Chapter Four #3
“Non-optional,” Lee Ann said in answer to Seth’s complaints, and then called the next person up.
Maureen’s consultation went a little longer than normal, and she looked glum when she returned. “This is not a happy place for pale redheads with curly hair.”
Mort put his arm around her and drew her close.
“I’m feeling a bit of a headache from not having my morning caffeine,” Maureen said, “so I’m going to grab a coffee from craft services. Anyone care for anything?” she asked our group.
“I could go for a cup,” Mort said. “Maybe a pastry. I’ll walk with you.”
After all contestants had their consultations, we were once again herded to the soundstage.
“Take about five minutes,” Jenny said, using a live microphone set up by a podium, “then find a seat with your groups. Alternates, let’s put you in the booths for now. Just don’t get too comfortable there. We’re going to move you off camera for the actual show.”
Seth and I chose a table near the back, with a clear view of both the podium and the other contestants. Then we watched as the other teams found their chairs.
Maureen returned with her coffee, just ahead of Mort, took one sip, grimaced, then poured extra sugar in it.
“That bad?” I asked.
“Some kind of special blend, they said. Quite strong to my taste.”
“Good to know,” I said. “I think I’ll stick with tea.”
A tap on the microphone drew our attention back to the podium. Near Jenny stood several others, all casually dressed, hands folded in front of them in what I’d learned in a public speaking class was called the fig-leaf position.
“Everyone comfy?” Jenny asked. “Remember those seats. Unless you’re told otherwise, that’s where you’ll stay.
For those who haven’t met me yet, I’m Jenny Yager, the contestant coordinator.
And I’ll be your liaison this week. Any problems, concerns, questions, you bring them to me.
We’re having this orientation because this is as new to us as it is to you, and it’s rather important that it all goes smoothly.
“A few people I’d like to introduce you to.” She gestured to a gaunt, balding gentleman to her right. “This is Marty Wardell, our producer. This show is his brainchild, and none of us would be here without him.”
A polite round of applause sounded, and Marty Wardell just waved.
Jenny went on, gesturing to the woman next to him. “Our director, Evelyn Grider. As you can imagine, she has a lot on her plate.”
Ms. Grider also just waved to the group, who responded with more applause.
She appeared to be a young woman, but a few crow’s feet around her eyes made me question that original assessment.
Her hair, a rich brunette with red highlights, was cut into a neat bob, and her over-white smile gleaming from behind thinning lips also made me think that she was older than she first appeared.
Her flawless lipstick in a classic merlot color that perfectly matched her implausibly long nails suggested she was someone who put a lot of effort into maintaining the illusion of youth.
“And, of course, our host,” Jenny continued.
The last man standing took this as his cue, and he made his way to the podium.
He was well coiffed, with eyebrows and manicured nails just a little too perfect for my taste.
My late husband Frank would have called him a dandy.
He flashed a broad smile. “Bobby Brandon—call me Bobby—for those few who might not recognize me. You’ll know me tomorrow.
I’ll be the one in the suit.” He winked and waved, and the contestants applauded again.
“Okay!” Jenny regained the podium. “I know you’re all familiar with how pub trivia works, so let me get us all up to speed on a few twists we’ve thrown in.
First, notice there are six teams right now.
Don’t get too comfortable. On Monday, the lowest scoring team will be eliminated.
We’ll send home the lowest scoring teams on Tuesday and Wednesday as well. ”
“And then there were three,” Seth said, under his breath. His comment evoked Agatha Christie and sent a chill up my spine. Or maybe it was the temperature of the soundstage, which seemed even colder than the parking garage.
“We shake things up on Thursday,” she continued. “Nobody goes home, but the team scores of the final two days will be added together, and first, second, and third place will be determined on Friday. Any questions?”
A few hands went up, and she called on Bert, one of the burly redheads—I was beginning to be able to tell them apart, but mainly by which woman each was sitting next to. “If the show is live,” he said, “how come we have to be here so early in the morning?”
“That’s an excellent question,” Jenny said. “How about if our producer addresses it?”
Marty Wardell stepped up to the podium. “A live game show really intrigued the local stations and helped place us in most major markets in syndication as well as with a major streaming platform—right in that sweet spot in the afternoon, where most of them had a failing talk show they were anxious to replace. But Pub Trivia Live is truly only half live. We’ll pre-film the segments as the questions are read off and as your team debates your answers.
We want to include interesting elements of that deliberating process and tell a story that the audience at home can buy into, and we’ll need time to edit the video to tell the best story. ”
“They want to see a fight,” Mort whispered.
Marty Wardell may have heard him. “No, we’re not asking you to stage a fight, but conflict happens in any team discussion, and when it does, I’ll be honest, we want to be there to catch it on camera.
It doesn’t mean you’re contentious or argumentative or a horrible person.
It means you’re real. Genuine. So don’t feel the need to hold back. ”
Evelyn Grider stepped up to the microphone.
“After a time of debate, you’ll lock your answers in, and then you can take a break while we edit the morning’s video.
You’ll not be permitted to leave the studio, but craft services will be available for an early lunch.
” She turned to Jenny. “Did you tell them about cell phones?”
“I was just about to,” Jenny said. “How many of you have caught other teams cheating at pub trivia?”
Hands went up.
“And how did they do it?” she asked.
“Cell phones,” came the group answer, although some said, “Google.”
“And not that we don’t trust you, but leave your cell phones at home. If you don’t, we’ll collect them when you arrive. They’re not going to help anyway. This whole building is equipped with cell-phone blocking technology. You’ll have no service.”
There was a general rustle as a number of people checked their cells.
“Mine’s working,” Maureen said.
“Mine too,” said Mort.
Jenny crossed her arms and chuckled. “I see some of you need convincing. Hey, Dell!” she shouted. “Put on the cell-phone blocker, will you?”
“Got it,” came a voice from offstage.
“No service,” Maureen said.
Mort and Seth raised their hands. And Jenny called on Mort.
“What if you’re police or other emergency services?” he asked.
Jenny smirked, pausing a bit before answering. “Do you anticipate an emergency in your jurisdiction that you can reasonably respond to from here?”
Mort flushed and said nothing.
“Was there another question from Mainely Brilliant?” Jenny asked, looking at Seth.
Seth had put his hand down, and now he shook his head.
“Sleep well, folks,” Jenny said, “and be back here bright and early.”
We followed the rest of the contestants through the maze of hallways and buildings, back to the gate we entered. Howard offered to bring up the limo, but we elected to walk with him, and we didn’t talk until after we’d climbed in and shut the doors.
“Well, they’re just a bundle of joy, aren’t they?” Seth remarked.
“What did they say to you in makeup?” Mort asked Maureen. “I could tell you were upset.”
She rolled her eyes. “Nothing I haven’t heard before.
First, they said they couldn’t find a foundation pale enough to match my natural skin tone, unless I wanted to look like a clown, especially with my hair color, which they suggested I dye back to a ‘more natural shade.’ And it only hit me as hard as it did because I was already feeling self-conscious. ”
Mort slid next to her and put his arm around her again. “You know, we don’t actually have to show up tomorrow. We could just blow it off and spend the rest of the week sightseeing. Disneyland, Universal Studios. Knott’s Berry Farm. Maybe take the ferry out to Catalina or see the Queen Mary.”
“Contractually,” Seth said, “I think we do have to show up.”
“But we don’t have to do well,” I said. “If you’d rather, we could finish up tomorrow and be done with it.”
“You mean take a dive?” Mort asked. He squeezed Maureen’s shoulder. “What do you think?”
She shook her head. “You know what I really want now? I want to win and take them for a hundred grand.” She smiled sheepishly. “And maybe find a hairdresser who could tame what’s going on up here.” She gestured to her head. “But first, lunch. I’m really hungry.”
“What do you think, Howard?” I said. “Any suggestions for late lunch or early dinner? I think we’re all still on Maine time.”
“I’m thinking of a place nearby in Burbank. Let me see if I can get us a table.” He poked his way around his cell phone. “Bingo. You’re going to love this.”
After only a short drive from the studio, Howard let us out in front of the Smoke House, a restaurant with an obviously Tudor-inspired exterior.
“Give them my name and I’ll catch up with you after I park,” he said. “If you still want me to join you.”
“Yes, Howard, but you need to stop asking,” I said. “You’re one of us now.”
“This place looks familiar,” Mort said as a hostess led us to an overstuffed leather booth.
“You’ve probably seen us on television,” she said.
“Oh yeah?” Mort said. “What were you in?”
She laughed. “Oh, just about everything. La La Land, Argo, The Office, lots of other stuff. We’re also quite a celebrity hangout, always have been, going back to Bob Hope, Bing Crosby, and Judy Garland.” She pointed to the framed autographed pictures running across the paneled walls.
Maureen took out her cell phone and snapped a few pictures.
We were still perusing our menus when Howard slid into the empty space in the booth next to me.
“Is this one of the stops on the tour you’re planning?” I asked him. “The hostess was filling us in on all the movies and television shows filmed here.”
“Not stealing my thunder, is she?” he said. “Did she mention The Rookie?”
“With Nathan Fillion?” Maureen asked.
“That’s the one,” Howard said.
“He’s dreamy,” she answered.
Mort cleared his throat.
“Better than that,” Howard said, “the actor who played one of my favorite crime fighters of all time used to dine here regularly.”
“And who’s that?” Seth asked.
“Adam West,” Howard said gleefully. “Batman himself.”
Mort bristled. “More of a vigilante than a crime fighter, wasn’t he?”
“You’re thinking of the other versions of Batman,” Howard said. “They were so much darker. Adam West’s version was very straightlaced, campily so, and routinely worked with the police. They had the whole Bat Signal.”
“If I recall, it’s because the police were generally idiots,” Mort said, his face growing red.
Maureen patted his arm. “It was only a television show.”
Howard’s face colored. “I guess I never realized how insulting that kind of portrayal could be.”
“Just one of many.” Mort threw up his hands, his volume rising. “In real life, police departments have great success solving crimes and closing cases without the interference of amateurs, however well-meaning.”
I took this opportunity to clear my throat.
Mort looked at me sheepishly, and we all laughed. Tension broken, we enjoyed a lovely meal together.
* * *
When we returned to the B&B, we discovered that Victoria was out showing a property to prospective buyers, and Danielle was in her room, indisposed, so we camped out at the dining room table, and Maureen ran the rest of us, including Howard, through a quiz session.
With Ginette out on another job, we had a light meal of grilled cheese and tomato soup that we prepared together in the large kitchen, then chatted before heading to bed early.
I pulled out my book and enjoyed Flavia’s adventures for a few chapters, wondering if the kinship I felt with the young detective had anything to do with the fact that both of us relied on our trusty bicycles to get around.
And, for the moment, both of us were staying in oversized, rather spooky houses.
When the comfortable, drowsy feeling hit, I turned off the bedside lamp, pulled up the covers, and drifted off.
I wasn’t sure how long I’d slept. The room was still dark when something pulled me back to consciousness.
I listened in the dark, lying completely still, trying to perceive what had awakened me. Then a faint but definite scratching noise seemed to come from the direction of the wall.