“Whoever Said Showbiz’s A Drag?”
 By: Heather Haskell

Executive Producer, Creative Consultant, Copy Editor, and All-around Pain in the Arse: Stephen Healy

Disclaimer: We don’t own Penn and Teller and let’s face it, probably never will. This is just a little story that our deranged minds came up with. Isn’t that enough proof?

Summary: Penn the Prankster Prince strikes again. Who’s his victim this time? Well, the lovable, huggable Teller. But, will he be that way for much longer?


Penn sat cross-legged on his bed of his Las Vegas home, appropriately called “The Slammer”. Between his hands sat his partner, Teller's driver’s license. Around him lay many other possessions of Teller’s: passport, credit cards and other identification items. He carefully picked up the clear plastic sticker lying by his foot and slowly smoothed it onto the license. He checked his work and smirked.

The infamous “[NFN] Teller” now read “[NFN] Tara”. The picture in the left upper corner now displayed a woman of straightened bleach blonde hair instead of a man of sandy blonde curls. The ends of Penn's mouth turned upward into a devious grin. The sound of his laughing reverberated off the walls of his bedroom as he slipped the license into the brown leather billfold on the bedspread. "It begins now."

***

It was a typical day in Las Vegas; the sun was shining, the air was sere, and Teller was stuck in the warehouse. He and his partner in crime, Penn, had just completed their fifth run-through of their novel bit. It didn’t yet have a name and Teller thought it was a very lackluster trick. He couldn’t quite grasp why Penn was so fond of a trick that involved him being put into a box and vanishing. But then again, who could understand Penn?

Nonchalantly playing with a deck of cards, Teller sat, waiting for his chance to add input on the technicalities of the bit. He looked across the room at Penn, who was talking to Nate and the guys. Every so often one of them would look at Teller and smile. He shrugged it off and sighed heavily. Penn clapped his hands together. “All right, shall we try it again?” Teller got up and placed the deck of cards on his seat. He walked over to the bare plywood box and climbed inside. Penn grinned and glanced at the group of men knowingly, unbeknownst to the man in the box.

***

Teller reached for the plastic draped over his suit as he ran over what was to be done today. ‘Sound check, light check, prop check, dress rehearsal, sounds about right,’ Teller thought to himself, removing the three-piece garment from its clear, crinkly prison. The week had been an odd one indeed, even for him, the fire-and-needle-eating desert dweller.

Penn had been acting very odd as of late. He would grin whenever he caught Teller’s eye, as would the rest of the crew. Teller shook his head. “I just don’t get it,” he muttered. He silently reflected on the past few days as he buttoned his starch-white shirt. Penn had been focusing quite a bit on the vanishing trick, now known as “Thin Air”.

‘Come to think about it,’ Teller began, ‘Penn’s up to something, I can feel it.’ 25 years of working together will do that to a person. ‘But what?’ He knotted his tie and did a once over. Teller looked at his watch. 1:45. If he caught a cab now, he’d make it to the theater around 2:00. He grabbed his wallet and shoved it into his back pocket. Teller closed the door behind him and walked down the stairs into the unusually haze-less Los Angeles air. He hailed a cab and was off to the theater, to a performance he would never forget.

***

“So, it’s all set?” The crew nodded as Teller walked in through the back door.

“What’s all set?”

Penn, being the quick-witted person that he is, swiftly thought of an answer. “Um, all the props for the sound check.” Teller nodded and started walking to the stage. Penn shot the crewmen a worried look and followed the path of his partner.

***

Teller sighed heavily. ‘Thank goodness rehearsal is almost over. It’s been about two and a half-hours already!’ He looked at his watch for the sixth time that hour. He had just finished "Mofo" and Penn was doing his wrap-up patter for that bit. Next and final was "Thin Air". Teller enjoyed the out-of-order run-through schedule because it added some variety to the monotony of performing.

The bare plywood prop used a week ago had been now covered in graffiti, much like the box used in "Metamorphosis". Two stagehands carried it on stage and set it down gently. Penn went straight into his monologue. Teller was a bit worried, though. Penn was the most in-control person when it comes to performing that he had ever known, and the way that he was acting was enough concern Teller.

His partner was grinning widely as he talked, as if he knew something was going to happen. Not to mention the other oddities of his behavior over the past week. Teller pushed the subject aside; he didn’t want to miss his cue to begin. He climbed into the "magic box" as Penn continued talking. Teller covered his ears as the lid was screwed on with a power drill.

He leaned backwards and all of a sudden felt uncomfortable and claustrophobic. ‘Calm down, nothing you can’t handle. Why of all days did this have to happen?’ Teller took a few deep breaths, trying to slow his already rapid heartbeat. After what seemed like forever, the lid was taken off and he was let out. Teller, glad to be out, rushed to his dressing room without paying any attention to his surroundings. Penn was on his knees laughing. He was red in the face and holding his sides. The crewmen snickered as Teller hurried by.

***

The door slammed shut as Teller ran into his dressing room. He tripped and slid along the carpeting. He picked himself up, ignoring the pain from the abrasions he was sure he now had on his knees and elbows, and sat on the couch.

Teller let his head loll over the back of it as he took slow, deep breaths. After a few minutes of repeating this action, he forced himself to calm down and looked at his wristwatch. ‘An hour until curtain. Might as well make the best of it.’ He laid down and drifted off to sleep, unaware of the horrors to follow his awakening.

***

Penn laughed to himself as he watched the audience members filter in through the theater. He felt like he was on top of the world. He played with the cordless microphone in his hands as he waited for all the seats to be filled.

“Should we wake him up yet?” a voice asked.

Penn stroked his chin. “Not yet, Nate. I still have my little announcement to make.” He nodded and went about his work.

Penn was extremely proud of the guys at his private BBS, "The Jungle", for helping him pull this off. It would be greater than Tony and FedEx. Just thinking about that made Penn laugh aloud. After a few minutes, the audience was in their seats and chatting quietly. He grinned. “It’s showtime,” he called out to Nate. “Go wake up Teller, but wait until I get to the middle of my ‘speech’." Nate nodded and smirked.

The crowd applauded as Penn walked on stage, a big smile plastered on his face. He raised his hands to quiet the group. “Hello, ladies and gentlemen. Now, before the show starts, I have a favor to ask of you.”

Nate whistled as he walked backstage, eventually stopping at Teller’s dressing room. He knocked on the door. “Teller,” He sang. “Ready to do a show, buddy?”

“Just a minute,” Teller called. Nate smiled and walked away.

“Now, myself and the rest of the crew will be forever grateful if you will just not react to this.” A loud, deep scream emanating from backstage brought a manic smile to Penn’s face. “It’s startime,” he said to himself. “Ladies and gentlemen, if you will excuse me, I have something to attend to. The show will begin shortly.” Some of the crowd laughed at Penn’s remark. He strided offstage, a slight spring in his step.

***

Teller yawned and stretched. He had to remember to thank Nate for waking him up. He stood and worked the cricks out of his body. He walked over to his very well lit mirror and looked at himself. Teller’s jaw dropped. “What the fuck?!” he screamed.

Teller was in a dress, a nauseating pink and green dress that was very frilly. He also had a bit of make-up on and his acrylic nails were bright pink. He put a hand to his head, only to find a very straight and very blonde wig. Teller didn’t dare look down, but he could feel he was wearing heels. “Jesus Christ!” he yelled, still trying to make sense of the situation. He rushed over to his mini-closet and opened it up, looking for his regular suit. Nothing.

A knock on the door startled Teller. “Everything OK in there, Tara?” It was Penn.

‘Tara? What the hell?’ His mind was in frenzy. “Yes, everything is peaches and cream!” Teller called back sarcastically.

The door opened and Penn stuck his head in. “What’s wrong?”

Teller turned to face him, eyes wide. “What kind of sick fucking joke is this?!” Penn entered the room and closed the door.

“What are you talking about?”

Teller threw his hands up in frustration. “Look at me!”

Penn shrugged. “I see nothing different. Tara, are you sure you’re OK?”

“Am I OK? Am I OK?! I’m in a dress!” he yelled at his very bewildered partner. “And don’t call me Tara, that’s not my name!”

Penn crossed his arms. “Oh, it’s not? Then what is your name, hmm?”

“Don’t play this game with me, Penn, I’m in no mood! You know that my name is Teller!”

Penn snorted. “Maybe you should check your pocket book, girlfriend. Seems to me like you’re having a bit of a memory lapse.” He pointed to a brown leather bag on the countertop.

Teller grabbed it, mumbling obscenities, and fumbled through the purse until he found what he was looking for. He took out the pocket book and thumbed through the contents. His jaw dropped again as he looked at his driver’s license. Instead of the "[NFN] Teller" he was infamous for, it said "[NFN] Tara". Teller tossed it aside and looked at his passport and credit cards. All said Tara, except for one of his credit cards that said Tara Tara, because it required a first and last name.

“Oh fuck me,” he moaned and dropped the pocket book.

“Well? Identity crisis over?”

Teller snapped at Penn, “Fuck you.”

He nodded. “I’ll take that as a yes. Come on, we’ve always hit the stage on time, and now’s not really the best time to break that record. Let’s go!”

Teller crossed his arms. “No, this isn’t right. I can’t!”

As if on cue, Nate poked his head into the room. “Everything OK?”

Penn sighed. “Thank goodness you’re here. Someone is having an identity crisis.”

Nate laughed. “Tara, come on, we need you tonight. Got a full house.”

Teller sighed. ‘Am I really losing it? Maybe they’re right.’ He looked into the mirror behind him. ‘What will the audience think?!’

“Are we ready now?” Penn asked, irritability evident in his voice.

Teller took a deep breath. “All right, let’s do this.”

The two men smiled at each other. “Let’s go out there and knock ‘em dead, girlfriend!” As they walked into the hall, many crewmembers wished that they break a leg and encounter Macbeth. Teller was as red as a beet.

Teller, standing in the wings, waited for his cue to walk on stage. His hands were clammy and he was trembling a bit. Penn placed a hand on his shoulder. “No need to be nervous. If they don’t like us, the least they’re going to do is maybe chase us down and put our heads on spikes.” Teller smiled. The duo walked on stage, with cheers and applause from the audience below. The audience was calm when Teller stood on stage left, all by his lonesome.

“Good evening ladies and gentlemen, my name is Penn Jillette, and this is my partner, Tara, we are Penn and Tara.” Penn began his opening patter, with Teller making his usual gestures, although he felt as if there was a million monarch butterflies in his stomach. The thought of the butterflies being impaled on the ten or so embroidery needles in his stomach made him smile a little bit.

The night went on without much conflict. Teller still thought about the situation from time to time, when he had the chance to think at all. The end of the show was nearing, and no one was happier than he. Teller joined Penn center stage, so he could close the show. Penn placed a hand on his shoulder. “Hey, Tara?” Teller looked to his colleague. Penn pointed to the audience. “We’ve got something to say.”

“April Fool’s!” Penn, the cast, crew, and audience yelled at him. Teller palled as he tried to comprehend the situation. Penn forcibly turned him to the audience. “My name is Penn Jillette, this is my partner Teller, we are Penn and Teller. Good night!” Teller bowed alongside Penn, with a little help from the man standing to his right.

The audience cheered, whistled, and gave the duo a standing ovation. Penn and Teller, who was still dumbstruck, exited stage right. The atmosphere backstage was one of triumph and hilarity. Everyone was laughing, some even wiped tears from their eyes. Teller turned to say something to Penn. However, when he opened his mouth, nothing came out. Penn took Teller by the arm and drug him down to the lobby. “Come on, we’ve got fans to meet, and you’ve got some explaining to do,” he chuckled.

After an hour of autographs, pictures, and some very strange looks, the duo returned backstage. Teller had regained a sliver of dignity, his voice, and his regular clothing. Penn was gloating all around, to anyone and everyone. Others patted Teller on the back and chuckled softly.

On the way to their dressing rooms, something fell out of Penn’s pocket. Teller picked it up. It was his wallet. Then, inspiration struck. He thumbed through the billfold and took out Penn’s license and the form to his car. Teller grinned evilly. “Just you wait until next year, Penn Jillette. Just you wait.” He cackled silently and slipped the black leather item into the pocket of his pants.

Plotting his revenge, Teller stepped outside into the brisk evening air. He shivered but ignored it. ‘After all,’ he thought, ‘revenge is a dish prepared and served cold.’