“Let me get this right, you
haven’t brought a change of clothes. Is that what you are saying?” asked the officious
young man with the officious looking clipboard.
It
was indeed what Judy was saying. He was right in that respect.
“But
it would have been in the emails, sweetie. It was just below the approved
limits for the mini-bar in your dressing room. You must have seen it.”
Judy
had not seen it. He was wrong in that respect.
“The
emails went through my publisher, Connor Milligan. He didn’t mention a change
of clothes,” Judy offered, realising how lame this sounded.
The
officious young man with the officious looking clipboard thought this excuse
very lame. Judy was right in that respect.
“But
you do know you are appearing in two shows, yes?”
Judy
did know that and she wasted no time in telling him so.
“So,
tell me when you think your second appearance will be?”
“Something
tells me it will be today.”
“Correct.
I’ll wander down to the wardrobe department, well I say department, but it has
more in common with a cupboard mostly because it is a cupboard. There may be
something there we can utilise.”
This
was Judy’s introduction to the television quiz show Chapter and Verse or Worse, a light-hearted, some would say
humourous look at the world of literature. Less unkind souls would label it
humourless. A young woman approached Judy.
“I’m
Alice,” she announced, offering Judy a firm handshake. “Programme assistant. I’ll tell you what’s
happening when and introduce you to how it all works. We’ll get you to make up
first.”
“Make
up what?”
“No,
I mean take you to have your face and hair made up…oh, you were being funny
weren’t you.”
“I
was trying. To be honest, I’m not a make-up kind of gal. I prefer the natural
look.”
“The
natural look is one thing, but trust me love, you need a little extra something
for the cameras to love you. And believe me they have to love you. I suppose they
might just in your case.”
Judy
was not sure whether she had been insulted or complimented so decided on
silence and a certain amount of compliance. She was led off to make-up, like a
lamb to blusher. There, the officious young man with the officious looking clipboard
caught up with her.
“I’ve
not had much luck,” he said, “all I can offer is a Dorothy costume from a ‘A Wizard
of Oz’ production and a banana outfit.”
“I
quite like the look of gingham dresses on me, but I’m not too sure about
wearing those ruby red slippers. They’re so not me.”
“It’s
no problem. Neither the studio audience or the viewers will see them. Oh…you
were being funny weren’t you.”
She
was. He was right in that respect. “Trying, yes. I’ll just wear this outfit of
mine for both recordings. There can’t be any harm in that surely.”
The
officious young man with the officious looking clipboard looked Judy’s outfit
up and down and was of the unspoken opinion that there may well be lots of harm
in it. With a scarcely concealed sniff of disapproval he walked away.
Alice
collected Judy after the studio’s make-up artist had struggled valiantly with
her and had admitted defeat. “You don’t look any different,” Alice said, also
with a sniff of vague disapproval. “Right, now you should meet your fellow guests.”
Judy
was led to a small lounge which had all the appearance of a doctor’s waiting
room. There was even a six months old copy of Good Housekeeping and three even older National Geographics.
“Clara,
this is Judy Hamilton. I’m sure you have heard of her.”
Clara
Snelling also wrote novels in the espionage genre, in her case with a twist in
the tale or to be more accurate, the tail. Her spy thrillers had liberal
helpings of all manner of fetishes and regular bouts of BDSM, something Bradley
Steel would never approve of, but possibly something Mrs (?) Sheila Barry would
have enthused over. Her latest, Thirty
Days in Mandalay was being lapped up by an adoring public. The newspapers
all acclaimed her hero, Daniel Ryan, as being a James Bondage for the modern
age. Shaken, stirred and whipped.
“Ah
yes, Judy Hamilton,” she said, as though the name was in some way distasteful
to her. “You write…those…er…um…”
“Books?”
offered Judy.
“Don’t
tell me…it’s coming to me…thrillers in the tennis world.” She too sniffed with
mild disapproval.
‘Perhaps
everyone is coming down with a cold,’ thought Judy idly.
The
other member of the panel was Raymond Stevens (no relation) who wrote what the
press called ‘serious’ novels about ‘serious’ issues. Raymond Stevens seemed
just a little too high-brow for this decidedly low-brow show. His publisher
however had urged Raymond to consider doing the show to help spearhead a
campaign to make the general public more generally aware of his books. Raymond
therefore was performing under sufferance which had the effect of making him
even more insufferable than he had been previously. Still, on the plus side, he
had heard of Judy too. But, just as with Clara Snelling he had not deigned to read
any of her work.
The
question master was Jeffrey Hopper, a failed stand-up comedian, a failed chat
show presenter, but a tolerable quiz master. The assistant producer went
through the format with the panellists. Keep it lights folks, this is not The Book Review, be topical, be funny,
but not too funny. Jeffrey has to get 71% of the laughs, it’s in his contract.
The
floor manager set up the camera angles, checked the panellists postures, noted
Judy’s lack of make-up and sniffed disapprovingly. Judy was as nervous as she
had ever been, not even fully understanding what was required of her, for
unlike her fellow guests she had never seen the show. The producers had sent a
DVD of the previous series, but these Connor had not forwarded. Still, she was
a natural, everyone said so in the studio. And reassuringly, there was an
editor attuned to the faintest blip or error who could carpet the cutting-room
floor with embarrassing or otherwise unworthy footage. It was his job too to
ensure the loudest laughter coincided with Jeffrey Hopper saying something he
perceived to be funny. Judy was in safe hands. The seconds counted down…
The
warm-up man, a failed quiz master and failed chat show host, but a tolerable stand-up
comic had kept the studio audience on the edge of their seats, wondering when
the quiz would start. It was now.
Jeffrey
Hopper greeted the small studio audience and much larger (although not that
much larger) television audience with an affability honed during the previous
eighty-four editions of the show. There were ripples of applause for Clara
Snelling and Raymond Stevens. Then it was Judy’s turn. A light flashed on top
of the camera which seemed to be intent on examining her nasal hair in minute
detail. She smiled as Jeffrey introduced her as an upcoming star of the
literature world, one whose following was bound to grow. She nodded, not in
agreement, but just for the chance to give her head something to do. She
smiled, hoping Jeffrey had reached the end of his embarrassing eulogy.
“First
round then, folks. I give you each a random phrase and you have twenty seconds
to use it within a well known quote from any piece of literature you like.
We’ll start with you, Judy. Your phrase is ‘a bear hug’.”
She
couldn’t remember the last time her mind had been so blank. Or if it had ever
been so blank. She was well read. Everyone said so. There must be a quote she
knew and loved that she could adapt. She smiled as the camera captured every
nuance of the dilemma that her face
displayed.
“Ah,
yes,” she started confidently, “A bear hug won’t be a bear hug without
presents, grumbled Jo.”
The
studio audience sniggered.
“Thank
you, Judy,” oiled Jeffrey Hopper, “a good effort although a tad lacking in
humour.”
“They
laughed,” she said, pointing at the audience.
“They’d
laugh at anything,” Jeffrey replied.
To
prove his point, the studio audience went into hysterics. If the aisles had
been wide enough they would have been rolling in them.
“I
see what you mean, Jeffrey,” said Judy, warming to her task.
The
studio audience laughed uncontrollably at this. Judy was worried in case some
of them became physically ill as a result. There has no doubt been a study of
how being exposed to high levels of mirth can result in major and long-lasting
damage to the body’s immune systems.
Judy
fared a little better in the following round, ‘Famous writers in
uncharacteristic poses’, although deducing it was F. Scott Fitzgerald in the
gorilla suit was more of an inspired guess rather than due to any well-informed
reasoning. Add to that, a successful bout of miming in the final round (East of Eden, no easy thing to mime the
closing paragraphs of ) and not even Jeffrey’s opening line in the second show
of “nice outfit, Judy…is it new?” (which predictably was followed by gales of
laughter from the studio audience) could dampen Judy’s enthusiasm for the whole
television experience. She thought that she could even be persuaded to take
part again when invited. Alas, the invitation never materialised.
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