The Last Page
Christina
April 1998
set: sometime in the third season
disclaimer: Rupert Holmes, AMC etc own the rights--I just like to play
occasionally.
A Remember WENN list challenge story: to write a story where the scripts get
mixed up. Well--I didn't quite follow that idea--but...
Patience was not patient, Betty decided as she handed WENN's new intern the
script for *Sam Dane: Private Eye*. She had finished it a whole three minutes
before airtime. And considering her day, that was a remarkable achievement.
She laughed quietly after Patience had left. That afternoon's script for
*Hand's of Time* hadn't been finished until fifteen minutes before the end of
the show. Patience had been remarkable.
Betty shook her head. The young, petite brunette wouldn't last, she flustered
too easily. Patience had also managed to bring the wrath of Kitty's Boutique
down on the station when she'd flubbed a line in the commercial.
Scott had saved the day. The man could smooth talk his way out of anything.
Betty smiled at the image of Scott flirting with the imposing Kitty Wells. The
woman had calmed down and even offered to sponsor another show.
Her stomach growled, and with a start Betty realized that it was well past her
dinnertime. Lunch had been a long time ago. Well, the Buttery was still open
and she needed a walk. She grabbed the scripts for the next two shows and
placed them where Patience could clearly see them.
#
#
Mackie put his hand over the microphone and hissed to anyone who was
listening, "Where is she? I need the script."
Hilary smiled, "Patience? She's probably lost." She stopped speaking as the
door slammed open and Patience burst into the recording studio.
"I'm sorry," She was holding the script in one hand and trying to straighten
her dress with the other. "I was..." She glanced at the clock, and turned to
the group of actors. "I'm sorry, I'm not too late am I?"
"Not at all my dear," Mackie said smoothly while rolling his eyes. "Here,
let
me take that..." The paper went flying.
"Oh, no." Patience shrieked. "I'm sorry." She dove to the floor and
nearly
sent the nearest microphone flying.
Hilary stood there holding the wayward microphone and watched with an amused
expression. She tapped Mackie on the shoulder and pointed to control booth.
C.J. was signaling frantically. They had been off the air for one minute.
Mackie grabbed the microphone, and in a low basso started speaking. "Acton
Anthracite Coal and Pittsburgh Library Theater proudly present Sam Dane:
Private Eye." He looked around and mouthed, "Where's Scott?"
Who entered quietly. With slight shrug for Hilary, he reached for the script
that Patience had gathered up and smiled at her. The intern turned beet read
when Scott whispered something in her ear. She left, just after the door
closed behind her there was a thump from outside.
Mackie had continued his introduction while Scott primped to prepare for his
opening lines. Hilary just glared at him.
"I'm Sam Dane: Private Eye." Scott drawled. "Life for a private eye is
always
interesting. But when *she* walked into my office, I knew tonight would be
different. She was one classy dame." From behind him, he heard the sound of
high heels.
Hilary looked at the script. "Mr. Dane?"
"Yes."
In a low, slightly seductive yet slightly hysterical voice, Hilary Booth said,
"Please help me. I fear for my life."
"I knew she was lying, every fiber in my being told me so, yet I asked, Why?"
"It's my husband. I think he wants to kill me."
"This sounded interesting. I glanced at her hand, the diamond alone was worth
a few grand. Why would he want to kill someone as beautiful as you?" His
improvisation earned him an evil glare from the leading lady.
"Money." Hilary whispered loudly. "For my money. I'm Denise Domier...My
father
was Richard Sykes."
"I was impressed. The Sykes fortune was extensive. Diamonds, gold, oil, you
name it, they were in it. Her husband, Arthur Domier was an arrogant man. His
name appears often in places where it shouldn't." Scott flipped the finished
page carelessly to the ground, secretly enjoying Hilary's wicked stare. "Mrs.
Domier, I need to know why you think your husband wants to...I was rudely
interrupted by the door being slammed open."
>From the back there was the sound of a good solid slam, then heavy footsteps.
Hilary screamed, "Arthur, you followed me!!!"
Mackie--in a high tenor voice, with the barest hint of a French accent--said,
"Of course, my dear. I want to know who you are seeing."
"Arthur dear, why do you have a gun?" Hilary screeched.
"Gun, I don't have a gun," Mackie said. "Why would you think I have a
gun?"
"The lady is worried that you may be trying to kill her." Scott said.
Mackie cackled. "Kill her. I can't touch her money if she dies. She's only
useful to me alive."
#
#
Maple stopped, there it was again. She looked around the hallway, then
realized the strange noise was coming from the writer's room. She knocked,
when no one answered she opened the door. The room was dark, but she could now
identify the sounds as someone crying. "Hello?"
There was a squeal, then the sound of someone standing. "I'm sorry," Patience
said from the back. "I didn't think anybody would notice."
"What's wrong?"
"Nothing...Everything..."
Maple groaned inwardly at the signs of fresh sobbing. "Why don't you come out
and wash your face and have something to eat."
"Is there something to eat?" Patience said.
"I think there are some dough-nuts from this morning."
"Is anyone out there?"
Maple glanced around quickly. "No. Everybody's in the studio." She shifted her
weight. "Patience?"
"I'm coming." The young woman appeared from behind the shelves. "I'm sorry.
This isn't working is it?"
"Huh?" Maple stepped aside as Patience timidly walked by her.
"Me being here. I'm all thumbs. I can't act, I can't type...You've all been so
kind and patient with me..." They walked down the hall to the greenroom.
That was an overstatement, Maple realized. "We all had to learn once." She
tried to sound sympathetic.
Patience smiled. "Except Miss Booth. I think she was born like that."
Maple laughed. There might be hope for the girl yet. "You are learning."
Patience smiled shyly. "Would anybody be upset if I took another job? My
sister says she can get me a job in a store."
"If that's what you want." Maple glance quickly at the clock. "Look, I have
to
be on the radio in a few minutes..."
"Oh, I'm sorry..."
Maple dashed out the door.
#
#
Mackie in a thick Irish Brogue was speaking. "Mr. Dane, you are interfering
with a police investigation. I must ask you to wait outside."
Scott sounded flustered as he spoke. "Sergeant O'Malley, my client asked me
to..."
Maple walked in silently and smiled at everybody. She glanced at the script.
She was in time.
"Mr. Dane," Mackie was saying. "I don't care who your client is...Wait
outside."
"She walked in the room at that moment. Tall, stately, a red-head. I didn't
know who she was..." Scott said. "But she looked desperate."
"Mr. Dane?" Maple said with a slight English accent. "My sister is..."
She
reached over to flip the page...
She motioned quickly and placed her hand over the microphone. "Where's the
last page?" She whispered.
Mackie blanched and knelt down on the floor to look for the missing page. She
looked quickly at the other members of the cast. She hated Pruitt's cutbacks.
To save on paper they were sharing one script.
Scott stepped forward, "Your sister?"
"Yes my sister." Maple looked quickly down at Mackie who wasn't having any
luck.
Scott motioned for Hilary. "Find Betty," he whispered very quietly.
"She isn't here," Maple said. "She went to get to something to eat."
Hilary said softly, "We have five minutes to fill. Who did it?"
Scott glanced at the clock and spoke into the microphone. "Private eyes lead
interesting lives. The young woman sobbing quietly at my feet must have been
the sister of Mrs. Domier. Miss?"
"Miss?" Maple repeated blankly.
"Sykes," hissed Mackie from near the sound effects table.
"Miss Sykes," she said. "You will help me?"
Scott grinned. "Of course. What happened in there?"
"I don't know...There's a dead body," she smiled.
"Whose body?" He bit back the urge to laugh.
Maple also almost laughed. "I didn't look. I heard the gunshots and ran out
here. Into your arms." She swooned gracefully into Scott's arms.
Hilary shook her head, as she went to sit down in the one chair.
Mackie glanced at the clock as he stood. In his sergeant's voice he said. "We
have a dead body. Which one of you did it?"
"She did," Hilary and Maple said simultaneously.
"My client was worried that her husband was trying to..." C.J. was motioning
wildly in the soundbooth. "So ends the WENN mystery theater, Sam Dane: Private
Eye. Tonight's episode is done in the true detective thriller style--you the
listener have heard all the clues. Who's dead? Who done it? You get to figure
it out."
Mackie covered his microphone. "Where's the next script?"
Maple walked quickly to the door, "I'll get them"
The studio door opened gently, and Betty appeared holding papers. "Patience
has quit." She handed the script to Maple. "How did Sam Dane go?"
"Great Betty." Scott said with a smile. "Good script."
Hilary smiled wickedly. "The end was the best part."
Mackie took the script, walked up to the microphone and began to speak.
****