CHAPTER SIXTEEN:

Warner Brothers Studios
Los Angeles
June 13, 1985
Thursday

The movie's concept was actually pretty simple: freedom through dancing. It was now up to Kimberly Young, the scriptwriter, to get something going based on that simple plot.

So she did.

Its premise started also simply enough: a young woman traveling in a greasy truck with a man named Mr. Darin Dether. Mr. Dether was a professional dancer who just happened upon the lady on the dirt road, and being gentlemanly and all, offered to take the young woman wherever she needed to go. He was on his way to Washington, DC and company was sparse on the road for the long drive ahead. Asking if there was any place that she wanted to be dropped, the woman only said, "I'd go wherever you're heading."

Upon reaching his destination, Mr. Dether had no choice but to drop the lady and leave her there alone on the busy streets of DC.

They would meet again after a month. Dether was fresh out of a successful stint in a famous theater production there in DC. The mysterious happened to be a waitress in the diner he would indulge in from time-to-time. She was new there after flying from one job to another the past few weeks.

Trying to be helpful, he asked her if she knew how to dance. The woman would smile and whisper that she could "try."

This woman, Aida Simile, turned out to be a very talented dancer. Dether eventually offered to enlist her as a part of the dancing studio he belonged in and, of course, there would be extravagant productions that would put both his and Simile's names on the map.

And, of course, she had a mysterious past. They continue working together, until they fall in love with each other. When it came to a heated confrontation in a random hotel room, Aida would back away and tell him that she had to go back home. This hesitation on her part is detrimental to their success: in one week, the biggest production of their dance company would be launched and it starred no other than Darin and Aida. There was no way she could back out of it. However, Aida was adamant and told him that she had to go. She finally would tell him the truth: her daughter was dying of leukemia and the real reason why she was working in the city was to pay for the mounting medical bills back at home.
Unfortunately, when she got her break in DC, it was too late for any medicine to heal her little angel.

Darin had no choice but to let her go because he learned that she was married and her husband was waiting for he to come back. He had no choice but to watch the woman he loved disappear from his life.
Eventually, Aida made it to the final performance, but they decided to mutually break it off. She had a life to come home to and that was where she felt she truly belonged.

That particular part was where Mulder protested. He didn't like the ending. No one in their right minds would like THAT ending! It was a mortal cinematic scene to have your two heroes ending up in separate ways!

Mulder had been thinking again and again for a different conclusion to the story for the past few months. Now, Kimberly Young stood before him, quickly reviewing the thick bound of script in her hands. "Why do they have to end up together?" she cried out, exasperated with him. He already had her rewrite the script while he was in Las Vegas to accommodate Dana Scully's British accent. Then, this. "That is so cliché, don't you think?"

Mulder pushed his reading glasses up onto his nose, grimacing at the headstrong writer. "No one wants an unhappy ending, Kimberly. People today want happy stories - check Flash Dance out! Or, or Footloose ... even Back to the Future ends happily." He flipped towards the last page, pointing at the chunky paragraphs. "We're here to make a hit, and not an indie. The script's good enough, Kim. The script's already good enough to break a few Hollywood norms - if that's what you want."

Kimberly swallowed hard, perusing through the final pages herself. "Fine. So I could rewrite this and change the ending. Again. How do YOU want it to end?"

"Make Aida and Darin like soulma - wait, no, there are no such things as soul mates." He rested a finger on his chin while racking his brain for something good to pitch. "Kill the husband. I don't know. Get him out of the story. Deus ex machina."

"What?!"

"Erase him. He's only a page long, right? Rip that page out and say that he's been long dead. That'll free Aida to be with Darin."

"Then it'll be so easy to predict that they'll end up together."

"Okay, fine. So don't make the husband a husband. Make them a live-in couple. They decide that the magic's gone – of course, it's not supposed to sound like that and it's your job to NOT make it sound like that – and Aida (still grieving her daughter's death) dances in the final production. Darin and Aida end up together and they talk about their pasts and how important they are to each other. There."

Heaving a frustrated grunt, Kimberly stepped away from him – for both their safety, he supposed. If he stayed in her face for another moment, things were going to get nasty.

Kimberly turned her back to him and marched up the large ramp of the studio while furiously writing inside the ring-bound script. In her fury, she didn't see Walter Skinner coming down from the studio and they bumped into each other. Thank God no flying papers came about, and Kimberly picked herself up without any words and began to scribble once more on her script.

Walter glanced at the woman, and then, seeing Mulder, a knowing look came across his face. Using his palm as a shield against the sun, Walter shook his bald head. "You made more revisions, didn't you?"

"No, not me." He removed the reading glasses from his face. They ended up in his breast pocket, together with his other small paraphernalia – a ball pen, small pieces of paper, chewing gum wrappers, and candy. "Her. She's the writer."

"I'm sure by now she's wondering who the real scriptwriter of this movie is."

Mulder hopped on a parked studio golf cart, which is an effective way of moving around the whole lot without having to bask under the oppressive afternoon heat. Walter indignantly stepped in with him, and Mulder began to drive off, ignoring as the engines protested his uncommon speed.

"Why are you in a hurry, Mulder?" Skinner held onto the damn thing's sides, watching his head as the roof came dangerously close to his shiny baldness.

He lessened the speed when Walter alarmed him. No need to get the man nervous ... yet. "I have to deliver Scully's lunch," he replied, turning to a blind right. Walter, beside him, ran a hand through his smooth head, as if inspecting if it was damaged.

"Christ, what are you? Her nanny?"

"Her lunch is liver spread sandwich. Where the fuck did you think she'll find something like that around here, huh? McDonalds?" Another sharp left, almost dropping Skinner to the ground, the golf car wiggling in agony as his speed began to increase again.

"It's 11:40, Mulder! For goddamn's sakes, slow down! Dana won't get hungry for a few minutes!"

They jumped over a hump and the roof connected with their heads, making them yelp in surprise and pain. Walter rubbed the reddening patch on his head. "Fuck it, Mulder! Slow down! If you don't I'll-"

The Director began to laugh. There was always something amusing about surprising Skinner. The man was mild-mannered, in control, and the perfect definition of calm. Mulder was out of the blue, crazy, over-the-top ... and because of that, they had an amount of friction that could topple anybody down easily.
But not them. Mulder and Walter shared a great solid friendship, and the main driving force behind it was the fact that they both didn't know how to quit. Case in point: Mulder and Walter were probably the only producers in Hollywood that were adamant to be as involved as possible in the production stages of a movie they invested in. They both wanted to make sure they were getting their money's worth and that the project was moving soundly along. When Mulder worked with other directors before, it drove them crazy that he was constantly at their necks and breathing in on their decisions. Yet, when it was Mulder's turn to be given a directorial debut, he had no other person in mind to produce his film other than Walter Skinner. He could easily get out of hand and there was no one else he wanted to keep him in line than a nosy producer like Walter. And now, for this project, these things made them a great team.

"Fine."

The car's speed lilted, making Skinner straighten himself up on his seat. Mulder drove in a leisurely pace, occasionally bidding a wave to the Warner Brothers staff he recognized. He had been around for more than ten years and had been a familiar face to almost half of the whole crew in the lot.

A certain studio inside the lot was intended years ago for musical rehearsals - back in the early 1930's - and was now being used as one of the many silver screen sets. Musicals had faltered years ago, but dancing was very popular nowadays, so the big bosses decided to keep the studio specifically for dance rehearsals. That was where Scully was at that moment, rehearsing the humongous "production" numbers for the movie with her co-stars.

Mulder parked his buggy askew beside the lot, reaching behind him to retrieve Scully's lunch.

Skinner bounded out of the car, eyeing it with frightening curiosity while rubbing on his head. Together, they set off to the inside of the loft.

The security recognized Mulder and Skinner at once and he ushered them in with pleasant greetings.

Inside, the gray walls were sparkling with studio lights of different colors. Whenever filming was being done, there were only a few selected bulbs that could be used in a given scene for cinematic purposes, but today, the whole place was lit up for the rehearsals. Mulder could see all the individual cracks on the cemented walls and the aging wooden floors, which were being bruised once again by the high-heeled steps of the lady dancers.

From his view, he could make out the dozen dancers that were furiously practicing complicated dance steps over and over again. There were specifically two groups during the practices: a group for the extra crew and a group only for Scully and Harry Pendrell. Pendrell was the actor designated to play Darin Dether. To accommodate the varying production numbers, WB had to hire two professional choreographers.

Mulder, with Skinner trailing behind him, waved at the group of extras - who waved back with individual greetings. He also took time to pat the choreographer, Cindy Laurel, on her shoulder. She smiled at him, in that unique graceful way ballet dancers do.

At one corner, he found Scully on her knees, rotating intricately with her torso. Pendrell was resting on a chair with a Coke in one hand, cheering on Spunk as she executed the step in successive increments. Their choreographer, Sara, was sharply coaching Scully to the perfect completion of the step, barking out small commands that made Scully grimace each time she heard them.

"Hey, sunshine!" he called out. Scully heard his voice and she stood erect, her eyes brightening.

Pendrell and Sara also glimpsed at him, giving him pleasant greetings.

It was great to be director. Really. You got pleasant greetings all day long.

Standing up, Scully began to rush towards him. Forgetting that she was only clad in a less-than-modest dancing bikini (he gave in to her request of buying a new "dancing" wardrobe last week before the rehearsals started) and that sweat was dripping from every pore of her body, she jumped into giving him a big hug. Mulder didn't pull away. He could never refuse Scully - sweat and all.

"Thank you sooo much. Sara was killing me with that step-" Scully said through his neck, launching into her whispered version of Mrs. Sara's Russian accent, "'Oh, Dana! Carry on dis, carry on dat... no, no darrrrling, that's wrong, that's no-ooo..."

Mulder laughed with her, patting her wet back with his free hand.

Releasing him, she realized what she had done and blushed, reddening her already flushed cheeks. Mulder chuckled, bending over to give her a kiss on those red cheeks.

Seeing this, Skinner turned towards Pendrell and Sara, beginning a conversation with them to give Scully and Mulder some privacy.

"Brought you your lunch." He held up the brown paper bag to her face. This only made Scully blush even more. Mulder brought it back down, seeing her reaction. "Why - is there something wrong?"

"Nothing," she said too fast, grabbing the paper bag from his hands. Mulder didn't give it to her. Instead, he raised it over his head where she couldn't reach it.

"Fine, take-advantage-of-my-height." With each word, she tried to reach the lunch bag, but Mulder was far too tall for her to succeed. Accepting that she had lost, Scully crossed her arms under her breasts and cocked an eyebrow at him.

Mulder hid the bag behind his body, effectively away from her. "Ah, I sense a hint of embarrassment from Ms. Scully. Could you tell Mr. Mulder, your personal nanny, what's the big problem?"

"I'm not telling you." The eyebrow only rose higher. That amused Mulder even more.

"Then there's no lunch for Ms. Scully. How's that?"

She smirked, "Pendrell will give me his."

"Oh, and what makes Ms. Scully so sure about that?"

She didn't answer and her blush became crimson. She would burst like a ripened tomato if that blush of hers continued. A vein had to go haywire if that reaction of hers kept on happening.

Mulder didn't quite get what she meant by her reactions, so he took her by the arm and drew her from the others, craning his neck to reach her ear.

"You want to eat lunch with me? Tell me what's bothering you?"

Scully still had her eyebrow intact, but she did allow the corner of her lips to twirl, transforming into her Scully-girl mode. "Anything to make me temporarily forget Sara's voice. And her bulging eyes. Yuck."

She was still obliged to eat the liverwurst sandwich, and she did that with uncertainty, chewing at the sandwich as if it was the worst tasting meal in the world.

Mulder gulped down his McDonalds Coke, not caring if he had to order another large cup when he left the studio - the sun outside was scorching hot. He fiddled with the insides of his Quarter Pounder, inhaling the wonderful, wonderful scent of fast food grease. Indulgence was minimal these busy days.

As he was chewing on his own lunch, he watched Scully down hers - it must be the most difficult task in the whole wide world. He wondered, irritably, if there was anything wrong with his meal. He prepared the sandwiches himself every day, only asking Jenny to open up the canned liverwurst to make the task easier. Why he did it? Because he knew exactly how Scully wanted her sandwich.

Maybe this time, he spread too much mayonnaise.

"Not good?" he inquired. Scully chewed slowly on her last bite, raising her eyes from him to think about what she was going to say.

"Good, actually." She swallowed, taking a drink of her iced tea, obviously sugarcoating her response. "I wonder how it would taste with lettuce," she said through the straw. Mulder snickered.

"Lettuce? You want lettuce?" When Scully would suggest new ingredients for his recipes, it meant that something was definitely wrong. "Are you tired of liverwurst, Scully?"

She twirled her fork around the spaghetti, "Yeah, I guess I am."

"You tire too fast. What do you want for lunch next time? Something from Jenny's liver menu?"

"Oh, shit - did you taste the one she had soaked in seasoning? That was grody."

Mulder didn't comment. He didn't – never - had tasted one of Jenny's liver cuisines, actually. The first and last time his taste buds encountered something as sordidly grody was when he ate that liver steak back in Vegas.

She licked off the spaghetti sauce from her fork; suddenly deciding that eating wasn't high on her priority list at that moment. "Of course you didn't, did you?" she added as an afterthought.

Still no comment. To avoid the incorrigible eyebrow that still stood on her forehead's peak, Mulder bit into his Quarter Pounder. There was no sense in trying to answer her question. He promised himself back then and there that he would never touch liver again in his whole fucking life.

Feeling the strange urgency to change the subject, Mulder placed his meal down. "And what about that Pendrell comment you made back in the studio?"

Judging from the sudden outburst of blush on Scully's cheek, he had made the right move to change the subject. He was getting her bad to the fucking bone this time.

"Why, Dana Katherine Scully," he mocked, raising that auburn eyebrow another meter high. "You have a crush on that guy?"

She scowled, chewing on her lip. "I don't. He's not appealing."

"Then why are you blushing?"

"Because..." Scully was trailing of. That meant she was not the one who was supposed to be embarrassed. Mulder created an elaborate equation in his brain as Scully left him in silence, resisting to give away what really was happening. She sipped gradually on her iced tea, expecting him to make his discovery any moment.

It hammered on Mulder suddenly, giving him a swift blow to the noggin. Generally, that was what it was all adding up to ... but ...

"NO ..." Mulder triumphantly panned, making Scully blush all over again."Pendrell likes you, doesn't he?"

She avoided his eyes, picking at her spaghetti until all the noodles were meshed up.

Bingo. He hit the million dollar jackpot!

"He likes you and you can't do a fuck about it!"

She rolled her eyes at him. "You could be less blunt about it."

Ah, but being less blunt wasn't their game. Their mid-afternoon conversations had been characteristically less blunt lately. One thing he had learned from those mid-afternoon conversations? Scully was far from being saint. She had an obsession for Aerosmith - yeah, Moonlighting, too - and once filled her teacher's bag with molasses.

"Has he made a pass at you?" Mulder raised, his curiosity growing.

"I'm not sure if it's a pass... the girls were telling me about his illin' gushing on me. I don't think I am at ease with that knowledge. He ... looks at me ..."

"Funny?" Mulder supplied, remembering Alex Kryceck's words to him a month ago. It should bother him that he used the same word in supply for Pendrell's crush on Scully, but anyway, it's not about him. It was about his two stars.

An annoyed grumble came out of his companion. She didn't really like the idea of having someone liking her that way. That idea made another network of ideas control Mulder's mind.

"Not funny-funny, you see ... I just ... I don't know. I guess when I am working with someone professionally, I want it to stay professional."

He wanted to laugh his two-cents in at that statement of hers. That was the most improbable statement Scully had ever made ever since they met. Their relationship was meant to be based on professional rules, but hey, here they were now. She relied on him as if he was her best friend, and he relied on her as if she was his own property. Their relationship certainly had crossed the professional-personal line, so what was her REAL point in this?

He didn't catch Scully studying him during the time he was thinking and absently munching on his disheveled Quarter Pounder, and when she started, he was afraid that he spoke his sentiments out loud.

"We are a different case, Mulder."

Making sure that he was really talking this time and not thinking out loud, he interjected, "How are we different from that professional-personal crap?" The last word was muffled by a sip of his coke. He was making sure that she didn't hear the word 'crap' as clear as day.

"You are different from Pendrell. Pendrell's ... he's a good co-worker. We've been working non-stop with each other for almost four weeks and he's a great guy. But you are ... more than that to me. You are my friend. A close friend."

His inner senses were nagging him to stop; for once in his life he should stop. For once in his life he should quit, surrender, wave the white flag, or do something else that signified that he understood her - because he really did.
But damn it, help him, because he had the stamina of a stallion. The moment he decided to quit on something, the angels would personally descend from the sky to congratulate him.

"Define friend."

Oh Christ, there went the ballgame.

Scully was slightly taken aback and she searched his eyes, trying to find what he wanted to hear from her. To diffuse the tension, Mulder closed his eyes, making Scully-girl giggle and strike his hand with a thick slap.

"Friend, Mr. Superman-who-cannot-quit, means you own me as much as I own you."

When those words were said, he didn't let them hang in the air for long. His eyes opened with a snap, and he wondered about her last statement. She owned him as much as he owned her. That was ...

She was keen in using the eyebrow on him today. She was holding it up, asking him to refute her last statement. As if her eyebrow was saying, "Ha! See if you can beat that!" - it would've sounded better to him than have her shove that incriminating expression on him.

He was never going to tell her that she practically had him by the neck whenever she raised that damn eyebrow.

"Okay," Mulder agreed. What else would he say? It was true.

Who was he to dispute a red-haired Spunk's statement?

Pendrell was a veteran of several independent films that were released in Hollywood and other foreign film festivals, and he guest-starred on several episodes of Cheers. His latest break, however, rested on his supporting role in the post-War flick, Genevieve, which was a sleeper hit. His name was easy enough to be recognized, he had several promising offers under his belt, and had bought a house last year. In short, Pendrell was already climbing up the stepping stones for Hollywood stardom.

He was a good actor, one that Walter himself liked enough for the role, but no one knew that he could dance - let alone handle a movie wherein half the time he had to dance his ass off on screen.

Imagine their surprise when he auditioned for the part of Darin Dether.

Different journalists from varied newspapers crowded outside the WB lot, craning to get a glimpse of Pendrell. Ever since the word broke out that their beloved media darling Harry Pendrell was teaming up with longtime producer Fox Mulder, their tongues started wagging and butts itching. Mulder was a respectable producer in Hollywood - he had made a name for himself when he co-produced Growing Pains and All in the Family including the numerous movies he had graced over the years. He left TV soon after that for he always knew that he was meant for the movies.

Imagine everyone's surprise, too, when WB announced a new 'untitled' film will be released late next year. It was starring an unknown, Dana Katherine Scully, and their beloved darling Harry Pendrell, with Fox Mulder as the director.

So far, that was the week's fucking scoop.

Mulder was reviewing the final draft of the script. He had dismissed Kim an hour ago, wanting to be alone while he assessed the whole film in his mind; while he envisioned the whole thing once more, as he had done the past months. With the different ending, he wanted something more dreary, something more dramatic, so that the production numbers would come out as spectacular - lighting up the whole cinema and movie screens with their own dazzling effects.

He also asked Kim to throw in a scene wherein Aida would be brushing a towel over her sweat-stained neck. For that scene, he had requested (more like 'warned') Scully that he'd have her dancing for an hour before they shoot it. He wanted her to emerge on screen with her natural flush.

Admitting it quietly to himself, he had a certain Scully-fetish conjured: one that had towel and sweat involved. Kim was becoming increasingly frustrated with his suggestion of that scene that she basically threw the script into his face. She shouted at him, saying that she had rewritten Scene III for that particular vision to be accommodated.

Thank you. She had officially made Fox William Mulder the happiest director in WB.

The only problem right now was the film's title. They couldn't keep telling the press that they were working on this "yet-to-be-titled" movie, especially when they were as persistent as bears to a honeycomb. For today, he let his personal publicist take care of them by releasing statements from Mr. Mulder and Mr. Pendrell that should satisfy them for the meantime.

Kim had given him the honors to title the movie, since it was his directorial debut. His producers were also hesitant in suggesting anything, leaving the job to him and him alone.

Mulder sighed, stretching his long legs out before him on the dinky make-shift table. This was where he worked when in the WB lot, inside a make-shift office in an old studio where he could be left alone to contemplate all day. That was when he used to produce the shows ... things had changed, sure, but Mulder was still unperturbed in his spot. When he sat at the dusty old leather chair, propped his feet on the ailing wooden table, chewed on sunflower seeds ... he had his own slice of heaven on earth.

"Fuck," Mulder cursed as his office phone began to ring, taking with it his deep concentration. Just what he needed for today: more reporters sinking into his private line - them getting his number from "unknown" sources. (Thanks a lot, Alex Kryceck.)

Half of his curses made their way into the receiver, which he eased away with another faked pleasant "Hello."

"Mulder, Walter here. Got news."

"Shoot away, Skinman."

"Does the name Lucy Doggett ring a bell somewhere?" His producer's voice was tingling from time to time, making Mulder sit up straight. Lucy Doggett? Was she a sister of his best friend or something? The name wasn't anyway familiar.

"No. Does Doggett have a sister? He's an only child, right?"

"Christ, Mulder," Walter groaned, crushing his breathing against the line. "Lucy Doggett - John and Monica's got a girl."

"A GIRL?" Mulder jumped to his feet, his heart doubling in size at the news. He couldn't believe it! His best party animal got a girl! He didn't know whether he should start jumping up or down or head towards the hospital in no time.

Skinner apparently had a premonition of his dilemma. "I've set up a van outside of your office," he cleared his throat to indicate that he look outside the thick blinds coating the room.

Mulder moved towards the nearest window, pelting the blinds apart. Sure enough, there was a black Ford van outside, waiting for him. A driver was also there, knocking himself out on cigarettes under the heat of the sun.

"That's to pass through the back gates, where the reporters wouldn't be able to run after you. Hop on in, Mulder. I'll follow afterwards."

The Director was about to hang up when he remembered something - or someone. He frantically began to call Skinner's name. His friend went back on the line, sounding panicked.

"Could I come and get Scully?"

At that request, Walter gritted his teeth.

"I'll bring her to the hospital for you."

"Be gentle with her, okay?"

Mulder pushed the phone down the cradle before Walter could answer and hurried outside.

END OF CHAPTER SIXTEEN

A/N: Expect Chapter Seventeen in the next few days and I think it is one of the most exciting chapters of this whole story. You'll see why. ;)