do is find someone to audition for, and give us a week to get ready for
him!”
“I’ve got him,” Randy said quietly.
“You’ve what?” Peggy gasped.
“I’ve got him. I’ve got the man to audition for.”
“But ... but,” she sputtered. “How? And why were you so gloomy if you
have a good prospective backer?”
“I was gloomy because I hate to have to raise more money, not because I
didn’t think we could do it,” Randy explained. “And as for the backer—if
he turns out to be a backer and not just a prospect—I’ve had him from
the beginning. He’s a wealthy and important man, and although he’s crazy
enough to like to invest in plays, he’s cautious enough never to put up
a nickel unless he’s seen an audition he likes. I showed him the play
quite a few months ago and he said he liked it and was very interested,
but he wouldn’t put up any cash until I could show him a cast and have
them read. In a way, I guess he’s right. He claims that in off-Broadway
shows even more than on Broadway, the actors make the play. You can have
the best play in the world but a bad group of amateurs can ruin it, and
there’s always a chance of getting a group of amateurs when you put on a
play downtown. At any rate, he’s half-sold already, so I guess we have a
good chance of selling him all the way,” Randy finished.
“Who is he?” Peggy asked.
Randy hesitated. “He’s ... well, he’s a rich man who’s interested in the
theater,” he said awkwardly.
“We know that much,” Peggy replied, “but which rich man? What’s his
name?”
“Well—” Randy said, “it may sound peculiar, but I’d rather not say just
yet. You see, I can tell you this much about him, he’s a very important
sort of a man—a public figure, you might say—and I know how he hates
publicity of any sort. I spoke to him earlier this evening to see if
he’d be willing to come down for an audition, and he agreed, providing
we told nobody about it. It’s not that he’d mind having it known that
he’s invested in a play, after he decides to do it. But if it were to
get out that he was coming down here for a private audition, the
Penthouse Theater would be crawling with newspaper reporters and
photographers. Not only would he be bothered, but the publicity would
almost force him to invest, whether he wanted to or not.”
“Boy!” Peggy said in wonder. “He must be really important!”
“He is,” Randy said. “I wouldn’t be this secretive if he weren’t. You’ll
just have to go along with the game until next week. Then you’ll find
out who he is when he shows up.”
“You can trust us,” Amy said. “We wouldn’t breathe a word of it. And
besides, we don’t know any reporters!”
“I do,” Greta said. “And even if I didn’t, I wouldn’t want to know any
secret. If it ever got out, I wouldn’t want to be among the suspected
leaks.”
“That’s just why I’m not telling anybody,” Randy agreed. “That way, if
anybody finds out he’s coming down here, it will have to be from one of
his associates, not from one of us.”
“I guess that makes sense,” Amy agreed ruefully. “But I can hardly wait
to find out what this is all about!”
“What scene are we going to do, Mal?” Peggy asked.
“I think the best one,” he replied, “would be Act Two, Scene Three. The
second-act curtain is really powerful, and besides, it’s Paula Andrews’
best scene. Not only that, but it brings most of the main characters
together at a time of crisis, when they can be understood without having
seen the rest of the play.”
“Most of the characters except me,” Peggy said. “Couldn’t you have
chosen something where I’m on stage?”
“Sorry, Peggy,” Mal said, “but this one really makes the most sense.”
“I suppose it does,” she agreed, “but I just hate to be so useless at an
important time like this.”
“Maybe you’ll be useless,” Mal answered, “but I’m going to see to it
that you won’t be idle. Since we don’t want anything to slip up, and
since Paula hasn’t been looking well lately, I want you to understudy
her part for this audition. Amy will understudy you, Greta. Some of the
other actors who aren’t on in that scene will back up other parts.
Nobody’s going to be left out of the preparation, even if everyone isn’t
actually used. In that way, the whole cast can get a chance to see how I
go about developing a complete scene, and maybe that will keep us from
throwing the development of the play off balance, which is what I’m
worried about.”
“It might even help,” Randy said hopefully.
“It might,” Mal said, looking completely unconvinced.
“Before you sink into that swamp of gloom again,” Peggy said with a
laugh, “I think that we’d better get going. Do you realize that it’s
almost one in the morning, and tomorrow I have a nine-o’clock class in
TV acting techniques? If I don’t get some sleep I’m going to be the only
out-of-focus actress in the picture!”
Quickly finishing their coffee, the girls put on their coats once more
and said good night to Randy and Mal. Mal, always thoughtful, insisted
on coming downstairs and seeing them into a taxi, so they wouldn’t have
to make their way home alone at that late hour.
“There’s only one thing now that worries me,” Peggy said to Amy and
Greta as they were being driven to the Gramercy Arms.
“What’s that?” Amy asked.
“The rest of the cast,” she answered. “We promised a lot of cooperation
from them, and the fact is that we hardly know them at all. I just hope
we were right!”
V
An Unexpected Scene
Peggy had not been wrong. Far from grumbling about the extra weeks of
rehearsal, most of the actors were happy about being assured of the
additional pay. Of course there was the inevitable disappointment that
comes from the postponement of an opening night, but this did not seem
really to upset anyone. Most of the actors agreed that the extended
rehearsal time was needed, and everyone felt a relaxation of some of the
pressure under which they had been working.
Of course, the main question in the air was the identity of the secret
investor, but Randy maintained a stubborn silence on this score.
Peggy attended all of Paula’s rehearsals as well as separate readings of
Paula’s role for Mal. She wrapped herself so thoroughly in Paula’s part
that she nearly forgot her own, which was not difficult, since
rehearsals of all other scenes had been stopped.
Even her lunch hours at the Academy were spent studying Paula’s lines.
It was not an easy part at all. If the other characters had seemed
difficult because of their double or triple points of view, the leading
role was almost impossible. It had no point of view at all, and every
point of view imaginable!
[Illustration: Studying lines]
Paula was to play the part of the daughter of a pair of embittered
millionaire eccentrics who had withdrawn from society and had never
allowed their only child any contact with the world. She had been
educated by her mother and father and had grown to the age of
twenty-three without ever leaving their enormous estate. She had never
seen any adults except her parents and a few servants. Before the action
of the play, both of her parents have died within a few months of each
other, and the girl is suddenly left alone to cope with the problems of
existence in a world for which she is completely unprepared. Dazed both
by the loss of her parents and the new business of having to deal with
people, she decides to come to the rest home which is the scene of the
play, to slowly get used to her new position.
The principal difficulty of the role, Peggy saw, was quite the reverse
of the difficulty of the other parts. Instead of having been two or
three different people, this girl has never actually been anybody. As a
result, she reacts to each of the actors according to their characters
at the moment. And since each of them assumes many different roles,
depending on whom he is talking to, the girl is in complete confusion.
Listening to Paula read, Peggy was filled with admiration. Somehow, in
the short time in which the rest of them had been trying to grasp their
roles, Paula seemed to have mastered hers. Each time she slipped into a
new manner of speech and action, she gave the impression of doing so
with a mixture of eagerness and fear. As the pace quickened and the
characters and manners changed more rapidly, the balance between
eagerness and fear changed until, as the scene rose to its climax,
eagerness was replaced by hysteria, fear by terror. At the curtain,
Paula sobbed wildly as the characters around her shifted as swiftly as
the pieces in a kaleidoscope.
The whole group, including the usually taciturn Mal, broke into applause
for Paula, who managed to smile through the play-tears that she seemed
unable to control.
“We’ll have a fifteen-minute break,” Mal called. “Then, if Paula can
stand it, we’ll run through it again!”
As the actors stood up and stretched before drifting off to different
parts of the room to talk in groups of twos and threes, Peggy went to
Paula Andrews, still sitting in her straight chair.
“You were wonderful!” she said. “I feel like a fool understudying you!”
“Don’t be silly, Peggy,” Paula replied. “It’s not me. It’s the play.
Randy has written a marvelous role in Alison; it almost plays itself. If
you have to do it, I know you’ll do every bit as well.”
“I certainly won’t,” Peggy said, “but what worries me is that I may have
to try if you don’t take care of yourself. Paula,” she said in a softer
tone, “is there anything the matter? You haven’t been looking at all
well lately, and I’m worried about you. Is something wrong that I might
be able to help you with? If there is, I wish you’d tell me. You know
that I want to be your friend.”
Smiling wanly, Paula took Peggy’s hand. “Don’t worry about me,” she
said. “There’s nothing wrong. I guess I’ve just been working too
hard—at—at the department store, you know—and then at night with these
rehearsals. And the part is so demanding, and I’m so wrapped up in it—”
She stopped abruptly, as if on the verge of tears, but not acting tears
this time. Then she once more managed to smile. “Thank you, Peggy, but
you don’t have to worry. I’ll be perfectly all right.”
Peggy said nothing more. She had done all she could by offering to help,
and if Paula wouldn’t admit anything was wrong, there was nothing
further she could say. But Paula’s manner had convinced her that
something was very wrong indeed, something far more than a simple case
of overwork.
However, when Mal called the cast together again for a second reading of
the scene, all of Paula’s tiredness seemed suddenly to vanish. She drew
strength from some inner reserves and played with the same conviction
and brilliance as before. Even more, perhaps, Peggy thought.
Caught in the pace and rhythm of her reading, the rest of the cast took
hold and played up to her, shifting in and out of character with all the
timed precision of a complex machine. Once again the action built to the
climax, the tears, the curtain, and the applause. And once again Paula,
unable to stop the crying, went as limp and washed-out as a rag doll.
“That’s all for tonight,” Mal called. “But before you go, Randy has a
bit of a surprise for you.”
“As you know,” Randy began when the actors had formed a circle about
him, “tomorrow night is the audition performance. Our possible backer is
grateful for all the work you’ve done on this scene for him, and to show
his gratitude, he’s buying us all a good dinner first. So instead of
coming here, come to Paolo’s Restaurant on East 48th Street, to the
private dining room upstairs. See you there about six o’clock.”
Delighted with this gesture, the cast gathered their coats and hats and
prepared to leave. Peggy hesitated, looking at Paula, who was no longer
crying, but who still sat exhausted where she had finished the scene.
“Peggy,” Randy said, “will you take Paula home, please? She looks really
exhausted, and I don’t want her walking, so take a cab, and I’ll pay for
it.”
“That’s a good idea,” Peggy agreed. “I’ve been worried about her, too.
Maybe I can get her to tell me if something’s bothering her. I tried
once, but she didn’t want to talk about it. Maybe in the taxi,
though....”
Paula gladly accepted the lift but, though still friendly and warm, was
no more inclined to talk about her troubles, if any, than before. The
address she gave proved to be in a fine block of remodeled town houses
on East 36th Street, just a half block off Park Avenue—not at all the
sort of place where Peggy expected a department-store salesgirl to live.
Without inviting Peggy in, she thanked her for the ride, waved good-by,
and let herself in through a green-lacquered door with polished brass
fittings.
Puzzled and worried, Peggy leaned back in the taxi seat and gave the
driver the address of the Gramercy Arms.
Peggy had been in the crowded, brightly lighted, vaulted cellars of
Paolo’s before, on dates with Randy, but this was the first time she had
ever been in the private dining room. In fact, until now, she had not
even suspected that such a room existed. She could not have been more
astonished, then, to find that the restaurant occupied the entire
four-story building instead of just the basement.
A tiny automatic elevator, that had barely room enough for four
passengers squeezed together, carried Peggy and Amy to the top floor.
Although they were scarcely five minutes late, the rest of the cast had
already preceded them and were wandering about talking gaily and eating
appetizers from the long, beautifully decorated table that filled one
end of the room. Peggy spotted Paula, eating hungrily and, between
bites, talking with animation to Greta and Alan Douglas. She looked much
better than she had the night before, and Peggy felt a sense of relief.
Maybe she had been making too much of just a normal case of tiredness.
Randy and Mal came hurrying over to take the girls’ coats and to lead
them into the room, which they showed off as if they owned it.
“This is just the lounge,” Randy said, waving his hand to indicate the
laden table, the fine paneling, the handsome chandeliers. “Wait till you
see the dining room!”
Leading Amy and Peggy to the other side of the little entry hall that
separated the two rooms, Randy opened the door of the dining room to let
them get an advance look. The room was dominated by the biggest circular
table that any of them had ever seen—with ample room for place settings
for fourteen. The center of the huge table was filled with a low floral
centerpiece, punctuated by dozens of tall, thin candles.
The heavily beamed ceiling sloped sharply upward from a row of six
dormer windows facing a courtyard. On the high wall opposite was an
enormous fireplace whose blaze was reflected in the bright crystal and
silver on the table.
Dazzled by the setting, the girls allowed themselves to be led back to
the lounge to help themselves to appetizers. Giant cheeses of all shapes
alternated with towering bowls of apples and oranges in the center of
the table, while at the foot of these mountains were platters of smoked
fish, caviar, sliced cheeses, spiced Italian ham sliced so thin as to be
almost transparent, orderly rows of crackers, baskets of sliced bread
and rolls, bunches of grapes, bowls of black and green olives, slivers
of smoked turkey and brilliant platters of sliced tomatoes. And
surrounding it all were the actors, airing their manners like the
traditional strolling players invited to a baronial feast, behaving
grandly as if they ate this way every day in the week!
Laughing at the sight, Peggy happily helped herself to some of the more
exotic foods, wisely conserving her appetite. After all, if these were
just the appetizers, whatever would dinner be like?
An hour and a half later, contentedly sighing as the waiter poured a
second cup of coffee, Peggy was glad that she had saved a little
appetite. Otherwise she might never even have tasted it all! Dinner,
from the delicate clear soup, to the lobster Newburg, the tiny green
peas with pearl onions, the crackling thin julienne potatoes, the crisp,
herb-tinged salad, and the sweet-sour key lime pie, had been a sheer
delight.
Now, while everyone was resting over coffee and quiet conversation,
Randy stood up to speak. He tapped gently on his glass with a spoon, and
the crystal rang like a clear, thin bell. The cast members turned their
attention to him.
“I think that you would like to know now whom to thank for this
wonderful dinner,” he said. “I’m allowed to tell you all at this point,
because we’re going straight from here to his house for the reading. It
seems that the gentleman has several other appointments, and can’t allow
himself time to come down to the theater, but he does want to hear the
reading, so we’re bringing the theater to him, from eight to
nine-thirty. Now, not to keep you in suspense any longer, I’ll tell you
his name: Sir Brian Alwyne, Special British Representative to the United
Nations!”
A murmur of surprise went up around the table as the actors turned to
each other to comment on this distinguished man’s interest in their
play, and to speculate on the experience of acting in his home. But,
looking from face to face, Peggy noted, with surprise, Paula’s peculiar
expression. She had gone pale and white as the table linen, and her face
was drawn. One hand, held to her mouth, was trembling. Suddenly she
stood up, bunching the tablecloth in a tight grip.
“No!” she cried. “No! I won’t! I won’t act in his house!”
A shocked silence gripped the room as everyone turned to stare at her.
“But, Paula, I don’t understand....” Mal began. “What does it matter if
it’s in his house instead of in the theater? I think you’re being—”
“No!” she said again tensely. “You don’t understand. Of course you
don’t. But”—she paused and looked about her in bewilderment—“I’m sorry,”
she said abruptly, then turned and ran from the room.
[Illustration: Paula turned and ran from the room.]
Before Mal and Randy could recover their senses sufficiently to run
after her, she had grabbed her coat from the startled cloakroom
attendant and run down the stairs. They could hear her heels clattering
more than a floor below.
Randy started after her, but Mal restrained him.
“No use, old chap,” he said. “I don’t know what’s got into her, but
whatever it is, she’s not going to act tonight. And as far as I’m
concerned,” he added grimly, “I don’t care if she never acts again. If
there’s one thing I can’t stand it’s temperament. Forget it. Peggy will
do the role, and she’ll do it well.”
VI
Two Acts of Faith
Jittery though they all were after this startling experience, the
audition went off with surprising smoothness. Sir Brian, a handsome
gentleman with beautiful manners, received them cordially, allowed them
to rearrange his drawing room, and made them feel thoroughly at home.
Peggy, though feeling too dazed at Paula’s behavior to be really aware
of what she was doing, somehow turned in a fine performance. But even as
she was acting to the climax of the scene she was aware that she was not
so much playing the character of Alison as she was playing Paula’s
version of Alison.
At the scene’s end, Sir Brian and Lady Alwyne applauded
enthusiastically, complimented Peggy especially, and thanked the company
for their trouble in preparing the scene and coming uptown to act it.
“It was most good of you,” Sir Brian exclaimed to Randy. “And I must
compliment you on having found a company that does justice to your
splendid play. And by the way,” he added in a quieter voice, “my check
for five thousand dollars will be in the mail tomorrow.”
“Five thousand?” Randy asked, startled. “But that’s really more than we
need, sir.”
“Nonsense,” Sir Brian said firmly. “There’s no such thing as too much
money. You can use the extra for a little more advertising than you had
planned, or for an extra bit of scenery or something. Now, I don’t like
to hurry you along, but you really must excuse me if....”
Thanking him profusely, Randy rounded up the cast, let them know the
good news, and hurried them out. Only the cold bite of the night wind
off the East River convinced him that the whole evening had not been
some sort of fantastic dream, engendered by an overheated imagination.
“The whole evening!” he said to Peggy, who was walking arm-in-arm with
him a few paces behind Mal and Amy. “Everything about it seems
completely unlikely!”
“I know,” she agreed. “That fantastic spread at Paolo’s ... the peculiar
business with Paula ... Sir Brian and Lady Alwyne, looking like a movie
Lord and Lady sent in from Central Casting ... and then a check for five
thousand dollars! It’s almost too much to believe!”
“What do you think about Paula?” Randy asked. “Have you any idea what
could have been behind that outburst of temperament?”
“I don’t know,” Peggy said, “but I don’t think that temperament is the
word to describe it. You know yourself that she’s not a prima donna
type. She’s always cooperative, works hard at rehearsals, takes every
direction that Mal gives her.... No. I know she’s not a temperamental
person. This is something else; something we haven’t any idea about. But
whatever it is, I think she’s in some kind of trouble, and I want to
help her if I can.”
“Mal says he doesn’t want to have her in the show any more,” Randy said.
“He told me he thinks you can do a good job in the part. If you just
forget about Paula, you can have the role.”
“Randy!” Peggy said in a shocked voice. “Paula’s my friend, and I want
to help her, not steal parts from her! And besides, I couldn’t possibly
do Alison as well as she does. You saw for yourself tonight that I
wasn’t creating a role. I was imitating a role. Paula’s a far better and
more finished actress than I’ll be for many years, if ever, and I think
that we owe it to your play to get her back, if she’ll come.”
“And if Mal will have her,” Randy added.
“And if she’s all right,” Peggy mused. “Randy, I’m really worried about
her. Let me go talk to her right now for a half hour or so, and I’ll
join you three for coffee after. When I’ve spoken to her, I’ll have a
better idea, I know, about whether or not we can count on her. Leave it
to me, will you, Randy?”
Randy walked along in silence for a moment before replying. “All right,”
he said. “I’m perfectly willing to trust your judgment, and I know that
Mal will give every consideration to what you say. I guess it is a good
idea for someone to go see her now. Whatever’s wrong with her, she’s
gone through a bad evening and can use a friend.”
After catching up with Amy and Mal and explaining what Peggy wanted to
do, they arranged to meet at Dodo’s Coffeehouse downtown. Randy hailed a
cab and helped Peggy in. “I think you’re right about Paula,” he said
before closing the door. “And I’m glad you want to help her. Good luck!”
At 36th Street, Peggy dismissed the cab, sure that she would find Paula
at home. She pushed the button marked “ANDREWS” and waited a moment
until the little speaker crackled and Paula’s voice, sounding tired and
far away, answered, “Who is it?”
“It’s Peggy Lane. May I come up to see you?”
A moment’s hesitation, and then, “All right. Third floor rear.” A buzzer
sounded in the green door, and Peggy let herself in.
Going up in the little elevator, Peggy wondered again how Paula could
afford to live in such an elegant place. She had some idea of the rents
in these well-maintained remodeled buildings, and also some idea of what
a salesgirl in a department store earned. “Well, it’s none of my
business,” she told herself. “Maybe someone left her an income or
something. Or maybe her parents pay the rent for her. But that’s not
what I’m here to find out.”
Paula, looking more pale, drawn, and tired than Peggy had ever seen her
before, opened the door and motioned Peggy in. The apartment, obviously
rented furnished, was comfortable enough, but almost without
personality, like a hotel room. It consisted of one bedroom-sitting
room, a compact kitchenette and a bath. The only sign that anyone lived
in it was a small collection of books, no more than a dozen, on a shelf.
“Sit down, Peggy,” Paula said formally. Then, as if she were asking
about some event that didn’t concern her at all, but asking only out of
politeness, she said, “And how did the audition go? Were you good? And
did Sir Brian invest in the play?”
“It went very well,” Peggy said gloomily, “considering that it was me
and not you. Sir Brian is putting five thousand dollars into the
production.”
“Then I guess I’m fired,” Paula said, in the same lifeless tone.