The Fan Letter (20 page)

“All right,” he sighed, relenting. “Do you believe what I told you?” he asked, suddenly getting serious again.

Leslie turned away from his look. “Well, you are a good actor. I think you're trying to make me feel better.”

Tom shook his head as he reached for her hands. “My, you're stubborn, too!” he claimed and grinned at the frown she gave him.

“Am not,” she sniffed.

“Then kiss me,” he murmured, bending down to her lips. He brought her close in an embrace as one hand touched her back and the other dropped below her waist and pushed her even closer.

The ringing of the phone disrupted his convincing Leslie. It was Eddie inquiring what the heck was going on. Tom explained what had happened and asked about Janice. Eddie had already called Cindy to bring over some make-up for the visitors. When Leslie overheard that, she asked for the same help.

When Janice arrived with the needed cosmetics, the two women retreated into one of the bathrooms to make their repairs. Eddie then assaulted Tom.

“Whatintheheck are you doing, Tom!? Are you nuts,” he demanded in a low voice.

“It wasn't like that, Eddie,” Tom shot back angrily. “We talked all night and fell asleep on the sofa. That's it. Her face is still dented from the buttons on my shirt if you care to check.”

“I don't care to check. It was bad enough that you invited them to dinner, but this is terrible. What if the papers pick this up? I'm married, you know!”

“Oh, is that what you're worried about? Yourself?” Tom charged. “Well, this has nothing to do with you. I…I like Leslie. A lot. Her reaction was the same as yours, by the way,” he added, trying to end the argument before the women walked into the middle of it. “It wasn't planned. We just fell asleep. Don't worry about Linda. I'll tell her everything if you think it's necessary.”

Eddie attempted to smooth his own ruffled feathers. “She already thinks you're a terrible liar. I doubt that would help. I just don't want anyone hurt by gossip. You know how bad it can be.”

Tom nodded quietly as he looked at the closed bathroom door. “I know. We've all been burned…. This one is different, Eddie. And she's going home just as fast as she can.”

Eddie gazed at Tom but said nothing. He could tell Tom meant what he had said. Tom did seem affected by this woman. Maybe he had been too harsh with his criticism. “Do you know how to reach her again if you wanted to?”

“Not yet,” he sighed. “But, I will. Even if I have to ask Phillip.”

The bathroom door opened and the two women emerged looking somewhat repaired and refreshed.

“We really need to go,” Janice spoke first.

Leslie walked shyly up to Tom. She didn't seem to know what she should do or say to him. “Thank you for the dinner and the…the interesting evening.” She extended her hand.

Tom, torn between being amused and hurt, took the offered hand and kissed it. Then he surprised all of them by using that hand to pull Leslie towards him and kissed her on the lips. “No, thank you,” he told her. “I meant what I said. I will see you again.”

Leslie said nothing as she took up her purse and her signed book. Janice brightly said good-bye to the actors, mentally high-fiving herself. They left the suite without looking back.

P
hillip Beck looked up from the current trade sheet. The article had been about the most successful model in Europe—Sarah Beck. France was even more enthusiastic than Japan had been. Davey's face, the paper reported, was becoming as well known as his mother's. But now there was a new angle for the model; a new opportunity had opened. For, the paper reported, she was pregnant. Three months along. Europeans had a more relaxed attitude towards expecting women and realized the body was natural and beautiful. Pregnancy was natural and beautiful. Her career would continue and flourish throughout her term and her development would be followed by all. By the time the baby came into the world, he or she would be welcomed and loved by all of Europe—for Sarah belonged to them now and the baby would belong to them, also.

Phillip felt old and tired for the first time in his life. He had just turned forty-one alone. He still worked steadily and Majestic was talking about making some big changes next season in “The Time Police.” But that didn't interest him right now.

Upset and lonely, he wanted his family back. Fighting down his anger and repulsion, he dialed the number Martin had given him weeks ago. He had to try again.

Sarah answered the phone. “Bonsoir.”

“Sarah? It's Phillip,” he started reluctantly, suddenly unsure of what he was going to say or how he would be received.

“Yes?” she asked, reserved and cool. “What can I do for you?”

He silently shook his head. He should have known. “I wanted to see how you and Davey are. How's my son?” he asked, stressing the last two words.

“He's really grown, Phillip. He's learning French faster than he picked up Japanese. This has been so educational for him.”

“Can I talk to Davey? I'd like to say hello,” Phillip told her hopefully.

“Marty took him to the Louvre. I didn't feel up to going,” was her evasive reply.

Phillip's jaw tightened. “Oh? Why not? Are you ill?” he pointedly asked.

He could sense her hesitation. “Well, not sick, exactly. You see, I'm…well…I'm expecting.”

He wouldn't let her off easily. “Expecting what? A pizza? A phone call from your husband?”

Sarah exploded. “Oh, for Pete's sake, Phillip! I'm expecting a baby! What did you think?”

“So, who is the fortunate father?”

Sarah swallowed. “I'm pretty far along. Who do you think the father is, silly?”

“That's funny. The papers say you are only three months along. I think I would remember coming to Japan, if you will pardon the pun,” he asserted hotly.

“All right! It's not yours. You knew all along. It's Marty's baby and…and we're both thrilled about it. Davey calls it his baby already,” she added just to hurt him.

It worked. Phillip closed his eyes. “What about us, Sarah? When are you coming home?”

Sarah tried to appeal to his business sense. “I wouldn't have any career in this condition back there. I'd have to shut myself up in a dark room!”

“Is that all you care about? Your career? What about our family life? What about me? What about Davey?” he asked quietly, his emotions spent.

“Don't whine, Phillip. It isn't manly,” she sighed. “All I can say is that my career is here. Sweden has contacted Marty and we are considering it.”

Phillip was quiet. “So, you aren't coming back to Los Angeles. I want to see my son, Sarah! I have rights.”

“I spoke to a lawyer already, too. She has spent a lot of time with us as a family. She has questioned Davey. He barely remembers another man in his life other than Marty. He's happy here, Phillip,” she told him, less unkindly than he expected. “He accepts Marty. If you get back into the picture, that means he will have to fly back and forth from Europe to America for a few days of visitation. I think its best he stays here. When he gets older and has questions, then you can come back in the picture.”

“No way! There's no way you are going to take my son away from me. I want him back here in the U.S. right now! There's no way I'm going to give him up, Sarah. That's cruel, even for you,” he told her, his heart clenching.

“It's honest, Phillip. If you want to test me out, then come here and see for yourself. He won't know you. Listen, I can give you the number of my lawyer. Maybe that will help.”

“What would
help
is for you to come back home and bring me my son. But, you're not coming back to Los Angeles, are you?”

“At least not for the next seven or eight months. I'd be foolish to leave now. Marty wouldn't advise it.”

“Yeah, I'll bet he wouldn't,” he asserted angrily. “Our friends have been asking, and I don't know what to tell them any more because I've been confused about what's been going on.”

“
My
friends already know what's going on. I don't know about your friends,” she coolly informed him.

“The studio is talking about some major changes next season. The Professor role could be broadened.”

“That's nice. Say, listen, Phillip, I really need to go. I'm supposed to be resting.”

Phillip bit his lip. “Well, I certainly don't want to take up any more of your valuable time. Au revoir.”

“Good-bye, Phillip.”

The dial tone sounded in his ear and he slowly hung up the phone. What else was there to say? His wife and his son were out of the country and, now, it appeared, out of his life—probably forever. She was carrying another man's child. His son probably didn't know him any longer and now turned to someone else for love and comfort. Phillip had nothing now but his career.

Eyes narrowed in anger, he picked up the phone again and called his travel agent. He wasn't going down without a fight. He was going to go get his son.

T
he secretary came to the door of the largest office on the Majestic lot. “Mr. Avery? The mail was just delivered. There's five more of that same book.”

Richard Avery swung his huge leather chair around, turning away from the wide windows, a knowing half-smile on his face. “Are all of these from Amherst as well, Margaret?”

“No, sir,” she said, checking the return addresses. “These are from different states. There's also another letter from an agent, a Mr. Quimby, from New York. He says he represents the author,” Margaret informed her boss as she referred to a sheet of paper in her hands.

Richard rubbed a hand over his face. This pile of books made thirty-five copies of the novel that had been sent to him. Even one of his own actors had recommended the book. “All right, Margaret,” he sighed briefly, “she wins. Leave me a copy of that darned book, the letter from the agent, and contact Tom Young. Tell him I want to see him here tomorrow at three. And tell him to leave his whoopee cushions, joy buzzers, exploding cigars, pepper gum and dripping cups in his dressing room.”

Margaret grinned as she made some notes on the pad she carried. Tom was always pulling some stunt when he was called into this office. “Yes, sir. I'll leave them here on your desk. Mr. Avery? I started reading the novel during lunch a few days ago.…” She broke off at the look on his face. “Well, there are over thirty copies lying around here…. I think the author has a good grasp on the characters.”

“Uh-huh.” He tilted his head as he look up from the letter from the agent. “I've always valued your viewpoint, Margaret. After I read it tonight, we'll see.”

He gave the letter from the agent another perfunctory glance. It was the usual letter extolling the wonders of the new discovery. Looking at the cover of the book, he was slightly surprised at the picture of the heroine. The women on novel covers were usually beautiful and voluptuous. Comparatively, this woman was rather plain with large blue eyes. He opened to the first page and started reading, hoping to find a quick clue about the cover girl.

Two hours later Margaret found her boss deeply engrossed in the novel, feet up on his desk, and neglected work pushed aside. He chuckled now and then as he read and nodded his head.

Margaret smiled as she returned to her desk. She knew she would be calling New York soon.

“
T
om? What do you know about this Leslie Nelson?” Richard asked as he leaned back in his chair. “I heard you met her at the last convention.”

Tom never ceased to be amazed at how fast news and gossip traveled over the lot. “Yes, I met her. Eddie and I had dinner with her that evening. I found her interesting, intelligent, funny, and a little enthusiastic about her work.”

“Uh-huh. I suppose you've read her book,” Richard commented, tapping the novel with his pen.

Tom nodded, wondering where this was going and how much Richard
really
knew. “Months ago. Phillip Beck brought me a copy that Leslie had sent through him. I enjoyed it. It would make a terrific opening for the new season,” he added with a wide grin.

“Uh-huh. Considering how much it affects your character, I'm not surprised at your recommendation,” Richard retorted and waved off Tom's attempt to sanction his claim. “Yes, yes, I know. It affects the whole show. I read the book as well. I intended to do in last night, but once I started, I couldn't put it down,” he confessed, frowning as he looked off into the distance, pondering the possibilities. “I think you're right about next season. Do you think Miss Nelson would be willing to work with us? A few of her ideas aren't feasible for the show.”

Tom nodded as he tried to remember the different parts of the novel. He couldn't think of any idea that wouldn't translate well onto the screen. But he didn't voice his disagreement. “She seemed pretty level-headed. She already is thinking ahead to scripts.”

“Uh-huh. How do you think she would react to meeting here with all of us? Is she capable of handling herself, or should we deal just with her agent in New York?” was his next concern.

There was a smile from Tom as he recalled how nervous Leslie had been with him when they first met. “She might be a little shy at first, but I think she'd do fine. It would help if Eddie or I were here at the same time. She's already used to us…sort of. I'd volunteer to be present if you think that would help,” he off-handedly offered.

Richard looked at him steadily. “Uh-huh. I'm sure you would. I also heard about your…uh…evening,” he added and again waved the actor off. “That's your business, Tom, and I don't care what did or didn't happen. It usually helps to have someone familiar at the first conferences, however. I'll contact her agent and arrange the date. You and Eddie will both be present. And Nickles, of course. Margaret will let you know when.”

Thus the meeting was adjourned. Tom arose without another word and left to go back to the rehearsal from which he had been called. He grinned to himself on how thrilled Leslie would be to get such an opportunity. He hummed a little tune as he thought how much he would enjoy seeing her again.

L
os Angeles Daily

“Majestic Signs New Writer

Majestic Studio today announced the appropriation of the newest “The Time Police” novel entitled THE LONER FINDS LOVE to begin the highly-rated show's fourth season. Yesterday, the author, Leslie Nelson, met with the studio heads and agreed to work closely with the show's creators in getting her work onto the air.