Perchance to Dream: Selected Stories by Charles Beaumont

Author:Charles Beaumont [Beaumont, Charles]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780143107651
Amazon: 0143107658
Publisher: Penguin Classics
Published: 2015-10-12T22:00:00+00:00

THE MONSTER SHOW

“Is it sock?” the Big Man inquired nervously, flicking a tablet into his mouth.

“It is sock,” the Official Coordinator of TV Production replied. “It is wham and boff. I give you my word.”

“I give it back to you. Words mean nothing. It’s pictures that count. Flap?”

“Sure; flap, flap,” the Official Coordinator said, and slipped a small needle into a large vein. “But I tell you, B. P., there is nothing to worry about. We have got thirty cameras regular and sixty in reserve. For every actor, two stand-ins. In fact, we have even got stand-ins for the stand-ins. Nothing can go wrong. Nothing-O.”

The Big Man collapsed into a chair and moved a handkerchief rhythmically across his neck. “I don’t know,” he said. “I am worried.”

“What you should do, B. P.,” the Official Coordinator said, “is you should relax.”

The Big Man belched a picture off the wall. “Relax!” he shouted. “The most expensive TV production in history and he tells me to relax!”

“B. P., flap this. Everything is scatty-boo, A through Z. We absotively and posilutely cannot miss.”

“I just don’t know,” the Big Man said, shaking his head.

The Official Coordinator removed a red pellet from an onyx case and tossed it into his mouth. “Boss, listen to me for a double-mo. Listen. Close the eyes. Now: You are no longer the Chief and Commander of Production of the World’s Largest TV Studio—”

The Big Man trembled slightly.

“You are, instead, Mr. Average World Family, 1976 A. D. Flap?”

“Flap, flap.”

“Kay. You are sitting in front of your two-thirds-paid-for 150-inch non-curved wall T-Viewer. You are in your undershirt. The missus has poured you a beer and you are munching Cheese Drackles. Reety-O. Suddenly you see that it is two minutes to eight. You jab the auto-ray and switch channels right away, if you are sucker enough to be on another channel, which, thanks to those lousy feebs at OBC, maybe you are. But not for long! Because for six months you have been hearing about it. The biggest, the greatest, the most spectacular, the most expensive production ever to hit the screen. Said I biggest? Said I greatest? Said I most spectacular? Father-O, this is a veritybobble monster of a show! So what do we call it? Natcheroony: The Monster Show! ‘EVERYBODY WILL BE WATCHING IT—WILL YOU?’ These words, Mr. Average World Family, are stamped into your brain. You’ve seen them everywhere: billboards, leaflets, sky-writing, magazine ads, the regular 15-minute daily commersh: and you’ve heard them everywhere, too: in busses and planes and cars, from your children—”

“Meant to tell you,” the Big Man interrupted, “getting at the children was a good move.”

“What about the parrots?”

“The parrots was also a good move.”

“I blush, B. P. But hearken-O: There you are. Are you there?”

“Proceed on. I am ears.”

“Kay. It is one minute to eight. You are shaking with excitement. Just like all the rest of the Folks everywhere else. In the bars, in the theatres, in the homes. Some with 90-foot curvo screens, some with modest 40-inchers, some even—like the cops and all—with nothing but their wrist-peeps.

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