“Oui, that ees so!” Gaby put in. “Everybodee here ees so open—they tell you everytheeng about themselves so très vite—that means veree fast—that you know them so like old friends in no time, yes?”
Peggy thought that this was a fine idea, and she said so. Then, in accordance with what she now knew to be the household custom, she told the five girls as much about herself as she felt would be interesting to them: where she was from, why she was in New York—a five-minute autobiography.
“... so, you see,” she finished, “I wanted to study acting and I felt that this was the only place to go, so here I am.”
“It’s pretty much the same with us,” Dot said. “None of us is from New York either, and we all came to be in the theater or some part of it. I’m a comedienne and eccentric dancer, and I sing a little, too. I’m not going to any school but I still work with a voice coach and a drama coaching group. I’m from California originally. I was in a few movies, but not in any good roles. I’m not a movie type. I came here when I got a chance to do a television series that originated live from New York, and when the series ended, I stuck around. I’m in a Broadway musical now, lost in the chorus. It’s not much, but it pays the rent.”
“She’s too modest,” Greta said. “She’s not just in the chorus. She has a dance specialty and a few lines, and she’s understudying the lead comedienne. And she’s good at it, too.”
Dot blushed and said roughly, “For goodness’ sake, don’t be nice to me! It makes me feel I have to be nice to you, and that’s not my character!”
Greta answered promptly, “All right, then, let’s talk about me! Anyone who doesn’t want stage center isn’t going to get it!” She stood up, walked to the center of the room and made a small pirouette, her thick braid whirling around her. “I am Greta Larsen and I come from Boston,” she recited in a little-girl voice. “I know I have a face like a Swedish dumpling, and everybody thinks I should have come from there or at least from Wisconsin like you. If you come from Boston, you’re supposed to be Irish. I’m an ingénue and I’ve been in four off-Broadway plays and one Broadway play, and all of them were flops. Right now I’m working as a script editor for a TV producer, and trying to make him realize that I’m an actress. So far he hardly realizes I’m a script editor. He thinks I’m a hey-you.” With a comic bow like a mechanical doll, she sat down to a round of laughter and applause.
“Who’s next?” Peggy said, still laughing. “I haven’t had such fun in ages!”
Gaby, who stood up next, threw the girls into gales of laughter by announcing first that she was French. Then she went on to tell Peggy that her full name was Gabrielle Odette Francine DuChamps Goulet, but that she only used the name Gaby Odette. Her mother was dead and her father worked for the UN in New York, but spent most of his time traveling about the world, only returning for a few weeks at a time. Gaby had studied acting in France, and had even attracted some critical attention and good personal reviews in her one acting part in Paris, but when her father came to America, she decided to come with him and make a new start here. Since her arrival about a year ago, she had been devoting all of her energy to studying English, and hoped that in another six months or so she would be good enough to start looking for parts.
“I guess I’m next,” Irene said, stretching her long, well-shaped legs and leaning back in her chair. “I’m Irene Marshall, and I’m—” But just then the doorbell rang, interrupting her.