"Tonight."
Harry was on the phone at his tall, imposing desk. Emmys lined one wall, pictures lined another, and posters from his past successful shows lined the third. He had a bowl of quarters next to him that he kept drawing from, trying to catch one after the other by placing them on his elbow and shooting his arm forward… as he talked on the phone.
"Tonight? Harry, that's not enough time," London said.
Harry could picture the kid with his beret all twisted as he practically cried into the phone. "What do you mean it's not enough time, London? This is supposed to be a game show. Normally you wouldn't know that you're guaranteed a winner tonight. Just direct the show like you always would."
"Harry, we've had 226 episodes. Do you know how many contestants have won in those 226 episodes?"
"How many?"
"Three. And one of them was during my one week of vacation from this show."
"Yeah, what a bitch that was when you missed that. How'd you handle it?"
London inhaled sharply on his end. "I unsuccessfully tried to kill myself with a battery-powered blender in a public swimming pool."
"Oh. Right then. Uh, could you hold one moment?
Harry put London on hold and buzzed his secretary. Her voice came over the speaker: "Yes sir?"
He spoke into the speaker phone. "Could you come in here for a moment and stand for me in your underwear?"
A moment later, the door to his office opened. The secretary walked in and stripped down to her underwear and bra, standing in front of Harry's desk. He picked up the phone and continued talking.
"Listen, London, we do live TV and we're on in three hours. ABC's starting a new show next week where they kill both your parents and winners get their names tattooed on a famous actor's genitalia of their choice. We got Sweeps starting Monday and I want to crush them. Crush them. Mr. Anderson wins tonight."
"Henderson."
"Henderson?"
"Henderson."
Ryan was backstage at Who Knows. The studio was rushed and panicky, as it was before every live broadcast as the show's crew hustles to finish all the preparations.
"Henderson? It says here 'Anderson,' said the production assistant as he checked his clipboard.
"Yeah, apparently there was some kind of mix-up," Ryan said.
"Okay, Ryan Henderson. I'm Damien. All you need to know is, when the announcer says your name, you'll walk out through this doorway, and follow this gray line out to the podium. You'll shake hands with Guy right here and then...
Meanwhile, London was busy addressing two 20ish crew girls. "Why did they give new crew members today?!" he barked at them. When they didn't answer, he finally said, "Tell me your goddamn names."
"I'm Bridget," said one.
"And I'm Wendy," said the other.
The girls giggled, though nothing was funny.
"Of course you are," London said. "Bridget, you'll be sitting in that hot seat--" He gestured up to a large spotlight with a swiveling seat for the light controller to sit in. The light was above the two chairs for Guy and the contestant.
"And you, uh, Wilma was it?"
"Wend-- Close enough."
"Right. You'll be controlling the audience prompters. For a right answer, when we go to commercial, and when the show starts, hit the 'applause' button. If Guy says a joke, or attempts to say a joke...
"Now you’re gonna get 120 seconds to answer each question," Damien continued. He sat in Guy's chair across from Ryan. "There’s a digital clock right over there that’ll tick down the seconds. When the seconds tick down to zero, you still get 30 seconds to answer from when Guy asks you for your 'definite response.'"
"When will I meet Guy?"
"When the show starts. Now then, over here are the buttons for your two 'Helpful Hints.' The buttons themselves don’t do anything, but it looks good when you hit them as you say which Hint you want to use."