The Fan Letter (14 page)

T
he postal clerk Fred looked at the familiar face in front of him. She had tiredly set down a large padded envelope on the counter and asked for correct postage to New York.

“Won't you be needing postage for the return envelope like usual?” he asked.

Leslie glanced at his face. Fred. Her old postal buddy Fred. She always got Fred. When she sent her first novel off to Mr. Quimby, Fred couldn't comprehend the need for a return envelope of the same size with the same postage. “Why are you mailing it if it is just coming right back?” he had asked in a rather snippy voice.

Her reply had been pert. “If things go well, I
won't
get it back. I'll never see it again in this form. If not….”

When she first mailed her short stories to Majestic Studio, he glanced at the address and rolled his eyes. When the addresses had been to different literary agents in New York, he had snorted.

Leslie would like to rub his face in the letter from Wallace Quimby, but she mildly told Fred, “This one won't be coming back. Either,” she added as she took out her wallet.

“
W
ell, look what the cat drug in,” Mona chided. “Stay out too late with Wayne?”

“Wayne?” Leslie's tired mind didn't register the connection between her current condition and Wayne Fields. They weren't related.

“You remember? About five-feet-eleven-inches tall? Brown hair? Brown eyes? Hangs around you a lot?” Mona grinned, amused. Leslie never looked like this in the mornings.

Now Leslie looked irritated. “I know who Wayne is,” she snapped. “Boy, first the postal clerk gives me a hard time….”

“Fred? Was it Fred again?” Janice interrupted, coming into the back room to see what was going on. When Leslie nodded, she laughed out loud. “Wouldn't you love to tell him off now?”

Mona was quicker on the uptake than Leslie who, at that moment, was yawning. “Why now? Something happen?” asked their curious boss.

Leslie threw a sour glance at Janice. “Thanks, Mouth.”

Janice's feelings were hurt. “I didn't say anything. You're sure a grouch when you don't get enough sleep,” she declared with a pout as she went out front.

Leslie sighed and muttered a “Sorry” after her. “I had a sudden inspiration and wanted to get it written down. Took longer than I thought.”

Mona set a cup of strong tea in front of Leslie. “You're working awfully hard on that story. Shouldn't you wait until you hear on the first one?”

Leslie looked up from the cup with just her eyes and suddenly smiled, but remained silent.

“You heard? Why didn't you say so?”

“Yeah. Saturday. It will be out in four or five months and they want to see the Western now,” Leslie yawned.

“I guess you were more excited Saturday,” her boss decided at Leslie's unenthusiastic response.

“I was awake Saturday,” was the flat reply.

“Well, this will perk you up. Mrs. Penney asked for you. There's a dinner/dance Thursday at The Ballroom. The van is ready to go.”

“Naw. Send Janice. I don't need this,” was the only remnant of her plan for her new attitude that she could recall.

Mona smiled indulgently and tossed the keys onto the table. “Oh, but you get along so well with dear Mrs. Penney. She asks for you every time.”

“Mine's the only name she can remember. It's the same as her cat,” grumbled Leslie as she headed for the back door where the van was parked.

“Don't forget. Happy. Perky. Friendly. Smile!”

Leslie called back, “Grumpy and Sleepy were the only two who made it,” as the door to the van slammed shut.

Leslie looked over the information sheet on Mrs. Penney. Dress size twelve. Shoe size eight wide. Favorite color was yellow. Looks best in blue. Address. Previous purchases. Names of family members. Pet's names.

In the van were ten different dresses, twelve pairs of shoes, twelve pairs of earrings, twelve necklaces, six bracelets, four wraps, six purses, and four shades of hosiery. Leslie groaned. She would be there for three hours. At least. But, she reminded herself, there's always that five dollar tip and all the sugar cookies she can eat. Wahoo.

A
round lunchtime Wayne wandered into the boutique. He waved a greeting to Mona and snuck up behind Janice who hadn't heard him come in.

He said in a deep, gravely voice, “Hey, Red, you got anything in a size fourteen husky, preferably backless?”

She was startled both by the voice and the request. “Wha…Oh, Wayne, knock it off!

she blushed. “And don't call me Red! I hate that,” she added testily.

“Sorry, Beautiful. Where's Madame Author?”

Janice's feelings were still hurt. “You mean, Madame Grouch? She's out on a call.”

“What's wrong, Jan? She write you out of her will?” he teased.

“Madame stayed up too late writing and now she's a grump,” was the brief explanation.

Ah, so that was what she was doing
, he thought. “Well, when do you expect her?” he asked as he helped himself to a cup of coffee and a cookie.

Mona looked up from the invoices. “You never know with Mrs. Penney.”

“Mrs. Penney?” Wayne laughed and spilled some coffee on the antique table. “Oh, that will help her mood!” He had been told numerous stories about the different patrons and felt as if he knew them personally.

He looked at one of the mannequins and got an idea. He stood next to it and put his arm on its shoulder.

Janice looked back to see what he was doing since he had suddenly become quiet. “Oh, for crying out loud, Fields. We're not that kind of a store!” she exclaimed.

“No. No. I have an idea. Do you have a blond wig for the little lady here?”

A
round one o'clock, Leslie trudged in. There was a five dollar bill sticking out of her jacket's breast pocket like a hanky. “I get there,” she started in as if she was in the midst of a conversation already, “and she's eating a sandwich. Looks over the ten dresses and claims she's been on a strict diet and is now a size eight. Don't we have anything else? Do we have a backless yellow chiffon? Are they still wearing black in Paris?”

Leslie continued her monologue as she unloaded the van with Paula's help. Mona looked over the invoice. One dress, two pairs of shoes, all the hosiery, one purse, and one necklace. Not bad.

“We've been busy, too,” Mona told her. “It was difficult keeping track of where everyone was. While we restock this, would you check over the dressing rooms, Leslie?”

Someone always forgot something. Glasses. Sweaters. You never knew.

Leslie quickly checked behind the velvet curtains. In dressing room number three she gasped to find a man and a woman in the middle of a passionate embrace. The man was irritated at the interruption and looked up angrily.

“Wayne!” Leslie cried. “I…what…You…Oh!” she stammered.

He turned his partner around. “Meet Sarah. She's a little stiff, but I think she likes me!”

“Oh!” The curtain was thrown down. “That's not funny.”

All the others disagreed with Leslie's assessment as they joined Wayne in laughing at his joke. Leslie was red and flustered and embarrassed by her own reaction.

Wayne helped Mona return “Sarah” to her proper place in the shop.

Leslie, still red, tried to change the subject. “Say, Mona, the van seemed to be smoking out the exhaust,” she told her boss and ignored Wayne who was eating another cookie and looking awfully pleased with himself.

“I know,” Mona replied. “Our mechanic at the dealership ordered some part or other. I think he called it a Cadillac converter.”

Wayne looked at her incredulously. “A what?” he demanded with a laugh.

Mona waved him off. “I don't know cars. Something for the exhaust.”

Janice piped up. “Well, order a Cadillac converter for my car, too. Mine must be broken. I've had it for five years and it still hasn't converted into a Cadillac!”

Wayne started laughing and had to sit down. “Women! Oh, this is great! It's a…it's a catalytic converter! Cadillac converter! Oh, ow, my side!”

The four women present failed to see what was so funny while Wayne tried to regain his composure. His face was all red as he wiped his eyes. He found himself ignored when they went about their duties.

“Well, you've got to admit…” he started to explain, but then, wisely, decided to drop it. “Hey, Les, when are you going to be off for lunch?”

“Don't know. When are you going to get some manners?”

“Okay, fine,” he said good-naturedly, raising his hands in defeat. “I'll just eat alone. All by myself.”

“Take Sarah,” four voices offered.

“Touché!” he declared and waved his good-bye.

Leslie watched him walk out of the shop. She sniffed. “Does that mean I don't get lunch?”

Phillip put down his pen and looked over his brief letter. He really was glad that Leslie's book had sold. While he would have liked to have given her some of the tips she had broadly hinted about regarding scripts, he hesitated getting too involved. He knew most celebrities wouldn't have replied at all, and he knew he was taking a chance.

Still, she wrote a nice letter and at least she asked about his career and seemed interested. Even though she had his home address, he didn't feel she was taking advantage of the situation.

Sitting back in his chair, he wondered about this Bunny person. For some reason, her actual name “Leslie” didn't stick in his memory once his short letters to her were written and in the mail. To him she was “Bunny.” He had learned bits and pieces about her through her letters, such as the fact that she worked in some kind of a boutique with another clerk with whom she had done some traveling. She had mentioned a trip to New York once and the Caribbean twice, and her friend had been to Europe. He also picked up that she was divorced. She had an interesting way of expressing herself. His agent Bill had thought she was funny. As Phillip looked over her latest letter once more, he wondered if she was serious about being called Madame Author.
That would be a little presumptuous
, he thought with a frown.

“Handsss up, you dessspicable fiend, or I'll blassst you with my ray gun!” demanded an angry, lisping voice from the door of his study.

Startled by the unexpected voice, Phillip jerked around in his chair, dropping Leslie's letter to the floor. He frowned at Eddie Chase who, in turn, gave him a big, charming grin.

“Amy let me in,” Eddie causally explained as he scooped up the fallen paper and plopped down on the sofa. “What's this? A smoldering love letter?” he asked as he began reading. Quickly answering himself with a grunt, he uninterestedly mumbled, “Nope. So, who's this Madame Author Leslie? Anyone I know?” He held the page out to the still-frowning Phillip who snatched it back and set it on his desk.

“No, you don't know her,” Phillip began with a short, clipped voice. Then, remembering his manners, he calmed himself and continued in a more friendly tone, “Actually, I've never met her, either. She wrote me on the set about a year ago and sent me a script. You were there, if you recall. You called it a dog letter,” he reminded Eddie who was watching him with an amused twinkle in his eyes.

Trying to think back, Eddie was shaking his head. “Which episode? Last season? Oh, wait, I remember you were late to the set a lot, and you were very defensive about someone you called Kitty. Puppy. No, that's not right. It was Bunny, wasn't it? Was that her?”

Phillip nodded as he leaned back in his leather desk chair. “That's her. She took the advice I gave her back then and made that script into a novel. This letter is the latest I have heard.”

His friend started to look a little concerned. “The latest you've heard?” he repeated, leaning forward. “Are you two regular correspondents? That isn't something we're encouraged to do, you know.”

“No, no, no. It's not like that,” Phillip hurriedly said with a dismissive wave of the hand. “She does all the writing. I've only contacted her twice. Well, three times when I send this,” he explained, indicating the obviously brief note still on the desk in front of him.

“Well, more power to her if she's gotten published. Just as long as she doesn't get all spooky on you all of a sudden.” Eddie silently wondered if Sarah knew anything about this Bunny. He could sell tickets to that event!

Phillip had irritably waved off that possibility, and, pushing his chair back, put his feet up on the desk. “What's up, Edward, or did you just come over to go through my mail?”

Eddie stretched out on the comfortable sofa, put his hands behind his head and gave an amused smile. That was the closest Phillip ever came to telling a joke. “I just wanted to tell you about the party Friday night,” he told his friend, his eyes closed.

“Friday? What party?”

“The one you are throwing here for all your good friends and co-workers.”

Phillip cast a heavy sigh. This was probably another silly prank. Tom was probably hiding around the corner, waiting for him to get irritated—which was probably going to happen pretty quickly the way the conversation was going. “What are you talking about?”

“Tom, Cindy and I figured you've kept yourself shut up in here too long, so we're giving you a party.” He paused and then added, “Actually
you
are giving you a party. You need to see people more often, buddy,” Eddie told him half serious, half worried. “So, we made all the arrangements. All you have to do is provide the music, food, and drinks. We've done everything else.”

Phillip's feet abruptly came down from the desk as he jerked forward with a glazed expression on his face. “What?! You've got to be kidding! That's only two days away! I don't know how to plan all that!”

Eddie could tell he was really getting upset and was about to lose it. He kept forgetting Phillip had no sense of humor…. “Hold on, old man! Don't lose it!” he quickly said, holding up his hands. “We've taken care of all that. Really! All you have to do is clean the bathrooms and remember to be at home.” The message delivered, he stood to go and added, “And try to wear something pretty. You never know who you might meet.”