Part 8

Peggy felt it was time to interrupt. “Look here, you two,” she broke in. “If you’re quite finished talking about me as if I weren’t here, maybe we can get back to business.”

The two men looked at her. “What business?” Tom demanded.

“Will you try out for the part of the grandfather?”

Tom Agate smiled and walked to one corner of the room. “It’s a marvelous part,” he said indecisively.

“And you’re marvelous in it,” Peggy insisted. “Say you’ll do it.”

Tom looked at Peter seriously. “Did Oscar say he wanted me?”

“Yes, he did,” Peter assured him.

Tom moved back across the room, walking with the easy step of someone half his years. Peggy saw that his face was flushed and his eyes were sparkling with an inner excitement she could only guess at.

He stopped abruptly and held out his hands to them. “All right,” he said with unexpected forcefulness. “I’ll give it a try.”

Peggy ran over to him. “You promise?” she said. “You won’t change your mind?”

Tom shook his head firmly. “No, Peggy. When I give my word, you can bank on it.”

Peggy whirled and grabbed Peter by the arm. “Oh, Peter!” she cried. “Isn’t it wonderful!” The three of them stood grinning foolishly at one another like three mischievous children who have just invented an especially wonderful game.

Tom Agate was the first to break away. “Well, now,” he said, picking up the script, “might as well get to work. I’ll want to read this before morning. When does Stalkey expect us?”

“Auditions are scheduled for ten o’clock at the Elgin Theater.”

Tom nodded with satisfaction. “Good. I’ll be there.” He looked at Peggy anxiously. “You’ll read the part with me, won’t you? Just like tonight?”

Peggy appealed to Peter. “What do you think?” she asked.

“No problem there,” he assured them.

“Good.” Tom flipped open the script and ran his thumb down the edges of the paper. “Incidentally,” he said, “who else is in it?”

“Emily Burckhardt is playing the grandmother,” Peter told him.

Tom beamed with pleasure. “That’s nice,” he said. “I haven’t seen Emily for years. What about the daughter?”

“Marcy Hubbard.”

Tom shook his head. “Don’t know her.”

“She’s a newcomer. I’m afraid we’re going to lose her to Hollywood.”

“All the better,” Tom cried gaily. “Then Peggy can play the part. How about the mother? I see she’s got a big part.”

“It _is_ a big part,” Peter admitted. “We’re centering the play around her.”

Tom frowned. “Is that a good idea? Just from the little I’ve read, I would have thought that the play belonged to the old woman.”

“Well, we’ve got a big name, you see,” Peter explained.

Tom nodded understandingly. “Who is it?”

“Katherine Nelson.”

The transformation in Tom came without warning. All color left him and his face suddenly became drawn and old. “Who did you say?” he whispered in a small, shocked voice.

“Katherine Nelson,” Peter repeated. “Why?”

It seemed an effort for Tom to breathe. The script fell from his hand as he slowly rose to his feet. He shook his head like a drunken man. “No,” he murmured thickly. “I—I can’t.”

Peggy stepped forward. “Can’t what?” she asked in a concerned voice. “Are you all right?”

Tom waved her away. “I can’t be in the play,” he intoned dully. “I won’t be there tomorrow.”

Peggy looked at him incredulously. “But you promised!” she said accusingly.

“I don’t care,” Tom said. “Please—go away now.”

Peggy reached out and took him by the shoulder. “No,” she said urgently. “You can’t do this. I don’t know what’s upset you, but you’ve just _got_ to be there tomorrow morning. Try and face it, whatever it is.” She gave him a gentle shake. “For your sake as well as ours.”

The old man looked at her sadly. “My dear,” he said wistfully, “you don’t know what you’re asking.”

“I know I don’t,” Peggy said. “But we’re depending on you.”

Tom Agate seemed to stand a little straighter even though the hurt look still lingered in his eyes. He gazed at Peggy steadfastly and sighed. “You remind me of someone,” he said at last. “Someone—I knew a long time ago. Will you be there tomorrow?”

“Yes,” Peggy said quietly.

“Do you promise?”

Peggy nodded. “I promise.”

Torn seemed satisfied. “All right then,” he said. “I’ll be there. But, please, don’t let me down.”

Peggy took her hand away. “I won’t,” she said gently. “You can trust me.”

XII Tom’s Tryout

The theater the next morning seemed full of old men, all of them there to try out for the part of the grandfather. Peggy arrived shortly before ten o’clock, and after scanning the rows of seats for Tom Agate, sank down in an aisle seat toward the back. Promptly at ten, Craig Claiborne began the auditions. The same bored assistant stage manager who had read with Peggy two days earlier took his place behind the plain table on stage and began to read with each candidate. Fortunately, it was the same scene Peggy had read with Tom the night before.

One after another, the old men trudged up to the stage and went through the lines that had now become so familiar to Peggy. Some were better than others, but all lacked the authority, the fire the part demanded.

At ten-thirty, just as Peggy was beginning to grow anxious, a tall figure dropped into the empty seat beside her. “Has he come yet?” It was Peter Grey and he seemed equally worried.

“No,” Peggy whispered. “Will they wait for him?”

Peter shook his head briefly. “I haven’t even told Mr. Stalkey he’s coming. I was afraid he wouldn’t show up.”

“How much longer do we have?”

“If he’s not here in the next half hour, we’ll have to give it up.”

Peggy was suddenly struck by an idea. “Peter!” she said. “Did you give his name to the doorman? They won’t let him in if he’s not on the list.”

Peter grinned down at her. “Don’t worry,” he said. “All taken care of.”

Peggy sat back and tried to concentrate on the auditions. When she saw that the last of the actors was approaching the stage, she turned uneasily in her seat to look toward the rear of the theater. That was when she saw Tom standing quietly behind the curtains that separated the inner lobby from the orchestra. Without taking her eyes off Tom, she reached out and touched Peter on the sleeve of his jacket.

“Look,” she said in a triumphant whisper. “Look behind you, Peter. He’s come.”

Peter swiveled in his seat, saw Tom, and leaped to his feet. “You talk to him,” he ordered, “While I go tell Mr. Stalkey.”

Peggy slid out into the aisle and walked slowly back to Tom Agate. He saw her coming and nodded a shy greeting. “Hello,” he said quietly.

Peggy held out her hand. “I’m glad you came.”

Tom nodded briefly. “I almost didn’t make it,” he said with a nervous laugh. “If it hadn’t been for that promise....” He trailed off and shook his head.

“Well, you’re here now,” Peggy said, slipping her arm through his. “Come on and sit down. I think they’re almost ready for us.” She could feel Tom shiver as they walked down the aisle.

“How were the auditions?” he asked, almost hopefully, it seemed to Peggy. “Did Oscar find anyone?”

“Mr. Stalkey doesn’t take me into his confidence,” Peggy replied with a smile, “but I don’t think so.”

Tom didn’t say a word, but hunched into a seat beside Peggy. In his lap he held a copy of the script of _Innocent Laughter_. Down in front Peggy saw Peter Grey leaning over Oscar Stalkey and Craig Claiborne. The three of them seemed deep in conversation. Suddenly Oscar Stalkey gave a little jerk of his head and came up the aisle with the quick steps Peggy remembered so well from her interview in his office. Tom Agate straightened in his seat, uncertain of what to do.

Oscar Stalkey settled the problem by gripping the old man’s hand warmly. “Hello, Tom,” he said, and Peggy heard genuine affection and respect in his tone. “How have you been keeping yourself?”

Tom struggled to his feet, a flush of pleasure creeping over his face. “Fine, Oscar,” he answered. “Just fine. Congratulations on a fine play.”

“Thanks,” Oscar Stalkey said. “What about the part of the grandfather? Think you’d like to play it?”

“Don’t know if I can, Oscar.”

The producer laughed. “That’s not what I heard. Peter Grey said you were great.”

“It’s nice of him to say so,” Tom murmured.

“How about going over a scene or two for us now?” Oscar Stalkey took him by the arm and led him toward the stage. “But first I’d like you to meet Craig Claiborne, our director.”

Tom seemed reluctant to follow Oscar Stalkey. “There’s one favor....” he said tentatively.

“Anything at all,” the producer declared expansively. “You name it.”

“I’d like to read the scene with Miss Lane.”

Oscar Stalkey shot a quick glance at Peggy and turned back to Tom. “Sure thing, Tom,” he said, putting his hand on the old actor’s shoulder. “When do you want to start?”

Tom smiled. “Might as well get it over with,” he declared. “Peggy?” he said questioningly. “Are you ready?”

Peggy nodded and stood up. The three of them walked slowly down to the edge of the stage where Oscar Stalkey made hurried introductions. A few moments later, Peggy found herself back behind the door waiting for Craig Claiborne’s cue. Two days ago she had been so frightened that she could hardly move. But now all that had vanished. It was a calm and confident Peggy who pushed open the door when Craig Claiborne gave the word.

Peggy moved effortlessly through the lines, feeling every pause and groping for exactly the right intonation on every phrase, every word. The big theater was hushed as the white-haired veteran and the newcomer built slowly but surely to the moving climax. But Peggy didn’t notice any of that. Except for the small circle of light that was the playing area, the world ceased to exist, She didn’t even stop to think that she was playing a scene from Broadway’s biggest hit play on the stage of one of New York’s most famous theaters. For the past few years she had dreamed of doing this, but now that the day had arrived, she was so caught up in the powerful emotions of acting that it never once occurred to her that her dreams had suddenly turned into reality.

The scene slowly drew to a close as Peggy knelt beside Tom. Just as on the night before, she could feel his hand gently stroking her hair. The two of them held their positions for maybe half a minute and then Peggy scrambled to her feet, wondering how things had gone. The first hint came when she glanced over at the wings to see three or four stagehands grouped silently beyond the ropes that operated the front curtain. Mr. Fox, the assistant stage manager, was still sitting behind his table, looking like a man hypnotized. No one moved.

Then from the seats out front Peggy heard someone blow his nose. The next instant Mr. Stalkey came leaping up the steps, his eyes suspiciously bright.

“Tom,” he said, coming directly to the point, “will you take the part?”

Tom blinked and stood up. “Are you really sure?” he asked. “Sure you want me?”

Mr. Stalkey opened his eyes. “Want you!” he exclaimed. “Let me tell you something. I must have seen this play a hundred times, but this morning for the first time you’ve shown me how this scene should be played. Let’s go up to the office and talk business.” He threw an arm around the old man’s shoulder and started to walk him off stage.

Watching Tom Agate’s face was an experience Peggy never forgot. When she had first seen him the night before he was a lost soul without the will or the ability to venture far from the airless confines of Syd Walsh’s shop. But now he looked alive and alert, like a man who had rediscovered himself and was proud of it.

Then, suddenly, Peggy saw his body tremble and sway. For a moment she thought he had been taken ill and made a move forward to help him. It was then that she saw what the trouble was.

Standing in the doorway leading to the backstage area, her hands clenched tightly together, was Katherine Nelson.

Stamped across her face was a look of such unutterable shock, mingled with pain and fear, that for a brief moment Peggy felt sorry for her. Then slowly the color crept back into her cheeks and she took a step forward.

Oscar Stalkey, who seemed blissfully unaware of what was happening, welcomed her eagerly. “You’ve just missed the greatest audition of all time,” he said jovially. “But don’t worry, it’s a performance you’ll see a lot of over the next few months. Katherine, I’d like you to meet Tom Agate.”

Katherine Nelson ignored Tom completely. “What do you mean?” she said in a voice that she was obviously controlling at great effort. “What kind of audition?”

“Why, Tom Agate has just read for the grandfather in _Innocent Laughter_,” explained Stalkey. “And, I might add, has got the part.” Katherine Nelson stepped back as though she had been struck in the face. “By the way,” he continued blandly, “do you two know each other?”

“Know each other!” Katherine Nelson breathed. She turned on Stalkey in sudden fury. “What are you trying to do to me?” she grated. “Ruin my career? Make a laughingstock of me?”

Oscar Stalkey looked bewildered. “Why, my dear,” he temporized, “I don’t know what you’re talking about. And I don’t think you do either!”

“A vaudeville song-and-dance man!” Katherine Nelson said and her voice was heavy with scorn. “A broken-down old has-been who probably can’t even remember his lines! This is what you want to put into one of my plays? Never!” She advanced toward Oscar Stalkey, her eyes flashing. “Either he goes or I go! I will not play in the same company with that man!”

Oscar Stalkey held his ground firmly, but Tom Agate cringed away. “Look, Oscar,” he said dully, “she’s probably right. Let’s just forget about the whole—”

“Be quiet, both of you!” the producer thundered. Peggy noticed that his face was as flushed as Katherine Nelson’s. “Now you listen to me, Katherine. I’m still the producer of _Innocent Laughter_ and _I_ make the decisions about who goes into the cast and who doesn’t. Tom Agate is perfect for the part of the grandfather. Furthermore, he’s got a name that still has drawing power. Maybe it’s not as big a name as yours, but it’ll do, and I’m willing to gamble on him. As for you, you’ve got a contract. Now, if you want to break it, I’ll give you permission to go right ahead. You can come up to the office right now and we can tear it up together. But if you do”—Oscar Stalkey lowered his voice in warning—“you’ll never be in another one of my shows. You know perfectly well what _Innocent Laughter_ can do for you. You’ll have a success again—for the first time in quite a while. And believe me, Katherine, you _need_ a success.”

For a long moment Katherine Nelson was speechless. Finally, in a voice that was noticeably shaking, she asked, “Is that your final word?”

“It is,” Stalkey replied firmly.

The actress swayed, caught herself, then turned to Tom Agate. “All right,” she said in a low voice, keeping her eyes on Tom. “I’ll agree to what you want. But only on one condition.”

“What’s that?”

Katherine Nelson spoke slowly but with withering effect. “That I have nothing to do with Tom Agate—except during rehearsals and performance. That I won’t speak to him—look at him—or touch him. Is that understood?”

Oscar Stalkey frowned, started to say something, then changed his mind. “Suit yourself,” he said at last. “Of course, I don’t know how Tom feels—”

Tom, who had lowered his eyes under Katherine Nelson’s scathing attack, straightened visibly. His face was grave and serious, but he was no longer cowering. He seemed to have come to some sort of inner decision. He returned Katherine Nelson’s contemptuous stare squarely.

“Very well, Katherine,” he said firmly. “You can live like that if you like. I won’t stop you. But listen to me. Whatever you do, don’t cut yourself off. I’ve been through it. I know what it’s like.” He lowered his voice to a gentle whisper. “Besides, it doesn’t help.”

Katherine Nelson turned without a word and walked slowly away. Her face was a wooden mask that hid—what? Peggy wondered.

XIII The Ordeal

Katherine Nelson was as good as her word. In the hectic days that followed, she never spoke to Tom Agate unless it was absolutely necessary. Her manner was cold, aloof, and imperious. She listened to Craig Claiborne whenever he directed her, but seldom followed his advice. With the older members of the cast she was icily polite, a pose that was frequently shattered by violent outbursts of temper. As for Peggy, Katherine Nelson studiously ignored her. Peter Grey explained it by saying that the actress had discovered it was Peggy who was largely responsible for Tom’s presence in the cast.

Actually, Peggy didn’t see much of Peter. Both he and Pam were too busy with the thousands of chores that go with sending a theatrical company on the road. The only other person in the company, aside from Pam, who was close to Peggy’s age was Marcy Hubbard, the girl playing the part of the young daughter. Marcy was a breath-takingly beautiful girl with a clever sense of timing and a pleasant, friendly, off stage manner, but Peggy never got to know her well. Marcy, very much in love and recently engaged, spent every available spare moment with her fiancé, a quiet young man who picked her up at the theater immediately after rehearsals.

This left only Amy, May Berriman, and Randy Brewster to talk to. Not that they weren’t eager listeners. But because they never had a chance to see any of the rehearsals, Peggy was forced to go into great detail in order to answer their many questions.

“You mean to say that she _never_ speaks to him?” Amy asked one evening, during the second week of rehearsals. They were sitting in May Berriman’s private sitting room on the ground floor of the Gramercy Arms. Amy, Peggy, and Randy had all been to dinner together, and when they came back May had seen them and invited them in for coffee.

“She hardly ever speaks to anyone,” Peggy said. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“Goodness,” Amy said wonderingly. “That must put a strain on things.”

“You don’t know,” Peggy answered. “It’s as if we were rehearsing a play about the end of the world or something—not a romantic comedy that should be full of laughs.”

“How do you get along with her?”

“Me? Like everybody else. I’ve got one tiny scene in the first act. I come in with Marcy, who’s supposed to introduce me to her mother—that’s Katherine Nelson. We say a few words to each other and then I go out again.”

“How does that go?” Randy asked, balancing his cup and saucer in one hand. “If I remember rightly you have one or two nice lines.”

“I did have, you mean,” Peggy said moodily. “Katherine Nelson insisted on cutting them.”

May Berriman arched her eyebrows. “How did she manage that?”

“She said I wasn’t doing them right.”

“Were you?”

Peggy looked at them helplessly. “No,” she said, “I guess I wasn’t. But I don’t think anybody could,” she added stoutly. “You see, when I come on to meet the mother, Katherine Nelson doesn’t even look at me.”

“Where _does_ she look?” Amy demanded.

Peggy touched her right ear. “She keeps staring at a spot just about here. Her face never changes expression, and her eyes look positively glassy. Now, how can you react to someone like that?”

“It sounds as though she were some sort of mechanical doll,” Randy said.

“That’s exactly it!” Peggy cried. “We’re all mechanical people. We go through the right motions and say the right words, but it’s all so stiff—without any life or warmth.”

“Even Tom Agate?” May asked.

Peggy’s face softened. “No,” she said quietly. “He’s wonderful. I don’t know how he does it. He’s the only one with any spark to his performance. It’s a joy to see him come out on stage.” She shook her head wonderingly. “I think that man could act with a stone statue.”

In Oscar Stalkey’s office, two men were pacing back and forth restlessly. One of them was Stalkey himself, but then he always paced. The other was Craig Claiborne, who was usually relaxed and easygoing. The director threw out an impatient hand. “It just won’t work, Oscar!” he said. “I’ve tried everything, but that woman stiffens them all up like blocks of ice. She won’t do a thing I tell her, and as a result, this so-called comedy we’re about to take out on the road sounds like a dramatized version of an obituary column.”

“Now, now,” Oscar Stalkey soothed. “It can’t be as bad as all that.” But his face looked drawn, worried.

“Come on, Oscar,” Claiborne said. “You know it is.”

Oscar Stalkey sighed heavily. “Maybe it’ll get better,” he said hopefully. “You know, with opening night and all, there’s bound to be some excitement.”

The director shook his head with stark finality. “Opening night is just around the corner,” he said, “and they’re getting worse. Every last one of them. Except,” he added hastily, “Tom Agate. What a remarkable old man!”

“Three weeks in Baltimore!” Peter looked up from the pile of papers on his desk and laughed bitterly. “We’ll be lucky to last three nights!”

At the other end of the office Pam Mundy’s fingers kept up a steady tattoo over the keys of her typewriter. She didn’t bother to answer. She knew he was right.

Oscar Stalkey didn’t quite know how to begin. He prowled uncertainly along the bookcases lining one side of his office, trying to keep his temper in check and his voice low. Sitting in the most comfortable chair in the room, Katherine Nelson watched him steadily and waited for him to speak.

At last he asked the question that had been preying on his mind for the past two weeks. “Why?” he said simply. “Why are you doing this?”

“Doing what?” Katherine Nelson inquired innocently.

Stalkey gave an exasperated shake of his head. “You know perfectly well. The play’s going to pieces.”

She crossed her legs and returned his pleading stare with a bland smile. “Are you suggesting it’s my fault?” she asked.

“Of course I am!” the producer exploded. “Whose fault d’you think it is?”

“Now that’s very interesting,” the actress said coolly. “Supposing we go over my so-called shortcomings. First of all, have I ever missed a rehearsal—or even been late for one?”

“No,” Stalkey admitted uncomfortably. “But—”

“Let me finish,” Katherine Nelson insisted. “There’s been no trouble with my lines. I know them perfectly. Now, I admit I’ve had some disagreements with Craig Claiborne. He’s wanted me to do some things I don’t like.”

“And so you didn’t,” Stalkey concluded gloomily.

“No, I didn’t,” Katherine Nelson said cheerfully. “But why should I follow his orders like a robot? After all, I’ve had thirty years of experience in the theater. I’m an established star. Surely I’ve got some right to express myself in my own way. Be reasonable, Oscar.”

“Well, what about the other people in the cast? You treat them like dirt.”

Katherine Nelson looked shocked. “I do not,” she declared. “I haven’t said a word to them.”

“That’s the whole trouble. You completely ignore them.”

The actress looked pained. She leaned forward in her chair and spoke intensely. “I’m a professional, Oscar. The theater is my business. I don’t go to rehearsals to socialize or have a good time. I’m there to work. And I expect others to do the same.”

Oscar Stalkey threw up his hands. “Have it your own way, Katherine, but something’s all wrong. I know it and so do you. You’re not the only professional in the cast. Emily Burckhardt’s been in the theater as long as you have and she’s upset.”

“Poor Emily,” Katherine Nelson said sweetly. “Her trouble is that she’s got to play so many scenes with that horrible man.”

Stalkey glanced at her shrewdly. “Tom Agate?”

Katherine Nelson didn’t answer. She smiled instead.

“... Oh, it all _sounds_ reasonable enough,” Stalkey said later that day. He and Craig Claiborne were having a conference after rehearsal. “She claims she has her own way of working, and that she’s building up to a performance. She’s terribly, terribly sorry that the others are having such a hard time, but it’s not her fault.” The producer’s voice was heavy with sarcasm.