ANGELA MARR is curled up in the big armchair, reading a screenplay. She is lovely, in a somewhat severe and overly-serious fashion, as if she considers her looks a detriment to her job.

A knock at the door disturbs her.

ANGELA
Come in, please.

STACY, Angela's secretary, pokes her head in.

STACY
Your one o'clock is here.

ANGELA
Send him in, please.

JOSHUA WEYLAND shuffles in. He's a small, nondescript man, maybe in his mid-thirties, humble and downtrodden looking, with the appearance of a blue-collar laborer. He holds his body awkwardly, crumpled and insect-like, as if he is handicapped.

Angela stands up politely. She looks startled and a little repulsed, but she quickly conceals it.

ANGELA
Come in please, Mr...

WEYLAND
Joshua Weyland.

ANGELA
Oh, yes. Sit down, please, Mr. Weyland.

Weyland glances at the big chair, and then perches himself nervously on the edge of the second, unremarkable chair. Angela resumes her seat in the big chair.

ANGELA
You come well-recommended, Mr. Weyland. Albert's letter speaks very highly of your writing skills, and he doesn't praise many new writers.

Weyland laughs nervously.

WEYLAND
Well, I have a confession to make. Three confessions, actually. The first one is, I forged that letter.

ANGELA
Excuse me?

WEYLAND
Albert Hutchinson has never seen my writing. He has no idea who I am.

ANGELA
Mr. Weyland. I am extremely busy...

WEYLAND
Wait! Please. Before you throw me out, Ms. Marr -- which I completely understand -- please listen to what I have to say.

ANGELA
Your second confession?

WEYLAND
Do I shock you? I shock you; I can see that.

ANGELA
Mr. Weyland, I think you have the wrong office. The psychoanalyst is two doors down.

WEYLAND
No, no. I came to see you, Ms. Marr.

Angela rises from her chair, angry and scared.

WEYLAND
Please. Just indulge me with a few minutes of your time.
(he indicates his handicap; continued)
WEYLAND
(continued)
Look at me. What could I possibly do to you? Your secretary is right outside the door. You're in no danger whatsoever.

Angela sits down again in the armchair, looking wary, and a bit ashamed of herself.

ANGELA
Five minutes, Mr. Weyland.

WEYLAND
Thank you. I'm sorry I had to rely on the fact that I am a cripple, in order to gain your sympathy.

ANGELA
No, really. It's all right.

WEYLAND
It's distasteful. But, what I have to tell you is so very important. This is my story. For many months, I've hidden from the light of civilization, hidden like the Devil himself. In this whole, wide world, no one knows of my deeds. I couldn't bear to keep my secret any longer. So... if you will listen to me...?

ANGELA
Go ahead, Mr. Weyland.

WEYLAND
I shall tell you the most important... no, no. I shall tell you chronologically. Arrange the events as they occurred, and please -- listen through the end of my story, and don't judge me until you have heard it all. First, I shall begin by stating the obvious: I am ugly beyond description.

ANGELA
Now, Mr. Weyland, I hardly think...

WEYLAND
Oh, you needn't flatter me. Everyone is so polite. But, I know what I look like. I make people so uncomfortable.