“When we get settled into a routine,” the company had dreamed optimistically. “In a few weeks, after things are going smoothly, well, then we’ll have time to swim once in a while and go boating!”
Peggy sighed, taking off the little jacket that topped her gaily flowered summer dress. It could still work out, she thought, things could run smoothly if everyone knew that the theater would stay open. This uncertainty, though, was terrible for everyone’s morale and left no time for play. Actors needed relaxation, too, she mused. The theater was fun, but it was hard work as well.
“And today I’m free for a while!” She smiled with a sudden sharp enjoyment at being outdoors and away from the theater.
As Peggy passed the offices of theKenabeek Gazette, she paused for a moment. She needed a newspaper and wondered if she should go in. But no, she decided, somebody might recognize her, so she hastened on and walked into the drugstore. There were several copies of the paper left and Peggy bought one along with some cosmetics she needed. Outside again, she flipped through the paper, seeking the information she wanted. There it was—the first showing of the movie today would be at noon. She had just enough time. Hurriedly, she walked on, nodding back at several people who smiled at her, apparently part of their grateful, if small, audience.
“Oh, Miss Lane—” A middle-aged woman, smartly attired in sports clothes, stopped her on the sidewalk. “I just want to tell you how much my husband and I enjoyed you inDear Ruth. We saw it on Broadway years ago and I must say we were surprised at the professional excellence of your cast. Tell me, who did that lovely set?”
“Oh, thank you.” Peggy smiled. “Our set designer is Gus Stevens. He’s the husband of the girl you saw playing the part of the mother. And she was awfully good, wasn’t she?”
“Wonderful,” the woman agreed warmly. “Just wonderful. You know, we’ve been coming up here to Lake Kenabeek for years—our son goes to a camp nearby. This is the first summer that we’ve had any real entertainment! You tell your director that we wish him a lot of luck—and the whole cast. We hope you’ll be here every year from now on!”
Peggy left her thoughtfully, realizing that if the theater should have to close, it would affect more than just the company and the Chamber of Commerce. People here really wanted entertainment. Surely there was room for a summer theater and the movies to exist side by side!
She bought her ticket for the film, hoping that the woman in the booth didn’t recognize her. Probably not, Peggy thought. It might be a sin for anyone employed at the movies to go to the Summer Theater! She shook her head impatiently and went into the dark interior. Now that she was here, Peggy wondered if her plan had been so ingenious after all. Perhaps Bill Slade wouldn’t even be here today. Perhaps instead of finding him, she would run smack into his brother Max! And that was a prospect she didn’t particularly want to face.
Peggy took a seat in the first row at the side of the balcony. Here she was close enough to the mezzanine to get up frequently and look around the lounge where a sign on a door announced,Office of the Manager. Looking at it doubtfully as she left her seat for what must have been the tenth time, Peggy wondered if anyone was inside. She might have to stay here all day, seeing the film several times as she waited for someone to emerge. Two ushers walked by and Peggy heard one of the girls say, “No, Mr. Slade isn’t here yet. He said he’d be in around five-thirty. But you’re off duty then, aren’t you?” They went on, leaving Peggy feeling that her brilliant idea hadn’t been so brilliant after all! She was just about to go back and watch the end of the movie, when the door opened and Bill Slade walked out!
Peggy was in luck! It must be Max who was expected later on.
Bill Slade saw her standing there, and an incredulous expression suffused his face. “Why—why, it’s you!” he blurted, in utter astonishment.
“Oh, Mr. Slade! How nice to run into you again!” Peggy’s acting experience came in handy right now. She hoped she seemed genuinely surprised.
“And you know my name now, it seems,” he said, reddening slightly as he came over to her. “I’m sorry about that. I didn’t dare introduce myself that day, not knowing how you’d feel about it.”
Something tugged at Peggy’s heart. She felt she had never met anyone so basically nice or so unhappy with a situation.
“What on earth are you doing here?” he asked, frowning a little as if he had only just realized where they were.
Peggy had planned the answer. “Why, I was having a little difficulty with my part this week,” she said easily, “and I thought I’d take a look at the movie to see how it was done.” From the balcony, the sound of the closing music of the film swelled around them, followed by the martial strains of music for the news-reel.
“You missed the end,” Bill Slade observed, looking at her closely.
“Oh, that doesn’t matter.” Peggy was slightly flustered. “I’m not in the end, anyway. I’m just playing the maid.” She hoped it sounded logical.
Bill laughed. “No wonder you were having trouble,” he said. “That’s miscasting if I ever heard of it!”
“Oh, no, it isn’t.” Peggy smiled back. “You just come to see the play and you’ll see what a good character actress I can be!”
Again she noticed that sad expression come into his eyes, but then he brightened and said, “Miss Peggy Lane, why don’t we do something utterly insane and go out for some lemonade or something together? Do you have time?”
Peggy glowed. This invitation was exactly what she had hoped for! “I’d love to,” she agreed happily.
Bill Slade walked with her back to the drugstore and they took one of the little booths in the rear, well away from curious eyes. In the middle of the afternoon there were few people in the store, and they could speak freely without being overheard.
“I wish you would come up to the theater just once,” Peggy implored. “I think you’d enjoy seeing a play for a change.”
“I know I would,” Bill said slowly. “I love the theater, Miss Lane—”
“Peggy, please!” she twinkled.
“Peggy!” he agreed. “All right. But we might as well not beat about the bush. You know how my brother feels about the theater! I’ve talked to him, Peggy, believe it or not.” He looked at her pleadingly, and she wondered how an attractive, intelligent young man like this could bear to remain so entirely under his brother’s influence. Bill Slade looked as though he should have a more independent role.
“But what does your brother have to do with it?” Peggy asked, hoping to jolt him a little. “Surely, if you would like to be on our side—and I gathered from the way you spoke that day that you would—?”
Bill answered her implied question with an emphatic nod.
“Well, then,” Peggy urged, “why not take a stand? Come up to the theater and let your brother know exactly how you feel.”
“He does know,” Bill said softly.
“I don’t see why we have to be in competition,” Peggy went on earnestly. “Don’t you think the two forms of entertainment could complement each other? For instance, we’re doing a melodrama this week, and if instead of choosing the same story, you had run a comedy film, both our businesses would have benefited. Or don’t you agree?”
She looked at him anxiously over her glass of lemonade, her large eyes serious and her pretty dress making a splash of color against the dull gray of the seat. Bill Slade smiled, saying, “You make an incongruous picture, Peggy! You’re much too young and pretty to be carrying the weight of rival businesses on your shoulders. Tell me—” he leaned forward intently—“did anyone ask you to come and see me about this? I can’t quite believe your story about the movie!”
Peggy decided to be completely honest with him. “No, no one asked me to come—but I did hope to see you. I came with that intention. I thought perhaps if we talked together, you might see our point of view and persuade your brother to put an end to this silly feud!”
“I have tried to persuade him, Peggy,” Bill said uneasily. “I’ve argued about it from the beginning. Then when he decided to run this particular movie this week—well, it was almost the last straw!”
“Well, then,” Peggy cried, “why not let itbethe last straw? Why don’tyouchoose a picture for once instead of your brother? He doesn’t have everything to say about your business, does he?”
Bill looked at her unhappily. “There’s a lot you don’t know, Peggy,” he said. “We are partners, yes, but partners in name only. You see, when we bought that theater, Max was the one who put up the money. He was older, and had been in a very successful public relations business in New York. His dream had always been to come back here to live, with a business of his own. I had just come out of the Army and didn’t have any money to invest.”
“And your brother bought the theater all on his own?” Peggy asked. “My! He must have saved a lot!”
“No, not entirely on his own,” Bill said. “I don’t know why I’m telling you all this, Peggy—” he smiled as her wistfully—“I guess it’s because I want you to like me, and I want to clear myself. But please promise me that anything I say will be a confidential matter between us.”
“Of course,” Peggy agreed warmly. She was glad to know that Bill Slade trusted her, and thought that it was probably a very good thing for him to talk to somebody. She had an impression that he was very lonely.
“Max couldn’t have done it all on his own,” Bill confided. “He had another investor—a silent partner whom almost nobody knows about. Not that there’s anything wrong about it, but—”
“Ford Birmingham!” Peggy guessed excitedly as the pieces began to fall into place.
“That’s right. Ford put up the rest of the money. He keeps his partnership silent because of his job on the paper. He loves the newspaper business and writing, and manages to carry both jobs very well. However, if people knew he was a partner, they might think his movie reviews were prejudiced!” Bill laughed. “They’re not, of course. Ford is a painfully honest critic!”
“And he goes right along with your brother’s attitude about us?” Peggy asked incredulously.
“Well, you see, I’m afraid that Max has said some pretty awful things about your theater to Ford.” Bill seemed almost ashamed. “Not about the people personally,” he added hastily, “but professionally. Max honestly thinks you’re all amateurs and he’s persuaded Ford of that.” He shook his head ruefully. “And Max resents a little company of newcomers coming into the town and possibly drawing away his business. He—he’s not a very happy man, Peggy, and he is my brother. I have to understand how he feels.”
“Of course,” Peggy said sympathetically. “I know some people like that in my home town. They’re terrified of anything new and become completely unreasonable about it.”
Bill nodded. “If Max would just let me choose some of the films, as you said, I think our own business would pick up. It’s been terrible lately, but I know why. It isn’t the Summer Theater, as Max thinks. It’s his choice of old, dull movies that nobody wants to see. This is the first good one we’ve shown in a long time!” He sighed ironically. “And it took your theater to make him choose it—for all the wrong reasons!”
They were silent, each thinking of the seemingly impossible situation. Now that she saw the design more clearly, Peggy couldn’t think of a way out. Apparently, neither could Bill. He frowned and shook his head again. “I’m sorry, Peggy, but there just doesn’t seem to be anything I can do. I wish I could. Believe me, I wish I could!”
Peggy walked back to the annex for the line rehearsal, feeling disconsolate and subdued. It was really almost hopeless, she thought, mulling over all the problems. Without any real authority in the business, Bill couldn’t be of much help. But she had been right about one thing. Bill Slade was certainly not the weak, spineless creature that people imagined! He had good reason for his actions, and actually, it was wonderfully loyal and brave of him to stick by his brother in the face of a lot of criticism. Peggy didn’t doubt that more persons than those concerned with the Summer Theater regarded Bill as his brother’s younger shadow—possibly even Ford Birmingham!
Peggy thought of the little paragraph Mr. Birmingham had written onDear Ruthtoward the end of the week—just as Chuck had predicted. Chris had been right, too. It had said almost less than nothing—a mere notice, in fact! Well, it was all a shame, Peggy thought sadly, a terrible and unnecessary shame!
Angel Streetopened to a house of twelve persons!
Fortunately, Alison was so engrossed in her work that she was not aware of the ridiculously small audience until curtain calls, when they showed their intense appreciation of the play by standing while they applauded and shouted, “Bravo!” It was indicative of the fine performances the actors had given and a deliberate gesture of support. Almost everyone in the audience came backstage after the show, congratulating the company and telling Alison and Howard Miller in particular how wonderful they had been. Aunt Hetty was singularly impressed. “I knew you were a good actress, Alison,” she complimented her, “but I really had no idea you could do a demanding, difficult part like this so well!”
Overhearing, Peggy couldn’t help wishing again that she could have a chance to sink her teeth into a dramatic part, too. Not that she was at all envious of Alison—or was she, Peggy wondered? No, she didn’t think so. It was just that seeing someone else in a serious role opened up a part of Peggy that hadn’t been tapped this summer and wished to be used.
There was something else to it, too, Peggy thought, smiling secretly. Something that almost nobody outside of the theater knew. And it wasn’t such a bad idea to keep audiences in ignorance about it—otherwise their enjoyment might be lessened. The secret was that in many ways it was really easier to play a dramatic part than a comedy role. Comedy was the hardest thing of all.
Peggy suddenly saw Mr. Bladen, who was popping about on stage like a sprightly old bird, nodding with satisfaction at the set. The friendly woman Peggy had met on the street that morning had come with her husband, and they were speaking with Richard Wallace. She noticed Peggy and smiled, beckoning her to come and join their group.
“I’d like you to meet Mr. and Mrs. Cook, Peggy,” Richard said. “They’re interested in our theater and in some of the furniture we’re using this week.”
“Oh,” Peggy exclaimed. “Well, I met part of the family this morning.” She smiled at Mrs. Cook. “And if you’re interested in the pieces on stage, you might speak to Mr. Bladen. He’s here somewhere—”
“I noticed in the program that he loaned the couch,” Mr. Cook said. “We think it’s such a beautiful piece that we’d be very interested in buying it.”
“Well, wait a minute, and I’ll find him for you.” Peggy beamed and hurried away. Wouldn’t it be wonderful if the theater could be of assistance to Mr. Bladen, too! She found him behind a flat, looking curiously at a prop table and, pinned above it, the list of scenes in which the things were used.
“Neat. Very neat,” Mr. Bladen said. “Haven’t been backstage since I was a boy. It smells wonderful!”
Peggy laughed. She knew exactly what he meant. There was a very special aroma about backstage. It had a hint of glue, paint, make-up, and even the peculiar, musty odor of ropes and pulleys.
“I think you’ve sold your chaise longue,” Peggy told him happily. “That is, if you’re interested in selling it!” She brought him back to meet the Cooks, and soon all were engrossed in a discussion of antiques. Peggy saw that it might indeed be a fruitful night for Mr. Bladen. When the boys returned the props and furniture afterAngel Streetwas over, maybe they would be willing to clean up Mr. Bladen’s shop a bit. It was little enough to do in return for the things he had lent them. Peggy made a mental note to remind Michael and his friends.
The audiences for the rest of the week were uniformly small. Either people were going to the movie instead of the play, as Max Slade had hoped, or his comments about the company were having their effect. The absence of anything in the paper except their own advertisements was keeping people away, too. If only Ford Birmingham would break down and come to the theater, Peggy thought!
The company began rehearsals for the next play,Charley’s Aunt, not knowing if they would even have an opportunity to play it! Rehearsals had never gone so badly. All the fire had left Chuck’s direction, and the cast responded just as dully. Toward the middle of the week, Richard and Chuck called everyone together and announced that the theater would definitely have to close unless everyone took a cut in salary. If the actors were willing to do this and work just for expenses, they might be able to pull through another week.
Rita and Gus looked at each other gloomily. Peggy knew that they had counted on saving something this summer to take a long-dreamed-of vacation. In the four years they’d been married, they had never had a honeymoon! Still, Rita and Gus were the first to say they’d be glad to forego their salaries.
Rita even laughed about it. “It’s fate, that’s all. We might have known it! And if we did leave now, we’d only have to go back unemployed to New York. It’s too late to get other jobs this summer. Might as well stay here another week and enjoy the scenery!”
Everyone else felt the same way. There was little point in not making one last effort, even though they knew the theater couldn’t last long.
“Maybe I can talk the manager of Kenabeek Inn into letting us stay for a few days after we close,” Chuck added glumly. “Then you could all at least have a little leisure and swimming after your work!”
“Do you remember when we had all that space in the paper after the commissioner of education made his decision about the theater?” Chris Hill asked. “It probably accounted for the good house we had opening night ofDear Ruth. Couldn’t we somehow find something else that would bring us space in the paper—maybe to be mentioned in some of the social columns—anything, as long as they write about us!”
“I’ve tried,” Richard said. “I’ve been to see everyone on that paper who could do us the slightest bit of good, and Aunt Hetty has used her influence, too. We do get things in. But the social columns aren’t the answer, Chris, as long as people regard us as amateurs. They don’t want to spend money on anything that isn’t professional! That’s why we only get the same small audience over and over again. Even people who bought season tickets before we opened aren’t using them! They’re beginning to regard their investment as some kind of charity to help the town! No, Chris, I’m afraid we’re licked.”
And for the first time, Peggy thought so, too. Until now she always had felt a stirring of hope, an optimistic sense that the theater would pull through somehow. But now everything looked too bleak. It would be unrealistic to hope for a miracle at this point.
Peggy began to visualize the letters she would shortly have to write home: “Sorry, we folded! How would you like a visitor for a while?” If, she thought dismally, she could even manage a ticket home now with the cut in salary. It would be too defeating to ask her parents for that. Maybe she wouldn’t be able to go home after all!
On the last night ofAngel Streeta pall hung over the entire theater. It was so thick the company could almost taste it. All the magic had deserted the dressing rooms and the stage, and Peggy realized anew how much the theater was a two-way romance. Plays needed an audience. One couldn’t work to a vacuum. Still, there was a job to be done, and although the actors had long since lost their excitement, they began the play with a determination to do the best possible job, and with that inexplicable feeling of loss that always occurred on the last night of a show. It was sad, saying good-by to a part and a story.Angel Streetwouldn’t live again until some other company somewhere took it and molded it into being.
The curtain fell to loud but scattered applause, and the actors, too enervated to rush to their dressing rooms tonight, stood about on stage longer than usual. Peggy was talking to Rita aboutCharley’s Aunt, when a movement in the wings caught her eye, and she turned to see a sight so astonishing that she literally dropped onto Mr. Bladen’s couch.
Bill Slade, accompanied by two other men, was walking onto the stage and heading straight for Chuck Crosby with a purposeful air and a broad smile.
Peggy gasped, unwilling to trust her eyes! The men were all talking to Chuck now, and he seemed as flabbergasted as Peggy.
Rita pulled on her sleeve, “Who are they, Peggy? What’s it all about?”
“That’s Bill Slade, one of them,” Peggy said. “I don’t know who the others are.”
“Bill Slade!” Rita exclaimed in disbelief. “Well, for heaven’s sake!”
Suddenly the little group laughed, and Bill turned to smile at Peggy. “I took your advice, you see,” he said, coming over to her. “I know I’m a little late getting here, but I wanted to bring someone with me. Peggy, this is Ford Birmingham!”
Ford Birmingham! Everyone heard the name and stared openly. Mr. Birmingham was an interesting, distinguished-looking man, younger than Peggy had imagined, with streaks of premature gray in his hair. As he spoke to her, Peggy felt a quality of integrity in everything he said.
“I’m so sorry that I didn’t come on my own initiative sooner. I feel that I owe you all an apology—particularly in view of the superb play I saw tonight! I’m afraid I misjudged you. I had no idea it would be like this.”
He was kind enough to see each member of the company personally and offer his apologies. Peggy was struck by the graciousness of the gesture. It couldn’t be easy for him.
“So that is Ford Birmingham!” she exclaimed to Bill. “He’s so—so entirely different from my picture of him!”
“Thought you’d like him.” Bill smiled. “And I think there’s another surprise for the cast, Peggy!” He indicated the other member of the trio, who was still deep in conversation with Chuck.
“Who is he?” Peggy asked curiously. But before Bill could answer, Chuck, grinning from ear to ear, asked the cast to gather around.
“Someone here has a proposition for us,” Chuck said, introducing Mr. Eugene Vincent, the entertainment director for Lake Manor, a huge resort hotel three miles down the highway.
“If you people would be interested,” Mr. Vincent said, his plump face wreathed with good humor, “I’d like to have you play one night a week down at the Manor! It would be a wonderful addition to our program, and you wouldn’t have to worry about a thing. We’d do our own sets for your plays, take care of moving your props, and transport you back and forth. All you have to do is act!” He beamed at them. “How does that sound to you?”
“It might mean that we’d be able to continue our season,” Chuck broke in anxiously. “I’m not sure yet, but the additional money might carry us through—”
“And there’s one other inducement,” Mr. Vincent added. “You’d come early for dinner on performance days, and have the recreation facilities available for your use at any time. Swimming, Ping-pong, volleyball....” He raised his eyebrows and peered at them like a genie offering infinite temptations.
They couldn’t believe their ears. After a stunned silence, Chris Hill was the first to give a mighty whoop. “Mr. Vincent,” he exclaimed, pumping his hand furiously, “I have always believed in Santa Claus, and now that you have come along, Iknowit’s true!” He turned to the company. “What about the rest of you? Don’t you believe in miracles?”
“You mean it’s true,” Danny said, with a perfectly blank expression. Then as it sank in he grinned, and grabbing Peggy, began to waltz about on stage.
“It’s true,” he sang, “it’s terrific, it’s fantastic, it’s the most amazing ever!”
The cast merrily congratulated one another, showering Mr. Vincent with handshakes and praise, and finally dragging him and even Ford Birmingham into an impromptu conga line about the stage. Gus turned on the music and it wasn’t long before a real party developed. Michael Miller went out to bring back sandwiches and soft drinks, and the set ofAngel Streetchanged, miraculously, from a gloomy room to one of brightness and gaiety.
“How did it all happen?” Peggy asked Bill Slade breathlessly during a lull in the dancing.
“Simple,” he answered, smiling. “It occurred to me after our talk that there was one effort I could make in your behalf. I had never spoken seriously to Ford about the theater. I took it for granted that he knew how I felt, but then I remembered that I’d never actually told him so. He’d only heard Max’s side of the story. So”—he grinned at her—“after I saw you that day, I went to see Ford. It took all week to persuade him to come up here, but I finally managed.”
“But what did you say to him?” Peggy questioned, her eyes alight with interest. “It must have been good!”
“I appealed to his sense of honor,” Bill said. “Since we’re all in the same business, I felt he should make an effort to understand your side of the question, too. And after enough insistence that you were really professional, and that he ought to check that for himself, well—he agreed. You know,” Bill added rather sheepishly, “I was terribly impressed. I really didn’t think the play would be as good as it was. Will you forgive me?”
Peggy laughed delightedly, “Oh, Bill! Of course!”
“I think Ford will give you a terrific review,” Bill said.
“And what about Mr. Vincent?” Peggy asked, “Was that your doing, too?”
“No.” Bill shook his head shyly. “Just a coincidence, Peggy. Ford was having dinner with him—”
“And you persuaded both of them to come!” Peggy cried. “Now don’t deny it, Bill Slade, I know you did!”
“Well,” he admitted reluctantly, “I just said that it might be interesting.”
“Oh, Bill, how will we ever be able to thank you!” Peggy’s face was flushed with gratitude. “And I’ll bet Chuck and Richard don’t know a thing about this—” She got up with every intention of telling them, but Bill put out his hand to stop her.
“No, please don’t, Peggy,” he pleaded. “They think we came out of simple curiosity and were pleasantly surprised. If the real story should get back to Max, it might hurt him dreadfully. I’d rather keep the whole thing as quiet as possible.”
“Of course,” Peggy agreed, sitting down again. “I hadn’t thought of that. Bill, what are you going to do about your brother? I’m sure he thought the theater would close, and he’ll be furious at this new development.”
“Well,” Bill said slowly, “he’s bound to know I had something to do with it, but he doesn’t have to know how much—until I prove to him that your theater isn’t the problem! I’ve already talked with Ford and together we’re going to try to improve our choice of films. Ford’s on my side about that.” He smiled ruefully. “If I’d only spoken to him before, Peggy! I guess it took a nudge from you to open my eyes!”
“Say! When’s this set coming down?” Gus Stevens asked everyone. “Do you people know what time it is?”
And it was late—so late that no one could think of leaving Gus and the boys to work all alone. Everyone, including Ford Birmingham and Mr. Vincent, pitched in to help. The wonderful night ended as the last flat was stacked away and Mr. Vincent, dusting himself off, waved good-by with the cheery promise, “Be seeing you next week at the Manor!”
Bill said good-by to Peggy, holding her hand for a moment as he reminded her, “Don’t forget, Peggy, if you’re grateful to me, that I have a lot to thank you for, too. A lot!”
“Well,” Chris observed as he watched Bill drive away with his friends, “I think there’s more to this than meets the eye! You two seem to know each other very well!” He looked at Peggy curiously as they started the walk back to the annex together under a bright night sky so clear that it looked like a canopy of diamonds.
“Oh, well, you heard the story of my meeting Bill Slade when I went to Mr. Bladen’s that day,” Peggy reminded him, hoping that it would satisfy Chris. She didn’t want anyone to know of their further talk.
“And you two became such fast friends in all of about five minutes?” Chris raised his eyebrows. “Oh, now, Peggy! I watched you together tonight and I still say—there’s more to this than meets the eye!”
“Well”—Peggy was glad of the night that effectively covered her blush—“he’s really nice, Chris.” She wasn’t very good at evasion and wished that she could tell the whole story, but for Bill’s sake she mustn’t.
“I see,” Chris said softly. “Yes, he is a pleasant fellow, Peggy, but you know there are other people around, too. I hope you won’t forget that when you’re thinking of Mr. Slade.”
“What does he mean?” Peggy wondered in silence all the way home. Could Chris possibly be putting a different interpretation on her friendship with Bill Slade? “Oh dear,” Peggy thought, “I may have helped untangle the theater, but I’ve certainly tangled up my personal affairs!” She sighed, remembering a little nervously that tomorrowFor Love or Moneywould go into rehearsal and she would be playing a romantic lead opposite Chris Hill!
“‘Last night a group of professional actors, backed by years of experience on Broadway, television, and radio, presented a stunning performance ofAngel Streetto an audience of fewer than twenty persons. It is this reviewer’s duty to apologize publicly for having neglected the Kenabeek Summer Theater. Until now he has not had the pleasure of viewing one of its productions. It is his loss. And he would like to say that the Summer Theater is one of the finest additions to our town in many years. It deserves all the support our local residents and out-of-towners can give it.’
“Oh, just listen to that!” Peggy interrupted herself and squealed with delight as she read Ford Birmingham’s review in theGazetteto Rita, Alison, and Chris. They were having dinner together before the opening ofCharley’s Aunt. Ford Birmingham had timed the appearance of the review to coincide with the opening of the new play, and tomorrow there would be yet another review in theGazette.
“Go on,” Alison urged.
“‘Angel Streetwas so electrifying,’” Peggy continued, “‘that despite the small house, your reviewer was sitting—literally—on the edge of his hard seat in our high school auditorium. (That he was unaware of his discomfort is another indication of the quality of the performance.) Do not make the mistake of assuming that a production given in the high school is an amateurish effort. The set was excellently executed by Gus Stevens, a young man, who, we suspect, will shortly be designing for Broadway.
“‘Alison Lord, as Mrs. Manningham, gave a controlled, vibrant performance that was a delight to watch. As that colorful inspector, Sergeant Bough, our own Howard Miller was simply superb.’” As Peggy read on, the wonderful words of praise made everyone glow with a feeling of success and satisfaction.
“‘Peggy Lane, in the small role of the maid Nancy, was pert and charming, leaving us with the notion that we’d like to see her do something else—’”
“Well, they will,” Chris interrupted, giving Peggy a wink. “Next week, Peggy the Star!”
“Oh, Chris,” Peggy laughed. “I’m not really the star—it’s you—and Alison, too.”
“Leave me out,” Alison said mockingly. “I had my big chance and no audience. It’s your turn next, Peggy, and it looks as if you’ll be luckier.” There was a hint of envy in Alison’s tone that surprised Peggy. Only last week she had been complaining about having two big leads in a row. Peggy had thought Alison was looking forward to the smaller but very good part she had inFor Love or Money.
“Doesn’t he say anything about me?” Chris asked. “Go on, Peggy, I can’t believe he isn’t going to offer any criticism at all.”
Peggy resumed reading: “‘Rita Stevens was excellent as the housekeeper; so believable in fact, that one might tend to overlook a program note which explains that she is much younger than she appeared.’
“Oh, and here you are, Chris,” Peggy said. “‘Chris Hill, a romantic leading man if ever we saw one, made a valiant effort to create the difficult, heavy role of Mr. Manningham. That he didn’t quite succeed is no slur on his ability. He was very good indeed and there were moments in the play when he was truly spine-chilling. We suspect, however, that underneath those sideburns Mr. Hill is basically just too nice a fellow. We’re looking forward to him inCharley’s Auntwhere, we understand, he will be playing something closer to his type. This should be a real treat for the young women of the area, and we assure you, if you’re interested, that you needn’t look further for a living, breathing matinee idol!’
“Oh, Chris!” Peggy whooped and burst out laughing.
“Why, Christopher Barrymore Hill!” Alison giggled. “I had no idea you were such a heart throb!”
“Heavens! You won’t be able to walk down the street alone after that!” Rita teased, as Chris got redder and redder and looked as if he would like to vanish into the floor.
“Oh, no,” he groaned. “And I was beginning to think that Ford Birmingham was a pretty nice guy! Why did he have to do this to me?”
“Because it’s wonderful publicity, that’s why!” Peggy cried. “Oh, Chris, don’t you see? Look at everything he said—about the quality of the actors, and then establishing you as a draw. Why,” she declared brightly, “we’ll have everybody in town rushing up to see you! And they’ll bring their friends. It’s a beautiful idea!”
“Umphm,” Chris moaned dismally. “It’s a hideous idea! However, he was right in his criticism. There were moments when I did feel distant from the part.”
“After this, you won’t even have to act any more.” Alison laughed. “Just be yourself while everyone swoons!”
“Oh, Alison, cut it out!” Chris pleaded, looking around as if a thousand eyes were fastened on him. “I wish Birmingham had settled on you for a drawing card instead.”
“I wouldn’t mind,” Alison smiled, preening a little. “As a matter of fact, I’d probably love it!”
“I’ll bet you would,” Chris muttered, while Peggy frowned uneasily. The conversation was taking an unpleasant turn, she thought, noticing the look Alison gave Chris.
“Well,” Peggy said cheerily, trying to change the subject, “who’s looking forward to Monday besides me? Personally I can’t wait!”
Monday was the day that Mr. Vincent had asked the company to give their first performance at Lake Manor. It would be the last night of the play each week, as Chuck and Richard had decided to move the opening up one day to Wednesday instead of Thursday. This meant also that there would be one day less than usual to getFor Love or Moneyinto shape.
Talking excitedly about the Manor, the group finished dinner in good spirits and left the restaurant with Mrs. Brady’s wish for good luck trailing after them.
From the first night ofCharley’s Aunt, Ford Birmingham’s review made its effect felt. There was a difference in everyone’s attitude now that the theater had gained status. Audiences improved nightly, and Richard said that if things kept up like this, the theater might even be able to recoup some of its losses.
“And this is the way summer stock should be,” Peggy thought as she greeted each day with the anticipation of a good rehearsal and a satisfying show. Now she could concentrate more fully on her part inFor Love of Money. “A good thing, too, that I’m not worried about the theater at a time like this,” she realized. For as the week wore on, Peggy saw more and more that Alison had been right about the role of Janet. It was a long, demanding lead, and Peggy worked furiously, knowing that next week she would have to carry the show.
She found it a strange sensation to work opposite Chris. He was so good in his part and made it all seem so real that Peggy often caught herself wondering if she were in a play or doing something right out of life. At times she forgot herself completely. She was Janet Blake, a young girl who was gradually growing deeply fond of Preston Mitchell.
Alison was quite evidently annoyed at the developing friendship between Chris and Peggy. “Don’t forget, dear, that you’re supposed to be playing comedy,” she said to Peggy one day at rehearsal. “Sometimes I get a feeling that you think you’re doingCamille.”
Peggy was worried and hurt, wondering if Alison was right. “Do you think I’m funny enough?” she asked Rita privately. “Alison is finding fault with everything I do.”
“Well, are you going to listen to her or to your director?” Rita demanded. “Chuck seems satisfied with your work. Look, Peggy, Alison is jealous because you’re playing opposite Chris. I wouldn’t pay any attention to anything she says. My own private opinion is that you’re more interested in Chris than you think—”
“Rita!” Peggy blushed furiously. “Here we go again! It’s just that I like Chris enormously and—well—it is exciting to work with him!”
“I know!” Rita teased her. “It seems to me I told you something like that ages ago! Don’t say I didn’t warn you, Peggy Lane! Before you know it, you’ll have a dyed-in-the-wool crush on our new matinee idol!” Both the girls laughed, remembering how uncomfortable Chris had been with the role Ford Birmingham had assigned him.
The week flew by and when Monday arrived, Peggy noticed an excitement she hadn’t felt since the theater opened. Something new was in the air; they were to face a fresh audience in unfamiliar surroundings. None of the cast had seen the famous Lake Manor, and all were intensely curious as they rode along in the station wagon the Manor had sent for them.
“This is more like it!” Danny observed gleefully. “Our own private chauffeur and dinner awaiting—I always did like to live in style!”
“How could I have missed the Manor on the way up by the bus?” Peggy wondered as they drove down the highway. “This is the way I came—”
“Ah, yes, but you don’t see the Manor from the road,” Danny replied poetically. “It is hidden, like all goodies, a surprise package lurking in the midst of tall trees and sparkling waters. And as we leave the highway,” he intoned in travelogue fashion, “we find ourselves driving under an arch of fir trees, their graceful fronds meeting as they embrace above the roadway—”
“Oh, Danny,” Peggy giggled, “we can see it, too.”
But he wasn’t to be deterred. “And around a winding road which curves gracefully through acres—and acres—and acres—”
The cast laughed and joined in the joking as they drove through the spacious grounds that belonged to the Manor.
“And finally,” Danny said as the Manor came into view, “as we reach our destination—Oh, my gosh! It’s a palace!” he concluded abruptly, forgetting his travelogue as the car stopped under the awning in front of the entrance.
“It really is a palace,” Peggy marveled as she stepped out of the car, “or the next thing to it!”
The main house of Lake Manor was a huge white building frosted with turrets and bay windows and surrounded by cottages and a few other sprawling buildings that appeared to be recreation halls. Peggy saw stables, tennis courts, and a swimming pool off in the distance. Ping-pong tables, croquet courts, and lawn chairs dotted the velvet-green grass.
“Oh, it’s absolutely beautiful!” Rita exclaimed. “I had no idea anything like this existed here!”
Just then Mr. Vincent appeared and, smiling broadly, took the cast on a short tour of the Manor.
“It’s early,” he said, showing them the stage in one of the recreation halls where they would play, “and dinner won’t be served until six o’clock. Come along and I’ll show you your dining room. We have several, and I don’t want you to get lost! Then please do anything you’d like to amuse yourselves. We want you to have a good time!”
“How about some Ping-pong, Peggy?” Chris asked after Mr. Vincent had left them.
“I’d love it,” Peggy said, “but I wish we could look at the stage again first—Mr. Vincent took us through so quickly.”
“Don’t you ever think of anything besides the stage, Peggy?” Alison asked waspishly. “Really, it gets a little boring after a while!” She turned and left the group in a sudden huff.
“What’s the matter with her?” Danny asked wonderingly. “I thought she was all a-flutter about playing at the Manor.”
“Maybe she was all a-flutter about playingbeforethe show,” Rita said softly with a knowing look at Peggy.