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This episode is dedicated to Katt, who helped us out when times were rough


Maddie and Nicole Productions Inc. are back in business after an absence of four months, during which we were mostly preoccupied by exams and such (Yes, they went well, thank you very much)
In our last episode, posted in the beginning of March, we introduced our Mystery Person, (Yes, we like to add these little tidbits, it's a cheap trick to keep you interested), who was travelling to Los Angeles to meet somebody quite unexpectedly. This person could have been either man or woman, but now, at the beginning of the second episode, we learn that she is indeed a woman. And what a woman!


A private jet has just landed on Los Angeles Airport, and the passenger is just about to leave her the plane she chartered especially for this trip.

The camera starts off at her expensive dark blue satin pumps, on to her slim, beautifully formed legs in cream thights. She was wearing fashionable dark blue deux-pièce from Chanels, and a stylish white silken scarf wrapped around her troath. She had a very beautiful face, a cream complexion and cherry red lips. Mysterious eyes were hidden under dark sunglasses. Her dark curls were very elegantly pinned up, and she appeared altogether to be a very succesful business woman.
Yes, she was certainly very .... elegant.

The taxi stopped in front of a beautiful restored Victorian mansion.A soft shimmer of light came from the patio, where two people were enjoying a romantic dinner by candle light under the cool evening sky. That didn't stop our mystery person, who wriggled her way to the front door and petulantly rang the bell.

The door was opened by a handsome dark-haired man in his thirties.

"Jane! Oh my God, what are you doing here!"

"George, charming as always, darling." she said in a low, sophisticated voice. "I thought you might like to be the first to hear the good news."

"Good news? What on earth are you talking about?"

"That you are going to be a daddy." Jane smiled demurely. "I'm pregnant."

"P..pregnant? Since when?"

"Three months"

George still had the presence of mind to reply: "Three months? That cannot be! I had already met Emma three months ago and you and I were not...."

"Four months, darling, naturally. It couldn't have been three. Yes, I am perfectly convinced that it was four."

George leant his head against the doorframe and groaned softly. In his despair he could only think about Emma and how this was going to affect their future together.

"So why are you here? Financial support or something?"

"George, please, nothing like that! And anyway, I make twice as much money as you do! No, I just came down here to tell you the good news and I am thinking of staying here for a while. Sunny California looks like the perfect place for me and George Junior."

She delicately placed her hand on her perfectly flat stomach, and smiled in a sweet motherly way.

George didn't look at all pleased with this situation, nor did Emma, who had been a silent witness to this conversation. She remembered the last time she had seen Jane, and how Jane had said she would do anything to get George back. Emma was convinced that Jane was not pregnant...


Nice bumping into you

  "When, is your cousin coming to the set?" asked Elizabeth. She and Richard sat in the green room of the studio and sipped café mochas. "I cannot wait till I meet him."

"Ah, soon. I just got off the phone with him twenty minutes ago. You'll like him. He reminds me of you. You know: overachiever, brown eyes. So much in common."

"I should like him if he is anything like you."

"Oh really? You flatter me! Sarcastically?"

"Don't I always?" Elizabeth smiled, stood up and straightened her navy suit, "I must be off. I have to meet Barbara Boxer for a little tete-a-tete.

"Hmm, you are coming to his welcoming party?"

"Of course! I may be a little late though. Give him my best till I get there." With that Elizabeth kissed Richard gently on the forehead and briskly left for the red room on the other side of the building. Richard leaned back into the plush couch and breathed in her perfume. Life was seemingly perfect.


"Right this way, Mr. Darcy is the interview room for the movie stars and such. Wait don't go into there. Barbara Boxer is there being interviewed."

"Oh." Was his curt reply, "Is she often an interviewee?"

"Well of course Mr. Darcy! Only the best comes to hiLA!" The man leaned closely to Will and whispered hoarsely. "Mrs. DeBourgh would not approve if we did not have the best."

"I am sure she would not, Mr. Collins. I think that I have this place down. Thank you for the excellent tour of the bathrooms. I suffice to say that sixty-four stalls shall be an ample enough for any weak bladder."

"You are kindness and condescension all its self, Mr. Darcy. May I call you Will?"


"How proper of you. Maintaining the place of work, I see!"

Finally the leech obeyed William and left him to amble around the set. He walked through the studio, weaving through cameras and lights to find himself lost. "Blast! I guess I needed that little man."

Then he suddenly caught sight of the elevator. He walked quickly down the hall then strided to catch the doors. Just six feet from the door a woman came out of the hall into his path. A collision occurred.

"Oh my goodness. Excuse me miss. I am so very sorry. Are you hurt?"

"Well I would feel a bit better if you would get off from being on top of me."

Just then William looked down to his victim's face and found her to be quite pretty. Especially her expressive brown eyes.

"Did anyone say to you that you have very fine eyes?"


How Henry Crawford Lost and Then Found His Own True Self (Part Two)

"Oh my God. What is this? W...where am I?"

"Just relax, Mr. Crawford, and try not to speak too much. You are in a hospital. You have had a terrible accident, you have been in a coma for months and now you have amnesia."

"An accident, what, and when and where? Why won't you explain me?"

"Be quiet, Mr. Crawford, you'll know everything in time, when your memory comes back."

Henry Crawford rested his weary head against the pillows, and closed his eyes. He couldn't remember a thing. Not what happened months ago, not what happened years ago. He couldn't even remember his own telephone number. He opened his eyes again, his vision was still very blurry, and he noticed that there was a stunning brunette sitting by his bed, holding his hand.

"H...hello, who are you? I'm sorry, I don't remember anything. Are you my wife?"

"Uhm... yes, dear."

"Miss Bingham!" the nurse snapped, "You are not supposed to take advantage of his situation!"

"Oh yes, of course. Dreadfully sorry. No, Mr. Crawford, I am not your wife. I am Carrie Bingham, the famous talk show host. I would like to ask you a favour."

"Sure, what is it?"

"Well, I know that you are a very famous actor, and I always try to dig up some dirt about the celebrities, and I was wondering: Would you like to be a guest in my next show, and tell us all about your turbulent love affairs?"

"What? No!"

Carrie pulled a perfectly adorable pouty lip. "But why not?"

"Because I don't want to! And besides, I don't remember a thing. Now would you please leave my room, you are giving me a terrible head ache."

"Suit yourself, Mr. Crawford. But let me just tell you, I am used to getting my way, and I will have you on the show one way or another. Bye for now." She smoothed her skirt, and left the room with a very becoming air of dignity.


The First Date

"Hello, is this Tanisha? ...Yes? Frank Churchill here, do you remember me?... Yes, that's the one. Listen, I know this is rather sudden, but are you by any chance free on Saturday?...No?....No, it's nothing, really.... Yes. Bye....Hello, Monica Stevens?..Frank Churchill. We met in the Starbucks, remember?...Listen, would you consider going on a date with me on Saturday...An appointment for a legwax, eh? Well, some other time maybe.... Yes, bye...Hello ma'am, could I speak to Valerie Matthews please?...Oh, it's Valerie Brown now?...No, no, that's not necessary, I'll phone her some other time..." Yeah, sure, when she's divorced. Frank threw down the phone.

"Anything the matter, Mr. Churchill?" Rob, the dj asked.

"No, not really. It's just that I have to find a date for this bloody high school reunion on Saturday, and I can't find one! And I really wanted to have a drop dead gorgeous date, to impress the guys. I mean, I heard that Greg, the ex-quarterback, was taking that girl from "Who's the Boss."

"What, Alyssa Milano?"

"Yeah, that's the one."

"Man, that's a real bummer."

Harriet walked in. "Hey Frank. Watcha doin'?" she asked.

"Trying to get a date for my reunion on Saturday."

"Oh! Well... You know, maybe you should look somewhere else... Uhh, I mean, you could find someone, uhm... of which you didn't expect it, in an unusual place.."

"That's it! K-Mart!"


"K-Mart! I saw this program on tv once about people cruising for dates in the minimart. Okay, it's for really desperate people, but I am! The only thing I have to do is place a bottle of white wine in the right corner of my supermarket trolly, and..."

"...change out of that shirt."


"Yes. Don't you think it makes you look rather..."

"Rather what? C'mon woman, spill it, I'm in a hurry!"

Harriet looked for the ultimate insult. Tubby, cheap, moronic, white trash, ... "Gay?"

Frank stared at her for a couple of seconds, and then dashed off in the direction of his flat on Sunset.

"So, Harriet," Rob said after a few minutes. "Bit jealous, eh?"

"W..what? Jealous? Me?"

"If you wanted him to take you out, you could have just said it."

"What? I have no idea what you mean!"

"Come on, Harriet. I'm not blind. Unfortunately for you, he is." And with that he left the room.


A Sunny Day for a Football Game

"Richard! Just the sexiest man I wanted to see."

"Yes, Marianne?"

Marianne Dashwood seductively walked with Richard, moving her hips 'Marilyn Monroe' fashion. "Well, I have a sports question. Seeing that you are a man of sports, I thought that you could help me."

"Of course! What is the question?"

"Well, do you know when the Dodger game is going to be, who with, and when it is going to end? I have to give that stupid weather report for the fans going to the game. Gosh, it's like they can't look outside and guess for themselves. They have to make me look out the window and guess it as always." She sighed. "It's so tough."

"I am sure it is." He smiled and then answered her question, "They're playing the Pirates at seven. And then it ends when it ends. There is no set time."

"I have an idea! Let's talk sports! Kevin Brown catches for our LA Rams, right?"

"No, no, Kevin Brown plays for the Dodgers. Rams are St. Louis and they are a football team. Brown pitches our baseball team."

"When did that happen?"


"Football became known as baseball?"

He sighed resignedly. "How about we talk about the weather."

"What do you want to know about it?"

"Well, what's the difference between a cold front and a warm front?"

"That's easy! One day you wear a miniskirt. The other day you wear a knee-length skirt with strapless heels."

"I don't think that applies to me."

"Why? It is LA, right?"

Richard looked at Marianne incredulously and turned his head away to smile. As he passed a hall, an unbelievable scene caught his attention.

"Wait that couldn't be." He stopped dead in his path. "It couldn't."

"Couldn't what?" Asked Marianne.

Richard slowly walked back to the hall and peeked cautiously beyond the edge of the wall. A huge grin developed on his tanned face.

"William! You're here! I see that you've already met Elizabeth. No doubt you look like old friends!" cried Richard happily. The stunned Elizabeth and William quickly got off from the floor and sheepishly looked at the carpet. "Is there something that you need to tell me?"


The First Date (Continuation)

Frank's date was a total airhead. Beautiful, blonde, thin, long limbed. But still an airhead. In two minutes time she had left a very good impression on both Harriet and Rob, but Frank didn't notice a thing and stood gloating all the time. He took Harriet aside for a moment and asked anxiously:

"Well, what do you think about her?"

"I believe congratulations are in order, Frank," Harriet stated drily. "You have outdone yourself. This girl has everything: pouty lips, blonde hair, big boobs, bony arms and nothing in the space between her ears."

"Andi does not have...bony arms."

"Hmmm. You can do a lot better than that, Frank."

Frank didn't reply, but Harriet hadn't had enough yet.

"I can't believe you wouldn't notice what a complete ditz she is. My goodness! Her IQ is probably lower than her shoe size.
I thought you were more intelligent to settle for that. More sensible."


"I mean, Frank, I'm talking to you as a friend here..."

"That's enough! I have had enough! Would you kindly just butt out of my business?" Frank turned his back in anger from Harriet. He couldn't stand it that his best friend was critizising his love-life so harshly.

"Frank... I didn't mean to offend you."

Frank exploded. "Well, you did! Why should you be the one telling me who I should go out with? You have not been out on one single date since I met you. And here you are bashing my love-life while yours is practically non-existant!"

He took a deep breath, and tried to calm himself down. "Harriet... maybe you should go and pack your things, it's obvious we can't work together."

Harriet didn't reply, she just turned her back and ran. Frank didn't do anything to stop her.

Suddenly Andi's voice rang out for the umpteenth time.

"Oh my God, I've broken a nail. Something must be done! Frank, I'm so sorry, I can't go out on a date with you." She kissed him on the cheek, and rushed out of the door, muttering: "I swear I saw an Elizabeth Arden right down the street."

Again Frank was silent. He was leaning against the counter with a look of resignation on his face and seemed to be lost in his thoughts. He sighed and walked in the direction of the counter. Since he just lost his last chance for a date, he didn't want to go to the reunion, fearing he might end up sitting with the chess-club or the school's barber shop quartet. This would be a fine occasion
to do the accounts, something he had been neglecting for a long time.

He took the books from underneath the cash register and walked in the direction of his office, and suddenly he heard soft sobs coming from the mini-theatre.

"Harriet?" he asked.

She didn't reply, so he walked towards the middle of the room, where Harriet had crouched up before giving a vent to her feelings of frustration and regret. She looked deplorable, with eyes red from crying, and with smeared make-up on her face. She turned away her face from Frank, feeling very embarrassed.

"Harriet, I.. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to yell at you... and I am sorry I fired you. The job's still yours if you want it."

"Is that all I am to you, just your waitress?"

"No! No, of course not. You're my friend... My best friend, and of course you were right about Andi, and I'm glad she's gone."

"Gone?... Where to?"

"Elizabeth Arden's, one might guess.... She broke her nail." Frank sighed and sagged to the floor next to her. "God, I'm such a dork, I can't even score a date for a simple high school reunion."

"Oh Frank, that's not true! You shouldn't think that way. Everybody who rejects you is a total nut. You're funny, sweet, and... well, you're a total stud."

Frank's usual grin re-appeared on his face. "Thanks, you're not so bad yourself. Listen, I think I have just found the perfect date for my reunion. Why don't you go home, put on something smashing, and I'll take you out."

"Me? Are you sure that...?"

"There isn't anyone I'd rather be with..."

"Oh Frank..."

"... except maybe for Winona Ryder, Helena Christensen, Catherine Zeta-Jones, Salma Hayek, ..."



"Now would be the right time to stop talking."

"Whatever you say, ma'am." Frank grinned.



"5486 South Beach Drive. This must be it. Doesn't look like the place for a romantic dinner."

Henry Crawford opened the big doors of hiLA's Studio 8, looking for Jennifer, the gorgeous blonde script girl he had met a few days before. She had asked him to meet her at this address."

"Jennifer?" he called out.

"I'll be right there, Henry-Pooh. I'm just ... slipping into something more comfortable. Could you be a doll and fetch a bottle of wine in the cellar? It's the blue door."

Henry opened the door, and was surprised by the giant spotlights that were instantly directed towards his face. He staggered forward, and suddenly stood in the middle of a giant television studio. There was a crowd that kept cheering "Carrie, Carrie, Carrie!" all the time, while waving their fists in the air. Somebody grabbed him by the wrist, and directed him to a comfortable chair, opposite a very familiar looking brunette. At that moment he realised that he had been framed.

"Hello Henry," Carrie cooed, while smiling seductively. "Do you like my scenery? I wanted orange, but my boss said it should be blue. We closed the deal on salmon. Very soothing, isn't it?"


"Yes, me. Remember me? I bet you do. Nobody ever forgets me." The smile remained lingering on her face, as she addressed her audience.

Carrie Bingham had, in fact, every reason to smile. Her talk show was, by far, the most popular around, for it combined all the good stuff of the other talk shows. The fiesty catfights from Springer, the sparkling wit from Rosie, the dirt from Ricki Lake, ... all were mingled to form the immensely succesful Carrie Bingham Show.

"So, people! The elusive Henry Crawford has decided to honour us with his presence, though not quite on a voluntary basis. We'll just try to make the most of our limited time with him, shall we?" Her hand reached down to her little coffee table, and grabbed a little blue notebook that was lying there.

"This was found by in the kitchen of Henry Crawford's million dollar mansion on the beach, by our trusty secret agent 008. In it we found rather incriminating evidence regarding Crawford's steamy love life."

Henry was at that time starting to turn rather pale, because flashes from his memory were coming back, and he remembered the notebook.

"Last entry: Elsa, brown hair, 21 years, picked up at Shooters on Thursday March 18th. Pro's: filthy rich, beautiful eyes and long legs. Con's: talks too much during sex."

The crowd let out a very shocked Oooooooooh, and Carrie stirred up the fire by saying:

"Now Henry... what would you say if I told you that Elsa was here...tonight! Yes, she is! Come on out, Elsa, or should I say, Number 124?!"

A spotlight was directed towards a door that slid open, accompanied by a catchy tune. A beautiful girl walked out, shot a menacing stare in Henry's direction, and took place on a tribune.

Ten minutes later, the stage was practically filled with an entire parade of gorgeous girls. The people in the audience didn't know what they were seeing, and kept booh-ing at Henry, who was sliding deeper and deeper into his chair.

Carrie pulled aside a tall blonde, Number 21, for a short conversation.

"What is your story, Julia?"

"I was seeing Henry in high school, but meanwhile he was doing it with my sister, who had been going steady for at least six months."

"What a shocking tale, Julia. I suppose you could drink his blood by now?"

"No, not really, I still think he's very cute. Here's my number, Henry, call me."

Five minutes, and twenty girls later, Henry Crawford was near breakdown, and ready to confess his crimes. He slid out of his chair and let out a frantic plea for forgiveness.

"No, please, enough! I have had enough! You made your point already. I know, I'm scum, I'm worthless! But can't you give me a second chance? Don't I deserve second chance? I can change who I am, please! I promise you, I will change my ways for the better, just as long as you all leave me alone!"

Carrie pondered on this for a while. "What do you think, girls? Does he look like he means it? Does he look penitent enough for us to be content?"

The only thing the girls noticed was how sweet he looked when he showed remorse and despair, and the way his hair did that cute springy thing after he had muffled it up in his intense agony, and so they shouted: "Yeah!"

Henry didn't know how fast he could leave the studio, stumbling over his own feet as he left in the direction of his car. The Californian sun ruthlessly burned down on him while his desperate plea for mercy still echooed in his ears. "I can change who I am, please believe me."

He jumped in his new car, a black Porsche Convertible, and repeated the phrase I will change my ways for the better. It was a new sound, definitely, and he pondered over it for a while. Then he puts on his snazzy sunglasses, and raises his eyebrows in the direction of the camera.

"Yeah right!" he roars, and kicks in the gass pedal, leaving in a cloud of dust. There's a sign next to the road that says: Las Vegas, 150 miles. The music that accompanies this scene is, very appropriate, the Stones'
Sympathy for the Devil.

Please allow me to introduce myself
I'm a man of wealth and taste
I've been around for a long, long years
Stole many a man's soul and faith

Pleased to meet you
Hope you guess my name
But what's puzzling you
Is the nature of my game

[ Cue the ending credits ]


Nicole, who is already rather famous for her renowned and recently awarded Shakespeare in Love website, has been working for the past few months on her super de luxe Pothole Page, for all those crazed fans out there, who cannot do without their monthly dose of Frank "Franco" Churchill, and now have the opportunity to snoop through Frank's office, or admire him as he juggles bottles at the bar for all the famous celebrities. Nicole offers a magnificent Tour de Pothole, where curious readers can admire the prestigious Red Restaurant, where scrumptious dishes from all over the country are served, or see what movies are screen in the minitheatre. If you do not want to miss this unforgettable experience, click here.



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