you’ll have to collect your autographs some other time. Mr. and Mrs.
Andrews were allowed to board before the other passengers, just so they
could avoid being noticed. It seems that everybody wants Stacy Blair’s
autograph, and she had a headache or something. Tough luck!”
“We’re not autograph hunters,” Peggy said, “but we have to see Mr. and
Mrs. Andrews! Can we please go on board? It’s very important!”
The man shook his head. “Sorry. It’s strictly against the rules.”
“But—”
“You sure are a persistent girl,” he interrupted, “but it’s not going to
do you any good. Now why don’t you just run along and chase some other
movie star? Mrs. Andrews asked to be left alone, and we’re going to do
everything we can to see that her wishes are—Hey!”
Realizing that further discussion would be useless, Peggy decided that
the time had come for direct action. She simply ran through the gate and
out on to the field. Before the uniformed man could get around the
railing and start in pursuit, she had already covered half the distance
to the waiting jet.
“Stop!” She heard a shout behind her. Still running, she turned her head
in time to see Randy grab the man by the sleeve to hold him back. Hoping
that Randy wouldn’t get into a fight or in any serious trouble, she ran
straight on and up the steps of the boarding ramp where a stewardess
with a startled expression stood waiting for her.
Knowing what the answer would be to any explanations she might make,
Peggy simply dashed past her, muttering, “Excuse me!” before the
surprised girl could stop her.
In the softly lighted cabin, all that Peggy could see were the backs of
heads. She knew that she must find Mr. and Mrs. Andrews in a hurry, or
she would be put off the plane before she ever got a chance to speak to
them. There was no time to go quietly from seat to seat looking for the
familiar features of Paula’s mother. Peggy drew a deep breath, looked
once around her, and shouted:
“Mr. Andrews! Mr. Andrews! Telegram!”
There was a sudden silence in the plane, then a murmur as heads swiveled
around and saw a young girl standing in the aisle, nervously biting her
lip. Among the heads was the beautiful but worn and strained face of
Stacy Blair. Peggy ran down the aisle, the stewardess close behind her.
“What’s the meaning of this?” Mr. Andrews began angrily. “Who are you,
and what do you—”
“Please!” Peggy interrupted, almost whispering. “It’s about Paula!”
The airline stewardess reached them, grabbed Peggy’s arm, and said, “I
couldn’t stop her, Mr. Andrews! I’m sorry, but—”
“Wait, please!” Paula’s mother said, as the stewardess started to force
Peggy away. The girl relaxed her grip. The famous actress looked at
Peggy and said, “What about Paula?”
“She’s right here in New York,” Peggy whispered, conscious of the
surrounding passengers, whose attention was riveted on the strange,
dramatic scene. “I’m her friend, and I came to stop you from going to
Europe. I’m sorry I caused such a fuss ... but they didn’t want to let
me on the plane, and—”
“Wait, please,” Mr. Andrews interrupted in a quiet voice. “This is no
place to talk.” He turned to his wife. “Stacy, we’re not taking this
plane. Don’t say a word now. We’ll talk where it’s more private.”
Paula’s father instructed the baffled stewardess to see to it that their
luggage was removed, then shepherded his wife and Peggy out of the
plane, leaving behind a cabin full of puzzled, buzzing passengers.
“Are ... are you sure about this?” Paula’s mother said to her husband.
“No,” he said calmly, “but we can’t leave here until we are sure, one
way or the other.”
At the passenger gate, they found Randy—uncomfortably under the guard of
two airport policemen. The official who had tried to stop Peggy was
sitting on a stool with an angry expression and what looked like the
beginning of a classic black eye.
“This is my friend, Randy Brewster,” Peggy said. “He drove me out here,
and it looks as if he had to do some fighting to see to it that I got on
the plane.”
Randy grinned sheepishly. “Nice to meet you, Mr. and Mrs. Andrews.”
Mr. Andrews smiled at Randy. To the policemen he said, “Let him come
along with us, please.”
“I dunno, Mr. Andrews,” one of the policemen said. “I think Mr. Watkins
here wants to hold him on an assault charge.”
“I was just trying to protect you, Mrs. Andrews,” the official said,
“but if he is a friend of yours, as he says he is, I suppose I ought to
apologize instead of pressing charges.”
“Yes, he’s a friend,” Mrs. Andrews said, adding under her breath, “at
least I think he is!”
“Well ... no charge, then,” the uncomfortable Mr. Watkins said.
Randy was released and fell into step alongside Peggy and Paula’s
parents as they walked down the corridor.
“This had better be on the up-and-up,” Mr. Andrews said darkly, “or I’ll
see to it that both of you face a good deal more than a simple assault
charge as a result of it!”
He cut off Peggy’s protestations, saying that he didn’t want to say one
more word until they were seated in privacy in the airport restaurant.
The next minutes until they reached their destination were spent in
uncomfortable silence.
Once seated, after introductions and assurances that Paula was safe and
well, Peggy recited the story that had by now become as familiar to her
as her lines in the play. Carefully, omitting nothing, she explained
what Paula had tried to do, and how things had gone wrong. She explained
her own part in Paula’s life, and how she had decided, on May Berriman’s
advice, to disregard her friend’s wishes and call her parents. Then she
told of her fast detective work in tracing them to the hotel and the
airport, and of the final dash for the plane.
“So there was nothing I could do but stand there and yell,” she
concluded. “I’m sorry it caused such a fuss, but I didn’t know how else
to find you before they put me off the plane. Anyway, that brings us to
here.”
“It’s quite a story,” Mr. Andrews said. “Both of us are very grateful to
you, Peggy, for the care you’ve taken of Paula and for your concern
about us. And we’re grateful to you too, Randy,” he added.
“We are,” Paula’s mother echoed, a smile lighting her face. “Now, my
dear, will you please take us to Paula?”
“I ... I was afraid you’d ask that,” Peggy said. “I will, of course, if
you really insist on it, but I wish you’d think about it awhile first.
Paula has gone through so much—and put both of you through so much,
too—just to prove something to herself. If you go to her now, her whole
effort will have been wasted. I think you ought to let her stay in
obscurity for just a few days longer until we open the show, and give
her the chance she wanted.”
“I understand your point of view, Peggy,” Paula’s mother said, “but
can’t you understand mine? All I want is to see my daughter and be sure
that she’s safe and well!”
“Can’t you take my word for that, please?” Peggy begged. “You’ve waited
so long, what does it matter if you wait another three days until
opening night? If you do that, then Paula will get the chance she wants,
and I won’t feel so miserable about having called you when she asked me
not to. I just want everybody—you two and Paula—to be happy. Won’t you
please wait and give her a chance to prove to herself that she’s as good
as we all know she is?”
“Is she good?” her mother asked fervently.
“She’s wonderful!” Peggy and Randy said in chorus.
“I knew it! I knew it!” The famous actress beamed. “I _knew_ all those
good reviews weren’t just because of us....”
“Then you had your doubts too, didn’t you, Mrs. Andrews?” Randy put in
quickly.
“Why ... why, not really,” Paula’s mother answered, taken aback. “But,
still....”
“But still, even though you were sure Paula is a good actress, you never
knew for a fact that the critics sincerely thought so too!” Randy said.
“In a way, I suppose you’re right,” Mrs. Andrews said.
“Then you can understand Paula’s view?” Peggy asked.
“Yes. I can understand.”
“Peggy,” Mr. Andrews said, “I’m willing to wait a few days to see her,
if you really think it’s best—and if my wife agrees. But what harm would
it do for us to call her on the phone?”
“It would be the same thing,” Peggy said. “She’d know that you’re in
town, and she’d start to suspect that you were doing things for her
again. Besides, it might throw her into such a state of excitement that
she wouldn’t do her best on opening night.”
“Perhaps you’re right,” Paula’s mother said thoughtfully. “Nerves do get
on edge close to opening, and from what you tell me, I can’t imagine
that Paula’s are in the best of shape now.”
“Then you’ll wait?” Peggy asked.
“Yes, Peggy, I’ll wait. If only as a favor to you. Heaven knows, we owe
you a favor for all you’ve done. Do you agree, dear?”
Mr. Andrews looked thoughtful. “All right,” he said at length. “But
we’re going to be at the opening! We’ll sit in the back of the house so
she won’t see us. My wife will have to wear a veil or a false mustache
or something, but you can bet we’re going to be there!”
“We’ll put you in the projection booth!” Randy said. “You’ll have a
perfect view, and nobody will see you at all!”
“Fine,” Mr. Andrews agreed. “And what do you want us to do until opening
night? Shall we just hang around New York, or shall we lie low
somewhere?”
“It does sound like a conspiracy, doesn’t it?” Peggy laughed.
“It is,” Paula’s mother said. “And Mr. Andrews has a point. We two are
considered to be—well—newsworthy, you know. And while it’s not much of a
story just to leave for Europe, it would be considered a story if the
papers found out about our sudden cancellation of the trip. If that gets
into the papers, and Paula sees it, she’ll know we’re in town, and
she’ll probably be more nervous than ever. Shouldn’t we go somewhere?”
“We should,” Mr. Andrews said, getting up from the table. “And before we
waste any more time, I’d better get hold of those policemen and that Mr.
Watkins and see that they don’t start talking to any reporters about
tonight.”
He returned somewhat later, looking pleased with himself.
“Come on,” he said. “I’ve taken care of them, and I’ve rented a car.
We’re going to do something we’ve both wanted to do for years, and
haven’t had time for. We’re taking a nice, leisurely sight-seeing trip
by car. We won’t come back till opening night, and then we’ll go
straight to the theater!”
Final plans were hurriedly made for the trip, and for the timing of
their arrival on opening night, as Peggy and Randy walked Mr. and Mrs.
Andrews to their waiting car. Good nights and thanks were exchanged once
more.
By the time that Randy delivered Peggy to the doorstep of the Gramercy
Arms, the first light of dawn was showing in the east. It was nearly
five in the morning. Through the kitchen windows at street level, Peggy
could see May Berriman, Amy, and Greta, surrounded by coffee cups,
doggedly waiting up for her. It would still be awhile, she knew, before
she would get to bed.
XV
Act One
First Night!
A magic phrase and a magic moment to everyone in show business! The
glitter, the jitters, the excitement of a first night are the same
everywhere—for the big new Broadway show, with its stars, its lavish
sets and costumes, its important audience in formal dress, as well as
for the smallest theater in the smallest town in America. In high school
and college auditoriums, in summer tents and barns, in tiny converted
carriage-house theaters in the back streets of Greenwich Village, the
glamour comes as always, and with it, the feverish excitement.
Last-minute problems suddenly arise, as suddenly are solved. Something
is wrong with the second row of baby spots; they’re out of focus. Did
someone move the lighting bar? Fix it! An important door, vital to
certain entrances and exits, gets stuck. When you try to pull it, the
canvas wall in which it is set trembles. Brace the canvas! Plane down
the door jamb! Oil the hinges and the door latch! Better? Fine!
“Where’s the ladder? How can I fix those spots....”
“Who has some blue thread? This darned blouse....”
“I’ll never make that costume change in time! We’ll have to open the
back and put in snaps, but there has to be a dresser to help me or....”
“Who took the tennis racket from this prop table? Come on! This is no
time to fool around!”
“Where’s the ladder?”
“Mal, did you change the position of that sofa in Act Three, or am I
just imagining it? If you did....”
“Yes, I restaged it in last night’s rehearsal. I thought it would....”
“Well, why didn’t you tell me? Now I have to relight the whole scene!
You directors think that all you have to do is tell the actors! There
are other people who are important too....”
“Sorry. Really, I am. Must have slipped my mind.”
“Slipped your mind? Well!”
“Please! This is no time for a quarrel. Here, let me show you....”
“Where’s that ladder? I have to have that ladder!”
“Who wanted blue thread? I found the sewing kit on top of the
switchboard!”
“What time is it?”
“One ladder, coming up!”
“I wanted blue thread—but this is the wrong color blue. Do you think it
will show from out front?”
“It’s seven o’clock!”
“Hold still, Peggy! I’m cutting the back open now, and I don’t want to
hurt you. Do you turn your back to the audience at any time, or can I
fake this hem, do you think?”
“Do I turn? Let me think ... No. You can fake it. But it has to look all
right in a profile, because I cross a lot. Will I have a dresser right
here?”
“I’ll be here, and we have a screen right by the switchboard ... or we
should have one. Joe! What about that dressing screen off right?”
“As soon as you finish with that ladder, may I please....”
“All right, Peggy. Take it off now, and I’ll sew it up. Plenty of time!”
Peggy stepped behind the switchboard and slipped off the blouse, which
now came off like a smock. The snaps in back would keep her from having
to unbutton the whole front and then having to button it up again—a
saving of at least a minute. And a minute is a long time. She put on a
lightweight bathrobe, handed the blouse to the wardrobe mistress, and
stepped out into the confusion of the stage, to see what was going on
now.
On top of the tall extension ladder, Sam Marcus, the electrician, was
fixing the position of the three end baby spots in order to light the
sofa properly in its new position. Below him, Joe Banks, chief
stagehand, was waiting impatiently to carry off the ladder as soon as it
was free. Amy, on her hands and knees in front of the troublesome door,
was tacking down a hump that had suddenly appeared in the canvas
groundcloth, and which threatened to stop the door from opening. As
Peggy approached her, she looked up and managed a grin, despite the fact
that her mouth was full of long carpet tacks.
“Why, Grandma, what big teeth you have!” Peggy said, looking down at her
friend.
“Mmph!” Amy said. She pounded in two more tacks, took the remaining few
from between her lips, and surveyed her handiwork. “Think that’ll do?”
she asked.
“It looks good to me,” Peggy replied. “Now let’s see what’s going to go
wrong next!”
“There isn’t much left to go wrong that hasn’t already done so and been
fixed at least twice.” Amy laughed. “Now, if everything will just be
kind enough to hold together through tonight, I’ll be most grateful to
Fate.”
Randy suddenly appeared through the door, which worked smoothly this
time.
“I’m not worried about the costumes and sets holding together,” he said,
“as much as I am about the play holding together. I suppose it’s just
first-night jitters, but I have the terrible feeling that the whole play
ought to be rewritten from beginning to end. But Mal won’t let me change
so much as one single word now.”
“Randy! The play is beautiful,” Peggy said, “and I don’t think there’s a
word in it that should be changed. Besides, you shouldn’t say things
like that out loud, even if you feel them. Some of the cast might hear
you, and they’re already nervous enough, without having to worry about
the quality of the play.”
“I suppose you’re right,” Randy said moodily. “And anyway, it’s too
late. How are the actors holding up? Are they really nervous? You look
as cool as an orchid on ice.”
“I’m not,” Peggy said, “but if I’m going to fool the audience into
thinking so, I have to start by fooling myself. The rest of the gang
seem all right, too, except that their good-humored kidding around
sounds suspiciously on the edge of hysteria!”
“How’s our leading lady?” Randy asked cautiously. “She looked a little
strange when I saw her last, about an hour ago.”
“I don’t know,” Peggy said slowly. “She seemed ... strange ... to me,
too. She wasn’t nervous, and she wasn’t kidding around with the rest of
the cast, and at the same time, she didn’t seem cool and calm. She just
looked sort of distant and detached. I think she’s collecting her
strength, in a way—preparing herself to _be_ Alison, rather than just to
play her.”
“That’s the way it seemed to me,” Randy said. “It’s as if she has
written a sort of pre-play ... you know, the action that takes place
before the play begins. She’s figured out what Alison’s frame of mind
must have been before she arrived at the resort, and that’s the part
she’s playing now.”
“That’s just what it is,” Amy said. “I know, because I talked to her
about it last night, and she told me that the hardest part of acting for
her was what she had to imagine for herself before ever coming on stage.
I’ll bet by now she’s completely forgotten that she’s Paula Andrews and
an actress, and that nothing is real for her but the character of
Alison. That’s what makes her so good.”
“She is good,” Randy agreed, “and she certainly is Alison. I only hope
she doesn’t completely convince herself that she’s living this rather
than playing it, or she might start making up her own lines! And, at
that,” he added gloomily, “they’d probably be a lot better than the ones
I wrote.”
With a theatrical gesture of mock despair, he backed through the doorway
and gently shut the door.
“Here, Peggy! Try this on now!” It was the wardrobe mistress, back with
the blouse.
“Amy! You’d better get changed and start to get the ushers ready!”
“Where’s that ladder now! Why can’t I ever find....”
“What time is it?”
“Try number four dimmer down and number three up at the same time, and
with your other hand....”
“Who has the ladder?”
“It’s seven-forty!”
“I only have two hands, you know!”
“Did somebody call for the ladder? Who wanted that ladder?”
“No, no! Number four down and number three up, not number three down and
number four up!”
“What time did you say?”
“Did anybody see the first-aid kit? I cut my finger on this gel frame.”
“Give me a hand with the ladder, will you? Just set it right here,
under....”
“Look out! Don’t bleed all over the sofa!”
“It’s seven-forty-five.”
“Ouch!”
With all the past weeks of preparation, Peggy thought, you’d suppose
that nothing at all would have to be left till the last moment, but
somehow, no matter how well you planned, there was always something left
undone. Or something that had to be redone. Less than an hour before
curtain time, it seemed as if _Come Closer_ had not the least chance of
opening that night. But she knew that it would open, and she was sure
that it would go smoothly and well. At least she hoped that she was
sure.
Peggy went down the circular iron stairway to the dressing room she
shared with Greta. It was time to start putting her make-up on. Greta
was already applying the base, and the tiny room, no bigger than a
closet, was perfumed with the peculiar odor of grease paint. Every inch
of wall space except for the mirrors was covered with clothing—their own
and their costumes—hanging from nails and hooks. A few garments were
even suspended from some of the pipes that crisscrossed the low ceiling.
The room was so narrow that when Peggy sat at the dressing table, the
back of her chair was touching the wall behind her. The dressing table
itself, a rough board counter covered with plastic shelving paper, was
littered with bottles, jars, tubes, powder boxes, puffs, make-up
brushes, eyebrow pencils, eye-liners, grease crayons, hairbrushes,
combs, sprays, hairpins and other odds and ends.
Looking at the cramped, messy little room, Peggy suddenly thought of a
movie she had seen, where several scenes took place in a star’s dressing
room. It was an enormous room, she remembered, with a carved Victorian
sofa and chairs grouped around a little marble tea table. At one side of
the room had been an elaborate make-up table surmounted by a gold-framed
mirror. On it were a very few bottles and jars. A pleated silk screen
stood nearby, concealing an immense closet which held row upon row of
costumes. Overhead was a crystal chandelier.
Peggy laughed out loud when she thought of the chandelier.
“What’s funny?” Greta asked.
“Oh, nothing,” Peggy said. “I was just thinking that the best thing
about being an actress is the glamorous backstage life!”
“Five minutes!” called Dick Murphy, the stage manager. “Everybody ready
in there?”
“All ready!” Peggy and Greta sang out.
“Five minutes!” they heard him call at the next door.
“Let’s go up,” Peggy said. “I’m dying to see what kind of house we
have!”
“Murphy doesn’t want us up until he calls for places,” Greta said
doubtfully.
“Oh, it doesn’t matter,” Peggy said. “We’re both on within five minutes
of curtain, and our places in the wings aren’t in anybody’s way.”
“All right,” Greta agreed, knowing that she was as eager as Peggy.
At the stage level, a few stagehands were making last-minute
adjustments. Mal stood to one side, seemingly watching nothing at all.
There was hardly a sound, except for the chatter of the audience, muted
by the curtain that separated them from the stage. The hundreds of
voices of the audience merged into a single sound, as the splashes of
thousands of wavelets in a single wave combine to become the murmur of
the sea. Peggy put her eye to the tiny peephole in the curtain. Almost
every seat was already filled, and the ushers were leading a few
last-minute arrivals down the aisles.
As she watched, the house lights began to dim, and the floods came up
brightly. An expectant hush came over the audience. She felt a hand on
her arm, and turned to see Dick Murphy, looking comically stern. He
silently gestured with a nod of his head, to indicate that it was time
for her to leave the stage. She took her place in the wings with the
other waiting actors. They were silent and outwardly calm, but she could
feel the tension in all of them.
A little behind them, seated on a suitcase that she would carry in with
her, was Paula, wearing an expression that gave away nothing.
“Okay,” she heard Dick Murphy say. “Places!”
Alan Douglas and Betsy Crane stepped out onto the empty stage and sat in
two widely separated lounge chairs. Alan spread his newspaper to read,
and Betsy began to knit.
“Curtain!” Murphy said.
And the play was on.
XVI
Act Two
“I was awful! I just know I was awful!” Peggy moaned. “I never felt so
stiff and scared in my life! I think I must have walked like a
mechanical doll! Oh, Greta!”
“You were fine,” Greta said. “I mean it. You know I’m too good a friend
to lie to you. You were as natural as....”
“And I muffed two lines!” Peggy went on, as if she hadn’t even heard
Greta.
“What lines?”
“Didn’t you notice? Two of my lines came out all wrong, and if Alan and
Paula hadn’t picked them up and gone on as if nothing had happened, I
don’t know what I would have done!”
“I never noticed,” Greta said. “And I guess that means the audience
didn’t either. And they seemed to like it. That was one of the best
first-act curtain receptions I ever heard. If they like the rest of the
play as well, we’ve got a hit on our—”
“Don’t say it!” Peggy said. “It’s bad luck! Oh dear ... I don’t know how
I’ll ever get through it!”
“You’ll get through it beautifully,” Greta said, “the same way you got
through the first act.”
Reassured by Greta’s calm, businesslike manner, Peggy pulled herself
together with an almost visible effort. “How much longer before we go
on?” she asked. “Amy said she’d come back between acts with a report
from out front. She should be here by now.”
“She is here,” Amy said from the doorway. “And the report from out front
is great. You were both wonderful, and the play is perfect, and
everybody in the whole cast is grand!”
“Amy, I’m afraid that as a reporter, you’re a good friend,” Greta said.
“I’m glad you think it’s so good, but what I want to know is how is the
audience reacting? What’s the intermission talk like?”