The last, ethereal notes of "Fascination" resound through the Main Hall. Applause rises from the dining tables. The dancing couples bow to each other.
Caroline Dufner, president and co-founder of the Virginia Dufner Foundation, climbs on stage and takes to the microphone. "The Jazz Blues Cockatoos," she says with a flourish at the music band. A well-trained smile brightens the woman's face. Her features are mellow, her voice is soothing. Business casual attire lends grace to her stocky frame. You'd take her for a kindergarten teacher or something, not the eminent tycoon's daughter that she is.
"And now, ladies and gentlemen, dear friends, it's time to add a little bit of magic to our wonderful evening together. May I introduce to you an act that has performed at the most exclusive venues all over the world. To dazzle and delight us here, tonight, Mr. Adrian Baines and the lovely ladies of the Magic Bouquet!"
The Jazz Blues Cockatoos begin to play some upbeat funky-jazz piece, and a young man that must be Adrian Baines comes out from backstage wheeling a set of three vases on a table with casters. In contrast with his fresh face and his modern, aggressive-looking haircut, he sports a classic magician's tuxedo with a cape. On the lapel of his jacket is a pink ribbon, as a sign of commitment to the Foundation's mission: fighting breast cancer and promoting awareness of the disease.
Caroline acknowledges a nod from Baines before leaving the stage.
The magician bows to the audience, then waves his left hand at the vases. They are empty. Nothing quite special about them. The one in the middle is pink, the others are blue.
Suddenly there is a bunch of daisies in Baines' right hand, where there was nothing just a moment before. The young man holds the flowers to his face and takes a sniff, then puts them in one of the blue vases. He spreads his arms wide and plucks two more bouquets out of thin air, one roses, one violets. The former goes into the vacant blue vase, the latter in the pink one. Baines takes off his cape and drapes it over the table, concealing the flowers from view. He snaps his fingers and calls "Daisy!", to which the cape flings itself ceilingwards, unveiling a woman in its wake. She is standing on the table, not moving a muscle, smiling blankly like for an ID picture.
Among the dining tables many a head jerks back in confusion. The feat would be impressive enough as it is, and yet something about the way this Daisy woman made her appearance is especially strange. She didn't get up from crouching, like she would have if she had been hiding under the cape. Rather, it's more like she was created, 3D-printed on the spot by the cloth. A wave of aah's sweeps through the crowd, followed by an applause, and a few gentlemen take the chance to slip some less-than-gentlemanly words of appreciation at the sight. The magician's assistant looks young, probably younger than him, with a baby-fat face and the figure of a car show hostess. She wears a blue catsuit with no shoes or gloves, and her large breasts spill out, braless, from dedicated openings. Her golden skin and deep brown eyes have a slight exotic note to them, suggesting a Mediterranean or Middle Eastern descent. Her hair, thick dark and wavy, is pulled up in a knot from which errant wisps escape at random.
Daisy hops into Baines' arms and is deposited on stage, where she promptly starts dancing to the background music. It's a frisky dance, full of bouncing steps and quirky little moves that make her boobs wobble fanservingly. The girl's namesake flowers, together with the vase containing them, have vanished.
The magician takes off his dinner jacket and covers the two remaining vases with it. "Rose!", he calls, and this time an obviously Asian woman materializes, wearing an identical copy of Daisy's outfit.
Rose shifts her disdainful gaze from the audience to Baines as he helps her off the table. Her face is a composition of sharp angles and levigated bumps, topped by a wig-like bob that grazes her cheekbones. She would make a great backstabbing informer in a crime movie.
While his assistants circle around him, bobbing their shoulders and kicking their legs to the beat, the magician goes about undressing himself. Having tossed his tie to the floor, he proceeds to unbutton his shirt. The girls then approach him on both sides to strip him of the garment, not hiding their admiration for his sculpted chest as they dance-walk in place.
"Violet!", exclaims the magician once his shirt has been laid over the table. Presto! The last vase has become a lanky thirtysomething blonde, with bright blue eyes, a pointy nose, and crooked lips stretched in a smile. Violet is the thinnest assistant of the bunch, and the least endowed. Apart from being pink, her catsuit is no different from the other two's.
Without leaving the table the woman begins to move to the beat, not so much dancing as just swaying her hips. She closes her eyes, a dreamy look upon her face as she runs her hands along the curves of her silhouette and over her small tits and up her hair, which is glossy and flowing and falls down to her shoulders. The other two assistants take position at the sides of the table, then they go down on one knee and all three of them extend their arms in a triangle figure, just in time for the last cymbal crash of the song.
Applause.