(We open backstage. Butch and Whitey are poking around the dressing rooms, looking for the money.)

Butch: I can't believe this Sheila dame would really take that money for herself. The Milk Fund needs it!

Whitey: It's horrible, what she plans on doin'.

Butch: Doesn't she ever think of anyone besides herself and the dame who keeps chasin' the Chief?

Whitey: I don't think so.

Butch: (He looks up, frowning) Do you hear something?

Whitey: *Listens* Hear what?

Sheila: (She steps out from behind several ropes) You were looking for me, gentlemen?

Butch: (Pulls back; narrows his eyes) Yeah, we were lookin' for you.

Whitey: *Moves behind Butch* And now we found ya.

Sheila: Yes, you've found me. (Smirks and goes to Whitey) And I've found you...and now must decide what to do about you.

Butch: Get off of him!

Sheila: (She runs a finger over Whitey's chin) I know two of you overheard Miss London and I talking about our plans. I know you've told Mahoney what we're doing.

Whitey: *Eyes widen* But....

Sheila: We can't get rid of Mahoney. He's too integral to the show. (Looks at Butch) You, however, are just the musical director. (Runs her fingers through Whitey's hair) And you're already dead. You're expendable.

Butch: Cut that out! He's not one of your toys!

*Whitey whimpers.*

Butch: (Grabs Sheila's hand and pulls it away from Whitey) Don't you touch him!

Sheila: (She slaps Butch hard) You touch me like that again, and I'll do a lot more than stroke his hair!

Whitey: *Gasps* Butch!

Butch: You're such a witch! All you care about is you. Don't you have any heart?

Sheila: I have a heart, little man. I love myself. Isn't that enough?

Whitey: *Timidly* No, it isn't.

Sheila: (Smirks at Whitey) You're not at all unattractive, little one. You're not really my type, but perhaps I could have some fun with you. (Runs her fingers down his face)

Whitey: *Pulls away* I don't like you doin' that.

Sheila: Oh, but I like me doing it. (She leans against him, her hands running the length of his body)

Whitey: *Can't help but laugh* That tickles!

Sheila: You have a pleasant, if rather thin, body. Now... (Her fingers run to a certain place) hmmm, a little thin....

*Whitey yelps and backs off, tripping over his own feet.*

Sheila: (Shakes her head) What a child! Come over here. (She goes toward him...but Butch jumps on her.)

Butch: Don't you dare!

*Whitey takes off like a shot down the hall.*

Butch: Whitey, hurry! Go get help!

Sheila: Your friend just made a big mistake, and so did you.

Butch: You're the one who made a mistake! Give that money back to the Milk Fund, lady, and the Chief might just let you live.

Sheila: I'm shaking in terror of your Chief.

Butch: You will be when he knocks your block off.

Sheila: I'd like to see that chubby boy try that.

Butch: He may be big, but he's still pretty well built. I've seen him knock guys three times his size on the floor.

Sheila: I didn't know men came that big.

Butch: Why did you pick us to work for you, anyway? I thought you didn't like us.

Sheila: I don't like you, but thought you'd all be least likely to figure out what we were really up to.

Butch: You thought we'd be stupid enough to let you get away with the money.

Sheila: Of course.

Butch: Well, we may not have gotten the same kind of schooling you did, but we all know enough to be able to figure out that stealing from a charity is wrong...and we ain't gonna let you do it. (He lets Sheila go) I've gotta get the Chief. As soon as he gets offstage, you're history, and so's that Zelda!

Sheila: Oh, you aren't going anywhere, dear boy.

*Two stage hands appear behind Butch.*

Butch: Don't even try it. (He slams into the first one and tries hitting him in the chin.)

*The second stage hand grabs Butch's arm and tugs him away.*

(Cut to a non-descript office. It's a large yellow room with pictures of Playbills and past stars on the walls. Sheila settles down behind the battered desk as the two stagehands drag Butch in.)

Sheila: Gentlemen, give him a seat.

(They shove him into the chair in front of Sheila's desk. He struggles angrily.)

Butch: You won't get away with this! The others will find me and get you arrested!

Sheila: You have no proof.

Butch: We heard you! Gabe's a reporter. He'll tell every TV station in town!

Stagehand #1: What are we gonna do with him, Miss Saunders?

Sheila: I have an idea. *to the stagehands* You two can go. I can handle him.

Stagehand #1: Yes, Miss Saunders. (They leave. Butch stands.)

Butch: I can handle myself. I think I'll go find Whitey...

Sheila: Not so fast. You have a strong will, for someone so young.

Butch: I ain't that young.

Sheila: No, but you are the youngest of the group, right?

Butch: Yeah. So what?

Sheila: *Stands and walks around the desk; takes his chin in her hand* You have a tough time making the others listen to you.

Butch: Sometimes.

Sheila: Perhaps I could help. *tilts his head back*

Butch: (Tries to pull back) What...what do you mean?

Sheila: *Keeps her hold on his chin* Oh, nothing in particular... *Leans down and kisses him*

(Butch gasps...but then leans into the kiss.)

Sheila: *ends the kiss, but she still holds his chin* You liked that, didn't you?

(Butch nods dazedly, his eyes still closed.)

Sheila: I could give you so much more enjoyment. *Lets go of his chin and runs her hands down his arms*

Butch: (Murmurs) Uh-hum....

(Butch squirms under her hands.)

Sheila: *Her hands stop and hold his waist* Ticklish?

Butch: Yeah...

*Sheila slips one hand under his shirt and runs her fingers over his skin.*

Butch: (Chuckles) Oooh...feels good....

Sheila: Mmm, you like that. *Dips her other hand under his shirt, but slides it down over his rear*

Butch: (Gasps) Oooh...

Sheila: You feel nice. *moves her other hand so that both are on his rear*

Butch: (He just nods, completely dazed) Uh, thanks. You're nice...too...good hands...oohhh...

Sheila: Now, you want to cooperate with me, right?

Butch: I...I...

(Sheila leans him into the chair, her hands moving onto his thigh and...elsewhere.)

Sheila: Yes?

Butch: You're so pretty....

Sheila: And you're handsome... *moves both hands to the insides of his thighs*

Butch: Thanks... (Chuckles) That tickles, too...

Sheila: How does this feel? *Moves one hand to his crotch* Very nice.

(Butch gasps. His eyes widen.)

Sheila: Shh. Just enjoy it.

(Butch whimpers at first...but he finally leans back into the chair, his eyes very wide.)

Sheila: Yes, you like that. I knew you would, because men like this sort of thing...and you are a man.

Butch: Yeah...

*Sheila kisses him again. She presses a little further.*

(Butch's eyes get even bigger...but he does lean into the kiss.)

*Sheila holds the kiss and presses harder.*

(Butch gasps hard...but he leans even further into her.)

Sheila: *Pulls out of the kiss and whispers in his ear* You can have more of this, all you want, if you'll cooperate.

Butch: What...do you want...

Sheila: Your help in us keeping the money.

Butch: I....I'll do anything you say...

Sheila: That's my man. *Grabs him again and presses hard*

Butch: (Gasps) I....I'll do it...

Sheila: Excellent. *Kisses him again.*

Butch: (He leans into it again. When he pulls away, his eyes are glazed and blank) I'll listen to you.

Sheila: Yes. Excellent. *She pats his cheek. He leans back, puffing and completely dazed. She smirks and heads out of the office.*

(Cut to the stage. Bobby and Sach look up as Slip comes back in the parlor.)

Bobby: What happened to Miss Cynthia, Mr. Johns?

Sach: You left her outside alone, searching the grounds? (Mutters) I hope.

Slip: She insisted.

Bobby: Are you sure that's safe? (Mutters to him) What did you really do to her? She's not supposed to disappear for a few scenes yet!

*Slip just shrugs.*

Sach: (Out loud) Maybe we'd better find the others. That laser has to be somewhere! (Mutters to Slip) And I'm hungry again. Do you have any olives?

Slip: Yeah, letís go. *mutters to Sach* Why would I have olives, hmmmm?

Sach: I don't know. I'm hungry. I wonder if that fridge in the kitchen set really works?

Slip: *Sighs* Yeah, it works.

Sach: Great! Excuse me. (He heads for the kitchen set.)

Bobby: Does it really? If it does, we'll never get him out of there.

Slip: Nah, it don't. I just told him that cuz he was annoyin' me.

(Suddenly, there's another knock on the door. We see a familiar figure in a cop uniform behind the fake "door.")

Slip: *opens the door* Can we help you?

Duke: (It's Duke Coveletski from the late 50s "Bowery Boys" movies in a cop's uniform) I'm Officer Clements. I was called here about a murder? (Mutters to Slip) And thanks for gettin' me this job. I'm broke again.

Slip: *Mutters back* No problem. *normally* Murder?

Duke: Yeah. Inventor died. Know anythin' 'bout it?

Slip: *Makes a face* Ya heard about that, huh? Too bad about him.

Duke: Someone called us. We got here as soon as we could. There's more squad cars on the way.

Slip: Called out the whole lot of ya, huh?

Duke: They said he was a really important scientist with a big discovery. Somethin' about a laser...