The Magician’s Fool: 1950s Bordeaux

BY NEAL MARTIN | FEBRUARY 28, 2018

Magicians. Bloody magicians. Yeah, we all watched them growing up, whether it was perma-tanned David Copperfield pulling a mildly surprised elephant from a top hat or Paul Daniels vanishing before an audience’s grateful eyes. I cannot deny that I enjoyed the entertainment. However my cynical disposition meant that in the unlikely event of participating in any magician’s act, then I would see through the facade. I’m no fool. I’ll show them who’s the clever one. 

So I am invited to Mr. A’s private dinner and the theme? The 1950s. Arriving at our host’s mansion, I am the only person not dressed as a member of the T-Birds, all greased back hair, jeans and leather, though one chap has ticked one off his bucket list and come dressed as a disturbingly convincing Marilyn. The radio plays the golden greats of rock n’ roll: Buddy Holly, Jerry Lee Lewis, Chuck Berry and Elvis, whilst Mrs. A has prepared trays of mini-hamburgers (100-points NM). Naturally, all the wines were born in this decade and some pretty serious names too. I can’t wait...

But first, for our pre-prandial entertainment, Mr. A has booked a magician. I will be honest, when he enters the room in his glittering lamé jacket, I am hoping that we can get pre-prandial prestidigitation over and done with it quickly because I want to get my tonsils round that 1959 Palmer. But anyway, we form a horseshoe and the show begins. The first couple of tricks are simple sleights of hand and I barely raise an eyebrow. I’ve seen it before. But as his act progresses the conjuring provokes ever-increasing degrees of awe and incredulity. I am hooked. How the hell did he do...wait...now bottles of DRC are materializing from empty cylinders, a trick last seen in Rudy Kurniawan’s kitchen, just before the FBI rang his doorbell. I make a mental note to contact DRC’s agents. This chap would be useful helping out with limited allocations. Need another few mags of La Tâche? Ta-da!

Each of our party is invited to take part and come the final trick he choses yours truly. This is my moment. This should be easy. I’ve had enough of this tomfoolery.

The magician hands me a pack of cards and invites me to shuffle. He turns his back and I choose a random card and return it to the pack. It is the nine of spades. He asks if I am happy with my choice and just as he is about to continue, I doth protest and ask to choose another one. I do this twice. He’s on edge. What kind of mug does this guy think I am? Eventually I settle on the three of hearts. I place it back in the pack and then the magician asks me to hold out my hand, palm upwards perfectly flat, as if I am about to walk like an Egyptian. He places the pack into my palm. Then I enclose the deck by placing my other hand over the top, whereupon he casually walks over to the opposite side of the room. My brain works overtime speculating how he could guess my chosen card. He is rabbiting on now. I’ve caught him out. He’s playing for time. Get that Palmer open...