“It makes sense,” Greta said grudgingly, “in a way. But maybe she had work shoes and they wore out and she threw them away.”
“Maybe,” Peggy said, “but that doesn’t account for the kind of shoes she did have. For instance, there were high riding boots and low jodhpur boots in that closet. Now, I have a horse at home in Wisconsin, and I know something about riding equipment, and those boots were handmade and must have cost a fortune. Where would an orphan salesgirl get boots like that? And why would she want them in the city? Not only that, but there were ski boots and golf shoes, too, and I have the same questions about those. I suppose it all sounds very nosy and suspicious of me, but I couldn’t help thinking about it and what it means.”
“What it means,” Greta said, “is that you’re probably right. From what you say, I’m sure that Paula wasn’t telling the truth about herself. But what can we do about it, and why should we try to do anything? It’s really none of our business, is it?”
“That’s just the problem that’s been worrying me,” Peggy confessed. “I keep asking myself whether it’s any of our business who Paula is and what she’s hiding. I think I’ve finally decided that it is.”
“In what way?” Amy asked. “Just because we’ve agreed to help her with a little money doesn’t mean we own any part of her, does it? I think we ought to leave her alone!”
“Oh, Amy, you can’t think I meant it like that!” Peggy said. “Of course the loan doesn’t give us any right to go poking into her affairs! But the fact that we’re her friends does give us a right. We didn’t get curious about her health, for fear of offending her, and as a result she collapsed from hunger. Now if she’s in some other kind of trouble, and we don’t do something to help, we may regret that just as much.”
“That does make sense,” Amy admitted. “It’s just that I hate to go behind her back....”
“Why go behind her back?” Greta asked. “Why not just come right out and ask her what’s wrong? Even mention the shoes and boots and things, so that she’ll know why we’re suspicious of what she told you.”
“She won’t admit anything’s wrong,” Peggy said. “I tried to ask her at lunch when I went out with her today, but she wouldn’t even talk to me about it. Every time I seemed to be coming close to whatever’s bothering her, she just changed the subject.”
“Well, then, what do you think we-all can do about it?” Amy asked. “If she doesn’t want to tell us her troubles, there’s no way that we can force her to do it. I still think we ought to leave her alone.”
Peggy shook her head in vigorous disagreement. “That’s just what we shouldn’t do,” she said. “It seems to me she’s been left alone too much, and hasn’t been able to do a good job of taking care of herself.”
“But you said that she doesn’t respond to pushing—or direct questions,” Greta commented.
“And we certainly don’t want to—to snoop!” Amy put in.
“I know,” Peggy agreed. “But there is one thing we can do. We can make every effort to show her that we’re her friends, and to show her that she can trust us. If we do it sincerely, without pushing or snooping, I’m sure she’ll confide in us when she wants to.”
“It seems to me that we’ve all made a pretty big effort already,” Greta said tartly. “What more can we do?”
“Well,” Peggy said thoughtfully, “if I were Paula, I might be inclined to think that the effort made so far was more charitable than friendly, if the difference is clear. I mean, we’ve helped her with money and all that ... but that’s not exactly what I mean. I think we ought to do something to show her that we’re glad to know her, and glad that she’s in the show, and ... I don’t know. It’s just that I feel that money alone doesn’t say what needs saying to a girl like Paula. She’s a sensitive person, after all, and she might even resent the financial help, in some subtle way.”
“You may be right, at that,” Amy said softly. “I know that if I were ever in her position ... having to take money from people ... I’d feel pretty uncomfortable about it. Especially if the people were just—well—just casual acquaintances. And after all, that’s what we are to her.”
“That’s just the point,” Peggy said eagerly. “You’ve put it perfectly! Wearejust casual acquaintances—not close friends. It’s no wonder that she keeps a kind of wall between her and us, even though we are helping her.”
“Ratherbecausewe’re helping her,” Greta amended. “Everybody knows it’s a lot harder to take help than to give it.”
“But what can we do to show her that she’s not just a—a charity case to us?” Amy asked.
“That’s what I’ve been asking myself,” Peggy said, “and I think I’ve got one good idea anyhow. It’s not much, but it’s a beginning. Why don’t we give her a little surprise party tonight after rehearsal, to celebrate her coming back to the show and being all right again?”
“I think she’d like that!” Amy exclaimed. “What do you think, Greta?”
“I think it’s fine,” Greta agreed. “Tonight’s rehearsal is bound to be a strain for her anyhow, and it would be nice to give her a chance to relax and cheer up afterward. How do you want to work it, Peggy?”
Peggy thought for a moment before answering. “We might ask her up to the Gramercy Arms after rehearsal,” she suggested. “I’m sure that Gaby and Irene and Maggie would be glad to set up a party for us while we’re gone, and everything could be ready by the time we got back....”
“No,” Amy interrupted. “That won’t do. The minute we invited her up to the Gramercy Arms, she’d know there was something special up, and the surprise would be lost. Besides, she’d have to meet the other girls, and there would be the usual strain of new people....”
“Not only that,” Greta added, “but there’s no guarantee that she would come back with us after rehearsal. She might be too tired and want to go straight home. And she’s shy about new places and people, anyway.”
“How about at the theater?” Amy suggested.
But Peggy and Greta vetoed that suggestion on the ground that it would have to include the whole cast, and that would make too large a party to enable them to accomplish their primary purpose, which was to develop a more intimate relationship with Paula.
“I know!” Peggy exclaimed. “Why don’t we have the party right in her own apartment? That way, we’ll be sure that she’ll be there, and we can control the number of people! In fact, I think we ought to keep it to just the three of us and Paula! Amy and I can miss rehearsal tonight—you can tell her some thing at the Academy kept us late, and you can come home from rehearsal with Paula. While you and Paula are at the theater, Amy and I can shop and set up a real surprise party!”
“Fine!” Greta agreed. “But how are you going to get into Paula’s apartment without a key?”
“The superintendent will let us in, I’m sure,” Peggy replied. “He saw us when Mal and I brought Paula home last night, and he saw me again when I was there to pick her up for lunch this afternoon, so he knows that I’m a friend of hers. If we explain about the surprise party, I know he’ll let us in, and not mention it if he sees you and Paula coming home. He seemed like a very nice man, and he was genuinely concerned about Paula. I know he’ll approve of the idea of a party.”
“That sounds like a good plan,” Greta agreed. “While you’re setting up the party, and while Paula’s busy rehearsing, I’m sure that I can manage to raise the money from the cast. I’ll bring it with me, and we can give it to her along with the Gramercy Arms money at the same time.”
“We can buy a cake and birthday candles too,” Amy suggested, “and as soon as you come, you can tell me how many of the cast members chipped in, and we can put a candle on the cake for every friend Paula has. It will really be something to celebrate!”
“Good,” Greta said, nodding her agreement. “Well, we’d better get going now. We’re on a tight time schedule. I have to report at the theater for rehearsal in fifteen minutes, and you have to start your shopping for the party. Mal will probably take it easy on Paula after last night, so you had better be prepared to have us come in on you early. Be sure that you have all the party things set up by ten o’clock.”
Picking up their check, the three girls rose to go, looking forward with high spirits to the challenge of breaking down Paula’s wall of reserve and of showing her that there is such a thing as real friendship in what must have appeared to her to be a hard, cold world.
“If they expect to be at Paula’s by ten,” Peggy said as she and Amy left the restaurant, “we’d better hurry. We have a lot of shopping to do, and food to prepare. And I’d like to decorate Paula’s apartment in some way, too. It’s a nice enough place, but I couldn’t help noticing how cold and unlived-in it looks. Maybe we can find some way to make it cheerful, even if it’s just for an evening.”
“If we hurry, we can do that part of the shopping before the stores on Twenty-third Street close,” Amy said. “I remember seeing a sort of party shop there that sells things like crepe paper and candles and silly decorations and things. I think they’re open till seven or seven-thirty.”
“I remember the place,” Peggy said. “If we go there first, we can put off the food shopping until later. The bakeries and the delicatessens always stay open till late.”
The girls hurried uptown the few blocks to Twenty-third Street, where they found the proprietor of the little party shop getting ready to close for the night. With a resigned sigh, he agreed to stay open a few minutes more in order to let the two friends buy the few things they needed for their surprise party. Trying to make their decisions in a hurry, so as not to further exasperate the shopkeeper, they quickly settled on some paper napkins with a festive rosebud design, and some sugar rosebud-shaped candle-holders for the cake. Peggy also bought some pink crepe-paper sheets and strips.
“I think I can make these into some nice paper roses—if I remember how they taught us to do it in kindergarten,” she said. “That ought to brighten the place up!”
Amy found some white paper plates with rosebuds to match the napkins, but as the girls started to search for more things to make the party, the owner of the shop began to turn off the lights, throw dust-covers over fixtures, and generally make it clear that his patience was at an end.
“I guess that’s really all we’ll need, Amy,” Peggy said nervously. “I think that we’d better get going.”
Thanking the shopkeeper for staying open for them, they paid for their purchases and left. The owner left with them, turned the lock in the door, and with a curt nod briskly strode down the street.
“Gee, we just made it,” Peggy said with a grin. “If we had taken ten seconds more, I think he would have locked us in the store for the night!”
Farther down the street, a delicatessen store shed a bright glow on the nearly deserted sidewalk. Peggy and Amy made their way to it as if it were a beacon marking the way to a friendly port.
Nothing in the world is more delightfully confusing than an old-fashioned delicatessen in New York. There is a special quality to the very smell of the place; it is a compound of every good thing to eat, and so complex a perfume that it is almost impossible to isolate the elements that make it up. Onecandetect clearly the briny smell of pickles, and on second sniff, the rich harmonies of imported cheeses, but beyond that, it would take the most sensitive nose in the world to analyze the atmosphere. And as you walk through the store from front to back, the odor changes, becomes alternately richer, lighter, sharper, sweeter, spicier or more pungent.
The store was so narrow, and the man behind the counter so wide, that Peggy had to suppress a little giggle, wondering how on earth he managed to squeeze himself in. With a broad grin and a welcoming gesture that threatened to sweep the counter clean of its load of little jars, boxes, and tins, he said, “Good evening, ladies! What can I do for you?”
“I don’t know.” Peggy smiled. “You’ve got so much here that I scarcely know where to begin.”
“Tell me your problem,” the man said in a confidential, professional manner. “We specialize in catering for all kinds of events. Just tell me what you have in mind, and let me do the selecting.”
“It’s not really an event,” Amy began. “We’re just planning a little surprise party for a friend, and there are only going to be four of us....”
“And you say it’s not an event!” the delicatessen owner said reproachfully. “When you buy here, every meal is an event! Just tell me how much you want to spend, and I’ll make you a menu for a party you’ll never forget!”
His enthusiasm flagged a little when Peggy hesitantly told him that they hadn’t figured on spending more than five dollars, but he made a fast recovery.
“Even forfourdollars,” he said, “I could make you a party for the gods!”
Seemingly from nowhere, he produced a beautifully roasted turkey with a few slices already removed. Skillfully, he cut several long, thin slices of white meat. Swiss cheese followed, and after that, moist, lean slices of pink ham. Moving deftly and surely from counter to bin to shelf to refrigerator to cabinet, the owner piled up containers of potato salad, cole slaw, bottles of soft drinks, a sliced loaf of rye bread with caraway seeds and a small jar of mustard.
“There!” he said. “That’s an event!”
“How much is it?” Peggy asked, looking fearfully at what seemed to her to be a mountain of food.
“I was aiming for five dollars,” the owner said, “as specified. However, let me do the addition and see....” He rapidly penciled figures on a brown paper bag and added them in a flash. When he looked up, it was with a crestfallen expression.
“The first time in years I went over the budget,” he said mournfully. “Usually I can pick things out right to the penny. Ah, well....” He sighed. “To err is human. Even for a delicatessen owner.”
“How much is it?” Peggy asked again.
“Five dollars and thirteen cents,” came the sorrowful answer. “But for you, and because we had a bargain, four dollars and ninety-nine cents!”
“Oh, no!” Peggy said. “We’ll be glad to pay it all! It’s such a little——”
“Not in my delicatessen!” the owner said, drawing himself up proudly. “To Schwartz, a contract is a contract! Four ninety-nine, and not a penny more!”
Not knowing if Mr. Schwartz was serious or joking, Peggy decided not to take the chance of hurting his feelings. She gave him a five-dollar bill, and dutifully accepted the penny change.
By the time the girls had picked up their packages, Mr. Schwartz had recovered his normal high spirits. He hastened to the door to open it for them, gave them the full benefit of his smile and said, “Remember—make every meal an event! That’s philosophy! Good night and come again!”
The next stop, a small Viennese bakery a few doors west, proved uneventful except for finding the perfect cake for the occasion. It was a small layer cake covered with snowy white icing and a decorative trim of pink sugar rosebuds around the edge. It made the ideal match for the napkins and the crepe paper they had bought.
Loaded down with their purchases, they took a bus uptown to Paula’s street, and by eight o’clock they found themselves standing before the green lacquered street door of her apartment house.
“I certainly hope that the superintendent’s in tonight,” Peggy said as she pushed the buzzer. “It would be awful to have bought all this good food, and then have him be out!”
“We could always camp here on the doorstep and wait for Paula and Greta to come home,” Amy said. “But, frankly, the idea of a two-hour wait in the night air isn’t exactly guaranteed to put me in a party mood!”
Their fears were groundless, however. The superintendent, a polite old man, answered the door after only a few minutes’ delay. He greeted Peggy with a smile of recognition and apologized for keeping them waiting.
Peggy explained the purpose of their visit, and the old man’s eyes lighted up with pleasure when he heard of the surprise party. “I sure am glad to see Miss Andrews making some friends,” he said. “She’s such a nice young lady, and my wife and I often worry about her, sitting up there all day alone. It doesn’t seem natural for such a fine girl to have to be by herself so much. I think a thing like this’ll do her a world of good!”
Upstairs, the superintendent let them into Paula’s apartment with his master passkey. “If I see them coming in,” he said with a conspiratorial smile, “I won’t let on a thing. I don’t know of anything worse than a surprise party where there’s no surprise to it!”
The girls thanked him, and a moment later found themselves alone in Paula’s little apartment.
It had been straightened up since Peggy’s last visit at lunchtime, and the few clothes and other objects that had been visible had all been put neatly out of sight. This made the room look even more barren and impersonal than Peggy had remembered it—as polite and impersonal as Paula’s manner whenever Peggy had tried to break the wall of mystery that surrounded her new friend.
Amy looked around her with a sigh. “It’s about as homey as a hotel room, isn’t it?” she said. “I hope that we brought enough crepe paper to brighten it up a little!”
“It’s going to take more than crepe paper,” Peggy said sadly. “It’s going to take some real show of friendship. She must be a really lonely girl for even the superintendent and his wife to have noticed it and to be concerned about it. I hope that this little party of ours is some help.”
“It’s bound to be,” Amy said. “It will certainly take the curse off the business of just handing her money. That could be downright awkward, you know, even though she has agreed to accept it.”
“I hope you’re right,” Peggy said. “I’m sure that if there ever was a girl who needed friends to tell things to—and who had things to tell them—it’s Paula Andrews!”
They unloaded their purchases in the little kitchenette, and while Amy was unwrapping the sliced meat and cheese, Peggy busied herself with setting up the gate-leg table that stood folded against the wall. Going back to the kitchenette, she rummaged about in the bag that held the napkins, candles, and crepe paper.
“Oh dear!” she exclaimed. “I knew we forgot something! We didn’t buy a paper tablecloth!”
“Oh, Paula must have a plain white tablecloth here that we can use,” Amy said.
“I’ll take a look,” Peggy said. “I hate to see a bare table, unless there are place mats, and we don’t even have enough napkins to use as mats. Where do you suppose she’d keep her tablecloths?”
Looking around the room, Amy pointed to a low chest with three shallow drawers that stood near the kitchenette door. “If I had any cloths I’d keep them in there,” she said.
In Paula’s room
Peggy opened the top drawer. “No tablecloths,” she said, “but we’re on the right track. There are bed linens and some towels in here.” She went to the second drawer. There were no linens here, but simply a large, flat, leather box of highly polished calfskin. It took up most of the drawer. Peggy was about to shut the drawer when something caught her attention. She gave a low whistle.
“Amy, come here,” she said.
“Tablecloths?” Amy said.
“Look.” Peggy pointed to a small silver plate fixed to the lower right-hand corner of the leather box. It was engraved: “For Paula’s first part—and her future career. With love from Mother and Dad.”
“I guess you were right, Peggy,” Amy said. “About the shoes, and Paula not being a salesgirl, and not being poor....”
“And not being an orphan, either,” Peggy added.
“Well ... this certainly shows that she wasn’t raised as an orphan,” Amy said, “but this could have been given to her before—before she became an orphan, couldn’t it?”
“No,” Peggy said flatly. “For one thing, this is pretty new. And, besides, even if Paula’s parents did ... die ... after giving her this, the rest of her story couldn’t possibly be true. People who can give gifts like this don’t leave a daughter penniless.”
“I suppose not,” Amy admitted. “But, in that case, what do you think the real story is?”
“It seems pretty clear that Paula has run away from home for some reason of her own,” Peggy answered. “Her parents certainly don’t know where she is, or what kind of circumstances she’s in, or they surely would have done something to help her. They’re obviously not the sort of people to hold back on giving things to their daughter. And this inscription tells us that they didn’t try to keep her from pursuing a career as an actress. In fact, unless I miss my guess, this is a professional make-up kit.”
A quick glance inside confirmed Peggy’s guess. It was a theatrical make-up box, beautifully fitted with tiny jars of creams and colors, each with a silver lid engraved with Paula’s initials. There were special compartments for brushes, pencils, and cotton pads.
“Well, you certainly seem to be right,” Amy admitted, “but now that we know about it, what do you think we should do? Should we do anything? Isn’t it Paula’s business if she chooses to leave home?”
“It’s certainly her business if she chooses toliveaway from home,” Peggy said firmly, “but running away and hiding is something else again. Her parents are probably worried sick about her! I don’t think we can afford to wait for Paula to warm up to us on the chance that she’ll tell us about it. I think she’s acting thoughtlessly and unreasonably, and much as I like her, that doesn’t change my opinion of what she’s doing. We have to stop it, or at least look into it to find out who Paula’s parents are and why she left home. Unless she has a darn good reason for not letting them know where she is, we’ll have to tell them. It’s the only decent thing to do!”
“If we do,” Amy said, “they might take her out of the play.”
“They might,” Peggy agreed, “but people are more important than plays. And anyway, I don’t think they would. They’re obviously people who are in sympathy with Paula’s wanting to be an actress.”
“That seems like a good guess,” Amy said with a smile, glancing at the extravagant make-up kit. “But how do we find out who they are? And once we find out, do we just call them? Shouldn’t we give Paula a chance first?”
“We certainly should,” Peggy said. “All I want to do is find out who her parents are, and tell her we know. Then we’ll give her the choice of calling them, or having us do it. This is not just a question of sticking my nose into someone else’s business; it’s a question of doing what’s right.”
“You still haven’t told me how you expect to find out who her parents are,” Amy said.
“Maybe if I look around, I’ll find something with an address on it. Maybe a letter or something—”
“But—” Amy objected.
“I know,” Peggy interrupted, “but it has to be done. Why don’t you get the table set up as best you can, and I’ll look around a little.” She glanced at her watch. “We haven’t too much time, you know. They ought to be here in about an hour.”
“What about the crepe-paper roses?” Amy asked. “I don’t know how to make them!”
“I’m in no mood to make roses,” Peggy answered sadly and a little grimly. “Use the crepe paper for a tablecloth. I’ll let you know if I find anything.”
As she started looking through Paula’s bureau, Peggy reflected that it was strange how a person could do something completely against her nature and as unpleasant as searching a friend’s room, when a matter of conscience and principle was involved. It was not always easy to do the right thing.
Conquering her qualms with the assurance that she was acting in the best interests of both Paula and her parents, Peggy went carefully about her search.
It took her nearly twenty minutes to go through the bureau and closet in a thorough manner. She carefully took down each dress and coat, looked at the labels and went through the pockets. She examined the many shoes and boots, as well as the sports equipment neatly stored on the shelves and the luggage on the floor in back. She put each thing back exactly as she had found it. When she closed the door behind her, she knew that she had found something, but not as yet what she had been looking for.
“What did you learn?” asked Amy, who was putting the finishing touches on the table setting.
“I didn’t learn Paula’s home address,” Peggy said, “which is what I was hoping to find, but I did learn a few other things. For one thing, Paula does come from California, as she said. The store labels are all from Los Angeles shops. And for another thing, I learned that her name is really Paula Andrews and her parents do have an awful lot of money.”
“How did the clothes tell you that?” Amy asked, puzzled.
“Well, some of the clothes are custom-made, and they all have labels that read, ‘Designed for Paula Andrews by Helen de Mayne.’”
“Whew!” Amy whistled. “Isn’t Helen de Mayne that famous Hollywood designer who does costumes for the stars?”
“Right,” Peggy said. “And that’s all I’ve learned from the clothing.”
“I wonder if we need to know any more,” Amy said thoughtfully. “If we want to find out anything now, can’t we just check with Helen de Mayne? She could certainly tell us who Paula’s parents are, if she designs Paula’s clothes.”
“I thought of that,” Peggy said, “but I’d rather not unless we have no other way. I don’t want to stir up anything, and if we start asking questions about Paula, we’re going to have to give some answers about why we’re asking. I would want to know what the situation is before I started to do anything like that.”
“I guess that makes sense,” Amy said, “but where are you going to look next for more answers?”
Peggy glanced despairingly about the barren, impersonal room. It didn’t seem possible that it had any more information to yield, and she was already exhausted with the psychological strain of searching. She sat down on the daybed with a sigh of resignation.
“There is no place else to look,” she said. “There isn’t even a rug to hide anything under. Besides, I don’t think that Paula’s actually hiding anything. If she were, she wouldn’t have left that make-up kit around, and all those dresses with the special Helen de Mayne labels.”
“Why don’t we look in a Los Angeles phone book?” Amy suggested.
“Doesn’t make sense,” Peggy replied. “Paula probably didn’t have a phone listed under her own name anyway. And even if she did, we don’t know where she lived. It doesn’t have to be Los Angeles, just because she had her clothes made there. You’d have to get a hundred California phone books and then start to trace every Andrews listed. And even then you might never learn anything, because wealthy people often have phone numbers that aren’t listed in the directory.”
After a few more ideas were considered and rejected, Peggy said, “I’m afraid the only thing we can do now is confront Paula with what we know, and see if we can’t persuade her to tell us the rest, and to call her parents and let them know where she is.”
It was now nine-thirty, and they had done all they could do. It would be at least another half-hour before Greta brought Paula home for her surprise party. Time dragged slowly, with neither Amy nor Peggy able to find even the shadow of an idea of what to say or do.
Amy went back to the table to fuss with the arrangement of turkey, ham and cheese and to nervously try artistic little experiments with the potato salad.
Idly, Peggy looked over the small shelf of books to see if there was something that would help her pass the time until the party—a party that she now no longer looked forward to in the least. She selected a well-worn, leather-bound volume of theComplete Plays of Shakespeare, hoping that the old, familiar comic world ofTwelfth Nightwould take her mind away from Paula’s problems.
She leaned back and opened the book, then sat bolt upright.
“This is it!” she almost shouted. “Amy! Here’s exactly what we’ve been looking for!”
“Shakespeare?” puzzled Amy.
“Paula’s address!” Peggy said. “Now we have something to go on—we have a way to find out who Paula’s parents are!” She thrust the book at Amy. “Here—look inside the front cover.”
In the round, neat, somewhat childish handwriting of a girl of perhaps eleven was written:
Paula Andrews“Eagletop”Canyon RoadBeverly HillsLos AngelesCaliforniaThe United StatesThe Western HemisphereEarthThe Solar SystemThe Universe
“And that’s that,” said Peggy triumphantly.
There was still the party to be gotten through, and Peggy was so bothered by a sense of guilt at having ransacked Paula’s room that she was in no mood at all for the coming festivities.
It was nearly ten o’clock, and Peggy and Amy had barely enough time to put away the copy of Shakespeare, give a few last-minute finishing touches to the table setting, and tune in some music on the little bedside radio, when Paula and Greta arrived. On seeing her friends and the festive spread, Paula almost burst into tears, but instead, she caught hold of herself and started to laugh.
Peggy felt pleased, knowing that their gesture of friendship had touched a responsive chord in Paula’s reserve. At the same time, the pang of guilt quickened; she felt that she had betrayed the very friendship and trust she had been trying to cultivate.
Greta whispered to Peggy that seven members of the cast had contributed to the Paula Fund, exactly matching the amount given by the girls at the Gramercy Arms, and Peggy went swiftly to the kitchenette to place fourteen candles on top of the rosebud cake. While Greta and Amy kept Paula occupied, Peggy lit the candles and brought the cake to the table.
“We’re celebrating the fact that people are nice to people,” she explained, “if you only give them the chance. And that’s all the sermon that I intend to deliver this evening. We’re also celebrating the fact that you’re going to be able to eat this cake, and a lot more things besides beans and spaghetti from now on, Paula.”
But after this speech, which she felt was stuffy and sadly inadequate, Peggy couldn’t think of another thing to say. She was far too concerned with the night’s revelations about Paula, and about what they could possibly mean. Amy did much better in keeping up her end of the conversation, and Greta, of course, knowing nothing of what had happened, acted with perfect ease. In any case, Peggy thought, Paula was too excited and pleased with her party to notice how anyone was acting.
Not being the least bit hungry, Peggy forced herself to eat some of the cold cuts and cake, and to take a glass of milk. She could not help feeling like an awful hypocrite, sitting there and pretending to be a wholehearted friend to Paula, after she had just finished spying on her. Even if it had been—as it had—for her own good and the good of her obviously generous parents.
Fortunately for Peggy, the party did not last too long. Paula was tired from the night’s rehearsal which, even though short, had tried her strength. By eleven o’clock she began to yawn unobtrusively, and seemed relieved when her three friends said their farewells.
“Thank you,” she said warmly and with moist eyes, “for the lovely surprise party and—and everything else. And for being such good friends! I haven’t done anything to deserve such—”
“Nonsense!” Peggy interrupted firmly, cutting off any further thanks, and waving good-by as the elevator door slid shut. The girls rode down in silence, Peggy and Amy depressed, Greta looking at them curiously.
“All right,” Greta said when they reached the cool and empty street. “I could tell from the minute we came in that something was wrong. What is it?”
As they strolled slowly downtown, Peggy told Greta about the night’s events, starting with the discovery of the make-up kit and what it told her about the background and history of their secretive friend. She then told, shamefaced, of her deliberate decision to search Paula’s room to learn more.
“I couldn’t just turn my mind off!” she cried. “When I learned that Paula wasn’t a poor orphan after all, all I could think of was her parents and what they must be going through. I just had to find out how to reach them!”
“Nobody’s blaming you, Peggy,” Greta said. “I would have done the same thing myself. There’s no reason to feel that you did anything bad, and I’m sure that when Paula finds out, even she will feel that you only acted out of concern for others.”
Peggy respected Greta’s judgment, and her approval made things seem a lot better. With more confidence than before, and with no further apologies, she told Greta what she had learned from the labels in Paula’s clothes, and finally, about finding Paula’s home address in the copy of Shakespeare.
“Well,” Greta said, “you certainly learned a lot tonight. But the thing that puzzles me is what you’re going to do next in order to find out who her parents are without arousing all kinds of suspicions and trouble. That is, unless you just want to write or phone to ‘Eagletop’ and tell them about Paula and her whereabouts.”
“I’d rather not,” Peggy said. “I think it would be a lot better for Paula and her parents if she did that herself. But I also think that the only way to do it is to tell her that we know exactly who she is, and let her know that we intend to get in touch with her parents if she doesn’t do it herself.”
“I suppose we could do that with the information we already have,” Amy said thoughtfully.
“We could,” Peggy agreed, “but I would hate to blunder into something when we don’t have all the facts. When we find out just who Paula’s parents are, we may at the same time find some perfectly good reason why she shouldn’t call them. I’d like to give her the full benefit of the doubt until we have all the information we need.”
Greta nodded. “I think that makes sense,” she said.
“The only problem we have left now,” Peggy said with a frown, “is to find a way to get the information we need without stirring things up. If only we knew someone in Los Angeles we could trust, it would be easy. Do either of you have any ideas?”
Amy and Greta furrowed their brows and shook their heads.
Suddenly Greta slapped herself on the forehead and grinned. “Of course! Of course I know somebody—and so do you!”
“Who?” Peggy and Amy asked in chorus.
“Dot!” Greta said triumphantly. “Our housemate, Dot! You know she’s on tour with a show—and I know that her company is either in Los Angeles now, or is due to open there in a few days! We can get in touch with her at her hotel, and ask her to do some sleuthing for us. Besides, she comes from California in the first place, and she knows her way around Los Angeles. It should be easy for her to find out what we want to know!”
“That’s a wonderful idea,” Peggy said enthusiastically. “Now all we have to do is go back to the Gramercy Arms and find her touring schedule and get in touch with her in Los Angeles. I can’t wait! Let’s hurry up, and if she’s in town now, we can phone right away!”
Greta looked at her watch. “If she is there, it’s too late to phone now. It’s eleven-thirty here, which makes it eight-thirty in California, and that means that the curtain is just getting ready to go up on the first act of her show. We’ll just have to be patient until tomorrow, and call her at her hotel.”
“Ifshe’s in Los Angeles now,” Amy said.
“There’s only one way to find out,” Peggy commented, “and that’s to get back to the Gramercy Arms before May Berriman goes to bed, and ask to see Dot’s traveling schedule. Otherwise we’ll have to wait until tomorrow even to know where Dot is, and I’m afraid I won’t be able to get any sleep tonight unless I know.”
The girls increased their pace and covered the remaining blocks to Gramercy Park in record time. They hurried up the steep front steps of the Gramercy Arms, happy to see that the sitting-room light was on in May Berriman’s apartment.
As soon as the door was opened, Peggy, breathless with running and excitement, asked if they could see Dot’s itinerary. “And I’m sorry we’re bothering you so late,” she added, “but we saw your light on, and....”
May Berriman dismissed the apology with a small gesture of her expressive hands. “No trouble at all, Peggy,” she said. “When you get to be my age, you’ll find that sleep isn’t quite as attractive or necessary as it used to be. I personally resent having to give up perfectly good hours to what I consider an utter waste of time. Sit down, girls. I’ll have what you need in a minute.”
In less time than that, she was back with a sheet of notepaper, which she handed to Peggy. A moment’s looking, and a quick calculation of dates, brought a sigh of disappointment. Peggy looked at the expectant faces of Greta and Amy, and nodded unhappily.
“She’s still in Salt Lake City, according to this. The show closes there tonight, and they won’t arrive in Los Angeles for two more days.”
“What’s this all about?” May Berriman asked. “That is, if I’m not butting in on something that’s not my business.”
“It’s about Paula,” Peggy explained. “You know, the girl we’re all chipping in to help. We ... we’ve got an idea about something that may help her, only we need some information that’s in California, and we hope Dot can get it for us.”
“Well, Peggy,” May Berriman said with a smile, “when they give out prizes for artful dodging, I’m going to recommend you for a first! If you didn’t want to answer my question, you only had to say so.”
Blushing, Peggy stammered, “I ... I didn’t mean ... I mean, it’s not as if there’s anything to hide ... I just....”
“There’s no reason why we shouldn’t tell May,” Greta said. “Besides, she might have some ideas that could help us.”
“All right,” Peggy said, after a moment’s reflection. “I don’t mind at all telling you about Paula, May. That’s not the point. It’s just that I did something tonight that I’m a little uncomfortable about, and I didn’t like the idea of telling you about that. Still, I did it, and there’s no changing it, so you might as well know the kind of girl I am.”
“The kind of girls we are,” Amy commented. “After all, I did it, too, and I’m no more casual about it than you are.”
May Berriman sat down in her tall, straight-backed chair, folded her hands in her lap and assumed an attentive look. “You can start talking now,” she said a little sternly.
Peggy’s story did not take long, and when she was done, she looked anxiously at the owner of the Gramercy Arms. “Do you think we did the right thing?” she asked.
“Your motives in searching Paula’s room were certainly good ones,” May Berriman said judicially, “and you didn’t actually break in, even if you did enter on slightly false pretenses. All in all, I’d say that you haven’t anything to be ashamed of. I also like your decision to get the rest of the facts and talk to Paula about them before you contact her parents. That’s both wise and considerate.”
Peggy felt a sense of relief, knowing that May, a stern and impartial judge of her girls’ conduct, approved of her night’s undertaking. “It’s been a pretty difficult time, May, as you can well imagine,” she said. “But I suspect the next few days until Dot gets to Los Angeles will be even more difficult. The three of us are simply bursting with impatience.”
“Impatience,” May Berriman said in her most theatrical voice, “is for amateurs waiting in the wings ten minutes before their cue. My best advice to you is to relax—until it’s time to go on. There’s no way to hurry the action.”
Of course, May was right. There was no way to hurry the action. On the other hand, Peggy, Amy, and Greta found that there was also no easy way to relax. The next two days dragged by only as days can drag when you want nothing more than for them to come to an end.
Rehearsals, school, studying, all took up many hours, but for the first time since Come Closer had started casting, Peggy seemed to have extra hours in the day. And each of those extra hours seemed like a day in itself.