  “Ground floor.” The elevator bumped to a halt and discharged its load of passengers into the busy lobby. Still numb from the half hour she had spent in Oscar Stalkey’s office, Peggy allowed herself to be pulled along by the crowd that surged toward the building entrance. The big clock above the main doors registered a little after eleven—too early for lunch and too late to make any more appointments for the morning. Peggy idly wondered what to do next. Her first impulse had been to go directly to the Gramercy Arms with the news. But Amy was out and May was probably busy. Besides, at eleven o’clock on a weekday morning, the big house would be almost deserted. The girls nearly all were on jobs or were out busily hunting them. Suddenly, Peggy felt strangely lonely. The need for someone to talk to became overwhelming. She paused by the public telephone booths near the revolving door and thought of calling home to Rockport, Wisconsin. She could almost hear her mother at the other end of the line, excited and happy to hear the good news. It would be good to hear her familiar voice again. On the other hand, wasn’t it silly to call now before she really knew about the part? Wouldn’t it be better to wait until she was sure and not make the same mistake Amy had made with her mother? Peggy was still standing indecisively beside the telephone booth when the elevator behind her clanged open to release a second wave of people. The flood engulfed her and flowed on to the door. “Watch it, lady,” growled an irritated voice. “You’re blocking the road.” Hastily Peggy moved out of the way. “Sorry,” she said, backing into a delivery boy on his way into the building with a full load of packages. “Why don’tcha look where yer going?” the delivery boy muttered, glaring balefully at her over the top of his packages. “Sorry,” Peggy murmured again. She decided she’d better get out of the line of traffic, but as she turned toward one of the side doors, a hand reached out and held her back. “Excuse me,” said a familiar voice, “but can you use the services of a good, reliable Boy Scout? I’m kind, honest, trustworthy, true—” Peggy spun around with a gasp of surprise. “Randy! What are you doing here?” The tall, lean figure of Randolph Brewster, the young playwright Peggy had met when she first came to New York, hovered over her. “I sent my spies out early this morning.” He laughed. “They tracked you down to this place.” He moved closer and took her arm. “Well?” he asked expectantly. Peggy looked at him sharply. “Who told you about that?” she demanded. “Honestly, Randy, can’t a girl have any secrets?” “Nope,” he answered good-naturedly. “Not from me, anyway. All right,” he said. “I’ll tell you how I know. Amy told me.” “Amy!” “Sure. She was on the phone at a quarter past eight this morning, talking thirteen to the dozen. She was convinced that you’d get a chance to read for the part. Did you?” Peggy’s breathless nod gave him the answer. Randy grinned and gave her arm an enthusiastic squeeze. “That’s wonderful, Peggy! When do you audition?” “Tomorrow morning at nine-thirty.” Randy pushed her ahead of him into the revolving door. “Where are we going?” she asked over her shoulder, but the door had already closed behind her. The next instant she found herself on the street, waiting for Randy. “You seem in an awful hurry,” she said as Randy emerged. “What’s up?” “You’ll see,” Randy said as he reclaimed her arm. “Amy’s got a surprise lined up for you.” “Can’t you tell me what it is?” Randy smiled. “I suppose so. Amy’s been waiting in line outside the Elgin Theater since nine o’clock this morning. She’s determined to get standing-room tickets for this afternoon’s performance of Innocent Laughter.” Peggy stopped. “Not really!” She gasped. “Yes, really.” Randy urged her on. “Come on, let’s tell her the good news.” A few moments later, they turned the corner and walked down one of the side streets that run into Broadway. They were now in the heart of New York’s theater district, where famous names stared down at them from every side. When Peggy first had come to New York, she had envisioned theaters stretching along the entire length of Broadway. It had been quite a surprise to discover that nearly all of New York’s theaters were actually located on rather shabby-looking side streets. But there they were, with one block housing as many as half a dozen play-houses, each with its tremendous sign and a marquee jutting out over the pavement. Under one of the marquees, about halfway down the block, stood Amy. She saw them coming and ran toward them, waving a small envelope triumphantly. “I got them!” she cried. She came to a stop beside Peggy and stared at her hopefully, eyes sparkling in anticipation. “Now, honey,” she said, “you’ve got to tell me it’s been worth it, standing all this time. You’re going to read for the part, aren’t you?” Amy waved a small envelope triumphantly. Peggy smiled and nodded. “Tomorrow morning,” she said. “I can’t believe it yet—” Amy let out a whoop and grabbed Peggy’s hands. “Oh, honey, I could kiss you, I’m so happy.” She looked at Randy proudly. “You see!” she demanded. “Didn’t I tell you?” “You sure did,” Randy admitted with a grin. “Even at a quarter past eight this morning. I could have cheerfully wrung your neck for waking me up!” “It did you good to get up,” Amy told him. “Now you’ve got to tell me all about it,” she said to Peggy. “Let’s take a walk, have a nice lunch, and then get to the theater early.” “But aren’t you tired, Amy?” Peggy protested. “You’ve been standing here all morning.” Amy laughed her tinkling, infectious laugh. “After a year of looking for work in New York,” she said, “my feet are used to it.” She wedged between Peggy and Randy, took both of them by the arm, and swung down the street toward Broadway. “Come on, you all,” she said cheerfully. “I want to hear everything that happened....” At six o’clock that evening, the three of them were sitting in Tony’s Place, a postage stamp-sized restaurant near the Gramercy Arms that specialized in heaping plates of spaghetti, smothered with rich, aromatic meat sauce. The spaghetti was ordered and on its way. Meanwhile, they were munching on crusty Italian bread with sweet butter. “Whew!” Amy exclaimed wearily, as she speared a pat of butter from the iced butter dish in the center of the table. “It sure is good to sit down. What did you think of the play?” Peggy shook her head enviously. “Diana Peters was awfully good, wasn’t she? The way she played that scene with the old grandfather, you could tell what she was thinking and what she was feeling every minute. I don’t think I could ever do that—” “Oh, don’t talk silly,” Amy said, biting into a piece of bread. “That’s exactly the kind of part you can play.” “I don’t know,” Peggy replied dubiously. “What do you think, Randy?” Randy had been absorbed in thought ever since they left the matinee. At that moment, he was chewing moodily on a crisp stalk of green celery. “I wouldn’t worry about that scene too much,” he said. “You just said yourself you knew what she was thinking and feeling every minute.” “Yes, but—” Randy leaned forward, jabbing the stalk of celery in Peggy’s direction. “What was she thinking?” he queried. “That girl in the play. Now don’t forget, she’s in New York for the first time. She doesn’t know her mother very well and she’s never even met her grandmother. What’s she looking for?” Peggy shrugged. “Excitement, I suppose. Life.” Randy nodded emphatically. “That’s it,” he said. “In her mind, she sees New York as a romantic fairy-tale city where people can live exciting lives—” “If they know how,” Amy interrupted. “Exactly,” Randy said. “And the daughter in the play doesn’t know how. When she first comes on stage, she’s hoping that her mother will tell her. But her mother is too preoccupied with her own life to spend much time with her daughter’s problems. In fact, it never even occurs to her that she has any.” “And later on,” Amy chimed in, “the daughter turns to her grandmother—the one she’s never met before. Again, the same thing happens.” “At that point,” Randy said, taking charge of the conversation, “the daughter realizes she’s on her own. She decides the thing to do is to fall in love. Unfortunately, the first man she meets is all wrong for her. But she can’t see it and neither can the others.” “But the grandfather sees it,” Amy said brightly. “Yes,” Randy nodded. “He knows what she’s doing and has a long talk with her. On the surface it’s very light and funny, but actually it goes deeper than that. His granddaughter means a lot to the old man, and he’s trying the best way he knows how to give her the experience of his years. He knows he can’t lecture her—she’s too stubborn for that, and so they just sit by the fire and talk. They talk about life and growing up. About families and the tremendous joy that life offers. All of that.” “You mean,” Peggy said, “that the grandfather and the young girl are getting to know each other as people, not just as relatives.” Bandy slapped his hand down on the table. “That’s exactly it,” he said approvingly. “It’s a scene where two people start out as comparative strangers and end up as close friends. Despite all the laugh lines, it’s a very tender moment—and that’s the way it should be played.” “You don’t think I should try for comedy?” Peggy asked. Randy shook his head emphatically. “Everybody will be doing that,” he said. “If you offer them something a little different, they’ll notice you. Besides, the play is so well written that the comedy can take care of itself.” “All right,” Peggy said. “I’ll do it. But that’s not the way Diana Peters played it this afternoon.” Randy frowned. “I know it,” he said. “And that’s been worrying me. Right now Innocent Laughter is being acted all wrong.” Amy broke into a laugh. “Oh, Randy!” she cried. “Here’s the biggest hit on Broadway, and you say it’s all wrong.” “No, listen to me,” Randy said, hunching over the table earnestly. “Who’s the central character?” “The mother,” Amy replied promptly. “It’s the biggest part.” “It may be the biggest part,” Randy said. “But the play doesn’t hang together that way.” “Well, what’s wrong with it?” Amy challenged. “I think the emphasis should be shifted to the two older people,” Randy replied. “You mean the grandmother and the grandfather?” “Right. Look at the mother. She’s shallow at the beginning and just as shallow at the end. She hasn’t learned a thing. But the grandmother has. After all, she decides to go back to the grandfather. You remember that wonderful scene between the two of them in the second act?” “Yes,” said Peggy. “I thought that was the best thing in the play.” “I did too,” Randy said. “You see, Innocent Laughter deals with three women who are being very foolish about their lives. The grandfather is brought in to straighten them out. He succeeds with two of them, but fails with the third.” “Then why didn’t they play it the way you think it should be done?” Amy demanded. Randy shrugged. “It’s hard to say, but my guess is they wanted a glamorous star to play the part of the mother and had to tailor the whole play around her. Don’t misunderstand me. I think it’s still a good play, but it could be much, much better.” “Maybe you’re right,” Amy said, brushing the bread crumbs to one side. “But let’s have a short intermission. Soup’s on.” Smiling genially, as he threaded his way past the tables in his crowded restaurant, came Tony with the spaghetti. “Ahhh!” breathed Amy contentedly. “What a beautiful sight. I’m so hungry I could eat miles of it.” “Eat all you want,” Randy told her airily. “Treat’s on me tonight.” “Oh, no,” Peggy protested. “We’re going Dutch, same as always.” “Nothing doing,” Randy said. “Tonight we celebrate.” “Don’t you think it’s a little early?” Peggy said. Randy looked over at her and slowly shook his head. “No, I don’t,” he said, reaching out for her hand. “Frankly, I don’t think you can miss.” Randy kept Peggy’s hand in his until Tony came up to their table, looking for a place to put the cheese. Finally Randy drew his hand back and gave Peggy a wordless smile. It was nice to know everyone was so confident, Peggy thought to herself, but she knew tomorrow wouldn’t be easy. She glanced up at the clock over the open kitchen in the rear. It read six-thirty. In fifteen hours, she would be on the stage of the Elgin Theater, reading for the part of the general understudy in Innocent Laughter. Just fifteen short hours! The thought sent a shiver of dread and almost unbearable excitement running down her back. Telling herself that tomorrow was still a long way off, Peggy picked up a fork and tried to concentrate on Tony’s wonderful spaghetti. Why, she wondered miserably, had she ever thought she could be an actress? Why hadn’t she stayed home in Rockport and become a schoolteacher as her father had wished? |
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