Steele Peevish After All These Years
Date: Friday, January 10, 2003

Michael <mpbledsoe@yahoo.com>

Steele Peevish After All These Years
By Michael Bledsoe and Ellen Wilkerson

My thanks to everyone on the RSFic list who contributed to this
story, in one fashion or another: Angie, Nancy, Jackie, Yuliya,
Robyn, NewSue, Adri, Debra, and Ace. Also, my thanks to Ellen for
listening to my crazed ravings.

--------------------------------------------------------------

Thursday, June 8, 1989, late evening

It was a dark and stormy night as Remington Steele and Laura Holt sat
before the fire in Steele's apartment at 5994 Rossmore. His piercing
blue eyes glittered in the firelight as he appreciated the long-
necked beauty of his companion. His hand caressed her cheek and
gracefully slipped behind her neck, drawing her willing lips toward
his own.

The doorbell rang.

"Hold that thought while I get rid of whoever it is."

He jumped to his feet muttering vague curses under his breath and
dragged himself from the carpet to the apartment door. While he was
in motion, the doorbell rang twice more. Laura laughed liltingly as
she followed him to the door.

He looked through peephole. Then he looked again, an expression of
disbelief growing.

"Who is it, Remmie?" Laura asked, with concern.

Steele held a finger to his lips and slowly unlocked and opened the
door.

"You're wet," he said in a colorless voice to the man in the hallway.

"Yes, it's raining," Daniel Chalmers answered.

"Yes... I think perhaps you better come inside."

"You're too kind."

"Aren't you dead?" Laura asked with amazing detachment.

"The rumours of my death have been greatly exaggerated, as Mark Twain
said."

"What do you mean, rumors of your death?" Remington demanded, his
voice rising in pitch, "I bloody well saw you die with my own eyes.
We arranged the transport of your dead body to Russia."

"Harry, its too late for that, damnit, there's work to be done,"
Chalmers barked. "Linda, go put on a kettle for tea, we have a game
to plan."

"It's still Laura. And what are you doing here?" Laura demands,
folding her arms. "I won't put a kettle on for tea, but I will be
keeping my eye on you."

"Laura, Laura, snookums," Steele begins placatingly, but is
interrupted by the phone ringing, "I'll get the kettle, why don't you
get the phone?"

Laura glares at Steele and Chalmers as they go into the kitchen. She
sticks her tongue out at the phone and then lifts the receiver.

"Laura Holt, what do you want?" she demands.

"Laura, this is Frances, your, unh, sister," the voice on the other
end says.

"Yes, Frances, what do you need?" Laura motions for her to go on.

"I was watching the Discovery Channel a few minutes ago and they were
talking about unidentified flying objects," she pauses to collect her
thoughts. "They described a lighted object that looks a lot like a
paint bucket with a rope attached to the handle that just hangs there
not making a sound. Well, I had to go to the car and get Donald's
briefcase, he had forgotten it in the car, and I saw one. It was just
hanging there, not making a sound. I ran in to get Donald and the
kids, but it was gone, just as silently as it had come.

"Laura, what should I do?"

"Frances, get a roll of aluminum foil and make a hat for each of you,
your kids and Donald. That way they can't read your minds. Then turn
all the lights out and sit under the kitchen table, I read that it's
safer there. Make sure you have a flashlight and if any of your doors
open, shine it in their eyes." Laura sighs, "Call me in the morning
and let me know how it goes."

"Thanks, Laura, I'll get right to it. Bye." The phone clicks in
Laura's ear and she hangs the receiver on the base, shaking her head
sadly.

"I don't know. I have a bad feeling about this," Laura shakes off the
sadness for her sister and that brings back the madness of conmen in
the kitchen.

Marching into the kitchen, the first thing she notices is the kettle
whistling on the burner, forgotten, it seems, by the two men with
their heads over some rolls of paper. The second thing she notices is
that Chalmers' wet coat was lying on the kitchen floor making a
puddle.

Laura proceeded making the tea, pouring the hot water into the
ceramic teapot, swishing it and pouring it in the sink. She carefully
measured the tealeaves, a teaspoon each for the three of them and one
for the pot. She then filled the teapot half full of the hot water
and placed the top on the pot for steeping. She placed the cups and
saucers on a tray with some biscuits out of a tin on the counter. She
finished filling the teapot with hot water and picking up the tray
walked over to the table and poured a cup.

"One lump or two," she asked Daniel sweetly, but there was fire in
her eyes.

Remington glanced up at the sound of her voice and rose smoothly to
stand between his wife and her intended target. She continued with
the teacups, filling the other two and adding sugar and cream to one.
Remington took one of the others and also added sugar and cream,
Daniel was oblivious to the price of tea in China.

"Harry, we have to move quickly to secure these pipelines," Chalmers
continued. "I have heard through the grapevine, that because of the
deregulation of natural gas, once Transwestern Pipeline secures the
line from West Texas to California that Enron will have a 2,600-mile
natural gas pipeline that will only transport and not distribute.
This will give them a strangle hold on the entire industry."

"So what's the game then?" Steele enquired.

"It's simple really, we sell them some of their own pipeline, then
stand back and rake in the cash."

Daniel picked up his cup and took a deep drink. His face went through
several gyrations and Laura smiled.

"Linda, what did you do to this tea?"

"Oh, well, nothing," Laura answers Chalmers sweetly, "Why, do you
think I should?"

"Her name is Laura, Daniel, you know, my wife."

"Ah yes, my boy, I'd quite forgotten."

"Daniel, don't you ever think of anything but your own hair-brained
schemes?" demands Laura.

"Why should I? They have taken care of Harry and me for more years
than you've known him."

Laura stands and knocks the paper rolls off the table, noticing that
they are blueprints of pipelines.

"Daniel Chalmers, don't you realize that you are a grandfather now?"
she asks, her voice rising to an almost hysterical peak. "What have
you done for the past two years that you didn't even know of your own
grandchildren?" She pointedly turns her back on her husband and his
father and stalks out of the kitchen.

"Quite a firebrand, isn't she, son?" Chalmers asked Steele who had
knelt to pick up the blueprints.

"Oh, Daniel --" Steele begins, but he shakes his head, hands the
papers to his father and follows his wife from the kitchen.

Daniel slowly sinks back into the chair he had risen from and settles
his face in his hands.

"Son, I've spent my whole life dancing around the edges of truth," he
tells the empty room, "How can I embrace truth now?"

* * *

Friday, June 9, 1989, morning
Morning found Daniel Chalmers sleeping fretfully on the Steele couch.
Someone had provided him with a pillow and blankets during the night.
The storm of the previous evening had passed and the morning looked
brand-new through the curtains. Remington and Laura were getting
ready for their day of detecting. He was in the kitchen, preparing
formula and she was in the shower

The doorbell rang, driving all sleep from Daniel.

"Could you get that," Steele called out from the kitchen, "I've got
my hands full, at the moment."

Chalmers struggled up and walked unsteadily to the door. He opened
the door and regarded the youngish woman who stood there. She was
tall and thin with a mane of reddish hair. She wore blue jeans over a
white body suit, tastefully covered by a pastel jacket. Over her
shoulder was a heavy, leather book bag making her look much like a
college student.

"Hi, I'm Krystal," she said, "the nanny."

"And I'm Daniel, the grandfather," he said taking her hand and
shaking it effusively.

"Oh, this is surprising," she said with a troubled look on her
face, "I understood from the Steeles that you had passed away."

"Yes," Chalmers answered, seemingly embarrassed, "There was a
misunderstanding a few years ago."

"Well, that's good," Krystal said, "Every child should get to know
their grandparents."

"Ah, Krystal, how good to see you this morning," Steele said as he
headed for the bedroom with two bottles of formula, "We seem to be in
need of haste."

Krystal followed Remington and Daniel followed her. In the large
bedroom, Laura held one child in her arms. The other was in a crib
against the wall. Daniel had heard neither one cry during the night.
The nanny picked up the other child and sat in a chair close to the
baby bed.

"Daniel," Steele said, "I would like to present your grandchildren."
He stepped over to Laura and the child she held, "This is your
granddaughter, Destiny Irene Steele, the eldest - by seven minutes."
Steele touched his daughter's cheek and then his wife's. The girl had
flame red hair and was full of smiles and dimples.

Steele stepped over to the child the nanny held, "This amazing young
man is your grandson, Patrick Michaleen Steele." He picked up his
son, who had dark hair like his father, and nuzzled him. The boy
cooed and giggled in the arms of his father. Daniel looked on in
fascination; this was a side of Harry he had never seen, the
nurturing father and husband.

"Remington, we had better go," Laura said, placing Destiny in her
bed, "Fred will be waiting downstairs."

"Okay, but I want to tell Daniel something first," Steele said. "When
the children were born, five months ago, we had a little trouble with
the hospital. Because Laura chose to keep her name, for professional
reasons, the hospital didn't want to announce the children in the
paper as those of Remington Steele and Laura Holt. We had to bring in
our marriage license before they would announce them properly." He
and Laura chuckled in remembrance.

"Daniel, do you want to come to the office with us?" Laura asked, "We
could delay a couple of more minutes while you get ready."

"No thanks, I'll get changed and take care of a few loose ends and
then meet you there."

"Sure, see you later," Steele said. They quickly exited the
apartment.

Chalmers looked in awe at his grandchildren. It was an amazing thing
to consider, *his grandchildren*. He turned and left Krystal with his
grandchildren and prepared for his day working with the pipelines.

* * *

Friday, June 9, 1989, still morning
"Boss," Mildred Krebs said as the Steeles entered the office of
Remington Steele Investigations, "There's a lady waiting in your
office. Hubba Hubba."

"Oh yes," Steele said, straightening his tie and smiling.

"Laura, Tony is in his office and needs to speak to you," Mildred
continued, "Something to do with the case he is working."

"Great, just what I need on a Friday," Laura said with heavy
sarcasm, "Straighten up the mess of someone else."

"I'll go ahead and greet this, unh, lady in my office and wait for
you." He stepped through the door into his corner office.

The woman standing in Steele's office was dressed to the nines. In
fact, her clothes were not what you would expect at ten in the
morning. The dress was of black silk velvet with long sleeves. The
off-the-shoulder neckline, cuffs and hem were trimmed with bands of
ivory satin with a rolled rope border. She was tall, nearly six feet,
and very blonde, naturally so it would seem, and her clothes went
well with her coloration.

"So you're a private detective. I didn't know they existed except in
books, or else they were greasy little men snooping around hotel
corridors." Her voice was sultry and melodious. She held out a gloved
hand, like a limp, dead fish. Steele shook it out of politeness.

"You're the great detective Remington Steele."

"Yes, I have that honor." Steele said, becoming irritated with all
the build-up. "And you are?"

"Brittany Hyde, at your service, sir," She said in that voice, with a
flowery Southern drawl.

"And what can Remington Steele Investigations do for you?" He
inquired.

"We would like you to find my sister and return her to her family,"
Brittany said.

"Who is we?" Steele asked.

"Our family, in South Carolina, sent me to bring Tiffany back."

"Are you the oldest?"

"Actually, Tiffany is the oldest, but I've always had to take care of
her. All through our school years I would make sure she caught the
right school bus, brought home the right books, and dated the right
boys. She seemed so lame in school."

"And since school?" he asked.

"Well, near as we can make out, she came here, to Los Angeles, to
make it as a model or movie star, but she hasn't had a lot of luck at
it. Instead she has gotten mixed up in gambling and the wrong kind of
men. We want you to find her, clean up her messes and send her back
to us."

"It shouldn't be too tough."

"Really. I would have thought a case like that took a little effort."

"Not too much," Steele said, for some reason irritated by the
presumption of the woman.

"What will your first step be?"

"The usual one."

"I didn't know there was a usual one."

"Oh, sure there is. It comes complete with diagrams on page forty-
seven of "How to be a Detective in Ten Easy Lessons", correspondence
school textbook," Steele ad-libbed glibly.

"Now look, Mr. Steele. My father is not well, and I want this case
handled with the least possible worry to him," Brittany Hyde
responded, finally realizing Steele sarcasm.

"That's just the way I was going to handle it."

"I see. No professional secrets."

"No," Steele said, with finality, "If you'll give all the particulars
to Miss Krebs on your way out, we will get right on with finding your
sister, Miss Hyde, but for now I have another case that I must get
on."

Meanwhile, in Tony's office, which had once belonged to Murphy
Michaels, Laura and Tony were having a discussion of another sort.

"Tony," Laura said, "When we returned to LA, we had hoped that you
could be an asset to Remington Steele Investigations, but you
constantly seem to be getting into trouble of one sort or another."
She sighed, "What do we need to fix for you now?"

"What am I, a baby?" he said, seeming somewhat hot under the
collar, "Anthony Roselli can fix any trouble that Anthony Roselli
gets into. I'm not a wimp, like some I know."

"What are you trying to say?" asked Laura, "Who are you referring to?"

"Our popinjay boss, who would rather talk them to death than duke it
out with the bad guys." Roselli said, "I know he can fight, but he'd
rather use his mouth, not his fists."

"Mr. Steele tries to do the best thing for every situation, on an
individual basis."

"I... I find it hard to believe that you could ever be fond of a man
who isn't a fighter." Roselli said, suddenly turning the conversation
again.

"Sometimes tenderness and kindness can also make a man," Laura
replied, "A very rare man." She looked into in space with a wistful
expression.

"Laura," Tony said his voice growing husky. He stepped closer, took
her shoulders and gazed deeply into her eyes - bringing her back to
earth, "You can't deny us. The heat and passion between us is there -
it's real - it's urgent."

"Tony," Laura said uncertainly, "I'm married - I'm a mom - how can
you keep doing this to me?

"It's easy," he said with a laugh, "I love you and want you to be
mine."

* * *

Friday, June 9, 1989, late afternoon
"Don't you hate the turning radius on this thing?" Tony asked.

"It's not about the turning radius when you acquire one of these,
Anthony," Steele said from behind the wheel of his 1936 supercharged
Auburn speedster. "The Auburn is stylish without being flashy, daring
yet understated. It's not about how the automobile drives, but how
you look driving the automobile."

Steele had slipped off his suit coat when he climbed into the
speedster with Roselli. They were on their way to the last know
address of Brittany Hyde. Once they got off the main road the
neighborhood took a swing to the worst. The yards were postage stamp
sized and quite unkempt. The houses looked like they hadn't been
painted since they had been built.

"For a woman on her way, it doesn't seem like she found the proper
path," Remington commented dryly.

"I'd agree with that," Tony replied.

The Auburn looked like it was from another world as it pulled in
front of a seedy duplex. Steele and Roselli abandoned the protection
of the speedster and walked to the front door of the left unit.
Steele knocked briskly on the door after noticing that it had no bell
or buzzer. They waited several moments and tried again. Steele
stepped to the right unit door and pressed the ultrasonic wireless
bell that was mounted to the door. Roselli remained at the left door
and shook the handle sternly.

An older lady answered the door to Steele. "I told the last group of
lawyers that I wasn't leaving."

"Sorry, Ma'am, for disturbing you, but we aren't lawyers. We are
private investigators seeking a missing woman." Steele said, feeling
truth was in order, for once. "Have you seen Tiffany Hyde? Her last
know address is the duplex next door."

"Well, my husband and I own the entire building and the lady who
rented our unit is Tiffany Hill. Nice young thing, real polite,
always paid her rent on time until this month."

"Has she been missing?" Remington inquired.

"I haven't seen much of her lately, but I can't say she was missing."

There was rattling of the left hand door and a short, dark haired
woman in dirty jeans and tee shirt with a huge sunflower design on it
popped out. Her blue eyes appeared wild and she was waving a small
revolver in all directions. Roselli reached out and quickly disarmed
the woman.

A shot rang out and Remington sank slowly to his knees, red coloring
his white shirt. A woman's voice screamed.

* * *

Saturday, June 10, 1989, shortly after midnight
"Hello," said the man coming through the swinging door, in surgical
scrubs, complete to the booties, which seemed to be covering pointy-
toed cowboy boots, "I'm the doctor?"

"Doctor who?" Laura asked.

"Doctor Charles Portera, surgeon extraordinaire, at your service. I
specialize in operations that regular surgeons find too difficult,
too painstaking, or too expensive." He stopped in front of Laura,
pulled his little mask down and smiled engagingly. "Now what's the
problem that I need to correct?"

"I seem to have been, unh, shot, Charles," Remington said.

"Yes, yes, call me Dr. Portera. Now, let me examine the wound."

The doctor quickly and efficiently exposed the entry wound; there was
no exit wound. He felt around the room lightly, making Steele squirm
with pain. Then he picked up the x-rays, slapped them on the light
box and examined them carefully.

"These x-rays are inconclusive. The bullet appears to be lying in the
major artery and against the bone, I would recommend a complete
amputation."

"What?" Laura screamed, "A complete amputation, why?"

"I feel that amputation would be the safest course of action. No lead
traces in the body, no broken bones to mend, and no arteries to be
sown." Portera pulled his sleeve back and looked at his watch. "I'll
give you a couple of minutes to decide." He stepped out of the
emergency room cubicle.

Steele looked down at his arm and sighed. "Sorry pal, it's been nice
knowing you."

"Remington, you can't seriously think that you need you whole arm cut
off, can you?" his wife implored.

"Well, Doctor Portera seems to feel it's for the best."

"Well, you can lay there and have your arm cut off, but I want
another opinion about this." Laura stormed off.

Steele lay there, tortured by his thoughts. A woman, also in surgical
scrubs entered and picked up his chart.

"Mr. Steele, I'm Betty Foreman and I will be your nurse in surgery."

"Ah, thank you, unh, Betty."

"No problem," she said, "now, Mr. Steele, we need to prepare you for
surgery. Can you help me any?"

"In what way?" Steele asked, slightly confused. "I can't seem to move
my left arm and I'm weaker than the proverbial kitten."

"Well, Mr. Steele, what I actually meant, was if you could roll a
little this way I can remove what's left of your shirt."

"Ah, I see," he said complying, "Such a shame, I liked that shirt."

Quickly he was disrobed and laying under the blanket.

"Thank you, Nurse Betty, effectively done, if not provocatively done."

"Mr. Steele," the nurse said reddening a little. "I'll be back to get
you soon."

"I'll be waiting."

Steele was once again alone with his thoughts. This was not the way a
simple case worked, there must be more to it. Then he wasn't alone
and the case became more irritating.

"Ah, Detective Jarvis, so nice of you to visit," effused
Remington, "I was feeling a bit lonely."

"Sorry, Mr. Steele, this is a professional visit."

"But I didn't die, why would a homicide detective want to interview
me, now?" Steele asks, clearly puzzled.

Jarvis doesn't answer; instead he reaches into his inside coat pocket
and removes some photographs and a pipe.

"Recognize this man, Mr. Steele?"

Jarvis hands a picture Steele. It shows a man halfway into a bathtub,
but is face is visible. He clinches the pipe in his teeth, but
doesn't light it.

"No, should I?" Steele is still perplexed. "I don't believe I've ever
seen him."

"Ah, well, it would have been nice, if you had," the police detective
responded.

"Why?"

"He was stabbed six times, in that duplex where you were shot."

"My God," breathes Remington, "I was just looking for a missing
sister."

"Really?"

"Of course, you can check with Laura or Mildred. They knew where I
was going."

"So tell me, in your words, what happened?" Jarvis produced a
notebook and a stub of pencil.

"Anthony and I -"

"Anthony Roselli, been working with you for a couple of years now?"
Jarvis interrupted.

"Yes, we went to the address we had been given by the girl's sister."

"What was the name of the girl you were searching for?"

"Tiffany Hyde."

"Continue, please."

"We knocked, but no one answered, so I knocked on the other unit's
door. The owner answered it. While I was speaking with her a crazy
woman came out of the duplex we had knocked on first, waving a pistol
around. Tony grabbed the gun and I got shot, the next -"

"Anthony Roselli shot you?" an incredulous Jarvis asked.

Steele cogitated for a few moments before answering, "So it would
seem. I hadn't thought about it quite that way."

"Sorry, I interrupted," Jarvis said, "Please continue."

"I can't believe that Roselli shot me, he and I have disagreed quite
a bit, but to out-and-out shoot me." Steele was staggered by that
realization. "Anyway, the next thing I realized is that I'm on the
ground and Tony has grabbed the girl and taken my Auburn. Mrs.
Graham, the duplex owner, called an ambulance and Laura. And here I
am."

"I see," Jarvis said, nervously chewing on the empty pipe in his
mouth, "This brings up more questions than answers doesn't it?"

"Excuse me officer," said a nervous looking man wearing operating
scrubs, "I need to talk to the patient."

"Sure, I'll wait in the, unh, waiting room."

"Mr. Steele, did you realize that you had a rare type of blood?"

"Can't say that I realized that."

"Well, I'm afraid that you do and this presents several problems, at
this point."

"What do you mean?"

"The day before yesterday, there was a tremendous car wreck on the
freeway and our blood supplies for rare types had been diminished
terribly." The nervous man grabbed several tissues from a box in the
ER room and swabbed his face. "Do you know of anyone with the same
blood type as you?"

"Not really -"

"Wait," interrupted Laura, returning to the cubical, "Mr. Steele's
father is in the waiting room. Could he have the same blood type?"

"He has a higher percentage chance than most people. We can test him,
if they match, we'll do a quick transfusion. It would make, Mr.
Steele's chances of surviving the operation better."

"Great, I'll go get him."

"Wait, I'll come with you, we need to test him immediately." Laura
and the blood guy left quickly.

"Mr. Steele, I'm Doctor Kamran Farrukh," said another scrubs bedecked
man, with an Indian accent, "And I will be your anesthesiologist. I
will begin by injecting this into your drip."

"Thanks, Doc, I feel I could use a little rest now."

* * *

Saturday, June 10, 1989, early morning

"How are you doing, honey?" Laura asked as Remington's eyes finally
focused.

"I'm doing pretty good." He answered faintly, "Although my yesterday
was better than my today."

"Mr. Steele, I'm Annette White, I'll be your recovery nurse," said a
small pert woman, "Could you drink a little of this?" She offered
Steele a Styrofoam cup with a bendable straw.

"Thank you," he said with a little rasp.

"If there's anything you need, here's the call button." She clipped
the call button's cord near his hand and then handed Remington the
remote.

"Sure," he said.

Steele sipped his cola substitute from the straw, he did feel awfully
thirsty, but the liquid going down didn't have the effect he wanted.
Maybe he could fight it down. With a rumble his stomach subsided.

"Laura, can you love a one armed man?" Steele choked out.

"Oh, silly," Laura said with a grin, "You still have two arms."

"Oh, thank God," he said, "I've been worrying how I could continue -
holding you - holding the children."

"Remington, if you had no arms, I would feel the same about you," she
said, gently kissing him on the forehead.

Suddenly, Steele sat forward, a metallic taste jumping into his mouth.

"Laura, the pan," he grated.

She handed him the pan and he used it.

"Harry, I guess I came at a bad time," Daniel's jovial voice sounded
out.

"Well, I can't say you're catching me at my best," Steele said, as
Laura wiped around his mouth, with a cool washcloth.

"Honey," Laura said, "Daniel donated several pints of blood for you.
We were lucky that you and he had the same blood type. Usually the
blood line flows with the woman."

"Mr. Steele," nurse Annette said, reappearing, "Would you like a
little something for the pain."

"No, I'll rough it for now."

"As you wish," She said with a smile, "Let me explain the doctor's
orders and it'll soon be time for you to go."

"Really, I don't stay the night?"

"No, sir," the nurse began, "Current studies show that people recover
quicker in familiar surroundings."

"Well, that's wonderful," Laura, said, "I'll be glad to get you home."

Steele wasn't so sure, but went along for the ride.

* * *

Monday, June 12, 1989, morning
"Oh boy, kids, that was some weekend." Mildred Krebs said all
fluttery as Remington and Laura entered the office. "Kinda touch and
go, there for a while."

"I would say a lot more touch, than go in my case," Steele commented
dryly. He was sporting a suit coat draped over the sling and bandages
on his left arm.

"Talking about going, Boss," Mildred began, "Tony cleared out of his
office over the weekend."

"He did, did he?" Steele asked.

"Yes, Saturday. The building security people informed me first thing
this morning."

"Laura, once again your choices have worked to our advantage."

"Well, I knew there was a little animosity between you and Tony," she
said a little sheepishly, "But I never expected him to shoot you."

"A *little* animosity," Steele snorted.

It was then that the earthquake struck.

To Be Continued . . .
---------------------------------------------

Author's Notes

I would like to apologize to the medical profession as a whole and the person who I based Steele's surgeon on. Its not that I thought he was a bad surgeon, its just that he had some quirks, but then, don't we all.

I tried to include as many of the peeves as possible, that wouldn't destroy readability. I discovered that some of them were extremely difficult to stick to. I found that I wrote half a dozen reasons to explain Daniel returning and then had to erase them all again.

Sentence provided by:
Kelly

Lines incorporated into the story are from the following movies:
The Rocky Horror Picture Show, 20th Century Fox, 1975
Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan, Paramount Pictures, 1982
1776, Columbia Pictures Corporation, 1972
Star Wars: Episode V - The Empire Strikes Back, 20th Century Fox, 1980
The Big Sleep, MGM, 1946
The Court Jester, Paramount Pictures, 1956

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