“Go ahead and tell me about it.”
She told him how she had written the act and how she had sung and danced. Stimulated by the memory of her little success, she ventured to speak of her connection with the Crystal Films. Then, suddenly, the long-pent flood of trouble poured out of her lonely heart.
“I drove over to Summit,” she said, “where they had been shooting an exterior. Mr. Quiss introduced me to Mr. Donnell, the director. Mr. Donnell said that they were just leaving for Albany on location, and he couldn’t give me a test. So I went to Albany the next morning—I just packed my night-clothes and walked all the way to Gayfield to catch the six o’clock morning train. It was my first chance. I seemed to realise that. I took fifty dollars I had saved. I have spent thirty of it already.
“At Albany Mr. Donnell had a test made of me. It turned out well. He offered me a contract. I telephoned to my stepmother and told her what I had done. I explained that I needed money.... I have some money of my own. But my father wouldn’t let me have it. I wrote several times, but they only told me to come home. They wouldn’t let me have any money.
“Then, when the company arrived at the New York studio, Mr. Donnell seemed to be in trouble. We were not paid. I heard Mr. Quiss say that the principals had received no salary for a month. He said that Mr. Donnell had not been paid, either. The carpenters who were building sets refused to go on until they had their wages. Somebody cut off the electric current. Our dynamo stopped. We stood around all day. Somebody said that the bankers who owned the Crystal Films were in financial difficulties.
“Then, the next morning, when we reported for work at the studio, we found it locked. I was sorry for our company. Even the principals seemed to be in need of money. Mr. Quiss was very kind to me. He offered to pay my fare back home. But I wouldn’t go. Mr. Donnell offered to lend me ten dollars, but I told him I had twenty. He gave me a nice letter to the Elite Agency. Mr. Quiss promised to keep me in mind. But the agencies tell me that all the film companies are letting their people go this summer. I can’t seem to find any work. They tell me there won’t be any work until October.... I’m saving my twenty dollars. And I’m wondering what I shall find to do to keep busy until October.... Even if I could afford a room, I don’t need it. It is too hot in New York to sleep indoors.... I can wash my face and hands in the ladies’ room of any hotel. I give the maid five cents.... But I don’t know what to do for a bath. I must do something.... I shall hire a room for a day and wash myself and my clothes.... You see, twenty dollars doesn’t go very far in New York.... I wonder how far I can go on it.... Do you know what would be the very cheapest way to live on twenty dollars until October?”
After a silence Annan said: “I owe you ten for your story. That makes thirty dollars.”
“Oh. But I can’t take money from you!”
“Why?”
“I haven’t earned it. I had no story to tell you. I’ve only talked to you.”