Read Online Best to Laugh: A Novel by Lorna Landvik - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Lorna Landvik
Tags: Humor, United States, Literary, Literature & Fiction, Contemporary, American, Contemporary Fiction, Contemporary Women, Women's Fiction, General Humor, Humor & Satire, FIC000000 Fiction / General
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your breaks and have lunch. If you need to use the ladies’ or men’s rooms, Abby here will escort you.”
A young woman with an earnest overbite said, “You really can’t do anything outside this room without me tagging along!”
The man who’d complained about freezing to death nodded. “It’s because of that big scandal back in the ’ 50 s. When they fed that one guy all the answers ahead of time.”
“Yes,” said Chip quickly. “We are scrupulous about avoiding scandal. Now, everyone, please find your name tags on the table and prepare yourself to be Word Wise !”
With that cheerful exhortation, he left the room, leaving Abby alone to stave off scandal.
After we contestants helped ourselves to beverages, we sat at a big oval table and exchanged mini-biographies. Dorothy from Iowa, the woman who’d earlier shown me her goose bumps, was an avid sweepstakes player and was listing the prizes she had won (a boat, a set of real leather luggage, a year’s supply of BlockOChoco bars) when Chip reemerged, outfitted with a headset and a clipboard.
“All right, people, it’s show time. Up on the docket are Jerry and Carrie.” His strictly business contestant-coordinator persona was offset bya surprised smile. “Hey, rhyming contestants. Anyway, Jerry and Carrie, follow me. Abby will take care of the rest of you.”
Herded together into a tight group, my (stifled) impulse was to moo as we followed Abby through the studio and into the front row of the bleachers, where a small audience was assembled. We had been advised not to acknowledge any friends or relatives—“We can’t risk any passing of signals”—and every contestant took meticulous care not to look up and wave, jeopardizing their eligibility.
“Isn’t this thrilling?” whispered Dorothy, sitting to my left. I nodded, and Tina, the fifth grade teacher who was at my right, leaned forward, her hands clutched under her chin.
“The set looks so glamorous!”
It was shiny , that’s for sure. On a silver lamé curtained backdrop, metallic letters spelled out Word Wise! The host’s podium was also silver, and flanked by silver cubes at which the contestants were sitting; Jerry looking relaxed and Carrie looking terrified.
“I hope she doesn’t lose her lunch,” said Leon, a pharmaceutical salesman from Santa Ana.
As cameramen and people with clipboards and headsets positioned themselves, a man with a lopsided afro raced toward us, clapping his hands.
“Hey, everybody, I’m Jimmy Jay, the show announcer as well as the guy who’s going to warm you up!”
His half-dozen so-so jokes about the Flying Wallendas, the Susan B. Anthony dollar, and Love Canal failed to bring up my temperature, but when he asked, “Are you warm yet?” the crowd responded with a hale “Yeah!”
“Good,” he said as a camera rolled into position. “Because now it’s time to introduce today’s celebrity game players. Ladies and gentlemen, put your hands together for Filo Nuala!”
A dark-skinned man who could nudge aside an ox with his shoulders emerged from behind the silver curtain.
“Filo Nuala!” whispered Bob, a blinds and drapery installer. “Holy shit!”
Filo Nuala was a quarterback for the Los Angeles Rams. I knew this not as a fan but as a person with intact senses. You couldn’t watch TV, read the newspaper, or listen to the radio without witnessing the American Samoan exhibiting his exploits on the gridiron, hosting a big charity event, or pitching this shaving cream or that breakfast cereal.
Pressing a big hand against his tie, the man sat down at his cube, dwarfing it.
“And joining last year’s MVP is this year’s Emmy-award winning actress Precia Doyle!”
Now I was getting excited. Precia Doyle was an actress who’d made a career of playing British aristocrats on lots of high-brow miniseries, several of which I had watched through the years with my grandmother.
“She’s so tiny!” whispered Dorothy.
After Precia offered a
A young woman with an earnest overbite said, “You really can’t do anything outside this room without me tagging along!”
The man who’d complained about freezing to death nodded. “It’s because of that big scandal back in the ’ 50 s. When they fed that one guy all the answers ahead of time.”
“Yes,” said Chip quickly. “We are scrupulous about avoiding scandal. Now, everyone, please find your name tags on the table and prepare yourself to be Word Wise !”
With that cheerful exhortation, he left the room, leaving Abby alone to stave off scandal.
After we contestants helped ourselves to beverages, we sat at a big oval table and exchanged mini-biographies. Dorothy from Iowa, the woman who’d earlier shown me her goose bumps, was an avid sweepstakes player and was listing the prizes she had won (a boat, a set of real leather luggage, a year’s supply of BlockOChoco bars) when Chip reemerged, outfitted with a headset and a clipboard.
“All right, people, it’s show time. Up on the docket are Jerry and Carrie.” His strictly business contestant-coordinator persona was offset bya surprised smile. “Hey, rhyming contestants. Anyway, Jerry and Carrie, follow me. Abby will take care of the rest of you.”
Herded together into a tight group, my (stifled) impulse was to moo as we followed Abby through the studio and into the front row of the bleachers, where a small audience was assembled. We had been advised not to acknowledge any friends or relatives—“We can’t risk any passing of signals”—and every contestant took meticulous care not to look up and wave, jeopardizing their eligibility.
“Isn’t this thrilling?” whispered Dorothy, sitting to my left. I nodded, and Tina, the fifth grade teacher who was at my right, leaned forward, her hands clutched under her chin.
“The set looks so glamorous!”
It was shiny , that’s for sure. On a silver lamé curtained backdrop, metallic letters spelled out Word Wise! The host’s podium was also silver, and flanked by silver cubes at which the contestants were sitting; Jerry looking relaxed and Carrie looking terrified.
“I hope she doesn’t lose her lunch,” said Leon, a pharmaceutical salesman from Santa Ana.
As cameramen and people with clipboards and headsets positioned themselves, a man with a lopsided afro raced toward us, clapping his hands.
“Hey, everybody, I’m Jimmy Jay, the show announcer as well as the guy who’s going to warm you up!”
His half-dozen so-so jokes about the Flying Wallendas, the Susan B. Anthony dollar, and Love Canal failed to bring up my temperature, but when he asked, “Are you warm yet?” the crowd responded with a hale “Yeah!”
“Good,” he said as a camera rolled into position. “Because now it’s time to introduce today’s celebrity game players. Ladies and gentlemen, put your hands together for Filo Nuala!”
A dark-skinned man who could nudge aside an ox with his shoulders emerged from behind the silver curtain.
“Filo Nuala!” whispered Bob, a blinds and drapery installer. “Holy shit!”
Filo Nuala was a quarterback for the Los Angeles Rams. I knew this not as a fan but as a person with intact senses. You couldn’t watch TV, read the newspaper, or listen to the radio without witnessing the American Samoan exhibiting his exploits on the gridiron, hosting a big charity event, or pitching this shaving cream or that breakfast cereal.
Pressing a big hand against his tie, the man sat down at his cube, dwarfing it.
“And joining last year’s MVP is this year’s Emmy-award winning actress Precia Doyle!”
Now I was getting excited. Precia Doyle was an actress who’d made a career of playing British aristocrats on lots of high-brow miniseries, several of which I had watched through the years with my grandmother.
“She’s so tiny!” whispered Dorothy.
After Precia offered a
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