The Fan Letter by Nancy Temple Rodrigue Page A

became. Sarah felt her heart start pounding in her chest. Security had always been an important issue for her—all the more so when her career had taken off. She wondered how Phillip could be so lax.
    Having drifted with the gentle waves in the pool, he turned his lounge to face her. His pleasant smile was gone. “First, Bill isn't an idiot and he didn't send the address. I did. And, second, Leslie isn't like that. She has her own agent now and is trying to get published. I don't know why she is still writing me. Probably because she is grateful for the advice and encouragement I gave her before.”
    Eyes narrowed, she tersely asked, “Advice and encouragement for what?”
    He looked away briefly and took a breath. This was turning into another needless argument. “I told you months ago about her two manuscripts. You read them both,” he quietly reminded her. “I suggested she expand them into novel length and submit them to be published. I thought she had wanted them viewed as scripts. Now she has done just that and they are apparently being considered. This letter concerns a convention she attended last week. She didn't seem to have a very good time,” he concluded, glancing back at the letter with a ghost of a smile playing over his face.
    Silent, Sarah now recalled both stories and had liked them. With a little work they would have made excellent episodes for Phillip's character on that television show. Leave it to Phillip to recommend something else. That knowledge did little to allay her fears or to extinguish a small spark of jealousy deep within her. Outsiders can be totally unpredictable. Some had turned deadly. This one had their home address and was using it. And, she and Davey would be gone for at least a month.
    Since her questions had stopped, Phillip returned to the letter and started reading the second page. “Hmm,” he muttered out loud, “sounds like she's done some stage work herself.”
    Sarah sounded nonchalant. “Oh? How nice. Can I see the first page?”
    “Sure,” as the letter was handed back, two wet blotches where Phillip had held it.
    “ Hello, Phillip,
    Just when you thought it was safe to go back to the mailbox….
    I wasn't planning on writing you again until I had some word or other from the publishing company. Does time drag this slowly for you when you are waiting to hear whether or not you were chosen for a role you really wanted?
    I do have just three words for you: You owe me! Big! Okay, four words. Let me explain. Since your kind encouragement I have paid more attention to “The Time Police” shows to help me with my writing. I was taken, almost by force, to a Time Convention last weekend in Rancho Blanco. I really didn't want to go. My best friend, Janice, forced, begged, and arranged the whole thing, and hey, let's take my car! No problem.
    The day was hot, the hotel impossible to locate, and we waited in line for forty-five minutes to be admitted into a room filled with “Time Police” merchandise! Be still my heart.
    Okay, I admit I bought a “Police” badge and some pictures (why weren't there any of you? That's want I wanted), and a couple of magazines….”
    The rest of the letter rambled on and on about the convention activities and her continued work on her third book. Sarah had trouble with a few of the lines: “You owe me.” The one about wanting Phillip's picture. Her impatience and ambition. Her desire to see a page from an actual script. There were no outright words of admiration or love or anger. It was the familiarity that bothered her and possible subtle meanings that could be hidden within those lines.
    “Phillip? How many letters have you received?”
    His eyes were closed as if he planned on taking a nap. Hmm? I don't know. Four or five.”
    “This one is sure friendly,” she offered pleasantly. “What were the others like?”
    “I don't know,” he yawned. “You can read them if you like.”
    Her lips parted into a silent “O”. He kept