Sherwood, Scott Sherwood
by Susan L. Minnick
Disclaimer: "Remember WENN" and its characters are
copyright AMC/Howard Meltzer Productions and are the sole creation of Rupert Holmes. This
story and any original characters, however, are copyright Susan L. Minnick 1998 all rights
reserved. :)
Author's Note: I'm determined to continue my story no matter what my teachers throw at me,
so here it is, 'Sherwood, Scott Sherwood' in all it's glory. Comments are more than
welcome! Enjoy! A special thank you to Rebecca Immich for beta-reading; she's going
to be such a faboo English Professor! :)
Part One
"Buy Barley Futures."
Oh no, they arent starting that again! Betty thought as she walked past
Victors/Scotts/ Pruitts/Mackies/Eugenias/ and her office.
"Thats right Sherman. Buy Barley Futures," Victors voice echoed out
through the door.
"Thats it!" Betty said, entangled in frustration. She burst through the
door, holding the stack of scripts in front of her as a shield. "Stop the
violence!" she shouted.
"What? Betty, has the asbestos been getting to you again?" Victor asked in
confusion.
Scott just twisted his brow and gave Betty a glance before turning back to Mr. Comstock.
"As I was saying Sherman, Barley Futures is a great investment for the Stock Exchange
rookie like yourself. I suggest buying at least 50 shares."
Betty let down her shield and looked at the two men sitting in the office with utter
shock.
"Well, its time for me to be getting to the train station."
"Oh Victor, so soon? You just got here!" Betty exclaimed in disappointment.
"Yeah Vic, do you have to leave so soon?" Scott asked, hiding the sudden rush of
glee that had become familiar to him since he started seeing Victor off.
"Im afraid so. Washington needs me," he said, stacking his papers into his
briefcase and clasping it shut.
"When will you be back?" Betty asked, hopefully.
"In another season or two. Maybe by then I can be a Sergeant instead of a Lieutenant
Victor Comstock," he pondered. "Ill write when I get there Betty!" He
left the office and made his way down the hall to reception. "Goodbye all!" He
turned and waved at the doorway.
"Goodbye Victor!" Betty said with a tone of sadness.
"See ya Vic," Scott said, noting Bettys sudden depression.
"Goodbye Heir Comshtock," a cool voice replied.
"Gertie! My, your voice has changed!" Victor remarked.
"That wasnt me Victor," Gertie replied nervously, noting the stranger in
black standing behind Victors tall frame.
"It used to be at least three decibels higher, and it never had a western
European/Adriatic accent. In fact, if I recall correctly,
youre of French decent."
"Um, Victor, you might want to turn around very slowly," Scott said, pulling
Betty behind him.
"Now that I think about it, that voice must mean one of two things; we have a new
person working here at WENN that has a strong German accent, or a Nazi is standing behind
me and is about to kill me. If its number two, hes probably going to shoot me
down in cold blood with a luger within the next ten seconds."
"Very astute, Heir Comshtock. Goodbye!" With that the Nazi shot Victor in the
back. Comstock collapsed to the floor.
"Victor!" Betty yelled in shock.
"Well, I guess it was number two then," Victor muttered, trying to catch his
breath. "Good bye everyone." He closed his eyes and laid there still.
"Alright! You are all unter my control!" the mysterious Nazi shouted, waving his
pistol at the three onlookers. "If you want to go against me, then youll vind
up like Victor did a few moments ago. D-E-A-D."
"Actually, Im not dead," Victor remarked, lifting his head. "Im
going through the process of dying. My bodily functions are slowly shutting down, my heart
is pumping at a vastly slower rate, and therefore my blood is not circulating correctly.
In actuality, it could take up to five minutes for me to, quote-unquote 'pass on.' In
fact, having me lie here is the best possible position for me."
"Oh will you shut you mouth already! Youre going to die and zat iz it! I am a
dead eye shot shooting; I never leave any victims alive!"
"Well, granted, you do shoot very well... In fact, I cant feel my whole left
arm; you must have hit a vein," Victor replied.
"Zats it! For your loose tongue, Comshtock, your Betty Roberts vill die!"
"Thats it!" Scott exclaimed. He walked over to the Nazi. "Good day
Sir."
"Good day?" the Nazi questioned.
"Thank you," Scott smiled. "It certainty is." With that, Scott kicked
the Nazi in the leg, caught his gun and threw him to the floor. Stepping on his back
emphatically, he pointed the gun at the evil-doers head. "One move and
youre dead. D-E-A-D. Thanks for the spelling lesson."
Betty and Gertie looked on with wide eyes. "Scott!" Betty exclaimed, heroism
dotting her eyes.
Scott smiled back. "Everythings okay now, Betty Roberts."
"Who--" the Nazi asked in strained breaths, "who are you?"
"The name is Sherwood. Scott Sherwood," Scott replied coolly.
"Agent 1313!" Victor remarked.
"Nice to meet you Victor," Scott replied, stepping harder on the Nazis
back.
"Its a pleasure to meet you! Id shake hands, but Im dying... and I
wouldnt want to get blood on that nice suit."
"Well thanks Vic. Oh, and thanks for the tip too; that should get me enough money to
buy that schooner again. How are you
doing?"
"Couldnt be better, actually. Uh-oh, I think Ill have to say goodnight
for now... Im about to pass out."
"Goodnight Victor."
Victor shut his eyes and sagged to the ground.
"Scott! Hes dead!" Betty remarked in awe.
"No hes not. Its just a flesh wound," Scott replied.
"And how do you know?" Betty asked, folding her arms.
"Hed have died instantly if it wasnt. Besides, Im Sherwood, Scott
Sherwood- I know these things."
"Ah, but you dont know everything Sherwood!" the Nazi said from below
Scotts shoe. "SWARM SWARM!!!!"
All of a sudden ten Nazi thugs surrounded the small group in the reception hall of WENN.
Part Two
"When we left off, our hero was bravely standing atop the Nazi thug he crushed with
his bare hands. Betty and Gertie were
standing by the switchboard in shock, horror, and amazement (as well as a bit of
admiration on Bettys part) staring at Scott.
Victor was lying on the floor finally unconcious, yet probably not dead yet. (If it was
Victor, hed let us know if he was dead.) Ah but alas, all was not right! For ten
Nazi thugs had just surrounded our crew in the reception hall of WENN....what was Agent
1313 going to do?" a deep voice narrated, echoing in the halls of WENN.
"Alright Agent 1313, what are you going to do?" a Nazi thug questioned the hero
of WENN.
"Didnt someone just ask that?" Betty said, looking around for the
mysterious stranger that began the sequence.
"I dont know, but then again, it is WENN. Im going back to the
switchboard," Gertie said, becoming bored with the recent chain of events. As we all
know, it takes something very interesting to keep Gertie interested, and Nazi thugs with
lugers are pretty boring when you think of it.
Scott, what are we going to do?" Betty asked nervously.
"About what Betty?" Scott asked, innocence covering his face.
"World peace!" Betty said, sarcasm coming to the surface due to the intense
shock caused by watching Victor being shot, finding out that Scott was really
"Sherwood, Scott Sherwood" and having ten nondescript Nazi thugs enter the door
of WENN within five minutes. "The ten Nazi thugs surrounding us, ready to kill us if
we make one move!"
"Oh, that!" Scott said smiling. "Well, I thought wed do a bit of
this-" and he elbowed the one behind him, "and some of this-" he punched
the two thugs in front of him square in the jaw, "a tad of that-" he kicked the
one on his right side, "quite a bit of this-" he poked the three near Betty in
the eyes with the statement "Thank you Larry, Curly, and Moe. For the last
three," he stated, "I thought Id do this-" with that he socked two in
the stomach and kicked one in the leg, causing them all to fall with domino-like effect.
"Scott! That was amazing!" Betty remarked.
"Yeah, great work," Gertie mumbled, flipping through the edition of
Photoplay sitting on her desk.
"Oh, but we arent finished yet," Scott smiled. With that he grabbed Betty
and dipped her, planting a passionate kiss on her lips. He let her go, and she looked at
him with wide eyes.
"Scott..." she said, mystified by the man she thought she knew.
"Its Sherwood, Scott Sherwood," he smiled.
"Hey Scott, what happened to your suit?" Gertie asked, looking up for a minute
to see if Scott was finally handling more than
Bettys "business affairs."
Scott looked down, and his suit had changed from the cream he was wearing to a white tux,
complete down to his spats. "Thats easy to answer," he remarked coolly,
"I always shine when I kiss the woman I love." Scott, or rather, Sherwood, Scott
Sherwood, smiled at Betty and caressed her chin.
"Scott, I hate to interrupt what is defined as a, quote-unquote 'romantic moment,'
but the gentleman that shot me and that you were stepping on just a few moments ago before
valiantly is getting away."
"Oh my, looks like our broadcasts really do kill the public," Hilary remarked,
stepping over the bodies on her way to Gerties desk. "And that reminds me,
speaking of valiant, Betty, the script today was a tad on the dry side; do try to keep it
semi-interesting will you?"
"Sure Hilary," Betty answered wryly.
"Thank you. Well, I must be on the air now. Ta ta," she said, stepping over a
few more thugs. She stopped by Scott and tapped him on the shoulder, "By the way,
nice suit, Scotty." She turned back and walked to the studio with a smile.
"What were you saying Victor?"
"Oh, I was just saying that the man you so valiantly beat up in defense of me ran out
the door a few moments ago."
"Oh no Scott! That means that hes out there, effecting the lives of every
Pittsburghian!" Betty exclaimed.
"Pittsburghian? Betty, I think youll need a dictionary to define that
one!" Maple said, entering the hallway. "Hey, is that you
Lenny?" she asked one of the groggy Nazis. "Nah, Lenny had dark hair. Sorry kid!
Well, Im off for a dress fitting! I found this really cute place right down the
street! Betty, youd love it!" she walked to the door. "See you all later!
Oh," she said, stumbling over an arm, "Hiya Vic." Maple smiled and patted
her hair.
"Hello Miss Experience!" Victor said, completely ignoring all of Maples
'attributes' that s he professed so well and talking as if she was a business partner in a
law firm instead.
"Say, Vic, do you need a little help there?"
"No, really, Im fine. This is the best way for a victim of a gunshot to lie. I
learned that when I was over in London. It helps the
blood to keep an even flow. Thanks for asking though!"
"Oh, sure Vic! No problem. Well, have a nice day," Maple smiled shyly and left.
"Scott, I dont mean to interrupt your plans, but arent you going to
notify the police that one of the menacing Nazis is loose?"
Victor asked.
"No, I dont need to do that Victor," he replied, walking over to the tall
man lying on the floor.
"Well, why not? In the aspect of things, it is always safer to notify the police in
such cases, dont you agree?" Comstock
questioned.
"I would, except for the fact that Im Sherwood, Scott Sherwood. Ill see
you all tomorrow," Scott said, facing the two ladies.
"Miss Roberts, Ill see you tonight. Dinner at eight," he said, looking
charmingly at the young woman. "Take care Vic." Scott
patted the injured man on the shoulder. With that, he was off.
"That Scott Sherwood thinking he can just demand a date from me! Ha! Im not
going to show up at the Buttery until nine; thatll show him!"
Part Three
"Wenn we last left our favorite radio station, Sherwood, Scott Sherwood had departed
in hot pursuit of the evil Nazi known only to the public as 'Nazi Thug so valiantly beaten
by Sherwood, Scott Sherwood after shooting Victor Comstock (or Comshtock as he called
him).' Ah, but before leaving he made a date with station writer/love interest/perfect mix
of Hollywood Starlet and Down-home Sweetheart known as Betty Roberts. Let us now join that
dinner- date, already in what some would call progress."
"Scotty, what are you looking around for?" the girl sitting next to our hero
questioned.
"Who IS that?" Scott asked, looking behind and above him.
"Scotty, dont you even remember who I am?" the girl sitting next to him
asked. "Talk about your gratitude! I buy you a drink and everything! Humph!"
With that the girl, smartly dressed in red, grabbed her purse and left.
"Goodbye Laura!! Thanks for the Cherry Coke!!" Scott called after the girl.
"I hope she finds Agent 1314; I could really used
McVies support," Scott said as he looked at his watch. "I shouldve
known it. Bettys too good for a guy like me," Scott said, downhearted. I
tried so hard! I came back to the station, confessed all my lies- to Victor even!-and she
still wont go out with me. I beat up almost a dozen Nazis for that girl!
"Sherwood, you midas well give up." Staring at his glass, he took the last gulp
and got up from his table to go to the bar.
"What do you need Scotty?" a waitress questioned the handsome man in the white
tux.
"Cherry Coke, Jenny. Thanks," he handed her his glass.
"No problem Scotty," she took it with a smile and headed over to the counter.
"Hey Jenny," he called as she turned around. "Thanks. I knew I could count
on you."
"No problem 1313," she smiled and went to the counter.
Scotty began folding up the paper napkin at the table when the door chime interrupted his
work. He looked up and found Betty Roberts standing in front of the door, looking around
the half empty Buttery for her "dinner-date." She was in a neat black dress - a
change from that days wardrobe. Her hair was curled at the bottom, and pulled back
on each side, revealing her brown eyes which, at the moment, looked a bit nervous and a
bit excited at the same time.
Finally she met his eyes and walked over to the small table towards the back he and his
origami swan occupied. "Hello Scott," she said, smiling as he got up and helped
her into her seat.
"Good evening Betty. Jenny! Make that two Cherry Cokes!" he motioned to the
waitress. "How was the rest of the day at
W-E-N-N?"
"Oh, it was the usual day at WENN." She let out a light laugh. "After
Victor regained consciousness he called the police and they came to pick up the thugs.
Then he left for his train, and things were back to normal."
"But, Betty, what about his bullet wound?" Scott asked, a bit confused at how a
man with a bullet hole in his right shoulder could get on a train for Washington after
losing about a pint of blood and slipping in and out of consciousness.
"Oh, well," Betty said as she sipped her soda, "he said he didnt want
to be late for his 8 pm broadcast. You know Victor, he never misses an appointment!"
"Oh, okay," Scott said nonchalantly, playing with his paper swan.
"Whats that Scott?" Betty asked, taking the swan from his hands.
"Its a little swan. I learned how to make it when I was sailing the China Seas
on my schooner. I ran across a Japanese sage who taught me the art of origami - paper
folding. He said it built concentration and strength," Scott said sternly.
"Oh, really?" Betty asked.
"Yes. He said that the art of origami builds up the strength and agility in the
hands," Scott replied, making tight fists.
"Is that where you learned how to fight?" Betty asked with wide and interested
eyes. "The way you did with the nondescript Nazi thugs today?"
"Nah, I learned that from the movies. Waitress!" Scott called the waitress over
as Betty looked in confusion.
The two ate their Buttery dinner of meatloaf and mashed potatoes with a side of small
talk. As the conversation progressed, both began to feel more at ease with one another,
and the conversation flowed from their days at WENN to new territory on their walk home.
"Scott, when did you become 'Agent 1313'?" Betty asked. "Scott?"
"Huh? Oh..." Scott said, looking back at Betty. Where is that voice coming
from? he wondered.
"The stars are beautiful tonight, arent they?" Betty asked, looking up at
the sky where Scott had been staring.
Scott smiled. "Not as beautiful as your eyes," he remarked with his trademarked
grin.
Betty blushed. "Scott, when did you become 'Agent 1313'?" she questioned again.
"A long time ago, but you dont need to know about that; at least not yet."
"But Scott, I want to know! Why cant you tell me?" Betty asked, saddened.
"I just cant, Betty, for your own safety," Scott said with sympathetic yet
firm eyes.
"Victor can trust me with the fact that hes alive yet reported dead, and you
cant trust me with a little Secret Agent thing?! Sometimes I just dont believe
you Scott Sherwood!" Betty exclaimed in disgust.
"Betty, you want a secret of mine to keep?" Sherwood asked, flattered.
"Well, sure Scott. I mean, I do work with you, and I am the best at keeping a secret
at WENN," she explained as they walked up the steps to the Barbican Hotel for Women.
"Well then Betty, I suppose-"
"Yes Scott?"
"That means that therell be a second date," he grinned. "Goodnight
Betty!" He kissed her quickly on the cheek and hopped down the steps, turning around
after he reached the sidewalk.
"Scott Sherwood!" she exclaimed, stifling a smile.
He waved and ran off down the block. Frustrated, Betty turned back to the door and let
herself in. Walking the two flights of
stairs up to her apartment, she unlocked the door and went in, not bothering to turn on
the lights. Walking over to the small window in her bedroom she said in the chair by it
and looked out at the stars. "I suppose there will be a second date," Betty
said, smiling; a well of excitement exploding in her stomach.
Meanwhile Scott was across town, fighting the battle of his life.
Part Four
"As we last departed our tale, we were told that Agent 1313 was fighting the battle
of his life. Let us now go to downtown
Pittsburgh where we meet our hero in action."
"Would you stop narrating my every move!" Scott screamed into the night. I
need to quit the spy business, he thought as he
pulled out a gold plated cigarette case. popping open the latch he pulled out the small
white stick and sniffed it. "Ahhh," he said, enjoying the familiar smell.
Clasping the case shut and putting it back into his coat pocket, he placed the white tube
in his mouth and took a bite. "Nothing like a sugar rush to get you through the
Pittsburgh night shift. Thank you Mr. Willy Wonka." Taking another bite out of his
sugary beauty, he walked along the silent Pittsburgh street and stared at the stars. All
of a sudden, he felt a tap on his back.
"Excuse me, Mister," a kids voice came after the third tap.
"Yes?" Scott questioned, turning around.
""Come with me." The voice wasnt a childs any more; it was the
gruff voice of a man; and it wasnt alone. A small shiny Colt 45 accompianed it in
his left hand, ready to be fired.
Scotts eyes widened in surprise. "May I ask where were going?"
"Not unless you want my friend here to give you the answer," the man replied,
his pistol poised facing Scotts heart.
Scott shrugged and answered "Lead on" not knowing what to expect.
"I think Ill let YOU do the leading," the man motioned for Scott to turn
around, and then pushed him down the street with a shove of the pistols barrel into
his spine.
"I do hope that gun is clean," Scott said as they walked along Isabella Street.
"Getting this jacket to sparkle is no easy task."
The gentleman had no reply; he simply pushed him onward and upward; right to the door of
WENN.
"What are we doing here?" Scott asked, nervous that someone might still be in
the station.
"Go in," the gunman replied.
"Oh, so you do talk while aiming a gun! How multi-talented!" Scott replied with
a grin as he opened the door. "Now where to?"
"Control Room."
"Scotty obliged, walking down the hall, second door on his left. Upon entering, he
met a startling surprise."
"Did you just say something?" Scott asked the gunman.
"No."
"Then did you hear anyone-"
"Get in there!" the gunman yelled, unamused by what looked to be
Agent1313s weak attempt at getting out of the sticky situation.
"Alright already!" Scott replied, making a mental note to find out exactly who
belonged to that voice once he found out why a man dragged him to the station at gunpoint.
He slowly opened the door and walked in to the tune of an evil, sinister laugh.
"Hello Scotty!" the laugher greeted Sherwood.
"Pruitt. I shouldve known," Scott replied with a cold stare. Six months in
prison hadnt done a thing to him. He was still the same old bulging, crude Pruitt.
Six months away from him hadnt changed Scotty either; he still hated Pruitts
guts with a passion.
"Well Scotty, what have you been up to?"
"Oh, nothing much. Keeping WENN in the black and out of your grubby hands,"
Scott replied wryly.
"I suppose I out smarted you this time, havent I?" Pruitt half asked, half
said with a snarl and a maniacal grin.
"Well," Scott said, having formed a plan, "I dont think so." He
kicked Pruitt in the stomach and grabbed the lone gunman by the arm, hoisting him over his
shoulder and onto the cold linoleum floor with a pleasant thud. Scott walked over to
Pruitt lying on the floor and nudged him with his foot. "I dont suppose you
have outsmarted me Pruitt."
"Oh!" Pruitt groaned. "Think again- Mr. Sherwood."
Scott slit his eyes and looked up. Directly behind Pruitts twitching body stood a
man, hunched over a revolver and a small brown bag.
"This is the summer of your unhappiness," the man let out with a belch.
"No no no! Its 'This is the winter of your discontent!' Dont you listen
to our programming at all?! How could you misquote Betty Roberts?!" Scott asked in
disgust.
"Ha! Listen to it? I used to write it! That is, until that Roberts sap came in."
"Who are you to call the finest woman in the world a sap?!" Scott asked, lunging
over Pruitts mass and knocking the man to the floor.
"My names Gianetti, and I used to run this station! Watch it! These are famous
bones youre crushing!"
Scott got up and brushed himself off, as did the old man. Suddenly a flash of light landed
on the old alcoholics face.
"Do you ever stop drinking?" Sherwood remarked, catching a whiff of the
mans breath.
"Mr. DeMille?!" the drunk asked into the spotlight. "Im ready to
write the closeup now!"
Scott furrowed his brow in complete confusion, and shaded his eyes from the blinding
light. "Who is that?" he shouted, grabbing the spare rod lying on the filing
cabinet. "Ive got a gun, so watch out!"
"Here it is Mr. DeMille, my closeup!" Gianetti walked towards the light and
tripped over Mr. Pruitts leg, falling face-first to the ground to Mr. Pruitts
horror. A shot rang out (later Scott found that Gianettis hand that was holding the
gun had hit the floor in such a way that it caused his fingers to squeeze the trigger and
the rod to, therefore, go off) and the lone gunman, who had just gotten up from being
knocked against the control board, fell onto Pruitt, dead.
"Ahhhhhh!!!!" Pruitt groaned. The two bodies pinned him down against the floor,
and there was no way he could get up. Although the diets in the Pittsburgh prisons were
three square meals a day, they were reduced to round meals of bread and water for Nazi
saboteurs, therefore Pruitt had lost nearly all of his strength, causing him to lie
desperately on the floor, a heaping mass of what used to be a human being.
"Mr. Sherwood, Ill- Ill give you twenty dollars if you help me up!"
Pruitt begged.
"Well, that sounds a bit familar," Scott said with a grin. "Goodnight
Pruitt."
"With that Scott triumphantly left the room and walked down the hall. Realizing he
forgot to find out who the person behind the flashlight was, he turned around and walked
back down the hall. When he reached the Control Room his aide was gone, along with Pruitt
and his two accomplices. It was as if they vanished into thin air, and didnt leave a
trace."
"Why, its as if they vanished into thin air, and didnt leave a
trace," Scott said in amazement. "Hey! Would you quit narrating my every thought
and movement!!!" Scott yelled looking around. "I swear, when I find you,
youre gonna pay big time!!! What nerve! You dont see me going around talking
about you!" Scott complained to the mysterious stranger as he walked back down the
hall to leave.
Part Five
"And now we-"
"Oh no you dont!" Scott yelled. "Im doin the intro this
time!"
"But Scott, Im writing the story!"
"But Im your main character! Besides, without me there wouldnt be a
story."
"And without Norma Desmond there would be no Paramount Studios, yada yada yada. Go
ahead then! I feel like some Starbucks anyway.... want any?"
"Hmm... do you have Latte?"
"Yup! Two dips?"
"Great! Thanks! Now, on with the story," Scott said, figuring that hed
worry about the face behind the mysterious voice later. "It was a cold and rainy
Pittsburgh night, but Scott-I- wasnt at home in front of the fire where he-I- oh
forget it, wanted to be. No, he was at radio station WENN, performing the latest edition
of Sam Dane- Private Eye; a most excellently written script by Betty Roberts,
for those of you who are interested in that sort of thing."
"What sort of thing?"
"Didnt I say I was narrating this story?" Scott complained.
"Well, if you want to narrate, you have to do it thoroughly. Besides, you arent
even sticking to the script! Here, have your Latte and let a professional do the
work!"
Ahem "It was a cold and rainy night in the town of Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania.
That nights Pirates game was a washout, so the skeleton crew of WENN had to
perform a quick edition of Sam Dane Private Eye for the Pittsburgh listening
audience."
"I walked along the cold slate path of the alleyway and down to where Benny the
Bookie and his Thugs called home,'" Scott read the script in his "Sam
Dane" tone.
"Hey Betty, isnt this Jeffs part?" Maple asked the brunette writer
as they stood around the water cooler.
"Well, yes, but right now he and Hilary are in the Green Room meeting with their
Marriage Counselor."
"Marriage Counselor? More like a mortician for those two!" Maple laughed.
"Meanwhile, in the Green Room...."
"Now Hilary, I think instead of taking your anger out on Jeff with physical violence,
you should communicate to him your feelings. Lets try that."
Im taking marriage advice from a fan, I dont believe it," Hilary remarked
wryly, her arms folded in her lap.
"Come on Hilary, lets just try what Michele suggests; it couldnt
hurt!" Jeff pleaded.
Hilary scowled in response.
"Hilary," Jeff gritted his teeth and looked at her with stern eyes.
"Oh alright! Jeffrey, what you did in London with that Czechoslovakian Chamber Pot
hurt me immensly! How could you ever think of doing something like THAT with a perfidious
pirana like, like THAT!"
"Hilary, I did it to save democracy and everything I believe in!" Jeff pleaded
in despair, realizing that it was the fiftieth time he had explained that to her.
Hilarys eyes wavered from anger to admiration. "Thats not good
enough," she replied, fixing her skirt and biting her lip.
Jeff sighed and rolled his eyes. Looking at her sideways he gritted his teeth and smiled.
"Hilary," he faced her with love in his
eyes, "I did it for you."
Hilary smiled. "Well, in that case," she touched his chin, "youre
getting there," she finished sarcastically.
"HILARY BOOTH!" Jeff yelled in disgust.
"Wow, sounds like theyre making real progress, doesnt it?" Mackie
remarked sarcastically as he sipped his water. He and Scott had just finished Sam
Dane and were taking a break while Eugenia and Mr. Foley did their long- awaited
interpretation of "The Nutcracker" for the Pittsburgh listening audience.
"BettyBettyBetty," Scott said as his favorite writer rounded the corner.
"Hows Victor doing?"
"Who?" the writer replied, smiling at Sherwood.
"Victor," Scott said in confusion. "Victor Comstock. You know, tall, bald,
grandeloquent beer in your underwear guy? The one who pops in and out of the
station during crucial scenes and is absent at any other time? Victor!"
"Oh-him. Hmmm.. I dont know, I havent seen him in a while. Oh well,
hes probably in Washington or something," Betty said, perusing the papers on
her clipboard. "Scott," she looked up, "could I talk to you for a
second?"
"Sure!" Scott said dotting the exclamation point with his trademarked grin. He
threw the paper cup away and gave Mackie the
"Im THE man!" smile before retreating to the Writers Room with
Betty.
Mackie shrugged his shoulders and turned back to the evening paper in his hand. Furrowing
his brow, he looked up in confusion. "Hmmm." Tilting the door to the Studio
open, he peered inside. Walnut shells flew out of the crack and Mackie closed the door.
Flipping to page eight the gentleman remarked, "No, I guess he doesnt need any
help. Hey! Would ya get a load of this...." before trailing off into the Hollywood
news.
"So Betty, what did you want to talk to me about?" Scott asked as he shut the
door behind him.
Betty set the clipboard down on her desk and turned around. "Scott, weve known
each other for a long time now, and I-I, well Scott, I know I havent exactly been
vocal about my feelings for you..." Betty folded her hands together and looked at
them nervously. "Scott," she looked up at him, "I-"
"Aha! I knew Id find you two somewhere! Betty, we need to discuss the new
sponsors for The Hands of Time!"
"Victor?" Betty questioned.
"Victor," Scott grumbled. "What are you doing here?"
"Well Sherwood, I am the legal Station Manager of WENN. Well, actually, Im not
exactly Station Manger, thats really Bettys job; you see, when I arrived home
from Germany, Washington had jobs waiting for me in D.C., that is to say, the Di strict of
Columbia, where our na t ions capital is. Now, since I cannot possibly be in two
places at once-"
"Yes, yes, yes, I know the story Vic. What I meant was- oh nevermind," Scott
rolled his eyes and humphed in disgust.
"Betty, are you coming?" Victor questioned.
"Yes Victor," Betty said, and followed the tall man almost as if she were in a
trance.
"Betty, what did you want to say to me?" Scott questioned. "Betty?" he
pulled her arm and she turned around.
"Scott," she said as a look of helplessness came over her.
"Ive-Ive- tonight behind the Glickman Building-please," she said
with desperate eyes. Then she turned and left.
"Hmmm...." Scott pondered the odd chain of events. "This looks like a job
for Sherwood, Scott Sherwood!" he declared. Suddenly his brown suit changed to a
sparkling white and his hair was smoothly slicked back with Bryl-Cream.
He was a man ready for action.
Part Six
"The night passed slowly for Scotty. He had to stay at WENN for
the next four hours and pretend everything was fine, when he knew it wasnt."
"You dont need to remind me," Scott grumbled, shoving his hands in the
pockets of his trousers.
"Scott had finally finished his work at WENN, and to his dispair, Betty and Victor
still had not returned from what Gertie called their dinner date."
"Dinner date-hmph. That guy couldnt do dinner if his bald-head depended on
it."
"Now it was time to go into action. As Sherwood-Scott Sherwood, our hero tapped down
the wet slate sidewalk on a chilly Pittsburghian evening-"
"Pittsburghian? Is that even a word?" he questioned.
"Shh!!! Dont ruin the mystery of the moment!"
"As if the picture of me tapping down a sidewalk didnt already ruin the romance
of it all."
"Not necissarily! Many romantic men tap danced down sidewalks- Fred Astaire, Gene
Kelly-"
"Yeah, but I bet none of them were mysterious!"
"Just another way youre one of a kind Scotty boy."
"Dont call me that here! Its Sherwood-Scott Sherwood!"
"SHERWOOOOOOD!!!!!!" a chorus of sopranos sang from the back.
"Oh no! A tap routine?!" Scott questioned in shock as the Sherwood girls, one by
one, came out from behind the surrounding buildings with glittering costumes and bright,
shiny feathers. Swirling around they all came to the middle and circled around Scott.
Then, one by one, they twirled around their boss and planted a kiss on his cheek,
proceeding to introduce themselves.
SMAK! the kiss plunked red lipstick on the shaven cheek. "Laura!"
SMAK! another red rose to add to the bunch. "Jenny!"
The girls continued to circle around until the last one came to the front. Looking at
Sherwood with hero-worship in her eyes, she couldnt resist and grabbed his face,
planting a kiss right on his lips. With a proud grin she looked to the front and announced
her name in the Pittsburgh lights.
"REBECCA!!"
"Oh no!" Scott shouted in dispair as the girls twirled again and started to sing
around him.
"Dum-da-da-da-da da-da dum-da-da-da-da ~ SHERWOOD!
Whos the man that gets ALL the ladies?
SHERWOOD!
Whos the guy with the glint in his eye?
SHERWOOD!!"
"Hey, thats not a half bad tune," Scott grinned and hummed along. Then,
suddenly realizing he had to meet Betty in exactly thirty-six-and-a-half seconds he
shouted, "Wait a minute!! Cut!! Hey stop! Shows over!"
"But Scotty!" the girls cried.
"Im sorry girls; maybe later. I have to go to work now."
"Thats what you always say Scott," Rachel pouted.
"But you forgive me, dont you?" he flashed his smile.
"Of course!"
"The girls left and the street grew dark again, leaving Scott to wander down the
pavement wondering what he would meet with on the other side of the Glickman building; the
back side. The dark side. The side NO ONE ever goes to."
"Arent you dramatizing a bit much? Granted, not many people go to the back of
the building, but it doesnt mean its heck on earth." Just then Scott
turned the corner and met with the back of the Glickman building. "Maybe I was
wrong."
Thick darkness surrounded the two brown eyes and faded the white jacket into a deep gray.
Feeling about, Scott heard the screech of a cat and wings overhead followed by the sharp
chirp of a bird; a cruel bird, a ravenous bird
waiting for its prey. CRASH! The sounds of metal colliding with pavement shocked our hero
and he pulled out his gun, but before he could say anything,
"Darn pen-lights never work!"
"Betty? Is that you?"
"Oh, hi Scott! Yes, its me; just hold on one second."
Furrowing his brow, Scott put the Colt 45 back in the holster and moved slowly toward the
direction of the voice that rang love in his ears.
Click, click! "There we go!" Suddenly a tiny beam of bright light shot up
between the two, revealing how close they were. "Well, hello Scott," Betty
commented, pursing her lips and turning red.
He smiled. "Hlo Betty. Um, you wanted to speak to me?" he backed away a
bit.
"Yes, Scott," she looked down, "come with me." Taking his hand in
hers, she led him down the alleyway and to a cold black door. Pulling it open, a blackened
corridor faced the two, dark and foreboding. He followed her down the path, one hand
embracing hers, the other emabracing the pistol at his side. Ding! The elevator bell rang
and the two stepped in; Betty pressed for the 16th floor.
"Betty, whats going on?"
"Shh. Were almost there." Slowly the elevator climbed to the top in total
darkness albeit the tiny glow of Bettys pen-light. He couldnt help but notice
that she had changed since he last saw her; her bright blue dress had been replaced by a
soft black organdy print that complemented her dark curls and soft brown eyes.
"Betty," he began, reaching out tenderly to her arm.
DING! "Oh good, were here!" Betty hopped off the elevator with a smile.
"You just HAD to write that in didnt you?"
"Relax Scotty boy, youll get your chance. Now, back to the story."
"Scott, did you say something?" Betty asked the handsome man at her side.
"Nice touch," he smiled.
"Thanks. Now, answer the love of your life."
"No Betty, I didnt say anything."
"Oh, alright. Well, were here!" she smiled shyly. "Go on, open the
door."
He pushed open the creaky door and a million stars, like tiny drops of dew shining on dark
blue paper, greeted the couple as they walked onto the roof of the Glickman Building.
Walking to the edge, the two looked down at Pittsburgh with its dim streetlights and
fading sounds of whistles indicating the shift changes at the steel mills nearby. Scott
and Betty looked at each other with a glow in their eyes.
"Scott."
"Betty."
"I hate the smell of burning metal," the two said simultaneously. They both
laughed.
"Scott, youve probably seen so many exotic and adventurous places in the world;
why come to Pittsburgh?"
"Theres only one answer to that Miss Roberts."
"Oh and what is that?" she smiled, raising one eyebrow and folding her arms.
"Betty Betty Betty," he smiled.
Betty turned away, not wanted Scott Sherwood of all men to see her blush.
"Come," she turned back smiling. Leading the way, Betty took Scott to a small
table in the corner with two chairs and a candle shining brightly in
the midst of the black Pittsburgh night. He helped her into her seat, and sat himself.
"Betty," Scott said, confused, "I thought you already had dinner with
Victor."
"What? Oh, no, we were just meeting a sponsor for the station! Dinner with Victor?
Where did you get that idea?"
"I dont know," he smiled, forgetting everything in the world but her eyes.
She smiled back and the two gazed at each other for a moment, their heartbeats keeping the
same time.
"Oooh, the blue plate special!" Scott suddenly exclaimed. Sticking the napkin in
his shirt he grinned at Betty, "Youre the greatest."
"Thanks Scotty. I hope its good; Im starving!" The two chowed down,
enjoying the delectable Buttery meal of succulent fried chicken and corn while chatting
about WENN and the things people chat about while eating meals from the Buttery on the
roof of the Glickman Building at night in Pittsburgh, PA.
"Well Betty, that was delicious."
"Im glad you enjoyed it," she said, yawning.
Looking at his watch, Sherwood realized it was nearly midnight. "Id better get
you home."
Scotty and Betty walked slowly, secretly in their own way not wanting the night to end.
Linking her arm in his, Betty leaned on his shoulder and didnt say a word except to
laugh at his jokes.
"Well, goodnight Betty," Scott said, letting go of her at the door to the
Barbican.
"Oh Scott, I dont want this night to end."
"Then it doesnt have to," he smiled, pulling her into his arms and
twirling her around to the music floating down the street from an open window.
Betty, he asked as they danced, "why did you invite me here
tonight?"
"I wanted to see you. It seems everytime I try to talk to you someone interrupts,
usually Victor. The roof of the Glickman was the only place I knew where we could be
alone. Well, unless that crazy girl was there again, but I was willing to take my
chances."
He smiled. "Betty, when Victor came in and interrupted us today, it was as if you
were possesed; you had to follow him. Is something wrong?"
"Oh Scott. Theres so much I have to tell you, but-"
"But what?" he stopped and they both stood still in silence. "What is it
Betty?"
"Please, Scotty, dont ask me now. Ive got to go."
"Betty--"
"Goodnight Agent 1313," Betty said, a look of sadness in her eyes.
"Betty Roberts," he caught her by the arm before she got to the door. "Do
you love Victor Comstock?"
"Well Scott, I-"
Part Seven
"What will she say?! What will she do?!"
"Well, you won't find out tonight," came a deep voice from down the hall.
"What do you mean we won't find out tonight?! Say, who's writing this story
anyway?"
Suddenly the dark Pittsburgh night turned into the bright lights of WENN. Sherwood was no
longer Agent 1313 but Scotty boy, and Miss Roberts wasn't dodging a question, she was
dodging the hot coffee pot in Mr. Eldridge's hand on the way down to finish Valiant
Journey.
"Hey, Narrator, what the heck is going on here? I was just about to find out Betty's
true feelings and- and THIS?!"
"I don't know Scotty! One minute I was about to continue and the next a tall bald guy
is standing next to me in the director's chair! Say, who are you?"
"Victor. Victor Comstock. At least that's what my mother always called me. You see,
my father, while he was alive, persisted in calling me 'sonny boy'," he laughed.
"For years I signed my school papers 'Sonny Boy Comstock',"
"You did?!" the Narrator asked, laughing.
"Yes!" he turned serious, "It still plagues me sometimes..." the man's
eyes drifted off along with his thoughts. "How could you dad?" he asked, wiping
a tear from his eye. "Why couldn't he love me for who I was instead of a 'sonny
boy'?" the bald man burst into tears.
"Umm... Scotty boy... I think you're on your own for this segment," the Narrator
put a comforting arm around Sonny Vic Vic. "Hey, it's gonna be OH-kay," she
soothed him with fearful eyes.
"Hmm. So I'm in charge, eh?" Scotty grinned. "Alrighty then; there's going
to be some changes around here starting right now."
Scott walked into Studio A and interrupted Hilary's eggplant parmigan for an important
announcement.
"We now interrupt this broadcast to bring you listeners a very special treat - 78
rpm's that you yourself could play at home, but would much rather listen to on the radio -
for the entire evening!!"
"Scott, what the devil," Hilary began to howl.
"Hildy Hildy Hildy, I thought you could use a night off," Scotty grinned and
pointed to the door where Jeff stood waiting, coats in hand.
Hilary turned back to the brown eyed devil, "Bless you Scotty boy," and
sauntered to the door.
"That marriage counselor worked wonders," Mackie remarked smartly. "Thanks
Scotty."
Sherwood left the studio, Lester in charge of the record player since Mr. Foley and
Eugenia had already left for the evening, and was met by a frantic Betty in the hall.
"Scott, you're going to RUIN us! Records all night will see the competition ahead by
double! How could you even-"
"Betty Betty Betty, relax! I have it all taken care of. The entirety of the
Pittsburgh population, with the exception of the steel plant night shift, the kiddies who
are in bed by now, the crazy teenagers out for a movie and a glass of pop at the
drugstore, the old folks tucked in for a good night's rest, the women with terrible
headaches after taking care of the baby all day, and the men down at What Ales You, will
be tuning into WENN tonight; I know. After all, I AM Sherwood, aren't I? Now," he
placed his hands on her shoulders, "what's say you and I crack open a warm, saucy box
of Pete's-a-Pie and toast the first night off in this station's history?"
"It's a deal," Betty said, mesmerized.
"Then please, join me." Scott led the enamored writer to the Green Room and
pushed open the door to reveal a golden ballroom filled with magnificent guests, all of
whom awed at their entrance. Betty's eyes grew wide and she looked down to find herself no
longer in the drab gray dress she had worn that day, but a beautiful silken treasure, hand
made of the finest red satin and sewn together with thread that shone like diamonds. Her
hair was fastened atop her head by two silver clips, engraved with her name, and droplet
diamonds graced her hears, glowing between the fallen curls that surrounded them. Placing
her white gloved hand in Scott's she noted he had also gone through a miraculous change.
No longer was he wearing the plain red shirt and sport jacket; a sable tuxedo outlined his
strong frame, satin lapels shining in the light from the crystal chandeliers above. He
wore a deep red rose- the color of her dress- that accented the red undertone in his
majestic cape, and shining black spats; his outfit being crowned by a black top-hat worthy
of Fred Astaire himself.
Removing the hat and cape, and giving the silver-plated walking stick to the ever so
trimmed butler at his side, Scott proceeded to wrap Betty in his arms and twirl her around
the ballroom floor. As they spinned the guests oohed and ahhed, and even the orchestra
gave them a round of applause.
Finally able to drag her away from the millions of men that surrounded her, Scott took
Betty out onto the veranda, and the two gazed at the glowing moon above.
"It's like a great pearl," Betty remarked softly.
"It still isn't worthy enough to grace your crown, Lady
Elizabeth Roberts," Scott remarked, touching her hair.
She turned to him and smiled, a hint of red gracing her cheek.
"Do you love me Lady Elizabeth?"
"Yes, oh yes Agent Sherwood; I could never love anyone more."
Part Eight
"When we last left our hero, he was in the midst of a ballroom soiree with Lady
Elizabeth Roberts of WENN, Pittsburgh, who had just admitted her undying love for
Sherwood. We now return you to the ballroom, or was it the Green Room?, of WENN...."
Scott caressed Lady Elizabeth's cheek. "Lady Elizabeth, you have made me forever the
happiest man in the world," he leaned forward to kiss her and all of a sudden-
"Alright Scotty, Sonny- I mean Victor seems to be doing better now, so I'll take
over."
"WHAT?!"
Scott looked up and then back down to the woman standing next to him, her face twisted in
frustration.
"Look, you've interrupted this entire story! Now I finally have the chance and, and,
and you decide to pop up!"
The narrator sighed. "I know what you're going through, believe me. But if I let you
two kiss now, there'll be no more story, and no more-"
"SHERWOOD!!!!" the Starlets chimed in.
"Yes, exactly, thank you."
"Well, I don't want a SHERWOOD!!! I want a Scott; the kniving con-man I fell in love
with!"
"Betty?! You, you fell in love with me even before you knew I was a Secret
Agent?" Scott asked in disbelief.
Betty turned to him and smiled. "Scott, you didn't need to impress me with your white
suit, your black tux, or this sequined ballgown; I knew I loved you the moment you walked
in the door of WENN. Well, maybe not exactly then, but.... it sounds lovely. Anyway, one
day I just woke up and realized it; no silver bells needed to ring in the Pittsburgh
streets, no dazzling beauties needed to sing your praises - all you needed to do was
smile. Then I knew I loved you, and always would."
"Oh Betty,"
"Oh boy. Do you know what this is going to do to the ratings?"
"Forget the ratings!" Scott shouted. "I've got Betty and WENN, and if that
doesn't pull ratings then what will?" He put his arm around Betty and the two looked
at each other, romance burning in their eyes.
"A new show, that's what will!"
"Hey, who are you?" Scott asked the two men that had just burst into the Green
Room. The couple looked at each other in confusion.
"Yeah, lots of action, lots of stars; we'll call it THE LOT!"
"Excuse me," Betty interrupted their brainstorm, "but who are you?"
"Archibald M. Cromwell,"
"And Ronald Jeris Prichard at your service ma'am."
"Well, we're really not at your service anymore." The two men looked at each
other and laughed.
"Well then, whose service are you at?" Scott demanded. He could tell a scoundrel
a mile away, and he wished these two were thousands of miles away at the moment.
"WENN's. Funeral, you know."
"Yes. It seems that the funeral bell has sounded the knell for the fall of all at
this station. Based on the latest ratings you're-"
"Out of business! Goodbye!"
A.M.Cromwell and R.J. Prichard laughed themselves silly as Betty and Scott looked at each
other in despair.
"What are we going to do Scott?"
Scott furrowed his brow. "You can con a con man," he pondered, "but how do
you con a conglomerate?"
"Will this mean the end of WENN- forever? What will happen to Scott and Betty's
budding romance? What will happen to radio station WENN? What will happen to the faithful
cast, crew, sponsors, manager, and writer of WENN, Pittsburgh?"
"What will happen to the writer of this story?!"
"Oh, well that's simple," A.M.C. replied, "you're fired!"
"What?"
"Yes. We're going to hire new, younger, more talented blood for the new show,"
R.J. P. finished.
"Oh look, here he comes now!"
"Is cataclysm spelled with an "i" or a
"y"?"
"NOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"
Part Nine
"When last we left WENN, the station had been taken over by
A.M. Cromwell and R. J. Prichard; two ruthless moneymongers whose sole aim was to cut
spending and raise profits at all costs. WENN's head and only writer, Betty Roberts, had
been fired and forced to leave the station! Where is she going to go? Will Scott follow
her? Will the rest of WENN follow them? Will Victor ever get the therapy he needs?!"
"Hey, I don't need therapy! I just need someone to love me for who I am...bald spot
and all!"
"Er..yes..well..anyway, the WENNers are in crisis; what will our brave Sherwood,
Scott Sherwood do to save the day?!"
"Great. So it's my problem. Again."
"Scott, that is how you got the name."
"Yeah yeah.. I know.. but they canceled WENN! How the heck can I get out of something
like
that?!"
"Well, you could always kill them, and then secretly dispose of their bodies and
their legal papers, denying any knowledge of them."
"Yeah, but it's the 1940s...we have honor and morals. We'd have to wait 'til the 90s
to do that, and I don't think everyone wants to wait around 50 years for that."
"Who says we have to wait?" Betty asked slyly.
Scott furrowed his brow and looked slyly toward the writer, "Betty?" he
questioned.
"We may not be H.G. Wells, but we are WENN. There are some things a radio station can
do that even a time machine can't."
"Like broadcast the muse of the mind, the salmagundi of the
soul, the-"
"Victor, can I ask you a question?" Maple's Brooklyn twang interrupted the
syllabic speech.
"Oh no, now the writer's even sounding like Victor."
Oh shush!
"Why yes Ms. LaMarsh, what is your query?"
"Did you have Webster's implanted in your head, or do you just memorize it at
will?"
"All right Betty, what's your idea?" Sherwood asked, somewhat intrigued at what
she was thinking.
"Well...."
"Hours passed with the crew bustling about, preparing Betty's plan that would go into
action that night- the night of WENN's final broadcast. Betty, C.J, Scott, and Mr. Foley
set up Studio A accordingly while Gertie and Eugenia kept the two dreary new Presidents as
happy and as distracted as possible. (Maple also helped in this venture to great
success...) Mackie, Hilary, and Jeff busied themselves with an alternate plan in case
tonight didn't work. It was an intricate, detailed little ditty involving loose cables and
large elevators with no operators; the full details of which cannot be seen here, as
requested by the three, on fear of possible incrimination. Mr. Eldridge, meanwhile,
decided to visit the buttery for a piece of cake, and Victor randomly wound up Washington,
much like he did in every other episode.
Finally it was eight o'clock.
Finally, the apocalypse of WENN had come."
"Gee, let's make it sound a little MORE freaky! Look - there's the four trollops!
Ahh! I'm
scared!!"
"It's four HORSEMEN Scott... HORSEMEN," Victor corrected.
"Ohh... whatever. They got the drift. Hey~aren't you supposed to be in
Washington?!"
"Yes. And I'm going...where people LOVE ME!"
"Sometimes you gotta go, where everybody knows your name," Betty, head in a
script, came singing down the hallway.
"Oh why does everyone mock me?!!" Victor ran off.
"Most likely to see his therapist."
You're just the narrator..stick to narrating.
"Oh, fine. But admit it, it was funny."
All right.. I'll admit that. But, back to the story.
"Are you nervous about tonight Betty?"
She closed the script and looked up. "A little. Are you nervous Scott?"
"Nah," he blew it off nonchalantly.
The writer smiled and leaned up, kissing his cheek. "Don't worry; everything will be
fine Scott. I know it will." Her eyes met his and she smiled, then headed off down
the hall.
"You know Betty Roberts," he said to himself, "I think you're right."
A.M.Cromwell and R.J. Prichard sat in the control room like two vultures ready to attack
at any moment. Displeased with the fact that they legally had to allow the last broadcast
to go on, they grumbled to themselves throughout the night, every once in a while breaking
out into hoarse, cracking laughter that faded into bouts of dry coughing before they
settled down again. The
evening's programs wound down to an end, and it was, finally, time for sign off. Each one
of the company, in turn, said farewell to their listening public, thanking them for being
such faithful, wonderful fans throughout their time at the station. The last one to appear
before the chrome mic was Betty Roberts, the one A.M.C. and R.J.P. mocked the most.
"She's such a CHILD."
"But Cromwell, look at her! She's more of a schoolmarm to me; you'd never see her out
past 8 pm any night!"
The two broke into hacks of laughter.
"In my time at W E N N I have met many wonderful people, and had many fantastic
experiences that I will cherish and carry with me for the rest of my life. My year and a
half in Pittsburgh, PA has given me a chance to do so many things that most women only
dream of. Now I would like to extend a special thanks to Mr. A.M. Cromwell and Mr. R.J.
Prichard for snatching those things away from me, those dreams, that joy.... and for
replacing them with sadness and trepidation
about my future," she started to break down into tears.
"These-two-won...wonderful men," the tears began to flow, "have dashed from
me my hope, my joy.... I .. I don't know what I can say but, thank you. This is W E N N
signing....off!" She ran out of the studio and down the hall, tears flooding the way
and leaving the rest of the cast, including A.M.C and R.J.P. in shock.
"Although for a full ten seconds the pair of misers were inconsolable, they soon
recovered to their snithing selves and headed out, nodding smartly to the cast members
lining their way to the door, who replied to their triumphant looks with cold glares. As
they reached the door, however, their triumph fell from their faces as the two old men
were trampled down by hundreds of people storming the door of the station, led by none
other than the six Sherwood Girls themselves."
"SCOTTY!!!" they all screamed upon entering the door.
"Hello girls," he grinned, and they all ran up to him, hugging him in turn.
"Laura, Rebecca, Ashley, Nina, Jenny, Rachel.. I don't know what I could've done
without you," he thanked them.
Betty just looked on when Scott met her eyes. His grin changed to a questioning look, and
Betty replied with a smile and a roll of her eyes before walking over and plucking a kiss
on his cheek.
"You did it Scott," she smiled.
"No Miss Roberts - WE did it."
"Well, I would love to stay here and watch the carnage unfold, but Jeffrey and I have
a late dinner engagement, don't we darling?"
"Why yes Mittens, I almost forgot!" The two grinned mischievously at one another
and stepped over the two bodies before walking out the doorway giggling.
"Looks like the marriage counselor did wonders," Mackie remarked smartly.
"Well, you know what they say," Maple smiled, "wonders always cease."
The two laughed and said their good-byes to everyone before making their way through the
crowd of fans bashing the misers.
"And THAT'S for hurting BETTY!!" one enthusiastic
gentleman yelled before decking A.M.C. in the jaw.
"Well, I would love to stay, but it is getting late," Eugenia smiled. Suddenly
Mr. Foley came up from behind her and whispered in her ear. "Why, yes Mr.
Foley," she blushed, "I-I would be glad to have you escort me home."
Mr. Foley blushed and ran his hand through his hair nervously before helping Eugenia make
her way through the crowd.
"Cake anyone?"
"Tom, do you ever stop eating cake?"
"Well Gertie, it is sweet, but not to worry; nothing could be as sweet as you."
She laughed and patted her hair, "Well..."
"And that's for almost ending Crimson Blade!" one avid ten year old
smacked R.J.P. in the behind with the last of his beebees from his Red Rider.
"Well Betty, I think it's about time you got home."
"Oh you do, do you Scott?"
"Well, you could always get back a little later..." he grinned.
"No, I think I'll be late enough as it is. Goodnight Mr.
Eldridge, goodnight Gertie."
"Night Betty; night Scott!" the two smiled.
"Well Gertie, what are we going to do about this mess?" the elderly man asked,
looking around at the chaos.
"Oh don't worry Tom," the redhead waved her hand at the crowd. "Everything
will be back to normal tomorrow."
The two smiled and leaned back against the desk, reflecting on the site before them.
"Young people these days...."
"The moon shone bright on the streets of Pittsburgh that night. Outside the summer
heat had died down temporarily, and it was a perfectly serene night for a walk. As Betty
and Scott jaunted down the street, Betty couldn't help but notice how wonderful he looked
tonight in his jet black suit and red tie. Looking up at the sky she couldn't help but
admire the many stars. About to say something to Scott, she looked back down at
him.....and his suit was white as snow, glowing in the moonlight.
She was convinced he was her night in shining armor."
The End.
"Or is it?"
That's it, next time I'm having Foley narrate.
"Oh, you wouldn't want to do that."
And why not?
"Are you kidding? He talks more than I do!"