“Marcia”—Gavin’s mellifluous voice is unmistakable—“have you been receiving mail?” I had, in fact—by the box load. I hadn’t read it. I didn’t have the time. Gavin offered to sort through it for me to see if there was anyone to watch out for. He also told me how to mitigate the risk factor in signing autographs: “Never sign more than your name,” he warned. Even a meaningless expression like “sincerely” could give encouragement to an unbalanced fan. If a situation seemed the least bit weird—a guy looking twitchy, avoiding eye contact—I should get the hell outta there. “Kind of ironic, huh,
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