  “I think you should send someone to see him. I’m sure he’d really like to help!” Peggy was saying. She had dropped into Aunt Hetty’s home with Richard and Mr. Miller to discuss her meeting with Bill Slade. “I had the feeling when he spoke that he doesn’t approve of what his brother’s doing, doesn’t like this feud—” “Whether he approves or not, there’s nothing he can do about it!” Aunt Hetty said firmly. “They both run the movie house, but it’s Max who makes the decisions and Bill just follows along.” “That’s right, Peggy,” Howard Miller agreed. “I’d hate to stir up any friction between those two brothers. I spoke at length to Max the other night, and I’ve never heard him so unreasonable about anything in all the years I’ve known him! He won’t even discuss the problem. He’s so terrified that we’re going to ruin his business that he just clams up.” “Was Bill Slade there when you saw him?” Peggy asked curiously. Mr. Miller nodded. “And he didn’t say a word. I hate to disappoint you about Bill, Peggy, but he’s never been strong enough to stand up to his brother; and no matter how he impressed you, I don’t think this issue is the one to change his character.” Peggy sighed. “Well, I guess that’s that,” she said regretfully. “I’m sorry—for a while I thought something could be done. He seemed so nice—and sad somehow. It’s a shame.” “How’s Angel Street going?” Aunt Hetty asked, tactfully closing the subject of Bill Slade. “Wonderful,” Richard said. “It’s going to be even better than Dear Ruth—if that’s possible! Come on, Peggy,” he said, “I’ll walk you home.” “Thank you for the coffee and the cake,” Peggy said to Aunt Hetty. “It was wonderful to have something homemade for a change!” “Remind you of home?” Aunt Hetty asked. “Yes—it all does,” Peggy said wistfully, looking around the comfortable living room with the beamed ceiling, fireplace, and gay chintz coverings on the furniture. “But then,” she laughed, “anything like this is a startling change from the annex! It makes me wonder if I shouldn’t go home for a visit after the season is over....” “Good idea,” Aunt Hetty agreed. “You’ll need a rest.” “Are you staying, Mr. Miller?” Richard asked. “Yes, I want to go over some things with your aunt, Richard. We have to give a report soon to the Chamber of Commerce.” “And I want to talk over some more promotion ideas with you,” Richard said, “if you’ll be here when I get back.” “Your aunt and Mr. Miller make a nice couple,” Peggy observed as she and Richard started back to the annex. “Have you ever noticed?” Richard grinned at Peggy. “You mean that just occurred to you? Why, I guess everybody in town has seen that for years. We’re all just waiting for Aunt Hetty and Mr. Miller to wake up and notice it, too! “I’m sorry that we had to squelch your idea of appealing to Bill Slade,” Richard went on seriously, “and believe me, we wouldn’t if there were the slightest chance of his making any headway with his brother. But I’m afraid Mr. Miller’s right. Bill Slade is a pretty weak character. If he really felt strongly about this, he’d do something about it on his own. Don’t you think so, Peggy?” “Yes, I do,” Peggy said thoughtfully. “And do you know, Richard, I wouldn’t be surprised if he did do something! Maybe he isn’t as weak as all of you think. I just have a feeling—” “Woman’s feelings!” Richard laughed. “For once, I’m afraid your intuition is wrong, Peggy!” And as the week wore on, it seemed that Richard was right. By the night of dress rehearsal for Angel Street, the cast was terribly dispirited, having seen audiences diminish little by little each night for Dear Ruth. Apparently Max Slade was talking down the theater at every opportunity—calling them amateurs, and saying that if Ford Birmingham wouldn’t even bother to go, the townspeople could certainly judge from that. Unfortunately, the company hadn’t been playing long enough to secure the loyal audience that could keep it going regardless. Alison Lord, who was playing the very demanding lead of “Mrs. Manningham” in Angel Street, was particularly upset. “It’s bad enough to be under the strain of doing this part,” she said tearfully to Chuck. “Sometimes I wonder why I bother at all—why not just quit? It doesn’t seem worth the effort!” “It will, tomorrow night, when we open,” Chuck reassured her. “You’re doing a beautiful job, Alison, and, of course, it’s worth while!” “Cheer up, Mrs. Manningham,” Howard Miller said, patting Alison on the shoulder, “you and I are going to have a wonderful time out there, audience or not. Right?” “I guess so.” Alison dried her tears and smiled ironically. “I’m unhappy enough really to feel like Mrs. Manningham, anyway. If this keeps up, I won’t have to work very hard!” She went to the dressing room to change into her costume. Peggy followed, worried about Alison’s mood. “Mrs. Manningham” was on stage almost constantly and really carried the show. If some of Alison’s fire was gone, even the fine performance that Howard Miller was giving wouldn’t be enough to save the play. “How is your costume?” Peggy asked Alison, thinking that clothes and make-up always seemed to have a magical effect on the leading lady. “Have you unpacked it yet?” The large boxes of costumes had arrived earlier in the afternoon from New York. Because Angel Street was a period piece, everything had to be rented. Measurements had been sent, and now the girls could only hope that everything fitted properly. If not, there would be last-minute sewing—a difficult project to fit into the next few short hours. “It’s dull,” Alison replied disinterestedly, “but it fits. At least I don’t have to worry about that!” She put on a smock and sat down at the table to apply her make-up. Watching her draw in the tiny lines on her forehead, and apply blue shadow under her eyes, Peggy had to giggle. “Oh, Alison!” She laughed. “Forgive me, but really, what a change!” Alison stared blankly into her mirror and then had to smile at herself. Gone was the bright, vivacious “Ruth,” and even beautiful Alison. In her place was a wan, haunted woman about thirty, with circles under her eyes and an expression of fear. “For once I look just the way I feel,” said Alison, and as Peggy and Rita laughed, even she had to join in. “I really should be a blonde for this,” Peggy considered as she put up her hair, arranging it in little curls on the top of her head. She was playing the pert, saucy maid, Nancy. “You could spray your hair,” Rita told her, “but it’s a mess, and I wouldn’t advise it. I think you’re all right just like that.” “Except that my skirt is too long,” Peggy noticed as she walked about the dressing room, strutting a bit as “Nancy” did, with a rustle of taffeta. “I’ll trip on it, I’m afraid.” “Here, maybe I can pin it,” Rita offered. Finally, dressed in their costumes and make-up, the girls walked out on stage for an inspection under lights. “What base are you using, Alison?” Chuck called from the aisle. “You’re too yellow under all this amber light. Gus, kill that spot and let me see what happens. Now, will you walk over and sit on the sofa, Alison? And Peggy, let me see you up by the fireplace.” The girls moved around the stage while Gus worked with the lights, changing filters and spots until Chuck was satisfied. It was a wonderful, eerie set, Peggy thought. Gus had stenciled a wallpaper design on the flats, and with the couch that Mr. Bladen had lent them, and the other Victorian pieces and bric-a-brac, the room had a heavy, mysterious quality. The atmosphere affected Peggy strongly. She felt as if some dire event was going to take place. She walked down to the auditorium to look at the stage. “Now try the bracket circuit,” Chuck called. “Let me see how they dim. Where’s Mr. Miller? Get him and take that bit in Act Two, Alison, where the lights go down.” Already nine o’clock, and dress rehearsal hadn’t even started yet. It would go on until the early hours of the morning, Peggy knew. Missing props would be found and put in place, movements changed, and last-minute touches made to the set. Peggy settled down, curling up as comfortably as she could on the hard seat, as she waited for rehearsal to begin. Chris Hill walked out on stage, his appearance completely transformed with the mustache, small beard, and sideburns that he used for Mr. Manningham. Even his attitude was different, Peggy noticed. He seemed a lot older and his voice was deep and serious as he checked his make-up with Chuck. Finally, at nine-thirty, they were ready. The curtains were drawn, Alison settled herself in her chair, Chris stretched out on the couch, and Peggy took her place in the wings. Even a dress rehearsal, she thought, as she mentally prepared for her entrance, had a feeling of excitement and pressure. Well, this was their one chance to feel the play as it would be on opening night—to rehearse with continuity. “I’m not going to stop you,” Chuck called. “I’ll be taking notes and we’ll iron out the flaws later. Ready, Danny?” “All set,” Danny affirmed, his hands on the curtain. “All right then; make it a performance, everyone.” The first half of Act One went well. Peggy had a very small part and was able to watch almost continuously from the wings. Chris was really sinister, she thought, shivering as she observed his scene with Alison. And Alison was wonderful. She was a little young to play Mrs. Manningham but her own personality had disappeared in the part, and she was completely believable. “How I would love to play that part someday!” Peggy dreamed. “Or something like it. I wish I had just one dramatic part to do this summer!” She sighed as she thought of the season ahead—one comedy part after another. Chris made his exit with a slam of the door, and Rita, as the housekeeper, came on to announce the arrival of Sergeant Rough. Peggy drew up a box near Gus at the switchboard, and leaned forward excitedly to watch. With his old-fashioned cape-coat and painstaking make-up, Howard Miller was the very picture of a Scotland Yard Inspector. Peggy tensed as the suspense mounted; even Gus at the lights was so engrossed in the play that he almost forgot to dim the lights at the right time. “Gus,” Peggy whispered, “the lights! Gus, isn’t that your cue?” He started, quickly dimmed the lights, and then shook his head sheepishly. “Thanks, Peggy!” “I’m afraid you are married to a tolerably dangerous gentleman,” Sergeant Rough said to Mrs. Manningham, and as she stood there, slowly realizing his meaning, the curtain closed on Act One. “House lights,” Chuck called. “Open the curtain, Danny, and everybody on stage.” Surprised, the cast gathered on the set. “I thought we were doing a straight run-through” Alison complained crossly. “I need it, Chuck, to get a feeling of the continuity!” “I know, Alison,” Chuck said, “I’m sorry. But something’s come up that you’ll all know about tomorrow, and it might ruin opening night. I’d rather tell you now so you can work it out during rehearsal. Better a bad dress rehearsal than a dreary opening.” “What now?” Peggy wondered. She had never seen Chuck so depressed or listless. All his energy seemed to have left him as he walked forward and looked up at everybody. “You’re all wonderful,” he said slowly, “and you’re doing a job that’s worthy of Broadway—honestly, you are.” He watched Alison closely as he spoke, letting the words sink in. “Now, I don’t want this to throw you. Just hear it quietly, and then we’ll finish rehearsal. Aunt Hetty dropped in a minute ago—she’d been in town and happened to drive past the movie house. She saw the advertisement for the new bill which opens tomorrow night.” “Oh, no!” Chris broke in with instant comprehension. “I’m afraid so, Chris,” Chuck said quietly. “They are showing the movie of Angel Street this week. Under another title, of course, but everybody knows it’s the same play. The story’s too famous. Slade is counting on the stars of the film to draw audiences away from our production.” Chuck tried to think of something else to say, but it was no good. Everyone recognized the seriousness of this move, and what it could mean. “I—I’m sorry.” Chuck concluded lamely. Alison was standing stiffly, her hands clenched and her mouth tight as she tried to control her tears. But then she broke. “I told you it wasn’t worth the effort,” she sobbed. “I’m not going to ruin my health and nerves doing this part and then have nobody in the audience! They can all go to the movies as far as I’m concerned! This whole theater has been a fiasco from the beginning, and the sooner we close the better. You can give the part to somebody else—I’m through!” She ran off the stage and to the dressing room as the rest of the cast looked after her unhappily. Rita started to follow her, but Chuck shook his head. “Let her go,” he said. “She doesn’t really mean it, and she might as well get it out of her system. The part is a terrific strain, and I’m not surprised at her reaction!” Peggy dropped onto the couch beside Howard Miller, who was sitting there twirling his hat thoughtfully. “I had a feeling something was going to happen,” Peggy said sadly, “but I never dreamed it would be this. Guess I really was all wrong about Bill Slade. If he didn’t make an effort to stop his brother this time, I guess he never will. Maybe he’s just as opposed to the theater as Max.” “I don’t know, Peggy,” Mr. Miller replied, “I’m beginning to wonder if we shouldn’t have had someone go to see him as you suggested. Perhaps any try would have been better than none at all. This move of theirs may ruin the theater for good. We can’t possibly stay open if business drops off any more.” He frowned. “The Chamber of Commerce will never want to hear of a summer theater again, and we can’t afford the loss of money either.” “Do you think it’s too late?” Peggy questioned intently. “Too late to see Bill Slade?” “I’m afraid so,” he said. “I’ve already spoken to Max. Aunt Hetty is so furious that she won’t talk to either one of them, and they won’t speak to Richard or Chuck.” He smiled ruefully. “Impasse. Like nations trying to get together without a common language.” Peggy was silent, remembering that Bill Slade had seemed to speak her language. Could she have been so very wrong about that, after all? Why couldn’t she see him herself? Why did it have to be one of the directors of the theater or of the Chamber of Commerce? If the Slades were too stubborn or unreasonable to talk with “authority,” maybe they—or at least Bill—would be freer with her. She laughed softly to herself, thinking of the Hatfields and McCoys. This feud was every bit as unreasonable and silly—and in the stories, it was always the younger generation that somehow managed to work things out! Feeling a little like a heroine in a legend, Peggy decided to try. But how? All through the rest of the rehearsal—with Alison back and working just as Chuck had predicted—Peggy thought about it. She couldn’t call and ask for an appointment. It had to be subtler than that. She would have to arrange something that seemed quite accidental. Yes, a chance meeting with Bill Slade! But how? |
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