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Little Girl Lost

by Emma Redmer

Disclaimer: Rupert Holmes, et al. owns the characters (with the exception of Emily Jackman). No infringement is intended.

Italics denotes thoughts

This is set somewhere between "The New Actor" and "Happy Homecomings".

CRASH!!!! Emily Jackman jumped up from the green room table, where she was sitting. She was taking a quick lunch break and became so engrossed in the radio magazine she was reading that she hadn't noticed the coffee cup fall out of her hand and onto the floor. The nineteen-year-old girl burst into tears as she reached for a towel and began mopping up the floor.

This wasn't the first time today that she broke something. So far, she dropped two glasses, a microphone, and managed to lose her mail and Miss Roberts' mail somewhere in the writer's room.

Emily was hired as an intern to help Miss Roberts with her writing load. She loved to write more than anything in the world, and wanted to become a radio scriptwriter when she graduated college. Miss Roberts was patient with her, but she knew how trying she could be. She was always clumsy, but it seemed to be worse when she was attempting to be helpful. She had added pressure on her today, too. Miss Roberts had been called to Boston to talk to Mr.Pruitt about something. Emily felt sorry for her fellow writer. She only met Mr. Pruitt twice, and she already disliked the man.

"What is going on here?" snapped a famililar voice. Emily sighed. "Emmaline, not again! We should put up strict instructions not to let you near anything in the least bit fragile."

Miss Booth was very intimidating. She always called her Emmaline or Emma rather than Emily. Emily could vaguely recall seeing her in 'The Rivals' when she was very small, but she couldn't remember all that much about the former star except what her mother told her.

"Emmaline, I need the script for 'The Hands of Time'. Scott, Mackie and I go on in three minutes!" Miss Booth went on as she poured herself a cup of coffee.

Emily walked over to the trash can with the remains of her mug. As she did, she accidentally tripped over Miss Booth, who spilled her coffee all over her beautiful blue suit and matching shoes. She screamed and Emily grabbed the towel again.

"Golly, Miss Booth, I'm so sorry. I can't do anything right. I didn't mean to..." Emily attemted to say. Miss Booth cut her off.

"If you say 'sorry' one more time, I'll have you dipped in a vat of hot coffee and leave you there!" wailed the radio actress. Scott Sherwood entered that moment, polishing off the last vestiges of the Buttery's famous Egg Salad Sandwich. Emily averted her attention from Miss Booth to Mr. Sherwood.

Mr. Sherwood was the most gorgeous man Emily had ever seen. He was even cuter than Cary Grant, her favorite movie actor. He was charming and funny and always seemed to have some hacknayed scheme up his sleeve. Plus, he annoyed Miss Booth to no end. He was the only person who ever dared to call her "Hildy". He grinned at the girl. "Hey there, Emily. How's it going?" One look at the squealing Hilary answered his query. "That good, huh?"

She sighed. "No, it isn't, Mr. Sherwood. I'm such a failure. I forgot to send out for Mr. McHugh's barbeque ribs and now he's mad at me. I can't remember where anything is. Miss Bremer asked for her music for 'Bedside Manor' and I made a mess out the storage closet looking for it."

"Aw, don't put yourself down like that, Emily. You're a pretty good writer. I talked to Betty and she thinks that you might have a future if you stop getting so frusterated over little mistakes," Scott said gently.

Mr. Bloom poked his head in the green room. "We're on in less than a minute!" He took one look at Hilary and grinned. "Nice outfit, Hilary. Brown is really your color." He ducked out the swinging doors before he could be hit by a flying radio magazine. Emily followed him before she could cause any more disasters.

She made it to the writer's room with no problems and immediately scooped up a large stack of scripts. They were for the afternoon's shows. Emily had made sure that they were in perfect order with 'The Hands of Time', Miss Booth's big soap opera, on top. She smiled dreamily as she imagined handsome Mr. Sherwood, who played Brent on 'The Hands of Time', telling Miss Booth, who played Brent's wife Elizabeth, that he survived a nasty bombing in London and was now working for the government. What Emily didn't notice was Mr. Eldridge shuffiling down the hallway carrying his mail. She tripped over the elderly man and the scripts and the girl went flying.

Emily jumped up in consternation. "Oh, gosh, Mr. Eldridge, I am so sorry! I'm the world's biggest disaster area. They ought to put on sign on me that says 'Danger, Major Klutz Ahead'." She began to gather up the scripts. She didn't have the time to put them back in order.

Scott and Hilary were staring at their watches and Mackie had just finished announcing the show when Emily rushed into the room, threw scripts into the hands of the waiting performers, and rushed out. As she did, she stubbed her toe on Hilary's microphone. She limped back to the writer's room, figuring that she couldn't cause any damage there.

Mackie opened his script. "Our story today, children, will be 'The Bremen Town Musicians'," he said in confusion. Mr. Foley started braying and meowing.

Hilary angrily looked to the door as she opened her script and read the first line. "I have you at last, Crimson Blade! I will see to it that you never work in this town again! I mean," she corrected herself, "That you never leave this city alive!"

Scott read his script. "Dapne, I need you! I love you! I know I made mistakes in the past, but I want to work this out!"

Emily had turned on the radio the minute she entered the writer's room and she heard the 'Hands of Time' broadcast. She put her head in her hands and began to sob. She had wanted so badly to make a good impression, and now she'd made a mess of a live broadcast. Suddenly, she got an idea. Her mother had always told her that sitting around and crying was not the way to solve a situation. Emily did plenty of crying anyway. But even as she did, she ran back to Studio A.

Mackie was motioning to C.J, who just shrugged. Hilary put her hand over her microphone. "Where is Emily? Where is my 'Hands of Time' script? She gave us the wrong scripts!"

"I didn't mean to," mouthed Emily as she quietly entered the studio and whispered something into Mackie's ear. He nodded and whispered it to Hilary, who whispered it to Scott. Emily stood still, hoping that she would do less damage that way.

"Dapne, look!" exclaimed Scott. "We're being held prisoner by pirates! They're taking us to Bremen to sell as slaves."

"It's Daphne," Hilary snapped. She then added, "Oh, save me, Brent! The Crimson Blade has me and Elizabeth trapped!"

Mr. Foley began to make animal sounds and sloshed around a bucket of water. "Then, the cat scratched the theif..uh, pirate. The donkey kicked him. The dog bit him in the leg. The rooster flew over the, uh, ocean, crowing 'Cockle-Doodle-Doo'!" read Mackie. "The pirate wailed 'Oh, a witch has scratched me! A giant kicked me! A monster bit me! And a judge wailed 'Kill the pirate do'! This isn't a pirate ship, it's a zoo!"

Mr. Foley was meowing and barking enough for an entire army of Bremen Town Musicians. Scott gave him a look. "Now, we fight, Crimson Blade! If I can remember how to." Mr. Foley grabbed two lengths of metal and banged them together. Emily made a stabbing gesture with her hand. Scott groaned heavily.

"Oh Elizabeth, Daphne, he's stabbed me!" Scott exclaimed as Eugenia's music rose to a thundering cresendo.

"Oh, no! Brent! My Brent!" wailed Hilary. Emily whispered something to Eugenia, then to Hilary and Mr. Foley. Eugenia played odd, tinkiling music. Mr. Foley rustled his coat. "Oh, Brent, I had the most fantastic dream." Hilary said to an amused Scott. "I just dreamed about a pirate ship and a group of music-playing animals."

Emily ran back to the writer's room to collect the scripts for "Colonel Moore at the General Store", the next show on today's scheduale. As she walked carefully down the hallway, she ran into Maple LaMarsh, the curvaceous redheaded actress with the Brooklyn accent. Emily moaned as she looked at the scripts.

The scripts were covered with the meatloaf sandwich that Maple was eating.

"I'm sorry, Miss LaMarsh." Emily blubbered once more. Maple seemed pretty good about it.

"That's okay, sweetie," she said. "Ya want some help scraping the meatloaf offa those scripts?"

Emily sighed. "That's all right, Miss LaMarsh. I'm sure that I can manage this without hurting myself." She shook her head as Maple sauntered into the studio. Mom's right, She thought to herself, I am a little lost girl. I just need direction. And a lot of help.

The End

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