  Hours later Peggy awoke to the sound of rain beating on the windows and a whining wind that lashed the tree tops mercilessly. It was a bleak world, dark as evening, and it was only noon. Mary and Michael had been up for some time, and Peggy found them in the living room, chatting with Mrs. Cook, who had prepared a hearty breakfast for everybody. “Peggy—good!” Mrs. Cook said as she saw her emerging from the bedroom. “I was going to wake you any minute. You must be ravenous.” “I am,” Peggy admitted, sitting down at the table Mrs. Cook had set in front of the fireplace. “A fire in the summertime! It doesn’t seem possible.” “Well, when these storms come up it can get good and chilly here. The dampness goes right through you.” Mrs. Cook smiled. “Have you called to notify your father that we’re all right?” Peggy asked Michael. “It just occurred to me that everyone must be terribly worried about us.” “Can’t call,” Michael replied, frowning. “The phone’s out. Wire’s blown down, I guess. But I’m not too worried. I’m pretty sure Dad will assume we stayed on the other side of the lake because of the storm. It’s happened before. He’ll have called Mrs. Hopkins, and the theater for you, Peggy.” Peggy noticed the worry in Michael’s eyes. There was something he wasn’t telling her, she felt sure. Mrs. Cook came to the rescue, gently putting her hand on Peggy’s shoulder as she said, “I’m afraid you may have to stay here all day, dear. My husband took the boat to town and couldn’t get back last night in the storm. He called to tell me before the phone went out. None of the boats are out today. We’ll just have to wait until it clears before you can be picked up.” “But the show!” Peggy cried. “I have to get back for the opening.” “Well, maybe you can,” Mrs. Cook placated her. “It should clear by evening, and my husband is sure to return as soon as he can.” But as the hours progressed, the storm showed no sign of relenting. The wind whistled angrily, blowing the rain in blinding sheets. No boat could dare the lake in weather like this. “A fine idea I had!” Michael accused himself grimly. “A little fun, a little relaxation—and what happens? I not only wreck the Merry Mac, but I’m responsible for your missing the show!” “Oh, Michael, it isn’t your fault,” Peggy comforted him. But she was sick at heart. She had felt so optimistic about her new approach to the part, ready to play Evelyn tonight as if she had never played it before. Now she might not even be there. She had no doubt as to what Chuck would do; he would have Alison play the part and get somebody to read the model for this one performance. It had been done before in stock. And there went Peggy’s chance to prove herself, not only to the company, but to a deep part of her that said, “If I fail this, the opportunity may never come again.” She wandered over to the window and stood there, looking out, trying to hold back the tears of disappointment. “Maybe it’s better this way,” she told herself. “Perhaps I wouldn’t do any better than I have all week.” But she remembered Randy’s words as he left her that day on the bus—“You’re a fine actress and I have faith in you!” Randy must have foreseen both the part and the trouble with Alison. What he could never have imagined was the possibility of Peggy’s not being there to play it at all. By six o’clock the storm finally showed signs of subsiding. Peggy anxiously watched the sky, wondering if it would be possible after all to get back in time for the curtain. At seven-thirty the rain had stopped and the wind was reduced to a murmur. Mrs. Cook took the group down to the dock to watch for her husband’s boat. “He’s sure to come soon,” she said. “I think you’ll make it, Peggy.” Peggy strained to see across the lake. The sky was still gray, but in the distance they could hear a motor. “Somebody’s out, Peggy,” Mary cried happily. “I think we will get back!” But the boat appeared and it wasn’t Mr. Cook after all. They waved and shouted frantically, but the owner didn’t see them and he veered off in the opposite direction. A few minutes later another boat came into view and Mrs. Cook gave Peggy an impulsive hug. “There he is, dear.” She laughed. “Get ready to dash!” Mr. Cook didn’t have a chance to say hello as he pulled into the landing. The three young people practically fell into the boat with Mrs. Cook shouting hasty directions and waving him off as if to a fire. “Hurry,” she called as he turned around and sped off. “And good luck, Peggy—” Her voice trailed away and Peggy gripped the sides of the boat, her heart in her mouth as the possibility of making the curtain became a reality. “This little runabout isn’t too fast,” Mr. Cook warned, “but I’ll make her do her best!” He pushed the little boat to her limit and in about twenty minutes they pulled up at Michael’s landing. “This is the closest one to the theater, Peggy,” Mr. Cook said. “Run! Don’t say thanks—just make that curtain!” But Peggy was already out and running up the stairs. With a hasty wave she sprinted up the walk beside Michael’s house and started to run to the theater. The parking lot was jammed with cars, but Peggy didn’t see anyone going into the theater. Panting, she started to run back to the stage door, but then realized that Chuck might be out front. She’d better let him know she was here. She dashed back to the entrance and tore through the large doors by the box office. Richard was just coming out of the little room and, seeing her, he grabbed her arm with a sigh of relief. “Thank goodness, Peggy! We were beginning to think you’d drowned!” “Where is everybody?” Peggy gasped. “I’m here—tell Chuck—” “Wait a minute,” Richard held on to her with concern. “The show’s started, Peggy....” Breathlessly, Peggy stopped short while it sank in. Of course! Nobody in the lounge, the doors to the auditorium closed— The audience were in their seats and the curtain had opened! Still trying to get her breath, she looked at Richard helplessly while tears came to her eyes. “Oh, come on, Peggy.” Richard patted her shoulder kindly. “It isn’t that important. If you only knew how worried we were about you! I’m so glad you’re safe and sound I don’t give a hoot about the show!” “Thank you,” Peggy managed to say. “I couldn’t help it—I tried to get back.” “I know. You can tell me all about it later. Why don’t you go home now and get some rest?” “No! Oh, no.” Peggy collected herself and took a deep breath. “As long as I’m here, I’m going to watch!” It was a difficult decision. “Who’s doing the model?” “That girl, June Tilson; she’s winging it.” “Well, come on, then.” Peggy smiled bravely. “Aren’t you going to give me a seat?” Richard grinned at her admiringly. “You’re quite a girl, Peggy. I’ll give you the best seat in the house!” But Peggy preferred to watch from the rear of the auditorium, so she and Richard quietly found places together. It was almost unbearable to see someone else doing her part, but Peggy grimly watched, determined to be as objective as possible. It was doubly difficult to admit that Alison was quite marvelous as Evelyn. She was obviously working on emotion and excitement, but it didn’t matter. She established herself as the star of the play, projecting her self-assurance and technique so that the audience had eyes for no one else on stage. June Tilson did a remarkable job as the model on such short notice. No one but Peggy or another actor could have known that she was reading the part in bits and pieces before she made an entrance, improvising, and finding her lines on the back of furniture where they had been carefully pasted before the show. “She’s good!” Peggy whispered. “My, she’s good! Winging a part like that takes a lot of courage. I thought she probably would read it.” “Chuck said she could, but she wanted to do it this way. She’s a fast study, too!” Richard nodded in agreement. Watching Guest in the House was one of the most painful experiences of Peggy’s life. By the time the play was over she felt as though she’d been drawn through a wringer. Wearily, she left her seat, as the actors were taking curtain calls, and bravos for Alison’s performance were filling the air. She walked outside and back to the stage door. Alison deserved her congratulations, and she sincerely wanted to tell June Tilson how good she had been. Alison was still in make-up on stage, flushed with excitement and satisfaction. Everyone was milling around with words of praise for her wonderful job. No one would ever know what courage it took for Peggy to join the group and add her congratulations. Alison was too much in a whirl with her own triumph to take any special satisfaction from Peggy’s praise, and Peggy realized how right Rita had been. Alison had no personal spite; it was only her career that concerned her. Everyone was glad to see Peggy back unharmed, but it was impossible to miss the undercurrent backstage. The company also was relieved that Alison had played Evelyn and “saved the show.” A middle-aged man from the audience drew Alison away from her group of admirers and took her aside for a private discussion. In a few minutes, Alison rushed back excitedly, looking for Chuck. “I’ve got a screen test!” she exulted. “I have to leave tomorrow!” “Leave!” The entire company was stunned. Actresses just didn’t walk out on a theater in the middle of the season. But Alison was blithely unconcerned. “That was Sidney Mitchell, the talent scout from Lion Studios! He said he’d never been so impressed with a performance in summer stock! He thinks I’m great, said he couldn’t believe anybody could do a job like that at the last minute!” “But you told him you’d played the part before, didn’t you?” Chris Hill demanded incredulously. “Of course not!” Alison hotly defended herself. “Why should I? Let him think whatever he likes. The important thing is that he wants to test me for a part immediately. They’re looking for an unknown, and the part is of a girl very like Evelyn. Oh,” Alison glowed, looking more beautiful than ever with her taste of success, “just think, I might actually get to Hollywood!” “Well, of course we can’t ask you to stay,” Chuck said. “I suppose June won’t mind continuing in your part—” “I’d love to,” June agreed, “and by tomorrow I’ll know the lines.” “Good.” Chuck smiled. “And Peggy will resume Evelyn tomorrow night.” Everyone turned to look thoughtfully at Peggy, only now realizing that if she hadn’t missed the show, the talent scout would have seen her, maybe “discovered” her, instead of Alison. Their expressions were easy to read. Curiosity, pity, and a slight feeling of guilt at their obvious approval of Alison’s performance. Peggy bravely accepted their glances and smiled back at Alison. “I hope you do get the part, Alison,” she said gravely. “Be sure to let us know.” Peggy couldn’t wait to get back to the annex and be by herself for a while. The reaction was just beginning to set in. If she had to stay another minute, she felt, she would break into tears. Hastily excusing herself with a promise to recount her adventure the next day, she started to leave. But Rita stopped her at the stage door. “Don’t let it bother you too much, Peggy,” she said gently. “These things happen all the time. It’s just rotten luck for you. The only time we’ve had a talent scout all summer, and you had to have an accident!” “It doesn’t matter, Rita,” Peggy said with difficulty. She didn’t want to talk another minute. “But it does—I mean Alison’s lying like that....” “But she wasn’t lying,” Peggy protested. “Well, it amounts to the same thing, withholding the fact that she’d played the part before—that wasn’t very honest. I just thought you ought to know that everyone feels the same way about that. It wasn’t very ethical.” “Let’s talk about it tomorrow,” Peggy pleaded, and Rita, understanding that she wanted to be alone, gave her a comforting pat and let her go. Once in the privacy of her tiny bedroom, Peggy finally broke down and wept. It was rotten luck, she admitted to herself. The one chance she’d had all summer, and she’d missed it. Why did Mr. Mitchell have to pick this particular night to come? “It isn’t that I don’t wish Alison good luck,” she cried softly, “but at least he could have seen both of us in the play. He would probably have picked Alison anyway, because she’s good movie material. But if he had only seen my work—it would have been something to take back to New York with me.” And on top of that she had missed the opportunity to play Evelyn at the peak of her feeling about the part. Would she be able to do it at all tomorrow night? She buried her face in the pillow and sobbed until she was too exhausted to cry any more. Then, blessedly, sleep came. Alison was gone by the time Peggy awoke the next morning. It seemed unbelievable that she had managed to assemble her things and pack in such a short time, but her little room was as stark and bare as if no one had been in it all summer. The cast didn’t attempt to disguise their disapproval of Alison’s hasty exit. “That’s typical of anybody so career-minded,” sniffed Danny Dunn. “No gratitude. Alison doesn’t have the least conception of anyone’s problems except her own.” “Thank goodness we have June Tilson to take her place,” Rita echoed. “I don’t know what Chuck and Richard would have done.” By evening Peggy was so exhausted that she almost didn’t care how the play went. She was tired of questioning looks and concern. Tired of thinking about Evelyn. She put on her make-up and dressed for her entrance, as unconcerned as if she were simply going out to dinner. She watched the other actors begin the play and waited for her cue with such a lack of emotion that she wondered for a moment if she could possibly be coming down with a cold or a fever. She simply didn’t care. Her cue came up, and marshaling as much energy as possible under the circumstances, Peggy walked on stage. For the two hours that she played Evelyn, Peggy worked with a most peculiar sensation. She felt as though she were standing beside herself, looking on. She watched Evelyn, heard Evelyn, moved her around like a puppet, with an objective, detached viewpoint completely new to her. She felt nothing whatsoever inside. After the play Peggy took her solo curtain call and received the most tremendous ovation she had ever heard in the theater. She bowed and smiled, wondering what all the shouting was about, and was utterly astonished to see Chuck come to her with real tears in his eyes. “That was one of the most beautiful performances I have ever seen in my life,” he said, looking at her with something like awe. “I won’t even ask you what happened. It was too wonderful to spoil by trying to analyze it!” Ford Birmingham came back to congratulate her, too. “I haven’t yet written my review, Peggy, because I heard what happened last night. I saw both of you play it. Alison was awfully good, but I haven’t seen a job like yours in years! I’m truly grateful for having had the opportunity to see you!” The entire cast looked at Peggy with a respect so new and surprising that Peggy didn’t know what to think. “You’re not fooling me, are you, Chuck?” she whispered. “I didn’t feel a thing out there. Was I really that good?” “Oho!” Chuck grinned at her mysteriously. “So our little ingÉnue has discovered another secret—and all by accident! Listen, Peggy, sometimes it happens that way. Just when you feel dead inside you’ll give a performance so electrifying that everybody wonders what happened. It doesn’t always work, you can’t always be so objective. But I guess that’s what happened to you tonight. Tomorrow it’ll be different, but you’ll never have trouble with Evelyn again!” And Peggy never did. Whether it was because Alison was no longer in the wings, watching and criticizing, or just because Peggy had finally “caught” it, she finished the week giving a glorious performance that brought more and more people to the theater, and sent them away knowing that they’d had a rare experience. “This is what really counts,” Peggy thought gratefully. “Not a screen test or my ‘career,’ but the knowledge that I can really contribute something to the theater. Play a part with the author’s intention, not from my personal viewpoint.” Peggy felt immensely gratified to know that she was beginning to return a little of what the theater had already given to her. |
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