========================================================================= Date: Sun, 17 Mar 1996 21:21:47 -0500 Reply-To: Sandra1012@AOL.COM Sender: Highlander TV show stories From: Sandra McDonald Subject: Richie's Obsession 1/1 Author's Note: My plot, but not my everything else. And Just for Fun! No angst, no torture, no gory beheadings, no Quickenings, no complex plotlines, no amazing philosophical debates. This is dedicated to Janette and Janine and Jennifer (the J-ladies?), and Angela and Gail and Monica, and anyone else who's written so nicely to me about my posts! If it's been done before, I apologize. If it's not funny, I apologize. But the mailing list started it with the "Now They've Done It" thread! Richie's Obsession a.k.a. Newfoundlander by Sandra McDonald sandra1012@aol.com Tessa shook her head as she put down the phone. "Richie's line is still busy," she said. "Do you think something might be wrong?" Duncan leaned back in his chair, momentarily ignoring the stack of bills and invoices on his desk. The shop was quiet this late summer afternoon, and he'd been having trouble concentrating on finances anyway. "It could be his new computer," he said. "Richie disconnects call-waiting while he's online." "For two days?" Tessa asked skeptically. "How long can someone sit in front of a computer monitor?" "You'd be surprised," Duncan smiled. She folded her arms. "He could be sick. Or in trouble. Or - " "I get the idea," Duncan said. "After all, he has ways of getting himself into trouble that surpass even your adventures." "True," Duncan admitted. "Okay, let's go. We'll stop by his place and then go to dinner at that little place by the water. Okay?" "Yes." She smiled dazzingly at him, triumphant again. Duncan knew he was usually helpless under her charm and cleverness. They locked the shop behind them, and drove to the upstairs apartment Richie had recently rented in a small Victorian house. His motorbike was parked in the drive, but his mailbox was overflowing with envelopes. Duncan frowned when he saw that. Richie was usually more attendant than that. He climbed the stairs first, holding Tessa back a little, straining his senses. Nothing seemed wrong. The blast of Richie's stereo through the door met them at the top. Duncan knocked several times before Richie answered. "Hey, Mac, Tessa," the young man said with a grin. He looked fine, if a little tired and unshaven. His cut-off shorts and ripped T- shirt bore numerous food stains. "Come on in. Watch out for the mess." Richie had never been an extraordinary housekeeper, even when he'd lived with them at the shop, but he'd reached new heights of untidiness in the small apartment. Clothes scattered on the old sofa might have been clean, might have been dirty, and had certainly set into a mass of wrinkles. Pizza boxes stacked by the door nearly tripped Tessa. The kitchen sink would need an excavation crew, and an unusual smell was coming from the garbage can. Richie's cat, an abandoned street orphan much like his owner, rubbed up against Duncan's left leg. "Richie," Tessa said, disapprovingly, over the loud music, "I've been trying to call you all day. Your line is always busy." "It's the computer," Richie called from the bedroom. The music stopped. "Don't come in here yet. Give me a minute." After a minute or so of preparation he yelled, "Okay. Coast's clear." The bedroom was worse than the living room. At some point Richie had moved his television to the bedroom dresser, and a dozen or so videotapes stacked on top were teetering towards a destiny on the floor. The computer and its accessories, including the stereo, took up half the wall on a desk Richie had assembled from plywood and milk crates. A very long printout streamed out of the dot matrix printer and down across the floor. He'd tacked up bulletin boards over the rest of the wall, and Duncan stared in perplexion at color photos, strange notes, a chronological world history chart, and a rather large ink drawing of some kind of sword. "What's going on?" Duncan asked. "I'm glad you asked," Richie answered cheerfully, parking himself in front of the computer and typing rapidly across the keyboard. "I've been meaning to call you guys and get your input for this. I've written a television series based on our lives. Here, take a look." Tessa leaned over his shoulder and read, "'Highlander: The Gathering, by Richard Ryan. Exterior, Night. A city alley, and an antique store' - Richie, what is this? A short story?" "No. See all this wierd formating stuff? It's a television script." Duncan was still looking at the bulletin board. "Where did you learn to write a television series?" "This book," Richie said, tossing him a volume by Syd Field. "It's real easy. And I bought software that comes up with plot options, and sets all the margins for me." Tessa continued to read down the screen. "Richie, what's this about us having wild sex while you were breaking in - you can't write this!" Richie said, "It reads better than you two just snoring in your orthopedic adjustable bed, Tessa." "Who's this?" Duncan asked, fingering a photo of a beautiful woman. "Miss America 1982. She's a recurring character in the series. Hot, isn't she?" Tessa straightened from the computer. "And I certainly don't remember anyone jumping through the skylight that night. What's this business about swords?" "That's the great part, you see? I couldn't write about the three of us so much. I mean, it would be pretty boring - " " - Boring!" Tessa interrupted. " - so I embellished it a little," Richie grinned. "You see, it turns out there are these people called Immortals, and they look just like you and me, but they live forever. Except if they lose their head. And that happens more than you would think, because they carry swords with them wherever they go. Although, to be honest, I haven't figured out where to hide a sword if you're not wearing a really long raincoat." Tessa gave Duncan a worried gaze. They'd both seen Richie in these manic moods before, incredibly excited about a new project or goal, only to have it not work out and plunge him into depression. Carefully she said, "So you wrote a story." "A script," Richie said. "A lot of scripts." He went to one of several milk crates on the floor and began pulling out bound volumes. "In this one, I meet this guy who wants to be my father because he owns some mobsters some money. In this one, a woman who looks like Joan Jett dives off a skyscraper and pretends to be a new Immortal because she wants to trick Duncan. In this one Roger Daltry - " "Richie," Duncan said, stopping him, "Who's this man? And how did you get a picture from the Ford Model Agency?" Richie passed some of the scripts to Tessa and then came to stand at Duncan's side. "Oh, that's this guy named Adrian Paul. He plays you in the series. He's really cool." "He certainly has more hair than you do," Tessa said from the bed. She leafed through the pages of one of the scripts and read for a few seconds. "What is this part about me getting shot? "Tessa, I'm sorry," Richie said profusely. "But I had to do it. Series development and everything. Duncan MacLeod needed to move on in his romantic life. By the way, that's what I renamed you. Duncan Kraemer wasn't rolling off the tongue. Tessa, you never married him, either. And you're French, not from Detroit." "Richie, let's get something straight," Duncan said firmly. "This television series doesn't exist." "All in here, it does," Richie said, tapping on his forehead. "It's great!" "Why is it called Highlander?" Tessa asked. "Because MacLeod comes from Scotland." Duncan said, "But I come from Newfoundland, you know that." "Yeah, but 'Newfoundlander' doesn't work as well," Richie said frankly. "I had to make some changes, you know, for the sake of the audience." "What audience?" Tessa asked. "What changes?" Duncan asked. "The audience that loves the show," Richie said. "And not a lot of changes. It didn't fit Duncan MacLeod's suave image to be running a pawn shop, so I changed it to antiques. Hardly anyone drives VW bugs anymore, so now you drive a classic Thunderbird. You're not forty, you're four hundred. I couldn't see placing the show here in Des Moines, so I put it in Seattle and Vancouver, and sometimes in Paris." His forehead furrowed in thought. "I think that's the big stuff." He moved back to the keyboard. "What's really cool is that there are thousands of Highlander fans out there, and they organize these Internet mailing lists to talk all about the episodes. And they even get together for conventions, which the stars attend, and you can buy swords and videotapes and pictures, everything." Duncan peered over Richie's shoulder. The Internet mailing list he was referring to seemed to be a set of different notes talking about the television show Baywatch. The convention flyer that Richie waved at him was for a insurance seminar in Baltimore. With a sigh, he put his hand on the young man's shoulder. "Richie, it's one thing to have a hobby, and another to become obsessed. You've got to get out more often. Mingle with people. This show's not real. It and all these so-called 'fans' exist only in your head." Richie shook his head. "Mac, you don't understand. See this? This is the where I'm writing how Joe Dawson gets fired from the Watchers. They're a bunch of people who - " "Richie!" Duncan said sternly, turning him in the chair. "You've got to stop. You've got to get a real life!" Richie looked as if he'd been slapped back to full consciousness. His gaze went to the computer monitor and then back to Duncan, blue eyes gradually clearing. "You're right, Mac," he said, and hung his head. "I guess I just let it all get to me." "Take a walk. Clean your house. Feed the cat," Duncan suggested. "And come by for dinner tomorrow, okay? Tessa's making meatloaf." "The low-fat recipe," Tessa said. "The doctor told him he has to lower his cholesterol and lose weight." Richie turned off his computer. "I'll be over for dinner. Thanks. See you guys later." He saw them to the door, then walked back to his computer. He looked at the bulletin board. At his screen. At the yellow post-it notes stuck across his desk, detailing Immortals and weapons and future plots. "But this *is* a real life," he said to himself, and turned the computer back on. Down in the driveway, Duncan and Tessa climbed into the car. "Newfoundlander," Duncan tried aloud. "It sounds better than 'Highlander.' Although I must say, the idea of Immortals is an interesting one." Tessa pulled down the sun visor to peer at the clip-on mirror. She ran her fingers through her short dark hair and adjusted her thick glasses. "Oh, Mac," she asked, "Who wants to live forever, anyway?" Duncan backed out of the driveway. "It just goes to show you. There can be only one Richie." The End (ducking rotten vegetables thrown on stage) Author's note: Written with a fond nod to the last episode of "St Elsewhere" and at the end of a very long week! Descriptions of Richie's apartment compared to my own are completely coincidental. You can buy Syd Field and Scriptware on your own. Newfoundlanders are just called Newfs, and I'm a third generation one as well as an ex-resident myself. Thanks for sticking through it!