I nerved myself to proceed: “Our finalists! Here they are, tonight, ladies and gentlemen: Tonight, we have Cat Jolley, jazzman extraordinaire! Narelle Manners who knows classical music like a dog knows how to bark. Joe Darin, an expert on horses and courses! Iris Moore for more pop songs than the sixties can hold. We’ve sure got our share of music lovers tonight. And our final contestant for that $80,000 grand prize – Ken Curtis, the verse man from Ohio, with famous sites and explorers.
“Gentlemen, be seated – but not before our two lovely ladies! Folks, you know the rules tonight are slightly different from our usual show. I’m not going to ask the questions in order.” I made a show of shuffling Sedge’s cards. “First come, first served! And my first question is: Where exactly is the Taj Mahal located?”
To my amazement, Joe Darin was first on the buzzer, beating Curtis by at least a second. Even more surprising, he got the answer dead right: “It’s located in Agra, Uttar Pradesh, India.”
“First blood to Mr. Joe Darin! Next question – for two points: In 1831, what overwhelmingly successful opera established whose musical reputation?”
“Robert the Devil by Meyerbeer.”
“Correct! Three points now to Mr. Darin, who is now leading the field. But seventy-seven questions to go! Who was the Beatles’ co-star in their first feature film?”
Mr. Darin narrowly but clearly buzzed ahead of Miss Moore: “Wilfrid Brambell.”
“Correct again! Four points to Mr. Darin! Come on, you other folks, get with those buzzers. Are they all working tonight? Let’s hear them!... Right, keep your thumbs ready now. Who am I? When I was seven years old, I received my first payment for singing a song in public. At sixteen, I joined Howard Baker as a girl singer – ”
“Vera Lynn.”
“Correct!”
Something very wrong here. Darin was an expert on the gee-gees. He might just know the Taj Mahal and Wilfrid Brambell, but he was too young for Vera Lynn and he’d only know Meyerbeer if he was running in the Kentucky Derby. It was time for my big surprise:
I’ve always fancied myself as a singer. The army’s a great place for revues and camp concerts. In all the years I was in the service, I never lost a chance to entertain an audience. I was a natural for TV and this quiz was my big chance. Every house in America would be tuned in to me next Wednesday night. I had to make my singing part of the show, otherwise I’d just go down as a minor footnote in TV history as the nonentity who took over from Sedge Cornbeck on a couple of nights of 80 Questions. So what? Who cares? I had to do something that viewers would really remember, yet at the same time impress Monty so much, he’d be forced to sign me up for the next round of 80 Questions or whatever replacement show he had on his drawing board. In fact, I was going to make every TV producer in the country come running to me. I’d be fielding offers. Who wants to be a glorified security guard for the rest of his life? Not me!
I stood up and advanced into the camera. “What popular comic opera does this song come from?”
Darin buzzed.
“Take a pair of sparkling eyes, Hidden ever and anon…”
“I didn’t know you were going to sing it. It comes from Weber’s opera, Abu Hassan.”
“And I don’t know how you could possibly confuse a well-known song from Gilbert and Sullivan’s Gondoliers with an obscure ditty from Weber. You lose two points.”
“What are you playing at?”
“After the ball was over, after the break of morn;
After the dancers leaving, after the stars are gone,
Many a heart is aching. If you could read them all,
Many the hopes that have vanished, after the ball.”
“What do you want now?” asked Mr. Darin.
“I want the name of the composer. Does no-one know? Not even you, Mr. Darin? The number one best selling song of all time – in sheet music, of course! It made Charles K. Harris a multi-millionaire. Well, on with the show: Here’s another easy question from Gilbert and Sullivan – one for Mr. Darin…”
I launched into A More Humane Mikado. To my surprise, Darin didn’t give it a buzz – despite the song’s extremely obvious title – but everyone else had a go. In fact, three buzzers sounded at once and I had to guess who was first off the mark.
Yes, I was having a grand time. I sang “Vesti la giubba” from Pagliacci, “Che gelida manina” from La Boheme, and “I Dream of Jeannie” from Stephen Foster. In fact, I was getting so carried away, I almost missed young Trevor’s signal for the commercial break.
I leaned heavily against the podium while one of the make-up girls dabbed the sweat off my forehead. It’s hot enough under the lights even when you’re not singing. I wondered how Monty was taking this totally unexpected development. Of course, it would have helped if I had musical accompaniment, but I couldn’t risk a flat No way, José to my proposal, so I’d told no- one at all of my plan.
Sure enough, I was dead right not to trust the bastards! Here was Monty’s messenger, Peter Tunning, hurrying as fast as he dared down the ladder from the control booth. “Bastardo! What you doing, eh?” he shouted for all the world to hear.
“So Monty doesn’t like it!” I shouted back. If the producer wanted to involve all the permanent and casual help in our little argument, so be it!
“They are not the questions!”
“You don’t say? What a surprise! Well, let me tell you something, you moronic, thick-eared bastard: I’m not in the contest any more! So what does that mean, you blithering, thick-eared boofhead? It means most, if not all of the movie questions were out! And therefore I had to make up extra music questions instead, otherwise the program would have been so far too short, not even extra commercial breaks would make up the time. So go back to Monty and tell him he’s a bloody idiot and that I wouldn’t trust him to produce a rabbit out of a magician’s hat, let alone a halfway competent TV show. Go on, run back and tell him! And next time he has some stupid complaint, tell him not to send his messenger boy but to come down and talk to me his bloody self.”
It was hard to tell what Peter was thinking behind those dark, celebrity glasses, but he seemed stunned. He was standing right in front of me, his lips moving but making no sound. You’d swear he wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words.
I wasn’t surprised that Monty had tried to use Peter as a messenger boy. Jellis couldn’t be spared, because he was dubbing the commercials.
Grabbing hold of Peter by the shoulders, I drew him close. “Take no notice of what I just said,” I whispered. “It was a cover to protect you. I’m certain the killer is here amongst us. I want you to find Borne and tell him to station at least three or four of his heftiest men behind Darin. I want him arrested. Somehow, he’s found out what the questions are.”
I had no time to explain any more. Young Trevor Holden was waving the countdown flag for the second round. Ten, nine, eight, seven…
I didn’t sing much in the second round – just a few arias from Rigoletto and Figaro, some Irish traditionals, a handful of Neapolitan folk songs, and a couple of John Charles Thomas favorites.
Narelle Manners edged ahead. And after that fantastic beginning, Darin trailed a dismal last, all the fight, all that get-up-and-buzz knocked right out of him. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe the Meyerbeer was just a lucky fluke?
During the next commercial break, I didn’t wait for any Monty yes-man, but dashed up the ladder to the control booth myself. Jellis was transferring tape to tape, so there was no sound problem. Peter was sulking in a corner. I went straight up to Monty. “No more messages?” I asked.
Monty seemed surprised to see me. “What the hell are you doing up here?”
“I just don’t like messages by remote control. Did Peter impress upon you what I said? You got any problems, you tell me!”
Monty stared at me blankly. “What are you yapping about? You should be standing by on the set.”
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.”
Merryll Manning Is Dead Lucky Page 19