© Justin Cumberland 2007

Chapter Five

On Monday night they announced a new rule. It was a surprising development. Garth said it was because the saddle round was boring. The new rule made it better, he said; and after he watched the show, Jason had to agree.

It was a better way to do things, because it took pressure off the contestants and added an element that would work in Jason’s favor. That, at any rate, was what Garth said. He said it had been too easy for a guy to get wasted. It was dull. Guys gave stupid answers to simple questions, answers that made no sense, answers to questions children would have answered, without thinking. There was too much pressure; and this would help Jase, definitely.

Answering the questions was the one thing about the show which had worried Jason. He worried too much about the right answer, second-guessing, as he tried, in his mind, to see if he could get it right.

He knew he wasn’t bright, and; when it came right down to it, he simply didn’t know the answers to most of the questions they asked.

‘But they’ll give you easy questions,’ Garth had said.

‘How easy?’

‘Really easy.’

Of course they would. They would want him to win. But how easy could they make them? If they asked him about sports – about football – then there was a good chance that he would get them right. If it was a math question, he could probably work it out; but he would need more time. It was too fast. He knew he couldn’t do it; and he didn’t see how they could be certain he would win if he had to say the right thing at the right time. They might want him to win, as Garth had said, but if he didn’t play his part they couldn’t possibly help him. He would stumble, and fall.

‘I won’t get them right, Garth. You know that. I’m not going to get five questions right.’

‘You don’t have to get five right.’

‘Bullshit!’ There was no way he was going to sit there and let the mallets close even once. He didn’t care if it didn’t hurt. The idea of sitting there, naked, on television, strapped to a glass saddle, with his balls locked in a vice, would be humiliating enough. He could cope with it, if he was the winner; but there was no way he was going to let someone laugh at him.

‘You’re not gonna get hurt.’

‘I don’t care, Garth. I can’t let that happen to me. I’m quarterback for fuck’s sake. Do you think I could show my face again – after that.’

‘Is Brad worried about it? Are they making an idiot out of him?’

No. They weren’t.

On Friday night he had taken a third hit. It would have been painful but he had pushed his mouth together, forced the breath through his nostrils, obviously angered, but determined.

No one had dared to laugh at Brad.

‘Yeah, but—’

‘Look, Jase. I’ll go in and speak to the fucking producer. He’ll give you the fucking answers. I take a photo. I give it to him: “Whatever the guy wants. Just get him the fuck in here!”’

‘You think? I mean – would he? Would he really want me that fucking much? I mean – do you think he’d really...’

‘Of course he would! He’s not exactly moral, is he?’

‘Moral?’

‘Honorable.’ Garth was frustrated. ‘I mean, fuck Jase – they’re making money out of…’

‘A neuter incentive.’

‘What?’ Incredulous.

‘It’s legal.’

‘Oh, fucking hell! Tell yourself whatever you want, Jase. Buy whatever line they feed you. We don’t need control. This is America for fuck’s sake. Do you think we can’t deal with a billion? – with two? The rest of world can go to shit.’

But then.

It worried Jason that it wouldn’t be fair. He thought about it; and it worried him a lot. Could he really waste some guy who thought he had a chance? When Jason knew he didn’t? And Jason hated the idea, but liked it, worrying. And then Garth told him.

‘You know, Jase. A lot of guys go on there because they want to get done. Do you understand that?’

Jason hadn’t.

‘They make out they don’t – but they do. They have fantasies about it. They’re afraid to live them and they go on the show, knowing, hoping, really, that they will, get done.’

‘Are you serious?’

Garth simply smiled.

‘You mean they’d actually want me to do them?’

‘It’d be their dream come true, Jase. They’d probably tear each other to shreds just to get near you.’

Jason smiled. He laughed, unexpectedly. That would be good. If they wanted it.

‘They’ll hug the memory of you for the rest of their lives, Jase,’ said childishly, mocking the ones he knew.

Jason bit his bottom lip but couldn’t help smiling. His face collapsed. It only took a moment.

‘What about the other guys? They’re just gonna get done, aren’t they? They’re not gonna have a chance.’

‘Who cares, Jase? Do you think anyone cares shit about stuff anymore? Those guys’ll top themselves with a gun, no matter what you do. They’re the type that go rank. You might just calm em down.’ He smiled. ‘A bit.’

Jason knew what he meant.

When he was little it had been different, maybe. He couldn’t exactly remember, but it had seemed different, then. He could remember blue days, and water. There had been warmth, fading. He didn’t know when these things had gone; but somewhere, something had gone, sometime, precisely.

It was the crystal, Garth said. It was wicked. The best thing that ever happened to the world in his humble opinion.

And the wildness of the new tugged at Jason times; but he never could be part of it for long. He was an old fashioned hero and he wanted the old world. He longed for a land of lullabies. An America of the seventies which he had never seen, but had heard, patchily.

It had existed somehow, in a flash of light.

And Garth wasn’t right about it, anyway. He knew that even then. Not everyone was a meth-head. It was a symptom. The world collapsed. Everyone knew that. But it was easy not to think about it, or to open the door out, and absent yourself.

Jason extinguished it. Shook his head. Smiled.

They really would just let him win – and like Garth had said, ‘Just fuck it Jase, just do guys, just go on there and have a fucking ball. You’re a winner. People need a hero. Go on there. It’ll be fuckin brilliant. I just wish I could do it myself.’

Jason was well given up to going on the show and; before Saturday, when they had this conversation, he was hoping to himself that Brad would win. Then he would be able to go on the show without having to admit to Garth that he had decided it was a good idea and something that he wanted to do, knowing it was safe, and that he would win – that it was okay to do it, as Garth had always said.

He was sick of Garth. The fact that he was sick of him made him sick himself, because Garth was a friend – the only one he had ever had; but he was sick of it. Garth always got the better of him, no matter what happened. And he hurt Jason, in the past, and had done it without breaking the code, deceiving him. It humiliated; and now, Jason thought, he had a chance to fuck with Garth. The guy was gonna get his own fill of shame.

Jason couldn’t, however, hug the idea of making Garth a eunuch. He didn’t want to go there.

He just wanted to hurt him. He wanted to do it violently.

If Brad didn’t win, he wouldn’t get to do this. Jason could waste Garth by force, certainly. It didn’t matter. No one would care. No one was going to deal with it. No cop would charge him.

He could do it, but not honorably: and he was ever, honourable.

He could not do it, except according to the code. Which was all he had. In a world gone mad, he held onto it, still believing, and, ultimately, held onto Garth because there was nothing, there was no one, else.

The code meant he could do Garth. He could fuck with him. They had staked their honor; but Saturday, after they talked about the new rule, Jason realized what a fucked up thought this was. Garth didn’t want it. He wasn’t like that. And he couldn’t do Garth, honorably, or not. He was his friend.

The cones were fucking with Jason’s head. He knew this, had a break and somehow reached a moment of clarity.

There was no one else. Garth wouldn’t do it to Jason; and wouldn’t expect Jason to do it to him. Garth had made the bet because he understood things. He could see that Brad would win.

And Jason needed Garth. He needed him badly. He was never going to understand things without him. The world just didn’t, and wouldn’t, make sense.

And so, because Garth was his friend and had always (in spite of everything) offered him good advice, and regardless of anything that had happened in the past, Jason decided to forget about it because he just couldn’t do it, even if Brad, did not win.

Things had, after all, changed between him and Garth over the past few weeks. The guy’s attitude had changed. His tone of voice had changed. He was treating Jason with respect and being exceptionally good to him with this whole Busted thing – not getting angry or impatient with him about it, but explaining things properly because, as Jason well knew, he was a good friend and always had been.

The new rule convinced him. He would go on the show. Even if Brad did not win, he would risk it. He would take a punt which wasn’t any sort of punt at all because Garth was going to go in there and set things up with the producer.

He smoked the cones and felt hard at the thought of it. It would be good. He really was going to get to do this. It would be like a dream, made real.

It would be safe for him.

He knew that now; and he would say to Garth, simply, he thought he’d made an unfair bet, and couldn’t waste his friend’s gear because it wasn’t fair. It wasn’t honorable. He would say, the guy had been good to him – too good, offering the only help and support he had ever had.

As a mark of respect he would go on the show where he’d get the chance to do other guys who had never been a friend to him, and were a danger, as Garth said. He would go on the show because it was safe – because Garth had his best interests at heart and would be looking out for him like he always had.

And he was certain he would be okay, on Monday night, when the show started and they announced the new rule.

It meant the contestants no longer had to answer questions in the saddle round. There were questions to answer, yes; but, because of the strain which had seen so many guys wasted because of stupid answers – answers to questions which a child could answer, unthinkingly; they had decided to defer the power to a buddy who a contestant elected to answer the questions for him.

The stage was set up differently. The show looked different. Like it was new. A new show – different to the old one. There was a buddy panel – five guys at a desk. There were costumes for the contestants.

Jason watched Brad and realized that it would be okay. The guy had his arms folded. He had wasted six guys himself. And he sat, like a western hero: confident, manly, and in control. He sat on the saddle while some other person, some friend, answered questions for him.

It wasn’t going to be a problem.

‘Would you do that, Garth?’

‘What?’

‘Be my buddy?’ Jason asked.

‘I am your buddy.’

‘Yeah – but on the show. When I go on the show?’

‘On the show?’ Garth cleared his throat. He was finding it difficult to talk. He winced. ‘Are you…going on the show?’

‘Yeah – well…’ Jason stopped and tried to think, saying, ‘if Brad wins tonight, of course.’

Garth stopped. He looked dumbfounded. Jason had conceded. ‘Oh, he’ll win.’

‘Yeah, I realize that now – and I’m sorry, Garth, for being so stupid about the whole thing.’

‘Stupid?’

‘Yeah. I know you’re only trying to help me; and I’ve been a dumb-arsed jock about it all.’

‘You’re not a dumb-arsed jock.’

‘Yeah, I am – and we both know it.’

Garth smiled.

‘And I wouldn’t waste your gear, Garth. I mean – if Brad loses, I won’t waste your gear?’

‘Really?’

Jason hung his head. ‘Yeah.’

‘You mean that?’

‘Yeah, I mean it.’ He looked up at his friend and smiled.

Garth expelled breath. ‘Shit, man – you had me worried.’

‘Yeah. It was a pretty fucked up bet. I shouldn’t have done that to you.’

‘Yeah?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Really?’

‘Really.’

Jason stopped and took a breath. It was difficult to say shit like this. ‘You’re my pal, Garth – best friend. I couldn’t waste your gear, and I shouldn’t have…It was – fucked.’ He stopped. ‘Fuck man! I’m gonna go on the freakin show. I’m gonna just do it.’ He spread his arms apart. ‘I don’t care what happens. I know I’ll win. I won’t get wasted. That’s can’t happen to me. It couldn’t. You know how shit works. You wouldn’t try to…But…if you could maybe go in there and…just to put my mind at rest. Not that you have to cause I owe you after.’ He stopped again. ‘That was such a fucked up—’

Garth started choking. He was bent over with his head between his knees and the muscles in his back were spasming. Jason jumped up and hit him firmly between the shoulder blades.

‘Are you alright?’

Garth was red in the face but he was fine. ‘A cheese ball,’ he said, trying to catch his breath. ‘Went down the wrong way.’ He was smiling now.

Brad did win. He came out of the whole thing intact – and with a million dollars to his name. After the saddle round he sailed through the rest of the show like the whole thing was a joke.

Jason stretched up and put his hands behind his head. He smiled. It was gonna feel good. He could hardly wait.

The only problem was, Garth didn’t want to be his buddy.

‘I couldn’t do it, Jase.’

‘Couldn’t do it?’

‘You’d be putting your balls in my hands.’

‘So?’

‘So, what if something went wrong? What if I got a question wrong?’

‘A question! You’re not gonna get a question wrong. And anyway – it wouldn’t matter. I don’t care about it anymore. Getting a wrong question does nothing. The mallets hardly even touch your sack.’

‘Yeah, but what if I got three wrong – or four? What if I got five wrong? Your sack’d be mush – and it’d be my fault.’

‘It wouldn’t be your fault. And it wouldn’t happen anyway. They’re gonna ask you easy questions.’

‘Yeah – but what if I stuff up? What if they are easy and I get them wrong because I’m flustered – and worried about you? You’d blame me for the rest of your life.’

‘I wouldn’t blame you.’

‘Of course you’d blame me. It’d be my fault.’

‘It wouldn’t be your fault – and it won’t happen, Garth.’

‘Yeah – but what if it does? What if I stuff the whole thing up for you? You’d blame me.’

‘I wouldn’t blame you.’

‘Of course you would.’

‘I wouldn’t.’

‘I’ve talked you into this thing and if you lose your gear on Busted you’re gonna blame me.’

‘You didn’t talk me into it. I made the decision myself – even before Brad won.’

‘It was my idea.’

‘So what it was your idea? You think I feel good about that? I should have thought of it myself. It’s pretty obvious that they’re just gonna let me win.’

‘Yeah, but what if something goes wrong – and you get fucked up?’

‘You think I’m gonna blame you?’

Garth said nothing.

‘I’m not gonna blame you, Garth. It’s not gonna happen. I know that. Here, shake on it.’

‘Shake on it?’

‘Yeah, man’s honor. Here, take my hand.’

‘I’m not gonna blame you if I get fucked up on busted.’

‘Wait – you’re not gonna blame me if you lose all your gear? If you get fucked up really bad?’

‘I’m not gonna blame you if I get fucked up really bad.’

‘And we’ll still be friends?’

‘Best friends.’

‘Man’s honor, Jase?’

‘Man’s honor.’

They shook hands firmly and Jason smiled. ‘Stop being so stupid about the whole thing, Garth. And please – be my buddy.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Sure I’m sure. Who else would I trust?’