by Heather

GH "lite" is brought to you by the warped mind of Twocruise, and taped in front of a live studio audience (honest! *g*). All characters portrayed here are the property of ABC, which is fine with me, because I wouldn't want to take responsibility for any of them. *g*

This is episode number four of my twisted version of a day on the GH set (complete with pictures! *g*). It's really a story within a story....if you haven't read the other episodes, I should warn you that the actors in my story are always in character, even between scenes.... As I said, it's warped. LOL

It's early morning in Port Charles (well, actually... in Hollywood, at the GH studios) and the aroma of freshly-brewed coffee wafts through the air. A small group of fans who will be part of the viewing audience today are taking a guided tour of the set. They are thrilled at the prospect of seeing what really goes on behind the scenes of their favorite daytime drama. As they are led down one of the narrow hallways on the main floor of the five-story building, they pass by several racks of clothing lined up outside the wardrobe room. Each rack is labelled with a character's name. There is a colorful array of t-shirts and shorts for the younger actors' summer activities in Port Charles; a rather 'dark' assortment which has been identified as the 'Cassadine Collection'; a rack of Emily's modelling outfits which can only be described as a cross between 'trendy fashion' and something one would see on a guest of the Jerry Springer show. The Jax wardrobe is nowhere to be seen; apparently the staff has been alerted to the fact that certain angelic fans of magnificent Aussie were seen carrying empty garment bags into the studio, looking for 'souvenirs'. LOL

The tour guide is one of GH's production assistants -- an excessively animated individual, describing points of interest with boundless enthusiasm. As the group nears the front door of the studio, a new intern who has just entered the building reports to security that the overnight cleaning crew has left one of their brooms lying on the ground in the parking lot.

"Oh-- the broom doesn't belong to the staff," says the man in the uniform. The helpful yet uninformed intern looks puzzled.

The security guard explains. "It's how Wick...er, I mean Wendy Riche gets here in the morning."

Several members of the audience snicker upon hearing this. "I *knew* it!" exclaims one fan, almost gleefully.

"What is going on here?" A shrill cry cuts through the laughter.

The voice belongs to none other than the Executive Producer herself. The audience members are immediately quieted by her reaction. The PA giving the tour does not answer, but instead rolls her eyes and leads the group to the bank of elevators on the other side of the hall, away from the icy stare of (arguably) the most ridiculously misguided woman in daytime.

The tour continues with an elevator ride up to the production offices. Several of the offices are closed, while others are buzzing with activity. As she leads her group down the corridor, the talkative guide describes each of the staff positions, and the functions of the respective departments. Several actors emerge from one of the smaller rooms, unseen, as the tour gathers outside one of the larger rooms at the end of the hallway. The guide makes a sweeping motion with her arm, directing everyone's attention to the group inside. "In this room, you'll see the 'Creators of Long-term, Uninspired, Exceptionally Lame, Extraneous and Superfluous Storylines' hard at work.

"We just call them the 'C.L.U.E.L.E.S.S.' writers for short," whispers Luke Spencer, a repeat victim of some of the committee's most successful efforts, who has snuck up unnoticed behind the studio audience.

{A few of the women turn their heads in surprise at hearing the "one and only" Luke in person}

Taking advantage of the impromptu captive audience, Luke scoffs in his most Spencerian manner, "Interestingly enough, the faint sounds of 'Les Misérables' echo through the writers' room, as if piped in from some remote subconscious-feeding music booth." He cups a hand around his ear as if straining to listen for the melodic notes.

One of the female writers passes by the group on her way to a meeting. Her expression can only be described as 'smug' and her t-shirt reads, "People who think they know it all really annoy those of us who do". One fan whispers to her friend, "Let me guess.....she pens the dialogue for Robin Scorpio."

Having seen enough of TPTB to last them a lifetime, the audience decides that they would like to head for the set to watch the morning's taping. As they step into the elevator, there is a collective *gasp* and several intakes of breath as the women discover they are sharing the ride down with one of PC's handsomest residents. What a stroke of luck! It's the tall, suave, billionaire business man with a smile that could warm even the coldest heart.

The proximity to the god-like Adonis is entirely too intoxicating for some, and two women are close to fainting as the elevator touches down on the ground floor. "Coming to watch the taping, ladies?" Jax asks, breaking the silence. The women exchange glances, too nervous to speak. One brave soul finally speaks up. "Uh-huh," she says, berating herself immediately for not thinking of something more intelligent to say.

They watch wordlessly as Jax excuses himself, making his way past them and heading down the hall towards the stage door. One enthusiastic fan takes out her camera and points it at the departing hunk. She is about to snap a quick picture when she hears the PA, who has re-joined the group, exclaim, "No butt shots!" The photographer turns and gives her a quizzical look.

"Just kidding," she laughs.

"Great, now he's gone," points out another fan, disappointed at the missed opportunity.

"You'll have plenty of chances once we get upstairs," the PA informs them.

The group is momentarily appeased.

A few minutes later, the enthusiastic congregation is seated in the stands, watching the actors prepare for their scenes. One of the crew has his arm extended, a GH script lying on his open palm, as if he were holding a bible for a witness in court. The Blonde One steps forward, raises his right hand and places his left hand on the script. He looks up at the studio audience and pledges, "I promise to give you the Jax, the whole Jax, and nothing but the Jax..." he turns slightly to look at the head writer who is standing a few feet away and finishes, "...so help me Guza."

{There is applause from the fans, who are overjoyed at the promise}

Guza smiles, his blue eyes twinkling like Christmas lights.

As the crew rushes around getting ready for the morning's taping, Robin skips merrily up the stairs and out from behind the walls of the nurses' station set, smiling as she spreads joy and merriment in all directions.

Not far behind her is Jason, who is completely in character, having just got off the phone with Sonny for some finite direction on his scenes for the day since the writers continually deny him the ability of independent thought. He winces as the sound of a crying baby rises above the noise on the set, making him painfully aware of the presence of the little red-headed brat he is supposed to be devoted to. "Carly will be pissed," he muses as he makes his way over to the food table, "Michael motor-mouth is already taking after Robin."

As ‘Anger Boy' devours a muffin and cup of coffee alongside his good buddy Jax *g*, little Miss Scorpio, affectionately dubbed "Saintly Spice" by her admirers on the set, is being prepped for her scenes. She is so named because of her proclivity for spreading goodness and light (not to be confused with pontificating) wherever she goes, and because of her fondness for shouting "girl-power!" whenever she dons the pink, kick-a** platform shoes. Suddenly, a small panic erupts at the makeup table. After determining what the problem is, the stage hand, who is within earshot of the studio audience, asks someone on the crew for some "lustre sheen". Without a moment's hesitation, several viewers reach into their purses and pull out spray cans of halo polish.

"Ah, I see we have gutter angels in attendance today," Guza laughs.

The stagehand shrugs. "But why all the polish?" he asks.

"I don't know what it is, but their halos always seem to tarnish faster than the others."

"I know what it is."

{Heads turn to see who has spoken up. As the man behind the voice approaches, pulses begin to race}

"He's here!" one of the gutter angels, outfitted completely in BLUE, cries out.

Guza gives a little nod in her direction. "You fancy Mr. Jacks, do you?"

"Oh yes! The man is absolutely volcanic. He has more charisma in his little finger than most men put together. He just *oozes* sex appeal....."

Her accolades are cut short as the stage manager's voice booms out loudly, "Alright, alright, places everyone!! Can I get makeup over here for Brenda's touch-up? And Jerry, I need you in the Outback, please."

Jerry turns to the audience. "Excuse me while I... ‘ooze' my way over to the set, ladies." He flashes the trademark Jacks grin, sending the group into a collective swoon.

As he walks towards the table, Jerry did a little John Wayne swagger, giving the audience a great show. He is hot, and he knows it. Wendy, who is standing not far away, gives a silent prayer that he has at least forgone the 'striptease', which was becoming an almost daily ritual of his in front of the studio audience. (Proving once again how "in touch" she is with the viewers and their wishes).

Robin is chatting with Brenda as the stylist approaches to finish with her hair. Robin's face lights up as she notices the woman is carrying a tray full of tiny barrettes, decorated with colorful baubles and pretty daisies. The woman looks at her sympathetically and says, "I'm sorry, dear, but these are for little Lulu; it's her turn to wear the hairpins today." Robin frowns, obviously disappointed by this unexpected turn of events. Jason, who has been observing the woman from a distance, comes over and offers to "take care of her" for Robin. Luke, who is also standing nearby, informs Jason that there is no need to take action; he has it on good authority that the woman, who also dabbles in acting, is slated to be one of the "extras" who is expended during Guza's next 'BLOWOUT' at Luke's club.

As Jerry gets comfortable on one of the Outback chairs, Jax and Brenda take their places on another set. Looking around, Jerry notices his brother across the way.

"Hey Jax," he calls out. "Nice tux!"

"Hi Jerry," Jax waves back, somewhat less enthusiastically, not overly thrilled at being in another 'monkey suit'.

Suddenly, the studio is filled with an ethereal chorus of euphonious chimes (er....that is, some bells are ringing). *g*

The stage manager looks up, distracted. "Did someone cue sound?" He asks.

"There isn't even anyone in the booth," remarks one of the crew.

{The audience's attention is now focussed on the celestial appearance overhead}

"What the..." Guza is taken aback as he gazes upwards, beyond the spotlights hanging from the rafters.

Jerry begins to laugh, as Jax stares, wide-eyed, at the vision overhead.

Brenda covers her eyes. "I can't look!" she cries, thinking how traumatized she will be by this just as she is by everything else in her life.

"Is this one of *your* angels, Jax?" Jerry teases.

"Not that I'm aware of," Jax grins, shaking his head in wonder.

The seraphic soul soars over the stage, swinging his stick like a sacrosanct scimitar. (I should point out that such beings are fond of alliteration). He merely smiles, not uttering a sound (except for one very brief but foul outburst when his wing becomes caught in a spotlight, scorching a few feathers). In an instant, he is flying past Wendy, grabbing papers out of her hand and making them disappear with a *POOF*. She is left bewildered, as the rest of the crowd look on, wondering what has just happened.

"What were those?" wonders Jax aloud.

Ms. Riche remains silent, a culpable look replacing her usually smug countenance.

"Tell them, Wendy," coaxes the angel, who has now drawn more than a little attention from staff watching the taping on monitors elsewhere in the building.

Wicked Wendy looks over at GH's sacred 'cash cow' -- the man whose TV-Q is higher than even her prize pupil (who, incidentally, continues to receive excessive recognition in the press, despite the fact that he has not worked under contract in well over a year) although she would never admit it publicly. Hanging her head, she says almost inaudibly, "They were storyline ideas for a 'post-Brenda' Jax; we're assigning the character to the C.L.U.E.L.E.S.S. writing team."

{Cries of "NO!!!" echo throughout the set}

If looks could kill, Bob Guza would be guilty of murder for the one he is shooting Wendy. "Jax is *mine*, you wretched little--"

"What about the PLEDGE, Ms. Riche?" one audience member shouts, cutting Captain Bob off mid-sentence. "Jax, the whole Jax, and nothing but the Jax???"

Luke, who is standing nearby, decides to get in on the action. "Wendy, darlin'," he purrs as he drapes an arm across her shoulders, "Bob's the man. Let him do the job, woman."

{The audience cheers, overjoyed that Luke is standing up for their hero!}

Jax gets up from his seat in the makeshift theatre, and strides purposefully toward the EP, a solemn look on his face. "Wendy, I can't bear to be thrown on the backburner any more! Either you give me a decent story, or I'm out of here for good!"

Jerry backs him up. "Jax is the best thing you've got on the canvas, for Pete's sake! Wake up and smell the coffee, Wendy!"

{....wake up Wendy......wake up......}

Wendy pries her eyes open, shaking her head as she tries to clear the cobwebs from her mind and revive herself. It was still early when she dozed off at her desk, going over a pile of paperwork. "What a dream," she muses, shuddering at the image of mighty Bob Guza staring her down. She looks up at the clock on the wall....8:15...the studio audience will be arriving soon, she thinks to herself. I better get up to the set. Standing up, she straightens her suit jacket and picks up the day's script. It is only after she has left the office, heading for the elevator, that a small white feather drifts from somewhere overhead, settling gently on the floor by her desk. Yes, what a dream, indeed.

....or was it?

Epilogue

The following is dedicated to Jasper Jacks, for whom I wish only the best and most rewarding future. It is based on the song "Always look on the bright side of life" by Monty Python's Eric Idle (I have blatantly plagiarised the creative work of this brilliant comedian, but I'm sure he would understand -- it's for Jax!!!)

{Audience participation: Sing along as our fairy sprinkles his magic dust everywhere}

Some things in life are bad
They can make you really mad
Other things just make you swear and curse
When you're chewing on life's gristle
Don't grumble, give a whistle
And this'll help things turn out for the best....
And...
{Music slides into the song as the audience readies themselves to join in the chorus}

...always look on the bright side of GH...
{Whistle}

Always look on the 'light' side of GH...
{Whistle}

If life seems jolly rotten,
Your character's been forgotten,
And your mate is leaving for another show;
They forgot what made you "Jax"
And they refuse to bring him back
You could always sign with 90210....

...always look on the bright side of GH...
{Whistle}

Come on.

...always look on the 'light' side of GH...
{Whistle}

For soaps are quite absurd
And backburner's the final word
You must always face the curtain with a bow
Forget about your sin -- give the audience a grin
Enjoy it -- it's your last chance anyhow.

...always look on the bright side of GH...
{Whistle}

...always look on the 'light' side of GH...
{Whistle}

{fade to black.....}