Part 2

“First of all,” May began, “_Innocent Laughter_ has only four parts for women.” She ticked them off one by one. “There’s the lead, a brilliantly successful career woman living in New York, who decides one day to try to recapture her youth. Then there’s a wonderful part—the woman’s mother, a shrewd old gal who’s made a fortune in real estate out West, and who hasn’t seen her daughter in years. The third big part is the career woman’s daughter. She’s a young girl who’s been sent to finishing school in Europe, and hasn’t seen _her_ mother in years, except for brief vacations.” May looked around inquiringly. “All clear so far?”

“You mean there are three generations—the grandmother, the mother, and the daughter?” Amy asked.

May nodded. “You’ve got the picture.”

“What happened to all the men?” Peggy asked.

“Ah, now we’re getting to it,” May said. “The grandfather—that’s the old gal’s husband—disappeared years ago. He left home because he said he couldn’t stand his wife’s domineering ways. The mother’s husband is dead, and the daughter, of course, doesn’t have any husband yet.”

“How about the story?” Amy demanded. “What’s that all about?”

“The situation is simple,” May explained. “The three generations meet in New York. The grandmother wants a last fling. She’s after good times and plenty of them. The mother, as I’ve said, is trying to find romance again.”

“And the young daughter?” Amy asked.

May shrugged. “The daughter isn’t sure what she wants. She’s in a sort of experimental mood about life. Very young, very sweet, and full of vitality.”

“What happens after they all get together?” Amy asked.

“Oh, they make a mess of everything,” May said. “Things go from bad to worse until suddenly, out of the blue, who should turn up but the grandfather!”

“The one who disappeared years ago!” Amy said.

“Right,” said May.

“What’s he been doing all those years?”

“Oh, this and that,” May replied airily. “He’s been knocking around the world a good deal and making a lot of money. Anyway, he walks in on the three women and takes over. He straightens out the mother’s life, saves the young daughter from marrying a dull man, and makes his wife fall in love with him all over again.”

“It sounds like a great part,” Peggy remarked.

“Doesn’t it?” May agreed. “Anyway, that’s about all there is to it. Not a second _Hamlet_, I’ll admit, but a good, solid comedy.”

“Wait a minute,” Amy interrupted. “You’ve only mentioned three women. Who’s the fourth?”

“A tiny part,” May said. “A schoolgirl friend of the young daughter. She appears in one scene in the first act.”

“And that’s Peggy?” Amy asked.

May nodded. “Probably. That and understudying the daughter.”

Amy sighed. “Oh my,” she said. “Wouldn’t you just love to play the daughter?”

“Stop dreaming,” May counseled. “Oscar Stalkey couldn’t afford to take a chance with an unknown in a part like that.” May turned and walked over to Peggy. “Now look, Peggy,” she said in a quiet, reassuring voice, “when you walk into that office tomorrow, don’t try to pretend you’re an experienced actress. Oscar Stalkey’s been around a long time and he’d be able to see right through your pose.”

The older woman sat down and folded her hand over Peggy’s. “Do you remember that time when Randy told you to be yourself and not try to act as if you were ten years older?”

Peggy smiled and nodded.

“It was the best advice you could get,” May went on. “If you follow it tomorrow, the rest will take care of itself. You’re a good actress, Peggy. You have a lot of promise. He’ll be able to see that.” May got up slowly and drifted over to the window. “I used to know Oscar Stalkey pretty well,” she said. “He’s a strange mixture of a hard-boiled Broadway producer and a sentimental little boy. He’s been in show business over thirty years, and he still thinks the theater is the most wonderful thing in the world.”

“So do I!” Peggy breathed.

May turned and smiled. “Good. Then you two ought to get along beautifully. Now,” she said, moving to the door in a brisk, businesslike manner, “have you had dinner yet?”

“Oh, no, May!” Peggy pleaded. “I’m too excited. I couldn’t eat a bite.”

May’s smile vanished. She pointed to the door commandingly. “Out you go,” she said. “We can’t have you meeting Oscar Stalkey looking pale and haggard. The program for the rest of the evening includes a good dinner, a long hot bath, and early to bed.” May paused and advanced a step toward Peggy. “And try not to worry too much.”

Peggy smiled and nodded. “All right,” she said. “I’ll try.”

“Good. When you push open the door of Oscar Stalkey’s office tomorrow, I want you to look like a million dollars—rested and confident you’re going to get the part.”

At precisely ten o’clock the following morning, Peggy Lane stood before the plain frosted-glass door of Oscar Stalkey’s office, feeling rested, alert—but not at all sure of herself. In fact, what she felt was dread. It was exactly like the time when she was seven years old, and had to appear in the school Christmas pageant as one of the angels who led the shepherds to the manger. She still remembered her two lines: “This is the place. See how the roof is bathed by the light of yonder star.” Chattering with the cold, her throat all lumpy with fear, and lonelier than she had ever been in her life, she had waited in the wings for the words that would bring her out on the stage. She had been sure she would forget everything. Now she remembered what it had been like when at last she had stepped into the brilliant warmth of the stage, sensing the audience out front and the magic of the set behind her. She had read her lines beautifully, and only regretted that she didn’t have more of them. At that moment, Peggy had decided to become an actress. That was a long time ago. Smiling at the memory, she took a final breath and pushed against the door.

She stopped on the threshold in numbed surprise.

Dozens of eyes swiveled around at her entrance. On all sides, the tiny reception room was lined with young girls. There were tall, beautiful girls with sleek hairdos and shiny patent leather hatboxes by their sides. There were heavily made up girls whose eyes glittered coldly as they surveyed the newcomer. There were a few girls she recognized. Nobody was happy to see her.

Peggy knew that this was the fierce competition of the theater. It was part of the price you had to pay if you wanted to come to New York. Tilting her chin defiantly, Peggy closed the door and went over to a peroxide blonde who sat listlessly behind a desk. The blonde reached out a hand for a sheet of paper.

“Name?” she inquired in a bored voice. “Mr. Stalkey’s interviewing by appointment only.”

“Lane,” Peggy replied in a clear voice. “Peggy Lane.”

The blonde ran a bright red fingernail down a list of names and stopped about halfway. “Who sentcha?” she drawled with quick suspicion.

Peggy frowned. “I don’t ... what do you mean?” she stammered.

The blonde pursed her mouth in disapproval. “What I’m trying to find out, dearie,” she said in a voice edged with the patient annoyance of someone talking to a retarded child, “is how come you’re here. Who made the appointment for you?”

Light dawned. “Oh! Mr. Grey. Mr. Peter Grey.”

The answer seemed to satisfy. “Okay.” The receptionist dismissed Peggy with a wave. “Find a seat.” She returned to the magazine she had been reading.

Still feeling ill at ease, Peggy backed away from the desk and looked around for a place to sit down. The chairs along one wall were all filled. Opposite them there was a bench with just enough room if one of the girls would move over. Nobody budged an inch. The silence was oppressive.

Suddenly making up her mind she was not going to stand around awkwardly, Peggy moved over to the bench and planted herself in front of the small space.

“Excuse me,” she said in her sweetest voice, “would you mind moving over?”

The girl who filled the spot Peggy wanted drew herself up in an exaggerated shrug and slowly opened a space.

“Thank you,” Peggy said as she sat down. Her neighbor didn’t even bother to glance in her direction.

The silence continued.

Suddenly from behind the closed door that led into what Peggy assumed was Stalkey’s private office, she could hear voices. There was a high-pitched burst, then a deeper rumbling answer. A woman and a man arguing, Peggy thought. A third voice cut in, a resonant baritone. Two men and a woman.

There was a scream from the other room, followed by a crash, and the woman’s voice shouting, “No! No! No!”

“None of that now,” thundered the first man’s voice. “I’m sick and tired of your childish temper tantrums.”

“Temper tantrums!” came a screech. “How else can I act when you simply refuse to listen to reason?”

“Oh, come off it, Katherine!” the second man said. “Act your age.”

There was a stunned silence during which Peggy had a chance to look around. Every girl in the reception room had her eyes glued to the door. An air of excited expectancy hung over the office. Even the blond receptionist had put aside her magazine in favor of the real-life drama going on in the next room.

Peggy heard the door bang open, and turning, saw before her one of the great figures of the American stage. Katherine Nelson, a portrait of elegance, stood framed in the doorway.

Katherine Nelson. Everyone knew of Katherine Nelson. She had been world-famous for many years, at the very top of her profession. But suddenly, about five years ago—nobody knew why—she had begun to slip. For some reason, she chose her plays badly, and where once she had known nothing but success, she had had to face the humiliation of failure. It had been a long time since she had been on a stage in New York, or anywhere else for that matter. She still had her great name, of course. Katherine Nelson would always be a magnet, but there was no denying that as a star she was fading. Other, younger actresses were moving up to take the roles that would automatically have been hers a few years ago.

It was well known that Katherine Nelson did not wear her years gracefully. References to age sent her into towering rages that were the delight of all gossip columnists, and the despair of those who had to work with her. She stood now, not ten feet from Peggy, her magnificent eyes flashing daggers. At first, Peggy felt a thrill at being so near a famous person, but surprisingly that passed almost at once. Instead of staring at her face, Peggy caught herself looking at Katherine Nelson’s hands as they gripped the door.

They were like claws, Peggy thought. They were the hands of an old woman. With a start, Peggy realized that despite her youthful figure and carefully made-up face, Katherine Nelson could no longer play romantic parts.

All this passed through Peggy’s mind in a flash, before her train of thought was evaporated by a throaty voice that rolled out in accents of anger.

“You’ll remember whom you’re talking to, Oscar Stalkey! There’s only one Katherine Nelson in the theater, and if you’re not aware of it, there are hundreds and thousands of people who are. People who are prepared to stand in line all night, if necessary, to get tickets to my plays. When you’ve thought _that_ over and are willing to discuss matters more intelligently, you may call me!”

Shrugging into a magnificent silk-and-fur coat, Katherine Nelson swept down between the two lines of awed young girls, exactly as if she were making a grand exit from a stage. As a matter of fact, this was just what she _was_ doing. It would have been effective, too, except for one thing. Katherine Nelson had a toy poodle on a leash, and the little dog took a sudden playful liking to Peggy.

As his mistress passed Peggy, the tiny poodle wagged his tail and trotted over. The unexpected shift in course forced Katherine Nelson to stop. Frowning with annoyance, she yanked at the dog’s leash. But instead of following obediently, the poodle gave a couple of shrill yips and scrambled up on Peggy’s lap.

Blushing with embarrassment, Peggy tried to get up and dislodge the animal. “Down, boy,” Peggy commanded, making a wild grab for her purse which was slipping to the floor.

The next instant, leash, purse, Peggy, and the poodle were hopelessly entangled. Peggy sensed a commanding figure hovering nearby. Katherine Nelson was staring down at her in blazing fury.

Peggy attempted an apologetic laugh as she tried desperately to straighten out the mess at her feet. Finally she got everything sorted out and handed over the friendly poodle.

“I’m sorry,” Peggy said with a smile, offering the dog. “We sort of got mixed up.”

Katherine Nelson jerked the poodle out of Peggy’s hands rudely. “Clumsy idiot!” she muttered. Spots of dull red showed in her face.

Peggy felt herself coloring too, but for a different reason. “I really didn’t—” she stammered. “I’m awfully—”

“Will you get out of my way?” Katherine Nelson blazed.

Peggy backed away hastily, catching her heel against the side of the bench as she moved. She flailed the air clumsily to keep from falling, then sat down heavily. Her purse slipped to the floor again.

Katherine Nelson threw her a disdainful look, swept on through the reception room, and out the door.

Peggy had never been so embarrassed in her life. She knew that every girl in the room was laughing at her predicament. She only hoped that Oscar Stalkey hadn’t noticed. But when she stole a quick, shy glance at the door, she saw a short, bald man staring at her owlishly through heavy, horn-rimmed glasses. A cold cigar was clenched between his teeth. Peggy recognized him at once from his pictures. It was Oscar Stalkey. With a sinking heart, she realized numbly that she was ruined before she even started. She had made a perfect fool of herself, and there wasn’t any point in staying.

Staring straight ahead, Peggy got to her feet and headed for the door. The walk seemed endless. She was about halfway there when a deep voice growled out.

“Hey! Where are you going?”

Peggy stopped and turned slowly, her eyes widening in surprise.

Oscar Stalkey was still standing in the doorway, but now he was pointing a finger in her direction. “Come in here,” he said. “I want to talk to you.”

There were gasps of surprise from the other girls. Peggy swallowed once and pointed to herself. “Me?” she asked in a voice that cracked.

“Well, who’d you think I meant?” came the gruff answer. “Come in. I haven’t got all day.” He stepped aside and motioned her to hurry.

Still unable to believe what was happening, Peggy followed Oscar Stalkey blindly into his office.

III The Inner Sanctum

Four people were grouped in the office. There was Stalkey himself, heavy-set and dynamic, hovering impatiently by the door. Behind him in a corner lounged a rather disheveled man in his mid-forties who looked vaguely familiar. A young man in his twenties, with a collegiate crew cut, stood by the window. Beside him, behind the largest desk Peggy had ever seen, sat Pam Mundy—the girl she had met during the summer.

Pam seemed even more surprised than Peggy. Her eyebrows shot up in twin crescents of astonishment at the sight of her friend coming through the door. But she quickly regained her composure and threw Peggy a reassuring smile and wink.

Anyone seeing Pam perched behind the massive desk would have thought she was the most important person in the room. Actually, she was Oscar Stalkey’s secretary, using his desk because the veteran producer seldom sat in a chair if he could avoid it. All his business was conducted on the run, in a restless course of constant pacing that was a little hard to get accustomed to. The only reason he tolerated the desk at all was because his wife had given it to him as a surprise years ago, and he could never bring himself to get rid of it. But at the time, Peggy didn’t know this. She advanced into the room and looked around uncertainly.

The untidy man in the corner unwound his long legs from one side of his lounge chair, and stared at Peggy with undisguised interest. The young man by the window straightened up and greeted her with a pleasant smile.

“Well, sit down, sit down,” came the gravelly voice of Stalkey. “What’s your name?”

“Peggy Lane.” Peggy sat down on the edge of a chair near the desk.

“Had much experience?” Stalkey was prowling along a row of bookcases that lined the far wall of his office.

There was a pause. Finally Peggy decided to be straightforward. “No, Mr. Stalkey,” she replied with a smile. “I’m afraid not much. A year of dramatic school, a season of summer stock, a good off-Broadway role, and a few walk-on parts.”

“That’s all?”

Peggy nodded. The rumpled man in the corner looked at her with surprise. Stalkey merely grunted. “How’d you get on our list for an appointment?”

Peggy glanced over at Pam. “I’m not sure,” she said. “I got a phone call last night from a Mr. Grey.”

The young man at the window nodded. “I’m Peter Grey,” he announced. “I got in touch with her, Oscar.”

“Why?”

“Pam Mundy suggested it.”

All attention was now focused on the girl behind the desk. Pam took the stares in stride. “I saw Peggy in stock last summer,” she explained. “I’ve seen what she can do, and I thought she might be right for the understudy.”

Oscar Stalkey grunted a second time and padded over to the figure in the chair. “What do you think, Craig?” he asked suddenly.

Craig Claiborne! Peggy finally recognized him. He was the director of _Innocent Laughter_ and would probably perform a similar job for the road company productions.

Claiborne shrugged noncommittally. “You were the one who asked her to come in,” he said. “What do you think?”

“Well, at least she’s honest,” Stalkey grumbled as he shuffled off to continue his endless pacing. He stopped and glared accusingly at Peggy. “You’ve no idea,” he said mournfully, “how many girls try to tell me they’ve had years of experience.” He threw up his hands in exasperation. “They have the nerve—some of them—to stand up and tell me they’ve been acting for twenty years when I know perfectly well they can’t be more than eighteen years old. Oh, well—” He broke off abruptly and moved over to a position in front of Peggy. “The reason I asked you to step in here,” he said, “was because you looked like the most human person out there.” He gestured to the reception room in disgust. “That’s the biggest collection of artificial people I’ve seen in months. Where do the casting agents dig them up?” He sighed and went on. “There was something about your embarrassment when you had that run-in with Katherine—”

Craig Claiborne interrupted with a chuckle. “Don’t tell me she tangled with Katherine the Great?” he asked.

“Tangled is the word,” Stalkey said happily. “Peggy here ruined Katherine’s exit.”

Claiborne shook his head in mock dismay. “Oh, oh.”

“That’s right.” Stalkey nodded. He turned back to Peggy. “Tell me frankly. You didn’t know what to do when that happened, now did you?”

Peggy smiled. “No, I didn’t. I was a little frightened and terribly embarrassed.”

“And a little awed, too?” Stalkey asked, almost eagerly.

“Yes,” Peggy admitted. “I guess I was.”

The producer rubbed his hands together with pleasure. “And that,” he said exuberantly, “is exactly the quality we want for the young schoolgirl friend in _Innocent Laughter_. The only question is, are you good enough to play the daughter—even as an understudy?” Stalkey looked at Peggy searchingly, almost as if a careful examination of her face could reveal the extent of her talent.

It was an impossible question to answer. Peggy was saved from trying by a telephone that jangled suddenly.

Pam swooped down on it. “Yes?” she said crisply. “Who’s calling?” She listened for a moment, then covered the mouthpiece with one hand. “It’s Max Borden from Talent Incorporated,” she said. “Do you want to speak to him?”

Stalkey nodded wordlessly, and lunged for the phone. “Hello,” he rasped, “Max?” He began to move agitatedly back and forth across the room, cradling the telephone in his left hand. “Did you get him?” he asked eagerly.

There was a pause, and a look of frustration crossed Stalkey’s face. “Well, can’t he get out of his contract?” he said. “Yeah, well, I’m sorry too.” Another pause. Stalkey used it to shift his cigar over to the other side of his mouth. “Yeah,” he grunted. “Yeah, I know. No, I don’t have the faintest idea. Think about it and call me back. If we get any brain waves here at our end we’ll let you know. G’by.” He hung up the receiver and stared moodily at the telephone as if it had done him some personal injury.

“Charlie Forsythe can’t play the part,” he announced. “He’s tied up with a movie contract.”

Charles Forsythe, Peggy knew, was one of the outstanding character actors in America. Stalkey must have been trying to get him for the role of the grandfather in _Innocent Laughter_. For the first time, she realized it wasn’t always too easy to cast a play.

Oscar Stalkey apparently had forgotten Peggy’s existence. “Any ideas?” he rapped out. “We’ve got to settle this in the next few days.”

“What about Eddie Jarmin?” Craig Claiborne suggested. “I remember he did something similar in _Bed of Roses_ a couple of years back.”

“Yeah,” Stalkey said unenthusiastically. “He sure did and was he terrible! No, thanks!”

“There’s always James Donohue,” Claiborne said.

“Yes, there is,” Stalkey admitted. “When he remembers to show up for rehearsal.” He trotted over to the other side of the room in a burst of agitation.

“Why is it,” he said to no one in particular, “that good, dependable character actors are so hard to come by? I can reach out and put my hand on half a hundred leading men and a thousand juveniles. But a character actor!” He shook his head helplessly. “Oh, well....”

Over by the window Peter Grey stirred restlessly. “You know,” he said with an almost apologetic laugh, “you may think I’m crazy, but I’ve got an idea.”

“Let’s have it,” Stalkey shot back.

Peter advanced toward the center of the room, speaking with mounting excitement. “What we want,” he said, “is a man with a sure sense of comedy. Somebody with a breezy style and a good ear for laugh lines. But even more than that, he’s got to be able to move the audience. There’s that big scene with the daughter, for instance. That’s got to be done beautifully, with a great deal of tenderness.”

Stalkey snapped his fingers impatiently. “Sure, sure,” he said. “We know all that. But I’ll settle for someone who can get us the laughs.”

“Why not get somebody who can do both?”

Stalkey snorted. “Stop dreaming,” he said. “They don’t make them like that any more.”

“There’s one person who just might be able to do it,” Peter said slowly. “If we can get him.”

“Who?”

Peter grinned. “This is the crazy part,” he said. He paused as the others waited expectantly. “Tom Agate,” he finally blurted out.

“Tom Agate!” Craig Claiborne said in a puzzled voice. “Isn’t he dead?”

Peter scratched the back of his head. “I don’t think so,” he said. “The last I heard he was still living here.”

“Tom Agate,” Oscar Stalkey murmured slowly. “Tom Agate.” He spoke the name a second time as if relishing the sound, then looked up at Peter sharply. “How do you know about Tom Agate?” he demanded. “I thought only us old-timers remembered him.”

Peter laughed. “Oh, I used to be crazy about him. My father took me to see Tom Agate every time he played a USO show anywhere near where my father was stationed during World War II.”

“Who,” Pam asked almost shyly, “is Tom Agate?”

Oscar Stalkey waved a hand in Pam’s direction. “You see?” he demanded with a wry smile. “There’s fame for you, Tom Agate,” he said, turning to Pam, “was just about the most famous song-and-dance man in vaudeville. You’ve heard stories about the good old days in the theater—about the grand troupers who always went on to give a performance no matter how they were feeling—”