Saving Miss Gulch

Another Clarence-the-Angel Mission*

FADE IN.

EXT. HEAVEN, DAY

It is a bright day above a misty cloudscape. We hear someone huffing and puffing, and out of the heavenly mist we find CLARENCE, the It’s a Wonderful Life angel, in a lovely lemon Lycra yoga outfit. He is panting and pumping away on an exercise bike.

CLARENCE (sing-song)

“Give that chicken fat back to the chicken, and don’t be chicken again!” Hah-hah, Hee-hee, Hah-hah-heee! ’Tis a fabulous angel’s life for me!

CLARENCE dismounts the bike, smoothing down his garment tenderly and fluffing out his wings.

CLARENCE

Well that should be enough. And if I get tired, I can always fly.

GLINDA, THE WITCH OF THE NORTH (voice-over)

Did you bring your broomstick?

CLARENCE

What? Huh? Broomstick? Yes, I’m sure. Well, probably. I think Dorothy brought the whole house with her. Right, she brought the house down—in that twister thingy. I’d rather have a bubble like yours, though. Pink. Mmmm...

CLARENCE’s eyes begin to mist as he falls into a reverie over the beautiful pink bubble the Good Witch Glinda travels in.

MARLEY (voice-over)

Try Lyft, use the “bubble” filter when you search.

CLARENCE

Oh, good idea.

He reaches into his pocket for his phone, peers at it, whacks it against his thigh, and aims it down into the cloudscape below.

CLARENCE

Why should it be so hard to get a signal up here?

MARLEY (voice-over)

We didn’t make that stuff. They did.

CLARENCE

Oh, right, of course. Oh well.

He puts the device back in his pocket, straightens his hair, and stands at attention as a burst of thunder and lightning flash-transitions to reveal MR. JORDAN.

JORDAN is the debonair chief of all mid-level angelic activity here in this sector of Heaven, lovingly known as the bureau of Rewrites of Wronged Fictions, or ROWF.

He is followed by MARLEY, the late business partner of Scrooge, who bears a striking resemblance to BIFF, the mischievous Back to the Future clockblocker and time-travel troublemaker.

JORDAN carries a clipboard and checks the records regarding his next assignment for CLARENCE.

JORDAN

Ah, darling Clarence, I see, ready as usual. Now this assignment—(he eyes CLARENCE’s yoga gear)—um, I don’t want to sound like your mother, but is that what you’re wearing?

MARLEY snorts derisively.

JORDAN

Now, Biff, don’t be derisive. Please find a nice pair of denim overalls for our dear warrior for the Souls Left Behind.

MARLEY exits.

CLARENCE

Overalls? You mean like a spiffy jumpsuit? Oh, smashing! But denim, really? Isn’t that a bit—too—too much texture?

CLARENCE scratches his legs nervously.

JORDAN

Now, now, my darling fashionista. There will be no sweetheart necklines or satin ruching in this assignment. You must assimilate into your milieu to unobtrusively effect the required alteration to the timeline the nefarious Rittenhouse composed, no doubt to— You seem confused, dear one.

CLARENCE

Well, to be truthful, Mr. Jordan, Tom Sawyer didn’t have such big words in it, and I just want to know what I need to do.

JORDAN

Of course, my dear. (Clearing his throat) Well, the time has come at last. We’re going to go after the Big One. The Wickedess Majorous Westernaturas.

CLARENCE

Are any of those real words?

JORDAN

Your client for this mission, Angel Clarence, is one Miss Gulch. Elvira Gulch, aka the Wicked Witch of the West.

A loud clap of thunder is heard, accompanied by the wicked-witch theme song.

MARLEY returns with the overalls, which are a medium-toned sepia color. With another flash of lightning and rumble of thunder, CLARENCE is now wearing the brown overalls, and he, too, is drained of his usual rosy complexion.

CLARENCE

Oh, dear. I confess I’m a little disappointed. So I’ll be going under the rainbow, not over it?

JORDAN

“Kansas, she said, is the name of her star.” Off you go, darling. And remember, you must get to the heart of the character’s motivation. Find out why Elvira Gulch was wicked, and you’ll soon find the solution for saving her soul. You must understand the psychology of the individual, as our friend Angel Jeeves used to say.

JORDAN launches a wipe-transition effect, which is musical and colorful, flashing CLARENCE through the rainbow and down to

INT. KANSAS FARMHOUSE, DAY

DOROTHY has just woken up from her cyclone-induced concussion dream in the colorful land of Oz. Her sepia-toned bedroom is filled with her sepia-toned friends and family: PROFESSOR MARVEL, AUNTIE EM and UNCLE HENRY, and farmhands HUNK, HICKORY, and ZEKE.

CLARENCE joins the scene quietly and unobtrusively, standing outside the window next to PROF. MARVEL. Pleased with himself, he has transformed the overalls into a tidy two-button suit.

DOROTHY (mid-revelation)

Oh, but it was a very real place! And most of it was beautiful! (Pointing at each in the room) And you, and you, and you, and you were all there— And (spotting CLARENCE’s wings) and you!!

DOROTHY lets out a frightened yelp, and ALL turn toward CLARENCE, who quickly tucks his wings back out of sight.

AUNTIE EM

Now who the devil are you? If Elvira Gulch sent you for the dog, we don’t have him. She took him before the storm.

DOROTHY

He did take Toto! That’s the flying monkey who took Toto to the witch’s castle! Oh, you humbug! You should be ashamed of yourself!

Friends and family in the room chuckle a bit over DOROTHY’s continued insistence on the reality of the dream sequence.

CLARENCE

Flying what? No, no, no, my dear, I’m afraid you’re quite mistaken. But I am here on Miss Gulch’s behalf. Is she here?

UNCLE HENRY

Now why would Miss Gulch be here, except to foreclose on our farm?

DOROTHY looks worriedly around the room.

DOROTHY

But no, Toto came back to me! He came back! That’s when we ran away. And Professor Marvel was going to bring us back home in his balloon from the state fair, but he flew away without us.

AUNTIE EM readjusts the cold compress on DOROTHY’s forehead.

AUNTIE EM

There, there, we all think strange things when we— Wait a minute, where is Toto?

TOTO trots into the room carrying a woman’s shoe, dropping it on DOROTHY’s bed. They play happily together.

CLARENCE

Nice pump. Mid-heel, flattering ankle strap, practical, and not too gaudy for this era.

HUNK and HICKORY snicker. ZEKE takes the shoe and examines it, then self-consciously drops it back on DOROTHY’s bed.

MARLEY (voice-over)

Dandelion.

JORDAN (voice-over)

Now, Biff—

UNCLE HENRY

Whew. Well, at least I don’t think he’s Gulch’s juice man.

PROF. MARVEL

In the vernacular of the Chicago mob. (Turning to CLARENCE) So why are you here? Wait, wait, don’t tell me! Let me consult my crystal. (He retrieves the crystal ball from his bag.) So, ahem, is everyone in tune with the infinite?

AUNTIE EM

Stuff and nonsense. Now will all of you please leave. Dorothy’s had enough excitement for one day. And that storm didn’t do that yard any good. (Glaring at HUNK and HICKORY) And get woke, will you two please!

HUNK, HICKORY, and ZEKE say toodles to DOROTHY and exit to do their farmhand thing.

PROF. MARVEL (tipping his hat)

Now I’ll be running along, too. Glad to know the little lady made it home all right. (Exits, winking to DOROTHY.)

AUNTIE EM

Now, Dorothy, I’ve a good mind to scold you—you and little Toto—but you’ve been through a lot. You just rest now. (Noticing CLARENCE loitering in the window.) I beg your pardon, sir. Where are my manners? Won’t you come in? How can we help? You don’t need a job here now, do you? Henry, help this little man find his way to the front door.

A flash of lightning and bolt of thunder move the action along to:

INT. FARMHOUSE LIVING ROOM, DAY

The Gale family farmhouse is still a bit of a mess after the storm, and TOTO playfully scampers through the debris, pretending to bury and unbury anything that fits in his mouth. CLARENCE jots notes in a small notebook as AUNTIE EM and UNCLE HENRY answer his questions.

AUNTIE EM

I don’t really know what else I can tell you, Mr. Clarence. Elvira Gulch is just the meanest witch in the county, always has been. No one goes near her. Not even the men working for her. All she cares about is that silly garden of hers.

CLARENCE

Garden? Well that’s something to go on. She cares about the garden, does she?

AUNTIE EM

Yes, though what flower or vegetable or weed dares grow there, I’m sure I have no earthly notion.

UNCLE HENRY

Weed, eh? Heh. A little pharmaceutical farming, my guess. No wonder she’s upset with Toto. Maybe that’s what he’s been digging around there for.

CLARENCE

What else can you tell me about Miss Gulch? I’m trying to learn the psychology of the individual.

DOROTHY enters sheepishly and sleepily, rubbing her eyes.

CLARENCE

Miss Dorothy, why don’t you tell me about your dream— that is, your visit to this rainbow place. Was Miss Gulch there, too?

DOROTHY

I think so. She was mad at me. She thought I stole her shoes or something. Oh, and there was the thing about me killing her sister. She was pretty mad about that, too.

CLARENCE

I can imagine! And then what happened?

DOROTHY

Well, she tried to set my friend on fire, and like I said, her flying monkey kidnapped Toto first, then me, and we were in her castle with a— um, an egg timer? No, it was an hour glass. And she said something weird.

CLARENCE, AUNTIE EM, and UNCLE HENRY lean in to hear.

DOROTHY

She said, “How kind of you to visit me in my loneliness!” But real sneery and sarcastic-like. And she had Toto in her lap and was petting him, but like she didn’t know how to pet a dog right and might hurt him.

JORDAN (voice-over)

That’s It!!!

AUNTIE EM and UNCLE HENRY look around to see who said that, then turn to CLARENCE for explanation.

CLARENCE (mimicking JORDAN’s voice)

That’s It!!!

JORDAN (voice-over, only CLARENCE hears)

Yes, it is, now get on your bike and get going.

CLARENCE

Thank you very much for your time, Mr. and Mrs. Gale. I believe I have all I need. Can’t keep Mr. Jordan—er, Miss Gulch waiting.

DOROTHY

I’ll see you out, sir. You’re not really a flying monkey. I see that now.

CLARENCE

Thank you.

DOROTHY

Come on, Toto.

AUNTIE EM

Don’t forget his leash, young lady. That’s what got you into trouble in the first place!

Thunder booms, lightning flashes, and we swipe right to:

EXT. MISS GULCH’S HOUSE, DAY

A quaint Victorian gingerbread-style house (all in sepia tones—still in Kansas, you know) is surrounded by a well-kept yard, surrounded by spiked ironwork fencing with a heavily bolted gate.

A few workers in vaguely military uniforms buzz about the place but disappear as the owner/mistress of the house appears, gardening tools in hand.

MISS GULCH dives into a spot in the garden just where the ground meets the foundation of the house. There are other spots along the house’s perimeter that seem to have been dug up, but abandoned. She is busy filling the hole when CLARENCE and DOROTHY ride up to the fence and park their bikes. DOROTHY carefully takes a leash out of the basket on her bike and fastens it to TOTO’s collar. The three step up to the gate, peering through it to see MISS GULCH at work.

DOROTHY (loudly, pretending to read a sign)

“Bell out of order. Please knock.”

MISS GULCH (looking up)

Whipper-snapper! I suppose you’ve come to beg me for mercy for your mangy little dog.

TOTO

ROWF!!

CLARENCE (to TOTO)

Yes, boy, I remember. “Rewrites of Wronged Fictions.”

(to MISS GULCH)

Good afternoon, Miss, may my young friend and I have a moment of your time?

MISS GULCH stands and brushes herself off. Seeing CLARENCE, she straightens her hair and discreetly pinches her cheeks to a rosy (less sepia) hue.

MISS GULCH

How kind of you to visit me in my loneliness. Well, I suppose you had better come in off the street where my nosy neighbors can see (she speaks louder) and hear all my business with a gentleman caller. (To DOROTHY) Just keep that mangy little beast tied up. Tie him to that tree over there, where he can’t bite me again.

MISS GULCH opens the gate and lets CLARENCE and DOROTHY in. DOROTHY goes to tie TOTO’s leash to the tree, as TOTO squirms unwillingly.

DOROTHY goes exploring around the yard, which has many winged-monkey-shaped garden ornaments in various sinister and silly poses.

CLARENCE follows MISS GULCH to a wrought-iron seat under the shade of another tree.

MISS GULCH

You look very familiar to me, Mr. Clarence. Are you sure we haven’t met before?

CLARENCE

I’m told I resemble a flying monkey. But I assure you, my means of transport does not involve those kinds of wings. Tell me, have you lived in this house very long?

MISS GULCH

This is the Gulch Family Estate, which I inherited from the trust following the unfortunate demise of my sister.

A sudden gust of wind startles MISS GULCH, who leaps into CLARENCE’s arms. She regains her composure.

MISS GULCH

I don’t know why, but the wind kicks up from the East every time I mention my sister.

The gust of wind repeats itself.

DOROTHY runs up to CLARENCE and MISS GULCH with TOTO’s leash in her hand.

DOROTHY

Oh, no, I’m so sorry, Miss Gulch, but Toto’s escaped again!

MISS GULCH

That mutt must have been Houdini in a previous life! Well, where is he? Go and fetch him before he starts digging under my house again.

DOROTHY starts to run off again but stops.

DOROTHY

Under your house? I thought you said before he was digging in your garden.

MISS GULCH (flustered)

Yes, of course, quite right, the part of my garden that goes right up to the house. See all those holes over there? That’s where he’s been digging. I’ve been trying to fill up those holes, but every day when you come by, there he is digging up in another spot.

CLARENCE

Miss Gulch, if you don’t mind my asking. What happened to your sister?

The Easterly gust of wind blows again.

MISS GULCH (sobbing)

It’s this house. This miserable, lonely house. You see, it used to be just over there. But a dozen years ago or so, I reckon, there was a big twister that blew in from the East. It picked up the whole house and dropped it down, ker-PLOP, right here. Right on my dear little Annabelle! All that was left was one little shoe. Here, I’ll show you.

MISS GULCH leads the mystified CLARENCE and DOROTHY into the house.

INT. MISS GULCH’S PARLOR, DAY

MISS GULCH removes some books from a built-in bookcase to reveal a secret safe. She turns the dial this way and that, then that way and this again, numbers aligning just so. At last she opens the safe and draws out a fine mesh bag and hands it to DOROTHY.

MISS GULCH

Here, my fine little neighbor. Open it. Reveal my sorrow.

DOROTHY opens the bag and holds out a shoe: a young lady’s pump. Mid-heel, flattering ankle strap. Practical, and not too gaudy for the era.

DOROTHY

But, what happened to the ruby slippers?

CLARENCE

You dream in color, don’t you?

TOTO (off screen)

ROWF!!

ALL turn their eyes to TOTO, who is tugging at a curtain over a closet hidden behind a large bureau.

MISS GULCH

No! No! Pay no attention to the boxes behind that curtain!

DOROTHY goes to investigate. TOTO is keen on one particular box in the closet, which DOROTHY drags to the middle of the room. She dips both hands into it and draws out fists full of bright, ruby red sequins.

CLARENCE (mesmerized)

Oooooo!

DOROTHY

What in the world?

CLARENCE

It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen in my whole entire—well, “life,” if you will.

DOROTHY looks suspiciously at MISS GULCH, who buries her face in her hands in shame.

MISS GULCH

These were Annabelle’s. It was her dream. She was going to start a business. She wanted to make Kansas the glamour capital of the Western frontier.

CLARENCE

With Kinky Pumps? Oh my, so sad, so sad.

TOTO

ROWF!!

CLARENCE

Oh, yes, the rewrite. Hmm, what to do, what to do. If only we could go back in time, warn Annabelle about the coming twister, and get everyone into the storm shelter before the house drops on her.

TOTO scampers off and returns quickly with the matching little shoe he previously deposited on DOROTHY’s bed. He drops it into the box of ruby sequins.

MISS GULCH

The shoe! The shoe! This blessed little puppy found her other shoe!

CLARENCE

You could still make Annabelle’s dream come true, if you wish, Miss Gulch.

MISS GULCH

I hadn’t her talent. No, Annabelle was the one with all the magic. (The East wind gusts.) I only succeeded through—

DOROTHY

Bullying people. That’s no way to be. You should be ashamed of yourself.

MISS GULCH (sobbing)

I can’t change the way I am. It’s too late.

MR. JORDAN (voice-over)

Ahem. Clarence, dear, do you need help? You seem to be inhibited by an inability to envision alternative timelines, shifting paradigms, quantum leaping, and—that is, I’m sending you reinforcements.

Scene-changing lightning and thunder—and a weird, steampunk kind of mechanical blast—take us back to

EXT. GULCH’S YARD, DAY

A large mechanical orb—shaped like the Prof. Marvel’s helium balloon from the state fair—has suddenly appeared in the yard. MISS GULCH, DOROTHY, TOTO, and CLARENCE all rush out from the house in astonishment to investigate.

JORDAN (voice-over)

“Bell out of order. Please knock.”

TOTO

ROWF!!

DOROTHY approaches the orb, and as she reaches to knock on the hatch, it sweeps open with a clank, kicking up a cloud of nanoparticles.

Through the mist of the time machine’s hatch steps out MARLEY, old Scrooge’s partner, at last sent on his first real soul-saving mission. He is wearing a sweatshirt emblazoned with the phrase #CLOCKBLOCKER.

Accompanying him are slightly older versions of DOROTHY, MISS GULCH, TOTO, and CLARENCE.

The sets of double characters regard each other and themselves in mystification.

MARLEY

Well? What are you waiting for? You guys wanna save Annabelle, or what?

The Easterly wind whooshes as we

FADE OUT.

*To read more of Clarence the Wonderful Life Angel's adventures, visit:

Saving Mr. Potter
Christmas Belle, or: Saving Miss Fezziwig
Saving Mr. Sawyer
Saving Mr. Jordan
Saving "Big" Susan

Saving "Big" Susan

Another Clarence the Angel Mission

FADE IN.

EXT. HEAVEN. BOTH DAY AND NIGHT AND NEITHER.

Clarence the “Wonderful Life” angel and his mentor, Mr. “Heaven Can Wait, Here Comes” Jordan, stroll thoughtfully through the heavenly mist, conferring over the latter’s hand-held OmniVista smart-device. (Did we say “smart”? Ha! This is Heaven. It’s omniscient!) They appear to be browsing shopping sites. Clarence, wearing his favorite gown, tenderly strokes the bedazzled ruching across his bodice, his wings inadvertently swiping-right on Jordan’s screen.

MR. JORDAN

Ah, Clarence, I know how fond you are of our prize-winning AngelWear bridal selections, but for this mission we need to catch you up to something more appropriate for a modern business milieu. It is now the year of mercy, Two Thousand and Eighteen, and while gentlemen of distinction do dress distinctly, we shall need you to be more, shall we say, indistinct.

CLARENCE

Business? What kind of business this time? Didn’t our dear Mr. Dickens remind us “mankind” is our business?

JORDAN nodding indulgently

Yes, quite right, darling Clarence. Words wisely spoken in the character of dead-as-a-door-nail Jacob Marley, to be precise.

The two shoppers glance across the cloudscape to a tall clerk’s desk, where a ghostly Marley, tugging at the chains at his feet, scratches busily at his ledger.

JORDAN calling out

How’s that list coming along, Marley?

MARLEY

I’m just finishing up the second draft now, Mr. Jordan!

JORDAN

Now, Biff, don’t try and con me!

MARLEY

I mean, I’m ... I’m just getting started on the Naughty list now, sir.

Marley double-taps his smart-device and swipes down through this said list. And swipes and swipes and swipes. He sighs self-pityingly.

MARLEY

It’ll only be a minute. (Sotto voce) Or a millennium.

CLARENCE

I didn’t know we called it that, too. I always thought the Naughty and Nice lists were a Santa Claus thing.

JORDAN

Well, this time of year, we put in a little extra work for our friends down at the North Pole. The lists do come in handy later, when the Time comes for each little girl and each boy.

Jordan and Clarence resume their shopping. Then, with a sweep of his grand wing, Jordan swipes the view on his hand-held onto a nearby billboard-sized cloud display. We see a bright, colorful room full of toys. A grandmotherly woman, holding her own smart-device, makes her way to each toy and inspects it carefully.

JORDAN

Now observe this young woman closely, dear Clarence.

CLARENCE

“Young”? She looks like somebody’s little ol’ grandma.

JORDAN

In age, perhaps, but no. She never married and is no one’s grandma. Meet Susan, age 60, founder, owner, CEO, and chair of the second-most-successful toy company in the world.

CLARENCE

Only second? What is she, like the Clay Aiken of the toy world? And we need to help her get to Number One? (He observes Susan working in her toy shop.) She looks pretty happy where she is. Lovely, too. Why did she never marry? Did she never fall in love?

JORDAN

Well, yes. She did fall in love, in fact. It’s complicated. And a tad inappropriate.

CLARENCE

Oh my oh my oh my. Not another one of your dirty stories, Mr. Jordan.

Quickly—and not just for the sake of brevity but to minimize inevitable copyright infringement—Jordan tells Clarence the tale of When Josh Met Susan. It’s a 30-year-old tale of two (seemingly) 30-year-olds meeting at the Macmillan Toy Co. in New York. It was true love, but a love not meant to be, for the boy toy really wasn’t 30 at all, but a 13-year-old whose wish to be Big was temporarily granted by the mysterious and mischievous angel Zoltar.

(ON SCREEN) EXT. AN AMUSEMENT PARK. DAY.

In the scene Clarence and Jordan watch together, Josh has asked Zoltar to return him from the 30-year-old man’s life he was not prepared to live and back to the 13-year-old life he knew was where he should be. He has invited the 30-year-old “Big” Susan to come with him, back to her own adolescence. Balking at the memory of the hormones and zits and irrational rages and obsessions of her 13-year-old self, Susan declines. Josh assures her he will never forget her.

SUSAN (age 30)

Who knows, maybe in 10 years. … Maybe you should hold onto my number!

She kisses young Josh tenderly on the forehead and says goodbye to the love of her life.

(SCREEN FADES OUT.)

EXT. HEAVEN

Clarence dabs his moist eyes with the tip of his wing, and Jordan toggles his device back to shopping for men’s wear.

CLARENCE

Don’t tell me. Ten years pass, and Josh and Susan don’t meet again.

JORDAN

And another 10 years. And now another. (He double-taps his device.) Ah, this is just the suit for you, darling Clarence. Now you can visit Big Susan and not scare the bejeebers out of her.

CLARENCE

Oh, that’s fine. But you haven’t told me my mission. And what happened to the boy Josh?

JORDAN

Ah, yes. Josh. Poor kid.

CLARENCE

Oh, no! What did happen?

Jordan swipes his giant wing across the billboard-sized screen, and we see young Josh standing once again before the mysterious and mischievous angel Zoltar. Clarence clutches hand to brow.

CLARENCE

D’oh!

(ON SCREEN) EXT. AMUSEMENT PARK. NIGHT.

The 13-year-old Josh, standing before the Zoltar fortune-telling machine, makes his wish.

JOSH

Boy, I loved working at that toy company. Oh, Zoltar, this is my wish: When I get big again, I want to be in toys. Final answer.

Josh aims the ramp at Zoltar’s mouth and releases a ball. Zoltar swallows the ball, and his eyes light up. His internal machinery clanks and rattles, and into the slot produces the card with Josh’s new fate. Josh picks up the card and slowly turns it over. The message reads: “Your wish is granted.”

JOSH

Awesome!

MARLEY (voice over)

What a maroon.

A thunderous cloud burst interrupts all heavenly consultation. A bright burst of lightning changes the scene, and a nattily attired Clarence finds himself in:

INT. SUSAN’S TOY COMPANY SHOWROOM. DAY

The room is bright and colorful, shelves lining all the walls and filled with toys and games for all ages. In the corner of the room is a tall clerk’s desk, topped with stacks of ledgers, behind which Susan examines her own books, not having a Bob Cratchitt of her own. Over her shoulder, on a shelf in a special bullet-proof glass case, is her most prized possession, a toy cowboy named Woody.

Not terribly startled by the sudden appearance of “businessman” Clarence, Susan dreamily looks up from her work.

SUSAN

Good afternoon, Mr. Angelo. Or may I call you Clarence?

CLARENCE

You were expecting me, Miss Susan? I’m a little surprised.

SUSAN

Don’t be silly. I know everyone in this business. And I know what you’re here after.

CLARENCE

You know of the hereafter?

SUSAN

Yes, of course. You toy men are all the same. As long as I own the Woody license, I will never be without interested visitors.

She turns to her glass-enclosed prize and blows him a kiss.

CLARENCE

Ah, but my dear Miss Susan. What if I were to tell you it is not what I want that brings me to see you, but rather what you want.

SUSAN

I can assure you, Mr. Angelo, I want for nothing.

Susan resumes checking her ledger. Clarence wanders around the room admiring the wealth of treasures surrounding the grandmotherly yet youthful woman.

CLARENCE

Nothing, it seems, except someone to play with.

The gentleness of Clarence’s voice touches Susan. She puts her pen down and picks up her smart-device, tapping it distractedly.

SUSAN

And is there enough magic in the air, darling Clarence, to fetch me a playmate at my advanced age?

CLARENCE

Again, you seem to know me.

SUSAN

I know of you, certainly. Where would this business be without angel investors? (Suspiciously.) And before you ask, the answer is No. You can’t have him.

Susan moves protectively in front of her precious Woody display case.

CLARENCE

I don’t know what you mean, my dear. I see you wish not to part with your favorite doll. Handsome little cowboy, isn’t he!

SUSAN

Yes, yes. He’s not just a toy. He reminds me of what it means to be a child. And yet, somehow, he also holds all the virtues of a great man, the man I would love to have found for myself. I thought I had … once.

CLARENCE

Once upon a time … 30 years ago perhaps?

Susan moves cautiously toward the businessman with no discernible business agenda, but a deeply personal one.

SUSAN

What do you know of the events of 30 years ago?

CLARENCE

Well, there was that matter of the missing-person reports. It must have been a little difficult to explain to the authorities why one Josh Baskin, age 13, was found just as another Josh Baskin, age 30, went missing.

SUSAN

You know about Josh?

CLARENCE (glancing Heavenward)

We know everything.

SUSAN

Then why did Josh—the young one, I mean—why couldn’t I ever find him again?

Clarence moves toward the secured display case behind Susan’s desk.

CLARENCE

Let’s just say he was full of magic and make-believe, but not very good at communicating his wishes to those with the power to make them come true.

Susan suddenly realizes why her toy cowboy had been so precious to her all along.

SUSAN

You mean … this is …

MARLEY (off stage)

It ain’t Pinocchio, sister.

Susan opens a secret compartment in her tall desk and retrieves a key to unlock the secure glass case protecting her Woody/Josh. She removes him gently from his stand and cradles him in her arms.

SUSAN

I’ll bet it was that Zoltar machine again. I knew what would happen if he ever got his hands on that license.

CLARENCE

“He”? “He” who? I don’t remember another man in the story.

SUSAN

No, no one does. That’s probably why he was always so jealous of Josh. My old boyfriend, Paul. You know, now the number-one most-successful toy company in the world.

Clarence beams with enlightenment and inspiration.

CLARENCE

I think I know why I’m here, then, Miss Susan. It seems you have come to a fork in your fate, a choice for how you wish your future to unfold.

SUSAN

I think I’ve always had that choice, pal.

CLARENCE

Certainly, my dear, I mean no disrespect. However, given the opportunity to put something right that once went wrong, what might you choose to do?

Susan begins to stroll thoughtfully through her toy showroom, her precious Woody/Josh in her arms. The questions, the many possible answers, the what-ifs, the why-nots, all converging and tumbling through her mind.

Clarence glances Heavenward for a hint of advice.

JORDAN (off stage)

We did pass that free-will amendment awhile back. I wouldn’t interfere, darling Clarence.

SUSAN

Darling Clarence … I mean, Mr. Angelo. Clarence. Darling. If I had said Yes and followed Josh back to childhood, raging hormones and all, then the world would have been deprived of this fine specimen (she holds Woody aloft).

CLARENCE

Perhaps not. Perhaps your friend Paul would have snapped up the license. You wouldn’t have been there to fight for it.

SUSAN

Oh please. Paul. You know how he got to be number one?

CLARENCE

Uh, no. How?

SUSAN

He licensed the Charlie Brown Christmas Tree.

CLARENCE

No!

MARLEY (off stage)

Ha! Way to go, brother! Commercializing the symbol of anti-commercialism! Ha! Crafty little humbug!

Susan hugs her beloved Woody/Josh, clicks her heels together three times, turns to the wizardly Clarence, and closes her eyes.

SUSAN

I’m ready to go back now! There’s no place like 13. There’s no place like 13. There’s no place like 13.

Susan squeezes one eye open to implore Clarence with one final request.

SUSAN

I don’t suppose we could both go back to 30, eh? Or at least where we’re the same age. That whole 15 or 20 year age difference was so unsettling and inappropriate.

CLARENCE

I think we can manage that. (Beat. He glances Heavenward.) OK, Mr. Jordan. Let ‘er rip!

A clash of Heavenly thunder is heard, accompanied by the usual scene-changing lightning, and we find ourselves on:

EXT. JOSH’S STREET. SUNSET

Clarence, Mr. Jordan, and even Biff Marley survey the scene, now 20 years into the future. An 80-year-old man and his 80-year-old wife hold hands tenderly as they stroll together down the sidewalk and into the amber twilight.

Somewhere in the distance, Zoltar laughs mischievously.

FADE OUT.

FINIS.

For more of Clarence's "saving" adventures, the gentle and indulgent reader is invited to peruse:

Saving Mr. Potter (Dec. 22, 2013)

Christmas Belle: or, Saving Miss Fezziwig (Dec. 22, 2014)

Saving Mr. Sawyer (Dec. 25, 2015)

Saving Mr. Jordan (Dec. 25, 2016)

Love, hosaa

As Clay Aiken (America's No. 1 No. 2) would sing, Don't Save It All For Christmas Day

Saving Mr. Jordan

Another Clarence the Angel adventure.

It is Christmas Day, but in Heaven, jolly it is not. Not one normally given to seasonal despair, our dear Head Angel, Mr. Jordan, could not help but succumb to a remembrance of remorse past. He sat in his own little corner of the way station, on his own little chair, and placed a pointy white dunce cap upon his own head, forgoing the good old jaunty tilt.

Returning from Belle and Ebenezer's wedding party, Clarence cha-cha'd merrily to his side.

"Ah, darling Mr. Jordan, I am happy to report another resounding success! Woo-hoo!" Baffled by Mr. Jordan's indifference, Clarence repeated, "Woo-hoo, I say! Um, nice hat. A little too pointy for this day and age, though, if you get my drift. If you don't mind my saying so."

Jordan removed the pointy white dunce cap and tossed it testily to the floor. He sighed heavily and turned sullenly to his former student.

"You are quite right, First Angel Clarence, my friend. Quite right. Oh, and congratulations on the Fezziwig correction. Well done."

"Oh, thank you, Sir! But whatever is the matter? You seem out of sorts."

"Again, quite right. Clarence, I've failed. I must confess it. I ... I have left a soul behind."

Clarence gasped audibly. "No! That's not possible!"

A tear dribbled down Mr. Jordan's cheek and splashed into a cloud below, unleashing a Winter Wonderland over an unsuspecting Los Angeles.

"Oops."

Clarence pulled a silk hanky from the bodice of his ruched angel garb and dabbed Mr. Jordan's cheek. "There, there."

In a rush to relieve his burdened heart, Mr. Jordan told Clarence that sad story of Max Corkle, a trainer for the Los Angeles Rams (as they were then). Max was the good and true friend of star athlete Joe Pendleton, whose body was prematurely removed from active duty. While Heaven waited, Joe's soul was placed into the body of another athlete, but his memory of his life as Joe was then erased, along with his friendship with Max.

"I managed to keep the girlfriend for Joe, but how could I have left the friend behind?"

"There, there," Clarence repeated, to little effect. He then gave his masterful angel-wing a whoosh and a swish, activating the high-def big-picture plate. Swishing left and swishing right, swirling all around, Clarence found what he had hoped to see: An alternative universe.

"Ah ha, oh lookie!" Clarence pointed to a minor character in one of his favorite Christmas scenarios, popularly called While You Were Sleeping. "This one must have happened while you were sleeping, Mr. Jordan!"

"You see? The soul of Max was reborn in another role, named Saul, and became a friend to another lonely soul, named Lucy."

"Not that football-stealing sham psychologist 'Lucy'? That's one soul even I'm afraid to tackle."

Clarence reassured his mentor that this Lucy was a good and true friend to the Saul that Max had become. Mr. Jordan's eyes twinkled brightly, but only for a moment.

"My dear sweet Clarence, my heart remains full of woe. For the first time in my career, I feel that The Powers That Be did not use their powers for the best possible good."

Clarence shuffled his feet a bit, not just for the pleasure of watching the wisps of pink-frosted clouds waltzing about his satin slippers.

"You no doubt are referring to the new Scut Farkus administration down on Earth." Clarence scratched his fuzzy chin and waltzed up a few more pink wisps.

Mr. Jordan nodded sadly. Waving his own majestic wing across the plate, he drew up the picture of the meanest bully in town, the yellow-eyed Scut.

"I just don't know how the forces of good could have let this happen. Imagine, a man like Scut in the White House, in charge of the freest part of the free world, with the most free will to do free ill. I am so disappointed."

Clarence furrowed a frown and pushed the sleeves up on his AngelWear gown. He knew this would require his most concerted efforts of imagination and resourcefulness. If only, if only he could imagine an alternative outcome. At what critical moment could the Scut Farkus history be diverted to another course of direction?

Determined to make right what once went wrong, Clarence clashed his wings together in cymbalic fashion and projected himself into a small town in Indiana at a crucial point in the pre-Christmas Story unfolding.

A young boy named Ralphie is being punished by his mother for saying a dirty word. The punishment being a mouthful of Lifebuoy soap, young Ralphie had a little trouble answering his mother's interrogations.

"Where did you hear that word? Tell me! Who said that word to you?" She removed the Lifebuoy so the boy could answer.

Ralphie could not tell his mother the truth, that it was the dear old man himself who'd uttered the word many times while changing tires, fixing fuses, and fighting furnaces. So, instead, he would name one of his friends, the first name that came to his mind,

"Schw...."

"Shhhh," Clarence interrupted in the boy's ear. "No, don't rat out a friend for this, me boy. Say, um, yes this should do the trick: Say 'Scut Farkus'!"

"Scuuuuut Farkuuuuuus!"

Mother shrieked in horror, replacing the Lifebuoy in Ralphie's mouth while she went to the phone to call Mrs. Farkus.

Clarence swooshed his wings to fast-forward the slightly revised Story, in which it is now Scut Farkus and not Schwartz who is punished: a far more just outcome, all things considered.

The grown-up Scut would become a model of kindness, not unlike other souls who have been shown the errors of their ways, such as our legendary Marleys and Scrooges. Satisfied that he had saved the world from a Scut Farkus administration in the White House, Clarence fled to Mr. Jordan's side.

"Mr. Jordan, Mr. Jordan, I have good news!" Clarence sang.

Mr. Jordan stood with his arms folded, a glower darkening his brow. "Do you, Clarence? Do you, indeed? Well, I'm afraid to say I have some bad news."

Mr. Jordan swooshed his left wing over the high-def plate to show Clarence the outcome of the events he'd unleashed. Clarence looked in horror at what he had done. He reached for the pointy white dunce cap and dutifully donned it.

"I'm gonna need a bigger Lifebuoy," he said.

Saving Mr. Sawyer

Another Christmas adventure for Clarence the Wonderful Life angel. (See also Saving Mr. Potter and Christmas Belle, or: Saving Miss Fezziwig.)

In a dim and foggy corner of almost Heaven, we see a hardworking, earnest agent of goodness bent over his desk. His office space is crowded with filing cabinets and bulging boxes of who knows what, obscured by puffy foggy clouds. His phone rings [Ringtone: Clay Aiken sings "Don't Save It All for Christmas Day"] and he picks up:

"Marley the Ghost! What's your favorite color?" Marley jots down the information cheerfully. "Ooo, good one. 'Rainbow.' Ha! Well, thank you. Got it. And Merry Christmas/Happy Holidays/Season's Greetings and all to you, etc., etc." Marley rips the note from the pad and goes to the array of overstuffed boxes and file cabinets, cramming the new information into a folder and shoving it back into a drawer. He struggles to get the drawer shut again. Through the clouds, he spies two familiar figures leaning in the doorway watching him.

"You're gonna need a bigger metaphor, Mr. Jordan!"

"You may be right, darling Marley," Jordan says with a twinkle in his eye. "These security questions for cloud storage are tedious and overwhelming, but your fellow Earthlings are just trying to protect themselves. We're working on shifting paradigms."

Marley blinks vacantly and notices Angel Clarence by Jordan's side. "Oh, Mr. Clarence, I didn't recognize you!"

Clarence steps into the less-cluttered center of Marley's office. He is no longer garbed in his usual white AngelWear gown with the ruched bodice and sweetheart neckline. Instead, he is wearing a natty charcoal suit with subtle pinstripes, lengthening his lithe figure. "Howdy doody, Marley! It's meeeee!" Clarence twirls, Jordan twinkles, and Marley blinks.

"Our sweet Clarence has earned a promotion," Jordan says proudly. "He is to be your mentor as we send you on your first salvation!"

Marley blinks again. "But I thought I already saved old Ebenezer. That whole time-traveling three-ghost thing was my idea--"

"Now, Biff," Jordan chides. "Don't start taking credit for the work of the powers that Be. Mr. Dickens, as you well know, was the author of that tale. Editors are not authors."

"Yes, Mr. Jordan. I'm sorry, Mr. Jordan. I only meant-- Yes, Chief! At your service!"

"That's better." Jordan shimmers between his two direct reports and angelically wraps his arms around their shoulders. "Now, sweet Clarence, please brief our darling Marley on his rescue mission."

Clarence retrieves a device from his vest pocket, enters his password, and begins scrolling through his apps--Bullies and Belligerents. Egos and Eccentrics. Hubris and Chutzpah. He taps on Misers and Misfits.

"This time of year, it's awfully hard to choose. So many souls left behind," Clarence says with a wan sigh. "I thought this one might interest you, Mr. Jordan. See the similarities with Mr. Marley's old pal Ebenezer?"

"Miss Van Pelt clearly demonstrates an unhealthy love of nickels, nickels, nickels that jingle jangle."

Mr. Jordan reviews the case file uploaded in the surrounding clouds, using a gestural interface activated by the sweep of his grand angelic wing. "Indeed, love of money does have a motivating but not terribly influential pull on this subject," Jordan scrutinizes. "I believe she did have another dearer wish, however." Jordan sweeps his wing so that both Clarence and Marley could see:

"Ah, love!" Clarence exclaims.

"Right, love!" Marley exclaims. "Everyone wants love. Did she ever capture that boy she was so sweet on? What was his name--Schroeder, right?"

Mr. Jordan smiles. "Yes, there was our friend Schroeder. Artistic type, you know." Clarence and Marley blink. "Musician... loves Beethoven." Clarence and Marley blink at each other. "He was the catcher on Charlie Brown's team."

Marley clears his throat. "I'm never sure when you're being literal."

"Not important," Mr. Jordan replies kindly. "Actually, Miss Van Pelt said herself what she always wanted: Real estate. But more than that, her endeavors to attract young Schroeder, to appoint herself the Christmas Queen, to taunt good ol' Charlie Brown with a perpetually thwarted placekick--all these actions demonstrate that she also desired not love, but attention."

"And didn't she get what she wanted? I mean the real estate and the attention?" Clarence asks, sweeping his own wing grandly across the cloudy interface. "I see big buildings, skyscrapers, casinos, and--oh, my, is that the White House? Good-NESS! Our little Lucy became quite the Trump!"

Jordan laughs mirthlessly. "Are you kidding? Lucy sends Trump out for cigarettes."

Marley points at a troubling scene in the Lucy case cloud. "Could I see this part again, please, Sir?"

Jordan embraces Marley proudly. "Yes, yes, my dear soul. Your instincts about human nature are much improved. There is such an overlap in belligerence and hubris, we really need to reorganize our files. Tell me, dear Marley. What made you stop on this episode?"

Marley fishes for his own insights. "Well, it had to do with Clarence's new suit. Vintage Forties. Black and white. Christmas time, too, but with friend Kris involved somehow."

Clarence brightens up and sweeps his wings across the clouds in the room to reveal another tinkerer in the psychiatric arts:

"Sawyer!" Clarence exclaims. "I remember him. Tom Sawyer's great-great grandson. He did have a mischievous streak. Look at him now--a bundle of nerves."

Marley can barely contain his excitement. "Can I help him, please Mr. Jordan? And can I ... can I have a nice suit like Clarence's?"

Jordan smiles and twinkles and waves his grand angelic wings. Clarence and Marley are black-and-whited down to Christmas on 34th Street, nattily attired as befitting businessmen of the day. Marley struggles with an unexpected burden, as he still must bear the chains he forged in life. Thanks to his prior puttings right of things once gone wrong, however, his chains are fewer and lighter than during his Scrooge redemption episode.

As Marley and Clarence enter Mr. Sawyer's office in the famed Macy's department store, Marley's remaining chains clink and clang loudly, startling the mortal.

"Who rang that bell?" Sawyer snarls petulantly. "Can't you read the sign? 'Bell Out of Order. Please Knock.'" Clarence and Marley look at each other in wonder.

"He can't hear us, can he?" Marley asks. Clarence shakes his head. Sawyer continues examining the employee records on his desk, his eyes wandering suspiciously around the room to see where that chain-rattling noise keeps coming from. "Should we appear to him now? I hate all this sneaking around, just showing up in door knockers and what-not."

"You might be right, Mr. Marley. It's your call." Marley nods, and Clarence grandly sweeps his wings to effect the revelation, knocking poor Sawyer in the head. He recovers quickly and squeals with childlike delight upon seeing Marley's chains.

"Oooo!" Sawyer exclaims. "Looky! Well-forged, my good man. Well-forged!" Sawyer hesitantly fingers the chains. "May I? Oh, lovely work. Good stainless, superior nickel content, if I'm not mistaken. Where did you get it?"

"This is the chain I forged in life," Marley intones ghostily. "I'm pretty sure you've got one going yourself."

"Awesome! Well, now, please have a seat. We'll get started with your tests."

Watching from above, Jordan presses pause on the scene. "You need a little more backstory here, dear ones," Jordan whispers. "Observe, if you please, that nervous gesture. What does it tell you?"

"He really needs something to do with his hands," Marley offers insightfully.

"That's IT!" Clarence cheers.

"Yes, indeed," Jordan confirms. He sweeps his wings to change the scene once again to Sawyer's childhood after-school job at the local junk yard.

"That's SCRAP yard," Sawyer corrects. "Wait a minute, who said that?"

Together, Jordan, Marley, and Clarence watch as young Sawyer happily wanders through a large warehouse full of junk-- er, scrap: stuff discarded by a populace flawed by their failure of imagination. "Ferrous, nonferrous, alloys, and fibers! E-scrap and baling straps, and mixed bulky rigids!"

Sawyer reaches into a box of Christmas tree lights, his eyes aglow (behind his protective goggles) with visions of copper cuttings dancing in his head. "Ooo, I know I can make something special out of this. The kitchen for a doll's house, maybe, or the control console on a rocket ship to Mars! Someday, Mr. Macy will buy my repurposed materials-for-toys idea. It's the only sustainable way to future Christmases."

Marley peers over at Jordan's CloudVision screen to peek ahead in the story. "What happened to the young man's dreams?"

"He should have gone to dental school," Clarence mumbles.

Jordan smiles patiently as he angel-wing-swipes the scene again. A cloudy mist obscures a blank slate. "Mr. Marley, my dear, where do we take poor Mr. Sawyer's story from here? No help, Clarence!"

Clarence shuffles his feet in embarrassment, a feeling of helpless incompetence that dissipates as he examines his smartly polished Oxfords with aesthetic appreciation. "There's always cobbling. Or, shoe making, they call it now."

Ignoring Clarence's distracted remarks, Marley thinks a moment. He reviews Sawyer's psychological profile: nervous, fidgety, needing to be correct in the face of strong opposing opinions. And yet, also demonstrating a strong desire to help people, to fix their problems. "The problem with that, though," Marley explains slowly so Clarence, too, could follow, "is he keeps trying to fix things--people--who aren't broken."

"That's right," Jordan says with a sigh. "Mr. Macy saw potential in him, despite rejecting dear Mr. Sawyer's recycled toy idea, and placed him--misplaced him, rather--in HR. This history must be altered."

Marley thinks a little harder. Clarence's offhanded remark about dentistry calls another Christmas story to mind. There was that elf, Hermey, who also felt misplaced in his role, a misunderstood misfit in the toy world.

Misfit. Toys. Misfit. Toys. "Misfit Toys!" Marley, Clarence, and Jordan exclaim as one. "Even Kris would approve of that idea," Jordan confirms.

With a group swipe of the CloudVision monitor, the merry gang envision a new future for misguided misfit Mr. Sawyer. He is brought to the Island of Misfit Toys, where the citizens--recognizing his natural gift for materials identification and impulse to fix broken things--name him their Wizard of Refurbished Toys, Deluxe. Times being what they are, he accepts the job.

As the thunderous cheers subside, Jordan returns with his direct reports to Marley's cloudy office, pondering their next mission. As Clarence has noted, there are so many souls left behind in this special time of year. Whom shall we save next?

A face begins to take form in the CloudVision screen. Clarence and Marley anxiously wait to see who it might be... The face is youthful, freckled, and oddly vicious looking.

Clarence gasps. "He has yellow eyes! So help me God, yellow eyes!"

Marley laughs. "Tag, Scut Farcas! You're it."

The End.

Love, hosaa
Repurposing plots