Charity Squares 1: Assemble


Conrad came into our office while I was on the phone, negotiating a guest for the show.

Thing was, this time they’d called ME!

“I really do want to do your show,” he was saying. “But I don’t want to leave LA.”

“I can understand that,” I said. “But we have a fairly strict policy of filming our shows from Boise, the Sylph Center, or maybe Sun Valley, if someone else is paying for the hotel.”

Conrad sat down in his chair, looking a question at me. I rocked my weight back on the switch beneath me, momentarily muting the mic. “Paul West,” I said, identifying the caller.

Paul went on complaining while I was doing this. His responsibilities for his new show, his owner hating travel, Boise being the back end of nowhere.

The usual.

“But you did film an episode in LA,” he finally remembered.

“Not of my show,” I said. “I was a guest on Big Bang Theory. I’ll go to LA to be on Big Bang Theory. Hell, I’ll go to Provo to be on BBT!”

“Where?” Paul asked.

“Never mind,” I said. “But if you noticed, IQ came HERE for the interview after my guest appearance.” I took a deep breath. “Look, we still have a few openings left. If you’re interested, you have Hubert’s number.” That was how he’d gotten my number, calling my agent. “Or maybe we can meet at the Center some time.”

“But-“ he started to protest. I hopped up and did a handstand on the OFF switch, continuing the move into a flip to land at Conrad’s hand.

“Paul West, new star of the sylphed I Spy remake?” he asked. “Agent one-seventh?”

“Cheap shot,” I said. “Everyone makes that one.”

“No, everyone says Agent .007,” he said, “because it’s easier to type for their review. But even I know that’s not one seventh.”

“Even you, huh?” I smiled up at him. “Well, anyway, if he wants to be on my show, he’ll come to where we tape it.”

“Of course,” he agreed. “Why mess with tradition?” He pet me, gently stroking my hair with two fingertips. “So, funny you should mention Sun Valley.”

“Why, what’s in Sun Valley?”

“Just some charity event,” he said, entirely too nonchalantly. Conrad does a great nonchalant. Sometimes it’s a Significant Nonchalant. This felt significant.

“A charity for who or what?” I asked.

“Various political charities,” he shrugged. “It’s being organized by the Sylph Center.”

“Sam and Amelia are going to be in Sun Valley?!” I shouted. “Can we go? Oh, wait, stupid question, of course we’re going. When do we go?”

“It’s in a couple of months,” he said. “They’re still working out the stars in all the squares. They want famous sylphs. But the bad news is, you don’t get to be center square.”

“I… What? I… I was considered? No, wait, center square? That’s Paul Lynde’s place.” I started to pace on the desk, thinking. “You need a master delivery of quips for center square. I’m famous for hugs. If anything, I’d be down in the lower corner.

“No, center square would be someone mean and quick and a natural zinger. Like…” I turned to face my smiling master. “Kerri?”

“Yes,” he said. “She seems a perfect choice.”

“She does,” I agreed. I looked at him carefully. “Seriously, do I get a square?”

“Charlie Weaver’s old spot in the lower corner,” he said.

“On the ground floor?” I asked. “Shouldn’t I be up top? I’m not afraid of heights.”

“It’s going to be nine shoe boxes stacked in a grid,” he said. “Even Kerri won’t consider it a height.”

“Hmmmm.”

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They did a great job on the set. The little shoe boxes looked very similar to the original set.

And the little desks lit up and had name tags and everything.

Samantha Anthony was playing the hostess for the game. Various leaders of activist organizations were participating as the contestants. They were all unshrunken humans, while the panelists were all sylphs.

Our production company didn’t produce the show, but Samantha and Amelia begged shamelessly and we donated cameras and microphones to the effort. And, of course, the best makeup and costume staff this side of the Great Divide.

So we were on the set early, coordinating and testing, so I got to welcome everyone as they showed up.

The first to arrive was Sally Kims. She rode in carried by her identical twin sister, Jerri.

They were both actresses, usually playing the same character but at alternate sizes. Their most famous role was probably Shrinking Violet on the short-lived Legion of Super Heroes show.

“Welcome to Sun Valley!” I said.

“Thank you!” Sally replied.

Jerri placed her down next to me. “I’m going to go check into our room,” she said. “You going to be okay?”

“Fine,” Sally assured her, then we were alone. She turned to me. “I understand you hug a lot.”

“Famous for it,” I said, arms out. She took me up on the offer. I showed her the craft table (a Twinkie lay on a platter like a roasted boar, with a plastic hors d'oeuvres fork for cutting off slices. There was also a juice box with a siphon hose poking out of it.) and pointed out her square, upper right corner.

“Okay,” she nodded, reading her name on the shiny board. “So, is there a rehersal? Or are we just going to go right into it?”

“They’ll brief us when everyone’s here,” I said. “But basically, we get some written quips to deliver, a head’s up on the questions.”

“Is that cheating?” she asked.

“Well, no one wants to sit for a half hour watching people shrug and say, ‘I don’t know, Samantha, I’ve never heard of a saxophone soliloquy.’ So, we don’t get the answers, but we won’t be embarrassingly stupid.”

“Not on camera, anyway,” she smiled. She went to pump herself a drink.

IQ was delivered by a production assistant from Big Bang Theory. I hadn’t seen him since his interview on the show. We hugged without even discussing it.

I’d had a great time on the show, and done my best to give him a great time when he came to Boise.

As we hugged, his hand dropped to squeeze one ass cheek.

I slapped it. Not THAT great a time. He took the rebuke in stride, same as always.

“So, how you been?” we squealed together. We caught up for a while. Sally wandered over and offered a cup of juice.

They hugged, clearly already familiar.

I watched her slap his hand with the ease of practice. So she was familiar with IQ’s habits, too. Turned out their shows were filmed on neighboring sound stages and they’d been acquainted. Not THAT acquainted, as evidenced by the slap.

I began to wonder if I’d regret having IQ’s square right next to mine.

Before I could decide, though, someone came in with Supersylph and her Nemesis.

Those were their names. Like IQ, the production company officially named them after their on-screen characters, just to keep things simple.

The names were kind of obvious, but unlike some shows, Supersylph was a kid’s program, aimed at the ‘with a free prize inside’ market.

Each week, on camera, the skinny blonde heroine used her magic sylph powers to defeat the plans of the swarthy Nemesis and his advanced sylph-based technology. Their battles were legendary and their hatred of each other pretty basic.

Off camera, they were clearly deeply in love. It was so clear, IQ didn’t even try to hug Supersylph, much less cop a feel.

He did offer a compliment, though.

“Oh, man!” he said when he realized who the two were. “I watched Supersylph EVERY Saturday when I was little. I mean,” and he gestured to his current height. “I mean when I was young, before I was this little. EVERY Saturday, Supersylph and Ladderlad fighting the forces of evil and discrimination.”

Supersylph looked a little confused, like she’d been cornered. Her eyes flickered from IQ to Nemesis. Her boyfriend stepped up to take her hand.

“I, uh, that wasn’t me,” she said.

“Oh, I know!” IQ said. “I just wanted to let you know, as a LIFE-long fan of the character, on TV and in the comics, I think you’re the best version of her they’ve EVER done!”

“Oh. Thanks,” she said quietly.

Then IQ turned to Nemesis. In a much less excited voice he said, “Your character was never in the comics.”

“Was so!” Nemesis said brightly. “In the Christmas Special Crossover issue, where she teamed up with Shrinking Violet and The Wasp.”

“I… I don’t have that issue,” IQ said.

“I do!” Sally said. “I’ll have Jerri bring it onto your set next season.”

“I… I…” He dropped to his knees. “Thank you.”

I love, love, love watching sylphs being friends, or friendly. Cooperation is almost a fetish for me. But that’s when someone walked up to the table with a cage. Most of the sylphs I’d seen, either the guests or the off-screen techs scurrying around here and there, were just carried.

Were we going to have a trust issue? Not everyone believes their little pet can be left alone for more than half a second.

How would that work for the taping, though?

A young woman set the cage down near the food and I could see inside. It was one of the muscle-men from Sylph Straits.

That was the game show where sylphs try to do things that ordinary humans tend to take for granted. Tying shoes, setting up a coffee machine, making and flipping a pancake.

The Home Team are female weight lifters who show the official solution. The guy in the cage was one of the Mighty Mites, male weightlifters. The guest sylphs get to use the Mites as muscle in their attempt to solve the challenge.

They’re strong, but not terribly bright. At least not on the screen. I suspect they’re playing dumb so the contestants won’t try to beg for hints.

The show actually had sylphs behind the cameras, too. Most of the technical people here were loaned from Sylph Straits. Sound people, camera people, lighting, writers… It was going to be a trip, watching so many my-sized people make a TV show.

Anyway, the Mite in the cage looked very excited to see the Twinkie. “Thog like twink cake!” he shouted. I started walking over.

“Now, now, Thog,” his handler said. “Be nice. You have to share the cake with the other sylphs.”

“Thog share!” he promised. He rattled the cage door, tugging on it to try to open in.

“Push, Thog,” his handler said.

“Oh.” He swung the door open and stepped out. It hadn’t been locked. I guess it wasn’t a trust issue after all.

In two steps he was beside me. Looming over me.

Thog was just friggin’ HUGE! I mean, he was still a sylph, but he was a HUGE sylph. He looked down at me, a strange concern on his face.

“Hi, Thog,” I said. “I swear, I’ve never seen a man bigger than my hairdresser that still qualified as a sylph.” I opened my arms. “I’d like to welcome you with a hug, but please don’t break me in half?”

“Thog stay in character,” he said in his booming voice, “but Thog never hurt Electra. Electra hostess of Thog favorite show!”

His hug was firm, but not at all painful.

“FAVORITE show?” his handler asked.

Thog froze, then gently disentangled from me. He looked up. “Please, please, please, Wendy, don’t tell Stephan? It is an honor and a privilege to work on his show, and Thog does enjoy meeting new sylphs every week, but Thog has to be honest, here.”

“Oh, I’m just teasing,” she said, poking a manicured fingernail into his belly. He doubled over as if she’d gut-shot him. She laughed and wandered off to talk to someone near the contestants’ desks.

Thog turned as the other sylphs came over. He looked from face to face. “Thog think it a crime they cancel Legion of Super Heroes,” he told Sally.

He looked to the left. “Thog also hold Supersylph show in high esteem.” He dropped the booming voice to a more conversational one. “Although Thog does think it would be more interesting if Nemesis either won one from time to time, or perhaps the two were forced to work together to save Central City from an even greater threat.”

“I know, right?” Nemesis replied. “But it’s essentially a cartoon, so what can you do?”

“Well, Conrad really likes the show as it is,” I said.

“Is Conrad your owner’s nephew?” Supersylph asked.

“Um, Conrad’s my producer,” I replied.

After a moment of silence, Thog turned to IQ, “Thog think episode where IQ console Amy over the death of her favorite lab monkey the pinnacle of dramatic television last season.”

“Wow, thanks!” IQ said.

“And fart joke at funeral funniest thing Thog ever see.”

“It wasn’t overdone?” IQ asked.

“Thog no think so, but Thog refer to self in third person, without pronoun, so what Thog know?” he shrugged. “What there to drink around here?”

“This’ll be a fun week,” Sally said as she walked past me to lead the living crowbar to the juice box.

We all wandered around the set for a while, climbing up into the booths and looking around, waving to our own images on the monitor.

Supersylph had the left corner, with Nemesis beside her. Thog was below her, above my booth on the bottom left. IQ was the bottom middle.

Sally was every appreciative of the pillows placed next to the parakeet ladders that allowed access to the upper levels.

“Well, we try to think of everything,” I said.

“Bathroom?” Thog asked. “That juice go right through Thog.” I pointed to three male and three female potties lined up on the far side of the table from the food table.

“I’m just not sure if you’re going to fit…” I said.

“They’re made of cardboard,” IQ pointed out. “If he doesn’t fit, my money’s on Thog winning the fight.”

Just then, Thog’s handler showed up with Samantha.

She carried a spare shoe box and a box cutter. “Wendy says we may need to customize some accommodations?”

In moments she’d converted one MALE potty to FE-MALE, then created and labeled the THOG-potty for the behemoth.

“Thanks!” Thog called, rushing over.

“She does have her uses,” I said. Sam nodded and went back to whatever she’d been doing.

The next two sylphs showed up together. Apparently Froggie and Skippy had arrived on the same flight and shared a ride to the hotel.

Froggie had been a guest on the premiere of our show. She’d been famous before sylphing, a Playmate who’d dated several famous rock stars. Now she was the author of a tell-all book about her life among hard-living celebrities, disguised as a detailed review of a hundred hotel. She had anecdotes to support her ratings for their room service, soundproofing and staff’s discretion. She was going to be the bottom corner across from me.

I hugged her to welcome her, and whispered a warning about IQ as we embraced.

“Been there, done him,” she said cheerfully. Oh. Well, good for them.

She introduced me to Skippy. He played an ensign on the latest incarnation of Star Trek. Ensign Skippy was mostly comic relief, always getting into trouble one way or another, or dancing around on one of the consoles, usually next to a biggie crewman who didn’t seem to be doing much of anything.

I welcomed and hugged him, and introduced him around. He’d be above Froggie.

Now all that was left was Kerri at Center Square. That’s when Amelia walked up with the bad news.

She knew everyone, of course. We were all here on her personal invitation. She clapped her hands to get our attention.

“I have some bad news. No rehersal today. Kerri’s plane is down.”

“Oh my God!” I cried. I think everyone gasped.

“NO! Not WENT down!” Amelia shouted at us. “It’s down for maintenance in Salt Lake! She’ll be here tomorrow morning.”

“Thank Heavens!” Froggie said. We all sighed heavily.

Thog stomped over to Amelia. “Thog think Amelia usually much better at word choice.”

“I am very sorry,” she said contritely. “I’m a little frazzled from trying to coordinate all this.” She waved to indicate the conference room we were set up in. “But,” she added quickly, “that’s no excuse for giving you all heart attacks. I’m so, so sorry.”

Thog turned to the rest of us. “Thog willing to forgive tiny scary woman. If lunch is good.”

“A bacon double cheeseburger with eight forks?” she asked.

“I vote to forgive,” IQ said. It was soon unanimous.



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Index

139. To Grandmother's House Part 3 (N)

141. Charity Squares P2: The Games Start