It's all a game

“…...So, congratulations once again, all the prizes you’ve won up to now are safe, unless you take the final gamble….” (oooos from the studio audience)

Linda looked around the studio, at the inanely grinning host, the bored camera operators, the lighting guys dying for a smoke break, and the practically salivating watchers, which included all the contestants she’d beaten to get this far. She then turned her attention back to the ornate pair of bronze doors in front of her, the subjects of the choice she had to make, the adrenaline-causing, secret-keeping, portals.

Just as she was about to commit one way or the other, Mr. Insincere made sure he was lit in profile, and made sure also he showed off his newly whitened teeth, as he told the watching millions at home they were cutting to a commercial break. As soon as that happened, he was surrounded by a flock of fussing, primping make-up artists, and everybody else’s attention seemed to be elsewhere too.

This gave her chance to reflect, and while everything was still a bit fuzzy and jumbled in her mind, she pondered what she had to do. What she’d won up to that point was mostly crap if she was being honest, trinkets and stuff she already had anyway. So, it would seem pretty clear that she would accept the chance to risk losing it all for what potentially lay behind one of those doors that seemed to be mocking and taunting her. On the other hand, she knew by the rules of the game that there was bound to be a final twist, a sudden nasty or nice surprise, one of the reasons the show got around fifteen million hooked viewers glued to their television sets every Thursday evening.

Six minutes or so later, they were back live on air. As she had suspected, Linda realised the host was obviously about to reveal the extent of the gamble, and by the smug look on his face and his exaggerated wink to both the people watching there and at home, there was going to be a catch.

“Linda Reid, we’re all waiting with baited breath for your decision. But before you make it….” (more oooooos) “we’re going to blindfold you, and then we’re going to open both doors. The audience’s reaction, and their advice, will be all you have to go on. The people watching at home can ‘phone in and vote which one you should go for as well. Or, you can just walk away with everything that you see on the table…..”

Hmmmm. This was something new, something Linda had never seen happen on the programme before. But that was surely the point. She glanced over at the collection of coffee makers and music players and other stuff, and dismissed them from her mind. “Ok, Charles, I’m ready. I’ll take the gamble” (wild applause and cheers)

“Very well. Now, to keep up the suspense, nobody here in the studio knows what lies behind those doors, not even me! The only one who does is the producer. Everyone has been kept in the dark, in some cases literally. So when they open, the reactions will be genuine. Now, ready when you are!”

Linda nodded once briefly, and the ubiquitous ‘glamorous assistant’, all blonde hair and sparkly gown and a ‘kill me now’ expression she just about kept hidden, came out in front of the camera carrying a thick black silk scarf, which was then tied round Linda’s face in front of her eyes. “Can you see anything, anything at all?” the compare queried. “No Charles, not a thing, let’s do this……”

She had to rely on all her other senses now. She could hear the whispers, the nervous laughter. She couldn’t smell the compare’s cologne any more, which meant he’d moved further away (while remaining on camera she assumed). And her sixth sense, her instincts, the way she felt, nervous and apprehensive while strangely composed. “Ok Lin, dooooooooors opening!” She felt mildly annoyed he’d used a contraction of her name without asking, but that passed. She had to concentrate.

She’d expected whoops, and excited cheers, or maybe even shouts of alarm. But there was a strangely muted response, as if in great disappointment. Murmurs, rustling of people fidgeting in their seats, not much to go on at all. Even Charles seemed to have gone flat, his normal bonhomie, however forced, notably absent as he said “Well…...umm…..ok…..” So out of nothing more than a whim, she stated “I’ll take the left door please”

“I have to tell you Linda, the viewers are split with their ‘phone votes, so they’re not much help to you. So, as a pretty much 50/50 choice, you may as well I guess. So, Mrs Linda Reid, 32, housewife from Basingstoke, you have chosen, the left door!” he tried to make those last three words sound dramatic, try to inject a bit of urgency and sense of theatre to proceedings, but she could tell his heart wasn’t in it. She felt herself being led into position, and reached up to undo the blindfold as she cautiously stepped through her chosen exit.

The door immediately slammed shut behind her, cutting off the sounds of the studio instantly like they’d never existed. She saw at once the reason for the apathy, the lack of anything approaching enthusiasm. A bare, featureless white room, no windows, no furnishings of any kind, not even a rug on the smooth floor. All there was was another door set in the far wall. She tried the one behind her, locked of course. She tried to see if there was any sign of a camera, she wondered if she was still being broadcast to the nation, and reasoned probably not. She knew she was going to have to try the new door, but wanted to delay it. A mixture of anger, curiosity and fright. Idly wondering what had awaited her if she had chosen the right one, she strode across the blank room which smelled slightly of fresh paint, and pushed the handle of the new door down.