Try Try Again Read online

  The gamelight glowed and then blinked, meaning Jill had won that particular T-slice, or more probably had tied with a few thousand other agonists. Jill stayed with the character, but almost immediately the gamelight blacked out, meaning at least one other person was doing a better job of being Liv Saunders, than Jill was.

  Her gamelight came on one more time that evening, but Jill won nothing more. After the show ended, her webV showed she had won a dollar for tying one T-slice (about four tenths of a second this time – the actual value depended on how many agonists were online at the moment) with some 2,645 other competitors.

  Jill spent the next week in a grim mood. If she didn’t win something more than a kiss-off buck in episode four, she’d just drop the whole thing. If she could. She’d stop shaping her hair like Liv did (or had – the fanzines said Saunders had made slight changes in her hairstyle recently.) She’d stop centering her life on five Wednesday evenings twice a year. If she could.

  She practiced hard, reviewed the trial transcript three more times, watched the downloaded season-one footage again, studied Liv’s body language (inscrutable, but imitable). Desperation powered her practice sessions.

  As Wednesday approached, Jill had been a little encouraged by winning that dollar in episode three. Hope was again springing as she reminded herself, it was episode four where she’d won that thousand dollars in season one. She waited impatiently as Wednesday crept toward her.

  She avoided Ellie, not needing more downer-therapy than she was already giving herself, but she couldn’t avoid Roger’s call, because she’d absent-mindedly touched the answer icon before spotting the telltale caller-ID.

  “Hi, this is Roger,” the cell voice said. Jill momentarily caught her breath, then flinched. Jill didn’t think she could control her voice, and said nothing. She had a momentary flash of Roger at the Charley Dukes trial as the killer, the accused who this time would be sentenced to being hung, drawn, and quartered the good old-fashioned way.

  “Jill, are you there? I just wanted to tell you I left my loyalty-card collection. I think it’s under the dresser. Could you go look?”

  Jill very much wanted to say, Why, did That Bitch leave it in our bedroom one day when you ‘had her’ over? How’s that for loyalty? But she just said, in as cool a voice as she could manage, “I’ll look later and text you.” She hung up, and hurried into the living room. Episode four of season two of ‘Try Try Again’ was about to start.

  Halfway through episode four, Jill’s gamelight had not yet come on. Time for the British Foods commercial, which was new for season two. The scene right after the commercial was her favorite, she thought it was her best chance to win. Liv Saunders and Charley Dukes would be seated at the defense table, watching Chief of Police Gardner response to the prosecution’s questions; saying he saw Charley shoot the Congressman. This testimony wasn’t particularly crucial – some thirty-five other people saw the same thing, and seven had been dutifully trooped to the stand and testify to that.

  Chief Gardner had been on the platform with Congressman Barnes seconds before Barnes had stepped down into the crowd and been shot. Gardner had said he’d been – ah – reaching for his weapon when … Actually, Jill had heard Gardner had been ducking for cover. Not blaming him, she thought, who wouldn’t duck when a man a few feet away pulls out a pistol and starts firing wildly? Gardner had suffered a flesh wound to his right hand, and so the ducking was seldom mentioned – especially by Gardner. ‘Heroic Chief Scott Gardner’ had been well-honored.

  Coming out of this commercial and a half-second black screen, as Jill knew and had practiced, Prosecutor Brent Nielsen would ask Gardner how many shots he’d heard, and Gardner would say “Three or four. Maybe. Or could be five, y’know how awful everything got, sounds bouncin’ around ...” “And did you find all the bullets?” “Not sure, sir, but we found three: one in the deceased’s body and two in the concrete wall behind him. Those two were mostly fragments, though. And if there were any more, we just couldn’t find ‘em.”

  “And did you or Agent Sullivan return fire?”

  “No, sir. There were just too many civilians around. And the assailant had turned and run, anyway. He’d stopped shooting.”

  During this exchange, Charley and Liv would be seated at the defense table quietly. It was tough to be in-character with someone who was just sitting. Unlike statues, seated people had body-motions, and nods, and breathing patterns that could be very subtle. But Jill believed she had Liv, in this scene, nailed. Charley would lean forward, as if he were about to stand. He’d look up with an odd, startled expression on his face, and Liv would glance at him, and give him a thin but reassuring smile.

  Jill was ready, as the commercial voice concluded its pitch by saying kidney pie was rather tasty, and those viewing the commercial, if they were so inclined, might be interested in considering this sturdy product of a proud island for their tables.

  She assumed the alert seated posture Liv had shown in the real trial two years before, and readied her mouth for thin smiling. The half-second black screen cut to the courtroom. Just then, Jill’s gamelight turned on.

  Jill was ready; she was always ready. But wait! Something was different. There was Liv’s thin but reassuring smile, which Jill duplicated on her own face, but what was she smiling at? Charley hadn’t looked up, hadn’t blinked, hadn’t startled, because that second and a half had apparently been cut out of the film.

  She felt thrown off-balance, but stayed in character as Liv Saunders. Yes. She had caught her mental balance and was anticipating Liv’s expressions and movements as Liv prepared to cross-examine Officer Gardner. Liv rose from the defense table in a way that implied, wordlessly, Gardner was not to be believed, hero or not. At the same time at home, Jill got up from her chair.

  Liv cleared her throat. Her face had just begun to register sympathy for the Chief’s wound, but the careful sympathetic expression and gesture were more formulaic than real. Jill had picked up on the difference, and was pretty good at mimicking Liv’s exact expression and tone of voice, as she would say 6.7 seconds later, “I’m sorry about your….” Jill cleared her throat at the same time Liv did.

  Jill’s gamelight stayed on, and started blinking. She concentrated hard not to be thrown off-character by her suddenly being watched by the show’s computer – because she knew, very quickly, she had duplicated her thousand-dollar win from the year before, and more.

  She was now the attorney, and Liv’s copycat. Jill now felt completely in control of the courtroom as Liv strode to face the witness with the bored-cop look.

  Jill / Liv began to cross-examine the officer. Jill’s gamelight was still blinking. One hundred fourteen and a half seconds later, the gamelight went out. Jill collapsed into her chair, shaking and not daring to understand what she had done, how much money that could mean.

  She knew there would be publicity, fans, blogposts, tweets. In season one, Truda Vallon and Duane Rondo had, separately and as two different characters, stayed “lit” for almost a minute, and had won something over half a million dollars and become famous. But no one had ever lasted longer than that. Now Jill had.

  Even before the show was over, Producer Frank Dickstein himself, and Hub Landon the director, had each video-mailed her their congratulations. As the episode ended, an announcer said no one had equaled the performance of Ms. Jillian T. Hall of Pimmit Hills, Virginia that night. Jill had won not only $50,000 for winning or tying the most T-slices for any agonist playing Liv that night, but also, having won more T-slices than any other agonist playing any character that night, she was also awarded an amount for each T-slice she did win or tie – totaling a previously unheard-of $2,761,314. The sum of these two numbers was close enough to three million dollars, everyone called it three million, except the IRS.

  Truda Vallon and Duane Rondo came in second and third.

  Ellie dropped by, and they hugged and had a beer. Roger called, and she disconnected him. Reporters took up residence on her lawn
. Everything was wonderful, exciting, dream-like. She was dreaming. Wasn’t. Was. Wasn’t. – Wasn’t.

  By the time an officious aide called with the official word and asked for her bank’s routing number, Jill was no longer in doubt; she was rich.

  Chapter 3: Eight Months Before the Assassination

  Senator Thomas James Conning, honorary doctor of various things from Harvard, Yale, and Shippensburg University of Pennsylvania (his alma mater), anticipating a third term as U.S. Senator from that state, was worried.

  He’d done many things for America: voted 96% the way his party wanted him to; given speeches in support of their causes; lent his name to weighty and thoughtful op-eds; been photographed several times with the President and with lesser Presidents from overseas. He’d even personally contributed to candidates of his own party, those who could benefit his future plans. Thomas Conning intended to run for the White House, a fact his staff had hinted to the press, while the Senator himself was slightly more reticent, in public, about the matter.

  Yes, Thomas Conning wanted to be President. But there was a near-term threat to his Senate sea, and his Presidential ambitions, that was Ezra Barnes.

  Barnes was a popular Congressman from central Pennsylvania who was expected to announce for Conning’s seat any day now. The race would be close, Conning figured: he had experience and incumbency, but the demographics cancelled out that advantage. Yes, Barnes would be a tough opponent. Although Conning was a popular Senator, early polls showed Barnes narrowly behind and closing fast.

  Barnes was a former prosecutor, which also concerned Conning. He’d heard Barnes’ staff was looking into Conning’s voting record, with an eye to accusing him of selling votes. Any accusation could be damaging, even if untrue. But Conning hadn’t sold a single vote, had he? None that anyone would find out about. And well, traded a few favors with the Administration, but who hadn’t done that? Voted party line on bills when the Majority Whip told him to play ball or eat shit. But who hadn’t done that? Play ball that is, not eat shit.

  Conning considered the plusses and minuses of his forthcoming campaign against Barnes. As Pennsylvania was a “politically confused” state (as Conning thought of it), there were too many variables to feel safe:

  First, Pennsylvania elected Democrats at times, and Republicans at times; and which time was which, was unpredictable.

  Second, the state was heavily populated east and west, with relatively few people in the fly-over counties. Conning lived in the east side of the state, which gave him some advantages and some disadvantages. But Barnes represented a district right in the middle. He could therefore seem appealing to both east and west, or to neither. The Keystone State’s famously fickle voters would decide which.

  Third, money, the one truly bright spot. Barnes was struggling to raise enough to be competitive, whereas Conning’s war chest was awash in money. The secretive way this money was raised, through an intermediary named Sybille Haskin, was highly pertinent to the future of Thomas James Conning, and indeed, the future of the entire Republic and the God Indivisible for which it stands.

  Barnes’ staff was searching for a weakness, but Conning was sure they hadn’t discovered the weekly, sometimes daily betrayal of his country, Conning was actually performing. But that was patriotic, right? For our nation’s defense, not personally for him. Not really. No.

  Chapter 4: Two and a Half Years Before the Assassination

  Well before the death of Ezra Barnes, Sybille Haskin, using the name Sally Netherton, had arranged to visit Thomas Conning at his office in the Russell Senate Office Building, portraying herself as a wealthy heiress looking for a worthy politician to support. Salivating, in this situation, was highly appropriate for Conning and his staff. And so, one pleasant Washington afternoon in March, she entered his suite and was asked three times if she would like coffee, or tea, or a certain modest, but ambitious Pennsylvania beverage. Gracefully, she declined all offers.

  Conning’s admin informed the Senator, Ms. Netherton had arrived. “Show her in,” he said.

  She entered Conning’s private office and smiled. Conning was not comforted by that smile. Never mind he thought people’s appearances didn’t matter. Especially where money was concerned. It wasn’t that she was unattractive: indeed, she carried herself with the thin grace of a barracuda and could have been, or might have been some years before, worthy of being a sex-object for any Senator or Cabinet member. But now she reminded him of the Wicked Witch of the West, especially wearing black. She was about fifty-five years old, he estimated. The age of the actual Wicked Witch was unknown, but probably similar.

  However, and in spite of the ambitious beverage, she had smiled and accepting Conning’s polite gesture, sat down across his desk from him.

  After a few words of polite blather, he got as close to the point as he was prepared to go at the moment:

  “Ah, Ms. Netherton, what can I do for you today?”

  Her answer didn’t add to the time-wasting pleasantries, and she got right to the point. “Senator,” she said, “I’m not here on my own behalf. I represent a major defense contractor: ConDyne, in fact.”

  “Yes,” said the Senator, “I’ve met with your people frequently. Very well informed, very dedicated, very…”

  She interrupted. “I know. And you sit on the Armed Services Committee where you have a significant amount of influence, and acquire a significant amount of knowledge.”

  “Yes,” said Conning. Where was she going with this? A worry-line crossed his brow.

  “ConDyne feels we’re the odd man out in learning about future defense procurements. The other major players always seem to know what’s coming down the pike. We don’t. We need to correct that unfairness. All we want is a level playing-field, a fighting chance.”

  She’s one who’d never waste an opportunity to bedeck a politician with clichés, he thought; but what he said was “Well, I can certainly see why you would need a fair shot at major procurements, and …”

  “In brief, Senator, ConDyne is interested in knowing what you learn in your committee and subcommittee meetings, things that may affect future defense procurements, and we’re prepared to contribute significant amounts to your re-election committee – suitably fragmented and fronted and SuperPac’d – in exchange for this information. And when the time comes, your Presidential campaign as well, if you decide to run.”

  Conning sat back. He’d been approached before with similar offers, but always there had been hints, winks – not this woman’s blunt approach.

  “My vote,” he said huffily, but inaccurately, “is not for sale.”

  “No, senator,” said Netherton, “we’re not asking you to vote any particular way, or to advocate for ConDyne in public or private. As I said, we’re merely in search of information. That’s understandable, isn’t it? Just give us your notes from those closed-door defense briefings you go to. And be sure to take good notes.”

  “Well, certainly, if you’re being treated unfairly…”

  “We are. And that’s what we’d like. Take a week to think it over. Your calendar is free exactly one week from today at this time, and I’d appreciate a second meeting then.”

  Conning wondered how she could know about his calendar for next week. He didn’t know these things, himself.

  “Is that acceptable?” she said, rising from her chair.

  “But there are considerations, details …” Conning sputtered.

  “Fine,” she said. We’ll go over them next week, if you’re still on board with us then, I mean.”

  Conning regained a trace of Senatorial dignity. “I don’t know. The public interest, after all, and my constitu…”

  She waved a dismissive hand. “I know about your deal with Tidewater Logistics Supply,” she said. “And not even a Pennsylvania firm! No one else need know. See you in a week?” She smiled at him, looking like the barracuda had eaten an excellent lunch, fins and all. “See you in a week!” she repeated.

  His
visitor walked out of his office, nodded to the front-desk staff, and was gone. Conning reflected how she hadn’t touched anything in his office – anything that would leave fingerprints. That gave him a sense of comfort. Good girl. Careful.

  The Senator pondered. This deal would be for the nation’s good, right? For National Defense and a Strong Vigilant America. Keep repeating that. Favoring a major defense firm by dribbling out a few secrets from closed-door Congressional hearings was useful to ConDyne, of course, but also to Our Nation. And certainly useful to Thomas Conning, who had always coveted major infusions of campaign funds from organizations with enormously patriotic reputations and starched-collar Boards.

  That evening, Conning’s visitor contemplated her conversation with the Senator with some pleasure. A real pushover, already hooked. Haskin had a moment of annoyance at the mixed metaphor. She removed the “Sally Netherton” ID from her purse and put it in a safe place. That name was for Thomas Conning only – quite an honor for him, actually, to be the sole target of that name.

  One week later, Thomas Conning was waiting nervously for a visitor he couldn’t afford to avoid. It was a mark of their respective power his guest could be late without calling him and with no apologies, and he would just have to suck it up.

  Several minutes late, Haskin entered Conning’s office and once again sat across the desk from him. Other than a perfunctory “Hello, Senator,” she got right to business. “Well?” she asked, “have you been thinking?”

  “You’re a fake!” Conning blurted. “There is no Sally Netherton, at ConDyne or anywhere else except for fourteen other women, none of whom could be you.”

  Conning was surprised when she laughed at him. “Senator, do you really think I’d use my real name in a matter of this – delicacy? Besides, you needn’t have kept our appointment today, but you did. So we must still be in business.”