What's Cookin' on the Backburner by Judy Ellison

Episode 1: A Visit from Luke

"Garcia!" he shouted, waving his hands in the dark night air.

"Luke? Is that you?" Garcia replied, jogging toward him. "You must really be lost... or is it that time of year again?"

Luke hummed the chorus of 'Wonderful, Wonderful Copenhagen' through a closed smile and Alex nodded in response: "Of course. That explains it..."

Garcia motioned to Luke, answering his unasked question. "Follow me," he said, "I'm headed there myself."

Wordlessly, the two men walked through ribbons of shadow created by moonlight filtering through the adjacent buildings. Garcia's well-practiced paces navigated the potholes and heaved concrete of the long-neglected streets with ease, while Luke's normally smooth gait devolved into a series of missteps and stubbed toes. And as Garcia passed beneath the pallid glow of a streetlight, Luke thought he could see the remains of a smile on Alex's face, as if he had enjoyed watching his struggle.

When they arrived at their destination Luke paused, peering through the windowed door as Garcia entered the room ahead of him.

"ALEX!" the crowd exclaimed, welcoming one of their regulars back into the fold. Garcia waved his hand in greeting and then indicated Luke's form outside the door.

"Look who's behind me," he said, and the crowd turned its attention to Luke, who was now standing in the doorway, framed by the darkness outside.

"Luke..." the crowd murmured in a hushed reverential tone, as AJ, who had apparently appointed himself the bartender, placed an empty glass on the counter.

"Welcome to the Backburner, Luke. What can I get for you?" he asked.

"Whiskey," Luke said, as his eyes swept over the room. The bar itself hadn't changed much, although many of the patrons were different than the ones he saw last year. Ned and Carly were teamed up against Edward and Lila in a rather raucous game of pool, with Reginald serving as both referee and scorekeeper. Alan sat quietly in a corner, looking lost without Monica at his side. Tony and Mike watched a baseball game on the wide-screen TV (cheering for opposite teams, of course), while Mac and Felicia called for their check. But, he thought, as Garcia slid into his usual seat between V. Ardanowski and Rick Johnson, there were always those folks whose presence seemed as permanent as the stools they sat upon.

"Poor suckers..." Luke muttered.

"What did you say?" AJ asked.

Responding to a rare impulse of decorum, Luke amended his original comment: "Sure are a lot of Q's here," he said.

"Yeah, go figure," said AJ, "I guess having truckloads of money, three addicts, a former rock star, and an assortment of would-be murderers and adulterers in the family isn't enough to keep us front and center anymore." He looked wistfully at Carly, who appeared to be in no hurry to leave. "But perhaps in a month or so..."

"Don't pin all your hopes on a woman, Junior," sighed Ned, "Dating a Cassadine is doing nothing for me..."

"I think you boys are being too hard on yourselves," said Lila, "Perhaps it's not who we are or whom we associate with, but where we live. The mansion just isn't as exciting as--say--a dark and mysterious island estate or a bullet-proof penthouse..."

"It's a damned shame, that's what it is!" cried Edward, "When the Quartermaine who gets all the airtime is a two-bit hoodlum who won't even use his proper name!"

Lila continued as if she hadn't heard Edward: "Let's see...we'll add a somber collection of mahogany furniture, a dozen or so Faberge eggs, a dark wine cellar replete with portraits of various old lovers, a few gargoyles dispersed here and there...and, of course, a parapet or two..."

"LILA!" Edward exploded, "There'll be no more attempts on Katherine's life in our house!"

"Damn..." breathed Lila and Reginald, in a whispered unison.

Luke held up his hand in a preemptive gesture. "Now, wait a minute," he said, "I half-expected to see Blondie here...are you saying that she's still alive?"

"Sorry," said AJ, "I guess you weren't supposed to know. When the time comes...act surprised..."

"I can do that," said Luke, wincing as he downed the remainder of his drink in one gulp. He waved his empty glass at AJ, tacitly suggesting a refill.

"Yeah," said Rick, "She was here for a couple of weeks. Tried unsuccessfully to redecorate, and then left."

"She got more airtime dead than I do alive," commented an obviously bitter V. She whirled on her barstool to face Luke directly. "So tell us, Mr. Spencer," she continued, "what does one have to do to get noticed by the writers?"

Luke gazed thoughtfully into his drink. "Well...the three of you are in law enforcement, so that's a big strike against you. And you're all too damned polite and predictable! You gotta develop some kinda deep, dark past, or have a secret connection to one of the movers and shakers in Port Charles..."

"Perhaps you're a missing Cassadine or Spencer," suggested Lila.

"Bah! The Cassadines and Spencers: Guza's families du jour!" griped Edward, "It used to be exciting news when another Quartermaine surfaced!"

Lila shot Edward a scathing look. "Oh? How many other undiscovered, illegitimate Quartermaines are there?"

Alan, who had been dozing off and on, raised his head long enough to say: "Don't you think that Officer Johnson looks familiar? He and Lucky could be brothers..."

"Yeah!" said Rick, "I could be Luke Spencer's and Jennifer Smith's long-lost love child!"

Luke's gasp sent a trickle of whiskey down his windpipe and a coughing fit ensued. Regaining his composure, he pointed an accusing finger at Rick and said in a low, menacing voice: "The next words outta your mouth better not be 'act surprised'..."

Rick held up his hands in a gesture of surrender. "Sorry, Mr. Spencer. I was just havin' some fun with you..."

Luke waved off his apology. "See what I mean? Too polite. Lose the Barney Fife wannabe personality and then come talk to me." He shifted his gaze to V. "Ah, V. I like a gal who answers to a single letter. You're still way too nice, but you got this quirky Nancy Drew thing going for you which could be upgraded to an Emma Peel, given the right circumstances. Plus, you've already marked some territory as a sometimes-pal to a few of the regulars, and we've actually seen your apartment. Now that there's a big gap in the front-burner where Brenda Barrett used to be, I think you gotta a pretty good chance of stakin' a claim."

"Gosh, thank you Sir!" gushed V.

Luke smiled. "Don't mention it. And I mean that literally." Luke's line of vision moved one more barstool over. "Now you, Garcia, are a tougher case. You've been on the canvas for years now, but rarely as more than just a peripheral character. I'm sure you're gettin' tired of arresting the local mobsters or waiting for the next serial killer to turn up, so you have to find something to do other than police work..."

"There was my relationship with Lily..." Garcia offered.

Rick rolled his eyes. "Not again!" he said. "How many times do we hafta tell ya? Lily was never your girlfriend..."

"But we exchanged meaningful glances across a crowded courtroom..."

Luke intervened: "Who do ya think is writing this show...Jane Austen? Get real! Your obsession with that chick has crossed the line from romantic to psychotic." Luke paused, his features falling into a look of distaste. "Although, some guys make a damned career outta mooning over women they can't have, and it buys them plenty of story. But I think one of them's enough for now. We gotta go with a different tack for you...but what?"

As if on cue, the Backburner's lights dimmed and a spotlight's beam appeared, illuminating the Quartermaines' table. An invisible orchestra struck up a familiar melody from The Sound of Music and Lila began to sing, leading her family in a rousing chorus:

Lila: How do you solve a problem like Garcia's?
Ned: How do you make them write more scenes for you?
AJ: How do you dress to make them want to see ya?
Ned: A black leather jacket?
Edward: An Armani suit?
Lila: Tatoos?
Alan: Many a time you should have lost your temper. Being polite won't get you off the bench.
Ned: The writers don't wanna try to focus on 'nicer' guys.
Edward: They'd rather see mouths that sneer and hands that clench.
All: Oh, how do you solve a problem like Garcia's? How do you mold a Titan from a mensch?

The End (with sincere apologies to Rogers and Hammerstein...)