  “Not quite so serious, Peggy.” Chuck Crosby pulled on a lock of his straight, black hair as he listened to her read. “If you don’t have a slight tongue-in-cheek attitude, it’s not going to be funny. She is an earnest young girl, but it’s got to be exaggerated in a comic way.” Peggy tried again. “Dad, I’m disappointed in you,” she read. “The world’s on fire and you’re occupied with a cigarette lighter!” “Thank you,” Howard Miller answered dryly. He was reading the part of Peggy’s father in their opening show, Dear Ruth. The cast was having its first line rehearsal on the sunny patio of the annex. Peggy had awakened excitedly with the expectation of working on stage, only to find that the company would be at the annex all day. She had wondered, in a resigned way, if she would ever see the stage at all. But now, as they progressed to the second scene of Act One, her disappointment was forgotten. She was concentrating on her part of Miriam, “Dear Ruth’s” younger sister. “We can use you,” Peggy read on, addressing her father. “We can use anybody we can get!” She read the last line in a hopeless, adolescent fashion, timing it carefully, and the cast spontaneously laughed. “That’s it,” Chuck cried. “That’s the quality I want.” A pretty local girl, Mary Hopkins, who was playing the part of the maid, Dora, didn’t come in on her cue. Everyone looked at her as she nervously rattled her papers, looking quite lost. “That’s your cue, Mary,” Chuck said patiently. “Miriam says, ‘We can use anybody we can get,’ and you enter.” “I don’t see it,” Mary replied helplessly. “Right here.” Rita was sitting beside her and pointed it out. “Anybody we can get.” “But that’s not the whole line—oh, I see.” Mary blushed. “We’re using sides, Mary,” Chuck said kindly. They were half sheets of paper bound like a small pamphlet. “I have the master script here with the whole play, but you’ll find only about four or five words of the preceding speech printed on your sides. You can fill in the other words if you find it easier.” Peggy gave Mary an understanding smile. She had been busy writing in speeches herself, as she found the short sides difficult to work from. Peggy liked to think of the play as a whole, but she knew that some actors worked better from short cue lines, and that for stock, with so many different parts to learn each week, sides were often faster. Rita read the part of the mother with assurance and humor. She made a perfect partner for Howard Miller, and one could tell that she was used to this type of part. Miriam made her exit, and then Ruth appeared for a short scene with her father and mother. Before her next cue, Peggy had time to examine, with a certain fascination, their leading lady. Alison Lord had arrived that morning, making a grand and breathless entrance at exactly nine A.M. Her luggage was still stacked in the patio, and peering at it, Peggy raised her eyebrows. “And I thought I had a lot!” She wondered how many costumes Alison expected to wear on stage, but judging by the stunning outfit she was wearing for rehearsal, Alison must intend to dress as glamorously off stage as on. Her bright auburn hair was caught up under an eye-catching sun hat of fringed red straw. The color exactly matched the sleeveless blouse she wore over a beautiful pair of beige, basket-weave slacks. With her enormous straw bag, gay sandals, and dark glasses, she looked like a visiting star. And a really beautiful girl underneath all that, Peggy thought, noticing the careful make-up that enhanced Alison’s features. Peggy glanced down at her simple, peasant skirt and blouse. It was pretty, but hardly spectacular like Alison’s attire. For a moment she wished that she had thought of bringing more colorful everyday clothes—was it good advertising for the theater perhaps?—but then she laughed at herself. “You’re just a little bit envious, Peggy Lane, and you know it! Now just forget about clothes, and tend to your knitting!” Her cue came, and she jumped back into her part with gusto, really enjoying it now that she had caught the flavor of Miriam. She found that playing with Alison was fun. She was even better than Peggy remembered. She had a certain awareness of herself, a special “here I am” quality that would make an audience notice her. She wasn’t a very deep actress, but she had poise and presence and moved the play along. Chuck was pleased with the reading. He looked at his watch and called a break. “Take five. Chris ought to be here any minute, and there’s no point in going on now without him.” The cast paused for coffee, waiting for their leading man to arrive. Chris Hill, who was to play the part of Bill opposite Alison in Dear Ruth, was the only cast member Peggy hadn’t met. He had been held up in New York with a last-minute television show, and was due on the ten-thirty bus. “What’s he like?” Peggy asked Rita as she broke off a piece of doughnut to share with her. The cast kept snacks in an old-fashioned icebox on the patio. “Oh, he’s lovely!” Rita grinned mischievously. “He’s quite tall and very blond, tanned and terribly handsome, blue eyes, a great smile, romantic—” “Really! He’s all that, hm?” Peggy teased back. “Well, all I want to know is, can he act?” “He certainly can. I’ve worked with him before—” Rita looked at Peggy curiously. “It will be very interesting to see your reaction to Chris. It’s a shame that you didn’t have a chance to meet him before and more or less prepare yourself.” “Oh, Rita!” Peggy exclaimed, shaking her head in protest. She didn’t know what a picture she was with the sunlight striking her dark hair and framing her pretty face. Rita watched her, noticing the fine, high cheekbones, straight nose, and soft, wide mouth. “You really have a captivating quality, Peggy,” Rita said thoughtfully. “I wouldn’t be surprised if Chris Hill is quite taken with you.” “With me?” Peggy blurted in astonishment. “Oh, Rita, I haven’t even met him yet, and anyway,” she added, “I’m not really interested in anyone.” She was remembering Randy Brewster in New York, and all the fun they’d had together in dramatic school and in the off-Broadway production they’d been involved in. Kind, steady Randy, with the marvelous sense of humor. It would have to be somebody quite wonderful to share the special place that Randy occupied in Peggy’s thoughts. “Why, there’s no time for romance here, Rita,” she said. “We’re all too busy. And besides, I should think Alison would be more his type.” “Um-hm. Maybe,” Rita interrupted rather mysteriously and nudged Peggy. “You’ll soon have a chance to find out.” Following her glance, Peggy looked up the little path and saw Chris Hill, a duffel bag slung over one shoulder, hurrying down with long, energetic strides. His appearance was certainly everything Rita had said and more. She glanced at Rita, her eyes wide, and Rita returned a bland “I-told-you-so” expression. Chris ran the last few yards, dumped his bag carelessly on the patio, and with a wide, completely engaging smile, announced, “Reporting for duty—on the dot, I hope!” He shook Chuck’s hand. “Svengali, how are you? You picked a beautiful spot—it’s just great. Alison!” He leaned over her chair, planting an audible kiss on her cheek. Peggy’s eyes popped. “Doesn’t mean a thing,” Rita whispered to Peggy. “Watch.” “Darling!” Alison replied extravagantly. “What kept you so long? Did you come up by dogcart?” Chris noticed Rita and ran over, swooping her up in a big bear hug and giving her a kiss, too. “My favorite actress!” he laughed, standing back and looking at her with delight. “And where’s her favorite husband? Don’t tell me—he’s up to his ears in flats! When do I see him? Don’t tell me—probably never!” Rita laughed. “Such energy, Chris! How do you do it after all night on a bus? Chris, here’s someone you haven’t met—our ingÉnue, Peggy Lane. Star of Stage, Screen, Radio—” “Television and Summer Stock!” Chris finished for her. “Don’t mind us, Peggy, it’s an old joke from another summer company. Well!” He stopped and Peggy couldn’t tell whether he was pausing for breath or from the interest in her which his look seemed to indicate. “Well!” he said again, and there was something in his voice that caused an unexpected flurry in Peggy’s emotions. “Hello,” Peggy said tremulously. She would never know what his next words might have been, because just then Chuck interrupted with a call to resume the reading. The company sat down again, and Peggy forgot Chris Hill, the young man, as she listened to Chris Hill, the actor. He read the part of Bill with so much energy and interest one would think he had just returned from a long vacation instead of a grueling bus trip. He was a good actor, Peggy thought. He brought a special kind of magic to the play, and as they finished the first act, Peggy had a sudden feeling that Dear Ruth would be a hit. Chuck couldn’t have chosen a better opening bill for the cast. It was perfect for their company, and she looked at him with renewed respect. After lunch the furniture was rearranged on the patio as it would be on stage. Chuck wanted to block the first act. Pencils in hand, they busily scribbled on their sides, marking movements as Chuck directed them. He had blocked the play in advance, but it was still a long process, as, with the actors in front of him, he saw many necessary changes. Mary Hopkins had to be told that Stage Right was her right, and not the right of the audience. She caught on quickly, though, and very soon Peggy noticed that she was lightly penciling in initials—C.U.L. and D.R., instead of writing out “Cross Up Left” and “Down Right.” Danny Dunn was enjoying himself enormously. He had the part of Albert, a stuffy, amusing character who is engaged to Ruth before Bill captures her heart. Peggy was struck by this boy’s amazing versatility. She had read with him in New York and knew how well he did juvenile parts. Yet, here he was, playing a slightly older man and doing a perfectly wonderful job. Danny had a face almost like putty; he could do anything with it he wished, and Peggy realized that here was a true actor—who would never be typed, who could play anything he was given. “Hello, Mother. Hello, Dad.” Danny made his entrance, and Peggy stifled a laugh. He was really very funny. They finished the second scene of Act One and Chuck called, “Curtain!” There was a sound of hands clapping, and a voice said, “Bravo!” Peggy looked around. She had been so engrossed in her work that she hadn’t noticed Richard Wallace standing near the patio, looking on. Beside him stood a tall, white-haired woman with strong, craggy features, and sparkling blue eyes framed by a network of tiny lines. “What a wonderful face!” Peggy exclaimed to herself, realizing that this must be the famous Aunt Hetty. “Bravo!” Richard repeated in a deep voice. He was a large young man, mature for his age, with the same observant blue eyes as his aunt. “It’s a pity to think that all this work may go to waste,” he said bitterly, coming on to their outdoor stage. There was a stunned silence. Peggy didn’t know what to think—was this Richard’s way of kidding? Chuck got up to give Aunt Hetty a seat, and plunking herself down heavily, she stated matter-of-factly, “You’re all so good—so much better than I expected—I’ll hate to see you go!” The cast looked blank. Chuck was struck dumb for a moment, and then he suddenly exploded. “What are you talking about? We’re having a rehearsal here and this is not the time for idiotic jokes!” He looked at Aunt Hetty and controlled himself. “Excuse me, but really, Richard knows better than to interrupt us like this.” “It’s no joke, young man,” Aunt Hetty said bluntly. “Richard, tell them all about it.” She peered closely at Chuck. “And you ought to know better, Mr. Crosby, than to think we’d intrude for anything less than a very good reason!” “My!” Peggy thought. “It certainly isn’t wise to cross Aunt Hetty. She’s a stubborn old girl. No wonder she got all that backing from the Chamber of Commerce—they could hardly say no.” “I imagine you haven’t seen this,” Richard said, holding up a newspaper so the cast could see the front page. The Kenabeek Gazette, Peggy read on the masthead, and right underneath was a headline: Theater In School Illegal. “I hate to bring you bad news,” Richard said as the cast gathered around, “but the man who was responsible for this may be right.” Peggy looked at the bottom of the column and saw that it was signed “Ford Birmingham.” “No, that’s just the man who wrote it,” Richard said, noticing Peggy’s glance. “Ford Birmingham covers art, music, theater, and local features for the paper—he’s supposed to write our reviews, too. But the man behind this article is either Max Slade or his brother William—or both. The Slade brothers run the local movie house and they’ve opposed this theater from the beginning, thinking it will affect their business—” “But it shouldn’t.” Peggy couldn’t help interrupting, and Richard agreed with her. “No, of course, it shouldn’t. Our theater could even help their business by exposing more people to entertainment and thereby drawing them to the movies, too. However, the Slade brothers don’t see it that way.” “The Slade brothers don’t see much of anything at all,” commented Aunt Hetty brusquely. “Not even their own movies, from what I gather. If they used better judgment in selecting films, they might have better business.” “Why, I’ve known Max Slade for years,” said Howard Miller, coming over to Aunt Hetty. “I realized that he didn’t exactly approve of the summer theater, but what’s all this about our not being legal?” He ran a hand through his handsome, graying hair, frowning. “Read it and weep, Howard,” Aunt Hetty responded. “Apparently they’ve found a loophole.” “The article claims that a high school cannot legally be used by a profit-making organization such as a summer theater,” Richard explained. “But we’re helping the school by paying rent to them,” Chuck protested. “Sure, but the Slade brothers aren’t concerned about the school,” Richard continued. “They’re thinking of themselves and are willing to use any means to get us out of town. This article says that we will be taken to court if we don’t suspend our operation.” “Can they?” asked Chris Hill. “I mean, wouldn’t the case be thrown out?” “No,” Richard answered seriously, “I don’t think it would be thrown out, because there’s a chance—a good chance—that they’re right!” “Marvelous!” Alison Lord exclaimed ironically. “Just wonderful! And I guess we’re just supposed to sit here and take it!” “No, why should we?” Peggy rushed in with a sudden thought. “Why can’t we stop the case before it even gets to court?” “Right!” Richard smiled at her. “That’s exactly what I’m going to do, Peggy. I’m flying up to Albany tonight to see the commissioner of education. But,” he said earnestly, “his decision may go against us, and you’ll all have to be prepared for that. That’s really why I’m here. If we can’t play in the school, we can’t play at all this year. I want to know if you’re willing to go on rehearsing on the slight chance that we’ll be able to open. I’ll probably be gone for several days, and you may be working for nothing. It’s up to you.” A determined chorus of voices responded. “Of course, we’ll work.” “I want to go on.” “We’ll open or else—” “I’d like to meet this Max Slade—” Mary Hopkins’ little voice trailed on after everyone else’s, “... and besides all the boxes of crackerjack, I see that the script calls for dozens of bunches of lilacs. I may be able to make them for you”—she faltered, a little embarrassed—“I—I’m kind of good with my hands.” Everyone applauded, and Aunt Hetty came over to give her a hug. “Good girl, Mary. You sound like the other professionals.” She beamed at the cast, displaying an unexpected warmth, and then, as if remembering a role, barked gruffly, “Back to work, then!” “Why, she’s really soft and sentimental under that brusque exterior,” Peggy thought, watching Aunt Hetty walk stiffly away. “She’s in love with this theater and it would break her heart to see it fold.” Everyone wished Richard luck in the state capital as he walked away toward the interview that meant everything to this little group of actors. Chuck Crosby turned to face them, and with a resolute look that reflected the feelings of all, he firmly called, “Places!” |
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