one good idea anyhow. It’s not much, but it’s a beginning. Why don’t we
give her a little surprise party tonight after rehearsal, to celebrate
her coming back to the show and being all right again?”
“I think she’d like that!” Amy exclaimed. “What do you think, Greta?”
“I think it’s fine,” Greta agreed. “Tonight’s rehearsal is bound to be a
strain for her anyhow, and it would be nice to give her a chance to
relax and cheer up afterward. How do you want to work it, Peggy?”
Peggy thought for a moment before answering. “We might ask her up to the
Gramercy Arms after rehearsal,” she suggested. “I’m sure that Gaby and
Irene and Maggie would be glad to set up a party for us while we’re
gone, and everything could be ready by the time we got back....”
“No,” Amy interrupted. “That won’t do. The minute we invited her up to
the Gramercy Arms, she’d know there was something special up, and the
surprise would be lost. Besides, she’d have to meet the other girls, and
there would be the usual strain of new people....”
“Not only that,” Greta added, “but there’s no guarantee that she would
come back with us after rehearsal. She might be too tired and want to go
straight home. And she’s shy about new places and people, anyway.”
“How about at the theater?” Amy suggested.
But Peggy and Greta vetoed that suggestion on the ground that it would
have to include the whole cast, and that would make too large a party to
enable them to accomplish their primary purpose, which was to develop a
more intimate relationship with Paula.
“I know!” Peggy exclaimed. “Why don’t we have the party right in her own
apartment? That way, we’ll be sure that she’ll be there, and we can
control the number of people! In fact, I think we ought to keep it to
just the three of us and Paula! Amy and I can miss rehearsal tonight—you
can tell her some thing at the Academy kept us late, and you can come
home from rehearsal with Paula. While you and Paula are at the theater,
Amy and I can shop and set up a real surprise party!”
“Fine!” Greta agreed. “But how are you going to get into Paula’s
apartment without a key?”
“The superintendent will let us in, I’m sure,” Peggy replied. “He saw us
when Mal and I brought Paula home last night, and he saw me again when I
was there to pick her up for lunch this afternoon, so he knows that I’m
a friend of hers. If we explain about the surprise party, I know he’ll
let us in, and not mention it if he sees you and Paula coming home. He
seemed like a very nice man, and he was genuinely concerned about Paula.
I know he’ll approve of the idea of a party.”
“That sounds like a good plan,” Greta agreed. “While you’re setting up
the party, and while Paula’s busy rehearsing, I’m sure that I can manage
to raise the money from the cast. I’ll bring it with me, and we can give
it to her along with the Gramercy Arms money at the same time.”
“We can buy a cake and birthday candles too,” Amy suggested, “and as
soon as you come, you can tell me how many of the cast members chipped
in, and we can put a candle on the cake for every friend Paula has. It
will really be something to celebrate!”
“Good,” Greta said, nodding her agreement. “Well, we’d better get going
now. We’re on a tight time schedule. I have to report at the theater for
rehearsal in fifteen minutes, and you have to start your shopping for
the party. Mal will probably take it easy on Paula after last night, so
you had better be prepared to have us come in on you early. Be sure that
you have all the party things set up by ten o’clock.”
Picking up their check, the three girls rose to go, looking forward with
high spirits to the challenge of breaking down Paula’s wall of reserve
and of showing her that there is such a thing as real friendship in what
must have appeared to her to be a hard, cold world.
X
Two for the Show....
“If they expect to be at Paula’s by ten,” Peggy said as she and Amy left
the restaurant, “we’d better hurry. We have a lot of shopping to do, and
food to prepare. And I’d like to decorate Paula’s apartment in some way,
too. It’s a nice enough place, but I couldn’t help noticing how cold and
unlived-in it looks. Maybe we can find some way to make it cheerful,
even if it’s just for an evening.”
“If we hurry, we can do that part of the shopping before the stores on
Twenty-third Street close,” Amy said. “I remember seeing a sort of party
shop there that sells things like crepe paper and candles and silly
decorations and things. I think they’re open till seven or
seven-thirty.”
“I remember the place,” Peggy said. “If we go there first, we can put
off the food shopping until later. The bakeries and the delicatessens
always stay open till late.”
The girls hurried uptown the few blocks to Twenty-third Street, where
they found the proprietor of the little party shop getting ready to
close for the night. With a resigned sigh, he agreed to stay open a few
minutes more in order to let the two friends buy the few things they
needed for their surprise party. Trying to make their decisions in a
hurry, so as not to further exasperate the shopkeeper, they quickly
settled on some paper napkins with a festive rosebud design, and some
sugar rosebud-shaped candle-holders for the cake. Peggy also bought some
pink crepe-paper sheets and strips.
“I think I can make these into some nice paper roses—if I remember how
they taught us to do it in kindergarten,” she said. “That ought to
brighten the place up!”
Amy found some white paper plates with rosebuds to match the napkins,
but as the girls started to search for more things to make the party,
the owner of the shop began to turn off the lights, throw dust-covers
over fixtures, and generally make it clear that his patience was at an
end.
“I guess that’s really all we’ll need, Amy,” Peggy said nervously. “I
think that we’d better get going.”
Thanking the shopkeeper for staying open for them, they paid for their
purchases and left. The owner left with them, turned the lock in the
door, and with a curt nod briskly strode down the street.
“Gee, we just made it,” Peggy said with a grin. “If we had taken ten
seconds more, I think he would have locked us in the store for the
night!”
Farther down the street, a delicatessen store shed a bright glow on the
nearly deserted sidewalk. Peggy and Amy made their way to it as if it
were a beacon marking the way to a friendly port.
Nothing in the world is more delightfully confusing than an
old-fashioned delicatessen in New York. There is a special quality to
the very smell of the place; it is a compound of every good thing to
eat, and so complex a perfume that it is almost impossible to isolate
the elements that make it up. One _can_ detect clearly the briny smell
of pickles, and on second sniff, the rich harmonies of imported cheeses,
but beyond that, it would take the most sensitive nose in the world to
analyze the atmosphere. And as you walk through the store from front to
back, the odor changes, becomes alternately richer, lighter, sharper,
sweeter, spicier or more pungent.
The store was so narrow, and the man behind the counter so wide, that
Peggy had to suppress a little giggle, wondering how on earth he managed
to squeeze himself in. With a broad grin and a welcoming gesture that
threatened to sweep the counter clean of its load of little jars, boxes,
and tins, he said, “Good evening, ladies! What can I do for you?”
“I don’t know.” Peggy smiled. “You’ve got so much here that I scarcely
know where to begin.”
“Tell me your problem,” the man said in a confidential, professional
manner. “We specialize in catering for all kinds of events. Just tell me
what you have in mind, and let me do the selecting.”
“It’s not really an event,” Amy began. “We’re just planning a little
surprise party for a friend, and there are only going to be four of
us....”
“And you say it’s not an event!” the delicatessen owner said
reproachfully. “When you buy here, every meal is an event! Just tell me
how much you want to spend, and I’ll make you a menu for a party you’ll
never forget!”
His enthusiasm flagged a little when Peggy hesitantly told him that they
hadn’t figured on spending more than five dollars, but he made a fast
recovery.
“Even for _four_ dollars,” he said, “I could make you a party for the
gods!”
Seemingly from nowhere, he produced a beautifully roasted turkey with a
few slices already removed. Skillfully, he cut several long, thin slices
of white meat. Swiss cheese followed, and after that, moist, lean slices
of pink ham. Moving deftly and surely from counter to bin to shelf to
refrigerator to cabinet, the owner piled up containers of potato salad,
cole slaw, bottles of soft drinks, a sliced loaf of rye bread with
caraway seeds and a small jar of mustard.
“There!” he said. “That’s an event!”
“How much is it?” Peggy asked, looking fearfully at what seemed to her
to be a mountain of food.
“I was aiming for five dollars,” the owner said, “as specified. However,
let me do the addition and see....” He rapidly penciled figures on a
brown paper bag and added them in a flash. When he looked up, it was
with a crestfallen expression.
“The first time in years I went over the budget,” he said mournfully.
“Usually I can pick things out right to the penny. Ah, well....” He
sighed. “To err is human. Even for a delicatessen owner.”
“How much is it?” Peggy asked again.
“Five dollars and thirteen cents,” came the sorrowful answer. “But for
you, and because we had a bargain, four dollars and ninety-nine cents!”
“Oh, no!” Peggy said. “We’ll be glad to pay it all! It’s such a
little——”
“Not in my delicatessen!” the owner said, drawing himself up proudly.
“To Schwartz, a contract is a contract! Four ninety-nine, and not a
penny more!”
Not knowing if Mr. Schwartz was serious or joking, Peggy decided not to
take the chance of hurting his feelings. She gave him a five-dollar
bill, and dutifully accepted the penny change.
By the time the girls had picked up their packages, Mr. Schwartz had
recovered his normal high spirits. He hastened to the door to open it
for them, gave them the full benefit of his smile and said,
“Remember—make every meal an event! That’s philosophy! Good night and
come again!”
The next stop, a small Viennese bakery a few doors west, proved
uneventful except for finding the perfect cake for the occasion. It was
a small layer cake covered with snowy white icing and a decorative trim
of pink sugar rosebuds around the edge. It made the ideal match for the
napkins and the crepe paper they had bought.
Loaded down with their purchases, they took a bus uptown to Paula’s
street, and by eight o’clock they found themselves standing before the
green lacquered street door of her apartment house.
“I certainly hope that the superintendent’s in tonight,” Peggy said as
she pushed the buzzer. “It would be awful to have bought all this good
food, and then have him be out!”
“We could always camp here on the doorstep and wait for Paula and Greta
to come home,” Amy said. “But, frankly, the idea of a two-hour wait in
the night air isn’t exactly guaranteed to put me in a party mood!”
Their fears were groundless, however. The superintendent, a polite old
man, answered the door after only a few minutes’ delay. He greeted Peggy
with a smile of recognition and apologized for keeping them waiting.
Peggy explained the purpose of their visit, and the old man’s eyes
lighted up with pleasure when he heard of the surprise party. “I sure am
glad to see Miss Andrews making some friends,” he said. “She’s such a
nice young lady, and my wife and I often worry about her, sitting up
there all day alone. It doesn’t seem natural for such a fine girl to
have to be by herself so much. I think a thing like this’ll do her a
world of good!”
Upstairs, the superintendent let them into Paula’s apartment with his
master passkey. “If I see them coming in,” he said with a conspiratorial
smile, “I won’t let on a thing. I don’t know of anything worse than a
surprise party where there’s no surprise to it!”
The girls thanked him, and a moment later found themselves alone in
Paula’s little apartment.
It had been straightened up since Peggy’s last visit at lunchtime, and
the few clothes and other objects that had been visible had all been put
neatly out of sight. This made the room look even more barren and
impersonal than Peggy had remembered it—as polite and impersonal as
Paula’s manner whenever Peggy had tried to break the wall of mystery
that surrounded her new friend.
Amy looked around her with a sigh. “It’s about as homey as a hotel room,
isn’t it?” she said. “I hope that we brought enough crepe paper to
brighten it up a little!”
“It’s going to take more than crepe paper,” Peggy said sadly. “It’s
going to take some real show of friendship. She must be a really lonely
girl for even the superintendent and his wife to have noticed it and to
be concerned about it. I hope that this little party of ours is some
help.”
“It’s bound to be,” Amy said. “It will certainly take the curse off the
business of just handing her money. That could be downright awkward, you
know, even though she has agreed to accept it.”
“I hope you’re right,” Peggy said. “I’m sure that if there ever was a
girl who needed friends to tell things to—and who had things to tell
them—it’s Paula Andrews!”
They unloaded their purchases in the little kitchenette, and while Amy
was unwrapping the sliced meat and cheese, Peggy busied herself with
setting up the gate-leg table that stood folded against the wall. Going
back to the kitchenette, she rummaged about in the bag that held the
napkins, candles, and crepe paper.
“Oh dear!” she exclaimed. “I knew we forgot something! We didn’t buy a
paper tablecloth!”
“Oh, Paula must have a plain white tablecloth here that we can use,” Amy
said.
“I’ll take a look,” Peggy said. “I hate to see a bare table, unless
there are place mats, and we don’t even have enough napkins to use as
mats. Where do you suppose she’d keep her tablecloths?”
Looking around the room, Amy pointed to a low chest with three shallow
drawers that stood near the kitchenette door. “If I had any cloths I’d
keep them in there,” she said.
[Illustration: In Paula’s room]
Peggy opened the top drawer. “No tablecloths,” she said, “but we’re on
the right track. There are bed linens and some towels in here.” She went
to the second drawer. There were no linens here, but simply a large,
flat, leather box of highly polished calfskin. It took up most of the
drawer. Peggy was about to shut the drawer when something caught her
attention. She gave a low whistle.
“Amy, come here,” she said.
“Tablecloths?” Amy said.
“Look.” Peggy pointed to a small silver plate fixed to the lower
right-hand corner of the leather box. It was engraved: “_For Paula’s
first part—and her future career. With love from Mother and Dad._”
“I guess you were right, Peggy,” Amy said. “About the shoes, and Paula
not being a salesgirl, and not being poor....”
“And not being an orphan, either,” Peggy added.
“Well ... this certainly shows that she wasn’t raised as an orphan,” Amy
said, “but this could have been given to her before—before she became an
orphan, couldn’t it?”
“No,” Peggy said flatly. “For one thing, this is pretty new. And,
besides, even if Paula’s parents did ... die ... after giving her this,
the rest of her story couldn’t possibly be true. People who can give
gifts like this don’t leave a daughter penniless.”
“I suppose not,” Amy admitted. “But, in that case, what do you think the
real story is?”
“It seems pretty clear that Paula has run away from home for some reason
of her own,” Peggy answered. “Her parents certainly don’t know where she
is, or what kind of circumstances she’s in, or they surely would have
done something to help her. They’re obviously not the sort of people to
hold back on giving things to their daughter. And this inscription tells
us that they didn’t try to keep her from pursuing a career as an
actress. In fact, unless I miss my guess, this is a professional make-up
kit.”
A quick glance inside confirmed Peggy’s guess. It was a theatrical
make-up box, beautifully fitted with tiny jars of creams and colors,
each with a silver lid engraved with Paula’s initials. There were
special compartments for brushes, pencils, and cotton pads.
“Well, you certainly seem to be right,” Amy admitted, “but now that we
know about it, what do you think we should do? Should we do anything?
Isn’t it Paula’s business if she chooses to leave home?”
“It’s certainly her business if she chooses to _live_ away from home,”
Peggy said firmly, “but running away and hiding is something else again.
Her parents are probably worried sick about her! I don’t think we can
afford to wait for Paula to warm up to us on the chance that she’ll tell
us about it. I think she’s acting thoughtlessly and unreasonably, and
much as I like her, that doesn’t change my opinion of what she’s doing.
We have to stop it, or at least look into it to find out who Paula’s
parents are and why she left home. Unless she has a darn good reason for
not letting them know where she is, we’ll have to tell them. It’s the
only decent thing to do!”
“If we do,” Amy said, “they might take her out of the play.”
“They might,” Peggy agreed, “but people are more important than plays.
And anyway, I don’t think they would. They’re obviously people who are
in sympathy with Paula’s wanting to be an actress.”
“That seems like a good guess,” Amy said with a smile, glancing at the
extravagant make-up kit. “But how do we find out who they are? And once
we find out, do we just call them? Shouldn’t we give Paula a chance
first?”
“We certainly should,” Peggy said. “All I want to do is find out who her
parents are, and tell her we know. Then we’ll give her the choice of
calling them, or having us do it. This is not just a question of
sticking my nose into someone else’s business; it’s a question of doing
what’s right.”
“You still haven’t told me how you expect to find out who her parents
are,” Amy said.
“Maybe if I look around, I’ll find something with an address on it.
Maybe a letter or something—”
“But—” Amy objected.
“I know,” Peggy interrupted, “but it has to be done. Why don’t you get
the table set up as best you can, and I’ll look around a little.” She
glanced at her watch. “We haven’t too much time, you know. They ought to
be here in about an hour.”
“What about the crepe-paper roses?” Amy asked. “I don’t know how to make
them!”
“I’m in no mood to make roses,” Peggy answered sadly and a little
grimly. “Use the crepe paper for a tablecloth. I’ll let you know if I
find anything.”
As she started looking through Paula’s bureau, Peggy reflected that it
was strange how a person could do something completely against her
nature and as unpleasant as searching a friend’s room, when a matter of
conscience and principle was involved. It was not always easy to do the
right thing.
Conquering her qualms with the assurance that she was acting in the best
interests of both Paula and her parents, Peggy went carefully about her
search.
It took her nearly twenty minutes to go through the bureau and closet in
a thorough manner. She carefully took down each dress and coat, looked
at the labels and went through the pockets. She examined the many shoes
and boots, as well as the sports equipment neatly stored on the shelves
and the luggage on the floor in back. She put each thing back exactly as
she had found it. When she closed the door behind her, she knew that she
had found something, but not as yet what she had been looking for.
“What did you learn?” asked Amy, who was putting the finishing touches
on the table setting.
“I didn’t learn Paula’s home address,” Peggy said, “which is what I was
hoping to find, but I did learn a few other things. For one thing, Paula
does come from California, as she said. The store labels are all from
Los Angeles shops. And for another thing, I learned that her name is
really Paula Andrews and her parents do have an awful lot of money.”
“How did the clothes tell you that?” Amy asked, puzzled.
“Well, some of the clothes are custom-made, and they all have labels
that read, ‘Designed for Paula Andrews by Helen de Mayne.’”
“Whew!” Amy whistled. “Isn’t Helen de Mayne that famous Hollywood
designer who does costumes for the stars?”
“Right,” Peggy said. “And that’s all I’ve learned from the clothing.”
“I wonder if we need to know any more,” Amy said thoughtfully. “If we
want to find out anything now, can’t we just check with Helen de Mayne?
She could certainly tell us who Paula’s parents are, if she designs
Paula’s clothes.”
“I thought of that,” Peggy said, “but I’d rather not unless we have no
other way. I don’t want to stir up anything, and if we start asking
questions about Paula, we’re going to have to give some answers about
why we’re asking. I would want to know what the situation is before I
started to do anything like that.”
“I guess that makes sense,” Amy said, “but where are you going to look
next for more answers?”
Peggy glanced despairingly about the barren, impersonal room. It didn’t
seem possible that it had any more information to yield, and she was
already exhausted with the psychological strain of searching. She sat
down on the daybed with a sigh of resignation.
“There is no place else to look,” she said. “There isn’t even a rug to
hide anything under. Besides, I don’t think that Paula’s actually hiding
anything. If she were, she wouldn’t have left that make-up kit around,
and all those dresses with the special Helen de Mayne labels.”
“Why don’t we look in a Los Angeles phone book?” Amy suggested.
“Doesn’t make sense,” Peggy replied. “Paula probably didn’t have a phone
listed under her own name anyway. And even if she did, we don’t know
where she lived. It doesn’t have to be Los Angeles, just because she had
her clothes made there. You’d have to get a hundred California phone
books and then start to trace every Andrews listed. And even then you
might never learn anything, because wealthy people often have phone
numbers that aren’t listed in the directory.”
After a few more ideas were considered and rejected, Peggy said, “I’m
afraid the only thing we can do now is confront Paula with what we know,
and see if we can’t persuade her to tell us the rest, and to call her
parents and let them know where she is.”
It was now nine-thirty, and they had done all they could do. It would be
at least another half-hour before Greta brought Paula home for her
surprise party. Time dragged slowly, with neither Amy nor Peggy able to
find even the shadow of an idea of what to say or do.
Amy went back to the table to fuss with the arrangement of turkey, ham
and cheese and to nervously try artistic little experiments with the
potato salad.
Idly, Peggy looked over the small shelf of books to see if there was
something that would help her pass the time until the party—a party that
she now no longer looked forward to in the least. She selected a
well-worn, leather-bound volume of the _Complete Plays of Shakespeare_,
hoping that the old, familiar comic world of _Twelfth Night_ would take
her mind away from Paula’s problems.
She leaned back and opened the book, then sat bolt upright.
“This is it!” she almost shouted. “Amy! Here’s exactly what we’ve been
looking for!”
“Shakespeare?” puzzled Amy.
“Paula’s address!” Peggy said. “Now we have something to go on—we have a
way to find out who Paula’s parents are!” She thrust the book at Amy.
“Here—look inside the front cover.”
In the round, neat, somewhat childish handwriting of a girl of perhaps
eleven was written:
_Paula Andrews
“Eagletop”
Canyon Road
Beverly Hills
Los Angeles
California
The United States
The Western Hemisphere
Earth
The Solar System
The Universe_
“And that’s that,” said Peggy triumphantly.
XI
Three to Make Ready....
There was still the party to be gotten through, and Peggy was so
bothered by a sense of guilt at having ransacked Paula’s room that she
was in no mood at all for the coming festivities.
It was nearly ten o’clock, and Peggy and Amy had barely enough time to
put away the copy of Shakespeare, give a few last-minute finishing
touches to the table setting, and tune in some music on the little
bedside radio, when Paula and Greta arrived. On seeing her friends and
the festive spread, Paula almost burst into tears, but instead, she
caught hold of herself and started to laugh.
Peggy felt pleased, knowing that their gesture of friendship had touched
a responsive chord in Paula’s reserve. At the same time, the pang of
guilt quickened; she felt that she had betrayed the very friendship and
trust she had been trying to cultivate.