Chapter Four #2
We weren’t the first group of contestants to arrive.
The temperature in the shaded concrete parking garage felt a little nippy.
Bleachers had been set up near security.
The guard invited us to sit, but the metal seats proved even colder than the morning air.
Most of us elected to stand. We huddled in our small groups and rubbed our hands together for warmth.
Our garment bags containing the required five changes of clothing sat at our feet or were slung over shoulders.
Occasionally others would stride up to the guard, flash him a badge, then be admitted.
“Hurry up and wait,” Seth grumbled. “Typical.”
Howard checked his watch. “They’ve still got a few minutes. We were a little early.”
“Thanks to a driver who knows the best shortcuts,” I said.
Howard blushed slightly. “One of the costs of living in LA. Hey, I’m going to scope out the competition.”
“Why didn’t I think of that?” Mort said, then took Maureen by the arm and led her over to one of the other small groups.
“What do you say, Jessica?” Seth said. “Do we bow to peer pressure?”
But before I could answer, a couple meandered in our direction. The gentleman, a burly red-faced man with even redder curly hair and a mustache, held out his hand. “Curt, from Bakersfield. We’re the Bakersfield Brainiacs.”
“Seth Hazlitt,” Seth said. “And Jessica Fletcher, from Cabot Cove, Maine.”
“I guess we don’t have a team name,” I said.
“You guys sure came a long way,” said the diminutive brunette at Curt’s side. “How long have you all been quizzing together?”
“We’re a…fairly new group,” Seth said. “And you?”
“Oh,” Curt said. “I guess it’s been over fifteen years now, every Thursday night down at Charlie’s Grill.
Except Thanksgiving, then it’s Wednesday.
” He laughed. “It’s me and Janet”—he put his arm around the brunette, then pointed to another burly redhead—“and my twin brother Bert and his wife. It’s kind of our thing. ”
The general hubbub of the garage started to die down, and above the murmur, a woman’s voice called for our attention.
We all turned to face the source: a tan, fit woman, probably in her forties.
Her blond hair was pulled into a messy bun, and she wore tight black jeans and a black T-shirt, which had collected more than a few pet hairs.
She clutched a tablet and a few old-school file folders in one hand and an impossibly large coffee cup in the other.
A cardboard box sat at her feet. She squinted at the group from behind square-framed glasses.
“Glad to see all these bright, shining faces, considering the early hour. I’m Jenny Yager, the contestant coordinator.
Yes, I’m the one who’s been sending you all that lovely paperwork.
Okay, team captains, can I see you up front? ”
We’d elected Mort as our team captain, and I could see him snake his way through the crowd. Maureen and Howard rejoined our group.
“The team Mort and I went to talk to call themselves the Gulf Coast Gurus,” Maureen said. “I guess they’re from Houston, and they’ve been competing in pub trivia for about five years.”
“The people I met are from Indiana,” Howard said. “Team’s called Shunned and Dangerous, which I don’t quite get. They’re from a town called…sounded like ‘Ship she wanna,’ unless they were pulling my leg.”
“Shipshewana?” I said. “It’s in Amish country, as I recall.”
“That’s it,” Howard said.
“Do you think we need a team name?” Maureen said, biting a nail.
Mort came up behind her. “We have one now,” he said, rummaging through a plastic bag. “Jenny asked me for our team name, so I kind of improvised. I hope you don’t mind.”
“Depends on what you improvised,” Seth said. “Although it’s got to be better than Shunned and Dangerous.”
“Well, I thought since we’re all from Maine, I could use Mainely as the first word—with an E.” Mort started handing out lanyards with our names on them.
“Nice wordplay,” I said, sliding my lanyard over my head. “But what does Mainely modify?”
“All I could think of was brilliant,” Mort said. “So we’re Mainely Brilliant.”
Seth laughed and scratched his eyebrow. “Might be a bit of a left-handed compliment in that it invites a ‘but.’ As in ‘she was mainly brilliant, but dunderheaded when it came to math.’ ”
“I kind of like it,” I said. “A tad boastful like the other groups, but with a pinch of self-deprecation.”
“And,” Mort said, handing a lanyard that said Visitor to Howard, “she’s going to have a lanyard made up with your name, but you’re officially our alternate.”
“Yay!” Howard said. He slipped his lanyard over his head as the group picked up all the loose luggage and started moving toward the gate.
We followed Jenny around a small maze of buildings, then through a nondescript metal door she opened with her key card, then around another small maze of hallways.
I hoped someone in our group had been paying closer attention than I had, if we ever had a chance of leaving this place.
We eventually found ourselves on a soundstage decorated to resemble a pub, with six round wood-topped tables each encircled by four chairs. Several empty booths formed a backdrop.
“Take a good look around,” Jenny said, then paused to drink her coffee.
“This is where the magic will happen. We don’t want anything to suggest to viewers at home that it isn’t a real pub, so we’ve included a bar and hired a bartender, and you can have whatever beverages you’d like during the competition. ”
I raised my hand, but Jenny anticipated the question.
“And no, they don’t have to be alcoholic. But they do have to look like they could be, and our bartender has all kinds of ideas on how to do that, so be sure to give him your best challenges.” She nodded to the man behind the bar, and he waved.
“We had some construction delays, so we’re still in the process of building our control room,” she said.
“Until then, all the tech people who are normally secreted away in a separate space are right at these consoles.” She pointed to a long series of stations set up just offstage.
Some were inhabited, others empty, as the crew, all dressed in black down to their black sneakers, milled around, surveying us with the same level of curiosity with which we eyed them.
“Alrighty then,” Jenny said, “we’re off to the greenroom. Let’s stow your stuff into your lockers, and I’ll introduce you to hair and makeup.” She led us through double doors, then down a short hallway to another large space.
Our lockers proved to be nothing like the tall, narrow compartments I was used to seeing in schools.
These were more like the ones used by professional athletes: wide, open compartments with plenty of hooks for hanging the required clothing we’d brought, all mounted above a padded bench, which flipped up for more storage.
Several makeup tables, complete with multiple mirrors and additional lighting, were clustered in the middle of the room.
Partially unpacked boxes and rolling cases held supplies.
Just beyond the makeup area was a long table laid out with a variety of snacks and beverages.
An attendant, an attractive blonde who I thought would be much prettier if she wore less makeup, stood watch over it.
“As you can see, craft services has coffee and snacks if anyone would like,” Jenny said.
“Your lockers are all labeled, so find yours and start unpacking your wardrobe. A production assistant will be around to check out your choice of wardrobe, to make sure you all followed the directions I sent you. And Lee Ann Carroll—wave to the nice people, Lee Ann—who is in charge of hair and makeup, will call each of you over to get you set up for tomorrow. There’s a lot of you, so don’t expect a full makeover. ”
Lee Ann, an older woman with a round, matronly face crowned by a full head of gray curls—and ironically wearing little or no makeup—raised her hand but didn’t bother to look up over the rectangular glasses perched near the end of her nose.
Seth was the first to find our lockers and waved the rest of us over. I made quick work hanging up my clothing, and another black-clad crew member with a clipboard came over to check it out.
We all passed except for Mort, who had inadvertently brought a shirt with the sheriff’s department logo, but fortunately he had packed an extra garment.
I took a brief stroll to stretch my legs and get the lay of the land.
I found the restrooms and ducked into the ladies’ room to wash my hands and check my hair.
The space was clean and well appointed, with an abundance of private oversized stalls, probably meant to function as changing rooms as well.
Upon exiting, I heard my name called, and I reported to hair and makeup.
Lee Ann Carroll sat me in a chair directly under a bright light, which I assumed was set to mimic the actual filming conditions, and squinted at me.
“You always wear your hair like that?” she asked.
I self-consciously touched my hair. “My stylist at home has been begging me to try something new, but I’m afraid I’m a creature of habit.”
“Don’t you listen to her,” she said. “This suits you.” She leaned over to rummage through a box containing small jars and pulled out two, holding each up to my face for a second before handing me the former one.
“I was right the first time,” she said. “I usually am.” She laughed at what I thought must be a private joke.
“This is your foundation. It will hold up better under the lights than anything you buy from the store, and we don’t want you to be shiny mid-show.
Just put it on before you arrive, and I—or one of my assistants—will finish you up.
” She looked down at her clipboard. “Seth Hazlitt!”
I stood but remained nearby, mainly to see how Seth would respond to his makeup routine.