The Magic Castle

The Magic Castle

My leave went from the end of September and rolled along right into October. There was a lot of 'living it up' and doing of things that I had always wanted to do, and never had the opportunity to. But now that I had the vacation time, money, and determination, the first thing I would do, and had never done, was go to a place called The Magic Castle. This is a famous Hollywood, exclusive-invite only club, where dinner, drinks and Magic are performed. Though I've made it sound like you have to me on the Impossible Mission team to get in, it's really not that hard. It takes an invitation from a magician who practices there, and you can have up to 8 people go on said invite. Part of the romanticism of it, is the dress up. Men must be in suits, and women must be in cocktail dresses.

My mom and dad, brother and his girlfriend, my friend Adam and his, and me and my girlfriend got all dressed up, and planned for our venture. We arrived at the Castle in due fashion, dropped the car off to the valet and walked through the front door. The first room is the only they will allow you to photograph. It's a small, tightly congested room, that only has one door, the one you just walked in. The reception desk sits neatly in the corner, surrounded by different souvenirs that can be purchased. The lady there, takes your admission fee (it's a Club in Hollywood-of course it's not going to be free), and then directs you to the book shelf to the left, and instructs you to say the dream words for any magician that doesn't like Abra Cadabra; and like opening a secret hideout, 'open says a me.' The bookshelf slides open, and you slip immersing yourself in the romanticism, the unknown, that could only be rivaled by jumping into a starlit lake. The mystery, endless.

There were no fish under the surface, only pictures on the wall, carpet on the floor, and a million different directions to go. Greeting us directly on our course to the bar, men in tuxedo's, magicians. If you don't believe in magic, and that it's all just illusion, well then you're like me. But there was something magical about this place, or perhaps I was just delusional. Whiskey and Coke at the bar, along with the drinks of my counterparts. We got our drinks, and like a kid at an amusement park, took off after our magic penguin as he invited us to our first show. Sitting in the room watching him, amazement slapping the jaw wide open. Never magic, illusion, have been so close. You want to reach out and touch it, understand what's going on. It's impossible, and your arm slowly starts to move forward, but it's slapped back, and you're embraced. You're held and told that it will be okay. Okay that you don't understand, comforted like a baby in whom.

After a quick magical performance, illusion'd or dis, it was time for another round of drinks from the bar. This time, on the other side, the servers window on the backside of the bar was our loitering station. We stood there the small room, half filled with a piano and bird cage in the corner. No one sitting at it to play, just a low hanging velvet rope, keeping those tempted out. Ducked down to order new cocktails through the window opening to the bar, I'm startled, the piano is playing. No one sitting at it, but a slight request to Irma, and the keys are moving, playing harmony. Drinks are served, and the piano continues, no one playing, just the keys moving and the bird cage above. No bird inside, no movement. The song ends, a tip is put into the birdcage, 'Show me the money' bellows out from the no-one piano. The bird, invisible, chirps it's thanks. Next song, any request, Irma, the invisible piano player, knows it. The time's moved by, enjoying cocktails, conversation and Irma's hot hand at the piano. Time for dinner.

We move upstairs to the only normal thing in perhaps the whole building, the restaurant. The food is ordered, and wine all around. Oysters, Prime Rib, and Mahi Mahi, and all that is classy to the average joe's is consumed in our Cinderella dresses and our King Louie suits. The food is sensational, and for the price it should be. After dinner, it's back to more cocktails, and a wonderful show in the main showroom. A man blows himself up in a balloon, and then takes a lawn dart to the ass. But all in time to play enough practical jokes on the crowd to break away any inhibitions about laughing, especially about ourselves. The alcohol, the dinner, the laughter all breaking down the armor, strangers and loved ones, all friends. Magic, illusion, not knowing each other exist.


One of the intimate show rooms

The main show ends, and more stiff cocktails are drank, as we search through the maze that is this place. Walking down a small hallway, finding a forgotten bar. The Hat&Hare Pub. No one around, just varied height in the hall, and a winding path to leave you standing, transported to perhaps a bar somewhere in England. Darts on the wall, and olde time decor. Just a sliver of what might be around this corner or that. We walk back and enjoy our drinks to another magicians tricks. Close and intimate as always. Forgetting that it's merely entertainment, you're lost, trapped and tricked; it's a way of life. It ends all too soon, as all good things do. You walk out and retrieve your car from the valet. Like eating just one chip, you certainly haven't had your fill, you want more. You drive home, exuberant, but with an after taste leaving you wanting more. The stars reflection, your souvenir. Your take back, your only memory of the unknown.


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