When an arrogant billionaire, RAYMOND SINCLAIR, double-crosses the sinister military industrial complex, he discovers the beautiful intern he recently fired, EVELYN SIMMONS, holds the key to saving his life and his company.
*There is an expanded ver...
I can't get no satisfaction, All I need is some social reaction! -(I Can't Get No) Satisfaction 1965.
Inside the shelter, Evie was helping Vince Mac-hale, a large man in his sixties wearing a gray tuque and flannel shirt, pull custards from an industrial-sized oven. Possessing the build of a strip club bouncer and the fashion sense of a deep sea crab fisherman, Vince handled the confections with surprising efficiency. "I've never seen so many desserts." The former intern's brown eyes crinkled with pleasure. "How did you know the correct ingredient quantities without measuring anything, Vincent?"
"Being a former Navy cook, I know my way around a kitchen." He winked, expertly plating the custards. "And here's how I like to serve 'em. With a little garnish of mint." He added the green herb with a flourish.
Evie smiled. "Vince, you're the nicest person I've ever met. You remind me of my father. He served in the military his entire life."
"Mmm, they smell, heavenly!" Holding a canister of whipped cream, Deedee flounced over to peruse the golden desserts. She wore a spotless, white apron to protect her new, aqua green, silk chiffon dress. Leaning over the counter, she inhaled the custard's enticing aroma, careful not to soil the asymmetrical ruffles adorning her bodice.
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"One can of topping won't be enough, Lady Dee. We're going need a few more." Vince delicately applied the garnishing touches as he spoke.
"I'll go see if there's any more cool whip in the freezer." On the way out, she cooed, "Sweethearts, you're both doing a great job."
Watching her depart, Prince, a shelter resident with an eerie resemblance to the real Prince, stopped fiddling with the rice cooker. Moseying over to Evie, he started his favorite pastime. Gossiping about men. "Honey, I heard about that brute, Raymond Sinclair. He should be tarred and feathered for the number he did on your self-esteem." He patted her shoulder. "Don't worry, babe. Your fairy godfather, Prince's here. I'll turn you into a real Audrey Hepburn, a.k.a Holly Go-Lightly." He smiled, encouragingly. "After I'm done raising your self-worth, no man will ever trod on you again. I promise." He struck a dramatic pose. "Cross my heart and hope to die."
Evie smiled politely, moving the rest of the custards to the cooling racks. "I'm fine with who I am, Prince. Honestly, I don't think I have the chutzpah to be royalty."
"Oh honey, it has nothing to do with royal birth or noble bloodlines. It's all about self-respect. Before I ascended to my Gloriana status, I was a sneaker salesman in Queens. Under all that polished sugar and spice, I bet you're a real firebrand." He turned on a CD player that was sitting on the orange counter top. I Can't Get No Satisfaction blasted out of the speakers. Grabbing Evie by the hands, he cheerfully shouted, "Let's dance!" He strutted, grooving his hips to the rock-blues beat.
