WwolfeFelicitySopranos

Disclaimer: Characters and situations related to FELICITY and THE SOPRANOS are the property of others. No copyright infringement is intended or implied. But it won't matter if you sue, because Wwolfe isn't some kid that'll fold like a house of cards, he's the legal counsel for the DarkSide, the Devil's Mouthpiece, the real lawyer from Hell. So go ahead. Do your worst. If you dare. Bwa Ha Ha!

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A shaft of daylight cut through the darkness of the room. "Shut the door, ya moron!" a voice called out. Tony Soprano sat in his usual spot, the red leather booth next to the bar, nursing a drink and thinking evil thoughts about his mother. The BadaBing Club was his sanctuary - more home to him than his real home - and he wanted no intruders.

The first thing he noticed was the hair. "Jesus, Mary, and Joseph," he thought. It looked like a hairy squid. Next, he noticed the eyes. "Too damn doe-eyed," was his verdict. And her face! He'd poured a lot of concrete in his line of business, and the expression on her face was just like that concrete, after it set. All in all, this was a piece of work. And, to top it off, she proceeded to sit, uninvited, at his booth.

"I was given your name by a friend of a friend," she said.

Tony peered at her through the dim light and said, "I got no friends."

She rolled her eyes, and began to respond, "Look, Mr. Soprano, I need..."

Tony slammed a hand on the table and said, "No names! No names!"

She looked perplexed, so Tony said, "We may have guests, if ya know what I mean."

Again, the perplexed look, followed by a "Huh?"

Abandoning subtlety, Tony said, "The Feds got the place wired, ya dumb bunny", but even then he was met with the same blank look. Sighing, Tony said, "Morons. My life with the morons. OK, Missy, cut to the chase. Whaddaya want?"

"I need to discuss a contract," she said.

Tony's interest perked up. He knew a thing or two about contracts. "Are we talkin' about a hit?" he asked.

"Oh, yes!", she said, beaming. "It's a great big hit! The critics love it and I got a Golden Globe and I'm a role model and..."

Tony tried to rein her in. "Whoa, sister!" he said. "Just tell me - who's this hit on?"

She looked offended. "You don't know?" she said condescendingly.

Tony could feel the heat rising up the back of his neck.

"Why, it's on the WB, silly," she said.

Tony resisted the urge to give her mop of hair a good swift yank, and instead asked, "So who's this WB character? I don't do initials. Who we talkin'? Willy Bananas? Wings Badalucci? Who?" asked Tony.

With a note of frustration creeping into her voice, she spoke to him as if to a very slow child. "My hit is on the WB. My contract is with Jamie Kellner," she said. "Do you think you can grasp that distinction?"

Tony's patience was gone. Instinctively, his hand went to his belt, where,much to his sadness, he did not find a pistol. Since he could not attain immediate satisfaction for his anger, he decided to try the idea of "short-term
sacrifice for long-term gain" that he'd heard his son's teacher talk about once at Parent-Teacher Night. It sounded nutty to him, but right now he was willing to try it, if it would help reduce by one the number of fools in his private world. He smiled sweetly, or something like it, and said, "So the contract - just so I'm straight - we're dealin' with this Kellner, right? Help me out on this, 'cause, ya know, I'm a little slow on the uptake."

Her efforts to help the lame and halt having apparently succeeded, she smiled even more chillingly. "Yes!" she yipped. "You've got it!" If she had had a lollipop, she would have given it to him, just to show what a good boy he was.

After a brief discussion of where, when, and how much - all of which was settled with a singular lack of bickering on Tony's part - she left. Tony tossed back a shot of whiskey, then picked up the phone behind the bar and made a call.

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The two limousines were parked side by side, headed in opposite directions, in a vacant parking lot behind a shuttered warehouse next to the Hudson River. Grass grew through cracks in the pavement, paper blown by the breeze drifted down to the water's edge, and the sound of traffic on the Turnpike could be heard in the distance.

"But I really feel as though I ought to compensate you, Mr. Soprano." Tony gave the man a hard smile. This was one polite fella. Tony liked polite.

"Ixnay," said Tony. "This one's a freebie. Call it a labor of love." As he stared at Tony, it slowly dawned on the man that, aside from the less than amenable setting, the present conversation was simply a negotiation, not unlike any other negotiation he had conducted during his rise to his present position of power.

"Mr. Soprano, you're a businessman. I'm a businessman. You're providing me with a service. I believe in fair
compensation for services rendered. If you won't accept money, tell me what I can do for you."

Tony looked at him. He smiled again, and a little warmth crept into his expression this time. Respect. He liked respect. He and Kellner could do business. Tony knew what he wanted, and he knew this man could give it to him.

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The case was never solved. All anyone knew was that, after waiting a suitable length of time for their leading lady to return to work (in this case, eight and a half days), a replacement was found and production continued. Fresh from her success in "She's All That," a breathless Rachel Leigh Cook told a packed press conference, "Tragedy is a sad thing. But it's important for us to remember that life really does go on, and since it does, I'm just happy to be given this opportunity to play such a vital and important role." Possibly as a result of the related publicity, ratings for the show increased dramatically, finally establishing it as a success.

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When he watched it on TV, and he saw the body - his body - turn to dust before his very eyes, staked by the lead actress, he knew the hours in make-up spent concealing his features under the mask of a demon had been worth it. Not to mention the tit-for-tat he had arranged with Mr. K.

"Made it," said Tony, satisfied. "Best damn show on television."

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