry Hobart for several years after the fact. 

See, Sophie was someone who shone, naturally. She was pretty, and had the effortless air of someone who mattered. Her family owned Glick Grocers, so she was rich. Max had imagined the two of them as a couple for years, ever since the third grade. Sure, they hadn’t talked much, but it should’ve been obvious to Sophie that Max shone too. His parents were also pretty well-off, his father owning a local history museum, and his mother being the heiress of some ice cream brand. 

They were an obvious match, yet Sophie debased herself for some debilitated loser.

Max determined that he’d been wrong about Sophie. If she truly shone, she’d have never had anything to do with Henry Hobart. She would’ve recognized and awarded Max’s presence instead. 

So, Max vowed to never make that mistake again. The next time he set his sights on someone to stand by his side, they’d undeniably be a shining star. Someone who could be somewhat equal to him. That’d been what led Max to the bog, the clearest place to stargaze without anyone annoying to disturb him. Max could bask in the light of the stars, imagining himself among them. Above them, even. 

He’d be their Polaris. 

That’s when he’d noticed a shooting star, falling from the sky, and growing closer to him. The way it’d glowed had excited Max to no end. It felt like a spotlight, careening right to him, ready to give him his close up. 

The star fell into the bog with a surprisingly succinct splash. Max had watched the star sputter and cough, letting the fright at her new surroundings marinate before he waded into the bog and offered a hand. A hand, and his most dazzling smile. 

“Hello,” he said, “I’m Max Valiant. And I’m a star too.” 

The star, upon closer inspection, took the form of a young girl, made of flame and the grand magnetism of unfulfilled fantasy, smiled back. 

The smile was superior to Max’s in every way, but he didn’t say that. He also didn’t say that she could ask anything of anyone, and they’d do it. All he said was this: 

“If you want, I can take you with me. When I ascend to stardom.” 

“You can?” 

The girl’s flawless features broke into a wobbly smile. Her tears streamed down her face in smoky ribbons, hissing as they made contact with the bog water.

“Yup. As long as you stand by me. I’ll show you how to be a star in this world.”

The star smiled, and clutched his hand tighter, letting Max lead her out of the bog.

Max smiled, leaning back in his loveseat with a self-satisfied smile. He could faintly smell the familiar, pleasing scent of a reporter being engulfed in the all-consuming light of Kitty Byrde. 

“Isn’t it ridiculous? How is it that some invalid like Henry Hobart can get standing ovations for this stuff, but I can’t? Can’t they see that I’m a star?” 

“I see it, Max. Henry Hobart isn’t a star. He’s just a mortal.”

“Can you help them see? Make them see? Make Henry see it.”

“I don’t think-” 

“Goddamnit, Kitty! I cannot shine without you! Make yourself useful and help me, or I’ll leave you, a fallen star with no one! NO ONE!” 

“But what it Henry-” 

“You must’ve seen death before, from so high. It’s nothing to stupid, ordinary people like Henry. Hell, he’s half-dead anyway, with him being a cripple and all.” 

“What about his little child? And Sophie Glick?” 

“They’re of no concern to us either. Kitty, darling…don’t you trust me? It’ll all work out in the end. We’ll both be where we belong soon enough.” 

“Max…I trust you.”

Abernathy would be singing Max’s praises by tomorrow, if he survived looking fully into Kitty’s light. Most people could just look at Kitty as she was normally, a bit dimmed, and still be completely brought in by her, and the fantasy she’d sell to them-the dreams she’d peddle. She peddled Max’s dreams of stardom-a dream made from Max’s ego and the stolen aspirations of the late Henry Hobart-perfectly, and most ate it up what she spoon fed. 

Yet, there were some like Abernathy who wouldn’t let the medicine go down easy. Whose natural inclination was to question and poke, and who wasn’t as distracted by Kitty’s fantasy. 

That is when Kitty would shed her mortal disguise, and go all-in. Going all-in on someone without a massive ego had the risk of ending in the person’s brain bursting into flames, and subsequently killing them. 

A small price to pay, really, for Max to be a star. 

Kitty came back into the room, glumly holding a handmade press badge, and the smoldering remains of a notebook. Her radiance is dimmed, again. She took a seat on the edge of the armrest, waiting for Max to give her the smallest of nods, permission for her to sit next to him. 

Max watches, silently, as Kitty looks over the notebook in her hands. He reads over the writing he can see, and scowls. Kitty, upon seeing this, tosses the notebook in the wastebasket. Max musters a thin smile at this, and tips his head. 

Kitty beams, the smile head-splitting in its beauty, and wraps her arms around Max. Max eyes the notebook, unable to shake the stormcloud that the notebook has brought in. The remaining sentences, somehow untouched by Kitty’s inferno-makes Max want to tear his hair from his scalp and scream until his vocal chords shatter. 

It’s his secret, boldly written in the scrawl of a nosy, presumptuous high school reporter. 

Just those two sentences are enough to remind him of the rotten feeling of dullness and failure-the same feeling that bubbled up during a Cherny Middle School talent show, sixteen fateful years ago. 

Even now, he cannot escape the feeling, the knowing, that he is not someone who shines. 

Abernathy’s Note: The key to Max Valiant’s success is obvious, right in front of our faces, in fact. While Max Valiant is certainly the face of this headlining duo-act, Kitty Byrde is undeniably the true star.