Chapter Five #2
As he walked away, I caught a slight tremble in Maureen’s hand when she set down her tea.
“Are you okay?”
She nodded but squeezed Mort’s hand until his fingers turned white.
A stack of paper and writing implements were delivered to our table, and Seth distributed them and pushed the official answer sheet toward me. “Look,” he said, addressing all of us, “just try to forget about everything outside. We’re simply having fun at a pub quiz. A few deep breaths, Maureen.”
After the rest of the contestants had filed in, Jenny tapped the podium microphone.
“Our soundman wants an audio check. When I point to you, say your name. Use your natural volume and tone.” She looked off to the side where a corpulent balding man dressed all in black except for a silver bolo tie sat at an audio console. “You ready, Ray?”
Howard and the other alternates had been relocated to a bank of chairs behind the console, and I waved to him. He gave me a thumbs-up.
I tried to remember the names of a few of the other contestants as they spoke up during roll call, but there were just too many of them, and I was distracted when a man dressed in a bright red jacket and bowtie took up residence behind the bar.
“I’m afraid the coffee and the tea will have to go,” Jenny announced. “This is supposed to look like we’re in a genuine pub, so the bar is open. There’s beer, wine, cocktails, mocktails, and just about anything you’d want, as long as it looks like alcohol on camera.”
“I wouldn’t recommend the real stuff,” Seth said. “Let’s try to stay sharp.”
“I always thought it was illegal to consume alcohol on television,” Maureen said.
“I wondered the same thing myself,” Mort said, “but apparently it’s not. Just a long tradition that’s been self-policed over the years.”
We waited until the line had gone down, then availed ourselves of the bar.
Seth and I ordered cranberry juice in wineglasses.
Mort opted for iced tea, which was served in a tumbler over ice, resembling scotch on the rocks.
Maureen said she just wanted water, which she received in an amber beer bottle.
When we returned to our table, a basket of popcorn had been placed in the center.
Bobby Brandon made an exuberant appearance, striding onstage in his suit and tie. A bit of cloth meant to protect his shirt from the makeup still jutted from his collar. He waved. “How is everyone this fine morning? Ready to quiz?”
From there it was only a few minutes until instructions were given to quiet the set, and the bright stage lights turned on.
Bobby Brandon’s face erupted into a smile. “Welcome to the first episode of Pub Trivia Live. I’m your host, Bobby Brandon, and we have some great teams competing this week for the prize of one hundred thousand dollars. Let’s meet them.
“First, from Houston, Texas, we have the Stetsons.” He paused, probably for a camera span of the team.
“Then, from closer to home, we have the Bakersfield Brainiacs.” Another pause.
“From the right coast, from a little town called Cabot Cove, we have Mainely Brilliant.” I nodded and beamed my headshot smile toward the camera.
“From Henderson, Nevada, we have the Sagebrush Sages.” Yet another pause.
“From Morrisville, North Carolina, the Morrisville Masterminds.” Pause.
“And last but not least, from Shipshewana, Indiana, Shunned and Dangerous. Let’s quiz!
“Our first category today is Celebs and Their Equally Famous Pets. Question one. What prizefighter got into legal hot water when his Bengal tiger Kenya…”
Mort gave a thumbs-up, and I wrote Mike Tyson on my paper.
The questions came quickly, with no time to debate between each one.
I took comfort that every time I was stumped, I looked up to see another member of our group jotting down an answer.
I can’t say I was able to completely forget that we were surrounded by cameras, but at least my brain was able to think.
When I didn’t know an answer, I wrote down enough of the clue so that, if needed, we could brainstorm as a group later.
After the final question, Bobby segued into a commercial break, then an off-camera voice requested we stay in our seats and remain quiet while they refilmed Bobby reading a clue in which he’d mispronounced the word “cavalry” as “calvary”—a gaffe that never fails to make me chuckle.
We remained silent in our seats while Bobby and the director, Evelyn Grider, conferred, then she patted him on the back and he left. To my surprise, the bartender made a round of the tables and refilled our drinks. Instead of taking Maureen’s bottle, he set an identical one next to it.
“Oh, great,” Maureen said. “Everyone at home will think I’ve turned into some kind of lush.”
“All right,” Evelyn said. “The next section that we’ll prerecord is you and your team debating your answers. Remember, healthy debate is good for any team.”
“Not bad for ratings either,” Seth said under his breath.
Evelyn stayed at the podium until the bartender had finished his circuit, then she said, “Cameras ready?” She waited for a thumbs-up, then Ray, the soundman, also gave a thumbs-up. She removed herself from the stage area. “And go!”
As our group’s official scribe, I took the numbered page for our team’s answers and started with, “One: everyone agreed on Mike Tyson?”
It didn’t take long for us to fill in all the blanks, and I checked over the answer sheet to make sure every question was answered and my writing was clearly legible, then I looked around at the other teams. We seemed to be the first to finish.
A camera was focused on the Bakersfield Brainiacs, Curt and Bert’s group, where a debate ensued.
Seth followed my gaze. “Someone’s getting on television tonight.” He laughed.
Mort craned his head to get a better look. “Do you think they’re staging it?”
Seth cocked his head and studied them. “No, look at how red their faces are, even under all that goop they made us wear. The veins protruding. That’s kind of hard to fake.” He paused. “I wish I had my bag with me. That blood pressure goes any higher, they’ll be in a full-fledged medical emergency.”
The Sagebrush Sages worked without as much drama but also seemed to have a camera dedicated to their team. They were the next to finish. Their scribe, a short, almost pixie-haired blonde, collected the pages and tapped them primly on the table.
Shortly afterward, raised voices from another team drew our attention, and the camera swung over to catch an altercation between the Morrisville Masterminds, two contestants hurling insults at each other in thick Southern drawls.
“Must be something in the water,” Seth said.
“I think you were right before, Doc,” Mort said. “Just angling to have more time on camera.”
“I guess it works,” Maureen said. “Look at us: We can’t turn away.”
Eventually, the drama subsided, and the other teams completed their official answer sheets, which Jenny collected and put into a folder.
“Okay!” Jenny stepped back up to the podium.
“Now you get a break. Craft services has an early lunch for you. Just don’t dribble anything and don’t change your clothing.
No restyling your hair. When we go live, it needs to look like you just finished answering those questions, so let’s keep the continuity as much as possible.
“When we’re ready for the live broadcast, you’ll sit in your seats while we play the prerecorded stuff for the audience.
You can watch it all on the big screen. Then after a commercial break, we’ll cut to you live.
The camera will mostly be on Bobby, but we might get a few shots of you reacting as we reveal the answers.
That way the viewers can play at home on their little apps. ”
“Is it just me, or does she get snarkier as the day progresses?” Seth whispered.
Bert—or was it Curt?—raised his hand. “What’s to keep others from changing their answers?”
“Easy,” Jenny said. “I’ve just collected your answer sheets.
We’ll have our judges go over them during the break.
You’ll get them back before we go live, and you’ll score them just like you do when you play at home in the bars.
But if there’s any changing of answers, we’ll know about it, so don’t do it unless you want to be embarrassed on live television. ”
“Don’t give them any ideas,” Mort whispered.
“I wouldn’t put it past some of these groups,” Seth grumbled.
Howard joined us back by our lockers in the greenroom. “You guys did great!”
“There were a few questions we weren’t sure about,” I admitted.
“My fault,” Mort said. “I know I’m your sports guy…”
Maureen kissed his cheek. “But competitive Ping-Pong? Nobody blames you for not knowing who took gold in the last Olympics.”
“Thing is,” Mort said, slapping himself on the forehead, “I actually watched that match. If it comes to me later, I’m going to kick myself.”
“What I meant,” Howard said, “is you guys looked the part of a great team. Cool, calm, and very professional.” He pointed at Maureen. “Just a pinch nervous, but not totally terrified.”
Maureen blew out a relieved breath. “The first round was really scary. I could hear my heart actually beating in my ears, but after that, I did what Seth said and just tried to push everything out of my mind and pretend we were having fun playing at Riley’s.”
“Glad it helped,” Seth said. “Speaking of tachycardia, I might go check on our choleric twins.”
“Can I buy my favorite aunt some lunch?” Howard offered me his arm.
I took it with a laugh. “You’re only saying that because it’s free.”
We strolled over to craft services, and I filled my plate with a turkey sandwich on a mini croissant, some raw vegetables, and fresh fruit. I then circled back to the beverage table, hoping there was hot water for tea, and found myself waiting in a short line behind the Morrisville Masterminds.