Flim-Flam! Psychics, ESP, Unicorns, and Other Delusions - James Randi [160]
At about eight thirty that evening, we were picked up at our hotel and offered aperitifs, which I declined. I seldom drink, and I was not about to become befuddled. My sensitivity to alcohol is extreme, and in France, where dining without wine is barbarous, I have always been at a disadvantage. The restaurant that we visited was kept open especially late for our party, and in an upstairs dining room, waited on by the proprietor himself, we supped sumptuously at the considerable expense of Pechiney. Girard, ensconced at the head of the table, ordered vast amounts of cognac and wine, and saw to it that everyone's glass was filled. The meal itself I cannot describe adequately. The specialty of the house was a boiled chicken dish that contained mostly intoxicating substances; a fowl never was complimented with finer attention, or greater saturation in wine. In spite of my avoidance of the alcohol that many others were accepting, I was in danger of losing my objectivity, and when the dessert—a bombe liberally flavored with rum—arrived, I drew the line.
I noticed that Davies and Evans were quite careful about their intake too. Dr. Evans, known for his appreciation of good food and drink, remarked afterward that one of his greatest regrets was that he had to pass up so much fine beverage. His sacrifice was duly noted.
Two members of the party were introduced as magicians. One was an angular gentleman who drove me crazy with an affected cigarette holder that seemed to be constantly pointing in my face. He was Andre Sanlaville, an entrepreneur who makes his living somewhat on the fringes of the conjuring profession, promoting various festivals and conventions. The other was known as Ranky, a small, rotund man who has thrown in his lot, for whatever reason, with Girard. Both have seen Girard work many times, and both have declared him the real thing. 1 do not think they lie; I think they merely do not see very well. These two experts were as liberal with the intoxicants as most of the rest of the party, and the results were to show up later.It was now approaching midnight, and Davies, Evans, and I were anxious to get started before conditions deteriorated into a real bacchanal. We were supposed to be there for a scientific experiment, and it was looking less like one every minute. Finally we were packed into cars and went not to a laboratory but to the apartment of Dr. Bouvaist, where we found a videotape setup ready. There was, of course, an ample supply of cognac as well. Girard seems to function well in such an atmosphere.
A word about Girard as we settled into this drama. He is, it appears, in his early thirties, a small man, well knit, quick and lively, dressed in fashionable velvets and a huge velvet bow tie. Altogether a show-business personality, and quite conscious of his reputation, he had refused my $10,000 offer through Crussard, and I had been admonished that even the mention of the reward might be enough to inhibit the results of the test. I played along with this notion. Also, I suspected that Girard had already been at work before our meeting, and it turned out I was right. In conversation the next day with Alexis Vallejo (you will remember that he had been banished), he told me that on the afternoon before the tests he had been staying at the apartment of one of the investigating scientists and had been invited by an unknown gentleman to hike into the hills nearby to hunt for mushrooms. Alexis had welcomed the diversion but wondered about the obsessive curiosity of his companion concerning me and my personal life. Since communication was difficult due to language barriers, and Vallejo was not about to divulge more than polite