to the Paula Fund, exactly matching the amount given by the girls at the
Gramercy Arms, and Peggy went swiftly to the kitchenette to place
fourteen candles on top of the rosebud cake. While Greta and Amy kept
Paula occupied, Peggy lit the candles and brought the cake to the table.
“We’re celebrating the fact that people are nice to people,” she
explained, “if you only give them the chance. And that’s all the sermon
that I intend to deliver this evening. We’re also celebrating the fact
that you’re going to be able to eat this cake, and a lot more things
besides beans and spaghetti from now on, Paula.”
But after this speech, which she felt was stuffy and sadly inadequate,
Peggy couldn’t think of another thing to say. She was far too concerned
with the night’s revelations about Paula, and about what they could
possibly mean. Amy did much better in keeping up her end of the
conversation, and Greta, of course, knowing nothing of what had
happened, acted with perfect ease. In any case, Peggy thought, Paula was
too excited and pleased with her party to notice how anyone was acting.
Not being the least bit hungry, Peggy forced herself to eat some of the
cold cuts and cake, and to take a glass of milk. She could not help
feeling like an awful hypocrite, sitting there and pretending to be a
wholehearted friend to Paula, after she had just finished spying on her.
Even if it had been—as it had—for her own good and the good of her
obviously generous parents.
Fortunately for Peggy, the party did not last too long. Paula was tired
from the night’s rehearsal which, even though short, had tried her
strength. By eleven o’clock she began to yawn unobtrusively, and seemed
relieved when her three friends said their farewells.
“Thank you,” she said warmly and with moist eyes, “for the lovely
surprise party and—and everything else. And for being such good friends!
I haven’t done anything to deserve such—”
“Nonsense!” Peggy interrupted firmly, cutting off any further thanks,
and waving good-by as the elevator door slid shut. The girls rode down
in silence, Peggy and Amy depressed, Greta looking at them curiously.
“All right,” Greta said when they reached the cool and empty street. “I
could tell from the minute we came in that something was wrong. What is
it?”
As they strolled slowly downtown, Peggy told Greta about the night’s
events, starting with the discovery of the make-up kit and what it told
her about the background and history of their secretive friend. She then
told, shamefaced, of her deliberate decision to search Paula’s room to
learn more.
“I couldn’t just turn my mind off!” she cried. “When I learned that
Paula wasn’t a poor orphan after all, all I could think of was her
parents and what they must be going through. I just had to find out how
to reach them!”
“Nobody’s blaming you, Peggy,” Greta said. “I would have done the same
thing myself. There’s no reason to feel that you did anything bad, and
I’m sure that when Paula finds out, even she will feel that you only
acted out of concern for others.”
Peggy respected Greta’s judgment, and her approval made things seem a
lot better. With more confidence than before, and with no further
apologies, she told Greta what she had learned from the labels in
Paula’s clothes, and finally, about finding Paula’s home address in the
copy of Shakespeare.
“Well,” Greta said, “you certainly learned a lot tonight. But the thing
that puzzles me is what you’re going to do next in order to find out who
her parents are without arousing all kinds of suspicions and trouble.
That is, unless you just want to write or phone to ‘Eagletop’ and tell
them about Paula and her whereabouts.”
“I’d rather not,” Peggy said. “I think it would be a lot better for
Paula and her parents if she did that herself. But I also think that the
only way to do it is to tell her that we know exactly who she is, and
let her know that we intend to get in touch with her parents if she
doesn’t do it herself.”
“I suppose we could do that with the information we already have,” Amy
said thoughtfully.
“We could,” Peggy agreed, “but I would hate to blunder into something
when we don’t have all the facts. When we find out just who Paula’s
parents are, we may at the same time find some perfectly good reason why
she shouldn’t call them. I’d like to give her the full benefit of the
doubt until we have all the information we need.”
Greta nodded. “I think that makes sense,” she said.
“The only problem we have left now,” Peggy said with a frown, “is to
find a way to get the information we need without stirring things up. If
only we knew someone in Los Angeles we could trust, it would be easy. Do
either of you have any ideas?”
Amy and Greta furrowed their brows and shook their heads.
Suddenly Greta slapped herself on the forehead and grinned. “Of course!
Of course I know somebody—and so do you!”
“Who?” Peggy and Amy asked in chorus.
“Dot!” Greta said triumphantly. “Our housemate, Dot! You know she’s on
tour with a show—and I know that her company is either in Los Angeles
now, or is due to open there in a few days! We can get in touch with her
at her hotel, and ask her to do some sleuthing for us. Besides, she
comes from California in the first place, and she knows her way around
Los Angeles. It should be easy for her to find out what we want to
know!”
“That’s a wonderful idea,” Peggy said enthusiastically. “Now all we have
to do is go back to the Gramercy Arms and find her touring schedule and
get in touch with her in Los Angeles. I can’t wait! Let’s hurry up, and
if she’s in town now, we can phone right away!”
Greta looked at her watch. “If she is there, it’s too late to phone now.
It’s eleven-thirty here, which makes it eight-thirty in California, and
that means that the curtain is just getting ready to go up on the first
act of her show. We’ll just have to be patient until tomorrow, and call
her at her hotel.”
“_If_ she’s in Los Angeles now,” Amy said.
“There’s only one way to find out,” Peggy commented, “and that’s to get
back to the Gramercy Arms before May Berriman goes to bed, and ask to
see Dot’s traveling schedule. Otherwise we’ll have to wait until
tomorrow even to know where Dot is, and I’m afraid I won’t be able to
get any sleep tonight unless I know.”
The girls increased their pace and covered the remaining blocks to
Gramercy Park in record time. They hurried up the steep front steps of
the Gramercy Arms, happy to see that the sitting-room light was on in
May Berriman’s apartment.
As soon as the door was opened, Peggy, breathless with running and
excitement, asked if they could see Dot’s itinerary. “And I’m sorry
we’re bothering you so late,” she added, “but we saw your light on,
and....”
May Berriman dismissed the apology with a small gesture of her
expressive hands. “No trouble at all, Peggy,” she said. “When you get to
be my age, you’ll find that sleep isn’t quite as attractive or necessary
as it used to be. I personally resent having to give up perfectly good
hours to what I consider an utter waste of time. Sit down, girls. I’ll
have what you need in a minute.”
In less time than that, she was back with a sheet of notepaper, which
she handed to Peggy. A moment’s looking, and a quick calculation of
dates, brought a sigh of disappointment. Peggy looked at the expectant
faces of Greta and Amy, and nodded unhappily.
“She’s still in Salt Lake City, according to this. The show closes there
tonight, and they won’t arrive in Los Angeles for two more days.”
“What’s this all about?” May Berriman asked. “That is, if I’m not
butting in on something that’s not my business.”
“It’s about Paula,” Peggy explained. “You know, the girl we’re all
chipping in to help. We ... we’ve got an idea about something that may
help her, only we need some information that’s in California, and we
hope Dot can get it for us.”
“Well, Peggy,” May Berriman said with a smile, “when they give out
prizes for artful dodging, I’m going to recommend you for a first! If
you didn’t want to answer my question, you only had to say so.”
Blushing, Peggy stammered, “I ... I didn’t mean ... I mean, it’s not as
if there’s anything to hide ... I just....”
“There’s no reason why we shouldn’t tell May,” Greta said. “Besides, she
might have some ideas that could help us.”
“All right,” Peggy said, after a moment’s reflection. “I don’t mind at
all telling you about Paula, May. That’s not the point. It’s just that I
did something tonight that I’m a little uncomfortable about, and I
didn’t like the idea of telling you about that. Still, I did it, and
there’s no changing it, so you might as well know the kind of girl I
am.”
“The kind of girls we are,” Amy commented. “After all, I did it, too,
and I’m no more casual about it than you are.”
May Berriman sat down in her tall, straight-backed chair, folded her
hands in her lap and assumed an attentive look. “You can start talking
now,” she said a little sternly.
Peggy’s story did not take long, and when she was done, she looked
anxiously at the owner of the Gramercy Arms. “Do you think we did the
right thing?” she asked.
“Your motives in searching Paula’s room were certainly good ones,” May
Berriman said judicially, “and you didn’t actually break in, even if you
did enter on slightly false pretenses. All in all, I’d say that you
haven’t anything to be ashamed of. I also like your decision to get the
rest of the facts and talk to Paula about them before you contact her
parents. That’s both wise and considerate.”
Peggy felt a sense of relief, knowing that May, a stern and impartial
judge of her girls’ conduct, approved of her night’s undertaking. “It’s
been a pretty difficult time, May, as you can well imagine,” she said.
“But I suspect the next few days until Dot gets to Los Angeles will be
even more difficult. The three of us are simply bursting with
impatience.”
“Impatience,” May Berriman said in her most theatrical voice, “is for
amateurs waiting in the wings ten minutes before their cue. My best
advice to you is to relax—until it’s time to go on. There’s no way to
hurry the action.”
Of course, May was right. There was no way to hurry the action. On the
other hand, Peggy, Amy, and Greta found that there was also no easy way
to relax. The next two days dragged by only as days can drag when you
want nothing more than for them to come to an end.
Rehearsals, school, studying, all took up many hours, but for the first
time since Come Closer had started casting, Peggy seemed to have extra
hours in the day. And each of those extra hours seemed like a day in
itself.
As she went through the now-familiar routine of crowded days and nights,
she could not rid her mind of the thought of Paula Andrews and
of—somewhere—Paula’s parents, wondering where she was. And as Paula
began to bloom from her new, nourishing diet, Peggy seemed to fade with
her preoccupations.
But nothing lasts forever, and soon the two long days were at an end.
The girls put in their phone call at noon, knowing that it was only nine
in Los Angeles and that Dot would surely be asleep at that hour after a
late arrival the night before. It seemed a pity to wake her, but it was
better than waiting and taking a chance of missing her entirely.
“What? Who? Where?” Dot’s voice, fogged with sleep and confusion, came
over the three thousand miles of telephone wire as clearly as if she had
been next door.
“It’s me, Dot! Peggy Lane. In New York!”
“Why?” Dot demanded, this time a little less foggy. “It’s wonderful to
hear your nice, friendly, wide-awake, noontime New York voice,” she said
in her normal peppery manner, “but not when I was in the middle of a
dream about landing a movie lead that was going to get me an Oscar!”
“I’m sorry to wake you, Dot,” Peggy said, “but this is important, and I
didn’t want to find that you’d gone out. We want you to do a favor for
us.”
“What is it?” Dot asked. “It must be darned important to spend all this
money to call.”
“Dot, it’s too complicated to explain why I want you to do what I’m
going to ask, so don’t ask why. I want you to go to a house called
Eagletop, on Canyon Road in Beverly Hills, only don’t go in. I want you
to find out, in whatever way you can, who lives there. Also, I’d like
you to find out if they have a daughter and where she is.”
“And how am I going to do this without going in?” Dot asked. “And why
can’t I go in, anyway? I could just ring the bell and ask—”
“No!” Peggy exclaimed. “That’s just what you can’t do. And I can’t go
into the whys, as I said. I’ll write you a letter. Meanwhile, the
important thing is to learn what you can, and not to let anyone in the
house know that you’re asking questions.”
“Well, if you say it’s important to do it this way,” Dot answered, “I’ll
do my best. But how...?”
“You’ll think of a way,” Peggy said cheerfully. “You’re a bright girl!”
“Thanks,” Dot said sourly. “Your compliment puts the whole thing on my
shoulders ... which is what you had in mind, I guess.”
“Well, you know the city, and we don’t, and—” Peggy began.
“I know, I know,” Dot cut her off. “Don’t worry about it. I only have to
know one thing more. What do you want me to do when I find the answers?”
“Call here,” Peggy said. “If I’m not here, tell Amy or Greta or May, but
not one other person. Understand?”
“Okay,” Dot agreed, “and I feel a lot better, knowing May’s in on it.”
“Good. When do you think you can go up there?”
“Right after breakfast,” Dot said. “I’ll phone you by three this
afternoon—that’s six in New York. Will you be there?”
“You bet!” Peggy said. “And thanks a million, Dot!”
Peggy replaced the phone and turned to her friends. “We’ll have whatever
answers Dot can dig up today. She’ll phone us by six. That is, if she
doesn’t go back to sleep again.”
“And if I know our Dot,” Greta commented, “that’s a darned big ‘if.’”
XII
Which Way to Go?
But Dot was as good as her word, and as resourceful as Peggy and her
friends had hoped she would be. The call came through on time, the
information was complete and accurate. Peggy put down the phone, turned
to the expectant faces of Amy, Greta, and May, and slowly sat down as if
in a daze.
“Wow!” she said quietly.
“What is it?” the girls asked in chorus.
“We’ve got our story,” Peggy said, “but I still don’t know exactly what
to make of it.”
“Well, for goodness’ sake, _tell_ us!” Greta said impatiently.
Peggy gathered her thoughts for a few seconds, drew a deep breath, and
began. “Paula Andrews is the daughter of Stacy Blair and—”
“Stacy Blair? The actress?” Amy gasped.
“Yes,” Peggy said. “The one and only Stacy Blair. And her father is Dean
Andrews, the producer and director.”
“Wow is the word all right,” Greta said.
“I knew she looked familiar,” Amy commented. “We all felt that we had
seen her somewhere before. She looks like her mother. And no wonder
she’s such a good actress.”
“This answers a lot of questions,” Peggy said. “But it leaves a lot of
questions, too. The big one is, with parents like that, why would Paula
pretend to be an orphan? And why would she go so far with the pretense
as to actually starve herself?”
“I would say that’s a question only Paula can answer,” put in May
Berriman, who had been silent until now. “And I think the best thing to
do is to go directly to her, tell her what you know, and ask her to give
you her full confidence. After all,” she added, “you have a right to
know. She’s taking money and help from you girls on—well, on false
pretenses. If you’re going to help her, at least you ought to know why.”
“The money isn’t important, May,” Peggy replied. “But there are
important reasons for knowing. For one thing, her parents must be
terribly worried about her. And for another thing, she’s the leading
lady in our play. I don’t know what kind of publicity—good or bad—would
come of having her discovered once we open. I think Mal and Randy should
know about this, so as to make their decisions.”
The others agreed, knowing that it would be impossible for Paula to act
in the play for long without being recognized.
“I suppose it’s not important,” Amy said, “but I can’t help wondering
how Dot found out all this in such a short time.”
“She’s a smart gal,” Peggy answered. “She simply took her camera and
bought a cheap autograph book and started walking around the streets in
the Canyon Road area, pretending to be a movie-fan tourist. She struck
up a conversation with a postman, and asked a lot of questions about who
lived in the houses around her. Whenever she asked about a famous
person’s house, she took a snapshot. When the postman saw she wasn’t
going to actually disturb any of the people on his route, he let her
walk with him, and he told her a lot about the people who lived in the
area. That’s how she found out about Mr. and Mrs. Andrews, and about
Paula. And she found out something else, too. Paula is supposed to be in
Europe.”
“In Europe?” Greta asked. “How does she know that?”
“From the letters the postman delivers.”
“You’re not making sense. How can he?” Amy complained.
“That’s the peculiar part,” Peggy said, “and it’s what I meant when I
said that there would be even more questions to answer. You see, Dot
said that the postman told her he delivered letters from Paula, from
different parts of Europe.”
“But Paula has been right here all the time!” Amy cried.
Peggy nodded slowly. “She’s been here for about three months that we
know of for sure. And the postman said that she wrote to her parents
regularly, at least once a week, until recently. He said that it’s been
perhaps a month since they’ve had a letter, and that her parents seem
pretty worried. Every so often they wait for the mail to come, and they
ask him to look again, to be sure that they don’t have a letter from
Paula.”
After a moment’s silence, while they all puzzled about the meaning of
this latest development, May Berriman spoke decisively. “It seems to me
that every minute we waste discussing the possibilities is a minute of
uncertainty and unhappiness for this girl’s parents—and for her, too.
Peggy, I think you should go right to her this minute and get to the
bottom of the affair immediately.”
“Oh dear,” Peggy said unhappily. “I know you’re right, but I’ve been
sort of trying to put it off. I just hate to be the one to tell her that
we’ve been spying on her.”
“I know how you feel, Peggy,” May Berriman said, managing to sound
gentle and stern at the same time, “but after all, you—”
“I know, May,” Peggy interrupted. “You don’t have to tell me. I started
the whole thing, and it’s up to me to finish it. Besides, I’ve formed a
closer friendship with Paula than any of the rest of you. You’re right.
I’d better do it, and I’d better do it right away.”
As she started from the room, Amy stood up to follow. “Peggy,” she
called, “I’m coming, too.”
“No, Amy,” Peggy said. “It’s good of you, but I think I’d better do it
alone. It may be harder for me that way, but it will be easier for
Paula. I’ll meet you all down at the theater as soon as I can get
there.”
With a distracted wave of her hand, she left.
On the way to Paula’s apartment, she rehearsed several possible opening
phrases, several tactful approaches to the problem of telling her friend
that she knew her identity. Somehow, nothing seemed quite right, and
when she finally stepped out of the little elevator and knocked on
Paula’s door, her mind was blank. Paula greeted her with a smile.
“Peggy! What a nice surprise! I was just thinking of calling you up. I
thought we might be able to have dinner together before going down to
the theater tonight.”
“I’m glad I caught you before you went out,” Peggy said. “Paula. Sit
down, will you? I—I want to talk to you. You see, this isn’t exactly
a—well—a social visit, although it is a friendly one. I’m coming to you
as a friend, to ask you to be honest with me.”
“Honest? Why, Peggy, I....” Paula’s voice trailed off, and she became
pale and still.
“Yes, you know what I mean,” Peggy said. “It’s time to be honest about
yourself—and honest with yourself. You can’t go on pretending to be what
you’re not. I’m sorry, Paula, but I know all about you. I know who you
are, and who your parents are, and I know that they think you’re in
Europe. I’ve ... I’ve been snooping.”
“Have you talked to them?” Paula asked in a quavery voice. “Do they know
where I am?”
“Nobody has talked to them,” Peggy assured her. “I think you ought to do
that yourself.”
“Thank goodness!” Paula breathed. “But why...?”
“Why did I poke into your affairs?” Peggy supplied. “Because I was sure
that you weren’t telling me the truth about yourself, and I was sure
that your parents didn’t know where you were and that they were probably
worried sick, whoever they were. I wanted to find out, so that I could
help you. You must believe that. I didn’t do it out of personal
curiosity, Paula, but just to help you.”
“I believe that, Peggy,” Paula said. “But really, it wasn’t necessary.
My parents think I’m all right. They believe I’m in Europe, and they get
letters from me, and—”
“No, they don’t,” Peggy interrupted. “They haven’t received a letter in
almost a month.”
“Oh, no!” Paula gasped. “I was afraid of that! But how do you know, if
you haven’t spoken to them?”
“Don’t bother about that now,” Peggy said. “I think the best thing is
for you to start at the beginning and tell me the whole story. Then we
can put the pieces together.”
Paula nodded in silent agreement, then drew a deep breath and started.
“My parents are wonderful people,” she began. “They’ve given me
everything a girl could want, and I love them dearly. They’re both
understanding and talented and charming and generous ... oh, all the
things you want people to be! When I decided that I wanted to be an
actress, they did everything they could to help me. I was sent to the
best dramatic coaches and schools, introduced to all the people who
would be good to know. They helped me get placed with the best repertory
theater group in California, and when I started to get good parts, they
saw to it that the leading critics came out to see me. I got wonderful
notices, and I got a few movie offers, but—”
“But what?” Peggy asked. “It sounds as if you had everything in the
world!”
“I did,” Paula answered. “Everything except self-confidence. I was never
sure whether I was getting the good parts and the good reviews because I
was me, or because I was my parents’ daughter. My mother is, well, very
popular with all the show people in Hollywood, as well as being a famous
actress. Nobody would ever do anything to hurt her. I was afraid I was
being carried along because everybody wanted to be nice to her. And my
father, too. He’s well-liked, and he’s also very—influential.”
“I see,” Peggy said thoughtfully. “And you wanted to try your talent on
your own. But why didn’t you explain that to your parents?”
“They thought I was being foolish,” Paula said. “They told me that I
should take whatever help I could get on my way to the stage, because
once I got there, I would have to stand on my own feet anyway. Maybe
they were right.”
“They were,” Peggy said decisively. “And it seems to me that we had this
conversation once before, and I told you the same thing. You have to be
willing to be helped. I think that you believe it a little more now than
you did before.”
“I guess so,” Paula agreed. “But I certainly wasn’t convinced before.
When I got the movie offers, I was afraid that I would be a failure. I
wanted to be sure first that I could get a part and please an audience
on my own merits. So I turned down the offers. I said that I wanted to
complete my education first. I asked my parents to let me spend a year
in Europe, so that I could learn a little more about people and the
world. They agreed, on condition that I went with a friend. My friend
Nancy Frome was planning to go abroad for a year anyway. She’s several
years older than I, and my parents were satisfied to have me go with
her.”
“And you arranged with her that she would mail previously written
letters to your parents to convince them that you were in Europe,
right?” Peggy put in.
“That’s right,” Paula said. “Nancy agreed to do that, and to mail me the
letters my parents sent. That way, I could answer any specific questions
and make my letters sound natural. I mailed my letters to my parents
over to Nancy, and she posted them from Europe.”
“But what went wrong?” Peggy asked. “How come you ran out of money, if
your parents gave you enough for a year in Europe? And how come your
friend stopped sending letters home?”