16. Episode Five

Tony walked into the studio wearing a large hat. It was difficult to tell whether it was a cowboy, a Mexican sombrero, a ladies wedding hat, or a gigantic hat from ladies day at Royal Ascot, but it was absurdly large. Walking straight through to the control room, where he greeted Nigel with a nod. “Is everything set to go?”

“It is. Oh how it is.” replied Nigel with a grin.

“Wonderful.” exclaimed Tony. “I'm off to get make-up then get changed.”

Nigel chuckled and awaited the start of the show.

Tony walked back to the dressing room, where he took off his hat, said hello to Abbie, and sat in his chair while she added the finishing touches to his style.

Nigel came to the dressing room to give Tony the call to be on set. “Tony I... whoa.”

“You like it Nigel?” Abbie enquired.

“It's erm... perfect.” replied a bemused Nigel. “Five minutes til we're on air.”

Tony hugged Abbie, gave her a kiss on the cheek and said thank you. Stepping out of the dressing room he walked up to the side of the stage and prepared himself.

As Tony walked onto the dark carpet of the set, one by one the audience member spotted him and let out audible gasps. Tony checked his desk and walked up to the front of the stage for the opening introductions.

“Ready. On in five, four, three...” declared Nigel through the earpiece.

As the titles finished and the shot faded in, Gerald, watching the show from his office, opened his mouth in disbelief and promptly fell off his chair.

“Welcome to the Tony James Show! You might not realise it, but I am Tony James.”

Nigel looked at the writer and smiled.

“On this weeks show we have the star of LTV's own 'The Mega Quiz Show' Ian Fielding!”

The crowd gave an instinctive round of quiet applause, still puzzling about what they were looking at.

“We also have two of the judges from 'Variety Star Search'. Adam Morley and Vanessa Paris”

The crowd continued its robotic auto-pilot applause.

“Finally we have a special surprise guest, all the way from Norway, they are the hottest thing in pop music right now... but you'll have to wait!”

The crowd looked blankly. One of the audience members turned to the woman next to her. “What...er...who...er.” The woman stared into space for a moment, and replied in a confused voice. “Did they kill him?”

“Our first guest is the host of one the most popular quiz shows of the year, 'The Mega Quiz Show', please welcome to the stage, Ian Fielding!”

More autopilot applause.

Ian walked onto the set, heading across to Tony with a wave and a bow to the audience. As he turned and saw Tony, he gawped and for a brief half-second, stopped walking.

“That's, er.. a very interesting look you have this week Tony. What inspired this?!” Ian opened the conversation.

“Thanks for asking, welcome to the show by the way.” Tony answered. “This amazing hair was created by our guests from a couple of weeks ago, Abbie Jones. While the suit was originally a Vivienne Westwood, but had a few modifications made by a friend of mine.”

“It certainly stands out.” exclaimed Ian truthfully.

“That it does my friend. There isn't enough artistic clothing and styling on TV, I thought it was time to change that.” Tony explained.

“I agree. I don't think that style would suit me though, for a start I'd need hair.” joked Ian.

“It does help. So tell us about the Mega Quiz Show.”

“Well, it's the biggest quiz ever to be seen in the UK. Over the first series, we will be giving away more than ten million pounds in prize money.”

I could do with ten million pounds thought Tony.

Ten brief minutes later and it was time for the break. Nigel spoke to Tony through his earpiece. “Tony, great outfit, but you are being too nice!”

“I feel bad being rude to people.” explained Tony.

“Well let's get to the end of today and we'll discuss it. We still have our special guest.”

Nigel and Tony both smiled.

The judges from Variety Star Search were professional but as cold as you might expect from people that have to destroy the deluded dreams of talentless members of the public for three months in a year. The show went to the break, and Tony raced into the control room to speak to Nigel.

“Are we ready Nigel?”

“Oh we are.”

“How did you get them through make-up?”

“I didn't. I figured pale is a good look for them.”

“Brilliant. Here we go.”

Tony walked back onto the set, sat in his chair and smiled as the show restarted.

“Time for my final, special guests tonight. We'll be speaking to them in a minute, but before we do, it's time to introduce them!”

If Gerald had been paying more attention to the set, and not to Tony's clothing, he might have noticed that the music set didn't look like it was preparing for Scandinavia's latest teen pop sensation. For a start, there were two guitars and a bass, with a drum kit that appeared to have every cymbal ever produced by mankind.

“Their latest album went into the Norwegian charts at number one, and they are predicted to do great things here.”

Nigel covered his eyes with his hands, and then realised he had to watch.

“Please welcome to The Tony James Show, my favourite new band, Zombie Grave Diggers with their latest single, Entrails of a Virgin Queen.”

Gerald raised his eyebrows, leant back in his chair and puffed his cigar in contemplation. As he did, seven gigantic Norwegians in chunky New Rock boots, dressed head to toe in black with metal spikes, and each with 2 foot long black hair, walked onto the stage and started to play.

It was unlikely that Gerald, or much of the audience for that matter, had ever heard black speed metal before, but they were now unlikely to ever forget it.

Tony made surprisingly good conversation with Zombie Grave Diggers, especially considering their limited knowledge of the English language and penchant for swearing every third word. As the show finished and the silently stunned crowd left their seats Tony wandered back to his dressing room. He sat down briefly and a knock came on the door. “Come in.”

“Tony the band were amazing, but you were too nice!” Nigel explained as he walked into the dressing room. “You still made the show work! We shall talk about this tomorrow.”

Gerald watched the end credits roll, and switched off the screen. He took a sip from his whiskey glass, and muttered to himself. “This means war.”

15. Plotting

Tony and Nigel decided to discuss their plan over a few drinks. They left the studio and headed out into the city, walking down the dusty streets as the bright red buses drove past.

“Where would you like to go?” Asked Tony.

“Somewhere quiet for now I think. No rush.” replied Nigel

“Good idea.”

The two of them scanned the street for interesting pubs and bars, finally spying one that looked both cosy and comfortable. Named The Old Hen, it was by all appearances the same kind of décor that had probably been there since the 1970's. Brown wooden fittings, but with mild yellow and pale green paint in places. As if an interior decorator had been given to small tins of paint and half an hour to give the place some colour. On the plus side, the warm colours gave it a pleasant atmosphere, which was exactly what was needed for some grade A plotting.

Tony and Nigel ordered their drinks and found a quiet spot in the corner from which to plan their assault on the show. Tony explained the contract situation to Nigel, and he started to think to himself.

“I can't take it anymore Nigel.” Started Tony. “I hate what they are doing to my show, but I have no way of leaving.”

“Well Gerald said that he'd take you off air if the ratings dropped too low.” suggested Nigel.

“Yes, but the stream of terrible lowbrow guests they are forcing on me means people are tuning in. Why can't people have at least reasonable taste? I know we can't all enjoy classical music or complex dramas, but my show appears to be attracting the very worst audience around. Apart from Jeremy Kyle of course.”

“Yes, but some people watch that for ironic value.”

“Oh bloody hell. I've got a worse audience than Jeremy Kyle. I'm finished.”

“You aren't finished.”

“Of course I am. My reputation as a respected actor will be blown away, and my popularity is only going to remain with the idiots who think watching bright orange idiots get wasted is the new Panorama.”

“So you're saying you have nothing to lose Tony?

“Basically... well yes. I have essentially nothing left to lose.”

Nigel eyes lit up. “In that case, I have an idea.”

“I'm listening...”

“You can't quit right?”

“Right.”

“And your guests are pulling in the audience?”

“Right.”

“So you are stuck with the job.”

“Yes. When does the idea bit happen?”

“I'm getting to it.” Nigel snapped sarcastically.

“Ok, just checking!”

“You can only get out of this by being fired yes?”

“Yep.”

“So what could you do to get yourself fired?”

“Well nothing really.”

“Stop thinking like a professional.”

“And...?”

“Jeez Tony. Fuck the show up.”

Tony thought for a moment. “You mean... seriously ruin it?”

“Bingo.”

Tony stared at his Merlot for a few moments. “That's brilliant.”

“Why thank you.”

“Will you help me Nigel?”

“You mean ruin my career in TV production for the rest of my life in order to help you gain revenge on the most powerful man in commercial TV?”

“Well when you put it like that...”

“Of course I'm in Tony. You're a good man, and that's all that really matters. Besides, I'd rather be in front of the camera than behind the scenes.” declared Nigel.

“Brilliant.”

For the next hour they sat discussing how they should tackle next week's show, and the battle lines were drawn up. This was war.

Following the pub, the two conspirators headed to Cubism. Nigel said he was meeting a few friends, and Tony was happy to tag along now the pressure was off.

As they arrived outside the small black door with gigantic neon orange sign, it became clear that Nigel knew everybody. Not a lot of people, everybody. However there was one particular person that was needed to help out today.

“Abbie!” Nigel exclaimed as she gave him a huge hug. “Lovely to see you. Look who I brought along.”

Tony walked in just behind them. Abbie waved and hugged him too. She was wearing a soft purple dress that matched her newly maroon hair perfectly. It flowed over her like a wave. She smelt of a sweet perfume, a hint of peaches and flowers, it probably had some extravagant name and cost fifty pounds per squirt. Tony thought it was worth it though.

“I'll go get us some drinks.” Nigel declared, walking off to the bar behind Abbie. Tony noticed him point his finger, first at Abbie and then towards him.

“It's so good to see you again Tony.”

Tony found himself slightly nervous. “And you too. I had so much fun last time we were here. Did you see the er.. paper?”

“Of course. I don't worry about them. No one believes them anyway.”

“I hope not... Abbie.” he started to enquire. “Can you do me a favour please?”

“Of course dear.” replied Abbie, smiling widely. “Anything for you.”

“I need a haircut, something, well... that no one has ever seen before on a middle aged man.” Tony explained.

“Dare I ask why?” Abbie enquired.

“You know how I told you about the show messing me around?”

“Oh god yeah, that contract is ludicrous.”

“I'm going to force them to break it. I am going to get myself fired, from a bloody cannon.”

“Are you sure that's a good idea dear?”

“Absolutely.”

“Then of course I will.”

“Thank you!” Tony shook his fist slightly in celebration at the plan coming together. You know how you said that hair dressing could be art?”

“Wow, you actually listened.” Abbie was impressed, it made a big change for someone to take her ideas that hair styling could be more than just a bit of fashion seriously.

“This is a chance to prove it. You can be the hair stylist that creates the piece that makes the most powerful man in Television spit out his over priced whiskey in horror.” As he said this, a look of pure joy crept over Tony's face.

“Deal!” Abbie exclaimed, she inspected his medium length but tidy black hair. Her eyes lit up, she put her arms round Tony and and squeezed him tightly, whispering softly in his ear with a deliciously mischievous tone. “I'll make him drop the whole bottle dear.”

14. Episode Four

Tony wandered into the studio with the air of contemplation of a man who had almost gone beyond anger and sadness to a state of zen silence.

He went into control room, to find Steve still absent and Nigel laying back in the chair with his feet up on the control desk. “Oi!”

Nigel jumped and took his feet off the million pound desk. “Sorry, just resting before the show.”

“Where's Steve?”

“I have no idea, he just said he wasn't coming in.” replied Nigel. “I've almost given up asking.”

“Well isn't that nice.” exclaimed Tony sarcastically. “So who has actually turned up this week?”

“For once, the appointed guests.”

“Excellent.”

“I've put Robert in the master group dressing room. So far he seems happy. I've told him that To The Left are an operatic trio, they won't be on until after him so it makes no difference.”

“I hope so.”

“That also means I've had to squeeze To The Left into dressing room 5, I won't say it's cramped in there, but somewhere a zombie Jimmy Savile just crawled out of his grave.”

“Ew.”

“All that matters is keeping Robert happy until after he has been on.”

“Agreed. Thanks Nigel. Oh, er do we know how he feels about Planet X energy drink?”

“Well we put a can of it in with his rider and so far he hasn't touched it.”

Tony squirmed, and walked off to his dressing room to prepare for the show. After what seemed like about thirty seconds, Nigel made the call for him to get to the stage.

“Good evening and welcome to the Tony James Show. The only show guaranteed to give you your recommended daily allowance of Tony James.” Tony looked to his left and stared menacingly down camera 3, the sight of which from the control room made the head writer cower.

“On tonight's show we have the hottest er... talents in pop, To The Left.”

The female members of the audience screamed as if just witnesses a violent and bloody murder.

“We then have the best horticulturist in Britain. Green fingers himself, Alan Smith.”

The older female members of the audience screeched.

“But first we have one of the greatest actors to ever grace the stage, the incredible Robert Nordstrom. Let's take a look at him in action.”

Polite applause, then followed a short sequence of clips showing Robert's career. One of the audience members turned to the person next to her and asked. “Oh, they're all here. Who's Robert Nordstrom?” The woman next to her replied. “I think he's that guy who killed his violent girlfriend.”

Robert Nordstrom walked on stage with the air of a man who had a rod up the rod up his backside. He scanned the gothic looking set with an air of contempt, and only appeared to settle down once he acknowledged Tony, an actor for whom he had much respect, even if he didn't intend on showing it.

“Ghastly set Tony. Opened Robert. “Looks like valentines day at The Munster's house.”

Tony smiled. “Fashion and taste moves so quickly, sometimes in the wrong direction.”

Robert nodded.

“It's amazing to have you on the show Robert. You've been a hero of mine since I started performing.”

“Thank you for having me.” Robert replied with intermittent gratitude, and got glancingly close to a compliment. “I've always found you to be the least objectionable actor of your type.”

Tony beamed at this half-compliment. “Of all the many amazing roles you have had over the years, which is your very favourite?”

“Well Tony, one has been fortunate enough to star in a great number of amazing works.” Robert's uniquely deep and gravelly voice boomed. “I must say that playing the lead in the RSC production of the Scottish Play was the most inspiring.”

Tony replied without thinking. “You mean Macbeth?” Tony put his hand to his mouth.

Robert chuckled pretentiously. “Yes, that one.” Tony breathed a silent sigh of relief.

“It was a magnificent performance. I saw it three times.” fawned Tony, slightly forgetting his role as host for a brief moment.

“Thank you.”

“So what made you decide to get into acting in the first place?” Tony enquired.

Robert picked up his glass without looking and waved it in the air as he spoke. “Sometimes one just knows ones calling. I knew as soon as I set foot on stage that I was destined to remain there.”

Robert sipped his drink and spat it back into the glass, which he then looked at. “What is this shit?”

Tony, thinking quickly, replied. “Oh I'm sorry Robert, that was supposed to be there later for the next guest. We'll get you a glass of water.”

“Water?” came the indignant reply. “Did you even read what I asked for?”

“Not personally of course.” answered a nervous Tony, attempting to make a joke to calm the situation. “I'll fire whoever it was that did.”

“No need.” remarked Robert as he stood up, disconnected his microphone and walked off the stage booming. “Bloody amateur philistines.”

Through his earpiece, Tony heard Nigel say. “You weren't kidding were you? I put water in a plain glass out, but someone switched it.”

Remaining his professional exterior, Tony tried to make light of the situation. “Well folks, sometimes these things happen on live TV. We'll cut to a break and be right back with To The Left!”

Queue the audience to scream wildly.

As the show went to the break, Tony's eyes turned to a burning fiery colour. It was all very well making a fool of him in front of an audience, but to be shamed in the eyes of Robert Nordstrom was too much. He wasn't sure how he was going to get through the show. His career was surely as good as over anyway, after the terrible guests, the walkouts, the ridiculous unbreakable contract.

“Tony. I am really sorry about this. I don't know who changed his glass. Just finish the show, and we'll work out a way to get revenge.” suggested Nigel.

Revenge? That's not a bad plan, Tony thought. “It'll be fine Nigel. We'll discuss that magnificent idea later.” With this sweet prospect lodged into his head, Tony somehow managed to get the rest of the show finished without exploding.

As the show clicked off air, Tony ran into the dressing room as fast as he could to apologise to Robert, but he was nowhere to be seen.

13. Papparazzi

“She's pretty.” came the voice that stirred Tony from his sleep.

“Wha..?” he replied groggily.

“She's pretty.”

“Who?”

“The girl you were dancing with the other day.” explained Alison.

“I did what?” remarked a bemused Tony. “I don't dance!”

“Well either you are dancing or you appear to be having some kind of seizure.” Alison smirked, showing Tony the picture.

“Jesus. I was dancing. I don't remember doing that.”

“With quite some energy it seems!” Alison joked. “She is pretty though, isn't that the lady who was on your show the other day?”

“Yeah. I bumped into her and her friend Sam while I was out.” explained Tony. “We had a few drinks, and apparently I also danced.”

“Well, don't go dancing with too many pretty girls please. I want you for myself thank you!” Alison half joked.

“Hahaha.” Tony chuckled nervously. “Of course not.”

Alison gave him a kiss, and Tony sat down to read the page of the newspaper that showed him and Abbie dancing.

'Is TV Host Dating Hairdressing Star?'

Tony raised his eyebrows and bit his lip. These papers know how to turn anything into a half story. A quick dance becomes a date, a coffee becomes a relationship, a shopping trip becomes marriage. Apparently getting past middle age was no longer a guarantee that the cameras would point in a different direction.

It wasn't the first time that the newspapers has printed false accusations against him.

Back in 1985, three years after he and Judith has moved into their cottage home in Yorkshire, a particularly distasteful article had appeared which linked Tony to the pop star Beverley Griffiths. Despite him having only met her once, briefly while on a night out with Judith, they saw it fit to paint him as a cheat. Perhaps if they had even considered the feelings of those involved he might still be with his first true love. Instead of realising that they had chatted for five minutes while Judith had gone to the ladies room, they presumed he was, by virtue of talking to a member of the opposite sex, some kind of love rat.

Their complete disregard for the truth led to a string of photos and articles that speculated about affairs whenever Tony was seen with another woman for more than two minutes. Eventually Judith was unable to take the strain of being seen to be humiliated every fortnight in a national paper.

Tony was devastated. He had never so much as contemplated cheating. While he was friends with some of the ladies in question, he was friends and nothing more.

Tony thought about suing the papers, but under legal advice decided not to. Essentially, the lawyer was really interested until finding out which paper had printed the story, at which point even the prospect of a big money national case was not enough to sway him.

Essentially, the newspaper had been entitled to secretly take pictures of him, make up rumours and lies, repeat those lies and create new ones, break up his marriage.

From that day forward Tony had never spoken to the newspaper in question ever again. He never said anything against them publicly for fear they would try the trick again, but he privately was looking forward to having a Sword of Damocles moment sometime in the future.

12. Preparation

Tony walked into the office in better spirits than he had expected 18 hours earlier. No musical feet, but similarly there was no desire to punch the walls, shout at Steve, shout at the walls, or punch Steve. He decided that trying to enjoy the travesty as much as he could was the most sensible path to take.

As he walked in, he noticed that Steve was nowhere to be seen, and instead Nigel was sat in Steve's chair.

“Morning Nigel.” remarked Tony. “Where's Steve?”

“I'm afraid he couldn't make it in today, and he asked me to look after it.” replied Nigel.

“I see.” uttered a slightly puzzled Tony, noticing the increasingly steely look in Nigel's expressions. “What's the damage?”

“Well. It's not as bad as I had feared.”

Tony breathed a sceptical sigh of relief. “Go on.”

“Well, first the bad news.” Nigel forewarned carefully. “We have the teenage boyband 'To The Left'.”

“Hmm. Not as bad you say?”

“Following that we have celebrity gardener Alan Smith.”

“...and?”

“Then we have Robert Nordstrom.”

Tony fell silent.

“What do you think?”

“Robert Nordstrom agreed to come on this show?” Tony babbled. “Has he not seen out recent calibre of guest?”

“I told him that we had emergency cancellations, and that the aim is to have only the top level of guest on the show.” declared Nigel proudly.

“...and he bought it? Robert is incredibly difficult to please, I can't believe that he would agree to be on LTV let alone on a chat show.”

“His last play completely flopped.” detailed a well researched Nigel. “He might be a genius in the field of acting, but he has been choosing work badly and is in need of a profile boost.”

“Brilliant.”

“I mean. His last work was a four hour, one man show about the self portraits of Andy Warhol. With none of Andy's work on display whatsoever. What was he thinking?”

“That sounds quite interesting actually. But either way brilliant work Nigel.”

“Thanks Tony, it was Steve as well, we worked together.”

“Well good work both of you. I trust this guest will actually turn up?”

“That's the best part. I've been trying to work out why the guests keep changing. I haven't figured it out yet, but I think Gerald may have been pressuring Steve.”

“Sounds about right.”

“However. Gerald secretly has a huge stake in the company that looks after Robert's career. So having Robert appear on the show will be of personal benefit to him.”

“Nigel. I think you may be my new best friend.”

“Thanks. So fingers crossed, we might be able to actually get some intelligent conversation out there yet!”

Tony left the meeting and headed home in a great frame of mind. He stepped in the door when a private number rang his mobile.

“Hello?”

“Hello Tony.” replied the big booming voice.

“Hi Gerald. What's the matter?” replied a nervous Tony.

“I've just seen the line up for the next show, and I have to say I am impressed.”

Tony chuckled to himself. “I didn't know you were a fan of Robert Nordstrom.”

“Of course. Fine actor. One in need of bringing to a wider audience.”

“Well I am glad we agree on this.”

“Likewise. There is just one thing Tony.”

Uh oh.

“The show has just found a sponsor. So we need to have all of the guests drinking Planet X sports drink from branded cups.” Gerald happily declared.

“Erm.. that's great.” Tony lied. “But Robert Nordstrom won't agree to that, he is notorious for getting pissed off at anyone who he feels sells him out.” That bit wasn't a lie.

“Unfortunately you don't have much choice. It's in your contract.” Gerald smiled, but not quite enough of a smile to translate in his tone of voice. “Besides, you are a professional, you'll be able to handle it.”

Tony was a professional, but apparently he was going to have to be a miracle worker as well. “I'll do my best.”

“See you do. Bye gentlemen.” With that, Gerald hung up.

Tony cursed his luck, walked solemnly into his kitchen and poured a glass of whiskey.

“Is that you dear?” Alison called.

“Sadly yes.” answered Tony.

Alison walked up to her husband of three years and cocked her head as she looked at him, puzzling to try and work out what was wrong with the man she loved. “More problems with the show?”

“'Fraid so.” said Tony. “Yet more.”

“Ah it will be okay.” responded a comforting Alison. “Let's go have dinner somewhere nice and a glass of wine or two.”

“No thank you sweetie, I just need to lie down and work out what to do.”

“Alright. If I can help just let me know dear.”

“I will.” Tony kissed Alison and went upstairs where he flopped onto his bed and buried his face in the soft foam pillow.

11. Realisation

Tony had not taken to the news of his contract well. After leaving the LTV Head Office, he had wandered into his car and driven slowly and contemplatively home. Tony wasn't sure if it was technically possible to drive contemplatively, but if it was, he had just done it.

His car pulled up at his house, he walked to the door and turned his key in the lock. Stepping in to his hallway, he called out hello to Alison, and said he was off out for a bit. She walked through from the kitchen, but he had already left.

Tony walked at a rapid pace towards the underground station, his mind completely distracted from the process of moving or looking what was around him. He bumped into three people in the short three hundred metre walk, and nearly tripped over on a kerb as he crossed the road, almost getting hit by a car in the process.

The dazed Tony wandered into station, and continued his empty walk towards the ticket barrier. He scanned his Oyster card and walked through to the station. He had decided to get very drunk, but he wasn't sure where.

The train arrived and Tony stepped onto it, walking a few paces down and sitting in one of the many empty seats. After a few minutes the train reached the next station, where several university age students got on, the girls were wearing leggings, and the guys were wearing what appeared to be leggings, in a range of colours so bright that it would dazzle a rabbit. They moved over to near him and sat down in the surrounding seats.

“Evening. Have you got the time please mate?” One of the guys asked. Normally the first rule of the underground is that speaking to a stranger is punishable by evil eyes and tutting, but asking a question with the word 'mate' at the end is usually accepted.

“It's about five o'clock.” answered Tony.

“Thanks, mate.” replied the guy. “Hang on. Aren't you that guy off the TV?”

“Er.. well, I do appear on TV sometimes.” Tony replied, still wanting to remain in his own world of quiet contemplation.

“I knew it! You do that show, what's it called? … The Tony James Show, that's the one. Are you Tony James?”

Tony managed to avoid rolling his eyes. “Yeah, that's me.”

“Wow. I love your show. Mario Wright and Kerry Prost, love it.”

Tony definitely got close to rolling his eyes this time.

“Who's on this week?” the guy asked.

“I don't know yet I'm afraid, I find out tomorrow.” Tony replied with a truthful sense of dread.

“Ah ok. Good luck!” replied the guy, finishing just as they reached their destination.

As the students walked off the train, Tony put his hands to his head and let out a very soft whimper. It was great to be recognised when you were doing work that you enjoyed, but horrible when you were doing work you hated.

A few minutes later and he reached his destination, or at least his first destination. He walked off the train, through the station and out into the cool breeze of the late afternoon.

Tony decided that left was the best way to start. He walked along the busy street until he found a pub, opened the large door and wandered to the first bar stool he could find. Acknowledging the barman, he prepared to start what would be a long night ahead.

“Hi, can I get a large vodka and coke please?” Tony asked. “No ice please.”

“Sure thing.” replied the barman. “Early start isn't it Tony?”

“It's been a crazy day so far.” Tony explained. “Frankly I've had more enjoyable operations.”

“Ouch. Sounds nasty, what happened?” the barman enquired.

Tony then proceeded, over the course of several large drinks to explain to the barman just what had happened. For some reason he decided the polite young man seemed like a level headed and trustworthy character.

“That whole situation seems ludicrous.” commented the barman. “I can't believe that's even possible, it's like weird plot device from a crappy novel or a sitcom. A contract with no possible way to escape.”

“What can I do? I'm completely stuck doing a show that I hate. If I had decent guests it would be fine but I'm being given talentless idiots, and it's only going to get worse.”

“Well, personally I'd say if you have no choice then just do your best to enjoy it.” came the barman's advice. “It might not be the best thing you'll ever do, but at least you'll be popular when the next good opportunity comes along.”

“That's good advice, thank you...er..” Tony realised he hadn't found the barman's name.

“It's Patrick.” replied the barman. Tony spilled his drink. For a few moments he had thought the barman looked familiar, but now he knew.

“Patrick.... Woodward?”

“Yes, about time you remembered me.”

“I am so so sorry. It's been so long, and I have been completely distracted.”

“That's ok. My dad misses you, he always asks how your show is going. I won't tell him all of that bullshit though, just that it is going well.”

Tony laughed, his first real laugh that day, one he had needed badly. “Thanks, don't want him getting big headed and thinking I need him.”

“Too right. His ego is big enough as it is.”

Tony smiled at the thought of his kind, selfless friend having an ego. “It was so nice to see you Patrick. I'll pop back next and let you know how the show goes.”

“I'll already know Tone, I do watch it.”

“Oh god, tell me you aren't a fan of Born in Sussex and all that stuff?”

“Nah, I just read that Stephen Fry was due on.”

Tony chuckled, said goodbye to Patrick and headed off to the next bar in much higher sprits. Coincidentally, spirits and higher prices were what awaited him later that night.

Around 11pm, a slightly worse for wear Tony walked into “Cubism”, a fashionable club with a décor made entirely of square shapes and cubes. It looked fantastic, but the jagged corners provided a lot of misery once people started to lose their coordination. Spread over three huge floors, it was by any definition, a maze of a building.

Tony ordered a whiskey from the bar and sat down on the abstract square seats. He sipped the drink and placed it on the table. Still in better spirits, he looked around the club.

“Tony!” A voice came from across the room, it was too dark to make out who it was. “Tony!!”

Tony puzzled himself over who it was, until he made out a pair of bright red trousers coming through the crowd. Feeling his positive spirits draining away by the second, but too polite to run away, he answered. “Sam!”

“How are yas doing Tony?”

“I'm okay thanks Sam. Just having a bit of a night on the town.”

“Great idea ain't it.”

“Er.. yeah. You with friends?”

“Yeah, I'm out with Abbie ain't it.”

Tony smiled at the thought of the intelligent flame haired woman who had been the high point of the disaster that was the last show. This thought made speaking to Sam a touch more bearable. “That's great, would you two like to join me for a glass of wine?”

“Sure ain't it. I'll ask Abbie, meet yas here in a few minutes ain't it.”

With that, Sam vanished into the club, returning twenty minutes later with Abbie, just as Tony had decided to give up on seeing him return.

10. The Contract

After the departure of Michael for the USA, Tony had worked for a little while on his own, but eventually had decided that he needed to get a new manager. Whilst guesting on Space Doctor, one of the stars had recommended SMT Management Team, they had helped him to get three starring roles in the past four years, all in well written and produced series.

Tony walked into their Golden Square office for his appointment. He opened the gigantic glass doors and surveyed the ostentatiously peacocking reception area, which had more open space than the sahara desert, and appeared to have just as much character. Two white and two black leather sofas were strategically placed in the middle of the gigantic area, which must have been about one hundred feet wide and at least two hundred feet long, in order to allow anyone waiting for their appointment to realise that SMT meant business, or at least had a keen eye for snobby furniture and design.

As the reception called Tony to his appointment, he walked through the reception to the main office door. He kept walking, and walking, until eventually he got there. Stepping through the glazed glass door took Tony into an incredibly tightly packed office space, he shuffled past the desks and found his way to The Mary Portas Suite, in other words, meeting room 2.

Squeezing his way round the chairs Tony took a seat and waited for the representative from SMT to join him.

About five minutes later a rather chunky man in his mid-fifties walked into the room and sat at the seat opposite.

“Good afternoon Mr James.” he announced. “My name is Andy Smith, the Head of Acting and Performance talent here at the management team of SMT Management Team.”

“Pleased to meet you.” replied Tony, shaking Andy's hand. Andy's handshake felt like the grip of a 1970's wrestler trying to hold onto a fellow wrestler that was hanging off a large cliff by one hand.

“We see great things for you Tony.” Andy continued. “The public love you, and we take the blue sky view that the opportunities available to you are second to none.”

Blue sky view? Tony thought that even old fashioned business managers had given up on that phrase.

“We'll do everything we can to make you a very rich man indeed.” Andy finished.

“Thanks.” replied Tony. “But I'm not too bothered about making a ton of money, I want to do good work and find a way to perform in America.”

Andy looked a little puzzled, and waited a few seconds before a lightbulb went off in his head. “America, that's where the big money is. I see where you are going.”

“I think you maybe misunderstood.” clarified Tony. “I want to perform on Broadway.”

Andy rambled, as if thinking aloud. “Broadway, the streets are paved with gold, big audiences, big money, raking it in...sorry, where was I?”

“Broadway, I want to work on Broadway.” Tony repeated.

“If that's what you want, the management team at SMT Management team will make it happen for you. Just sign here.” Andy announced with significantly better clarity.

In hindsight, Tony would have checked the contract more thoroughly, and made better enquiries as to the quality of SMT Management Team's staff, but happy at the thought of Broadway, he signed the contract there and then.

Things started well, SMT came up with the idea of the 35^th anniversary special that brought Tony back to glowing stardom with the public, and they had also negotiated the agreement for The Tony James Show, which three weeks earlier had seemed like a brilliant thing.

Tony and Andy stood outside Geralds' thick oak door. Having explained to Andy that he intended on quitting the show, Andy had tried to talk him round, but hearing that his client was adamant, he decided the most profitable course of action was to accompany him and try and negotiate changes that would keep the cash rolling in, and Tony happy.

“Come in gentlemen.” came the nod from Gerald.

Tony and Andy walked in. Andy surveyed the remarkable blend of brown that filled the large office, resembling in some respects what his office might have looked like seventy years ago. Tony sat down, and as Andy went to sit down, he misjudged the deceptively low height of the sofa and fell backwards in an embarrassingly farcical manner. Dusting himself down and shuffling back to a normal seated position, the meeting was ready to start.

Tony worked up the courage to announce his plans, but as he did so Gerald started.

“Good work gentlemen. Good work indeed. Your figures were up by two million this week, it was your best episode yet by a long way.”

Tony glanced at Andy with slight embarrassment, however Andy was too distracted by the dollar signs in his eyes. Why he used dollars Tony was unsure, after all, the Great British Pound was hardly an undiscovered currency.

“I have decided to...” Tony started.

“I was so pleased that I ordered you a special present to celebrate.” Gerald continued. “It's a remarkable Whiskey from Middlesex. They only make 200 bottles a year, and I buy 35 of them. You two and Steve have earned them with your improved ratings.”

Tony got up and walked across to the desk. As Gerald went to hand the bottle to him, he found his bravery and blurted out. “I'm resigning from the show.”

He could have sworn that the bottle moved at least a foot towards him in a split second, but it stopped before reaching him.

Gerald handed the bottle over, cut his cigar, and lit it. He took in a breath of smoke and sat back in his rosewood coloured chair. “Hmm. That's unexpected, I thought the show was doing well.”

Tony explained. “I signed up to make an intelligent show, with popular guests but without the usual reality and talent show stars of the other chat shows. The guests I have been given have not lived up to that promise.”

Gerald took another breath of his cigar. “I see. Of course you do realise that your contract says you have no say whatsoever over the guests?”

Tony look stunned.

“It also says you have no right to resign. That unless we fire you, you are contractually obliged to film whatever episodes of the show we tell you.” Gerald continued. “If you break your contract you will have to pay a ten million pound fee.”

“That's ridiculous. That contract isn't legal.” replied an angry Tony.

“I'm afraid it is.” continued Gerald. “Didn't your management team check it over?”

Tony turned as scowled at Andy, who in return thought to himself, and said nothing.

“Let me see that contract.” demanded Tony.

Gerald opened his creaky chocolate coloured filing cupboard and pulled out Tony's contract. Handing it to Tony he proudly declared, “It's watertight.”

Tony scanned through the main points of the document slowly and carefully, his eyebrows raised so highly they looked as if they might fall off from his head. “That is not a legal contract. I'm no lawyer, but no court would allow this contract to stand.”

“I'm afraid not.” replied a slightly smug Gerald.

“No court in the UK would allow this to stand.” argued an increasingly irate Tony.

“That's irrelevant.” explained Gerald. “Look closer.”

Tony investigated the small print. His eyes widened. 'Whilst the contract shall be enacted in the United Kingdom. This contract is bound by the laws and statutes of the Republic of St. Gerald.'

“St Gerald?!” exclaimed Tony. “What in the name of god is this going on about?”

“The Republic of St. Gerald. A fine principality, with an incredibly strict legal system that makes that contract impossible to get out of.” Gerald chuckled.

“But I've never even heard of the Republic of St. Ger... hang on.” muttered Tony.

Gerald smiled.

“But that's impossible surely?” exclaimed Tony. “Surely that can't be true.”

Gerald's smile grew bigger. “If you wish to test it, feel free to sue. I have the best lawyer in the business. In fact, I have all the best lawyers in the business. You'll be lucky to have the clothes you are wearing left by time I'm finished with you.”

Tony was speechless.

“So I'll see you on next weeks show. I've already told Steve who your guests need to be. You may kindly leave now gentlemen.”

With that a stunned Tony and still silent Andy walked out of the big oak door into the reception area.

“Andy.” remarked Tony. “You are fired. The management team at Star Management Team Management Team, which is a stupid bloody name by the way, are all fired.”

Finding his voice at the prospect of lost income, Andy retorted. “Actually if you check your contract you will find that...”

“Andy. If I get another bill or email or letter or call from SMT, I will go in and tell Gerald that you forced me to try and resign in order to get more money out of him.”

Andy paused and thought to himself for a moment. Tony looked back towards the oak door in a state of disbelief at what had just taken place, when he looked back Andy was nowhere to be seen.