The Fan Letter by Nancy Temple Rodrigue Page B

them? Seriously ? Her mind visualized his private study. They would be in his desk. Third drawer on the right. That's where he kept his correspondence. She looked back at her husband who was now asleep, hands folded in his lap, shoulders starting to burn from the bright sun. Walking quietly so as not to awaken him, she went back into the house and called Marty. She would be about an hour late.
    The letters were surprisingly easy to find. Phillip had made no effort to hide them. Ignoring the wrinkles it would cause in her meticulous outfit, she sank down on the floor behind his desk and read every word. A search for a mentioned photograph was fruitless. The only pictures on his desk or in the room were of Davey and her.
    In her uneasy state of mind, she read words that weren't there—much like a frightened child sees dangers in shadows dancing on a wall in a darkened room. She focused phrases like “we'll do lunch”, “handsome face”, “next time you are in Amherst”, “fill in the empty evenings”, “555-4029”, “your last call”, and “I really wanted to thank you.” In themselves, these words had meant nothing to Phillip. He was probably too flattered to recognize the potential powder keg. As usual, she would have to take matters into her own hands—even if it meant a solution neither Phillip nor Marty would like.
    After writing down Leslie's address and phone number, Sarah carefully returned the letters to their original place in the desk. Going back outside, she awakened Phillip and remarked sweetly, “Honey, I've been thinking. Why don't you come to Japan with us?”
    The irritation and grogginess at being abruptly awakened left Phillip. The possibility of him traveling with them to Japan never been broached. It was always assumed he would stay at home, out of the way.
    “That's impossible,” as he rubbed his eyes and flinched when he touched his red shoulder. “I have commitments coming up.”
    She waved a dismissive hand. “Oh, those two movies don't amount to anything,” she replied airily and missed seeing the hurt look in his eyes. “Bill could get you more of those when we got back.”
    Having gotten out of the pool, he put a protective towel over his shoulders. With a wave of his own hand towards the scripts now piled on a chair, his eyes narrowed. “Might I remind you that one of those movies you helped arrange. And now you want me to back out of a contract? That doesn't do well for one's name in this business,” he pointed out angrily.
    Sarah dismissed that objection. “Oh, I'll have Marty fix that with Bob Carlson. I just think we should all be together in Japan.”
    Phillip looked away from her carefully arranged face. She was trying hard to look sincere. “This job of yours has been planned for months now. For weeks you have been learning Japanese. Now all of a sudden it is imperative that I come along. The heck with my career and promises—just as long as you are happy.” He turned back to face her, his eyes showing the hurt and the anger. “If our family life is so important to you all of a sudden, then stay home! My jobs are just as important to me as yours are to you! They might not be as major as you would like, but you know I am waiting to find that one role that will do it.”
    Her anger, never far from the surface, flared to match his. “You've been waiting for eight years for that one role! Why don't you have your little novelist write one for you!” Sarah twirled around on her heels and stormed into the house. Grabbing up her purse and papers, she left for her belated appointment.
    Silently cursing, Phillip gathered up the scripts and the mail unsure of what just happened. One thing he did know—he wasn't going to Japan.
    Sarah's slam of the front door had awakened Davey. He now came slowly downstairs, his eyes puffy and his hair sticking up on one side. “Daddy? Where's Mommy?”
    He picked his son up from the stairs and then winced as Davey poked his shoulders.