An Evening With Doyle

Illusion Three- Ironing the Maiden (Part 7)

He pulled the cloth off, showing an empty ironing board, with no space for his assistant to be concealed. "See? No wrinkles... But no Avery either." Doyle scratched his head, gave the cloth a vigorous shake, and out fell a perfectly flat, paper-thin, barely recognizable Avery, landing on the stage with an unceremonious plop.

"Ah, there she is. And, uh, I guess this counts as showing a bit more skin?"

Doyle picked her up, rolled her up, and tossed her to a stage hand. "Careful, with her- she creases easily."

"I guess I'm going to need another audience volunteer for my next few tricks. Uh, at least until Avery's feeling a bit less, um, out of shape."

Doyle clapped his hands together. "So- ladies and gentlemen, who among you is feeling brave?"