Moira was old and fat and she lived in a trailer house in a windswept god-forsaken Arizona town and her only family appeared weekly on ``The Practice.''
She knew and loved them all. In every episode she was there. A feisty, fiercely intelligent but sometimes wrong headed working class mom who went through law school after her youngest son graduated college. Loud and obnoxious and badly dressed she'd lose cases disastrously as well as win them. Sometimes she was on the side of the DA sometimes she was with the embattled law firm.
When the rerun came on she would work through it all again.
One fall day Lara Flynn Boyle walked into Moira's kitchen. Although she was delighted her first thought was for the vinyl floor. Those sharp high heels! But Lara Flynn Boyle left no mark as she stepped gracefully from the door to the kitchen bar, even as her heels clicked smartly on the sound track.
Lara Flynn Boyle confronted her across the counter. She placed her elegant slim hands on the formica surface.
``You must leave us alone,'' she said, ``you are ruining our show.''
``Beg pardon?''
``You must not intrude on The Practice. Things are hard enough as it is. You ruin our concentration with your presence and you have caused Bobby to break into hysterical laughter and ruin a perfect take. We can't afford the time. Leave us alone!'' She reached into her brief case.
``I have been instructed to make you this offer.'' She handed an envelope to Moira. In the envelope was a recipe for tuna casserole cut from an old newspaper.
``Why does Bobby laugh?''
``Because it is so ridiculous. The writers agree. Sure we are a disparate group, but really you are beyond the probable. The Practice isn't for you. Try a survivor show. Try Saturday Night Live.''
``I'm sorry,'' she said, ``I can't do that. The Practice is my life and I cannot leave.''
Lara Flynn Boyle turned crisply on her heel. Next day the bald guy showed up.
``We can't function in your presence.'' He pushed out his lower lip and fixed her with a steely gaze. ``I am authorized to offer you this.'' He offered her an envelope containing two dollar off coupons for Domino's Pizza. She brushed them aside impatiently. He sat down on the sofa. ``I intend to stay here then. Do you have any Pepsi?''
Next day the big woman with the multiple ear piercings showed up and in the following days they all arrived. The trailer was full of them. They would not leave. Then a van bristling with equipment and a bus full of crew people appeared and bright lights were turned on everywhere. Her bedroom was filled with soft drinks and sandwiches. The entire court had come to visit a woman dying from using contaminated well water. They stuck her on the couch and painted her grey. They gave her a handful of lines. In a week they were gone.
``I hope you're satisfied,'' said Lara Flynn Boyle, the last to leave. She waved a graceful hand and tapped out the door in her flawless suit, allowing herself the faintest twitch of a smile as she left.