Page 1 Page 2 Page 3 Page 4 Page 5 Page 6 Page 7 Page 8 Page 9 Page 10 Page 11 Page 12 Page 13 Page 14 Page 15 Page 16 Page 17 Page 18 Page 19 Page 20 Page 21 Page 22 Page 23 Page 24 Page 25 Page 26 Page 27 Page 28 Page 29 Page 30 Page 31 Page 32 Page 33 Page 34 Page 35 Page 36 Page 37 Page 38 Page 39 Page 40 Page 41 Page 42 Page 43 Page 44 Page 45 Page 46 Page 47 Page 48 Page 49 Page 50 Page 51 Page 52 Page 53 Page 54 Page 55 Page 56 Page 57 Page 58 Page 59 Page 60 Page 61 Page 62 Page 63 Page 64 Page 65 Page 66 Page 67 Page 68 Page 69 Page 70 Page 71 Page 72 Page 73 Page 74 Page 75 Page 76 Page 77 Page 78 Page 79 Page 80 Page 81 Page 82 Page 83 Page 84 Page 85 Page 86 Page 87 Page 88 Page 89 Page 90 Page 91 Page 92 Page 93 Page 94 Page 95 Page 96 Page 97 Page 98 Page 99 Page 100D e c e m b e r 2 0 1 6 9 5 Fiction the illusionists - photo by Joan Marcus; pinkorchid.se Parlor Tricks By Doug Pilley V oila!” He presented the bouquet of red carnations with a flourish. “That’s amazing!” she said, clearly impressed. “It was nothing.” He sketched a bow. “But I didn’t see where they came from.” “The same place as this.” He waved his arm to reveal Cornish hens over wild rice with grilled asparagus. “Ooh, my favorite!” “Then we must celebrate.” He gestured for a floating bottle of Mumm’s to fill two champagne flutes. She clapped her hands and giggled. “I’ve never seen someone with so much command at his fingertips.” “Oh, I am but an amateur,” he said. “But these things. I don’t see how you can do them.” “Well, as they always say,” he said, “things that occur that we cannot yet ex- plain might as well be magic.” “What else can you do?” He conjured a glass of small-batch bour- bon and gave it a sip. “Damn,” he said. “I was hoping for Blanton’s.” “What is it?” “Knob Creek,” he replied. “You mean you don’t always get it right?” She touched her lips. “Actually,” he said, “it rarely happens.” “What do you mean?” “That bouquet?” He nodded toward the flowers. “What about it?” she said. “They’re lovely.” “They were supposed to be orchids,” he said. “Oh.” “The Cornish hens?” “Yes?” “I was thinking quail.” “So the champagne?” she asked. He nodded. “Dom Perignon.” “But I thought you knew magic.” “Oh, I do.” He winked. “So you can conjure up all of these things, but you rarely get them right,” she said. “That’s it in a nutshell,” he said. “My God, I feel like I’ve been tricked.” “Isn’t that the goal?” “But you’re a fraud.” “That’s a little harsh. Magic is just like life: imperfect even in its beauty.” “So you’re OK with doing parlor tricks and getting them wrong,” she said. He gestured at the table and made ev- erything disappear. “Of course. After all,” he said with a shy smile, “I’m only human.”n