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steeled herself in anticipation. Would it be about her job? Her personal life? |
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"Is that your natural shade of hair?" |
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Mariah nearly laughed. "Yes, it is." |
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Helen touched her thin white curls. "I tried for years to get that color. My hair was mousy blond when I was young. I love that rich, honey shade, and those waves . . . very, very pretty." |
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Soon, thank heavens, dinner was over. The trays were cleared. She'd finished her apple juice and a second cup of tea. Helen, fortunately, became engrossed in a magazine, so Mariah would not have to be rude. |
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Now, she would read the screenplay. She used her forefinger to tear open the sealed envelope. There was no cover letter, just the script itself, held together at the left side by the customary brads. She lifted it out and read the front sheet, which contained preliminary information. The screenplay was entitled Point of Destiny. The author was Josiah Pierce. |
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Josiah. That was an unusual, old-fashioned name. Suddenly feeling a spurt of irrational bias, Mariah was sure she'd find the screenplay, too, to be outdated. A waste of her time. She should have stayed in New Orleans. She wasn't finished with her scouting there. She'd been terribly rude to the local film representatives, canceling their location tours so abruptly. |
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But she was under instructions from Angela. And this Josiah Pierce person was meeting her at the airport. |
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With a put-upon sigh, she turned the page and began to read. "Fade in." The script started with a standard scene-setting description. "Exterior shot, Fort Pitt1768." Yawning, Mariah scanned the page. |
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The very first line of dialogue read, "You must right a grievous wrong." |
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