Anatomy of a Crossword (7 page)

“
G-A-I-L
or
G-A-L-E
? Like Gale Storm. I've always loved that name.”

“Yes, it's
G-A-L-E
.”

“And are you tempestuous, dearie?”

Belle laughed. “I'd suppose you'd have to ask my husband about that.”

“Oh, I can tell by looking at you that he has his hands full.” Harriet gave her a suggestive wink, then said, “This is your first visit to
Down & Across
, isn't it?”

“Why, yes …?” Belle answered quizzically as the bus began to pull away from the pickup area.

“Oh, I'm not clairvoyant, hon; it's simply that I never miss a show. I'm the most
regular
of the regulars, so if there's a new face in the crowd, I'm the first to spot it.” Harriet patted Belle on the leg. “Well, you'll just have to sit with me, then, won't you Gale?”

Belle again held her ticket up to the light. “I'm not sure where my seat is. I don't see any numbers here, just the date.”

“It's general admission, but an usher always saves a special seat for me. And if the seat next to me is taken today, I'll ask one the boys to give the person the boot. I'm in the third row.”

“That's very nice of you.”

“I sit on the aisle … In case there's an emergency. I don't like to be in a place where the exit is difficult to reach. If you're my size, you have to be extra careful. Gerry Orso always gives me a big hello and a kiss before the show starts. If I were thirty years younger, I'd snap him up for hubby number six, I swear. He's such a dreamboat, don't you think?”

Unbidden, another falsehood rose to Belle's lips. “Actually, I've never seen the show.”

“Well, then, you must be the only woman on earth who isn't in love with Gerry Orso.
Orso
it would seem.” Harriet cackled at length over this bit of witticism. “Oh, don't mind me,” she finally said, “that's a running gag with Gerry and the regulars.”

“I see. Well, I'm looking forward to seeing all this—how a game show is filmed, I mean.”

As the bus worked its way through the maze of studios, outbuildings, and the mostly darkened trailers of the TV and movie stars, Belle explained how she'd just arrived from Massachusetts and had been given the ticket to
Down & Across
as a going-away gift from friends back East. On a hunch that her seatmate might have information about a future TV movie whose denouement involved a crossword puzzle, Belle avoided using real names. Instead, she continued in her disingenuous vain, explaining that she was taking a short vacation out West while her husband was fishing in Minnesota. She smiled to herself, thinking that fishing in Minnesota was the last thing Rosco would dream of doing. After a ten-minute ride, the shuttle came to a stop, and the driver called out, “Studio Twenty-six.”

“This is us,” Harriet said excitedly. She jumped to her feet like a ten-year-old. “Stay close. Don't get lost on me now. I want you to get a good seat.”

Belle followed as Harriet authoritatively pushed her way off the bus and trotted toward the studio door. The evening air had cooled down to a pleasant seventy degrees, but clearly many of the “natives” considered this near to freezing, and quickly pulled on sweaters and jackets. Belle found their behavior amusing, but as soon as she stepped into the studio, she, too, slipped into her denim jacket. The cavernous building appeared to be the size of an airplane hangar; the chill made it seem as if the hangar were somewhere in northern Alaska.

“Oh, don't worry, hon,” Harriet smiled, “things'll get warmer as soon as they kick up these lights.” She pointed up to the colossal black metal framework that hung from the ceiling and seemed to support a thousand studio lights.

“Good evening, Mrs. Tammalong.” The greeting came from a burly man wearing a plaid shirt; faded, but well-ironed jeans; and wide orange suspenders that gleamed neon-bright across his paunch. He looked to be nearing sixty, mostly bald with a salt-and-pepper beard that was trimmed in a surprisingly elegant and precise fashion.

“Good evening, Matthew,” she responded. “I have my niece with me tonight, so I hope the seat next to mine is free?”

Belle raised bemused eyebrows while Matt craned his neck to look past the crowd of people. “Tsk, tsk, tsk, someone's in those seats, but I'll take care of it right now, Mrs. Tammalong.” He moved down the aisle.

“Niece?” Belle asked.

“For your own protection, dearie. Besides being an absolute dreamboat, Gerry Orso is also a world-class letch. He'd be all over you otherwise.”

“Well, I
am
married.”

“Don't make me laugh. When would that stop a man like Gerry? Follow me.”

Harriet again shoved her small body into the crowd, ordering a brisk, “Coming through, coming through,” while Belle tagged along like a gangly and awe-struck child. When they reached the third row of seats, they found Matthew standing guard over Harriet's chosen places.

“Thank you, Matthew, you're such a sweetheart.” She handed him a twenty dollar bill. Belle raised her eyebrows slightly as the cash exchanged hands. “Oh, it's only money, dearie.… I mean, what's it for, anyway? I say, if you have it, share it.”

Belle smiled, and the two women sat down.

“Besides, like they say … You can't take it with you. Look at all those husbands of mine.” She sighed, but the sound was more disapproval than regret. “That Matthew is such a nice man. He's new. Well, new to his current job; he had a lesser position and was just moved up last week. He's now the key grip. It's a very good promotion. Although he's done it before.”

“Key grip?”

“The number one stagehand …? He basically runs the whole shooting match. Don't let anyone tell you anything different. You think it's the director, right? The producer? Forget it; not in a million years.” Harriet paused, looking to see if her new friend Gale was keeping up. “… Years ago Matthew was the key grip on that drama … You know the one … What was the name of that show …? The one that whats-his-name starred in? Set in Hawaii? Or was it Chicago? Well, it makes no difference. But he's only here on trial basis for a month,
Orso
I'm told … Then they decide if he stays on. I don't watch dramas, myself. People are always getting killed on them … And they call that entertainment? You can keep it …” Harriet pointed to a smoked glass window high above the lighting grid. “That's where all the head honchos are—up in the booth.”

“‘Head honchos'?”

“The show's creator, and so forth.” Harriet hesitated for a moment. “Huh, well I'll be, I never looked at it like that until this very minute … The creator. Up there in the heavens? That sure gives you pause for thought, doesn't it? Anyway, the fellow who dreamed up
Down & Across
is in the booth with the director, the staff writers, and the producer—Stan McKenet. Stan's father, old Stan, started this studio forty years ago.” Harriet opened her purse and removed a package of black licorice and offered Belle a stick. “This is my absolute favorite snack,” she said.

“Mine, too.” Belle answered without thinking, “Well, actually deviled eggs are the top of the list, but right below them is licorice.” It was less than a millisecond later that she realized that Belle Graham's addiction to deviled eggs was a well-documented fact.
Gale Harmble
would have to be a little more careful if she wanted to keep her alias intact.

But before Harriet could respond, there was a commotion at the rear of the studio. They turned to see Gerry Orso arriving to applause, banners, and placards proclaiming his fans' enthusiasm, as well as excited whoops and hollers. Everyone wanted Gerry to grace them with a special nod. The show's host walked forward greeting his audience, supplying kisses for the women nearest the aisle and convivial hand shakes for the men, although it was clear that the female members of the group received superior attention. Orso was slender and handsome, in his mid-forties—or made to look that age—with wavy, brown hair and a tan that appeared to have been applied chemically rather than acquired in the normal, lazing-poolside manner.

Gerry worked his way down the aisle, and finally stopped next to Harriet. He bent down, kissed her on both miniature cheeks and said, “Ah, the ever faithful Mrs. Tammalong.” But like a savvy politician, his eyes had already moved to the next potential admirer—who was Belle. “Well, hello! And who have we here? A new visitor to
Down & Across
?
Orso
I'd guess. And who might
you
be?” He took Belle's hand, kissed it, then nearly crawled over Harriet in an attempt to plant a smooch on her lips.

Belle recoiled instinctively, while Harriet shoved her purse into the host's ribcage. “That's my niece, Gerry! You stay away from her.”

He straightened, rubbing his ribs, then extended his hand to Belle. “So nice to meet you, will you be visiting Harriet long, Miss …?”

“Not really. And it's
Mrs
.… Mrs. Harmble.”

“You look familiar … Have we met? Or have you accompanied your aunt before? I pride myself on remembering faces.”

“That's because Gale looks just like that actress who was in that movie with Richard Perry,” Harriet said. “The one about the crooked cop. Everyone tells her that's who she looks like.”

“Ah-hah … But you're not in the entertainment business, I take it, Gale?”

Belle pondered the question.
Could the business of entertainment encompass constructing crossword puzzles? Maybe. And what about being a technical advisor on a movie set? Definitely.
Another fib seemed called for, but this time, it was Harriet who supplied the latest piece of deception.

“Gale's in town staying with me while her hubby's away on a fishing expedition with his buddies …”

Buddies?
Belle thought.
Did I say that? I don't think so.

“… In Minnesota? Isn't that right, Gale? The land of 10,000 lakes. The boys are at a very exclusive wilderness camp.”

“Not Lake Winnibigoshish?” Orso beamed. “I go there every summer.”

“Ahhh, no, he's farther north than that.”

“So he's an ice fisherman?”

Belle gulped. Ice fishing, of course! Who else but devotees of the sport would frequent northern Minnesota lakes in January? “Sort of …” She felt her brain growing more and more jumbled. Soon it was going to be impossible to keep track of the many facets of her invented persona.

“Well, enjoy the show,
Gale
,” Gerry Orso murmured intimately as he moved away. Belle decided it was only her now over-taxed imagination that supplied a shrewd and all-knowing tone to her assumed name. The host passed the first two rows of seats, crossed the stage, placed his arm over Matthew's shoulder, and whispered something in his ear. They were then joined by a third man wearing a three-piece suit and two-toned wing tips on his feet.

“That's Stan McKenet, there.” Harriet scowled at the three men. “Now, I told you, didn't I tell you? I knew Gerry'd try to rape you. He's just like my third husband; can't let a pretty girl pass without attacking her.”

Belle laughed. “I'd hardly use those words … But thank you for saving the day.”

“Think nothing of it, Gale.” Again, Belle was struck by an eerie echo in the way Harriet said the name, but she pushed those peculiar suspicions from her brain, thinking,
My puzzles are syndicated, but my photo is printed only in Newcastle. And, after all, why would Gerry Orso or Harriet Tammalong imagine me to be anyone other than out-of-town-visitor Gale Harmble
—
despite the “niece” and “exclusive fishing camp” references? Rosco and ice fishing
—
wouldn't that be a sight?

Belle turned her concentration to the set, gazing at the giant grid of TV screens: seven across and seven down, a total of forty-nine TV monitors, each capable of displaying a single letter. At the moment, they spelled out
WELCOME TO
DOWN
&
ACROSS
WITH GERRY ORSO
. To the left of the TVs stood a navy-blue-and-gold podium, its front decorated with a fleur-de-lys, and Orso's name scrolled across the top in scarlet lettering. To the right of the TVs were two smaller podiums for the contestants. Above their stations were electronic readouts designed to post each player's winnings.

“I don't see an
APPLAUSE
sign,” Belle said. “My friend back home said there'd be one to tell us when to clap.”

“Oh, they went out years ago, hon. Rolly Hoddal takes care of all that now.”

“Rolly Hoddal?”

“Rolly's a stand-up comedian. He'll be out in a minute
orso
to warm us up. He'll tell us some lame jokes to get us in the mood for fun, and then when it's time for applause, he'll walk up and down in front of the audience waving his hands like a frightened chicken—except chickens don't have hands … It's an embarrassing sight, really; I liked the
APPLAUSE
sign much better, myself.”

Belle watched with fascination as the grips began preparing the stage for the taping. They positioned thick, black cables, dusted off TV monitors, and checked microphones and sound levels. Three cameramen were perched atop large camera cranes that were capable of dipping down to floor level or rising twenty feet in the air with remarkable ease and quietude. Fat rubber tires permitted each crane's crew to rove across the polished floor and “hit marks” that had been “flagged” on the floor with reflective tape. The crews—hefty types in comfortable-fit jeans—worked in total silence while the cameramen sat aloft reading sports magazines and displaying total indifference to the free ride they were receiving. Both crew and camera operators wore headsets, which received instructions from the invisible group in the control booth. Belle found it curious that only a few had mouthpieces that would allow a response.