"I told you I had to have three hours' rehearsal on camera," Mason shrieked.
"He had to have three hours," Irma said.
"But then he has to bitch the telephone contestant!" The producer's face twitched hideously. "She give him the right answer. Kris Kringle, she said. My operator was monitoring that Kansas call. She heard it. The dame give the right answer."
"She did not," Mason cried. "Tell him, Tooky. The right answer was St. Nicholas."
"The right answer was St. Nicholas," Irma said.
"It was Kris Almighty Kringle, you no-talent son of a—"
"Lay off!" Ween broke in. He glared at Grabinett. "Lay off my property. You ain't just talking to talent. He's a star."
"The question," Grabinett told the star with exaggerated calm, "was: You seen me play the part of Santa Claus in our comedy sketch. Now, for five thousand dollars, can you tell us another name for Santa Claus. That was the question. And she give the right answer. Kris Kringle. But no, you said. Sorry, you said. That's not right. Thank you. Merry Christmas. And you hung up the phone and hung me up with the FCC. That dame's husband is a lawyer. He called back before we went off the air. He's so goddam mad he's suing us for fraud. He's suing the network." Grabinett's voice broke in agony. "He's suing the client. The client!"
"The answer was St. Nicholas," Mason shouted.
"It was Kris Almighty Kringle!"