Subterranean Magic

Saturday, Yang and I took subway from Queens into Manhattan. New York City subway got its weekend relief from its workday congestions, and there were only a handful of passengers in our car. Our ride was roomy and long, so I took the opportunity to show off my card tricks.

It is a challenge to do the tricks for Yang, for she is more interested in catching my sleights than being entertained. This is true for most of my friends. It is the amateur magician’s adversity. When a professional magician performs his art, the audience assumes that his technique is beyond detection, and gives up the attempt to catch his maneuvers. Besides, no one buys the ticket just to shout “wait, he just palmed my card!” Amateur magicians do not have the luxury of a lenient audience. Amateurs beg to perform for their friends, and they delight in any “well done” from the audience. My friends do not watch my tricks for entertaining magic – they go to Vegas or watch television for that – they watch me to catch me. They take it as a puzzle that can be solved. They take me as the weakest and breakable link in the ring of magic.

It was thus no surprise that after I made a card vanish, Yang held my hand and tried to see if I had anything up in my sleeves. I ignored her and continued my routine. Taking out the four aces and placing the rest of the deck into my pocket, I was getting ready for my favorite trick of twisting the aces. Then I heard a man’s voice next to me:

“Oh, that is the end of my fun.”

I turned my head and saw a man with dark curly hair and a strongly contoured face, looking to be in his thirties. Sitting next to him was an attractive young Asian woman, with rather pale complexion and short hair reaching the back of her shoulders. I vaguely remembered this couple sitting across the aisle and a few seats away from us. They must have moved to the adjacent seat after I started my magic.

It was not often that I got a voluntary spectator who enjoyed my magic. I was flattered. I reassured the man: “There is more.”

I did my twisting the aces. When I finish, Yang tried to guess, incorrectly, how I turned the cards between the cards. I looked at the man. He was quite amused with the trick. But he did not show any sign of puzzlement normally expected from a spectator of magic.

I did a few more tricks. Failing to catch my sleights, Yang lost her interest. It was almost our stop. I was about to put the cards away, when the man asked me:

“Who taught you this?”

I did not hear him very well in the clanking noise of the train, and he had to repeat the question twice. Then I told him that I learned card manipulation from McBride’s DVDs. On hearing the name, the woman casually turned her head to the man and asked:

“McBride. Do you know him?”

The man said:

“Yes, I know him.”

I felt something was not right. I managed to say how great a card manipulator McBride was.

The man took out a card, his business card, and handed it to me.

“You give me a call.”

I did not have to look at the card to guess its content. Printed on the card in plain Ariel font was

Richard D. Prestia
Magician