I'll be there when I'm good and ready, he said in his mind as his voice calmly replied, “On my way.”
It was a private joke on the set of “The Time Police” that the director got his name because he always got his five-cents worth into whatever was going on. Ron Nickles, however, was unaware of the pun and wouldn't have been interested anyway. His joy in living was his job and it quickly became obvious to onlookers that he knew what he was doing. Ron had just turned fifty and was actually proud of the fact that his hair had turned grey twenty years earlier. He blamed the phenomenon on his job and the stress level under which he worked and thrived.
At this point in the day, he was in his glory—behind schedule, over budget, and understaffed because of a flu epidemic. The whole crew respected and admired his on-the-edge-of-a-breakdown methods and now they awaited their first shot for the day's filming.
Glasses pushed on top of his head, Ron was putting the actors through their lines and actions and showing them their marks.
“Okay, people, listen up. We're already behind schedule today, so let's not have to do too many takes. Eddie. The scenes are quiet, the action shots have already taken place—nice you could join us, Mr. Beck—and you are all now working over the injured Professor.
“Places. Eddie and Cindy, over by the mark for the time portal. Eddie, your hands off Cindy and folded over your chest. Look disgusted. Cindy, you're worried. Maxwell, further to the left. Where's the computer prop? Good. Just keep working calculations. Phillip, Tom, on the floor center stage. Cameras two and three, both get the shots. Three, you come in closer. We need some more smoke coming out of the rubble!
“Are we ready? Tom, down on both knees, please, not one. You look like you are going to propose in that position…. Quiet! Slate…. Roll….”
Professor Rex Farrell opened his eyes slowly. They were showing the pain his body was feeling. He focused into the face of his ex-colleague, Jack Newby. He had given Jack the nickname The Loner. It had stuck all these years since the split. The Loner was working over him to see how badly he was hurt. The Professor saw the others and noted the scowl on Andrew's face. “Why are you helping me? Why don't you just let me die…cough….”
“Cut!” yelled Nickles’ voice. “Phillip, you're giving me too much energy. You're half dead, remember. Begin again. Slate it…. Action.”
Quieter, “Why are you helping me? Why don't you just let me die…cough…. I do believe that would be Andrew's recommendation.”
The Loner placed his fingers on the artery in the Professor's neck. “I cannot let the second greatest scientific mind perish as long as I have the capacity to help.”
“Second greatest?” A sickly laugh rattled his chest, then a wheeze. “Don't flatter yourself. Your intelligence nowhere near matches mine.” Eyes closed, a groan came from the slightly parted lips.
“An intelligence used for evil and mischief cannot be measured against one being used for the good of the people. Plus, there is always the chance I can reverse the damage done to your mind.”
The Professor's eyes opened and a faint smile came to his white lips. “Wasted effort…Moan….I enjoy my…my….” He fainted and his body relaxed.
The Loner gently set the Professor's head down on the ground and stood. “You may enjoy your mischief, but you are hurting innocent people who have already suffered enough. Sir Charles, he's ready for transport. Andrew, help me get him to the portal. Let's get back to the lab!”
Andrew and The Loner bent down to pick up the motionless Professor and supported him to the spot where Maggie Rush stood by the portal that would take them back to their time period. The five of them froze in their motions. Two, three, four, five and “Cut!”
Tom and Eddie glanced at each other and, on a silent signal, let go of Phillip. Without their support and caught unawares, he banged heavily against the set that rocked precariously. Tom and Eddie held back their grins as they turned to face the director.
Ron was used to their antics and ignored Phillip as he wiped white make-up from his face off of the set. “Perfect,” Ron told them. “Now I need Cindy and Eddie back to their places for some reaction shots. The rest of you relax. We'll do the laboratory scene next. Phillip, your face is smeared. Where's Jill?”
Phillip looked accusingly over at Tom who smiled innocently back at him. He couldn't understand how those two could clown around so much on the set. Neither one had been in the business as long as he, so they probably hadn't yet learned the seriousness of good acting manners, he decided. It amazed him that they were so popular on the set and that they showed up on late-night interview shows so often. Their shenanigans made them regulars on the television goof-and-bleep shows. Even the respected Maxwell Marlowe was affected by their antics now and again. The favorite clip of all was the three of them, in full costume and mid-scene, breaking into a three-part harmony song of questionable taste. They had received the expected tongue-lashing from the director and then had to battle a fit of giggles led by Cindy Sanders for the rest of the day.
The filming of the medical scenes on the laboratory set took the rest of the morning. Since Phillip's lines had been cut, he was required only to lie on the examination table as the others worked over and around him and react to what they were doing as he supposedly drifted in and out of consciousness.
The medical terminology slipped up Tom a few times and Cindy missed a mark and dropped a tray of instruments. All were relieved when Ron called for the lunch break. “Keep in costume,” he reminded them as they prepared to scatter. “We'll pick up here in an hour.”
Outside of the sound stages on the Majestic lot were rows of vendors allowed on the site for lunch. Here Phillip picked up his customary ham and cheese sandwich and a coffee and headed back to his dressing room. He preferred eating lunch alone as he didn't like surprises in his coffee when his attention was diverted. The laxative incident a year ago was still fresh in his mind.
Setting his coffee on the small table, Phillip dropped into the easy chair. The sound of papers being crushed and the feel of a plastic spiral binding startled him at he sat. Thinking he had just ruined the script they were filming, he quickly pulled the papers out from beneath him. A handwritten letter was now badly crumpled. The fan letter. He had completely forgotten about it. So much for the idea of a quiet, relaxing lunch. “Thanks, bunny,” he mumbled as he unwrapped his sandwich and smoothed out the letter.
There were two pages to the letter written in an easy, looping handwriting. The paper was a plain ivory color with no heading or borders, no perfume or hearts or animals. Phillip noticed the paper matched the color of the included script paper as he started both the letter and the sandwich.
“Hello, Phillip.”
He reread that. Not “Dear Phillip.” Just “Hello Phillip.”
“You probably noticed a book attached to this letter. I figured you received so much mail that I'd at least get points for originality!
I enjoy watching “The Time Police” and I enjoy your character of Rex Farrell. I admit, though, that I didn't know your real name until just recently when I started writing my own stories for the show.
The Professor is a lot of fun to write as he can do and say anything and get away with it! Who could stop him? You must really enjoy portraying him. It looks like you are having a good time with him.
This is the second story I have written. The first, called THE LONER FINDS LOVE, I sent to Tom Young as it concerns his character. I thought you might be more interested than he would be since this story concerns the Professor more than The Loner. (That is, if the first story interested Tom or even got to him!)
For a little background, the new character I introduce is Jane Barrett. The squad rescued her from sixteenth-century Scotland where she had been injured in a clan raid. Knowing she would die and not affect history, the squad brings her back with them to their time. As she recovers and learns about modern life, she and The Loner fall in love and get married to the surprise of everyone and to the disgu
st of Andrew who had taken an unexplained dislike to her. The Commissioner of the Time Police makes her a full member of the squad in the end of the first book.
I hope you enjoy reading this story. I really enjoyed writing it. I also think it would make a terrific episode for the show. And, in case you need a brown-haired, blue-eyed co-star, I happen to know of someone who is quite familiar with Jane! She can be reached at 555-4029.
I'm sure you get a lot of mail and I'm sorry all of this is so long. I'm one of those rare individuals who enjoy writing letters.
The picture was taken a couple of years ago. I'm sure you can identify where it was taken. (I'm on the right!)
May the series have a long run and may the next episode you shoot be a Western!?,
Take care,
Leslie Nelson”
Phillip sat there with the letter in one hand and his sandwich with only one bite out of it in the other. He must have read it wrong or skipped something. Where was the request for a picture or an autograph? Where were all the personal questions? Where was the mush about Tom or Eddie? “They” don't send letters that don't demand something.
He reread the entire letter. It sounded the same. He looked again at the picture. Short brown hair swept back from the face. Probably messy from the roller coaster behind her. Her eyes were red dots from the flash. Big smile on a friendly face. Certainly not beautiful, hardly even pretty, but, still, a pleasant face. Compared to the size of the rabbit next to her, she was short in stature, slender frame, casual clothes. She looked like she was having fun. Twenty-four years old? Twenty-eight? He couldn't tell.
With an interested snort, he clipped the picture back onto the letter and took another bite of his sandwich. The forgotten coffee remained untouched and would now be an undrinkable lukewarm. His attention moved to the story. It had all the appearances of a script, but was printed on a heavy, grained paper. The cover was blank. The title page read WESTWARD REX.
Chapter One
The Commissioner's face was stern as he was finishing the instructions for the squad's next assignment. “The computer indicates the Plague of ‘98 could have been averted if Dr. Marian Jones had gotten the grant from the government in 1996. You are to go back to early 1996, to Washington, and see that that happens. Among the victims of the Plague was a young man who had been working on a solution to the ozone depletions. You can all see the necessity of his surviving.
Maggie Rush looked up from her desk in the laboratory. “Commissioner? Couldn't we just rescue the man and see that his work continues?”
“No, Maggie,” he responded. “The doctor is important as well. Her studies in immunology must be developed, also. Her further contributions could be vital. Are there any other questions?”
The squad glanced at each other. They were ready.
Sir Charles stepped forward. “We're set, Commissioner. Has the portal been programmed?”
“Yes. All is ready. I know I don't need to stress the importance of your mission. Not only will that generation be helped, but our entire future as well. Success,” he concluded and the view screen went blank.
As preparations for the journey were underway, the door to the portal opened. Professor Rex Farrell emerged dressed as a riverboat gambler from the late 1800's.
Jane Newby gasped and dropped her handheld computer link-up. At the sound, the rest of the squad turned and saw the intruder. Jane was stunned. No one else was supposed to have access to the portal.
“Rex!” shouted Sir Charles, losing his usually cool countenance. “Leave this lab at once! We don't have time to fool with you!”
“Good to see you, too, Sir Charles,” smiled the unperturbed Professor. “I'm sorry to break in like this, but I was caught cheating at poker and an unruly group of gentlemen had some rather unpleasant plans for my neck…. Who's this, now?” he asked, wickedly smiling as he went over to Jane.
She backed away from this tall, strange, handsome man as he approached her. She grabbed her husband's arm as she moved behind Jack.
“Leave my wife alone, Rex,” The Loner warned the advancing Professor.
A big grin suddenly broke over the Professor's face. “Wife, you say? Someone actually broke through The Loner? Well done, ma'am,” as he took off his black wool top hat and bowed low to her.
Andrew broke in, not liking the attention to Jane, and shortly said, “We have to be going. You and Jane can exchange recipes later. We have an assignment to do.”
Maggie threw him a disgusted look as she went to the portal with the others. She couldn't understand Andrew's continued irritation towards Jane. Maybe she would talk to him when they returned.
The Professor watched as they entered the portal and said nothing when he was told to be gone before they returned. As the door closed, he took out of his brocade vest pocket a small computer remote and pushed the red button. Waiting five seconds, he smiled, opened the portal, entered the empty room, and again, pushed the red button.”
A loud knocking noise disturbed Phillip. He looked up, mid-sentence, at the interruption.
“Mr. Beck? The director is looking for you. Are you awake?” the aide was asking, almost pleading. He knew the morning shots had to be redone and Ron was tense.
Phillip glanced at the clock on the wall. An hour and a half had passed. He hadn't realized it. Stifling a curse, he quickly finished his sandwich and grabbed up the coffee. He knew it would certainly be cold by now.
“Coming,” he called as he threw down the story and went for the door. He was late again. Grumbling, “Thanks, bunny,” he headed for the set.
Ron was pacing the set of the lab when Phillip strode in. Eddie and Cindy gave each other a worried glance. They knew how Phillip hated to be counseled in front of everyone.
“Sorry,” was all Phillip muttered as he was motioned to resume his place on the examination table.
As Jill repaired the actor's make-up, Ron filled everyone in on the afternoon's plans.
“We're not happy with the quality of the medical shots. I want less energy from Mr. Beck and more from Miss Sanders and Mr. Young. As you Mr. Chase, we decided to remove you from the scene entirely. Andrew will say, ‘Why don't you just let him die. That would solve everything,’ and then you leave the room…out that door,” he pointed and glanced at Eddie, expecting an argument.
Eddie had moved over to the table where Phillip was now sitting. He knew Ron would love an argument to release his tension, but, instead, he merely shrugged his acceptance. In a low voice to Phillip, he smiled, “That must have been some hot letter you received. I figured that's why you were late.”
His one-track mind reverting from the scene at hand to that last remark from Eddie, Phillip was momentarily stumped. “Hot?” His mind quickly went over the gist of the letter. That word didn't apply. He shook his head, frowning. “No, it wasn't at all like that. I don't get….” He left the rest unsaid and turned to see if anyone else was close enough to be listening. All were still being instructed by the director.
Eddie slapped him affably on the leg. “Don't let it worry you, old man,” he kidded. “Everyone gets dog letters now and then!” as he moved off to take his mark.
When Ron was ready, all went to their places and awaited his cue. Phillip was prone on the table, shirt off, eyes closed, as Tom waited with his hands in midair.
As the scene commenced, Phillip thought on Eddie's remarks. Both “old man” and “dog letter” stuck in his mind. He didn't understand “old man” as a joke as Eddie was age thirty-seven to his forty years. He then remembered to open his eyes briefly and move his head as if in pain. He frowned to himself. This hardly qualified as a “dog letter” —one that was negative in content or from an unattractive person.
He heard Tom say, “Ah, that's it! He's going to live. Sir Charles, I volunteer to stay with him. He'll need constant monitoring until he is well.”
Maxwell's voice replied, “All right, Jack. He'll be assigned to you. Keep an eye on him. We still don't know about the blast. I'
ve sent Maggie and Andrew to investigate.”
Phillip knew Tom was now nodding to the camera and he felt a sheet being pulled up his chest. All held their places for three, four, five, and…. “Cut.”
Phillip threw back the sheet and sat up, looking for Eddie. The other actor was sitting off the stage watching the scene. Phillip headed over to him, pulling on the shirt he had left draped over his own chair—the one that read “Guest.”
The director called Maxwell and Cindy over for some close-ups. Tom wandered over to his chair and leaned over the back of it with no specific goal in mind other than waiting to see if Ron called him back.
Phillip turned to Eddie. “It hardly qualified as a ‘dog letter’,” he abruptly stated.
“What?” Eddie had no idea what he was talking about. He was thinking about his next scene.
“My letter,” Phillip doggedly explained. “You were unfair. The script Bunny sent is actually very interesting.”
Finally remembering the fan letter, he was surprised that it had elicited any response from Phillip. Now it seemed as though Phillip was defending the writer. Trying to hide his amusement, Eddie assumed it was all because Phillip wasn't used to getting much fan mail. But, he was still unsure of something. “Did you say script? What script?” he asked.
“I haven't read very much so far, but it looks like a Western,” explained Phillip.
Eddie's look of amusement changed. “Really? We've never done a Western.”
Ron called for Phillip to redo one of his shots. As he removed his shirt, he remarked to Eddie, “See? When something is creative like that, you can hardly refer to it as a ‘dog’.”
When Phillip had returned to the table, Eddie glanced over at Tom, who had remained silent. “You know?” he drawled, “We should all chip in a few bucks and buy Phillip a sense of humor!”
The Fan Letter Page 2
