The Fan Letter by Nancy Temple Rodrigue

had perkily told him, the falseness of her tone obvious to both of them. He had seen the disappointment in her eyes after she read his script. She had worked on Carlson all evening at the party—a point that had greatly bothered Phillip then and now. He was quite capable of landing his own roles, thank you very much.
    Phillip knew what he needed. A role that was different, unique, fresh. These scripts were from the same writers turning out the same ideas for the same producers. He glanced over at the pile of scripts and shook his head, disgusted. He would call Bill later and demand some improvement in the quality of what he was being sent.
    The sound of the patio door sliding open interrupted his sour line of thought and he glanced over to see Sarah come clicking over the patio. She was dressed to go out. Always the model, she could have been going anywhere from a photo shoot to dinner at Maxim's. “Phillip? I've been called downtown. Marty says there's some problem with Davey's passport. I need to take in his records.”
    “Why don't you just leave him with me while you're gone? Then there would be no problem,” was his pointed, yet hopeful reply.
    Sarah flashed him a smile. He still hadn't given up. “You know this is a wonderful opportunity for him. And Marty can help watch him when I'm on assignment.”
    Phillip felt his stomach tighten as he unconsciously made a fist. Her skuzzy agent would be with his son. He wouldn't trust that man with a wad of used chewing gum and now he has to turn over his son.
    Sarah saw the muscles in his jaw tighten and knew how he felt. She didn't agree at all, but she knew. Marty's cut-throat business practices had benefited her greatly and had taught her a lot. She followed his every word. “You can't let people walk all over you. Do it to them first,” was Marty's motto.
    Not wanting to get into it again and to change the charged atmosphere, she held up some letters. “The mail came. Usual stuff. Who do we know in Amherst?” she asked as she paused flipping through the mail to look at an ivory-colored envelope.
    “Amherst?” he repeated, allowing her to change the topic. He didn't feel like arguing again. Now. “I don't know. Where the heck is Amherst?”
    Again glancing at the return address, she answered, “Apparently somewhere in California. It's addressed to you,” as she stood by the edge of the pool, holding out the envelope. Her curiosity overcame her need to leave. As he paddled over to take the letter as he knew was expected of him, she waited and was rewarded when a look of recognition came over his face.
    “Ah, Bunny!” he declared with a small smile as he opened the envelope and began reading, momentarily forgetting his hovering wife.
    “Bunny?” echoed Sarah, her smile frozen unnaturally on her face. “I don't know any Bunny.”
    Phillip's eyes darted across the lines. “Hmm? No, that's just a nickname some aide at Majestic gave to her. I guess it stuck,” he frowned, thinking back. Glancing up at Sarah, who was on the verge of tapping her foot in impatience, he continued, “Remember that Western script I was sent on the set? That's her. Linda…. No, that's not right…. Leslie,” as he turned slightly soggy letter over to the signature.
    Sarah's smile was still frozen. “That was a fairly interesting storyline, if I remember it correctly. Incomplete, but interesting. Why is she still writing you? How'd she get this address?” Her business downtown was pushed aside. That could wait. This was getting more interesting and worrisome by the minute.
    He noticed she had sat down on one of the patio chairs near the edge of the pool. “What about the passport?”
    “That can wait five minutes,” she snapped. “Do you think it was a good idea for that idiot agent of yours to give out our home address like that? There're a lot of nuts roaming the streets. Anything can happen. Doesn't he read the papers?” The more she thought about it, the more worried she