My summer job, in-between I forget which college years, was Production Assistant (better known as gofer) on a television movie. Among my responsibilities was delivering scripts to actors. Sometimes, these were names unknown to me; sometimes, the script was being delivered to an actor who'd not yet agreed to take a role; sometimes, the "actors" were actually old-time Hollywood screenwriters. Once, the delivery went to an apartment, I believe, in Century City. A little old lady opened the door and she was, for a little old lady, ravishing. She had a great smile and twinkles in both eyes. And such charm! Such a pleasure to meet me, she said. I got the impression it had been quite a while since somebody had delivered her a script.
I may or may not have known at the time that this little old lady was the writer/producer's mother-in-law, and the address had the lady's current married name, which was not the name of the producer's wife.
Nor was it Wray. I later found out this was indeed Fay Wray, and she charmed us all her one day on the set.
