Two For The Money (part four)

Walter turns up in Brandon’s bedroom and wakes him up. ‘Don’t get excited, all is forgiven,’ he informs his drowsy protégé. Brandon wants to know the time. It’s six in the morning. ‘I gotta fly to Vegas,’ says Walter. ‘Meet with some clients, hand-holding thing. Have to just keep them aboard for the last game, because you can do this thing. End of the season is a perfect place to turn the streak around.’ Walter’s faith in Brandon’s powers simply refuses to wane. He says they’ll go out for a ‘good meal’ when he gets back in the evening, although he doesn’t specify whether he’ll once again part with thousands of pounds so that Brandon can have sex with one of their fellow diners. ‘9.30, Nobu,’ he stipulates. Isn’t that the planet Luke Skywalker’s mum comes from in Star Wars? It certainly doesn’t sound much like a restaurant. ‘We’re turning it around, I’ll see you tonight,’ Walter whispers, homo-erotically.

Nobu. Brandon sits alone until Toni appears, looking stunning. ‘Walter was delayed, he’ll be back in the morning,’ she explains. ‘Asked if I’d fill in.’ ‘You know, it’s funny,’ Brandon muses. ‘He didn’t call me.’ Forget the mother of your daughter Walter, you have to clear things with Brandon first. Toni smiles weakly. He asks if she’s okay, she confirms that she is. She starts to fill Brandon in on Julia’s doings but then breaks down instead. ‘He’s gambling,’ she tells a strangely impassive Brandon. ‘Yep,’ he confirms, nodding his head. He’s just the man you need in a crisis. ‘I just can’t believe I’m here again,’ says Toni, who is apparently a bit of a face at Nobu. ‘I saw it coming, I just couldn’t stop it,’ she adds. ‘I gotta win one more game,’ says Brandon, narcissistically. Talk about making it all about yourself. And, Brandon, one MORE game? When did you last win ANY games? ‘You can’t fix this, Brandon,’ says Toni.

They arrive back at Toni’s and Brandon walks her to the door. ‘Come here for a second,’ he says, and gently whispers, ‘I’m gonna kiss you right now, okay? Trust me on this.’ Not a bad line that, especially by the B-man’s usual standards. They kiss, and head inside. Walter looks on from somewhere, cigarette in hand. That’s a stroke of bad luck.

We watch some of the next scene from Julia’s point of view, as she tapes the action with a camcorder. She urges Walter to open his present. He jokily grabs some foil wrapping paper and feigns delight but Julia corrects his mistake. The real gift is a framed photo (‘Oh man, beautiful,’ says Walt.) of Toni and Julia. Toni is present and correct, and wishes her hubby a ‘happy anniversary’. A knock sounds at the door, I wonder whose presence could add further intrigue to the scene? No, it’s not the hooker Toni found Walter giving money to a while ago, it’s just boring old Brandon. ‘You’re back from Vegas?’ he asks Walter, who invites him to ‘join the celebration’. Brandon wonders what’s happening. ‘Well, Toni and I were married 12 years ago today,’ says Walt. Brandon congratulates them, Walter tells Julia to ‘give mummy her gift’. While she opens it he ‘sings’ what the subtitles inform me is ‘Funeral March’ by Chopin. Characteristically, he then bursts out laughing while the rest of the gathering ignore him. Walter is now in charge of the video camera. Catching Toni’s worried look when she sees her gift, he assures her, ‘It’s okay, baby. I saved for it.’ He’s brought her some ear rings, which he urges her to put on. ‘I got beautiful taste, don’t I?’ Brandon and Toni look a bit awkward. Walter’s got Brandon a present as well. ‘It’s sort of our anniversary anyway, isn’t it?’ he says. ‘They’re made for car racing. The guy who wore this won six straight times at Le Mans. (It’s a smart watch.) Put it on, maybe you’ll start winning again.’ Very bizarre - has the prolific Le Mans winner sold Walter his watch, or does Walt simply mean that he wore that kind of watch, but not literally that exact one? It’s certainly something to ponder. Brandon is reluctant to accept the gift. ‘Why not?’ says Walter, still filming this strained tableau. ‘We all love each other here, right? You’re family. I’m like your father, you’re like my son (he kisses Brandon on the forehead). That would make you his mother, wouldn’t it, Toni?’ Toni looks very pissed off at the Oedipal drama Walter is deliberately concocting. ‘Oh, I said something wrong, didn’t I?’ he says. Toni starts to remove the ear rings but Walter protests. ‘They’re for evening, Walter,’ she explains. ‘So what? Wear them to bed,’ he insists. He then turns to Brandon and asks who he likes ‘in the big game’. Brandon wants Walter to turn off the camera. Walter decides that, like everyone else in the English speaking world, he can wait for the pick. ‘We’ll break it when we do the live TV show’. Is it possible to ‘break’ something which nobody cares about whatsoever?

Brandon stares moddily into the river, then it’s time for ‘The Sports Advisers - LIVE Super Forty Special’ in which ‘John Anthony has his Super Forty selections’. Unfortunately, John Anthony is currently in the bathroom, sweating heavily, as he goes over stat-filled bits of paper in a desperate attempt to finalise his selections. A voice outside informs him that he has two minutes left. Brandon starts throwing up in the toilet, while Walter and Chuck wait patiently on the set. ‘What the hell is he doing?’ asks an exasperated Walter. Brandon is now slumped on the bathroom floor, in a manner eerily reminiscent of my good self after a few too many double whiskies. He ferrets around in his pocket and produces a coin. ‘Heads, New York. Tails, Kansas City,’ he mutters. He tosses the coin. ‘Heads over, tails under,’ he says. He tosses the coin again.

Brandon finally deigns to show up and gives Walter the piece of paper on which he’s scrawled his carefully calculated picks. Walter reads them into his phone. ‘New York, minus one and a half, and the over, 36.’ ‘You wanna know about those picks?’ Brandon says, enigmatically. Walter tells whoever he’s speaking with to wait. ‘What should I know about them?’ ‘I flipped a coin to decide.’ For some reason, Brandon looks quite pleased with himself. You can’t beat a cowardly abdication of personal responsibility. ‘Push it all the way, Southie,’ Walter instructs his phone. Brandon looks surprised, Walter smiles at him. The programme starts and Walter greets ‘everybody’. The good news is that viewing figures have gone up massively of late, the bad news is that’s only because the show has been switched to the comedy channel. ‘Never before, in the history of this industry, has an offer been made like the one I’m about to present to you now,’ says Walter. ‘I am so confident of John Anthony’s picks for this Sunday, I’m so sure of the skills he’s brought to bear, and so anxious for you to get on the phone and dial the toll-free number on your screen, that for the first time in sport service history, I am going to guarantee our picks for this weekend.’ ‘What does that mean?’ asks Brandon. Er, B-man, this is live TV. Save your dumb questions for after the show. ‘What does that mean?’ Walter echoes. ‘It means this. You tell us how much you’re betting with your bookie. You lose, we cover. (Chuck breaks his pencil in disbelief.) You heard me right. That’s risk-free. Now, let’s got to the oracle, God’s gift, John Anthony.’ ‘Wow, that’s all I can say,’ says the oracle. ‘The phones are gonna be flooded Walter, and they should be.’ That’s great John, but I suspect Walt might have wanted a little more, if only to fill the allotted air-time. ‘Hey John,’ says Walter, chattily. ‘Why don’t you run down the pitfalls facing the average bettor? I mean, when you think about it, a game this huge, (with) all the added dynamics, I mean, without your expertise, I guess the average bettor might as well just, what? Flip a coin?’ I accept that this crazy guarantee has enlivened proceedings a shade but the spiel at the top of the show promised ‘John Anthony’s Super Forty selections’, when it seems they are actually only available when you phone the ‘toll-free number’. I maintain that this is the worst programme in the history of television. As for the guarantee itself, it’s patently absurd. The emboldened gamblers will bet millions, which, if the tips prove incorrect, Walter’s company won’t be able to cover, so most of the punters will end up having to fund their own losses anyway.

Outside, Brandon catches up with Walter and tries to dissuade him from this suicidal course of action. ‘If you can flip a coin to make a pick, I can guarantee the game,’ says Walter. This may seem like a non sequitur, but what’s he really saying is: ‘If you can be so irresponsible as to leave a vital decision up to the toss of a coin, I am therefore allowed to be even more irresponsible and risk financial ruin for myself and my loved ones’. Which is stupid, but makes sense. ‘What if we lose?’ Brandon asks. ‘F*** it, I’m ruined anyway,’ says Walter. That’s actually true, so it’s really a bit of a no-loser for Walter. He either goes bankrupt, which is going to happen anyway, or he makes a fortune from winning commissions and saves his business. The only problem is that this course of action, as I mentioned above, could lead to punters losing money when the bankrupt company is unable to refund their stakes as promised. Screw ’em, betting’s a mug’s game! God knows what happens if one of the tips comes in but the other loses. Everyone’s all square? ‘Cover your ass, all right,’ Brandon urges. ‘At least cap the thing out.’ Walter gets out a cigarette. ‘Brandon, can’t you feel it?’ Brandon doesn’t know what he is on about. ‘I think you do,’ says Walter. ‘The best part of the best drug in the world ain’t the high. It’s the moment just before you take it. The dice are dancing on the table. Between now and the time they stop, that’s the greatest high in the world.’ Sounds intoxicating but I’m not sure anti-gambling agencies would look kindly on such talk.

There’s a great hubbub at the office as punters call up, keen not to look an apparent gift horse in the mouth. Various punters are told it’s New York and the over, and that it’s guaranteed. ‘Our reputation is the guarantee,’ Reggie tells a caller who has presumably expressed some of the concerns I’ve been voicing. ‘Twenty-eight years in the business, we’re not going anywhere.’ Brandon looks on nervously from his office. Walt marches down the aisle, currently omnipresent ciggy hanging out of his mouth. He tells his possibly soon-to-be-unemployed minions to ‘kill the phones’. They begin to gather round a TV, as the game is just about to start. Brandon shuts the blinds in his office.

‘Jackson’ gathers in the opening kick-off. As he returns it, Walter moves around as if their movements are synchronised. It’s the first play you buffoon! Last season the Bears ran the opening kick-off back for a touchdown and still got well beaten, so he shouldn’t worry yet, although, in fairness, if your future is literally hanging on the result, then I suppose you’re bound to get pretty wrapped up in it. In any case, the return man is from Kansas, so why Walter is jiggling around as if hoping for a big return is anyone’s guess. Jackson fumbles but Kansas recover, to the disappointment of the viewers. ‘Harris’ then scores a touchdown for Kansas, and again Walter jigs about as if he’s running with him. He should be yelling ‘tackle him’ or some such. Everyone groans with disappointment. Next, Simpson, who is having a superlative post-season, makes a big catch for New York. However, the quarterback follows that by lobbing an interception to ‘Dawkins’. Dawkins runs it all the way back for a touchdown and the outlook is bleak. Kansas City leads 14-0.

Brandon emerges to watch with the group. He puts his hand on Walter’s shoulder. ‘You better hold on to that coin you flipped,’ says Walter. ‘Because, this game keeps up like this, I’m gonna have to borrow it.’ ‘It’s not over yet,’ Brandon points out. ‘I wouldn’t change my bet.’ He heads down to his flat and starts packing his stuff. Finished, he heads out, leaving an letter on the mantelpiece. He hails down a cab as Toni watches him leave, and then puts her head to the wall in a relieved fashion. Why would she just be standing by the window like that? Quite voyeuristic, the Abrams clan.

‘Jones’ runs in a touchdown for New York, and it’s 14-7 as Walter and company exchange high fives. But, as Brandon’s cab pulls up at the airport, ‘Rogers’ scores on a 32-yard run for Kansas. Aren’t these Super Forty players generically named? What happened to Chong, from earlier? It’s 21-10 to Kansas at the end of the third quarter.

More excitement in the office as New York score again to make it 21-17. I don’t catch the name of the scorer but ‘Smith’ or ‘Johnson’ is probably a safe bet. Walter finally notices that Brandon isn’t there, even though he sodded off back when it was 14-0 and there are now only four minutes left.

Walter arrives back at his house and yells, ‘We’re back in it, babe. New York touchdown and we win both bets.’ We hear the commentator in the background, talking about how there are only 58 seconds left. Walt has watched the entire game in his office with the others, but now, with the game reaching a thrilling climax, he heads home to hunt for his wife? He shouts for Brandon too but no one is responding. He finds Brandon’s note, propped up on the box the Le Mans winner’s watch came in. I thought Brandon was living beneath the office, next door to Walter and Toni’s, but, a minute or two ago, it looked like he just walked out of his bedroom and then put his letter on the mantelpiece in the adjacent room. The geography here doesn’t really make sense but I suspect you could care more.

Toni comes wandering in. ‘He left,’ says Walter. She knows. ‘You didn’t tell me?’ he asks. The poor old chap looks genuinely heartbroken. ‘How about that,’ he adds. ‘No goodbye. No nothing.’ Well, nothing except the note Walter is holding in his hand at this very moment, which presumably contains some sort of goodbye-type sentiment. ‘I’m sure it’s all there in the letter,’ says Toni. ‘I’m sure it is,’ agrees Walter, ‘I wonder what’s not in here.’ For her part, Toni wonders what he’s on about. ‘What do you mean, what do I mean?’ says Walter, preparing to work himself into a frenzy of rage, instead of watching the last few seconds of the vitally important football game he’s devoted the last three hours or so to. ‘He had enough, Walter,’ says Toni. ‘He wanted his life back.’ Walter wants to know if Brandon ‘said that to you’. ‘Well, loud and clear, by leaving.’ Walter thinks ‘something else’ was behind Brandon’s abrupt departure. Toni seeks further details but Walter plays coy. ‘You have no idea?’ The pair exchange meaningful looks. ‘You’re missing the game, Walter,’ Toni points out. ‘Oh, no. This is the game,’ he retorts.

Brandon walks through the airport, the viewers in the office get excited as Jones secures a first down for New York, but Walter remains too busy rambling on about Brandon to pay much heed to the game which will make or break his company. ‘I guess Brandon was homesick,’ he ruminates. ‘I don’t know. Or maybe he had such deep feelings for me that he couldn’t face saying goodbye.’ Walter, Brandon lives in Las Vegas. This is not the end of ‘Casablanca’, if you want to see him some time in the upcoming week it won’t be a problem. Toni looks horrified for some reason. ‘Wait a minute,’ Walt adds. Something’s just occurred to him. ‘Brandon didn’t tell me he was gonna leave because you let him f*** you.’

In the game, ‘Edwards’ takes it down to the Kansas 44. In the melodramatic soap opera, Toni says ‘Oh God’ and Walter asks if she denies his claim. ‘Do I have to, Walter?’ she wonders. ‘You know you did,’ he says in a hugely annoying tone. ‘Another lock of the year,’ says Toni. ‘I saw you, Toni,’ Walter reports. ‘I saw you and him that night. I never went to Vegas.’ ‘You mean you lied to me about the trip?’ says Toni. ‘Don’t talk to me about lying,’ says Walt, who raises a fair point. ‘I guess you had the whole thing set up,’ Toni counters, still trying to shift the blame. ‘Don’t make this about me,’ he protests, again, pretty fairly. But Toni refuses to relent. ‘(You) just put me out there on a tray?’ ‘I put a tray out there,’ bellows a furious Walter. ‘You didn’t have to shove a f*****g apple in your mouth and sit on it!’ What an appalling metaphor. Edwards catches it and goes down to the Kansas City 23. ‘Admit it!’ Walter barks, petulantly. ‘You played me, Walter,’ Toni whinges. ‘You’re f*****g-A I did,’ he agrees. ‘It worked. Didn’t it?’

The commentator informs us that New York is spending their final time-out, with just eight seconds left. ‘Brandon was right,’ says Toni. ‘But you don’t deny it?’ says stuck-record Walt. ‘It’s the best pick he ever made,’ says Toni, being unnecessarily cryptic to delay unveiling the upcoming, ludicrous, plot twist. Walter doesn’t understand. The New York quarterback has a pass ‘batted down at the line of scrimmage’. Brandon has conveniently arrived at an airport bar just in time to watch the denouement. ‘So, after everything, it all comes down to one final play,’ says the man on the mike. ‘You were gambling with me that night Walter,’ says Toni. Get on with it woman! ‘With me!’ She pats her chest for extra emphasis. ‘Brandon knew it, because he knew you. He told me he was just sure you were watching somehow. So he asked me in to spend the night and put on a little show for you, Walter.’ Well, the mystery of where Brandon’s actually been living deepens. I’m sure they were outside Toni’s door when they kissed. ‘But I didn’t believe him, Walter,’ Toni continues, interminably. ‘Oh God, I didn’t believe him. I mean, after all we’ve been through. So I figure, you know, ‘what the hell?’. He slipped out the back, no big deal. He never even stayed here.’ So, they’re definitely not in the same building. Toni’s ‘he asked me in to spend the night’ was, let’s face it, pretty misleading, unless Brandon invited her to spend the night at her own house. ‘And you,’ Toni adds. ‘You were in such a good mood the next day. I figured, well, ‘Thank God, you know, because he must have been wrong. Otherwise, why wouldn’t he confront us, confront me?’ Oh, Walter.’ You could write about ten pages about how stupid this all is but I’ll try and be brief. Basically, the only reason any of these three idiots would behave as they have done would be in order to set up a dramatic ending to a film. Why did Brandon decide to ‘put on a little show’ for Walter? What point was he trying to make? If he wanted to bring matters to a head regarding Walter’s jealousy, why not just confront him about it? And also, though I’m sure this isn’t the case, Brandon and Toni have created the perfect alibi for themselves. ‘Let’s go in and have sex, and, if Walter has seen us somehow, we’ll just tell him we knew he was watching and we were putting on a show for him.’ Remember that little tactic, adulterers of the world, especially if your partner is pretty credulous.

New York needs a touchdown on the final snap to win (the commentator talks about how players dream of this moment, so we all notice the similarities between this play and the one that Brandon got injured on way back when) and we see Brandon and the office looking on nervously. Sadly, Toni and Walter’s enthralling confrontation is raging on. ‘You wanted to lose!’ she yells at him. ‘Like I was something you could just toss on a table. Only we booked your bet, Walter. Brandon and me, who evidently love you more than you love yourself.’ Walter is speechless for once.

It’s the final play! The quarterback drops back, then takes off running, just like Brandon did. Still, Toni won’t zip it. ‘Your fantasy is to end up alone, with nothing,’ she snarls. ‘I won’t let that happen, Walter, do you understand me?’ Walter must be wondering just how terribly he has to behave to get rid of this broad. The quarterback continues his circuitous, and surprisingly time-consuming progress to the end zone, while Toni smacks Walter and informs him ‘this is real’. ‘You and me and Julia, we’re all that’s real.’ Walter looks contemplative. ‘This is it Walter,’ says Toni and the quarterback, ‘goes airborne from the five. Does he get in?’ What do you reckon?

The office goes wild as the touchdown is confirmed, while, at the airport, Brandon smiles slightly at the crazy vagaries of the sports-tipping world and raises his right arm. More scenes of pandemonium in the office, involving the likes of Chuck and Tammy. Toni mouths ‘Walter’ but we can’t hear it above the epic sweep of the soundtrack. Walter gives in and kneels down on the floor next to Toni. They hug each other, all issues happily resolved. Walter murmurs into Toni’s ear and, yes, a manly tear rolls down his cheek. There wouldn’t have been any issues if they hadn’t acted like such a pair of clowns in the first place but what sort of a film would that have made?

Brandon walks away from the bar, grinning delightedly to himself. It’s all worked out pretty well for everybody except maybe Jerry, who, in essence, lost to his job to someone who then quit himself mere days later, and except maybe the likes of Amir, who lost everything they own on Brandon’s earlier tips, and would have been unable to raise more than a brass farthing to invest on New York in ‘Super Forty’.

Some kids are playing American football while cheerleaders chant in the background. Brandon appears, ball under his arm, whistle round his neck. ‘Giants, with me!’ he shouts. ‘Over here with me.’ He’s a football coach. The youngsters gather round for a pep talk. ‘We got a tough team we’re playing today,’ says Brandon. ‘You all know that. Toughest on our schedule. Now, most important thing we’re gonna do today is have some fun.’ Somehow I wasn’t expecting Brandon to be a foaming-at-the-mouth win-at-all-costs merchant. He waffles on in this ‘have some fun’ vein, then indulges in some back and forth with his charges. They then storm off in rowdy fashion while he grins indulgently. However, one of the ankle-biters has stayed by Brandon’s side. ‘Coach, do you really thing we can win today?’ he enquires. ‘Oh,’ exclaims the B-dog. ‘I’d bet on it.’ In that case, the poor little mites have got absolutely no chance.