  Peggy had not been wrong. Far from grumbling about the extra weeks of rehearsal, most of the actors were happy about being assured of the additional pay. Of course there was the inevitable disappointment that comes from the postponement of an opening night, but this did not seem really to upset anyone. Most of the actors agreed that the extended rehearsal time was needed, and everyone felt a relaxation of some of the pressure under which they had been working. Of course, the main question in the air was the identity of the secret investor, but Randy maintained a stubborn silence on this score. Peggy attended all of Paula’s rehearsals as well as separate readings of Paula’s role for Mal. She wrapped herself so thoroughly in Paula’s part that she nearly forgot her own, which was not difficult, since rehearsals of all other scenes had been stopped. Even her lunch hours at the Academy were spent studying Paula’s lines. It was not an easy part at all. If the other characters had seemed difficult because of their double or triple points of view, the leading role was almost impossible. It had no point of view at all, and every point of view imaginable! Studying lines Paula was to play the part of the daughter of a pair of embittered millionaire eccentrics who had withdrawn from society and had never allowed their only child any contact with the world. She had been educated by her mother and father and had grown to the age of twenty-three without ever leaving their enormous estate. She had never seen any adults except her parents and a few servants. Before the action of the play, both of her parents have died within a few months of each other, and the girl is suddenly left alone to cope with the problems of existence in a world for which she is completely unprepared. Dazed both by the loss of her parents and the new business of having to deal with people, she decides to come to the rest home which is the scene of the play, to slowly get used to her new position. The principal difficulty of the role, Peggy saw, was quite the reverse of the difficulty of the other parts. Instead of having been two or three different people, this girl has never actually been anybody. As a result, she reacts to each of the actors according to their characters at the moment. And since each of them assumes many different roles, depending on whom he is talking to, the girl is in complete confusion. Listening to Paula read, Peggy was filled with admiration. Somehow, in the short time in which the rest of them had been trying to grasp their roles, Paula seemed to have mastered hers. Each time she slipped into a new manner of speech and action, she gave the impression of doing so with a mixture of eagerness and fear. As the pace quickened and the characters and manners changed more rapidly, the balance between eagerness and fear changed until, as the scene rose to its climax, eagerness was replaced by hysteria, fear by terror. At the curtain, Paula sobbed wildly as the characters around her shifted as swiftly as the pieces in a kaleidoscope. The whole group, including the usually taciturn Mal, broke into applause for Paula, who managed to smile through the play-tears that she seemed unable to control. “We’ll have a fifteen-minute break,” Mal called. “Then, if Paula can stand it, we’ll run through it again!” As the actors stood up and stretched before drifting off to different parts of the room to talk in groups of twos and threes, Peggy went to Paula Andrews, still sitting in her straight chair. “You were wonderful!” she said. “I feel like a fool understudying you!” “Don’t be silly, Peggy,” Paula replied. “It’s not me. It’s the play. Randy has written a marvelous role in Alison; it almost plays itself. If you have to do it, I know you’ll do every bit as well.” “I certainly won’t,” Peggy said, “but what worries me is that I may have to try if you don’t take care of yourself. Paula,” she said in a softer tone, “is there anything the matter? You haven’t been looking at all well lately, and I’m worried about you. Is something wrong that I might be able to help you with? If there is, I wish you’d tell me. You know that I want to be your friend.” Smiling wanly, Paula took Peggy’s hand. “Don’t worry about me,” she said. “There’s nothing wrong. I guess I’ve just been working too hard—at—at the department store, you know—and then at night with these rehearsals. And the part is so demanding, and I’m so wrapped up in it—” She stopped abruptly, as if on the verge of tears, but not acting tears this time. Then she once more managed to smile. “Thank you, Peggy, but you don’t have to worry. I’ll be perfectly all right.” Peggy said nothing more. She had done all she could by offering to help, and if Paula wouldn’t admit anything was wrong, there was nothing further she could say. But Paula’s manner had convinced her that something was very wrong indeed, something far more than a simple case of overwork. However, when Mal called the cast together again for a second reading of the scene, all of Paula’s tiredness seemed suddenly to vanish. She drew strength from some inner reserves and played with the same conviction and brilliance as before. Even more, perhaps, Peggy thought. Caught in the pace and rhythm of her reading, the rest of the cast took hold and played up to her, shifting in and out of character with all the timed precision of a complex machine. Once again the action built to the climax, the tears, the curtain, and the applause. And once again Paula, unable to stop the crying, went as limp and washed-out as a rag doll. “That’s all for tonight,” Mal called. “But before you go, Randy has a bit of a surprise for you.” “As you know,” Randy began when the actors had formed a circle about him, “tomorrow night is the audition performance. Our possible backer is grateful for all the work you’ve done on this scene for him, and to show his gratitude, he’s buying us all a good dinner first. So instead of coming here, come to Paolo’s Restaurant on East 48th Street, to the private dining room upstairs. See you there about six o’clock.” Delighted with this gesture, the cast gathered their coats and hats and prepared to leave. Peggy hesitated, looking at Paula, who was no longer crying, but who still sat exhausted where she had finished the scene. “Peggy,” Randy said, “will you take Paula home, please? She looks really exhausted, and I don’t want her walking, so take a cab, and I’ll pay for it.” “That’s a good idea,” Peggy agreed. “I’ve been worried about her, too. Maybe I can get her to tell me if something’s bothering her. I tried once, but she didn’t want to talk about it. Maybe in the taxi, though....” Paula gladly accepted the lift but, though still friendly and warm, was no more inclined to talk about her troubles, if any, than before. The address she gave proved to be in a fine block of remodeled town houses on East 36th Street, just a half block off Park Avenue—not at all the sort of place where Peggy expected a department-store salesgirl to live. Without inviting Peggy in, she thanked her for the ride, waved good-by, and let herself in through a green-lacquered door with polished brass fittings. Puzzled and worried, Peggy leaned back in the taxi seat and gave the driver the address of the Gramercy Arms. Peggy had been in the crowded, brightly lighted, vaulted cellars of Paolo’s before, on dates with Randy, but this was the first time she had ever been in the private dining room. In fact, until now, she had not even suspected that such a room existed. She could not have been more astonished, then, to find that the restaurant occupied the entire four-story building instead of just the basement. A tiny automatic elevator, that had barely room enough for four passengers squeezed together, carried Peggy and Amy to the top floor. Although they were scarcely five minutes late, the rest of the cast had already preceded them and were wandering about talking gaily and eating appetizers from the long, beautifully decorated table that filled one end of the room. Peggy spotted Paula, eating hungrily and, between bites, talking with animation to Greta and Alan Douglas. She looked much better than she had the night before, and Peggy felt a sense of relief. Maybe she had been making too much of just a normal case of tiredness. Randy and Mal came hurrying over to take the girls’ coats and to lead them into the room, which they showed off as if they owned it. “This is just the lounge,” Randy said, waving his hand to indicate the laden table, the fine paneling, the handsome chandeliers. “Wait till you see the dining room!” Leading Amy and Peggy to the other side of the little entry hall that separated the two rooms, Randy opened the door of the dining room to let them get an advance look. The room was dominated by the biggest circular table that any of them had ever seen—with ample room for place settings for fourteen. The center of the huge table was filled with a low floral centerpiece, punctuated by dozens of tall, thin candles. The heavily beamed ceiling sloped sharply upward from a row of six dormer windows facing a courtyard. On the high wall opposite was an enormous fireplace whose blaze was reflected in the bright crystal and silver on the table. Dazzled by the setting, the girls allowed themselves to be led back to the lounge to help themselves to appetizers. Giant cheeses of all shapes alternated with towering bowls of apples and oranges in the center of the table, while at the foot of these mountains were platters of smoked fish, caviar, sliced cheeses, spiced Italian ham sliced so thin as to be almost transparent, orderly rows of crackers, baskets of sliced bread and rolls, bunches of grapes, bowls of black and green olives, slivers of smoked turkey and brilliant platters of sliced tomatoes. And surrounding it all were the actors, airing their manners like the traditional strolling players invited to a baronial feast, behaving grandly as if they ate this way every day in the week! Laughing at the sight, Peggy happily helped herself to some of the more exotic foods, wisely conserving her appetite. After all, if these were just the appetizers, whatever would dinner be like? An hour and a half later, contentedly sighing as the waiter poured a second cup of coffee, Peggy was glad that she had saved a little appetite. Otherwise she might never even have tasted it all! Dinner, from the delicate clear soup, to the lobster Newburg, the tiny green peas with pearl onions, the crackling thin julienne potatoes, the crisp, herb-tinged salad, and the sweet-sour key lime pie, had been a sheer delight. Now, while everyone was resting over coffee and quiet conversation, Randy stood up to speak. He tapped gently on his glass with a spoon, and the crystal rang like a clear, thin bell. The cast members turned their attention to him. “I think that you would like to know now whom to thank for this wonderful dinner,” he said. “I’m allowed to tell you all at this point, because we’re going straight from here to his house for the reading. It seems that the gentleman has several other appointments, and can’t allow himself time to come down to the theater, but he does want to hear the reading, so we’re bringing the theater to him, from eight to nine-thirty. Now, not to keep you in suspense any longer, I’ll tell you his name: Sir Brian Alwyne, Special British Representative to the United Nations!” A murmur of surprise went up around the table as the actors turned to each other to comment on this distinguished man’s interest in their play, and to speculate on the experience of acting in his home. But, looking from face to face, Peggy noted, with surprise, Paula’s peculiar expression. She had gone pale and white as the table linen, and her face was drawn. One hand, held to her mouth, was trembling. Suddenly she stood up, bunching the tablecloth in a tight grip. “No!” she cried. “No! I won’t! I won’t act in his house!” A shocked silence gripped the room as everyone turned to stare at her. “But, Paula, I don’t understand....” Mal began. “What does it matter if it’s in his house instead of in the theater? I think you’re being—” “No!” she said again tensely. “You don’t understand. Of course you don’t. But”—she paused and looked about her in bewilderment—“I’m sorry,” she said abruptly, then turned and ran from the room. Paula turned and ran from the room. Before Mal and Randy could recover their senses sufficiently to run after her, she had grabbed her coat from the startled cloakroom attendant and run down the stairs. They could hear her heels clattering more than a floor below. Randy started after her, but Mal restrained him. “No use, old chap,” he said. “I don’t know what’s got into her, but whatever it is, she’s not going to act tonight. And as far as I’m concerned,” he added grimly, “I don’t care if she never acts again. If there’s one thing I can’t stand it’s temperament. Forget it. Peggy will do the role, and she’ll do it well.” |
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