Try Try Again Read online

  But now there was a woman (the datascreen said she’d won a thousand dollars in season one) who’d been best or tied for best for one hundred and fourteen and a half seconds before her measured performance dropped below another agonist’s. Hub wondered if the show had insurance against liabilities like that, decided that was Frankie’s problem and not his own.

  Not paying attention to the virtues of bubble and squeak in the British Foods ad, Hub concentrated hard. In a few seconds, the cop would be saying something about “waved his hand at Jerry Sullivan.” Then Charley Dukes would rise a little in his chair and look at Liv Saunders, who would glance at him with a thin smile. That’s when Jillian Hall’s one hundred and fourteen and a half seconds of glory would begin.

  How did that happen? He watched those one hundred and fourteen and a half seconds, and then again, and one more time. The number of “Doing Very Well” contestants had dropped suddenly. Why was that? He knew Very Wells were typically the most avid fans; they knew every second of the show, every inhalation and exhalation from each principal in the trial. Why would their scores drop off like that, allowing Jillian Hall to be the top contestant while the others’ scores dropped, then gradually rose again until Hall was tied and then beaten – but not before she’d won three million dollars.

  Some kind of trickery must be involved, he thought, some kind of cheating. Only eleven contestants consistently won prizes of more than ten thousand dollars, and he knew them by name. “Jillian Hall” was not among those names.

  Could contestants’ scores have been faked? Other contestants’ IDs hacked and a lower level of play recorded for that critical minute-plus? That would be hard to believe. Some twelve million screens were tuned to the episode, and more than eight million of these had active agonist logons. That would be eight million IDs all hacked at the same time and then unhacked, all without any intruder alerts or smoking guns. Anybody who could do that would be a tech billionaire and could give three million dollars to a cat shelter.

  Or perhaps Hall had an advance look at the episode, had practiced with the “tweaked” version Frankie the producer had authorized. That would certainly be the simplest explanation. If Frankie had “leaked” the revised episode four to only one person, the slight changes in timing and tempo that had been made between seasons one and two might have thrown the other contestants off their game just a little, leaving Hall the only one with sufficient practice to win. Agonists who’d been thrown off balance might take those one hundred and fourteen and a half seconds to recover their mental balance and get back in synch with the trial.

  Well, whatever the reason, she’d become famous, and that had to be good publicity for the show. So why was he bothered? Cheating? What kind of cheating, if not an advance look at the show? But why of all people was a mid-level employee of a small business in some Virginia cow-patty the chosen cheater? Didn’t make sense.

  Any kind of cheating, if it hit the news, would be disastrous to the show, and to him personally, even if he hadn’t been involved. He remembered his grandfather’s telling him about the fate of the quiz show, “Twenty One” in the ‘fifties. The contestants were given the answers in advance. When that blew up, everyone involved was ruined; some didn’t work again for years. Hub didn’t want that fate. “I don’t know” was never an excuse; being out of the loop just made you look dumb.

  He replayed Jillian’s win again without learning anything else. Then it occurred to him to look at exactly how the season two “tweaks” were made. Frankie had made a few minor changes for season two, and that fact had been announced before the second season aired. Hub pulled up episode four of both seasons side by side, fiddled with the controls until both screens were two minutes from going into the British Foods commercial (season two), and the ChronoSwiss watch commercial (season one).

  At that point, before the commercial break, both seasons were identical. Chief Gardner was on the stand, being questioned by prosecutor Brent Nielsen. Nielsen seemed to be conscious of Gardner’s newfound hero status, gently guiding him through the Q&A.

  And then the commercial break.

  And then something was different, something involving the defense attorney. Season two wasn’t exactly like season one. The difference was subtle enough casual viewers would never notice, but a dedicated agonist would. And could be thrown off the pace.

  Could Liv Saunders herself be a ringer for “Jillian Hall”? Stranger things were known.

  By that time, Frankie Dickstein’s admin had left Hub a message with the time and place of the Awards Ceremony. Hub’s mental Outlook flipped a few screens and made a note.

  After twenty-five minutes, still soaking pleasantly, Hub had a plan. He called his office, asked his 'girl’ (for $200K/year she put up with that shit) to set up a call with Liv Saunders, the attorney. How to reach her? Grantwood Pennsylvania, then, could be someplace else now. Have her call me. About? About my calling her; just do it.

  And he’d make sure Jillian Hall would to come to the Ceremony. Don’t take no for an answer. Ask her if she wants to buy our entire frigging show so she can have all the prizes. No, that was a joke; don’t ask her that.

  The girl having done her e-phonebook job, Hub put in a call to Ms. Olivia Saunders in Grantwood, Pennsylvania. He waited impatiently to speak with her. He hadn’t seen her since the season-one awards ceremony, and then very briefly; who knows what could have happened to her or where she might have gone? But after a few minutes, the girl informed him that Olivia Saunders of Grantwood, Pennsylvania, was on the line.

  “Ms. Saunders? This is Hub Landon. We met briefly at the ‘Try Try Again’ season one awards party.”

  “Yes, I remember,” her voice said. There was a slight silence as Hub waited for Liv to say something more, but she didn’t. Not like Hollywood, he observed silently.

  Hub waited another half second, but no response was forthcoming. He remembered she’d been distant at the season-one Awards party, had hardly said a word. At the time, Hub attributed it to stage fright. But no, it seemed to be her natural style.

  “Ah, …” he didn’t know whether to call her Olivia or Liv or Ms. Saunders, or what. He decided on “Ah.” “Ah,” he continued, “I guess you know someone from your part of the country won – well, a lot of money in episode four, playing you.”

  “I heard about that. And no matter what you people on the Coast think, Pennsylvania isn’t the same ‘part of the country’ as Virginia. Their army invaded us once, if you’ll recall.”

  This didn’t seem to be going well.

  “Certainly, certainly,” Hub said. “I won’t keep you on the phone for more than a second, but as you know you have a standing invitation to attend all ‘Try Try Again’ events, especially the season-two Awards Ceremony that’s coming up shortly.” He hurried on, not waiting for the now-expected monosyllable. “And I have a very special reason for really wanting you to attend the event this time. So, are you planning to be at the Awards Ceremony?” he asked.

  “I’ve been invited, but I’m not going; showing the flag once was enough.”

  “I really wish you would, just this one time, even if you don’t care for the festivities. I have a special purpose here, something we need to discuss.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Something I can’t really explain now, but it needs your personal expertise.”

  “As a lawyer?”

  “As that lawyer – the one who defended Charley Dukes.”

  “That’s over and done with. I wish it hadn’t become a webV show.”

  “Do you really think Charley got justice?”

  “Ah – he intended to kill Ezra Barnes, and he probably did. So his conviction was warranted – that’s about as far as I want to go right now.”

  “Why was Barnes killed?” Hub persisted. “There’s got to be more to the story than came out at the trial. And why was Dukes killed then, later?”

  “I don’t know, and I don’t know. But what does that have to do with my attending
the Awards Ceremony?”

  “If you could arrive a day early, we would have time to discuss it. Perhaps get some justice for Charley – the justice you stood up for in that trial, even if posthumous.” Hub wondered if he was laying it on too thick.

  The line was silent.

  “Confidentially and please don’t tell anyone,” he hurried on, “but I suspect some kind of cheating here. We never expected anyone to win more than – oh – a million at the very most. Something went wrong. I’d like you to fly to L.A. and meet with me and the winner, Jillian Hall, and help me figure out what happened.”

  “Why me?” Two syllables. Progress.

  “Mostly because she was playing you on the show, and you might have some kind of insight on how that could have worked for her. And also because as a trial attorney used to psyching out people on the stand, I think you might be able to .…” Hub had never been good at monologues, and he was becoming quietly desperate.

  But then Liv spoke. “Not all of us lawyers have the power to read minds, Mr. Landon; we act that way sometimes to spook witnesses into telling the truth. But look: I doubt if I’ll be able to help you, and I’m reluctant to get involved in your investigation anyway. I’m not a…”

  Hub interrupted. “You’re the perfect expert witness – it was something you did, or something you and your now-dead client did, that Hall keyed in on and won – or knew about in advance and won, or … something. That’s what I’m concerned about. I do need your help here.”

  There was enough silence that Hub glanced at the phone to make sure they were still connected. Finally, Liv said “All right, I’ll come to the event and meet – Jillian Hall, is it? Someone like me. Someone who made more money being me, than I’ve ever made being me. I’m curious, maybe a little jealous. It hadn’t occurred to me before that I’d ever meet someone who’d made money imitating me. It’s an unpleasant feeling. But OK, when and where?”

  “Fine!” Hub said, in gratitude that a real conversation had finally broken out. “I’ll email you a plane ticket. I have a lot of electronics here at my place in the hills, so we can dissect the show in very slow motion. And a pool too, so you should bring a swimsuit. Seriously. I hold meetings there. If you can see what I’ve been looking at, I think we’ll be prepared to – gently – find out how Hall did so well. First class, of course. And a room at the Four Seasons.”

  “I’ll be there, Mr. Landon. Thank you for thinking about me.” She disconnected before Hub could mumble the standard words of farewell.

  “Justice for Charley”? What a laugh – Charley had got all the justice he was ever going to get: once in court, once in a prison riot. But his plan had worked, and Liv Saunders would be there. Hub mused softly about this distant, stark woman. A change from most of his friends, especially the men. A beautiful woman, he mused, although “older,” that is, getting on to five years younger than he was. He’d enjoy seeing her again.

  One down, thought Hub. Then he called Jillian Hall. She wasn’t home, but a recording said he could leave a message, “and please, not about how to invest my money.”

  He left a brief pixmail message about her coming to L.A. for the Awards Ceremony a day early, please; and he didn’t mention money.

  Three hours later, not having received a call back, he rang her again. This time, someone picked up.

  “Jillian?”

  “No more press now.”

  “This is Hub Landon, the show’s Director.” Silence on the other end. Hub continued. “Following up that pixmail I sent you. Wanted to congratulate you in person, over the phone.”

  Silence.

  “Hello?”

  “Are you really Hub Landon?”

  “Don’t you recognize my voice? I’m interviewed on the damn webV often enough!” Hub felt slightly wounded.

  “Ah – she’ll be right with you.”

  After a moment, he heard a faint “Thanks, Ellie; I’ll take it.”

  “Hello?” a voice asked, “This is Jillian Hall. Sorry for the runaround but my cell is constantly…”

  “I can imagine,” said Hub.

  “… ringing and the battery goes dead every couple of hours. So Ellie here is my Executive Dismisser when she’s not ordering catered hors d’oeuvre and poisoned crudités for the financial advisers camped out on my lawn. But gee, I’m really glad you called. What can I do for you?”

  “It’s about the Awards Ceremony.”

  “OK, I got a message from Bigstone that they’d give me the time and place.”

  “Right, and I’m very much looking forward to it,” said Hub, in as intimate a voice as he could manage without being – quite – explicit as to what kind of intimacy he might be looking forward to. “And I know you’d like to meet the original Olivia Saunders at the Awards Ceremony. But I thought it would be pleasant if you were to arrive here in L.A. early? Maybe by a day? I have something to discuss with you.”

  “About?” said Jillian too quickly.

  “Some future showbiz opportunities. Can’t say more now.”

  “Wow!” said Jillian, her cool slipping badly.

  “A free flight to L.A.,” Hub added, “even though I’m sure you can afford tickets these days, and bring a friend too, if you’d like.”

  “Sure. I’ll do that.”

  “And a swimsuit.”

  “OK, maybe.”

  “No, I mean it. Unless you’d prefer skinny-dipping. All my business is done in the pool. Let me know when you’re arriving, and I’ll have you picked up.”

  “Sounds great!”

  “Ah – well I’ll see you then.”

  “See you then.”

  “Goodbye, Jillian.”

  “Goodbye – Mr. Landon!”

  Click.

  Click.

  JILL

  Jill turned to Ellie. “Hey!” she said, on her toes and almost jumping up and down. “Hey!”

  “Calm down, Jill, for God’s sake – if not for your own. You’re famous now and everybody wants a piece of you. Just take it easy.”

  “But it’s Hollywood, Ellie! The big time. An award, probably on TV, cable not just broadcast. And I can bring along anyone I want to. Want to come along with me? Schmooze with a lot of showbiz people and maybe meet somebody you might like?”

  To her own surprise, Ellie immediately said “Sure! Hob and nob with the mob? Not the criminal kind, I mean, but who knows? They make a lot of gangster shows out there, might rub off.”

  “I thought you were immune to all that hype?” said Jill.

  “That’s before I was part of it!” said Ellie.

  “Can you get off work?”

  “I’ll see if I can arrange it,” said Ellie, with doubt etching her forehead, “My hygienist job…”

  “Screw your dentist,” Jillian said, “Come along!”

  “Ugh, what an image.”

  “What, coming along with me to Hollywood?”

  “No, screwing Christine Hodges DDS. Look: you can quit that job of yours and live very comfortably for what? Twenty, twenty five years, maybe less if you take up with one of those stockjobbers on your lawn? But I can’t.” She paused. “I’ll ask for a week off, even though this is broken-tooth season what with high school hockey practice gearing up.”

  “Great!”

  Jill sent an email to Hub with Ellie Mason’s name. Within an hour air tickets for both of them had been emailed. First class, of course. Spare no expense.

  Jill phoned her office, asked for “Mr. Dillman.” While waiting to connect, she pondered the “Mr.” Not really up to date to go by “Mr.,” but with a first name like “Horace,” what could you do? Sammy from the mailroom liked to refer to him as “Whore-Ass” but only in a whisper.

  “Jillian?” the Dillman voice said, “I’ve been expecting your call,” he said. It wasn’t a happy voice. “I don’t blame you for quitting because you’ve lucked into a pile of money.”

  (Luck? You never put in all those hours of practice, did you, you stuffy SOB.)

&
nbsp; “But you do have responsibilities here. That Appleton Inc. database contract? I need you to tell me what I can do here, and what I shouldn’t.”

  “Ah, I could help you out until you can hire someone else, but not for a few days; I’m off to Hollywood!”

  “Could you take the contract along with you? It’s a long plane ride.”

  Jillian was taken off guard. But it would be a good excuse not to listen to Ellie for five hours. A good friend, but better in small doses.

  “Well, all right. But as soon as I get back and brief you, that’s it.”

  “That’s all I ask, Jillian. Thanks. I’m smiling here. Goodbye.”

  “Bye,” she said. How come he never smiled around the office? Perhaps, “I’m smiling” just meant he was thinking of smiling, but not doing it. Yes, that fit.

  Hub had his girl reserve two adjoining rooms in the Four Seasons, one for an L. Saunders and one for J. Hall. No, make that three, for Hall’s friend, E. Mason. Would Liv have a friend too? Given that frozen conversation they’d had with on the phone he would be surprised if she had any friends. He thought of her again from their brief meeting before: attractive in a stern sort of way – just as she appeared on the show. She seemed to know what to say in a courtroom, but not on the phone.

  In person? Who knows? Some people just never get comfortable on the phone, speaking with people whose expressions they can’t see. How could Jillian Hall have ever got in-character with Liv Saunders? On the phone, Jillian hadn’t immediately seemed like the Saunders type. Well, that could be just one more indication some kind of fraud had been going on.

  Liv drove to Baltimore and caught a flight to LAX. She refused the offer of a drink, and then another. Somewhere over Utah she conceded and had a Manhattan, easy on the vermouth. And then another. Etc.

  She was met at LAX by a smiling limo driver, who whisked her off to the Four Seasons. In her room was a bouquet (how sexist, she thought), with a note from Hub Landon informing her a car would be by at ten the next morning to take her to “Chez Hub.”

  Happy for the first time in a long time, and dizzy, she got in the tub, filled it with very warm water, and fell asleep.