  Connie’s apartment was not the easiest place to find, but she had given detailed instructions, even to drawing a little map on a paper napkin, and after only a few wrong turnings, Peggy and Amy found themselves that night at a low pink door set in a high brick wall on a winding street in Greenwich Village. They pushed the button marked “Barnes-Lewis,” and soon an answering buzz let them know that the door was unlocked. Pushing it open, they entered, not a house, but a narrow alley between two buildings. Along one wall was a bed of flowers and green borders, and hidden among them were small floodlights which gave a gentle, guiding glow. At its end, the alley opened into a little courtyard with a small fountain and a statue of a nymph surrounded by canvas lawn chairs. Fronting on it was an old, low, white-brick house, its door opened wide. Connie came out to greet them. “I see you didn’t have any trouble finding our hideaway,” she said. “I must be a good map-maker.” Tactfully refraining from telling her about the wrong turns, Peggy and Amy agreed with her. “What a wonderful place you have here!” Peggy said. “However did you find it?” “I didn’t find it,” Connie said. “I found Linda Lewis, my roommate, which was a good deal easier. She was already living here, and when her roommate got married, she asked me if I’d move in.” “And how did she find it?” Amy asked. “Same way,” Connie laughed. “These places get passed along from friend to friend. You could hunt for apartments every day for a year and never even see a place like this. You just have to know somebody, or be lucky. I’d hate to show you the miserable place I lived in before I moved in here.” “Here” proved to be a spacious room with an extraordinarily high ceiling and a fireplace with a tremendous copper hood. An open stairway mounted up one wall to a landing, then turned a corner and went up again. The only other room downstairs was a kitchen. Upstairs were two bedrooms and a bath. “That’s the whole house,” Connie explained. “It used to be a carriage house for one of the big places on the street, before all the big places were turned into apartments. Now come on in and meet everybody.” Linda Lewis, Connie’s roommate, rose from the piano bench to greet the girls. She had apparently been playing until the bell had announced their arrival. Linda was a tall, slim, rather plain girl with a sweet smile who was a music student at Juilliard, considered by most people to be the best music school in the country. She greeted them shyly, and returned to her place at the keyboard, where she began playing quietly, as if to herself. Pip rose from his seat on the raised hearth of the fireplace to greet them and to introduce them to his companion, a striking woman in her mid-thirties. “This is Mona Downs. She’s in the play, too.” Before they had a chance to do more than say hello, Connie was introducing them to the last person in the room, a handsome middle-aged man with curly dark hair that had turned completely white at the temples. His name was Thomas Galen, and he, too, was a member of the cast. “I suppose it’s terribly tactless of me,” Peggy said, “but I don’t mean it that way at all. It’s just that I always thought that these off-Broadway plays were done entirely by students or—or—very young actors and actresses. I mean....” Mona Downs laughed. “Don’t feel embarrassed to talk about our advanced ages. We aren’t supposed to look like fresh young things!” Tom Galen smiled in agreement. “We’re here because Randy needed some actors for the more mature parts, and we were lucky enough to be picked. The off-Broadway plays are a good showcase for experienced actors, too, you know. Take me, for instance—I’ve been acting for a good many years now, but I’ve never had any really good vehicles. I’ve made a living on supporting roles and road shows, and I’ve even played some good leads in stock, but somehow I’ve never quite hit it. Maybe I’m not good enough, but on the other hand, I may just not have had the breaks. These off-Broadway shows nowadays are seen by all the top critics in New York, and if I do a good job, and if they like the play, I have a chance to go on to a whole new kind of career. That’s why I’m here, and that’s why Mona is here. Besides, you can’t do a believable show with just young actors.” “I see,” Peggy nodded. “And I hope you didn’t mind my mentioning it....” But before Tom Galen or Mona Downs had a chance to reassure her again, the buzzer rang, and they broke off. “That must be Randy and Mal,” Connie said. “I’ll go get them.” She pushed the button to unlock the gate, and opened the front door expectantly. A few seconds later, Mal entered with a tall, grinning, engaging-looking young man with flaming red hair. For a moment, everyone seemed to be talking at once. Randy and Mal were apologizing for being late; Connie was saying that they weren’t late at all; Pip was trying to get Randy away to introduce him to Amy and Peggy; Mona and Tom were asking him about the financing he had managed to get for the show, and Linda was playing “Hail the Conquering Hero” in loud, solid chords. When the initial excitement had died down and the last resounding notes of the piano had quieted, Randy Brewster was introduced to Peggy and Amy by an excited Connie. “We’re having all the luck today!” she exclaimed. “You come up with the backing for the play, and Pip discovers these two wonderful girls who want to be beasts of burden for the show!” “The two prettiest beasts in New York, I’m sure,” Randy said with a smile, and Peggy was positive that she was blushing, though she tried her hardest not to. “I’m grateful for your interest,” Randy continued, “and I only hope that we have a chance to use your help.” “Why, now that you’ve raised the money, isn’t it certain that the play will be produced?” Peggy asked. “We have a better chance today than we had yesterday,” Randy explained, “but it’s far from a sure thing yet. You see, we have the central problem now of trying to find a theater we can use. And I’m afraid that’s going to prove to be a harder job than raising the money, or even than writing the play in the first place.” “Mal and Pip and Connie mentioned the problem of finding a theater a few times today,” Peggy said, “but I didn’t know it was as serious as all that. Why should there be such a shortage?” “For a lot of reasons,” Randy answered. “And there’s a shortage even on Broadway—maybe even a worse one. Forty years ago, there were more than twice the number of theaters in New York than there are now, and every year we lose a few more. One reason is the fire laws that make it illegal to have a theater with anything built over it. In other words, you can’t have a Broadway theater on the lower floors of an office building; and with real-estate values as high as they are in Manhattan, it just isn’t profitable to use up all the space a theater takes without building high up as well. Off-Broadway rules are a little easier, but the downtown theater has become so popular that everybody and his brother wants to put on a play off-Broadway, and all the available theaters are booked way in advance. Not only that, but dramatic groups have rented almost all the places that can be converted to theaters, and there don’t seem to be any left for us.” Then, breaking his serious expression with a sudden grin, he said, “But don’t let it worry you. I’m trusting to luck that we’ll find something.” “I hope luck does it,” Peggy said doubtfully, “but I’d prefer to trust in something a little more trustworthy!” “If you have any ideas, I’ll be happy to hear them,” Randy said, “but right now, we’d better get on with this evening’s meeting and reading. I’ll talk to you over sandwiches and coffee afterward, if you like.” Peggy delightedly accepted, then found herself a seat with Amy out of the way to watch the proceedings. First, Randy told the assembled group about the investment in the play, and about his hopes for the small remaining amount they would need. Then, having completed his report, he turned the evening over to Mallory Seton, who immediately began the readings with an authority and toughness that went well with his rugged face. Peggy observed carefully how Mal would interrupt one or another of the actors, acting out a line for him or her, or asking for a somewhat different emphasis. Sometimes a small change in timing or inflection would turn an ordinary line into an unexpectedly comic one, and Peggy and Amy laughed aloud several times. Randy followed with his master script, every so often stopping the action to make a change in dialogue. “Sometimes a thing sounds fine when you write it, but it just doesn’t read well,” he explained. “That’s one of the main purposes of these early readings—to let me have a chance to hear what I’ve written and see if it plays.” Other changes were made at the suggestion of one or another of the cast, who found a line unnatural to say, or somehow uncomfortable or out of character. Randy listened to every suggestion, and took most of them, but on one or two occasions he insisted that the actors accommodate themselves to what he had written. Peggy was fascinated by the whole process, and particularly appreciated the air of good will with which changes in script, style of reading, and interpretation of character were made. This was a company of willing, hard-working friends, and they were already molding the play in a joint effort. She was sure that they would be successful. At last the readings for the evening were completed, and people started to say good night. Randy brought Mal with him and said, “Why don’t you come along for coffee and a sandwich with us? Peggy seems to have some ideas about the theater problem.” “Oh, no!” Peggy disclaimed. “Not really! I was just wondering if—” “Let’s wonder over coffee,” Mal cut in. “Come on, Amy. Let them talk about the theater, and we can talk about you!” A few blocks’ walk brought the four of them to a coffee shop where, seated around a tiny marble-topped table, they studied the menu. To Peggy and Amy it was a revelation. There were over twenty kinds of coffee offered, most of which they had never heard of, plus dozens of exotic pastries and sandwiches. They finally settled, on Randy’s advice, on cappuccino, which proved to be coffee flavored with cinnamon and topped with a froth of milk, and which was perfectly delicious. With it, they had an assortment of amaretti—hard, sweet Italian macaroons that came wrapped in gaily decorated tissues, and cornetti—pastry horns filled with some creamy whip. “Now,” Randy said, when they were all served, “what did you have in mind about a theater for us?” “Well, nothing at the moment,” Peggy admitted, “but I’m against the idea of just trusting to luck, the way you said you were going to do. It seems to me that some hard looking would get better results.” “I agree, and I have been looking,” Randy replied. “We have our names on the waiting lists of every known off-Broadway theater in the city, and I call regularly just to remind them that we’re serious about it.” “Have you been looking around for a place that you might convert to a theater, too?” Peggy asked. “We gave up on that. We found that it would cost too much to do a decent conversion, and not only that, but we’d be in the real-estate business as well as the play-producing business, and we don’t want that.” Peggy nodded thoughtfully. “I see. Well, how about all the theaters that you said used to be in existence forty years ago? What’s happened to all of them? Maybe some of them are just sitting around and not being used.” “Oh, they’re being used!” Randy laughed. “They’re being used as movie houses and television studios and ice-skating rinks and churches and even supermarkets.” “Have you looked at them all?” Peggy pursued. “Well....” Randy said, “maybe not all, but....” “Then that’s what I’m going to do for you first!” Peggy announced with determination. “I’ll go look at them all, and maybe I can find some usable place. At least, I’m willing to try.” “But, Peggy,” Mal put in, “you don’t know anything about New York at all! It’s not like Rockport, Wisconsin. It takes a lot of looking, and you have to know where to look. How will you start?” A few blocks’ walk brought the four of them to a coffee shop.... “I don’t know just yet,” Peggy answered, “but I’ll think of a way. I used to help out as a reporter on my father’s newspaper, and I’m used to digging up facts. If there’s an empty theater in New York City, I’ll bet I know about it in a couple of weeks. If there isn’t one, I’ll know that too, and at least that will save the rest of you all the trouble of looking.” Randy looked a little doubtful. “I’m sure that you mean what you say, and I don’t doubt that you can get things done as well as any of us, Peggy, but as Mal said, New York isn’t Rockport. And I don’t mean just that it’s bigger. It’s not a—well, a nice city in every part. And a search like this can lead you into some pretty tough parts of town.” “Oh, pooh!” Peggy said. “In the last two weeks, I’ll bet Amy and I have walked around more of New York than either of you has in the last two years! And that included some pretty tough-looking neighborhoods, and nobody bothered us, and everybody was very nice. I think that’s a lot of nonsense! Besides, we’re big girls, and we can take care of ourselves by now.” “We certainly can,” Amy agreed. “And I plan to go, too, just the way I’ve dragged my aching feet after Peggy for two weeks now. That girl can cover more territory in a morning than a Tennessee Walking Horse can manage in a whole day!” “Well, if you really want to try, it’s okay with me,” Randy said. “And I’m grateful to you for wanting to. If you need any help along the way, be sure to ask for it.” “You can start by giving me a list of all the places you’ve gone to, so I won’t waste my time, and I’ll take it from there.” Randy promised to bring the list to the Academy the next day, at which time, if it was okay with Peggy and Amy, he would like to join them for lunch. Then their interest turned to other things, including more coffee for the girls and another huge sandwich to be split between the boys. By the time they had finished and walked to the Gramercy Arms, it was nearly midnight. Peggy and Amy whispered quiet good nights on the stairs, and hurried up to bed. Tomorrow was school again, and they needed all the sleep they could get. |
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