Previous Challenge Entry (Level 3 - Advanced)
Topic: Commitment (01/05/12)
TITLE: The Scurrying Flurrying Race Against Time
By Jenna Dawn
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The roar of the helicopter threatened to drown the voice of the man dangling beneath it. His body looped around the landing skid with one arm extended toward a woman trapped on the roof of a burning building.
“Do it now! It’s gonna blow!”
The woman squinted from the smoke, looked into the eyes of the man and lunged toward him. The helicopter pulled away just as the top floor of the building exploded.
At least that’s how it appeared after special effects were added.
“Cut! That’s a wrap,” the director announced.
Still clinging to the helicopter, which was suspended within a large sound stage beside a green screen, Drew Ferring released his grip on the woman actor. She dropped to a soft air bag below followed by Drew. As he slid off the air bag he eyed his assistant. “Adam, what time is it?”
“5:30.” The young man looked at his iPad. “You have just enough time to make it to the meeting with Spielberg.”
“Adam, I told you to reschedule that.”
Drew grabbed a towel and began wiping makeup off his face as he walked off the set.
“Drew, come on.” Adam jogged to catch up. “You don’t reschedule Steven Spielberg. If you land his next movie – ”
“I can land his next movie tomorrow. Today I have an appointment.”
Opening his trailer door he stepped inside and glanced back at Adam. “Reschedule it.”
Drew flung the door closed, pulled off his clothes and threw on the button-down shirt and jeans he had arrived at the studio in. He slipped on his wedding ring he and snatched up his keys and phone, which began to ring. Noting the caller, he answered while exiting the trailer.
“Hey Tom.” He took quick strides toward his car.
“Hey man. What are you doing?”
“I got a thing.” Drew lifted his key fob and unlocked his car.
“Well, cancel your thing. I got prime tickets to the Lakers and an invite from Kobe to a party after.”
“Oh . . . man.” Drew opened the door of his BMW and slid behind the wheel. “Dude, I can’t.”
“Okay, you did not just say that. Maybe I should clarify. When I say prime tickets, I mean we’ll need a towel to wipe the sweat as it drips off the players and onto us. We’re talkin’ –”
“Tom! I’m sorry, man. I can’t go, but thanks for the invite.”
Pulling onto Melrose, Drew checked the time again. It was going to be close. His GPS displayed a travel time of an hour and twenty to his Malibu home.
A conversation with his agent helped pass the time on the 10 Freeway. Fifteen miles onto Pacific Coast Highway his wife called.
“Hey, Babe. I’m on PCH . . . ten minutes away.”
“Okay, everything is ready. See you soon.”
Drew smiled. “Love you.”
It was 6:58 as Drew turned onto his street and pulled past the gate to his estate. He jumped out of the car and sprinted up the steps as the front door opened. His wife greeted him with a top hat on her head and tuxedo coat extended with both hands.
Drew grinned and gave her a quick kiss. “You’re so sexy in that top hat, but I think I’ll take that.”
He snatched it from her head and placed it on his own, then slipped his arms into the jacket. “Thanks, Babe. I believe I have a crumpet waiting for me.”
“Mmm, yes. Butterscotch. You better get going. It’s seven o’clock exactly. You mustn't keep her highness waiting.”
Drew grabbed the handrail, took the stairs two at a time and knocked on a bedroom door. It opened, revealing a pink bedroom fit for a princess. There before him stood . . . his little princess; five years old, adorned in a lavender dress and sparkling tiara.
“Hello, Princess Brittany. Well don’t you look lovely?”
“Why, thank you, Lord Ferring. I was a little worried you wouldn’t make it.” Brittany moved to a little round table set with pink tea cups. Her teddy bear sat in one chair and her dolly in another.
“Sir Boo and Lady Molly have already arrived.” Brittany pulled a tiny chair out for her father.
“Thank you. I have so been looking forward to this tea party.”
Drew sat in the teeny chair while Princess Brittany poured invisible tea into his little pink cup. He took a sip.
“Mmmm . . . delicious.”
“Glad you like it, Lord Ferring. Crumpet?”
“Oh yes. Butterscotch . . . my favorite.”
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