  The next few days were almost a mirage of feverish activity. Never had Peggy worked so hard! Rehearsals morning and afternoon, helping Gus with the scenery at night, and always, in back of everyone’s mind, the big question—would the theater open at all? “What do you think, Rita?” Peggy asked late one night when the two exhausted girls returned to her room. They had stayed late at the theater helping Gus, for tomorrow with the set finally up, the cast would have its first rehearsal on stage. “I think we’re going to open!” Rita answered hopefully. “At least I’m working with that idea. It is disturbing not to hear from Richard again, though.” Richard had wired the company from Albany the disquieting news that the commissioner of education was off on a fishing trip and could not be reached. Now, on top of everything else, a new problem—would the commissioner return in time? And if he did, would Richard be able to persuade him to come to a favorable decision? It was already Sunday, and Dear Ruth was scheduled to open Thursday. Thinking of all this, Peggy sighed loudly, unconsciously repeating the heavy stage sigh she used in the play. “All right, Miriam,” Rita laughed, “better be quiet or you’ll wake our leading lady!” Alison had returned to the annex early after rehearsal, saying that it was about time she had some sleep. “I do think she might have stayed to help, too,” Peggy whispered indignantly. “After all, we’re all in this together, and I’m sure we’re all equally tired. Gus needed the help—he’s still up there, for goodness sake!” “Well,” Rita said, “that’s Alison. And maybe she didn’t realize how much was involved here.” “Then why did she come?” Peggy persisted. “She must have known beforehand that she’d be asked to do other things besides act.” “Oh, a good company to work with, I suppose, and a good director and parts that she wanted to play. Maybe she’s interested in the leading man!” Rita laughed softly. “If there’s another reason, I’m sure I don’t know it. Peggy,” she added eagerly, “while we’re here, why don’t I take a look at your wardrobe? Unless you’re ready for bed—” “I couldn’t sleep right now on a bed of down!” Peggy agreed enthusiastically as she opened her trunk. “I’m too tired, and it always takes me awhile to wind down. Gosh! I wonder if I’ll really be using all these things!” The trunk stood flat against the wall, rather like a second bureau, with drawers on one side and hangers on the other. “I tried to think of everything,” Peggy said. “If we don’t open, this certainly will be a monument to wasted effort!” The girls worked quickly through Peggy’s wardrobe. She had tried to bring an average of three changes apiece for eight different plays, knowing that summer audiences don’t like to see actresses wearing the same thing twice. Besides appearing in a different costume each time, Peggy had to think of the seasons of the plays and be prepared to dress appropriately for spring, summer, fall, and winter. Suits, dresses, jumpers, skirts, evening gowns, housecoats, sweaters, blouses, shoes, hats, coats, aprons, scarfs! Rita exclaimed, “My! If there’s anything you haven’t remembered, Peggy, I’d like to know what it is. You’re beautifully prepared. It looks as if I might be borrowing from you! And this would look lovely on Alison.” She lifted a silver-sequined jacket from a bed of tissue paper. “I can just see her in it, making a spectacular entrance!” “Why, I’d be glad to lend it to her,” Peggy said. “I borrowed it myself. But is that done?” She was surprised. “I mean, we all do borrow from each other at the Gramercy Arms—my home in New York. In fact, that’s how I managed this wardrobe. I just couldn’t have done it without help. But somehow, well,” she confessed, “I didn’t think it would be very professional in stock.” “Pooh,” Rita chuckled. “Nobody ever has all the things she needs in stock, Peggy. We all borrow from each other.” “I doubt if Alison will want anything, anyway,” Peggy said, reflecting on the piles of luggage Alison had brought. “Oh, Rita, here we are, talking as if the theater will actually open, and for all we know, Thursday night may come and we’ll all be on the bus going back to New York!” She sank dejectedly on her bed while Rita carefully folded the little jacket. “We might be,” Rita conceded cheerfully, “but I don’t think we will! You’re forgetting your trunk, Peggy. Remember? Your symbol of good luck!” She patted it with a smile as she left the room, leaving Peggy some of her contagious optimism. On stage at last! Peggy could hardly believe it. She ran lightly up the steps from the auditorium floor, crossed the stage, tried each piece of furniture, moving back and forth— “What on earth are you doing?” Alison called from the front row where she was seated, holding a coffee container while she waited for rehearsal to begin. “Getting the feel of the set,” Peggy called happily as she ran to the stairs up left, crossed down right, and exited. “Where’s the prop phone?” she asked, reappearing from the wings. “Michael’s out getting props,” Gus answered, coming on stage with a paintbrush to put the finishing touches on the banister. Peggy ran down to the auditorium floor again, walked up the aisle, and stood looking at the stage. Gus had done a beautiful job, she realized with a thrill. For their opening show an effective set was important, and Gus had transformed the flats with a miracle of paint and imagination. The room was so realistic that Peggy felt she could touch the molding on the walls. “You’d think you never saw a stage before in your life,” Alison commented lazily, getting up and stretching. “I feel like this every time,” Peggy said. “There’s something absolutely magical about a good set—like moving into a brand-new home. I love it!” “Well, let’s just hope it will be home for a week,” Alison remarked. “Personally, I have my doubts.” “Act One,” Chuck called, and the cast scrambled for the wings. “Places.” At noon, Aunt Hetty presented herself at the theater and asked for two people to do a radio interview at the station in Merion Falls about twenty miles away. “Anybody,” she said briskly, “as long as they’re part of the resident company. John Hamilton wants people from New York—and we’ll be gone all afternoon, Chuck, so give me someone you don’t need.” “I need everybody,” Chuck said with a laugh, “but advertising is important too, so—let’s see.” He looked around at the cast. “Peggy, you’ll go—I need the rest of the family and Albert, but there should be a man along, too—Chris! Your scenes with Ruth are going well—I won’t need you today. Go along with Peggy.” “Have fun, you lucky people,” Danny called after them. “This may be your first and last day off!” “And don’t let on that there’s any doubt about opening!” Chuck reminded Chris and Peggy. “Tell them we’re doing fine!” “Just fine!” Alison echoed, smiling grimly. Looking back at her, Peggy realized with sudden surprise that Alison wanted to go too! Why? Peggy wondered. Surely she didn’t think a local radio show was that important to her career? And then Peggy recalled what Rita had said. She looked curiously at Chris as he walked along beside her to Aunt Hetty’s car. Maybe Rita was right and Alison was interested in the leading man! Oh, well, it wasn’t any of her business, anyway, Peggy told herself as she got into the car. “Sorry to take you off like this so suddenly,” Aunt Hetty was saying, “but it’s quite important. I promised Richard to get in as much advertising as I could while he’s gone, and John Hamilton requested this interview on the spur of the moment.” “Will he ask us to play a scene?” Chris questioned. “Oh, I don’t think so. I imagine he’ll just want you to talk about what you’ve done in the theater—personal stuff. Now you two hush and don’t bother me with questions. I like to keep my mind on the road!” Peggy and Chris exchanged amused glances. Aunt Hetty drove as carefully and slowly as if she were on eggshells. Peggy could see why they would indeed be all day getting to Merion Falls and she sat back with resignation to enjoy the scenery. Chris winced as he watched Aunt Hetty at the wheel, holding it so tightly with both hands that her knuckles were actually white. He was itching to drive himself, and Peggy smiled as she watched his inner struggle—whether or not to ask. Aunt Hetty won. Looking at her determined shoulders from the back seat, he evidently decided that she would never relinquish the wheel. Chris sighed in defeat and slumped back. As he met Peggy’s twinkling eyes, they both had to cover their laughter. A good while later, when they finally reached Merion Falls, there was barely time to find the radio station and John Hamilton’s studio. Aunt Hetty plumped herself down in the booth with the engineer, and Peggy and Chris took seats at a little table with Mr. Hamilton and a microphone. Looking at the large clock over the booth, Mr. Hamilton shook his head. “Four minutes to go,” he said anxiously. “I wish we had more time to prepare, but this will have to do. I’ll just ask you both about your background, and then you can plug your theater all you like. We want to hear about your players and something about the plays if there’s time—” “Can I hear some voices?” the engineer’s voice interrupted him from the booth. Peggy and Chris spoke into the microphone while the engineer tested sound. “Okay. Fine,” he said. “One minute—” They watched his hand, held up in the air while the minute hand of the clock made a full circle, and then he brought his arm down sharply. “Good afternoon. This is John Hamilton again, with another interview of interest for residents of the lake area—” Peggy was impressed, listening to this suave young man and the competent way he handled himself at the microphone. She felt a beginning, just a twinge, of mike fright, but then Mr. Hamilton introduced her, and as she said a few words, Peggy felt easier. As the interview went on, she was fascinated to hear details of Chris Hill’s background that she hadn’t known. “Then you’ve really been a professional actor for only two years or so?” Mr. Hamilton was asking Chris. “Yes, since I was discharged from the Army—but before that, of course, I did a lot of work in college and little theaters—and in the Army I was attached to Special Services overseas.” “Soldier shows?” “Partly, but my main job was ferreting out good civilian actors to work with us—to bring about a better feeling between the local population and the Army.” John Hamilton laughed. “Sounds as if you were doing shows in two languages—” “Oh, no,” Chris said easily. “They had to be English-speaking, of course. It was a wonderful experience all around, but then I was in a skiing accident in Bavaria. Broke my leg. That finished both the job and the Army for me, and I came straight to New York.” Mr. Hamilton handled the questions and conversation so skillfully that soon Peggy and Chris almost forgot this was a radio interview. They spoke about theater and sketched the plot of Dear Ruth, talking up Alison Lord as the star of the show. “And the idea behind this theater, as I understand it,” Mr. Hamilton said, “is to attract more visitors to our area, isn’t that right?” Peggy and Chris agreed enthusiastically. “Then certainly it should be a good thing for Lake Kenabeek,” Mr. Hamilton went on, “and I want to wish you a lot of luck. But I’ve heard a rumor recently that you two might set straight while we have the opportunity here. People are saying that you are operating illegally in the high school—” Peggy gasped, but Hamilton didn’t give them a chance to reply just then. “—and that you may not be able to open at all!” he continued. “Now, what about this rumor? I’m sure our listening audience would like to hear.” He sat back and looked at them—“as if we were two fish on a hook,” Peggy thought, aghast at his question. In the booth, Aunt Hetty had turned beet red and looked as though she might explode. Chris’s mouth tightened and Peggy found that she was becoming angrier by the moment. Of all the dirty tricks—John Hamilton asking them here to “plug” their theater, and then bringing out this issue! But Peggy had had enough experience with her father’s newspaper to know how newsmen operated—and she knew how to counter. Before Chris had a chance to reply, and in the face of Aunt Hetty gesturing frantically from the booth to say nothing, Peggy lashed back. “Oh, yes,” she said quite calmly. “We saw that little piece in the paper. Rather childish, wasn’t it? Do you know that if we weren’t renting the auditorium the high school wouldn’t make a penny this summer? I’m sure you’ve heard of the great need for a new science lab. By the way,” she went on in a new vein, “I wouldn’t be surprised if you could help raise funds for the school, too—with your radio program. I’m sure people would be glad to donate to a cause like that!” It was John Hamilton’s turn to flush, which he did, as they looked at each other like two sparring partners in a contest. Ignoring Peggy’s thrust, he came back firmly to the question. “Is it true that the theater may not open at all?” In the booth, Peggy could see the engineer signaling thirty seconds to go. If she hesitated, a lot of potential theatergoers might tune out this program thinking of the Kenabeek Summer Theater as a myth, as a good idea that failed. She couldn’t lie, but perhaps there was another way. She thought quickly, and her pretty voice sounded young and gay as it traveled through the microphone. “The theater is scheduled to open this Thursday night, curtain at eight-forty, for Dear Ruth. We’ll be looking forward to seeing you, Mr. Hamilton, and we hope your listening audience will be there, too.” Peggy had timed her speech carefully, and Mr. Hamilton had barely time to say, “This is John Hamilton, good day.” The red light blinked off, and they were off the air! John Hamilton took out a handkerchief and wiped his brow. Then he looked at Peggy, laughed good-naturedly, and shook her hand. “You were a charming guest! And a tough opponent! But you win, I won’t say another word about your theater until you do open—and then I’d like to have you both back.” He shook Chris’s hand. “I know you were angry, but that’s the news business. Sorry. I’ll be there for your opening if I can make it.” Aunt Hetty looked grimly at Peggy as they walked out the studio door. “I hope you knew what you were doing, young lady,” she said under her breath. “You shouldn’t have said a thing! If we don’t open, you’ll have made a laughingstock of my nephew’s name and mine—to say nothing of the theater!” Aunt Hetty drove back in a silence so thick that Peggy and Chris didn’t have the courage to break it. Peggy felt acutely miserable. Had she done wrong? She leaned over to Chris and whispered, “What else could I do? But maybe she’s right. Maybe I should have let you speak instead. Now I’ve probably messed everything up!” “But I would have said the same thing!” Chris whispered back. “I was mad!” He nodded at Peggy warmly, and she smiled back. She liked Chris Hill, there was no question about that. He was impulsive, but wonderfully kind and engaging. Aunt Hetty dropped them off in front of the high school and was about to drive away when Danny Dunn came racing out of the stage door. “Wait a minute!” he yelled, tearing over to the car and waving a piece of paper in the air. “We opened it,” he panted, handing Aunt Hetty the telegram. “It’s to you and all of us, but we couldn’t wait. Where’s that brilliant girl!” He gave Peggy a tremendous pat on the back. “We listened to you—and we nearly had heart failure when he pinned you down. There wasn’t time to call you at the studio, but—” “I suppose I owe you an apology,” Aunt Hetty interrupted, handing the telegram to Peggy, “but I still think you were taking a terrible chance. Terrible,” she repeated, but her eyes were twinkling.
“Oh, thank goodness!” Peggy cried. She could have almost wept with relief, but Danny’s excitement affected them all, and instead of tears there were hugs and handshakes and Danny pulling Peggy back to the theater to display “the most intelligent girl who ever graced a stock company!” “Intelligent!” Peggy laughed. “Oh, Danny, just lucky!” “Mental telepathy,” Danny insisted, “and that takes intelligence!” “Have everybody come to my house after rehearsal,” Aunt Hetty called. “We’ll celebrate the good news. That’s a nice girl,” she remarked to Chris, who was still standing by the car. “Even if she is a little hasty. Not that you wouldn’t have said the same thing.” Startled, Chris stared at Aunt Hetty, who gave him an understanding smile. Even in a whisper, it seemed, there was very little that Aunt Hetty missed. |
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