night.
“You'll be there? You and the family?” he was asked as he joined them.
Phillip nodded. “Yes. Davey is looking forward to it. He wants to tell Eddie Junior about his upcoming trip to Japan.”
Cindy and Maxwell exchanged a private look. This would be big for Sarah. Phillip betrayed no emotion on his face. Sometimes it was helpful to be an actor.
Ron came out of his office just then and confirmed the party time.
“Say, Ron,” Phillip cut in. “Can I use the phone in your office? It will just take a minute.”
“Sure thing. Leave a quarter on the desk. Good job as usual, group. See you at the party. I have to see about some script changes. Some of these writers are so touchy about their work,” and off he rushed without waiting for replies, comments, or good-byes.
Phillip waved a hand as he went into the office and sat in the big leather chair. The window looked over the back lot of Majestic Studio. But Phillip wasn't looking at the familiar sight. He was looking for a phone number on a crumpled letter.
He had no idea where the call was going. It was normal procedure for all mail to be read before forwarding and so he had no outer envelope. Only a name, a photo, and a script.
He held the letter in one hand as the phone rang on the other end. Two rings. Three rings.
“Hello. Leslie here. I can't answer. Please leave your message. Beep.”
“Leslie, this Phillip Beck. I wanted to tell you I received your script and I enjoyed reading it. I was going to write you, but the envelope was thrown away, so I have no address. Sorry for the phone message.
“What I wanted to tell you was that your story was interesting and enjoyable. But since it isn't exactly a script or a novel, you should decide one way or the other.
“I suggest you go novel form and submit it for publication. There is a lot of interest in ‘The Time Police’ and the books do well. You have no chance as a script because there are too many legal problems for an outsider.
“Thank you for thinking of me. I have found the regulars are overwhelmed with mail and never see it. But I was handed your letter and script when I came onto the set.
“I just finished taping another episode called ‘Hexed Rex.’ Tell your friends.
“Thanks again for writing to me and the picture is great. Bye now.”
Phillip hung up the phone and then took out his wallet. He placed a quarter in the middle of Ron's desk and put the bent photo inside the wallet.
Gathering up the letter pages that he had just clipped to the story, he headed for the door.
“Thanks, bunny.”
CHAPTER 2
T hree hundred miles away, as a weary boutique clerk climbed the stairs leading to her apartment, she counted out loud as she went. “One thousand twelve. One thousand thirteen. One thousand fourteen. I swear they add more steps every night,” she muttered to herself as her key slipped into the lock.
Since it was mid-December and after six o'clock in the evening, the rooms were dark and cold. Leslie Nelson shrugged off her warm coat, dropping it along with her purse and the mail onto one end of her handy white sofa and turned on the lamp. A half-read newspaper still sat waiting on the small, round kitchen table. The weights on her cuckoo clock were close to touching the floor. Stacks of binder paper filled with her handwriting were systematically piled on a small lap desk and also covering most of the sofa.
Leslie looked around the small living room and shook her head with a sigh. “Oh, good. The maid's been here. She's really doing a bang-up job.”
According to her usual evening ritual, she now went towards the kitchen, pausing long enough to turn on the wall heater and turn off her answering machine. This evening, however, the red light on the answering machine was flashing.
Hitting the replay button, she was faintly surprised at how long it took the machine to rewind. If the light flashed at all, there were usually just hang-ups with no message. She sometimes wondered
“You'll be there? You and the family?” he was asked as he joined them.
Phillip nodded. “Yes. Davey is looking forward to it. He wants to tell Eddie Junior about his upcoming trip to Japan.”
Cindy and Maxwell exchanged a private look. This would be big for Sarah. Phillip betrayed no emotion on his face. Sometimes it was helpful to be an actor.
Ron came out of his office just then and confirmed the party time.
“Say, Ron,” Phillip cut in. “Can I use the phone in your office? It will just take a minute.”
“Sure thing. Leave a quarter on the desk. Good job as usual, group. See you at the party. I have to see about some script changes. Some of these writers are so touchy about their work,” and off he rushed without waiting for replies, comments, or good-byes.
Phillip waved a hand as he went into the office and sat in the big leather chair. The window looked over the back lot of Majestic Studio. But Phillip wasn't looking at the familiar sight. He was looking for a phone number on a crumpled letter.
He had no idea where the call was going. It was normal procedure for all mail to be read before forwarding and so he had no outer envelope. Only a name, a photo, and a script.
He held the letter in one hand as the phone rang on the other end. Two rings. Three rings.
“Hello. Leslie here. I can't answer. Please leave your message. Beep.”
“Leslie, this Phillip Beck. I wanted to tell you I received your script and I enjoyed reading it. I was going to write you, but the envelope was thrown away, so I have no address. Sorry for the phone message.
“What I wanted to tell you was that your story was interesting and enjoyable. But since it isn't exactly a script or a novel, you should decide one way or the other.
“I suggest you go novel form and submit it for publication. There is a lot of interest in ‘The Time Police’ and the books do well. You have no chance as a script because there are too many legal problems for an outsider.
“Thank you for thinking of me. I have found the regulars are overwhelmed with mail and never see it. But I was handed your letter and script when I came onto the set.
“I just finished taping another episode called ‘Hexed Rex.’ Tell your friends.
“Thanks again for writing to me and the picture is great. Bye now.”
Phillip hung up the phone and then took out his wallet. He placed a quarter in the middle of Ron's desk and put the bent photo inside the wallet.
Gathering up the letter pages that he had just clipped to the story, he headed for the door.
“Thanks, bunny.”
CHAPTER 2
T hree hundred miles away, as a weary boutique clerk climbed the stairs leading to her apartment, she counted out loud as she went. “One thousand twelve. One thousand thirteen. One thousand fourteen. I swear they add more steps every night,” she muttered to herself as her key slipped into the lock.
Since it was mid-December and after six o'clock in the evening, the rooms were dark and cold. Leslie Nelson shrugged off her warm coat, dropping it along with her purse and the mail onto one end of her handy white sofa and turned on the lamp. A half-read newspaper still sat waiting on the small, round kitchen table. The weights on her cuckoo clock were close to touching the floor. Stacks of binder paper filled with her handwriting were systematically piled on a small lap desk and also covering most of the sofa.
Leslie looked around the small living room and shook her head with a sigh. “Oh, good. The maid's been here. She's really doing a bang-up job.”
According to her usual evening ritual, she now went towards the kitchen, pausing long enough to turn on the wall heater and turn off her answering machine. This evening, however, the red light on the answering machine was flashing.
Hitting the replay button, she was faintly surprised at how long it took the machine to rewind. If the light flashed at all, there were usually just hang-ups with no message. She sometimes wondered
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