  Peggy found Pam Mundy and Peter Grey sitting on one of the sofas in the big living room of the Gramercy Arms. When Peggy walked through the door, Peter jumped up and held out his hand. “Congratulations,” he said. “We thought we’d come around and tell you the good news personally.” Peggy took the offered hand and smiled. “I still don’t believe it,” she said. “You’re sure there’s no mistake?” “Absolutely certain.” Peggy smiled a second time and went over to sit beside Pam. “And you’re the one who started it all,” she said. Pam, who was a petite brunette with a quick, vivacious manner, leaned her head back against the sofa and laughed. “That,” she said, “was what they call a stroke of genius.” “Well, whatever it was, I’ve got you to thank.” Pam sat up suddenly. “Oh, no,” she said. “It’s the other way around. I’m the one who should thank you.” Peggy looked at her in surprise. “Whatever do you mean?” “It’s simple,” Pam said seriously. “Oscar Stalkey was wondering whom to get for the understudy, and I’m the fair-haired girl who came up with the right name. Is he ever impressed!” Peter held up his right hand. “That’s the truth,” he assured Peggy. “He thinks Pam’s the greatest casting director in New York.” “Well, not quite,” Pam said with a grin. “But at least he doesn’t think I’m a silly girl butting in where I don’t have any business to be.” She turned to Peggy with a sudden movement of annoyance. “Honestly, Peggy, you wouldn’t believe the cold shoulders I’ve been given! I used to think it was hard for a girl to get established as an actress, but believe me, that’s a cinch compared to finding a good job in production. Producers,” she continued, warming up to her topic, “are all alike. In the first place, they’re nearly all men—” “And that’s the way they want to keep it,” Peter finished with a smile. “That’s right.” Pam nodded vigorously. “That’s exactly the trouble.” She turned and appealed to Peggy. “What’s the matter with a woman being a producer?” she demanded. “Nothing. There are some very successful women producers.” Pam brushed this aside. “They’re exceptions—” “Whoa! Slow down a bit,” Peter said good-naturedly. “This is her favorite topic,” he told Peggy. “The poor girl’s always telling us what a hard life she leads.” Pam subsided with a sheepish grin. “I guess you’re right. But it still makes me mad to think—” “Watch it,” Peter warned. Pam stuck her tongue out at him and they both laughed. “The reason I can give orders to the terrible-tempered Miss Mundy,” Peter said, “is that I am now officially her boss.” “I thought you worked for Mr. Stalkey,” Peggy said. “We both work for Oscar Stalkey,” Peter explained, “but Pam works for me. You see, I’ve been made company manager for the first road production of Innocent Laughter, and Pam was just made my assistant.” “Oh, that’s wonderful!” Peggy cried excitedly. “That means we’ll be going on tour together.” “That’s right,” Peter answered. “And now, if my assistant will kindly shut up for five minutes, maybe we can talk about the road tour for a change. After all, that’s why we’re here.” He leaned forward. “First of all, are there any questions?” “Hundreds,” Peggy assured him. “So many I don’t know which one to ask first. But how about this one? Why did I get the part?” Peter looked surprised. “That’s easy. You read better than anyone else.” Peggy shook her head in amazement. “I was so scared, my knees were all wobbly. I thought I was terrible.” Peter grinned. “You sure were scared,” he conceded. “We could practically hear your teeth chattering. But you had the quality we were looking for.” “But what about the other girls?” Peggy said. “The ones that Craig Claiborne worked with for a while.” “They were almost right. Claiborne thought with a little help he could make them give a performance. But then you came along and you were perfect. And that was that!” “I still can’t understand it,” Peggy marveled. “He cut me off so soon.” “He didn’t have to hear any more.” Peggy smiled. “That’s just what Amy said.” “Well, she was right.” Peter reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a sheaf of mimeographed papers. “Here,” he said, spreading them out over the coffee table, “this is an outline of the tour as far as we know it.” Peggy leaned over the table and watched Peter check off each stopping place. “We open in Baltimore on the twelfth of next month. That’s just five weeks away. We move south to Washington, swing west for a series of performances through Virginia, West Virginia, Kentucky, up to Ohio, over to Indiana, and eventually to Chicago. It’s a rugged tour. A lot of one-night stands in theaters that haven’t been properly used since the days of vaudeville. Oscar Stalkey believes in bringing live theater to all parts of the country—even if it kills all his actors.” “How long will we be in Chicago?” Peggy asked. “As long as they’ll keep us,” Peter answered with a wry smile. “Actually, we’re the Chicago company of Innocent Laughter, but we’re taking the long way around before we get there.” “Is there another road company?” “Oh, yes. It hasn’t been formed yet, though. They’ll play the Southwest and California and probably settle in Los Angeles.” “How do we travel?” Peter and Pam exchanged glances and grinned. “You name it,” Peter said. “We’ll be using every means of transportation known to man except the ox-cart.” “Don’t be too sure.” Pam laughed. “We may use that yet.” “True,” Peter admitted. “Bus, hired car, trains, of course, planes. Everything you can think of.” “And hotel space?” “That’s one of our headaches,” Pam said. “You see, moving a dozen people and three tons of theatrical scenery around the country on a split-second schedule is quite a chore.” “We’re still worrying about the scenery,” Peter said. “When we get that settled, we’ll start to think about the people.” “Oh, I wasn’t complaining,” Peggy said hastily. “I’m sure everything will be all right.” “I’m glad you think so,” Peter said dryly. “I wish everyone was as easy to please.” “Why? Whom do you mean?” “None other than that great lady of the theater, Katherine Nelson.” Peggy felt a funny sinking sensation in her stomach. “Is she in the cast?” Peter nodded grimly. “Oh, yes. She’s the mother.” “The romantic lead!” “Yep.” Peter grinned at her. “Don’t look so surprised. What did you expect her to play? The grandmother?” Peggy shook her head. “I’ve only seen that woman twice, but I don’t think she liked me.” “Bingo!” Peter cried. “You’re so right. What did you do to her?” “Nothing. Really, I didn’t do a thing. Why?” “She saw you at the theater this morning and came storming up to Oscar Stalkey. She wanted to know if you were being considered for the understudy.” “What did he say?” “What could he say? Yes, naturally. She bounced around the theater like an old bag of bones, she was so angry. I wonder why she’s taken such a dislike to you.” “I don’t know,” Peggy said. “I’ll just have to stay out of her way as much as I can.” “That’s not going to be easy,” Pam said. “Don’t forget, you’re playing a small part in the first act. You’re playing the schoolgirl friend of the daughter.” “True,” Peggy said. “Does she know about it?” “Not yet.” “I bet there’ll be an explosion.” “Don’t worry about it,” Peter counseled. “Oscar Stalkey can handle her pretty well. He doesn’t let her get away with too much.” “What was that fight about in the office the other day?” Peggy asked. “Or shouldn’t I ask?” Peter shrugged carelessly. “No big secret. She’d just finished explaining to Stalkey that she should play the lead in the Broadway production and not out in the sticks, as she put it.” “Mr. Stalkey put her in her place soon enough,” Pam added with evident satisfaction. “And that’s why she was screaming,” Peter added. “She’s got to have her own way or she throws a temper tantrum. Just like a child. I sometimes wonder what ails that woman.” Pam looked at him sharply. “Don’t be dumb, Peter. She simply can’t face the fact that she’s not the romantic star she used to be.” “Well, I wish she’d act her age,” Peter said moodily. “It’d be a lot easier all around. Let’s change the subject. Any more questions, Peggy?” “One or two. Who’s the rest of the cast?” “Let’s see now. The grandmother—a wonderful part—is Emily Burckhardt. The daughter is Marcy Hubbard. Do you know Marcy? She’s about your age, I guess. A little older.” Peggy shook her head. “No, but I’ve heard of her.” “She’s nice. You’ll like her.” “What about the grandfather?” “Now that,” Peter said, “is a ticklish question.” He pushed a paper across the table to Peggy. “You’d better hang on to that. It’s the first of many to come. Before we start on tour, you’ll have mimeographed sheets telling everything you’ll want to know—times of departures and arrivals, accommodations assigned to you, absolutely everything. That’s my headache.” “And mine,” Pam said. “Right,” Peter acknowledged with a grin. “But to get back to your question about the grandfather. You heard our conversation in the office?” “You mean when you suggested Tom Agate?” “That’s right.” “Exactly who is Tom Agate? I think I know the name, and I remember your saying he was a famous performer back in the days of vaudeville. But I’m afraid I’m still not clear about—” “That’s not surprising,” Peter interrupted. “Tom Agate retired from the stage fifteen years ago.” “Why did he retire?” “Nobody knows.” “Maybe he couldn’t get a job any more.” “Tom Agate!” Peter said incredulously. “Don’t you believe it! Don’t forget, that was just when television was starting. They were using a lot of old-time vaudeville performers then, and Tom could have had any number of jobs. I’ve spoken to several producers who wanted him, but they couldn’t find him.” “What do you mean—couldn’t find him?” “Exactly that. He’d disappeared. Vanished.” “Do you know where he is now?” Peter paused and sat back in his chair. “No,” he said slowly. “I don’t. But I think there’s a chance of tracing him.” “How?” “I ran into somebody the other day who says he’s positive that Tom is still in New York. If he is, we’re going to find him.” “Remember,” Pam pointed out, “you’ve only got two days.” “I know, and that’s the trouble.” “Where are you going to look first?” Peggy asked. “I know a man, a friend of my father’s,” Peter said, “who’s been with the drama department of the Chronicle for the last forty years. He knows more about the history of the American theater than anyone I’ve ever met.” He looked straight at Peggy. “I thought we’d go down tomorrow and talk to him.” “We?” Peggy said in surprise. Peter nodded. “I was hoping you’d be willing to help.” “Well, sure,” Peggy said, “but how—” “You see,” Peter went on excitedly, “I can’t get away during the day, and neither can Pam. There’s just not enough time before the tour. We both have to stick pretty close to the office. But I thought that maybe you—” He trailed off and looked at Peggy hopefully. “Could act as the bloodhound?” Peggy finished. “That’s it. Will you?” “I don’t even know what he looks like.” Peter brushed this aside. “That’s no problem. We can go down to the newspaper office first thing tomorrow morning and talk to my friend. His name, by the way, is Johnny Dwyer. Johnny has a room full of old clippings and photographs, and I bet he can give us a lead on Tom. Then you can follow it up and let me know tomorrow evening. How about it?” Peggy smiled. “Well, I once discovered a hidden theater. Maybe I’ll be lucky enough to find a hidden actor.” Peter bounced to his feet with a broad smile. “Good girl!” he said. “Can you meet me on the fourth floor of the Chronicle building at nine o’clock tomorrow morning?” “I’ll be there,” Peggy said. “Good.” Peter gathered his papers and stuffed them in his pocket. “We’ll have your contract prepared tomorrow, and when I meet you I’ll give you a copy, and you can look it over. Then, if everything’s satisfactory, you can sign it and deliver it back to us. Okay?” Peggy sighed. “Sounds wonderful to me.” “Sounds pretty good to us, too,” Peter replied. “I think we’re signing on a first-class actress.” |
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