Dances with Wolves
Stacy was only the paper pusher on Wilshire Blvd. She barely understood the fax machine and made all the appointments for reads but she knew what was "up and coming." The last hour of the day, she headed for the elevator.
Quickly rounding the corner, Mr. Oliver stopped the closing doors and bullied himself in for a ride to the parking garage. He straightened his suite and cleared his throat impatiently staring at the buttons on the wall.
She knew she had but seconds to pitch what all directors needed. "Mr. Oliver, I know you have no time but use these seconds to hear me out. The movie you're directing, about the young western front?"
"Please! I'm very tired."
Stacy blows ahead. "Here's the pitch; 'In the days of the wildest west an American soldier frontiers to a post only to find hostile Indians as civilization migrates west. He befriends an unlikely pet. The challenges he faces force him to confront the issues of trust, real freedom, the greatest values of all cultures and true love.'"
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