Chapter Five #3
“I’m just saying,” I heard one of their team’s female members say, “you nearly bit Sam’s head off out there, and the last thing you need is more caffeine. How about a nice ginger ale?”
“How about you mind your own business?” Her teammate reached for the coffee carafe. “It helps keep me sharp.”
“But we are done with the quizzing,” she pointed out.
He froze for a second as if considering, then poured himself a cup anyway.
After obtaining my tea, I tucked a couple of bills into the tip jar for that perky blond attendant and joined Howard back at the lockers. I picked at my lunch.
“What’s the matter, Aunt Jess?” he asked. “Turkey dry?”
“No, it’s fine. It’s just…I’m not sure I like any of these people very much, and I’m beginning to regret coming, but please, don’t tell the others. Mort and Maureen, in particular, were both set on making the trip and being part of the show.”
“And you didn’t want to disappoint them,” Howard said. “I get it. That was quite a scene this morning, but maybe it was just nerves. Once everybody gets over the jitters, dispositions should improve, don’t you think?”
I nodded, but my stomach roiled. Something inside me, call it intuition or a hunch, told me Howard’s sunny prediction wouldn’t hold sway.
* * *
After a lot of waiting, we were hurried back onto the soundstage. Hair and makeup checked us against Polaroids they had taken in the morning, microphones were tested again, drinks were refilled, and Bobby Brandon made his gregarious last-minute appearance, acting like everybody’s friend.
Jenny redistributed our answer sheets, and we watched a large screen as this morning’s taping was shown simultaneously to the national audience.
When the question “Who won the men’s single gold medal in table tennis at the 2024 Paris Olympics?
” came up, Mort blurted, “Fan Zhendong,” then grimaced and banged his forehead on the table.
Maureen rubbed his back.
After the last question, the prerecorded Bobby Brandon reminded the home audience that they had until the end of the commercials to submit their answers, then the screen went blank and was replaced by a timer counting down.
After the commercial break, the screen showed our prerecorded deliberating session.
Heavy focus was placed on the altercation between Bert and Curt, and I looked over at their table where they watched stonily, the setting of one of the twin’s jaw the only indication they were at all troubled by what they saw.
The only part of our deliberation that was shown was Mort’s struggle to come up with the name of the Olympic table tennis champion.
The quiet activity of the Sagebrush Sages was more interesting, in that there was no deliberation at all. Their scribe simply read off her answers and her teammates seemed to just go along.
Then they showed the Morrisville Masterminds and their heated argument. I glanced over at their table, and they didn’t seem ashamed at all by their earlier performance. Their scribe actually lifted a beer bottle and hooted.
“Going to wager it’s not water in that bottle,” Seth said.
The screen went blank again, the bright lights were turned back on, and an offstage voice announced, “Going live after commercial.”
Bobby Brandon stood at the podium, waiting until he was given a hand signal. “And welcome back to Pub Trivia Live. Let’s see how you and our contestants did on today’s quiz.
“First category, Celebs and Their Equally Famous Pets. One. Our tiger-loving boxer is Mike Tyson.”
He went through the answers quickly, not rereading the questions but giving just enough of a short recap to spark everybody’s memories.
I felt the camera on me at one point, so I sat up a little straighter and flashed a smile.
As scribe, I followed along on our official sheet, making checkmarks at each correct answer.
We did well, I thought, missing only the table tennis question and one other.
But then again, I had no idea how well the other teams might do.
When Bobby was done reading the answers, they cut again to another commercial, and the image of a clock counting down reappeared on the big screen.
“Okay, when we’re back,” an offstage voice said, “we need the scribes ready to report your team results. We’ll do it by a raise of hands. You all probably know the drill.”
Once the commercial ended, Bobby Brandon asked for a show of hands for the teams that got fifteen questions right out of the thirty that had been asked, and the scribes of every team raised their hands.
He then raised the number, and when he got to twenty-two, the scribe for the Stetsons lowered his hand.
“I’m sorry, Stetsons.” Bobby’s voice oozed sympathy and his face assumed an exaggerated pout, his best attempt to mimic genuine sadness. “But you won’t be joining us tomorrow.”
He then more quickly raised the number to determine how the remaining teams had done, and I was happy to see that we’d taken second place, with only the Sagebrush Sages scoring higher. Maureen let out an involuntary squeal, then blushed.
The cameras all switched to Bobby again as he reminded viewers to tune in tomorrow and to be sure to download the Pub Trivia Live app, if they hadn’t already.
“Okay, music is cued,” an offstage voice said. “Stay in your seats while we pan until the live broadcast ends. You may talk among yourselves. Everybody happy.”
After maybe ten seconds, the same disembodied voice said, “And cut. We’re done. Great job, people. Stay in your seats until we collect your microphones.”
The heavy stage lights dimmed, and the house lights came on, and I looked over to Howard, expecting to see an encouraging thumbs-up, but his attention was diverted to the bank of consoles in front of him.
There, Ray, the soundman, had pitched forward and was slumped over his console. As best I could tell, he wasn’t moving.