My Very Special Guests
Hardcastle and McCormick appear on a talk show; and Frank makes a wager.
Note: To the best of my knowledge and belief, this story is fair use of copyrighted material, as there is no commercial use and no loss of potential market or value of the original material will occur.
I created a fictional talk show host. The name came from my imagination. Any resemblance to an actual person, living or dead, or another fictional character, is purely coincidental.
The man prided himself that he hosted a very cerebral talk show. It was nothing like the gossipy, latest-movie or TV promotional programs focusing on celebrities. No, Benjamin Rickler had once hosted a show on public television, and carried the intellectual bent onto his latest syndicated effort. While he occasionally did feature entertainment celebrities, when he did he conducted serious interviews about the art of performing, or television and film making. This time, Rickler was focusing on the depictions of the justice system in media, in front of a mixed audience who included a large component of film, political science, and legal professionals. Rickler was particularly pleased that his featured speaker was the distinguished jurist, Supreme Court candidate, and substitute television host, the Honorable Milton C. Hardcastle (retired.)
"Milt's getting better at this," Frank Harper said to his wife. It was a late night broadcast, and the couple was in bed. Frank remembered well some of Milt's earlier televised appearances, in which he alternated between preening, uttering few words, or resembling a stiff. It wasn't the case here. The program was filmed in a large lecture hall, and Hardcastle was giving thoughtful answers as if he were a professor.
"Judge Hardcastle is known for some creative sentencing, and some of his well-publicized aid to law enforcement has included the assistance of a two-time felon paroled into his custody. His rehabilitation is quite remarkable, and he has since been decorated by the Los Angeles Police Department. In addition, he won the street circuit race in Long Beach this past weekend. When we return after our break, please welcome Mark McCormick."
"Did ya know Mark was gonna be on?" asked Claudia.
"No, and judging by the look on Milt's face, he didn't know either. This should be interesting."
"What's that mean?"
"Well, Milt's been planning for this show, and Mark's been preparing for that race, so I know for a fact that they haven't seen much of each other for a few days. They have to make up for lost time."
"So, I still don't know what the big deal is."
"They won't last until the next commercial before they start in on each other. They won't be able to help it.'
"Come on. They're in front of an audience. They aren't gonna make a scene."
"Darling, you only see them at social events where they're on their best behavior and besides that they're stuffing their faces. But when they start in on each other, they may as well be the only people in the room. I tell ya, they'll be arguing in no time. I give them ten minutes, tops-maybe as little as five if you take out any introductory remarks."
"I don't think so."
"Yeah? You wanna bet? Within ten minutes of Mark coming on stage they'll be arguing. I win, I pick the menu for a week. I lose, we see any chick flick you want and we visit your mother."
"You're on."
The commercial interruption ended and Mark came on stage. "Time," said Frank.
"Mark looks good." Frank agreed silently. In a sport jacket over a sweater, Mark strode on stage with a confident swagger. In that moment, he looked as if he could have given lessons in cool to McQueen.
Host and new guest embarked on the thanks-for-being here-thanks-for-having-me introductory small talk. "Maple syrup," announced Claudia.
""Huh? What's that?"
"Mark's hair, the way the light catches the highlights. He's grade A medium amber."
"Oh." Frank hadn't noticed. "Remind me to ask if he reminds you of any other food groups. And before you think too much about your fantasy man, you'll have to wrestle Mattie Groves for him."
"Mark," said Rickler with his typical enunciation, "tell us about your first encounter with Judge Hardcastle."
"Well, Ben, the Judge was looking to hire someone with special skills to be his adviser and associate. It's not as if he wanted someone to serve as a handyman-he understood that my talents went far beyond trimming hedges and spreading fertilizer-"
"Spreading it pretty thick now," muttered Hardcastle.
Mark froze. "What, you don't like my answer?"
"You call that an answer? It doesn't even fit the question."
Rickler tried again in a well-bred tone. "As I was asking, the first time you met Judge Hardcastle, you-"
"You don't like my answer?" interrupted Mark. "All right, I'll try another question. Are these my questions? He started leafing through a stack of cards on the table in front of the three of them and grabbed one.
"Ah, I'm going to need those-"
"Never mind Ben, I 've got this." Mark read the card. "Hm. Ah, yes, well, we'll file this bad boy under 'no comment.'" He tore the card in half and tossed it on the table.
"Wait a minute," snapped Hardcastle. "You can't just ignore the question. You need to answer it." He grabbed the pieces of torn card.
"Hey, that's my question!"
Rickler picked up another card. He was beginning to sweat through his makeup. "Mark, what do you think of-"
"Just hold your horses, all right?" Hardcastle held the torn pieces together, squinted, and held them up to read them. " 'You became the subject of attention in a well-publicized divorce associated with a major crime. Did the media accurately characterize your relationship with Kiki Cutter?' " He looked back at Rickler. "Relationship? What relationship? I barely know the girl."
"Actually, I meant to ask Mark-"
"Okay," Mark blurted. "You take my question, I'll take one of yours." He reached for the other stack of cards on the table. Hardcastle also grabbed at them, punctuating each word with a slap to Mark's hand. "Get-away-from-those."
"Ah, gentlemen, please, if you would-"
"Too late!" crowed Mark. He held one card out of reach. "Let's see. Oh yes, I can answer this one. 'If you could change one aspect of the judicial system, what would it be?' Well, Benny, if I were making changes, I would make sure that no one ever went to jail for stealing their own car."
"That was a good decision!" shouted Hardcastle. "Listen, wise guy-"
"Same old song with you, Hardcase. Same old song."
"And songs! The so-called music you listen to! All that yowling about someone who ain't got none. Can't any of those people sing without using double negatives?"
"Back to the questions," said Richter feebly.
"Oh, so sorry Hardcastle, that none of the music I listen to has the sheer brilliance, the lyrical poetry, of 'Come On-A My House.' "
Rickler cleared his throat. Hardcastle swiveled his head to look at him. "Are you gonna let this go on? You're the one presiding. Get some order in here."
"Yeah," chimed in Mark. "I mean, we can be over at Merv's studio in thirty minutes."
Hardcastle looked reproachfully at Richter. "This never would have happened with Carson."
Rickler looked into the camera with a forced smile. "We'll be back with my next guests after these messages." The music cued up, and Frank and Claudia saw Hardcastle and McCormick, oblivious to anything else, put their heads together to continue their conversation. The argument was seemingly over; both men were grinning; and Hardcastle slapped at the foot Mark had crossed over his knee.
"Time," declared Frank. "I had them clocked when Milt grabbed Mark's card. That's it for them. They'll be hustled off to make room for the next guests."
"Don't be a bad winner," grumbled Claudia.
"Not at all." Frank settled happily back against his pillows and turned off the light. "I need my rest to think up the menus."
They lay there in the dark. "Frank?"
"Yes, Claudia?"
"You really think Mattie Groves could take me? Fuhgeddaboutit."
Trivia: This was inspired by an episode of Merv Griffin's talk show, on which the cast of "MASH" wreaked hilarious havoc.
"Come On-A My House" was performed-and hated-by Rosemary Clooney, who played Mille Denton in "If You Could See What I See."