by Adam Carter
There was applause from the audience. It still wasn’t any great amount, compared with other shows, but Corsac was glad the young woman would have more than anyone so far. No one had ever completed the pyramid, and as soon as someone did it would make the newspapers, but so far Becky Woole was their highest winner. And with a mind like hers, she deserved it.
“So,” Corsac said, “what do you intend spending it on, Becky?”
“Uh, me, Jack.”
“Good answer.” He looked to the camera. “That’s it from us, but I’ll just leave you with this thought. You sit an exam and get a series of multiple choice questions, right? Well, so far as I see, there’s only the one choice, but a whole lot of options. Should be called multiple option questions. Nice they have them in school exams, wouldn’t want kids learning the language wrongly.” He paused. “Goodnight, all!”
At least this time it actually was closer to the night.
*
Within the audience, Richard Starke clapped politely, his eyes boring into the face of the man he knew now to be his foe.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
“You want to what?”
Castle could not understand what he was hearing. No, it wasn’t that he couldn’t understand it, it was that what was being said didn’t make any sense ... which meant he didn’t understand it, surely? Castle had no idea whether any of that sounded sane, but at that moment he didn’t care. He was having an insane day and it was only getting worse.
The first show filmed in the new time slot had worked fine, even if it had been a little hectic, and they even managed to film three episodes back to back. The number of things that had gone wrong with the lighting, with the make-up, with the cameras had been phenomenal but they had got through it all. They had all pitched together and got through it like a well-trained platoon.
Now, just when the hectic day had finally paid dividends, the man at the centre of it all was standing in Castle’s office. And he wasn’t standing there without reason. He was standing there because he had a thought of some kind, had some weird sense of jitterbugs, or whatever they were called. Butterflies in the stomach: weird, jitterbuggy butterflies in his stomach which he seemed to find it appropriate to share with his boss.
Castle had no idea how to respond to what Corsac had just said, other than with the four words he had already used. Since saying them (all of half a second ago), his mind had failed to make any sense out of any of this, which called for only one thing. Which was asking the same question again and hoping his hearing had recently collapsed.
“You want to what?”
“Sorry, Herb,” Corsac said. “I just feel I’m being stifled here. I need to get back to the comedy, I need to get back to what I’m good at.”
“I thought you hated comedy.”
“I don’t hate comedy,” Corsac said, and a wave of relief flowed through him as he was finally able to admit that. “I just ... Herb, don’t you ever get stuck in a rut? Don’t you ever do something for so long that you feel you need a change? You need to try something new?”
“Sure. Then I switch over the channel, but we don’t want people doing that with us, Jack.”
“I’m sorry, I really am. But ...”
“Is it not working out? Some aspect of the show? The music, the quality of contestants? We can get rid of Liz if you’d like.”
“Liz? No, Liz is great.”
“Glad you think so. She’s a crowd-pleaser. You want to write more of your own material, is that it?”
“I’m restricted, Herb.”
“Restricted? What do you mean you’re restricted?”
“In what I can say.”
“Then we’ll allocate more time for jokes. Maybe extend the show by ten minutes or something. We can do that now we have a new time.”
“I’m not talking about game show jokes, Herb, I mean comedian jokes.”
“Oh, so now game shows are beneath you.”
“No, I didn’t say that. It’s just here I’m limited to what I can say.”
“So you can’t make any racist jokes out there? Isn’t that a good thing?”
“It’s not about racist jokes, Herb. Comedy is a form of expression. It’s a means to getting an artist’s point across. How he feels, what he thinks of the state of the world. It gives us ... I don’t know, a platform where we can vent our naked aggressions on an audience that’s gonna find it funny.”
“Well, you can vent your naked aggressions and do the show as well, surely.”
“I can’t do both, Herb.”
“Well, a break would do you good. Even Noel Edmonds takes the summer off.”
“This isn’t about taking the summer off, Herb. Besides, it’s October.”
“I know, and we have a Christmas special to plan.” Castle leaned back in his chair, silently contemplating the situation. “OK,” he said at last, “how much?”
“How much what?”
“How much to keep you on?”
“Herb, it’s not about the money.”
“No, seriously, how much? I can haggle with the best of ‘em, Jack, but I’ve seen this ploy before. People threaten to quit on me all the time. Those I can afford to, I let go. The indispensable ones I throw money at, so how much you want?”
“I don’t want money, Herb.”
Castle all but slammed his pen upon the desk. Neither man had even noticed he was holding it. “Damn it, Jack. I can’t do this show without you. We need you here, I need you. Liz needs you.”
“I know.”
“So why are you even thinking of leaving? Why are you putting yourself before the rest of this family? Because I really do see this, see you, as family.”
It was the emotional-blackmail card and they both knew it. It showed Castle was both terrified and desperate. But Corsac was sticking to his guns on this one. “I’m sorry, Herb.”
“So you keep saying. Doesn’t make me feel any better. Was this the plan all along? Use your daughter to get you the job here, use us to make you famous and then dump us? Make the headlines by walking out the instant we make it big?”
“That’s not ...”
“‘Cause that is what’s going to happen, right?” Castle waved an arm through the air before him, thumb and forefinger almost touching. “Deadlock Left Dead in the Water. I can see it now. Ruined.”
“You can get someone else, Herb.”
“Can get someone else? What do you mean we can get someone else? That’s like saying they could let Paul O’Grady walk out of the Paul O’Grady Show and replace him with someone else.”
“They have had guest presenters.”
“This isn’t Have I Got News For You, Jack. Game shows don’t have guest presenters, nor do they ever work after the host walks out.”
“Wipeout.”
“Excuse me?”
“Paul Daniels used to do it, then Bob Monkhouse took over.”
“That was different.”
“How was that different?”
“Paul Daniels isn’t really in quite the same league as Bob Monkhouse, Jack. That’s like saying ... I don’t care what that’s like saying. The point is this show would flounder without you.”
“I could make you a few suggestions.”
“I don’t want suggestions, Jack, I want you.”
“I’m moving on, Herb. I wish we could have done this a bit more peaceably, but that’s the way it is.”
Castle sighed deeply and slumped in his chair as he looked across at his dwindling host. “Have you discussed this with your agent yet?”
“No.”
“Then maybe you should.”
“Sam would agree with me.”
“You sure?”
“I think I should know my own daughter.”
“I was speaking of her as your agent.”
“And you were speaking of us as family.”
Castle did not answer for a moment. “Which just proves my point. You’ll only be giving Sam a slap in the face over this, Jack. Think abo
ut it. If you leave here and can’t find something else, Sam’ll be losing money just as badly as you.”
“I’ll tell her later.”
“Talk to her.”
Corsac shifted uncomfortably where he was standing.
“Talk to her,” Castle repeated. “Talk to her before you reach a decision.”
“I’ve already reached my decision.”
“Well talk to her and maybe you’ll change your mind.”
The two men locked eyes, each daring the other to say that one word which might destroy their relationship. At last it was Corsac who looked away. “OK, OK, I’ll talk to her. But I’ve still decided, Herb. I don’t mean I intend to leave right now. I’ll stay until you get on your feet. I’ll do the Christmas special you were talking about.”
“Why don’t you talk to your agent?” Castle said, his tone like ice. It was clear the relationship between these two men had soured over the past ten minutes and there was nothing either of them could do or say to add any sweetness back to the mixture. Castle’s hope was that Sam would be able to talk some sense into his straying host, but at the same time they both knew it wouldn’t happen.
Castle contemplated the whole mess when he was alone once more. Things had been going so well, and now he was thrown the most colossal spanner he had ever seen.
Suddenly, he brightened. Something Corsac had said earlier, towards the beginning of their debate, flashed into Castle’s mind and a plan began to form. He didn’t know whether it would work, but if he was right there was every chance he could salvage something from this fiasco. There was every chance he would be able to get Corsac to return to the fold.
It was time to deploy his secret weapon. Castle reached for the phone.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Jack Corsac was nowhere.
Liz had been searching for hours and so far had nothing to show for her efforts save a growling stomach. She had no idea where he lived and doubted his wife would have much liked her turning up on the doorstep anyway, and he didn’t own a mobile so she couldn’t reach him that way. What Liz had managed to do was phone his daughter, Sam, who had left a business card with Herb Castle. Sam had not been able to provide much in the way of information, and had seemed entirely unaware of her father’s intention of leaving the show. Indeed, Sam seemed horrified by the prospect and assured Liz she would do everything she could in order to talk him out of it.
Liz was glad Sam had given such a reaction. Corsac’s other daughter, Louise, would not have been so understanding. Louise would have taken the stance that if her father was not happy, he should by all means quit the show and try something new. The way Liz was thinking, what else was there for the man to try? He had to find something he liked doing, something with which he could at least be content, because if he didn’t he’d live the remainder of his life a very miserable man.
Before she could persuade him to change his mind, however, she had to find him.
She searched the studio, she tried every phone number she could think of; she even called Sam back twice more. After three hours she finally gave up and collapsed in a chair at her local pub, The Rose and Crown.
She saw him standing opposite her, his back turned, playing on the fruit machine.
“Jack, what have I told you?” the barman, Frank, was chiding him. “You’re barred from the machine, Jack. Remember?”
“It’s different now, Frank,” Corsac was arguing. “I have decent money coming in now. I can afford to ...”
“Jack, you can never afford to gamble. You do remember that, right?” Frank was pouring a lot of effort into the Irish voice which Liz had never assumed was natural. It was the voice he always adopted if he was reprimanding someone.
“I’m feeling lucky, Frank.”
“Well you’re not, and you know why you’re not?”
“Why, Frank?” Corsac asked.
“Because the good players – whether it’s cards, horses or these infernal machines – a good player knows when to walk away. And you, Jack, don’t know when to walk away.”
“But I’m winning.”
Frank glanced at the screen. “Sure. So you’re up two pounds. Bully for you. But are you going to walk away with that or is it going back in, Jack?”
Corsac ignored him. “I’m on a lucky streak, leave me alone.”
“Lucky streaks are will-o’-the-wisps, Jack. Factoids. They’re only real,” he lightly tapped Corsac’s head, “in here. And the instant you stop believing that, that’s when you’ve lost. But you can’t know you’ve lost because you can’t see it and if you could see it you wouldn’t know it.”
“So how do I get to know it?”
“You don’t. You rely on others around you to notice it and to pull the plug for you.”
“Frank!”
“It’s for your own good, Jack.” Frank was on the floor already, scrabbling about for the plug. “You’ll thank me in the long run. Actually, no, you won’t, but you’d certainly be more upset with me if I allowed you to continue.”
Liz watched the two men fight over the power cord and sat gaping. She had been searching for this man for three hours and to find him here, of all places, doing something as trivial as ... as ... She shook her head, blinked, forced herself to realise this was all really happening, and found herself on her feet, meandering like a shambling cadaver across to where the boys were squabbling.
“Mr J,” she said, and Corsac looked up at her, which enabled Frank with a triumphant “Aha!” to yank the plug free.
The machine went immediately black.
“Oh,” Corsac said, staring at the screen. He sighed, rose and helped Frank to his feet. “Ah well, I should probably thank you.”
“You should,” Frank said.
“Not gonna happen,” both Corsac and Frank said together.
Half laughing, half in remorse, Corsac took Liz by the shoulder and led her back to a table. They sat, Liz still not fully comprehending how utterly bizarre this meeting was turning out to be. Frank brought them over a drink each and waved away any offer of money by Corsac. Liz made no such offer, mainly because she was still in shock.
“So,” Corsac said, “Castle told you what happened?”
“That you want to walk out, yeah.”
“I have to think of my career, Liz.”
“J, you have a good career. You’re fifty-five. As you keep trying to convince me, you’re old. Still say you’re not, though; but your words, not mine.”
“You’re saying my career’s here already and I shouldn’t throw it back in everyone’s faces.” He nodded. “I know. I have thought about this, you know. It wasn’t just a spur of the moment decision.” Which, of course, it had been.
“How long have you been thinking about this?” Liz asked, at this stage trying not to demand anything of the man. “I thought we discussed everything to do with the show.”
“This isn’t to do with the show.”
“J, you are the show. Without you, the show does not go on.”
“You’re afraid they’ll get rid of you, Liz? Castle’s already told me you’re indispensable.”
“Not me, you dummy. You. You’re the one who makes the show. Without Jack Corsac there is no Deadlock. Just a bunch a stupid contestants answering no questions, with a half-naked girl prancing about by the side of a naff-looking pyramid.”
Corsac frowned into his drink. “Not the way the Radio Times is likely to bill it, but ...”
Liz shook her head, her rage seething. She took his chin in her hands and forced her to look at him. “Look at how cross I am, J, and stop with the jokes.”
“I’m a comedian.”
“You’re a game show host.”
He winced. “Ouch.”
She sat back in a huff, still angry. Angrier. “What do you want, Jack? What do you want from life?”
“I ...” His voice trailed off.
“Well, if you ever do figure it out, let me in on the secret, yeah?”
“Liz, I ...�
�
“Liz, I what?”
“I ... I don’t know what to say.”
“Say you were joking, say you’ve changed your mind. Say anything except that you’re going through with this.”
“I ... am going through with this.”
“What does Sam say?” Liz demanded haughtily.
“Sam?”
“Your agent, Sam. You don’t know what she’s said because you haven’t consulted her.”
“I don’t need to consult my daughter on everything I ...”
“Not your daughter, your agent. I’ve spoken with her.”
“You talked to Sam?” Corsac asked, surprised.
“And she agrees with me.”
“That’s why I haven’t spoken to her,” he said shrewdly.
“Did you ever think that if all the women in your life ever agree on something, that might be because it’s true?”
“Not all the women. I haven’t talked it over with my wife either.”
Liz hesitated. It was seldom that Corsac ever mentioned his wife and, even though Liz knew he had one, she had fallen into almost total obscurity. No one mentioned her on set, nor was his wife the subject most readily picked up by any press they might have. Liz reckoned that was because Marie Corsac was boring, unextraordinary, if such were even a word and if it wasn’t it should have been.
Liz reflected on the last time the two of them were sitting in this very pub, the very same seats actually at the very same table. Liz had caught Corsac’s eye because of her knowledge of words and he had convinced her it would become essential on the game show. She had accepted his word and in fact had seldom utilised those talents and instead paraded around in a fluffy bikini. If she had been given a glimpse of her future even a year ago, she would have balked at the prospect of flashing herself to the nation, but now she was so deeply ingrained into the show she couldn’t think of anything she’d rather be doing.