Sara typed anxiously into her cell phone as she moved quickly from room to room.  She paused briefly to push her lock of red hair behind her ear.  With one pass across her nose to itch it, she remembered the papers that Phillips had needed.  She turned in her sensible brown shoes with a jerk, took one step and ran straight into someone.  She bounced off his arm stopping abruptly.  Taking one short glance up from her phone to apologize, she was suddenly captured by his face.  Sara recognized this dark haired man.  She drew in a deep breath while they locked eyes.  She smiled through closed lips and proceeded with her apology.

"Oh my goodness.  I'm so sorry."

He meekly smiled back at her, "no harm done."

Sara's gaze lasted a moment longer before she excused herself.  Stepping to the right she proceeded along her way. 

The man was tall, dark and handsome.  A total cliché'.  And to top it all off...a movie star.  Johnny Martinson.  He wasn't a top biller, or even a household name, but he had starred in his share of box office hits and was destine to become both of those things.  He had been called in that day to read for a possible narration roll.  He watched Sara hurry away into a small office while he finished pouring his coffee.  He added his creamer, then leaned up against the short wall to stir. 

Sara pulled the pagers out of the folder on Phillips' desk and made her duplicate copies the way he had requested. 

Johnny watched as she left the copy machine running and met up with a group of friends at craft services with a bright, perfectly inviting smile.  She stole a banana off the serving table.  As she tore back the peel, another man questioned her about the news he had just heard. 

Johnny over heard him ask her if she had heard the news about the Stones.  Sara placed her hand in the air indicating for him to stop.  "Oh please," she said to him.  "You know how I feel about the Stones." 

"Oh I know," the young man said to her, "They're one of the three bands, right?" Three with finger quotes around it.

The third gentleman then interjected, "What three bands is that?"

"The three bands that make you either a loose, a looser, or what's the third one Sara?  Oh ya, a looser, to like them." 

The third man laughed as he inquired for more information.

Sara took another bite from her banana as she glared at them with irritation.  Swallowing she moved her fruit down in front of her and went on to explain.  "Okay.  It goes like this.  People over forty usually fall into three basic categories.  They either love the Beatles, Elvis, or (Ug she sighed,) the Stones." 

"Okay?" he nodded in agreement but asked what the significance of that was.

"Well," she continued.  "Besides the fact that none of them, musically, were really that good?" she laughed.  "If you like the Beatles, then you were probably a teenie-bopper girl that didn't know jack about music.  Just screamed all crazy at the cute boy band.  If you're an Elvis lover, that means that you were trying desperately to either A, be a rebel...and failed.  Or B, you just followed along with the pack at what the world thought was cool...even though you probably weren't."

"And the Stones?" he asked.

"Well, the Stones mean, that you either were a druggie of the seventies, or you want everyone to think you were."  She took her last bite, "regardless, they're all bandwagon listening artist.  People claim to have loved them or to have listened to them, because they think to talk about it now makes them cool."

The man stood with his arms crossed in heavy contemplation.  "So which category do you fall into?" he finally asked.

"Ah-ah-ah," she said wagging her finger at him.  "In their forties my friend.  Very important factor in the equation you over looked."

"So who should you be a fan of?  I mean to be cool?"

Sara tossed her peel in the trash and began to walk away, "That's easy," she said.  Turning back to him, she told them, "everything else."  She winked and returned to the office.

The copier had completed it's assignment.  She clipped the pages together and continued on with her duties.  Handing the pages to Phillips, she turned and began onward to her next task.  Phillips stopped her before she got more then five steps away.

"What are these?" he asked.

Sara turned back around to her boss, "those are the pages you asked me for earlier," she explained.

"This isn't what I needed," he corrected her.

"Pages seventy three to one hundred and four...the scene by the river."

"No." he said with irritation.  "I needed the scene after the river."  He scrambled through what she had brought to him until he reached the last page.  "I need copies of the next scene.  I need where they bury the damn thing," he said with disgust.

Sara looked confused.  She had written down exactly what he said.  Exactly what he had told her that morning when she arrived and he went down his normal ten page long list of things that she needed to do immediately.  But apparently he had misspoke...and Sara was at fault...again.  "Oh.  Okay," she nodded subtly. 

Phillips moved in closer to reprimand her privately, "If you can't do this job Miss Ellers, then perhaps I can find someone that can."

"Sir.  I'm sorry.  I wrote down what you said this morning."  She knew not to argue with a man that was always right, but she needed to defend her self on some level.  She got her fact out there then quickly scrambled to fix her problem.  "It's not a problem...I'll go make those other copies right now and you'll have them in a few minutes.  I'm sorry Mr. Phillips."

He glared down on her before finally releasing her to do her job.    Sara scurried back to his office, pulled the next scene, made the copies and ran them back over to him.  He glanced through them quickly before she walked away to make sure that this time he had not misspoken. 

All the while Johnny watched her.

She quickly left the production room and found herself in the hallway completely unnerved.  She reached into her denim pocket and pulled out seventy five cents.  Dropping each coin through the small slot, she pushed the corresponding buttons and waited.  The machine turned it's coil.  The candy bar moved to the edge.  The candy bar did not fall. 

"Damn it." She whispered through gritted teeth and gave the machine a small shove.  Still nothing.  Reaching back in again she pulled out her last bit of change.  Once again she entered each coin, pushed the buttons...the machine turned, and still nothing dropped off the line.  Sara felt herself over come with rage.  Her face went flush as she forcefully shoved the machine again.  Again and again she shoved it, pushed it, shook it, and finally kicked the vending machine.  

She excitedly looked around the hallway for something to use.  There was nothing.  She went a few feet further and entered a small room.  Dropping the person's red leather coat on a chair, she took the wire hanger in which it had hung and began untwisting the top.  Dropping down to her knees before the mythical candy bar God that held her destiny, she pushed the plastic flap inward and drew in a deep breath.  With determination on her face, she reached through the opening with the hanger and began fishing for her chocolate bar.   She reached as high as she could cramming her arm in as far as physics would allow.  She twisted on the floor, moving from her knees until she was seated flat on the floor, then twisting even more to her side as her legs kicked out on the tile floor.  She scrambled to get traction as she jammed the hanger up further and further.  She could not reach it.  Finally she punched the machine as hard as she could and exhaled in defeat. 

Sara hung her head in frustration...arm still lodged in the vending machine.  Caught from the corner of her eye, she spotted a dollar bill briskly held out for her taking.  Afraid to look up, Sara took one more deep breath and sheepishly glanced up at him.  It was Johnny again.  Looking back down at her predicament, she was appalled with embarrassment.  She paused only for a moment and then carefully, and gracefully removed her arm from the vending machine.  Once freed, she moved back onto the cold floor dropping herself into an Indian style sit.  Once there she looked up again in complete humiliation.

Johnny just smiled at the woman.  He ran the bill through his fingers once to remove any creases, then slid it into the machine.  "What number?" he asked.

"E8," Sara answered.  "But it's not going to work.  I've already put it in twice."

Johnny pressed the buttons and they watched as it once again twirled and nothing fell.  "How about a peanut butter cup?" Johnny asked her.  "I hear the chocolate and the peanut butter go pretty well together," he added with a smile.

Sara looked up at the machine and nodded. 

Once again he inserted a dollar bill.  Pressed the buttons, and as the Reese's fell from it's shelf, they brushed along her chocolate bar which came tumbling down as well.  Both jerking their heads back with surprise at the turn of events, they simultaneous let out a small empty laugh.

Johnny reached down into the vending machine, searching around for the wrappers.  Finally grabbing hold of them both he retrieved them and offered them to the young woman still sitting in the hallway.  Sara looked at her options before taking her chocolate bar.  Johnny then out reached his right hand to her.  Sara looked at his perfectly manicured fingers before placing hers in his palm.  Helping her to her feet, he offered up his introduction.  "John," he told her.  Sara stood inches from his perfect face.  Smiling she nodded slightly.  His name was something she already knew.  "Sara," she finally answered. 

They turned and walked back down the hallway, both tearing into candy wrappers.  "Creedence." Johnny finally said.  Sara looked up at him quizzically.  "That's what the cool kids should have been listening to," he added with a grin.  Sara was caught off guard.  As he turned to walk through the doorway, Sara stopped and watched him pass with eager delight in her eyes.