Show of Hands
A Novel
(Sprache: Englisch)
When a desperate car dealer advertises a competition with a simple premise -- that each contestant must keep one hand on a car at all times, and the last one standing will drive away the owner of a new Land Rover -- he sets in motion a chain of events that...
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When a desperate car dealer advertises a competition with a simple premise -- that each contestant must keep one hand on a car at all times, and the last one standing will drive away the owner of a new Land Rover -- he sets in motion a chain of events that brings together an oddball group of individuals, each with a desperate need to win. For the contestants, this publicity gimmick represents a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for a fresh start, a chance to break records, and to prove themselves in an unlikely test of endurance. It pits the patience of an elderly night watchman against the youthful vigor and carefully cultivated stamina of a high school track-and-field star. It sets a single mother who spends her life on her feet against a down-on-his-luck Mensa member who tells anyone who will listen that he's got the whole thing figured out. As the days and nights unavoidably carry on -- and big talk and clever strategies backfire -- the contestants' true colors come through in unexpected twists.
At once lyrical and suspenseful, and by turns poignant and hilarious, Show of Hands and its all-too-human characters are ultimately unforgettable.
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Show of Hands The Contest 1
THE CONTENDERS BEGAN to gather on the car dealership's forecourt two hours before the official start time. Among the first was a vagrant, fresh from sleeping under a bridge, whose very proximity to the yard's gleaming, multi-thousand-pound fleet seemed a breach of the peace and an act of vandalism.
Elsewhere, a solidly fat man came onto the forecourt pushing a supermarket trolley full of supplies: clothing, cushions, foodstuffs and very many cans of beer, all he'd need-or thought he'd need-to secure the grand prize.
Then came a third person, and then a fourth. Soon there were ten, next twenty, thirty, forty, by 8:30 more than eighty. Even the well-to-do had shown up, proving once again you can never have too much. By 9:00 a.m. at least a hundred and twenty people stood among a fleet of unsold cars below the WIN A NEW CAR blimp bobbing high overhead, tugging on a fixed wire. Ten minutes later this number had climbed to a hundred and fifty, and soon beyond that, clockwise circling an opalescent blue and ultradesirable Land Rover the way dishwater swirls before it goes down the drain.
The owner of this Land Rover was Terry "Hatch" Back, from Back-to-Back New Cars (Olympia, Ltd.). He moved among the contestants, clapping strangers on the back, saying delightedly, "Hi. Thanks for coming," and "We're going to explain everything soon," or "Hi. Welcome. Great weather," before returning to his assistant, Vince, who was just then trying to conduct a rough headcount.
"Numbers? Any idea?"
"Yeah. Too many." Vince shook his head. "More every second. What are we going to...I mean, what do you want to do? It's out of control."
By way of answer Hatch unhelpfully observed, "Something for nothing, it's incredible. People go mad." He ran a slow hand through a hairline with a pronounced widow's peak or vampire V, which, when joined with the twin receding arcs over the temples, produced the scalloped rim found on the head of a
... mehr
sharpened pencil. "Completely mad."
Vince, persistent in his concern, followed Hatch back to his office, repeating three times, "We've got a problem here." But when Hatch went up to the large window and looked out at the bustling yard he saw only beautiful solutions to all his financial woes.
"I told you. I knew they'd come. I knew it!" The small, bunched fists at his sides flexed alternately, two pumps augmenting the work of the heart. "And if it's like this already, then what's it going to be like in...in"-he glanced at his watch-"a whole hour still to go." He let go a laugh; an anxiety-discharging laugh. "I knew it! I told you!" Oh, the relief-the financial weight of the last two years lightening by the minute. "It's gonna be...look! Huge! Look! You can't buy publicity like this. Can't buy it." He turned back to his junior salesman. "Well, I can't. Maybe Coke or, or Shell or Tesco can, but..."
"But you are buying it," Vince countered. "Buying it is exactly what you're doing. By giving away a free car. All those people out there, you're paying for every single one of them."
This comment was ignored; Hatch refused to trade down his high mood. "Might even make the evening news at this rate. What do you think?"
But before Vince could answer, the dealership's third-tier salesman came in looking even more bewildered than he normally did. Dan, big-timbered, midthirties. As slow and muscularly overdeveloped as Vince was thin and nervy. (Neither of Hatch's two employees was a genius, and whenever Hatch asked either of them a question it was with no real expectation of a workable answer.)
"Dan, good. Close. Close the...great. Now listen. The press. Listen. When they come, okay, when they come...if they ask you for comment, for anything, refer them to m
Vince, persistent in his concern, followed Hatch back to his office, repeating three times, "We've got a problem here." But when Hatch went up to the large window and looked out at the bustling yard he saw only beautiful solutions to all his financial woes.
"I told you. I knew they'd come. I knew it!" The small, bunched fists at his sides flexed alternately, two pumps augmenting the work of the heart. "And if it's like this already, then what's it going to be like in...in"-he glanced at his watch-"a whole hour still to go." He let go a laugh; an anxiety-discharging laugh. "I knew it! I told you!" Oh, the relief-the financial weight of the last two years lightening by the minute. "It's gonna be...look! Huge! Look! You can't buy publicity like this. Can't buy it." He turned back to his junior salesman. "Well, I can't. Maybe Coke or, or Shell or Tesco can, but..."
"But you are buying it," Vince countered. "Buying it is exactly what you're doing. By giving away a free car. All those people out there, you're paying for every single one of them."
This comment was ignored; Hatch refused to trade down his high mood. "Might even make the evening news at this rate. What do you think?"
But before Vince could answer, the dealership's third-tier salesman came in looking even more bewildered than he normally did. Dan, big-timbered, midthirties. As slow and muscularly overdeveloped as Vince was thin and nervy. (Neither of Hatch's two employees was a genius, and whenever Hatch asked either of them a question it was with no real expectation of a workable answer.)
"Dan, good. Close. Close the...great. Now listen. The press. Listen. When they come, okay, when they come...if they ask you for comment, for anything, refer them to m
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Autoren-Porträt von Anthony McCarten
Anthony McCarten is a New Zealand-born playwright and filmmaker and the author of the novel Spinners. He currently divides his time between London and Los Angeles.
Bibliographische Angaben
- Autor: Anthony McCarten
- 2009, 240 Seiten, Maße: 14 x 21,6 cm, Kartoniert (TB), Englisch
- Verlag: Atria Books
- ISBN-10: 1416586075
- ISBN-13: 9781416586074
- Erscheinungsdatum: 30.12.2009
Sprache:
Englisch
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