Merryll Manning Is Dead Lucky (28 page)

    I jabbed my finger into his lapel. “No more messenger boys! Got it?”

    “What in hell’s the matter with you?”

    “Ask Peter. Go on, Peter, tell him what I said about the questions.”

    “What questions? What are you going on about?”

    “And did Peter tell you about Darin?”

    Jellis turned to me frantically: “Back on the set!”

    “Darin?” Monty was bewildered. “What’s all this about Darin?”

    “Ask Peter!” I yelled, as I made a dash for the ladder.

    I sang Irish songs for the third round. My temper was up and I was really hitting my stride. Chauncey Olcott never had it so good! And not to forget some of my favorite Scottish airs: “Maxwelton’s braes are bonnie, where early falls the dew…”

    Keeping both eyes on the clock, I was cutting the questions short, leaving no way Monty could cut my singing. Ace Jellis would be forced to leave it all in, every bar of it, or he’d end up with a tape that came out way, way under time – a disaster! A certain leeway in final segments of a popular show was permissible – even a few extra commercials – but there was a limit to the tolerance of both viewers and watchdogs.

    As I was mopping my face during the next break, I glanced around for Inspector Borne. I finally spotted him standing way over by the exit to the backstage corridor. What the hell was he doing way over there? And where were his idiot men? Did he plan to arrest Darin on his way out? Whether Darin’s answers were simply a lucky fluke or not, I wanted him detained. Let Borne and his men question him. Maybe I was wrong, but I’d rather feel safe than have a knife in my gut!

    Young Tervor Holden had started to wave the countdown. I ran over to him. “Tell them to stop the tape!”

    “Hell! What for?”

    “A security matter.”

    “You know how they hate…”

    But I wasn’t listening. I had to reach Borne before Darin twigged where I was heading.

    The idiotic lights around the set started flashing on and off. Either Monty or Jellis had pressed the panic button.

    Typically, Borne’s face registered no emotion. “Didn’t Peter Tunning give you my message?” I asked.

    “Arrest Darin? Yes, he did.”

    “What are you doing about it?”

    “You got evidence? Or just playing hunches?”

    “I want him questioned.”

    “Why? Coming last, isn’t he?”

    “That’s because I didn’t stick to the script. I changed the questions. Final round coming up. You watch him. I’ll feed him some of the questions written down in the script. I’ll preface these with the word, ‘hard’. You watch Darin get all the ‘hard’ questions right, but miss out on all the real easy ones.”

    “Begging you’re right on target there, you don’t want me to arrest him during the show?”

    “Of course not – unless he tries to make a break for it. Otherwise, have him carted off as soon as we finish and then come around and see me in my dressing room.”

    I signaled to Trev that I was ready, but the control room, of course, was still in chaos. TV tape is a monster. Once you stop it running, it takes endless fiddling to wind it back into position, But after one aborted countdown, we were finally ready for a second try.
Ten, nine, eight
…

Manners… 12; Jolley… 8; Curtis… 7; Moore… 6; Darin… 2.

    “Our final round. Fifteen questions. Still anyone’s race, though Narelle Manners has a commanding lead there. All on your mettle? Fifteen quick questions. We’ll start off with a hard one, but worth two points: Who was the first important ‘big band’ arranger, and what ‘big band’ did he arrange music for?”

    As I expected, Darin suddenly reverted to form. In fact, he buzzed as soon as I repeated the words,
big band
. “Don Henderson arranged for Fletcher Henderson’s band.”

    “Correct! You move up to four points. Still on jazz, here’s another hard question, but worth no less than eight points: Bop was developed in the early 1940s by what group? I want the names of the members.”

    Darin buzzed.

    “Four names, and their instruments? Eight points.”

    “Dizzy Gillespie on trumpet, Charlie Parker on sax, Bud Powell and Thelonious Monk – both on piano.”

    “Absolutely correct! You now move up to twelve points and are tying for first place with Narelle Manners! And now, changing the category to a leaf of Australian history, here’s a really hard one: What famous explorer discovered the mouth…”

    Darin buzzed.

    “… of the Murray?”

    “Charles Sturt.”

    “Correct! You are now leading the field. Thirteen points! What horse – and this is a really hard one – won the 1989 Ipswich Cup?”

    Darin didn’t need to buzz early for that one. “The Dixie Kid.”

    I decided to try something. “What really famous racehorse – and this is a particularly easy one – ”

    Darin pressed his buzzer.

    “… was the subject of the super-popular 1949 Shirley Temple movie,
Pride of Kentucky
?”

    “That wasn’t the question I thought you were going to ask.”

     “No-one know? The movie cost a staggering $700,000 and was one of Warner Brothers’ biggest hits of the year… The answer I’m looking for is
Seabiscuit
. Mr. Darin drops back to twelve points, but he still ties with Narelle Manners for first place – at this stage!

    “Now here’s a song that everyone knows, but I need to know who wrote the song and in what year the song was published. Two points! But I’ll give you a nice hint: The song was published in the same year as its composer died:

    “
Beautiful dreamer, wake unto me,

    Starlight and dewdrops are waiting for thee;

    Sounds of the rude world heard in the day,

    Lulled by the moonlight have all passed away!

    “
Beautiful dreamer, queen of my song,

   List while I woo thee with soft melody;

    Gone are the cares of life’s busy throng,

    Beautiful dreamer, awake unto me!”

40

Maybe I should have let Darin have his head, but I couldn’t take chances on his winning the pot. So all in all, the final segments of the show didn’t come anywhere near the close race-track finish I’d hoped for. Despite her temporary setback when I allowed Darin to convince Inspector Borne that he knew Sedge’s questions, Narelle Manners quickly re-assumed her commanding lead. Despite the $80,000 jackpot, the show had not a dog’s whiff of suspense, nor even the mildest honey-scent of excitement.

    Yes, even the least bright viewers in the coziest of homes would quickly realize that – despite the momentary ascendancy of Mr. Darin – Miss Manners was a dead certainty.

    The show’s biggest thrill actually occurred off-camera when Borne’s men moved in on Darin as soon as I said my final
Good night
to the viewers. He was led protestingly away.

    Meanwhile, I congratulated Miss Manners again for the benefit of the press photographers. She wasn’t my idea of a winner. She wouldn’t spend the money on herself or anyone else. My educated guess was that she would put the whole pot into some nice safe security. But I gave her my best smile and my heartiest hand-shake, both on the TV tape, and – soon after – for the press boys.

    When the set was finally cleared of photographers and press, I read the closing commercial announcements from the autocue. Then I waited for the fireworks. They were not long coming. Monty Fairmont raced down the ladder from the control booth and came running towards me. “Beautiful, just beautiful!” he cried, clasping me in his bantam embrace. “Perfect, just perfect!”

    I pulled myself away and looked at him in amazement. “I thought you didn’t like it?”

    “What are you going on about? It was perfect. Al says it can go to air, exactly as is, as soon as he dubs in the applause. It’s just beautiful.” He embraced me again.

    “I thought you didn’t like my singing?”

    “Loved it! Gave the show a lift. Just what the final needed.”

    I thought it ended like a damp squib. But I had a more important beef: “Why’d you send Peter down to complain?”

    He looked at me as if I was mad.

    “Peter came running down in one of the breaks, complaining that I wasn’t sticking to the script. He implied that
you
sent him.”

    “Who gives a hang about Peter? He’s just the goddamned sponsor!” growled Boss Kent who had now strolled over to offer
his
congratulations. “If Peter doesn’t bloody like it, we’ll select another sponsor for next season. They’re lining up now – ten deep! Hell, you’re wasted in security! See me in my office, first thing Monday morning.”

    “Just a minute there!” Monty protested. “Manning here is
my
discovery!”   

    “Have you signed up with goddamned Monty here, Merryll?”

    “No, sir, Mr. Kent, sir!”

    Boss Kent gave me a big smile and held up his index finger. “Right! Monday morning.” He strolled off.

    “That’s gratitude for you!” complained Monty, as soon as Kent walked out the door.

    “I didn’t say I’d sign with him, Monty. I merely want to find out what he has to offer.”

    “Good! I’ll guarantee to better anything Kent has to offer. Give me a call as soon as you leave him.”

    “Right! Now I’m going to get changed – and wipe off this damn make-up.”

    I waved to young Trevor Holden who was discussing the latest in L.A. sport topics with our two cameramen, and walked off the set for what I thought was the last time. Down the familiar corridor I made my way to Sedge’s old dressing room. I was no longer afraid of ghosts – Darin was safely in custody – but I kept the door locked anyway, partly out of habit and partly for peace of mind.

    It was nearly forty minutes before I’d cleansed myself of the last of my make-up goo. I was wondering how long it would take Borne to come around for my evidence. I had the full script all ready for him.

    When there was finally a knock on the door, however, I was still wary. Opening the door just a crack, I kept my foot firmly pressed against the bottom panel. It was one of Borne’s sergeants. I knew him all right.

    “The inspector wants you back on the set.”

    “About time! Tell him I’ll be there as soon as I gather up my goods and chattels and put my coat on.”

    Ten minutes later, I strolled jauntily back to the set. It was deserted. Where on earth was the Barney? Typical cop attitude: He sends for you and then keeps you waiting.

    I walked across the floor to the podium. Now that all the technicians had left for the night, the set looked tattier than ever. The walls, dressed up with lots of gaudy plastic tinsel – interspersed with kitsch photos of a few TV celebrities here and there – were far less menacing than the floor which was now something of a hazard, thanks to a large number of six-inch cables criss-crossing hither and thither like a brood of snakes.

    On Monday, the life-size Total Service signs would come down and the whole set would be cleared to make way for
Mother Blue’s Bedtime Cruise
.

    Suddenly, all the lights went out. Some dumb Scotsman among my security guards was earning his pay. Not even the auditorium lights were left on. Fortunately, I’d left the door to the corridor open and there was just enough of a glow from the corridor’s lights for me to see my way out. But I’d taken no more than three paces towards the door when it was suddenly slammed shut.

    Hell! Now the set was black as a tomb. No use screaming for help, as the whole megalithic set was sound-proofed. I was locked in – with no avenue of escape. Even if I could stumble my way to the corridor door, the wretched thing had an automatic lock and there was no way I could open it from this side without a special key. And no use hoping that Inspector Borne would raise the alarm. He’d find the door locked and simply assume I’d gone home – unless one of his men was eager enough to have taken note of my car and noticed that it was still parked in the lot.

    Hell! Even if someone stumbled across my car, they’d simply assume I’d taken a lift with Boss Kent or one of the crew to Hollywood’s traditional wrap-up party that marked the end of shooting a movie or a TV series.

    And this set wasn’t due to be opened again until Monday! Hell! Hell! Hell! But surely someone at the wrap-up party would notice I was missing – before they got too inebriated to notice anything?

    Besides, Inspector Borne needed me. Surely he’d want to take my evidence against Darin tonight? And he himself had asked me to meet him here, and no doubt he’d realize I was locked inside.

    No, maybe he’d just assume I’d found the door locked and gone off to the party? Hell!