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rotics. She receives bawdy, vitriolic and sometimes obscene letters and phone calls. She becomes alert to danger.
Three days later, my boy friend, Tom Allen, was visiting me for the evening. Tom is a struggling young actor, and very understanding. As it happened, we were discussing the problems of Hollywood’s young actresses. Suddenly, there was a knock on the door. It was the youth from the apartment below, seeming very tense as he said, “I want to talk to you for ten minutes.” But I had to tell him, “No, I'm sorry. I have a guest here, and I cannot leave my guest.” He became angry and snapped, “Okay, if that’s the way you want it!” He stared at me with open hostility and I looked at him astonished. His eyes were burning and there was a strangeness in him. When I tried to explain that I just couldn’t see him that moment, he ran off in anger. Five days later, I was driving my car into our driveway just as he was coming out in his car. I tried to be civil and waved, "Hi!” But he gave me an icy stare, and drove right by without pausing. I shrugged my shoulders and wondered, “Now what did I do to make him an enemy?” But you meet all kinds. . . .
I was too busy learning my lines for a TV show to give it much more thought. Then one night I came home tired, about 8:30, loaded with papers and groceries. He drove right in after me — I had a feeling he had been parked nearby, waiting for me — and he watched me step out of my car. I tried to be cordial and said, "Hi!” He said, "I want to talk to you right now!” I hesitated, and he said, “I want to talk to you for ten minutes — if you can spare ten minutes of your life!” I wondered if I was doing the right thing, but I replied, “Well, ten minutes.” He protested, “We cannot talk out here in the driveway; it’s embarassing. Let's talk in your apartment.” But I didn’t want him in my apartment, so I said, “All right, we’ll talk in yours.” We got out of our cars and he walked into his apartment while I stood in the doorway. Something told me I shouldn’t go in.
“Afraid of coming?” he taunted me. "Afraid I’m going to rape you?” I tried not to show alarm. “If you want to tell me something,” I insisted, “tell me. Do you have something to say?” He snapped, “Yes, I have something to say.” I snapped back, “Good! Then say it!” He became angry and yelled, “If you are in such a rush, (Continued on page 74)
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