“Mark, if you couldn’t have scenery for a play would you—”
Mark scoffed, “What’s a play without scenery?—Hey, look at the red car.... No, it’s a motor-bike.”
A lad on a red motorcycle whipped in a bright streak up the lane and through a snow ball battle of Gurdy’s brothers. He had a telegram for Mark from the house manager of the Walling: “No sale for next week. Miss Boyle requests play be withdrawn. Instruct.”
“Got her bellyfull,” Mark said and scribbled a return message ordering “Todgers Intrudes” withdrawn then another to the manager of “Captain Salvador” in Providence. He told Gurdy, “Now, she can’t say a thing. Well, let’s get back to town, son. We’ll have a lot to do, bringing ‘Salvador’ in next Wednesday.”
His motor carried them swiftly up New Jersey. Gurdy lounged and chattered beside Mark who couldn’t feel triumphant though he tried. The drive had been made so often with Margot and now he saw the child in all clarity, her bright pumps and the silver buckles she so liked stretched on the warmer close to his feet. Her older beauty flickered and faded like some intervening mist. Pain stabbed and jarred him. The snow of the upland gave out. Rain began. When they reached Broadway its lights were violet and wistful in the swirl above umbrellas.
“God, what an ugly town,” said Gurdy.
“Ain’t it? Don’t know what people that like something pretty’d do if it weren’t for the shows—and the damned movies.”
They dined in a restaurant and another manager chaffed Mark about “Todgers Intrudes” leaning drunk on the table.
“And I hear it goes to the storehouse?”
“Yes ... but the show business is a gamble, Bill.”