“Same with him,” said the producer. “Not only is he black, but not one person in this country would give two hoots if he was executed. I think most people in this country would want the bastard executed. I certainly would. I get a bad vibe every time I lay eyes on him. I haven’t the faintest idea why the black moron was selected. Why was he selected, Elsa? Didn’t we have better choices?”

The woman in charge of contestants, Elsa Metzger, said, “The pool wasn’t that big. Certainly not as many good selections as we had hoped for. It’s a tough contestant to find. The contestant has to be in decent health, bright, and—”

“I know what the contestant has to be. You’re not answering my question, Metzger.”

Elsa Metzger was a very thin and nervous lady. She chain-smoked and wore huge horn-rimmed glasses. “I’m guessing,” she said, “that after we’re on the air our contestant numbers should go up and we’ll have a better—”

“You’re guessing our numbers will go up?” snorted the producer. “If they’re not up you’ll be out of a job. And Elsa, if you’re still employed next week, cut down on the blacks.”

Elsa Metzger dropped her head in shame.

“Get rid of that goddamn Jamal ASAP,” the producer said to the question writers. “Hard questions, you hear? Go back and check out his questions again. If the ones you’ve written aren’t hard, make them hard. And if they’re already hard, make them harder.”

Ms. Pickle wrote in her notebook: Give Metzger a hard time about blacks.

“Next.”

“The last contestant of the first game is Linus Major,” said the production assistant.

“I like him,” said the producer, pepping up a bit. “He’s a good one. Young, refreshing, ingratiating. People like him. They would be sorry to see him executed. Make his questions easy.”

“Who would be your favorite in the first game?” asked a suck-up junior executive in the back of the room.

“Favorite?”

“To be executed.”

“Vera Bundle,” said the producer to the suck-up without hesitating.

Billy Constable had a dream.

It took place in the early hours of the morning while he was tossing and turning in bed unable to sleep. He dreamed he was back at the county fair in Bowling Green, Kentucky, and when the roulette wheel stopped spinning the little rubber arrow pointed to $100,000,000!! He was so excited he had to wake Rosie from a sound sleep and tell her.

“What’s the matter, honey?”

“I had a dream, Rosie.”

“Tell me about it, Martin Luther.”

And that’s what Billy did. He told Rosie Feinstein about his dream. Then he said, “My dream’s telling me I’m gonna get on the damn program and win! My dream’s a…whattya call it, Rosie…you know…a…”

“An epiphany? An omen?”

“Yeah! One a them. God’s going to answer my prayers.”

“Absolutely,” said Rosie the atheist.

“I’m tellin’ ya, Rosie, dear, I’m gonna get on the show and I ain’t gonna lose!”