15 for 15 Contest --- Closed

Wardrobe did a fantastic job, thought Mary as she smoothed the vibrant plaid fabric under the belt of her dress . She looked up and down the street. Come on! What are we waiting for? She had been in the business long enough to realize they were losing the good sunlight by needing so many takes. If someone had thought to ask the city for permission to close the street, the last three takes wouldn’t have been interrupted by honking cars. As if in answer to her thoughts, she finally heard the amplified voice of the director.

“Quiet on the set! Background action!” She glanced over her shoulder; the people walking down the sidewalk were very convincing. That would add to the overall effect, thought Mary. It was so clever that all the cameras and the director were hidden out of sight. She fluffed her bouncy brunette mane and focused ahead of her. The director yelled, “Action!”

The theme music began on the loop. “You’re gonna make it after all!” On cue she skipped into the center of the street, and as the music culminated, she leapt into the air with her arms wide, before launching her hat into the air. Sudden sirens from down the block advanced fast. The director shouted, “Cut!”

A police car followed by a white vehicle pulled next to her. The driver of the non-police vehicle rushed up to her. “Linda! Are you ok?”

Mary stared at him with incredulous eyes. “Linda? Look, Dr. Ferguson,” she said, reading his nametag, “do you realize you just ruined our shot? The director will be furious!”

Dr. Ferguson’s face froze, and then he glanced at the cop to his left. Turning back, he said, “Ah, Miss Tyler Moore, I beg your pardon. It’s just that the studio sent me for you. You are late for the meeting with the executive producers.”

Mary gasped. “Oh, my goodness! I need to speak to the director first.”

Dr. Ferguson put up a finger, then reached into his pocket. Smiling at her, he flipped open a phone and said, “Get me the director. Yeah. Sir? Miss Tyler Moore is needed at the studio. Yes. It’s a wrap? Fantastic.” He closed the phone. “Are you all set?”

He opened the door of the white car with the logo for St. Paul’s Hospital for Mental Health printed across the side, and she moved to enter. As she folded into the back seat, she said, “It’s a good thing we have a police escort.”

Dr. Ferguson smirked at the policeman, who returned the grin. As the cars sped off toward the hospital, the siren filled the air.