* 
* 
alternate ending by Philippa
"Tianna......?" It was worth a shot
"You're wearing Daddy's clothes!"
"The kid's observant, I'll give her that..." Sam tried not to jump about a foot as those familiar gravelly tones hit his ears from nowhere, but it was a lost cause.
Sam spoke sotto voice, through his teeth, "So; Al......?"
"It's a GHOST!!!" Tianna fled, white as a sheet.
Sam sighed, "Oh, *great*....."
Al examined his electric blue suit and cerise shirt, "Never thought ghosts came so well attired. Must be the 'Ghostbuster' influence..... Let me see. Yes, the films are out. And the cartoon series. We are talking 1993 for you here. You're a small time bit-part actor, Stan.....Freburg? That can't be right....." Al did his customary hit-job on the handlink, "Nah...Stan FreeMAN. Okay. Little Tianna there is as cute as apple dumplings and they want to turn her into the next Shirley Temple or Darla Dimple."
Sam's eyebrows rose, "Who?"
Al waved a hand vaguely, "Cartoon version of Ms Temple, basically. Cute. Singing and dancing cats. Never mind....... Anyway, you're here to make sure it doesn't happen. We are talking worse than Drew Barrymore here. Drugs, sex, rock n roll......the whole damn shooting match. Burns herself out and is dead by twenty."
"Ouch. That's terrible. So, what do I do?"
Al obligingly attacked the handlink again, "Hmm. Well, this turkey is actually Stan's big break. Gets a small part in a movie, then 'BAM' - he's the next best thing since sliced bread. Up there with Harrison Ford, Mel Gibson, Arnie.....you know. Big bucks. They sign up the little cutie out there and the rest you know."
Sam sighed, "So I have to go out there and act badly?" Like *that* was going to be difficult.
Al chuckled, "Piece of cake!"
Sam shot upwards, "Do you MIND? You try Leaping for a change!"
Al waved his cigar like a baton, "Been there. Done that. Got the tee shirt. Liked one part of it...." his eyes glowed as he remembered the passionate session in that car back in the forties, "But otherwise, this gig's all yours, Sam."
Sam gave the script one more cursory glance, "Okay."
Al grinned, "Break a leg, kid."
Sam went out. He sat down. He delivered his lines with completely the wrong emotion. The producer went crazy. It wasn't long before Stan Freeman was booted off the set. Sam saw the two girls playing outside his trailer. He turned to Al.
"Well?"
"Yes. Stan goes back to being a carpenter and joiner and raises those two girls. A couple of years down the line, his wife leaves him. But that's okay because Sally turns back up on the scene and they end up relatively poor but blissfully happy. Ta-da!"
"I could go with some of that."
Al looked up at him, "We're doing our best Sam....ah; there you go....."
****************
Sam looked down. Skin-tight black leather trousers. Boots. An open vest with biker studs. A sword? Geez... He looked up. A tall, very striking lady with long black hair wearing not much in dark brown leather and similar metal bits was stomping towards him in her own thigh-length boots.
*Al will go nuts......!*
"So..." the lady said, in an American accent, "What is it *this* time, Ares?"
Sam saw the sword coming towards him and ducked, then slipped on his butt and landed on the grass. A sword-point was placed at his throat.
"Oh....um.....BOY?!!?"
*
*