  With a grateful sigh Peggy Lane lowered her aching feet into the delicious warmth of a dishpan filled with hot water, bath crystals, and Epsom salts. In other rooms exactly like hers throughout the big brownstone house near New York’s Gramercy Park, half a dozen hopeful, equally tired, but determined young girls about Peggy’s age were doing the same thing. At the Gramercy Arms, a rooming house for young actresses in the middle of Manhattan, this was a daily ritual known lightheartedly as the “cocktail hour.” Peggy sighed a second time, wiggled her toes in the steamy water, and flopped back on the studio couch. “What a life,” she murmured darkly. As if in answer to her complaint, the lights of New York began coming on. One by one, they twinkled through her window, throwing a spangle of diamonds across her dressing-table mirror. New York had been home for a year now, but the big city never failed to thrill her—especially at dusk. Without taking her feet from the water, Peggy turned to one side and gazed at a few faint tinges of red in the west where the sunset was fighting a losing battle with the fabulous illumination of the New York skyline. Propping a meditative chin in her hand, Peggy watched the magic spectacle of Manhattan change gradually from a bustling city of towering gray buildings and concrete canyons into the jeweled finery of a million lights. It was like the shimmering moment in the fairy tale when the drab little kitchen maid turns into a beautiful princess. Or at least that was the way Peggy always thought of it. Once, when she was still new in New York, she had made the mistake of trying to explain all this to a very serious young man who was a second-year student at a nearby college. The young man had stared at her uncomfortably for a moment, then changed the subject. But Peggy wasn’t disturbed. She was fond of her own version, even though she knew it was hopelessly romantic. Well, why not? Half-lying on the bed with her feet stuck into what was now a lukewarm basin of water, she was convinced that she was right and he was wrong. She thought of the young man’s earnest face and broke into a grin. Despite herself she laughed out loud. The cheerful sound filled the darkening room. Paddling her feet happily in the water, she threw her head back against the pillow and sighed a third time. “What a life!” She breathed ecstatically. Suddenly full of vitality again, she sat up and leveled a pair of clear hazel eyes over the city, now throbbing with the muted sounds of early evening traffic. “New York,” she announced in a grave voice to the open window and empty room, “you don’t care about me right now. You’ve never even heard of me. But some day you will. You’ll see!” It was quite a dramatic speech for her to make, but then Peggy Lane was very young and very determined to become a great actress. Outside her window, the city took the news of Peggy’s intended conquest calmly. Somewhere a lone taxicab gave a derisive toot on its horn as it squealed to a stop to pick up a fare. Peggy mentally stuck out her tongue at the driver and settled back to make plans for tomorrow. But before she could get really comfortable, an enthusiastic spatter of applause came from the doorway. “I declare, honey,” drawled a familiar voice, “that’s the prettiest speech I ever did hear. You always talk to yourself in the dark like that?” Light flooded the room, and Peggy saw her friend, Amy Shelby Preston, framed in the door. Amy, a striking ash blonde and a product of Pine Hollow, North Carolina, had been pulled to New York by the same magnet that had drawn Peggy. The two girls had met on their first day in the city, liked each other on sight, and decided to room together this year. Peggy struggled to a sitting position and blushed furiously. “I—I was just going over some lines for a play,” she explained lamely. Amy flashed her a knowing smile as she went over to a tiny sink hidden from the rest of the room by a Japanese screen. “What’s the name of the play?” she asked. “Stage-Struck?” Peggy bunched up a throw pillow, but Amy raised her hands in surrender. “Don’t shoot,” she pleaded. “You heave that thing at me and I’ll never get up, I’m that tired.” Peggy hitched herself to the edge of the studio couch and began to towel her legs vigorously. “You relax,” she ordered. “I’ll fix everything.” Amy collapsed wearily on the bed, content to watch Peggy wait on her. “Well?” Peggy demanded eagerly. Amy had just finished a job filming a television commercial for the Bob Jordan show. “Did you get to meet Bob Jordan?” Amy threw back her head and laughed. “Bob Jordan’s already done the show in Hollywood. It’s just the commercial they’re doing in New York.” “But doesn’t he want to see it?” Peggy asked as she poured bath crystals into Amy’s dishpan. Amy shook her head. “Not this one. Even if he wanted to, he’d never be able to find the studio.” Studio space in New York was at a premium, and as a result, many television commercials were filmed in the most unlikely places. Peggy laughed. “Where’d they do it?” “You won’t believe this,” Amy said wonderingly, “but I don’t know. I couldn’t find it again for worlds. All I know is that I had to take a subway for hours and then a bus till I got to the end of the line. Finally I had to wait for a Transcontinental Broadcasting Company car to pick me up and take me to something that looked like a converted garage way out at the end of Brooklyn.” “I know the place,” Peggy interrupted. “That’s the Greenside Studio. I did an audition there once. It’s a converted stable.” “It’s still a stable as far as I’m concerned,” Amy replied. She hugged her arms closer to her body. “Brrr! Was it ever cold!” “Get into something warm,” Peggy urged. She looked at Amy critically. “Why did you wear that thin dress? You know what those television studios are like.” “It’s the best dress I own,” Amy said as she rummaged through her closet. “I wanted to make an impression.” Peggy shook her head and tossed over a bulky woolen bathrobe. “Here, take this,” she commanded. “It belongs to my cousin David, but I borrowed it. And hurry up! I want to hear what happened.” “Well, that’s what I’m trying to tell you, honey,” Amy said as she struggled out of her dress. “But you just won’t give me a chance.” Peggy sat down and tucked her legs under her. “All right, go on,” she said patiently. “I’m listening.” “Well, first of all,” Amy said, poking a tentative foot into the dishpan on the floor, “it was only a thirty-second commercial. My, that feels good. I declare, I’m ten degrees warmer already.” She looked around vaguely. “Now where was I....” “You were saying it was only a thirty-second spot.” “That’s right. With General Refrigerator sponsoring the Bob Jordan show, I counted on having a couple of lines to say. Something like, ‘Oh, Edna! I’ve got the most exciting news! General Refrigerators now come in a whole sunburst of dreamy colors from pastel pink to leafy green!’” Amy dropped the rapturous look on her face and stared solemnly over at Peggy. “You know the kind of thing they make you say.” Peggy nodded wordlessly. “Anyway,” Amy went on, “soon as I got there, they sent me over to make-up. I got in the chair, closed my eyes, and waited for them to put cold cream over my face.” “Never mind that,” Peggy said, “get on with the rest of it!” “But that’s the important part!” Amy protested. “That’s when I knew it was the beginning of the end!” “Goodness,” Peggy said. “It sounds serious. What happened when you had your eyes closed?” “I heard somebody tell me to stick out my arm.” “What!” “It’s the living truth, honey. Honestly, I thought they were going to give me a vaccination or something. But then the make-up girl rubbed cream on my hand and took the polish off my fingernails. When she was through, I asked if she wasn’t going to do anything else, and she said no. She said I was ready to go on camera.” “But only your arm was made up?” Amy nodded emphatically. “Up to my elbow.” “Then what was your part in the commercial?” “A hand!” Amy wailed. She looked as though she were about to burst into tears. “I played the part of a hand on the Bob Jordan commercial. All they wanted me to do was open the refrigerator door!” Amy thumped the couch in frustration. “Here I thought they wanted an actress who could read lines and all, and all they wanted was a hand! Why, anybody with five fingers could have done it!” She paused and looked sheepishly at Peggy. “Oh, Peggy, I’m so ashamed!” Peggy jumped up and went over to her roommate. “Whatever for?” she asked. “It was just a job.” Amy shook her head and blinked. “You don’t understand—Oh, Peggy!” “Come on, now,” Peggy soothed. “Tell me the whole story.” Amy sat perfectly still for a moment, trying to fight back the tears. Suddenly both tears and story came out in a rush. “When I first heard about getting a part in the commercial”—Amy gulped—“I got all excited. I wrote home and told Mama to watch me on the Bob Jordan show.” Suddenly Peggy understood. She knew Pine Hollow, North Carolina, was a tiny place. Amy’s mother was almost sure to tell everyone about her daughter’s big television debut. Next week at air time, half the population would be glued in front of their sets, waiting to see Amy’s face. “Everyone will be looking for me,” Amy went on mournfully. “And all they’re going to see is my—my hand! What am I going to tell them?” “The truth,” Peggy said simply. Amy looked up in despair. “Oh, I couldn’t!” she breathed. “Mama would be the laughingstock of Pine Hollow.” Another thought seemed to strike her. “Oh, my goodness!” she wailed. “What’s the matter now?” “Daddy!” Amy cried, jumping to her feet. “What’s he going to say? You know Daddy wasn’t too keen on my coming to New York in the first place.” Peggy smiled, remembering the endless discussions that had gone on in her own family. “Fathers are funny that way,” she observed. Amy threw her a trapped look. “You don’t have any idea! He’s always thought my wanting to be an actress was silly. What’s he going to say now?” An idea began working in Peggy’s mind. Grinning mischievously, she scrambled to her feet and held out her hands. “Don’t tell me,” she begged. “Let me guess.” Clasping her hands firmly behind her back, Peggy started to pace back and forth. Her usually cheerful face was lined with a severe scowl. Amy burst into laughter at the sight and collapsed back on top of her bed. “Oh, Peggy! Daddy doesn’t look like that at all. He’s really much nicer.” Peggy raised a hand threateningly. “Quiet!” she thundered in her best imitation of a man’s voice. Amy subsided obediently. “Yes, sir,” she said meekly. Peggy cleared her throat and rumbled ahead. “This is disgraceful,” she intoned. “Here my daughter has spent a year in New York. She’s gone to dramatic school and she’s been in summer stock. What does she have to show for it, eh? I ask you.” Peggy gave a fierce tug on an imaginary mustache. “One year of solid work and the best she can do is to play the part of a hand on a television commercial!” Peggy stomped down to the far end of the room. “A hand!” She snorted. “If it’s taken her a year to get her hand on a television show, how long d’you suppose it’ll take to get the rest of her on? Eh? I ask you!” Peggy wanted to continue, but Amy was laughing too hard. “You’re almost right.” Amy gasped between giggles. “Only he’d never come right out and say it like that.” “Then why don’t you do it yourself?” Peggy cried gaily. “Me?” Amy seemed astonished by the idea. “Sure,” Peggy said eagerly. “Tell them exactly what happened, but treat the whole thing as a joke. Get them on your side.” Peggy sat down beside Amy and spoke seriously. “I really mean it, Amy,” she said. “If you laugh about it, they will too. And besides,” she added, “they’ll admire you for your determination.” Amy looked at her hopefully. “You think so?” “Of course,” Peggy assured her. Amy began giggling again. “Now what?” “I just thought of something Daddy once said to me. He said the important thing was to get my foot in the door. Now I can tell him that maybe I haven’t got my foot in yet, but at least my hand’s there.” The two girls laughed together. “That’s the spirit!” Peggy chuckled. “Don’t give up the ship! That’ll be our motto!” “Rah! Rah! Rah!” Amy cheered, applauding excitedly. “Sssh!” Peggy cautioned. “We’re making too much noise.” “You sure are,” came a resonant voice from the door. “When does the plane leave for Hollywood?” “Hollywood?” Amy asked blankly, whirling around to stare at the commanding figure before her. May Berriman closed the door and advanced into the room. Years ago, May had been a successful character actress on Broadway, but when she had left the stage she had taken over the management of the Gramercy Arms. The girls who stayed at the Gramercy Arms were, for the most part, struggling young actresses like Peggy and Amy. With her wide knowledge of the theater and her vast common sense, May was more than just a landlady to “her girls.” She was almost a second mother to them, presiding over their hopes and fears, their triumphs and failures, their good times and their squabbles with an even-handed justice that combined equal doses of a sharp tongue and a soft heart. May picked her way through the clutter of the girls’ room and sat down on Peggy’s bed. Peggy never tired of watching May’s movements. They were so unconsciously graceful, so sure and poised. They were, Peggy knew, the result of years of training and hard, disciplined work. “Of course,” May was saying to Amy, “from the hall you two sounded like the cheering section at a football game. I couldn’t imagine what had happened. I was sure it was a Hollywood screen test at the very least.” “Not yet.” Peggy smiled. “That’s a long way off.” Amy looked out the window dreamily. “You never can tell,” she said hopefully. “Why, the phone could ring any minute!” She turned to May for support. “Isn’t that true?” she demanded. “A big producer can see you one day and the next day you’re out in Hollywood. It happens all the time.” “Only in your imagination, dear,” May said dryly. “I’d advise you not to hold your breath until that phone call comes. Oh, by the way,” she added, turning to Peggy, “somebody tried to get you about an hour ago.” Peggy straightened up. “Was there a message?” she asked. May shook her head. “No message, but she left a name.” “Oh. A she?” An amused smile softened May’s face. “I hope it’s not too much of a shock. It was a girl named Pam Mundy. She said she knew you from summer stock.” “Pam!” Peggy cried excitedly. “I had no idea she was in New York. What fun! Is she going to call back?” “She said she’d get in touch with you this evening. Is she an actress?” “Not really,” Peggy said. “She’s more interested in the production end. She saw some of our shows up at Lake Kenabeek last summer, and often discussed the problems with Richard Wallace, our producer.” “A lady producer!” Amy exclaimed in surprise. “I thought all producers were men.” “Most of them are,” May said. “But there’s no law against a girl trying it.” “Maybe she’s doing a show,” Amy cried suddenly, “and she’s got a part in it for you.” Before Peggy could answer, the buzzer over their door let out a squawk. “Telephone!” Amy breathed, hurling herself at the door. “Who’s it for?” she yelled down the hall. Each floor of the Gramercy Arms was serviced by a single telephone shared by all the girls on the floor. “For Peggy!” came the answer. “It’s a man!” “Well, at least we know it isn’t Pam Mundy,” Peggy said, as she drew on her bathrobe. “It’s probably Randy,” Amy said. Peggy nodded and disappeared into the corridor. Randy was Randolph Clark Brewster. Peggy had met him when she first came to New York and had been seeing him ever since. In the early days he had more or less taken her under his wing and had guided her first faltering steps in that actor’s nightmare known as “the rounds.” Doing the rounds meant mapping out a systematic campaign of personally seeing every producer, actor’s agent, and casting director in town. It was tedious, foot-wearying work, but it was necessary. Peggy learned soon enough that you couldn’t simply send a picture and a note, and then sit back, and expect the calls to come in. You had to keep knocking on doors, reminding people of your existence, hoping that sooner or later somebody would remember you and say, “Why don’t we try that girl who was in here this morning? She might be right for the part.” She still remembered the morning she had made her first rounds with Randy. They had agreed to meet outside the Gramercy Arms at eight-thirty. Right on the dot, she saw Randy’s tall, lanky figure swing along the sidewalk, move toward her, and stop in undisguised dismay. In her eagerness to make a good impression, Peggy had put on a dress that was far too sophisticated for her. She had plastered make-up all over her face, complete with mascara, and covered her eyelids with a heavy film of dark green, which she fancied went well with her coloring and dark chestnut hair. Randy took one look and shook his head. “No, Peggy. That won’t do at all,” he had said gently. “Why not?” Peggy had replied. “You said the important thing was for them to notice me.” Randy tried to cover up a grin by rubbing a hand over his jaw. “They’ll notice you all right,” he said. “In fact, they’ll never forget you.” He took her hand and led her up the steep steps of the brownstone house. “Let’s go inside and sit down awhile,” he suggested. Peggy followed him obediently to the tiny sitting room off the entrance hall. She listened carefully as Randy told her how important it was to let her fresh young beauty speak for itself. He explained that she was not yet ready to play sophisticated, older women, and that it was useless to try. He got her to go upstairs, rub off the make-up, and change into a simpler dress. At first Peggy had been furious, but later she learned that he was right. Now Peggy hurried eagerly down the corridor. It would be good to talk to Randy again. She picked up the telephone. “Hello.” A man’s voice came from the other end. It wasn’t Randy. “Hello. Is this Miss Peggy Lane?” “Speaking.” “My name is Peter Grey. I’m with the Oscar Stalkey office. Miss Pam Mundy suggested I give you a ring.” Peggy caught her breath. Oscar Stalkey was one of the biggest producers in New York. His new play, Innocent Laughter, had opened to rave reviews a few weeks earlier. Already it was impossible to get tickets. Everyone in New York wanted to see it. “Yes?” Peggy answered in a shaking voice. “Well, it’s quite simple, really.” The voice went on in a matter-of-fact tone. “We’re getting ready to cast the road companies of Innocent Laughter, and Miss Mundy suggested you for a general understudy. There’d also be a small speaking part. It’s a national tour and you’d be expected to sign for a minimum of six months. Will you be available?” For a moment Peggy couldn’t speak. She just sat and stared helplessly at the telephone two inches from her nose. “Hello, hello?” came the voice from the other end. “Are you still there?” “Yes,” Peggy said in a voice she didn’t recognize. “We’re trying out a number of people tomorrow. Can you be at the Stalkey office at ten?” “At ten,” Peggy repeated mechanically. “Yes. Then we can expect you?” “Oh, yes,” Peggy said. “I’ll—I’ll be there.” “Thanks. Good-by.” The phone went dead in her hand. It took Peggy several seconds to lift the receiver back into its cradle. “Innocent Laughter!” she murmured to herself. “Me, in Innocent Laughter!” Suddenly she couldn’t stand it another minute. She raced back to her room at the far end of the hall, laughing as she ran. If she could land the part, it was the break of a lifetime! |
|
