Peggy realized in a flash that this was not like some of the previous
rehearsals where Paula had been unable to stop the flood of stage tears
that she had so skillfully built up to. This was different.
She rushed out on stage to where Paula lay huddled in a pool of light,
and knelt by her side to shake her gently, but Paula did not move. Peggy
turned her over and motioned the rest of the cast to move back. Paula
lay pale and limp beneath the floodlights. She was breathing in quick
uneven gasps.
[Illustration: She’s fainted!]
“She’s fainted,” Peggy announced. “Somebody call a doctor!”
But Paula’s eyes flickered open, and she said in a weak voice, “No. Just
take me home, please, Peggy. I’m ... I’m sorry. But I’ll be all right. I
just want to go home now.” She closed her eyes again.
“What do you think?” Peggy asked Mal, who by this time had reached her
side. “Shall I take her home, or call a doctor?”
“I think you can get her home before we could persuade a doctor to come
down to this half-deserted neighborhood,” Mal said. “Why don’t you take
her home and make her comfortable? We’ll get a cab, and I’ll go with you
to carry her in case she faints again. Meanwhile, Randy can call a
doctor and have him go directly to Paula’s apartment.”
“No,” Paula protested, “I don’t need a doctor. I’ll be all right once
I’m home. There’s nothing really wrong with....” She tried to sit up,
and with the effort fainted once more.
“Come on,” Mal said. “Get your coat, Peggy. Alan! Will you go out after
a cab, please? Randy, call the doctor right away! Everybody else, go on
home. Rehearsals are over for tonight. See you all tomorrow, same time.”
This time Paula did not come out of her faint until they were nearly at
her house. She made no attempt to talk, or even to protest when Mal
carried her from the taxi. When they had her upstairs, lying on the
daybed, Mal turned to leave.
“I don’t think I’d better stay,” he said, “but the doctor ought to be
here any minute. You’ll stay with her, won’t you, Peggy, until you find
out from him what’s wrong?”
“Of course,” Peggy said. “And if it’s not too late, I’ll call you when I
leave. Otherwise, I’ll let you know in the morning. Good night, Mal, and
thanks for your help.”
“Yes, thank you, Mal,” Paula said weakly, with a small smile. Then, once
again, she closed her eyes.
It had not taken the doctor long to diagnose Paula’s condition. Peggy
had gone out to fill the prescription, and was now busy preparing it. It
was some chicken soup, toast and tea, to be followed in the morning with
a light breakfast, then a good, hearty lunch.
“I can’t understand why you didn’t tell me about it,” Peggy said. “You
know I would have loaned you some money. It’s just ridiculous for anyone
to go hungry when she has friends! You can’t imagine how shocked I was
when the doctor said that you were suffering from malnutrition, and that
you didn’t seem to have eaten anything for at least two days! Maybe I’ve
led too sheltered a life, but I never even _heard_ of anyone
starving—not in this country, anyway.”
“It can happen anywhere, I guess,” Paula said, with a sad smile.
“But why?” Peggy cried. “Why didn’t you let me help you?”
“I would have, Peggy, if it had been just a sudden thing, but it wasn’t.
It was a continuing thing. I guess if I had had enough to eat during the
last month, I wouldn’t have keeled over from going for two days without
anything. I’ve been living on canned beans and bread and other cheap
food for over a month now, and to ask for help would have meant asking
for regular help—every week. And I didn’t want to take advantage of
anyone that way.”
“But, Paula, that’s so silly!” Peggy protested. “How long did you think
you would be able to go on without proper food?”
“I was just trying to hold out until tomorrow, when my pay check comes
in from Randy and Mal. Then I could have had something to eat.”
“Do you mean to say,” Peggy asked in astonishment, “that you’ve been
trying to live on just the rehearsal salary? Why, that’s hardly enough
to pay the rent in a place like this, much less to eat!”
“I know,” Paula said. “I’ve been finding that out. But we go into full
pay for rehearsal next week, and I thought I could hold out until then.
I guess I was wrong, wasn’t I?”
“But what about your job at the department store?” Peggy asked.
“Oh. I—I lied about that, Peggy. I was laid off right after the
Christmas season, and I haven’t been working since then. I had some
money put aside, but it was almost gone when I got the part in the play.
Then I thought I could live on the rehearsal money until we went into
full pay. By the time I found I couldn’t, I was too weak to take a
full-time job.”
“But you could have moved to some less expensive place, couldn’t you?”
Peggy asked. “This little apartment must cost a lot of money.”
“It does,” Paula admitted, “but I like it here, and I didn’t want to
give it up. I thought that I could manage. I’m sorry now. I’ve caused
everybody so much trouble.”
“That’s the least of our worries,” Peggy said, filling up Paula’s bowl
with a second helping of chicken soup. “The question now is how you’re
going to get along for the next week until the full pay comes in. And
also how you’re going to live here, even on that.”
“Oh, I’ll get by, Peggy. I know I will. Besides, I have such faith in
the play. I know it will be a hit, and if it is, our salaries will go up
above the minimum. Randy told me how much I could expect to earn as the
lead, if we have a success, and it’s plenty for me to live on.”
“But until then,” Peggy said, “you’re going to need more cash. Isn’t
there somebody you can go to for help? How about your family?”
“Oh, no!” Paula said. “My family ... I haven’t any family. I mean, I’m
an orphan. My parents are dead, and I haven’t anyone else. I’ve been
supporting myself for a long time, and I’m used to it.”
“Well, then,” Peggy said firmly, “I’m going to have to be your family,
and you’ll have to accept help from me. I would say that you’ll need
about fifty dollars a week to add to what you earn—at least until we get
to be a hit, if we do. And since you haven’t anybody else, you’ll have
to let me get it for you.”
“Oh, no, I can’t let you do that, Peggy!” Paula protested. “I know that
you haven’t got that kind of money, and besides, I ... I don’t want any
help. I can take care of myself. I want to take care of myself!”
Peggy sat down on the edge of the bed and took Paula’s hand. “I can
understand the way you feel,” she said, “but that’s a foolish kind of
pride. Everybody wants to think they’re taking care of themselves, but
really nobody does. Before your parents died, they took care of you.
They fed you and clothed you and taught you to walk and talk. If
somebody hadn’t taken care of you then, you wouldn’t have lived to want
to take care of yourself. As we grow up, we take care of ourselves more
and more, but we’re never completely on our own. Everybody needs someone
else. That’s what friends are for. And you’ve got to let me be your
friend.”
Paula’s eyes filled with tears. “I suppose you’re right, Peggy. It is
just foolish pride, and you’re so good to talk to me this way and to
want to help me. But ... what I said before. I know you can’t afford
it!”
“Of course I can’t,” Peggy said. “But I’ve got friends—and many of them
are your friends, too, and I intend to ask them. I’m going to talk to
all the members of the cast who have jobs, and to the girls who live at
the Gramercy Arms, and we’ll get up a group to help you out. That way it
won’t cost anyone more than three or four dollars a week, which we won’t
miss too much.”
“Oh, Peggy, that’s so good of you,” Paula said, “but I feel so ashamed
to take your money!”
“Think how ashamed we’d feel,” Peggy said, “if we weren’t able to help
you. And besides, we’re not doing it just for you. We’re doing it for
the play. We need you in the play. There’s nobody else who can do the
Alison part the way you can ... and even if there were, it would be too
late now for a cast substitution. No, it’s your part, and it’s our play,
and we have to keep you in good condition to do it. It’s a difficult
enough role to play even if you’re well-fed, and I just don’t believe
you can do it if you’re half-starved. Now I don’t want to hear another
word about it except ‘yes.’”
Paula’s smile was stronger now, between spoonfuls of soup. She looked
up, her eyes still wet, and softly said, “Yes. Thanks.”
“Good. That’s settled,” Peggy said. “Now, would you like some tea and
toast? The doctor said not to give you more than this to eat tonight, no
matter how hungry you said you felt. No. No butter. He said dry toast,
but I suppose you can dunk it in the tea, if you like.”
While Paula was eating the last scrap of tea and toast, and protesting
that she felt a good deal more like eating a steak, Peggy got some
pajamas for her from a bureau drawer, and a robe and some slippers from
the closet. Then, since Paula was still weak, she helped her change into
them, made up the daybed, and tucked her in bed.
“You look a lot better now,” Peggy said. “The best thing for you to do
is get a good night’s sleep. You’ll feel better in the morning. You’ll
find eggs and butter and coffee and orange juice in the kitchen, so you
can make breakfast for yourself, but after eating, go back to bed and
rest. That’s doctor’s orders. I’ll come up here at noontime, and we can
go out for a good lunch together.”
Cutting Paula’s thanks short with a wave of her hand, Peggy said a quick
good night and left. It was past her bedtime, too.
IX
One for the Money....
In the comfortable, well-furnished living room of the Gramercy Arms,
Peggy prepared to call a meeting to order.
May Berriman, the retired actress who owned the house, sat regally in a
high-backed, thronelike chair. Her hands were busy with a tiny silver
bobbin and a tatting needle, making delicate lace; but they seemed to be
working with an intelligence of their own while their owner, not even
looking at them, was busily observing the faces of “her girls.”
Irene Marshall, the house beauty, was gracefully curled up on the couch
in the sort of decorative pose hardly ever seen outside the pages of the
more expensive fashion magazines. At the other end of the couch, her
knees drawn up and her feet tucked under her, sat Gaby (Gabrielle Odette
Francine Du-Champs Goulet), looking about her expectantly, her head
cocked to one side like a toy French poodle’s.
Maggie Delahanty, the dancer, sat cross-legged on the floor like a
Hindu, her back straight and her hands loosely folded, a magazine open
on her knees. She could sit for hours like this in apparent perfect
comfort, in a position the other girls found almost impossible to get
into at all.
In more conventional positions, seated on chairs, were Greta, Amy, and
Peggy.
“I guess everybody’s here now,” Peggy said, “so I might as well tell you
why I asked you all to meet in here. I need your help, but I didn’t want
to explain it several times, because it’s rather a complicated story.”
As briefly as she could, Peggy told them about Paula, as Paula had told
her. Then she recounted the events of the night before, ending with the
doctor’s visit.
“When he told me that she had fainted from hunger,” Peggy concluded, “I
was so shocked I didn’t know what to say. I’m still not sure I
understand how it came to happen, but I am sure of one thing. Paula
needs help, and I told her that I would see to it that she gets it.”
“She needs some common sense even more than she needs help,” Maggie said
tartly. “Unfortunately, I don’t think we have any of that to spare. Why
did she let this go on so long without doing something about it?”
“Yes, why?” Irene asked. “I know a lot of people who are out of work,
but they don’t let themselves starve. I’ve been out of work myself
plenty of times, the way every beginner in show business is, and I’ve
always gone straight to the unemployment people. The government check
hasn’t been much, but it’s been enough to eat on.”
“I asked her that,” Peggy said, “and she told me that she didn’t qualify
for unemployment insurance. Apparently you have to have worked for a
certain length of time before you can collect any insurance, and she
hadn’t worked that long when the department store laid her off after the
Christmas rush.”
“That’s true,” Greta said. “I was in a fix like that myself once, and I
had to ask my parents for help until I could get a job. Luckily, I have
parents and they have enough to be able to spare some for me.”
“Most of us have someone to turn to,” Peggy said, “but Paula’s an
orphan, and hasn’t even got any aunts or uncles or cousins. But she does
have friends, and that’s what I want to talk to you about.”
“Oh, we all of us ’ave understand that alreadee,” Gaby said with a toss
of her head. “That part of the problem is no more worree. I give a few
dollar each week—we all give a few dollar—nobodee give enough for to
miss it, an’ presto! Mademoiselle Paula ’as plentee to live on. No?”
“That’s just what I had in mind,” Peggy said, relieved not to have had
to actually ask for the money. She had been hoping her friends would
offer it as their own idea. “How do the rest of you feel about it?”
Everybody nodded agreement and murmured assurance that they would do as
much as they could to help. “How much does she need?” asked Maggie,
practical as always.
“I think about fifty dollars a week would do it,” Peggy answered, “but
it doesn’t all have to come from us. There are several members of the
cast who are working at other jobs and who would be glad to contribute.
In fact, I think they’d be insulted if they weren’t approached about
it.”
“Won’t Paula object to their knowing all about her troubles?” Amy asked.
“I don’t think so,” Peggy said. “Besides, they all saw her faint last
night, and some explanation will have to be given. Not only that, but I
don’t think we should try to hide it as if it were some disgraceful
thing not to have enough money for food. Paula has been hiding her
troubles too long, and she’s going to have to accept the fact that you
can’t hide trouble and fight it at the same time.”
“Very wise, Peggy,” May Berriman approved. “I agree, just as I agree
with Maggie that your friend needs some common sense more than she needs
help. It’s possible that by helping her in this open way, you may also
provide her with a little common sense!”
“Speaking of common sense,” Greta put in, “I think it’s about time we
got down to dollars and cents in this discussion, instead of just going
on vaguely about wanting to help. Does anyone have a suggestion about
how much we should all contribute to the Paula Fund?”
After mentioning several figures, and after some discussion about how
much should come from the Gramercy Arms and how much from the cast, an
agreement was reached.
“So it’s settled,” Peggy said. “Gramercy Arms will give twenty-five
dollars a week, and the cast will give the rest. Now, twenty-five
dollars divided among the six of us girls....”
“Seven,” May Berriman interrupted. “I may not be a girl any longer, but
you’ll grant I am a part of Gramercy Arms.”
“Thanks, May,” Peggy said gratefully. “Well, seven then. That comes to
... let’s see. Three-fifty each a week would add up to twenty-four
dollars and fifty cents. That’s close enough, I guess, and we can all
surely spare that. It’s only fifty cents a day.”
“I have another suggestion, Peggy,” May Berriman said. “As you all know,
Dot is on tour and isn’t due to return for another three months. I’m
sure she wouldn’t mind if Paula were to use her room. Why don’t you ask
her to come in here with us and give up that expensive apartment?”
Peggy reflected for a minute. “No, I don’t think so,” she said at
length. “If she had been willing to move out of that apartment, she
would have done it before this. I don’t think she’d be at all happy
here. She’s so—well, so secretive, and I think that all she wants is to
be left alone. I suppose that sounds pretty strange, and pretty
self-indulgent, too, but as I told you, I think she’s having some kind
of trouble that we don’t even know about, and she obviously doesn’t want
us to know. I don’t think it would be helping at all if we tried to get
her to come to live with us.”
“Maybe you’re right,” May Berriman said. “One sure way to be of no help
at all is to try to change a person’s way of living. At any rate, you
can tell her that the room is here for her to use in case she wants to.”
“I will,” Peggy said. “And I’d like nothing better than to have her say
yes, but I just know she won’t.”
Maggie stood up, uncoiling from her cross-legged position in a single,
fluid movement. “I guess it’s all settled, then,” she said. “The only
thing for us to do now is to get up the money.” Digging into the pocket
of her blue jeans, she produced a small wallet from which she extracted
three crumpled dollar bills and two quarters. “Here’s my first week’s
dues in the Help Paula Club,” she said.
The rest of the girls hurried up to their rooms to find money and, five
minutes later, after a confused session of change-making, Peggy had
twenty-five dollars (May Berriman had insisted on giving an extra fifty
cents to make the sum come out even) carefully sealed in an envelope.
Thanking their housemates, Peggy, Amy, and Greta excused themselves.
They had barely enough time for a quick dinner before reporting to
rehearsal.
“We’ve got good friends,” Peggy said as they seated themselves in a
booth in a nearby restaurant where they often went. “It certainly was
generous of them to contribute to a girl they don’t even know.”
“That’s one of the nicest things about show business,” Greta said. “I
guess it’s because everyone in the business has been out of work and in
hard circumstances at one time or another. They’re always willing to
help another actor who’s having a hard time. Maybe it’s a kind of
insurance policy against the next time they’re in trouble themselves.”
“It ought to be even easier to collect the other half of the money from
the cast,” Amy commented. “And once we have that, Paula will be all
right.”
“In a sense, she will be,” Peggy said with a worried expression. “At
least she’ll be all right financially. But I don’t think we’ve begun to
settle her problems, and I don’t know if we should even try.”
“What do you mean?” Amy asked. “What other problems does she have, and
why shouldn’t we try to solve them?”
“I don’t know,” Peggy said uneasily.
“What makes you think something else is wrong?” Greta asked.
“I know something else is wrong,” Peggy said firmly. “It’s not just
guesswork. The question is whether or not we have a right to poke our
noses into Paula’s business.”
“Stop hinting, Peggy,” Amy said with unaccustomed sharpness. “Why don’t
you just tell us what your suspicions are, and we can all contribute our
thinking.”
“I suppose that’s best,” Peggy said sadly. “I just hate to tell you that
I think Paula still hasn’t told us the truth about herself and the
reason she had to go hungry. I saw things when I was at her apartment
that convinced me of that. But I don’t know why.”
“You think she’s lying?” Greta asked. “Why?”
“To begin with,” Peggy said, determined to have the whole thing out in
the open, “she’s lying about ever having worked in a department store,
and about being a poor orphan. I know because of the clothes I saw in
her closet and her bureau when I was getting her pajamas and robe for
her.”
“How can clothes tell you she never worked in a department store?” Amy
asked, puzzled.
“Shoes,” Peggy said. “Didn’t you ever notice salesgirls’ shoes? Standing
behind a counter all day long is pretty hard on the feet, and your shoes
have to be practical and comfortable. Paula had a large collection of
shoes in that closet—all of them very smart and fashionable and
expensive—but not one pair that a girl could stand in all day long,
except for the sport shoes that a department store wouldn’t allow its
clerks to wear. You know, moccasins and things like that.”
“It makes sense,” Greta said grudgingly, “in a way. But maybe she had
work shoes and they wore out and she threw them away.”
“Maybe,” Peggy said, “but that doesn’t account for the kind of shoes she
did have. For instance, there were high riding boots and low jodhpur
boots in that closet. Now, I have a horse at home in Wisconsin, and I
know something about riding equipment, and those boots were handmade and
must have cost a fortune. Where would an orphan salesgirl get boots like
that? And why would she want them in the city? Not only that, but there
were ski boots and golf shoes, too, and I have the same questions about
those. I suppose it all sounds very nosy and suspicious of me, but I
couldn’t help thinking about it and what it means.”
“What it means,” Greta said, “is that you’re probably right. From what
you say, I’m sure that Paula wasn’t telling the truth about herself. But
what can we do about it, and why should we try to do anything? It’s
really none of our business, is it?”
“That’s just the problem that’s been worrying me,” Peggy confessed. “I
keep asking myself whether it’s any of our business who Paula is and
what she’s hiding. I think I’ve finally decided that it is.”
“In what way?” Amy asked. “Just because we’ve agreed to help her with a
little money doesn’t mean we own any part of her, does it? I think we
ought to leave her alone!”
“Oh, Amy, you can’t think I meant it like that!” Peggy said. “Of course
the loan doesn’t give us any right to go poking into her affairs! But
the fact that we’re her friends does give us a right. We didn’t get
curious about her health, for fear of offending her, and as a result she
collapsed from hunger. Now if she’s in some other kind of trouble, and
we don’t do something to help, we may regret that just as much.”
“That does make sense,” Amy admitted. “It’s just that I hate to go
behind her back....”
“Why go behind her back?” Greta asked. “Why not just come right out and
ask her what’s wrong? Even mention the shoes and boots and things, so
that she’ll know why we’re suspicious of what she told you.”
“She won’t admit anything’s wrong,” Peggy said. “I tried to ask her at
lunch when I went out with her today, but she wouldn’t even talk to me
about it. Every time I seemed to be coming close to whatever’s bothering
her, she just changed the subject.”
“Well, then, what do you think we-all can do about it?” Amy asked. “If
she doesn’t want to tell us her troubles, there’s no way that we can
force her to do it. I still think we ought to leave her alone.”
Peggy shook her head in vigorous disagreement. “That’s just what we
shouldn’t do,” she said. “It seems to me she’s been left alone too much,
and hasn’t been able to do a good job of taking care of herself.”
“But you said that she doesn’t respond to pushing—or direct questions,”
Greta commented.
“And we certainly don’t want to—to snoop!” Amy put in.
“I know,” Peggy agreed. “But there is one thing we can do. We can make
every effort to show her that we’re her friends, and to show her that
she can trust us. If we do it sincerely, without pushing or snooping,
I’m sure she’ll confide in us when she wants to.”
“It seems to me that we’ve all made a pretty big effort already,” Greta
said tartly. “What more can we do?”
“Well,” Peggy said thoughtfully, “if I were Paula, I might be inclined
to think that the effort made so far was more charitable than friendly,
if the difference is clear. I mean, we’ve helped her with money and all
that ... but that’s not exactly what I mean. I think we ought to do
something to show her that we’re glad to know her, and glad that she’s
in the show, and ... I don’t know. It’s just that I feel that money
alone doesn’t say what needs saying to a girl like Paula. She’s a
sensitive person, after all, and she might even resent the financial
help, in some subtle way.”
“You may be right, at that,” Amy said softly. “I know that if I were
ever in her position ... having to take money from people ... I’d feel
pretty uncomfortable about it. Especially if the people were
just—well—just casual acquaintances. And after all, that’s what we are
to her.”
“That’s just the point,” Peggy said eagerly. “You’ve put it perfectly!
We _are_ just casual acquaintances—not close friends. It’s no wonder
that she keeps a kind of wall between her and us, even though we are
helping her.”
“Rather _because_ we’re helping her,” Greta amended. “Everybody knows
it’s a lot harder to take help than to give it.”
“But what can we do to show her that she’s not just a—a charity case to
us?” Amy asked.