| "The guy in the washroom, I know him," confides the man beside me.
We're standing at the back of a very crowded Coyotes dance floor watching the world's foremost mentalist, Kreskin, perform his mind-reading act. The guy continues. "He says 'Kreskin's right 54 per cent of the time. I'm right 54 per cent of the time.'" This implies he's a fake.
Washroom guy aside, the crowd is enthralled by the plaid-vested performer. "It goes without saying that I know what you're thinking," Kreskin had declared upon arrival. The crowd momentarily put down its chicken wings, licked its fingers, then clapped and cheered fiercely. Kreskin's initial stand-up routine killed ’em. "'You're the amazing Kreskin. You tell us where your luggage is!'" Badum bum!
Kreskin gestures toward a curtained booth (tubing with sheets). Within, a microphone attached to a harness sits on a wooden chair. "You can see the tremendous expense that Coyotes has gone to." Big laughs. Either as a nod to this singles bar venue, or because he's a fake, Kreskin pronounces Coyotes as something very close to "coitus." He continues, "Looks like capital punishment has been reinstated."
As the show proceeds, Kreskin brings audience members to the stage. He has them choose cards and performs a number of tricks. He knows what each and every hidden card is. He then has the audience jot random thoughts on strips of paper. These are dropped into envelopes and spirited away. Next Kreskin tells everyone to close their eyes as he projects information into their minds. He tells my mind, "you really have to go to the washroom."
Crawling over laps and knocking over half-sipped beers, I make for the john. Returning, there is no renegotiating the crowd, which is how I wind up standing at the back next to the talker.
"Is the number 11?" asks Kreskin. The audience gasps as one. He fails to ask me, "Did you need to urinate?" Fake.
"I've seen him do this way better," continues the guy beside me. "You ever see his show on TV in the ’70s? He's not a hypnotist, but he's hypnotizing them," he declares. "Do you believe in astrology? What sign are you?"
"Stop" is my favourite, but "Yield" comes in a close second. It seems to me – flattered as I am that the nice young man with the "friend" in the bathroom has taken a shine to me – that Kreskin's show is interrupting his shopping. And not just his: a group of hungry-looking young women are sizing up the bachelors in the rapt crowd. Private party-goers in the upper seating area are drowning Kreskin out.
Next, without peeking, Kreskin is calling out information written on the slips in the envelopes. He calls out a woman's license plate number. Then "'Sex, sex, sex.' Who wrote that?" he asks.
"Right here!" yells the guy in front of me.
"Who's Sandy?" Kreskin asks.
"My ex-wife. I'm divorcing her!" The hungry young women eyeball him closely.
Calling audience members onstage, Kreskin prepares us for his biggest feat. "They tell me I've done this 6,000 times. I've failed nine times," he explains. Ratcheting up the suspense, he says he will forfeit his fee if he screws it up this time. He is led away to a dressing room. "Where am I going?" he asks as the crowd lets him pass.
"Over here." The sex, sex, sex guy attempts to usher Kreskin into the ladies room. The chosen helpers then hide the performer's cheque. On the run from the amateur astrologer, I don't see this happen. Kreskin returns. He has one of his audience helpers hold the corner of a hankie. He grips the other, leading the guy around the bar looking for the cheque. This goes on a long time. Kreskin returns to the stage with a woman who is very obviously not hiding the cheque. The din from the second level is becoming a roar.
"Shhhhh!" murmurs the audience.
"There's a whole second thing going on up there. It blew my mind," says Kreskin, appearing flustered. "One more try, and if I don't get it I'll forfeit my fee and never do this again."
He's back on his game and returns with a ball-capped man in tow. The cheque is under the guy's hat. The show continues, but the audience is increasingly distracted by the noise and most are fidgety from standing through the performance. The great mentalist thanks the audience and Coyotes (pronounced coitus) with an amiable smile.
In my mind, Kreskin projects a middle-finger salute. He's so fake.
Good Listener is a monthly column devoted to eavesdropping. |
