The Fan Letter (12 page)

It had been a busy and tiring day for Sarah. Now the reception went into the late hours of the night. She ate too little and drank too much to keep up with the toasts. Her head swam and Marty could see she needed to leave.

He made arrangements with the Matsuis to use their private yacht. He felt the sea air ‘would be refreshing to Miss Beck so she could be ready for work.’ They were more than happy to oblige and made the necessary call to the dock and even brought around their personal limo.

Sarah bid them all good-night and gave her thanks and was mildly surprised then their car drove past the hotel.

“I have a surprise for you,” Marty told her. “I've arranged for you to be given a moonlight tour of the harbor.”

That appealed to her groggy mind as the car parked in front of the mooring. The captain, who was accustomed to the eccentricities of the rich, welcomed Marty and Sarah aboard and did his duty.

The couple went to the upper deck to see the lights of Tokyo as they played off the water. Marty excused himself and returned with a bottle of champagne.

“To your new job and to your beauty,” he toasted and took a small sip.

Sarah smiled at the compliment and took another swallow. “You've been so good to me, Marty,” she sighed as he refilled her glass. “You always compliment me and tell me how nice I look. I'm not used to that, you know,” she confided in an overloud voice as the champagne affected her.

“Now, now. People pay you respects all the time,” he murmured.

“That's not what I mean. You say it because you mean it. They have to,” she said, gesturing with her flute to indicate that ‘they’ meant everyone in general.

When she shivered in the ocean breeze, he put his arm around her shoulder. She snuggled closer. “You deserve the praise. And more,” he asserted quietly as the yacht continued its leisurely course around the bay. “Your beauty is great. And your intelligence matches your looks.”

“Hmph. Phillip doesn't think I'm smart. He's….”

“He's not here,” Marty interrupted her gently and turned her face to his. “He's never been here for you. I have. And I always will be.”

She studied his face as best she could in her condition. When she shivered again, he took her into his arms for an embrace.

“Yes, you have been here for me. You've been a good…,” pausing as she struggled for a word. “No, friend isn't enough. You're more. You're….”

Words failed her as she lifted her face to his and her lips parted. He returned the kiss and her arms went around his neck.

The lights of the harbor were forgotten as Marty picked her up in his arms and carried her below.

“
Q
uit giving me excuses, Martin. Let me talk to my wife!” Phillip demanded, growing angrier.

“Who is it, dear?” he heard through the phone as Sarah entered the living room.

“It's for you. It's Phillip. I tried to tell him we're leaving for an assignment,” as Marty handed her the phone.

“Phillip? What's wrong?” she asked, looking at her watch.

“Wrong?” he echoed, unbelieving. “I've been calling and calling and this is the first time I've gotten through to you in over three months, and that's all you say?”

“Don't shout. That's rude. All right. How are you? Is that what I am supposed to ask? You caught me by surprise, you know,” she retorted.

“Well, dear,” acidly using the endearment she had just given Martin, “I just finished “The Time Police” and wanted to fly over to spend some time with you and Davey this weekend. Meet me at the airport and we'll forget this argument.”

There was a pause. Sarah had her hand over the mouthpiece telling Martin what Phillip had said. “Phillip, that's not such a good idea this week. We're going to a remote location to shoot. No outsiders are allowed. Only the crew.”

“Outsiders?” He couldn't believe the term applied to him. “I am still your husband. Aren't I?” he added bitterly.

“Of course you are. It's just not allowed. I had to make special concessions for Marty to be allowed to come. Davey was no problem as he is in the ad with me.”

Phillip sighed. She could make arrangements for Martin, but not for him. “Can I talk to Davey? I really miss him. It's too quiet around here,” he confided.
And lonely
.

“He's not here. He's on an outing with the Matsuis and their grandson. He won't be back until it's time for the shoot.”

“Will you give him my love, then? Did he like the letters I sent him?”

“What letters?”

Phillip was astounded. “I've written him every week! Eddie even sent a line last time.”

Sarah shrugged. “We never received them. It's probably just as well. It would probably confuse him. He's really settled in here. He talks like a native!”

“You sound as if you are staying. Does he ever ask for me?” Phillip sounded dejected.

“Oh, yes. Sure. Uh huh. Of course he does,” was her hurried reply.

“Tell him Davey calls me daddy,” Phillip heard Martin call out from the background and then he heard Sarah's, “Shh.”

All the anger, dejection and hope flooded out of Phillip at hearing that. He felt nothing but empty. “So, when are you coming back to L.A.?” he asked as unconcerned as if he were talking to his butcher.

“I'm not sure,” she tentatively told him. “France has been talking to Marty. We're considering some options.”

“France? How nice. Well, I won't keep you any longer. Bonjour, Sarah,” he said and hung up.

He went to his terrace and sat heavily in one of the wrought iron chairs overlooking the carefully tended flower gardens. But he saw nothing. He only thought. She had said it was just as well his own son didn't hear from him. Davey was called Martin Daddy. Sarah called Martin dear. She didn't want him to come visit. There had been no questions about his latest project or the movie coming up. Nothing familiar. He had been intruding.

He then remembered what he had forgotten to tell her, why he had wanted to come visit. “Happy Anniversary,” he told the still water of the pool.

S
arah looked at the phone in her hand and could hear the dial tone.

“If that doesn't beat all,” she muttered.

“What did he say?”

“He hung up on me! He told me bonjour and he hung up!”

“I didn't know he spoke French,” Marty commented with a smile.

“A little.” Sarah set the phone down. “I wonder if I should have let him come this weekend.”

Oh, great idea, Sarah
, Marty thought. Out loud he said, “I don't know. The company is pretty strict about the shoot. Do you want to call him back?”

“And start another argument? Hardly. I don't know why he is so unreasonable about my career. He always has been. You'd think he'd just be happy for me. It's not my fault he's at a standstill. Is it?” she asked rhetorically.

Marty didn't know whether to answer or not. When she looked at him he just shrugged and told her, “I think you're doing a fabulous job. Soon you'll be known all over the world. You've accomplished all that and raised a son by yourself.”

That worked. She walked up to him to put her arms around him. “Oh, no, Marty. It hasn't been alone. I've had you every step of the way. Even with Davey. He adores you.”

Marty looked down as if embarrassed. “I feel the same. I'll tell you a secret if you promise not to repeat it.”

This always intrigued Sarah. She loved secrets. He wasn't frequent in his displays of personal insight. “What is it, Marty?” she prompted gently.

“Well, I…I,” he stammered as he looked at his feet. “Sometimes when I check on Davey in the middle of the night I pretend he's my own son.” He looked up and met her eyes. “I can't explain the feeling I had when he called me daddy the first time.”

“Oh, Marty. What would we do without you? I can't imagine,” she claimed as she embraced him again.

“You'll never have to find out,” was his reply as he smugly smiled behind her back. Even though he had meant most of what he had said, he still considered his master plan and how Phillip didn't figure in it at all.

T
he housekeeper came to the patio door. “Mr. Beck? The phone, it is for you.”

“Who is it, Amy?”

“I don't know, sir. Sorry.”

He glanced at the cordless phone on the table next to him. He hadn't even heard it ring. “Hello? Beck here.”

“Hey, Phil. It's Eddie. A group of us are going out to Charney's tonight. You're coming with us,” Eddie informed him.

“Who's going?”

“My wife's in from the coast. Cindy has a new boyfriend. Tom. Max. Ron. Monica. Maybe Angela.”

The last two names meant nothing to Phillip. Probably friends of Tom. “Sure, Edward. Sounds like fun,” he replied in a monotone.

“Well, don't sound so thrilled. You might smile and crack your face,” he kidded. “What's wrong?”

“Wrong? That's two times today someone has asked me that. First Sarah and now you,” was his agitated response.

There was an uncomfortable pause. “Sarah, huh? Any news?” he cautiously asked.

“Not much. Davey calls that scum agent of hers daddy. They're going on to France next and I can't go with them or even visit them for a few days. Other than that, no, nothing big.”

Eddie grimaced. It was rare for Phillip to open up like that. Rare? Non-existent was more like it. “Well, a night at Charney's is just what you need. We'll pick you up at six. See ya.”

Phillip set down the receiver. He smiled in spite of his mood. This was what he needed. Tom and Eddie would probably make fools out of themselves. Maxwell was always good for an interesting conversation. Eddie's wife, Linda, could fill them in on what's happening on Broadway where she headlined. Plus, it would be interesting to see if that vein in Ron's forehead would finally blow.

He checked his watch. He had two hours. He could review his next role in case anyone asked what “Wall Street Burning” was about. Zenith Pictures was starting production in ten days and Bob Carlson had just contacted Bill. They needed someone tall and older for one of the floor traders. They wanted Phillip.

L
eslie sat on her sofa. For once she wasn't writing as her pen sat idly by a mound of binder paper. Neither was she reading what she had already written. She was actually just staring at a large yellow envelope on her lap. The return address showed it was from her agent Wallace Quimby. Already sitting there for ten minutes, she knew what was in it. This was the reply from Adventure Novels. After five months of waiting for their decision, she found she was afraid to open the tall envelope.

With her stomach in a knot she opened the seal and pulled out a letter. There were more sheets beneath it.

“
Dear Ms. Nelson,

Good news finally. Adventure Novels has agreed to print THE LONER FINDS LOVE. There will be a few necessary corrections in the copy as outlined on the enclosed sheets. The changes are relatively minor but will require your agreement and initials.

Also enclosed is the standard literary contract. You are given complete say in any changes to the manuscript and Adventure Novels agrees to publish any future novels of yours that meet their requirements and needs at the time. It is a straight-forward contract and of a language I feel you won't have any trouble understanding. You can have your lawyer look it over, if you wish.

The editor with whom I spoke was quite enthusiastic about your work and feels they can hopefully have it on the market within four or five months. He also would like to see your next finished work, WESTWARD REX, for appraisal.

If you have any questions, please call me at the number above.

Look over the contract and return it as soon as possible so the publisher can get to work.

Well done, Ms. Nelson. I look forward to hearing from you.

Sincerely,

Wallace Quimby
“

With shaky hands Leslie pulled out the rest of the papers. She first looked over the changes to the manuscript as that would be the easiest for her to understand.

There were some technical language corrections, location clarifications, and some grammar work. A few sentences were crossed out. As Wallace had said, nothing major. She initialed all the changes where it indicated she should do so.

The contract was short and to the point. Adventure Novels would own the printing rights to her work. They would be given first option on her new writings. They would handle promotion and distribution. The royalties would be sent to her agent and he would send them on to her.

There was a blank space towards the bottom of the contract. Any special requests from the author would be inserted there for consideration.

Leslie had already known what she wanted to request. She typed in that she would provide photographs of the way Jane Barrett would look on the cover of the books. She was as particular about her character's face as she had been about her substance in the novels. Removing four photos from a folder she had set aside months earlier, Leslie attached them to the contract, but she didn't sign it.

Calling Wayne on the phone, she asked him to come up. She said she wanted to show him something.

Within seconds he bounded up the stairs and lightly tapped, letting himself in. He could tell by her wide eyes and blanched face that something big had happened.

“Well?” he asked as she stood on the other side of the room by her phone, her hands behind her back.

She pulled the contract out from behind her back and showed him, a big grin spreading over her face.

“You heard? You got it!?” he demanded as he grabbed the papers and read the letter. “This is great!” he told her, lightly kissing her cheek.

“I'm…I…I can't believe it. After so long they finally said yes! I wanted you to look over the contract, if you would. Since you are in insurance, I thought you'd understand the wording better than I,” she explained, looking as if she wanted to break away and run around the complex.

As he sat on the loveseat to read it over, Leslie remembered that she hadn't told anyone else yet. She called her mom first and quieted her voice down. As she started talking, Wayne looked up at her, confused. She winked at him and turned away with a grin.