Powerstone Read Free Page A

the
other will be on the streets.’ This time the audience did not chant the
programme slogan. ‘How do you feel, Kendrick?’
    There was a moment’s hesitation
before Kendrick replied. ‘I feel good,’ he said. ‘I feel real good.’
    Ms Manning nodded. ‘And you,
Irene?’
    ‘Confident,’ Irene lied. She
nodded vigorously. ‘Yes. I will be your neophyte.’
    The hush deepened as Ms Manning
stood, as she always did before imparting momentous decisions. Three cameras
focussed on her, while one concentrated on each of the contestants.
    ‘This contest has been close,’ Ms
Manning’s accent became more pronounced as she came to the climax of the
programme. ‘And I am left with two excellent candidates. One has sailed through
life on the crest of a wave of constant success; the other has struggled
through adversity to achieve her present position. Both are examples of the
American Dream, and the two are hard to separate.’
    Irene heard the drums begin their
insistent roll as Ms Manning stepped back, preparatory to sweeping her hand
round in her trademark gesture that would destroy the dreams of one contestant
and recreate the life of the other. The person Ms Manning selected would be
virtually guaranteed wealth, power and success; the person she rejected would
have to accept very public failure. Ms Manning was the human oxymoron between
two extremes; her pronouncement was incontestable.
    ‘So I have come to a provisional
decision. In business it is sometimes better to hedge one’s bets, to allow
things to take their own course until muddied waters clear.’ Her arm swung in a
complete half circle until her forefinger pointed directly at Kendrick. The
ruby gleamed like blood. ‘In this instance I have decided that Kendrick shall
be my neophyte, for an interim period of one year. If he makes a success of
things in that time, which I have no doubt that he will, then he shall retain
the position.’
    The arm retracted then thrust out
toward Irene. ‘In the meantime, Irene, you must go on the streets !’
     
    The finger dominated Irene’s
conscious vision. She could see the immaculate nail with the arc of the
cuticle, and each individual crease around the knuckles. For one moment her
entire life centred on that single digit, and then the audience began the chant
that had become a catchphrase throughout America .
    ‘On the streets! On the streets!’
    Irene sat in disbelief, swamped by
the baying. She could feel Kendrick standing beside her, could sense the
triumph in his smile as he accepted the congratulations of Ms Manning and her
senior managers before he turned to her, hand extended.
    ‘On the streets! On the streets!’
    Tears prickled in her eyes as
Irene faced Ms Manning. She shook her head. She had planned and striven and had
dedicated her entire life to winning this competition. Now she was a failure;
the world would remember her not as the contestant who had nearly succeeded,
but as the woman who had failed in front of millions.
    ‘You fought well, Irene,’
Kendrick’s soft voice caressed her and his deep brown eyes held only sympathy.
‘Shake now; show the world that you can lose as graciously as you win.’ When
she hesitated, he leaned closer, whispering ‘if you don’t, you’ll regret it
later.’
    Recognising good advice, Irene
blinked back the tears and took Kendrick’s hand. She would have loved to
squeeze hard, to make him wince, but there was a worldwide audience watching.
‘Congratulations, Kendrick,’ she said as brightly as she could. ‘You will be a
worthy neophyte. You will be just fine.’
    ‘Well said!’ Ms Manning had been
watching closely, but now transferred her entire attention to Kendrick.
     
    Irene suddenly realised that she
was already pushed out of the picture. Technicians hustled past her as they
wheeled cameras toward the successful neophyte. Two men guided her into a
cluttered dressing room as Kendrick took his place on the table beside Ms
Manning. She felt swift