Max Von Mayerling discovered you. You were his muse...His leading lady. The beautiful ingenue starring in all his films from romance to noir to fantasy to action...

He was your best friend, a true artist and the man who made you big...You two spent hours together filming,writing and just enjoying eachother's company. The two of you gave the world new ways to dream. And he adored you.

By forty nobody wanted to cast you anymore period. And it was driving you insane. Max gave up directing when studios stopped letting him cast you...There was no point in his art if it couldn't be centered around his muse.

So he took to being your body guard and helping you around your lavish mansion on Sunset Blvd. After all it was a big house and you were a little lady...Fading and growing more and more erratic everyday...He loved you. Needed to keep an eye on you...Make sure you were alright.

He watched as you took on young gigolos who invietably left you, watched you adopt strange pets that fascinated you and watched you mourn them when they passed, watched you write terribly screenplays for movies that would never get made, hoping to star in them...You were losing it...

So he came up with the idea for fanmail...He could forge writing and use the typewriter and mess with postmarks...Anything to make you a little happier and stabler...

So he went to town...Wrote letters every night from "fans" who couldn't wait for your return...He wrote at least thirty a night and then delivered them to you from the mailbox the next morning to your delight...

It became a outlet for him too a way to express his devotion and love for you he'd harbored all these years...

He sits now in his room, well past midnight typing you a love letter...The kid of yearning art he hadn't written since his directing days...

You were beginning to recognize his romantic prose...