We are making a movie, set in the real world, in which the star has never seen the script. In fact, our star is not even an actor. You will discover the story as she discovers it, with no rehearsals, and no retakes. What you see is what you get. Follow our star as she immerses herself in the role of Anne Davis.

Anne Davis is a reporter who just landed her first syndicated column: ThE-Voice. Now all she needs is that perfect story that reaches out to her community and empowers them to act.

Jack Ingrassia, the bold visionary President of Rosetta Corporation, has a revolutionary new venture in mind. The brilliance of his previous projects has been watered down by "too many cooks." With this project he's determined to get it right - and he's coming to Orlando.

At 8:35 PM Kenneth Garner was speeding down I-4 on his way to the downtown Marriott. An hour ago, Jack Ingrassia called and asked for a ride to the opening ceremony of the Florida Film Festival. For an event like that, one hour is shorter than short notice. But when Jack calls, Garner listens.

Garner pulled up to the hotel at exactly 8:45, as promised. It didn’t take long to spot Jack coming towards him in the marble lobby. Sharp black suit. Snow white shirt. Blood red handkerchief in the breast pocket. A relaxed smile and the stride to match. Everything about Jack Ingrassia communicates power and the easy confidence that goes with it. After a warm hug and a few minutes of catch-up chat, Jack directed Garner to the exit.

“I believe we have a party waiting.”

They were almost out the door when a striking woman breezed past them. Tall and lean, with long wavy hair the color of coffee and a sheer, low-cut dress the color of flesh. Jack couldn’t help himself.

“Where are you going tonight, sweetheart? Want to come to a party?”

“I’m going to dinner with someone.”

“What someone might that be?”

“I’m not sure yet,” she says coyly, turning towards them.

“I think you’re going to dinner with us.”

And just like that, they were a party of three. That’s how Jack works. Garner eyed her cautiously. What kind of girl accepts an invitation from two strange men in a hotel lobby? He was about to find out.

Zabrina Carothers. Garner recognized the name immediately. Her father practically invented Aspen with his series of luxury resorts.

But it wasn't Zabrina's money or Jack's notoriety, it was Garner's finesse that got the three of them into the exclusive party with only two tickets in hand.

At the Film Festival party, the press descended on the Jack the minute they spotted him. As usual, Garner stood close, one hand on Jack at all times, making sure no one made Jack uncomfortable with their cameras or their questions. They managed to wind and charm their way through the crowd. Jack was a pro at this already, but with Zabrina at his side, he seemed to shine even brighter.

It was cool for an Orlando night, but the wine kept people warm. Just as the dance floor was starting to heat up, the music cut off abruptly and a wailing siren took its place. Then a manic-looking man in a brown corduroy jacket jumped up on a chair. Bullhorn in hand, Eddie Sullivan began to address the startled crowd.

It took Garner a few minutes to talk Jack down. But before long, the trio was back at the party, tasting from the chocolate fountain and dancing the memory away.

But the night wore on, and the crowd grew, and the questions from reporters kept on coming, Jack got wary of it all. With a quick motion of his head, he gestured for Garner that it was time to go.
Zabrina was still shimmying on the dance floor, her skin-colored sheath fluttering around her tanned legs, when Garner took her by the elbow. 


“Jack's ready to go.” Zabrina's calculated pout didn't deter Garner; he led her away to the Mini Cooper.

On the way home, things got even chillier between Garner and Zabrina. Reacting to a series of questions about Jack – his background, his business, his life – Garner finally snapped back.

“Your dad's a rich powerful man. Do you think he never had to push the law at times? Not break it, but bring it right to the edge and bend it a little bit? He probably has some secrets too. And ours are none of your business.”

Zabrina sat back, a glare glistening in her brown eyes.

“When you think it’s appropriate for me to speak, just let me know,” she spat.

Garner sighed. Clearly, Jack was charmed by this girl. And he could see why. But they’d been through this before. Over the years, beautiful young things had come along to take Jack’s breath away. They always left behind a mess to clean up. And a girl like Zabrina Carothers? What kind of mess could she make?

But Garner’s job wasn’t to stand in the way of what Jack wants. It was to clear the path.

“I’m sorry, okay? Jack obviously likes you. So let’s just call a truce.”

It was like watching a wilted flower come back to life. The sweet smile returned. The aloof posture softened. Delicate, delightful Zabrina became delicate and delightful again.

She settled into her seat. “So, Jack,” she asked. “How would you like to come to New York with me for the weekend?”

“Nothing I’d like better, beautiful,” he answered. Garner glanced at Jack in the rearview. He didn’t even look surprised.

With a sigh, Garner continued down I-4 in silence.

A knock on the apartment door at Lake Ivanhoe Shores. 2:05 on a Sunday afternoon is a strange time for visitors. Anne Davis opened the door to a TDS delivery service employee on the doorstep clutching her red leather purse.

“You left it on the plane,” he explained.

Thanking the man and signing for the delivery, Anne took her bag and checked through it. Checkbook. Notebook. Scarf. Press pass. It was all there. The life of Anne Davis, journalist and reporter for the newly syndicated ThE-Voice.

Thirty minutes later, the phone rings. It was Alice Brown, administrative assistant to, James “Hack” Hackman, the news director who had secured the new syndication of Anne’s column. Her assignment: cover the Orlando Daschund Races, taking place at Downey Dog Park.

Twenty minutes later, Anne pulled her Jeep Liberty into the Downey Park parking lot. She made it all the way to the end of the lot without an empty spot in sight. She checked her clock. 3:05. No time to waste. She pulled the Jeep right up onto the grass – isn’t that what Jeeps are for anyway? – and jumped out. She could see the crowd forming through the chain-link fence. She quickened her step, striding down the sidewalk with a purpose.

The black gate clanked behind her, throwing her into a true dog day afternoon. In the air, the rustle of leaves and the cacophony of clinking dog tags, yapping Dachshunds and dozens of owners shouting names and commands. “Bennie, come here!” “No, Cupid!” “PEPPER!!!”

The sun beat down on her fiery red hair as she surveyed the scene. The ground was a sea of strutting, squirming and scampering Dachshunds. Anne stayed on the outskirts for a little while, watching the crowd of owners as they talked to each other—and to their dogs. She pulled out her notepad. It’s not exactly the kind of empowering community piece that she aspires to, but it doesn’t have to be fluff.

Crossing the park, Anne picked a few dog owners to talk to. Among them –a group of three with a handicapped dog wearing an American flag t-shirt. She noted that not only did all the owners talk to their dogs, but according to all reports, the dogs talked back. After a few interviews, she got down on her knees to snap some close-ups of the dogs. None of them said a word.

At 3:30 sharp, the crowd rushed to line up along the 20-foot racetrack. The excited owners crowded the finish line, screaming encouragement, squeaking balls and waving toys. Anne took some shots of the crowd, then moved closer to the action for the third race. She planted herself right in the middle of the racetrack, and squatted down with her camera. She snapped away as the dogs took off.

Inevitably, only half of them made it to the finish line. One well-intentioned owner threw a tennis ball into the track, only to have his little racer dutifully retrieve it and bring it back to the starting line. Anne stood up and brushed off her knees.

So this is news? she thought, Anne Davis, reporting from down in the dirt with the dogs?

As the three to five-year-old dogs lined up for the next race, Anne checked her watch. It was 3:45. She had an hour and fifteen minutes to get home, and crank out this piece of journalistic history. She made her way back to the Jeep, armed with a pad full of notes, a camera full of photos, and a handful of testaments about talking wiener dogs. She pulled a U-turn on Colonial Drive and headed back home to write her story.

On Monday, March 27th, the first installment of Anne's new syndicated column, ThE-Voice ran on the Orlando Weekly's online edition.

The very next day, Anne received her next assignment.

Fluff piece number two, Anne thought. She made the calls to round up her crew and told them to meet her at the Studio Theater downtown. Patty showed up first. The rest followed shortly. Anne didn’t know the first thing about interpretive dance, but with her crew around her, she was ready for anything.

Everything about the room was black. Everything, that is, except the pink, yellow and white scarves hanging from the rafters and the three women whirling in the center—The Elementalists in the flesh. They spun to a backdrop of whistling flutes, pounding drums and their inspired troupe leader, Michael Pur.

“Unbridled! The theme of the piece is ‘unbridled!’ Unbridled passion, unbridled love! Use it! That’s it!”

The dancers punctuate their movements with animalistic shouts: “Aaa-AH!” “Hoo!” and “Hah!” Stifling a giggle, Anne stepped forward to start her piece. After a few questions, she could see that the dancers, Starbender, Sprite, and Judy and their effervescent leader took their task very seriously. Ever the professional, she set out to create a piece that would do them justice.

And that was a wrap.

Outside, they bumped into Skye, a local reporter who could almost be called a rival—if she’d ever managed to show up to the scene before Anne and her crew.

“Hi Anne!” she greeted, just as her DayRunner exploded all over the floor in a clumsy heap. “I’m here to cover the interpretive dance piece!”

“You’re one step behind us,” Anne explained politely.

“Oh that’s okay,” replied Skye, ever optimistic. “I’ll just go ahead and see if I can get anything.”

“Go ahead, you might enjoy it,” Anne replied with a hint of mischief.

Turning with purpose to enter the building, Skye pulled firmly on the door handles, only to find the doors tightly locked.

Anne and her close-knit crew exchanged amused looks and walked away.

“She’d make a great interpretive dancer,” Anne quipped.

Anne waved goodbye to her crew and climbed into the Jeep. Then her cell phone rang. It was her cousin, Eddie, still in jail after the public disturbance he created at the Florida Film Festival.

Before she even hung up the phone, Anne was speeding down I-4 on the way to the Torrie’s Bail Bonds. After all, Eddie was family. She couldn’t get there fast enough.

Torrie’s Bail Bonds was in a two-story brick building on the corner of Conley Street and Orange Blossom Trail. Outside, colored stickers on the windows screamed “BAIL BONDS.” Inside, the people did the screaming. Anne walked in as a blonde in jean shorts and white belly-baring tank top gave the entire one-room office a vulgar earful. In the corner, a tiny blonde secretary in an even tinier tiny teal skirt, listened helplessly. The livid client left, only to be replaced seconds later by a bounty hunter who burst through the door, with a struggling bail jumper in custody.

Nothing to do but stay calm and stay out of the way, thought Anne. She just wanted to get in and out as fast as possible.

Twenty minutes and one $1000 check later, she arrived at the Winter Park Holding Facility. The desk officer took her paperwork and examined it closely. Then examined her closely. Then the documentation again.

Out of the cold institutional halls, and into the balmy Florida night, she turned to Eddie. “So what happened?” But Eddie was too frazzled to explain for most of the ride home, so as she drove, Anne shared the latest on her mother, her reporting, and a bit about her crew.

All was dark on Sligh Street, except one small doorway of light beaming out of the studio warehouse. For the time being, a musician friend of Eddie’s was letting him stay in a side room at Sligh Studios downtown. As they crunched up the dirt path, they could hear loud guitar blaring out the doorway.

Keith Wilson greeted them in the hall. Amused by his slick handshake, Anne giggled and thanked him for taking such good care of Eddie, then Keith led them to Eddie’s “room.”

Finally, a calmer Eddie was able to explain.

It was all about Florida Springs.

The latest project planned by Rosetta Corporation, Florida Springs was going to be a “destination nature preserve” that captured the best of Florida’s natural environment and eliminated the worst. Allergen filters would keep the air clean for all to enjoy. Natural repellants would keep the bugs at bay. The entire preserve would be eco-friendly and beneficial for the entire community.

“It’s a great idea,” stressed Eddie. There was just one missing piece. Communication.

“Jack Ingrassia. He’s the President of Rosetta Corp., and he has to pitch Florida Springs to the Central Florida Rural Planning Commission. He just doesn’t want people to voice their opinions about it. I was just trying to get the word out. Because people should talk, you know? It’s important for everyone to have a voice and listen to each other. I just couldn’t get the Festival people to listen to me.”

Eddie paused for a moment.

“Not like you. You could always get people to listen. You always have.”

Slowly, Eddie’s words were sinking in. He just wanted people to be heard, and that was Anne's specialty.

Here was a real story.

They agreed to meet the next evening before Eddie’s trial. In the meantime, it was up to Anne to make this story happen.

“It’s hot in here,” said Anne as she entered the stuffy windowless waiting room of the Orange County Courthouse. Eddie and the crew followed, gear in tow. The clock said 6:40. The trial was scheduled to begin in five minutes. Finding two seats next to each other, Anne and Eddie sat down to wait.

The door opened. In stepped Garner and Jack Ingrassia, both clad in crisp black suits with Zabrina Carothers, close behind. “This must be where the party is,” Zabrina observed. The trio stopped in the center of the room, their boisterous chatter disrupting the somber atmosphere.

At his entrance, Anne quickly made her move.

The bailiff entered to usher everyone into the courtroom. In the defendant’s seat, a fidgety Eddie checked over his shoulder for Anne. His excitement was apparent. With a look, she tried to calm him down.

Judge Hiram Douglas entered the courtroom, putting the trial into motion with a bang of his gavel.

Prosecutor LeRoy Collins called Kenneth Garner as the first witness. On the stand, Garner was cool and articulate—until public defender, Taylor Parker began his cross-examination.

Returning to his seat, Garner whispered to Jack, “That couldn’t have gone any worse.”

Next, the prosecutor then called a surprise witness to the stand.

Finally, despite his attorney’s reservations, it was Eddie’s turn. As he approached the witness stand, Anne broke into a nervous sweat, silently willing her cousin to stay calm.

With Eddie nowhere to be found, the bewildered counselors returned to the courtroom. A furious Judge Douglas issued a bench warrant for “the arrest of Edward Sullivan.” As he spoke the words, Anne noticed a strange – yet familiar – man rise and leave the room. It only took a moment for her to recognize him as the aggressive bounty hunter from Torrie’s Bail Bonds. Knowing she didn’t have a moment to waste, she gathered her crew and left to find Eddie.

Garner grabbed her by the arm.
“We need to talk.”
“Can we talk on the way out?” Anne asked, trying to rush by.
“No. We need to talk now.”

Garner was the last person Anne wanted to talk to. But it was a shot to get closer to Jack, and she needed to take it.

As soon as the cameras stopped rolling, they took off to chase down the fugitive Eddie. Their first stop: Sligh Studios. As the SUV pulled out of the parking lot, no one noticed the headlights of the silver Malibu that pulled out right behind them.

Anne and her crew arrived at the studio, and headed inside.

Outside the warehouse, a dark-clad figure climbed out of the silver Malibu.

“No guts, no glory,” he said.

“I just want to apologize,” Garner said.
This friendly and repentant Garner was a far cry from the man who had strong-armed her at the courthouse. She looked at him suspiciously.
“Did you follow us here?” she demanded.
“No. I just came here to apologize. I mean that sincerely.”

Garner explained that everything he was doing was to protect Jack. There were issues with Zabrina and the company. He was ready to help Anne and Eddie as long as they would help him.

“We’re on the same page now,” Garner assured them before walking off into the night.
Anne waited until he was out of earshot.
“We are not on the same page at all.”

Garner climbed into the departing silver Malibu.
“Eddie and Anne are no longer a problem.”

With Garner gone, all Anne cared about was finding Eddie.

“Let’s try the library.”

Jack’s silver Malibu pulled into the Starbucks parking lot. Zabrina had to powder her nose, and she despised gas station bathrooms. As she crossed the parking lot, Garner turned to Jack.
“I don’t trust her.”
Before Jack could reply, a melodic chime sounded from the backseat. Zabrina’s cell phone. Jack and Garner looked at the phone, then at each other. Neither man made a move. The dare was in their eyes. Garner reached first.
“It’s a text message.”

Garner went back to the car alone. Zabrina returned later with a coffee – and a kiss for Jack.
“Anything for you baby,” she said to him, with a quick and pointed look in Garner’s direction.

In the SUV, Anne took a call from a voice that was becoming very familiar.

On their way out, wondering aloud where Eddie could be, a young couple interrupted the conversation.

“Oh you know Eddie?”

Anne flashed the picture.

“That’s him. Are you the reporter? He left us this note for you.”

Anne snatched the paper away and read it over.

"Don't try to find me. I'm safe. Just do what you can to let people know about the Central Florida Rural Planning Commission. 4:30 Orlando Science Center. Love, Eddie"

“Okay. He’s safe. We know what we need to do”

They drove to the roof of the six-story parking garage. With the lights of Orlando as her backdrop, Anne taped the lead-in to the most important story she’d ever had.

But a nagging question still remained—

Nextart 033006

The Central Florida Rural Planning Commission meeting was an hour away and still no answer from Hack. At 3:05, Anne's phone rang.

Anne didn’t have much time. She dialed her crew.

“Where are you guys? You’re late.”
“Anne, calm down. We’re six minutes late. We’re on our way.”

Per her instructions, they’d spent the night editing the Florida Springs piece in Daytona to get it ready for Hack's approval. They were just as nervous as she was. The SUV pulled into the Borders parking lot two minutes later. Anne was sitting outside. As they joined her at the table, the anticipated call came in.

The story was dead.

“I don’t even know what to do next,” Anne said. They hadn’t heard her say that in a long time.
“Well, I’ve been doing some work with WKMG…” started Perry. “Do you want to try calling them? Or do you want to…”
“Go,” she suggested. In an instant, the team was gone.

In the car ride over to the station, Anne and the crew made last minute preparations. Tracy applied Anne’s makeup. Catherine reviewed the bullet points. Patty worried.

This could be the best move the team had ever made. Or the worst.

The jubilant crew had little time to celebrate. They rushed out of the studio and into the car to get to the Orlando Science Center. With the successful broadcast behind her, Anne still had one big worry on her mind.

“Eddy still hasn’t called,” Anne mentioned. “I wonder when he’s going to show up.”

Across town, Jack Ingrassia was on the phone with Garner, making final preparations for the meeting.

“Do you have the documents?”
“Got ‘em, Jack,” Garner assured.
“Good, we’re going to need them.”

They agreed to meet early. When Garner hung up the phone, he was also wondering what surprises awaited at the Orlando Science Center. He would find out soon enough.

Arriving outside the Science Center, Garner bumped into Skye, who was still looking for a story—any story. He invited her inside.

Jack was rehearsing his speech with Zabrina when Garner and Skye sat down. Garner started to explain the intricacies of insider trading to Skye.

“You mean like Martha Stewart?”
“Exactly. Prison. Five months. And when she came out, all the glamour that she had was gone. It was not pretty.”
“The thing about insider trading is that it’s so hard to prove,” Zabrina snidely remarked.

Garner slid the incriminating documents across the table to Zabrina.

Stepping into the auditorium, Jack and Garner smiled smugly as they surveyed the empty seats.

The sight of all those empty seats struck Anne like a blow. All that hard work. The chasing. Hijacking the news. And nobody was here. The only voices this “public” commission would hear were Garner’s and Jack’s.

Jack launched into his presentation, speaking confidently into the almost empty hall. But it didn’t remain empty for long.

Anne recognized Keith from Sligh Studios. And the couple from the library. And more people. People she didn’t even know. The hall was filling up.

She turned to her crew. “They saw the story!”

Then, up on the stage, she recognized someone else. As Jack Ingrassia was wrapping up his pitch, a figure in a brown corduroy jacket and black knit cap stepped out onto the stage.

Garner commandeered Eddie off the stage into a seat, holding him in place with a firm hand. Anne called to him, but Eddie couldn’t escape the iron grip.

Eddie’s appearance, however, was causing Jack to lose his grip.

Anne’s impassioned words reminded the commission that there were more voices to be heard.

Jack glared at the standing crowd.

“This is a travesty.”

He marched off the stage and out of the hall. The loyal Garner followed. "You blew it, Jack."

Recognizing the need for more time to hear the many voices that Anne had marshaled to the meeting, the commission rescheduled for two weeks later. Her mission accomplished, Anne’s crew gathered around with congratulations and hugs.

Then a familiar voice broke up the celebration.

Anne turned to her crew with misty eyes. She had her first real story. She stepped onto the stage and faced the camera.