Janet nodded and turned to Henry Thorne, who was smiling.
“I believe you had that print of the film shipped east on the plane with us,” she accused.
“What of it?” he parried.
“Of course we’ll go,” said Janet’s mother. “We’ll leave the dishes right on the table. It isn’t every day that I get such an opportunity.”
Helen slipped away from the table and Janet could hear her at the phone calling for Pete Benda, the city editor of the Times.
“Pete? This is Helen Thorne. Yes, I’m back in town. Drop in at the Pastime this evening if you’d like to see the parts that Cora Dean and Margie Blake took in that western picture they wrote you about. No, never mind a story about us now. We’ve had plenty of publicity.”
Helen hung up the receiver and turned to face Janet.
“Do you think that was nice?” asked Janet, but there was an upward twist of her lips.
“Maybe it wasn’t exactly nice, but it was a lot of fun,” conceded Helen.
There was just a tang of fall in the air and they slipped on light jackets, deciding to walk to the theater, which was less than half a dozen blocks away.