Jack Cavanaugh - Death Watch

“I’ve never watched this show,” Josh said. “What does she need to do?”

“They each stop the wheels,” Hunz said. “A combination of factors gives them a dollar number. High number gets first crack.” Josh nodded. As the wheels were once again set into motion, the two men watched with all the intensity of a couple of guys glued to the last seconds of a championship sports event.

Sydney watched, too, but was unable to compartmentalize her feelings like Josh seemed to be doing. Her emotions battled, and she was a casualty. Cheering Cheryl on, she saw a new friend, a dying friend, an unborn life and soon-to-be orphan, while precious Stacy watched her mother with her head on Hunz’s shoulder. She saw Josh. Young, energetic, all-around nice guy. Josh, distracted at the moment, but hurting. While all around her, people were cheering for a ridiculous game show. But it was more than a game show for Cheryl; it was the future of her children. A future without their mother or father.

It was just too much. Yesterday morning Sydney’s biggest worry was that she was stuck in traffic and couldn’t make it to a meeting on time. And now she hurt so badly, she felt as though she was the one dying.

The hands of the three contestants hovered over the buttons that would lock in their choices. The Wonder Wheel theme music began to play.

Junior locked in his choice.

Barb Whitlock locked in hers.

As she did on her first spin, Cheryl watched the wheel as the music played and didn’t push her button until the last beat of the last measure.

The results appeared on the podiums.

The audience groaned collectively in disappointment.

Barb Whitlock had locked in the highest value, with Junior second, and Cheryl McCormick third.

A total of $17,200 separated Cheryl from first place. She’d spun a question value of twenty-one with a factor of difficulty nine for a total of $18,900. It was enough to win. But she was third in line to get a question. Would she get a chance to play?

“Barb Whitlock, you have the highest spin. The category is Royalty Notes, correspondence of literary legends. Play or pass?”

The leading contestant did not appear as confident as she did when she was sitting on what appeared at the time to be an insurmountable lead. Strands of hair dangled against her perspiring forehead. If she played and won, the game was over. The resulting total would put her out of reach. If she played and lost, it was over for her.

“Play or pass?” Skip repeated.

Barb said nothing.

“I have to have an answer.”

More precious seconds ticked.

A buzzer sounded.

“I’m sorry, but that sound means you’ve forfeited your turn,” Skip said.

Barb Whitlock didn’t argue.

“She did that on purpose!” Hunz said.

“To run as much time off the clock as possible,” Josh said.

“Junior Wicker, you have a grand total of negative $39,500. You just spun a sixty-three and an eight for a total of $50,400 which would put you in the black by $10,900. Not enough to win. Your category is Noah’s Nightmares, annoying animals on the ark. Now remember, Junior, even if you answer the question correctly, you can’t win. You’re too far behind. At this point, a gentleman might consider stepping aside for a fellow contestant.”

“The network wants Cheryl to win,” Sydney said. “Why else would he say something like that?”

“A beautiful pregnant woman who is about to die is good for ratings,” Hunz said.

“It’ll make a splash,” Josh said, tongue in cheek.

“Nah, I’m gonna play, Skip,” Junior said.

The audience booed.

Junior took exception to the audience’s disfavor. He said something that was deleted from the live broadcast, possible now since all live shows were delayed five seconds as a result of certain indiscretions at a notorious Super Bowl performance.

“Very well,” Skip said. His tone was that of a disapproving mother. “For $50,400, here’s your question: What is the smelliest member of the weasel family? Is it, (a) Ermine, (b) Skunk, (c) Otter, (d) Mink.”

Junior’s eyes gasped as he thought out loud. “I don’t know what an ermine is, so I don’t know if it’s smelly or not. And minks, they’re not smelly, are they? I mean, women wear them. They wouldn’t wear them if they were smelly, would they? Unless it’s a trick question.”

“Ten seconds.”

“Skunks are definitely smelly. Ask me, I know. Whooowee. But a skunk’s not a weasel, is it?”

Time was running out, both for Junior and for Cheryl.

“Skunk, Skip.”

“Correct!” Skip shouted.

The audience gave a smattering of applause. Junior’s tally went from red to black: $10,900. Barb Whitlock clapped the loudest for him. Not only had Junior kept Cheryl from getting another question, but he’d just made Barb Whitlock an extra ten grand.

Skip looked to the director.

“Is there time?”

He was cued to proceed, followed immediately by a wrap-it-up signal. Skip Hirshberg launched into the next question. He spoke so fast each sentence sounded like a single word. •

Standing in the vomitory, Sydney and Hunz exchanged glances. Hunz shook his head. He didn’t think Cheryl was going to get the question in time. This from a man who was an expert at timing newscasts down to the second.

Josh was riveted on Cheryl. He was smiling at her with a silly half grin.

Skip Hirshberg went supersonic: “Cheryl-McCormick-with-$43, 900-you-need-$17,200-to-win-you-spun-a-twenty-one-and-nine-for-a-total-of-$18,900-the-category-is-Say-Ahh-anatomy-/for-amateurs-for-the-win-pass-or-play?”

“Play,” Cheryl said, right on his heels.

She looked remarkable. Her eyes flashed readiness, powered by a quick mind. Sydney teared up just watching her.

Skip gave a quick glance at the floor director.

He was given the signal to proceed.

“Here’s-your-question-the-word-Costa-refers-to-which-of-the-following:-(a)-Nerve-(b)-Rib-(c)-Gland-(d)-Muscle.”

Time had run out. The director was rising to his feet, his hands signaling the cut to commercial. It was one of those moments in life where momentous events occur between heartbeats and decisions are made between ticks of the clock.

In that instant, that fraction of a second, no breath was taken, no pulse had time to beat, no one lived, no one died. Universal timespace hiccuped.

And in that hiccup, Cheryl McCormick said, “B. Rib.”

“Correct!” Skip shouted.

The television audience heard only, “Cor—”; the second half of the master of ceremony’s word was cut off by a toilet tissue commercial.

In the studio, the audience was popping and splattering with shouts and applause like water on a hot skillet. Barb Whitlock left her podium to complain to Skip that time had run out. Her protests were drowned out by the celebration of not only the people in the stands but the network executives. In the vomitory, Hunz was jostling Stacy for joy. Josh turned and hugged Sydney, who was crying. On stage Cheryl was smiling. Her podium flashed her total winnings: $134,800. She looked tired.

Twenty minutes after the Wonder Wheel went dark, the hub of activity shifted to the greenroom, a holding area where the contestants could relax before their appearance on the show. Behind the closed door, Cheryl was conferring with studio executives and Skip Hirshberg.

Sydney and Hunz waited for her in the hallway. Hunz had enticed Stacy into going on a treasure hunt for a vending machine. He wanted to put distance between her and the shouting that could be heard coming from the greenroom.

The door opened. An exasperated executive, a short man with glasses that were too large for his face, emerged. Sydney could see Cheryl inside seated on a couch, flanked by another executive and Skip Hirshberg.