When breakfast was over, the girls scraped the dishes, put them in the sink for Aniko, and went their separate ways.
Gaby was off first, for an early English class at a language school, which would be followed by a full day at Columbia University studying English literature, American history, economics, and a special course called Literature of the Theater. With a small “au revoir,” which was all she had said since her first quiet “bon jour,” she slipped out.
“Gaby’s a night person,” Dot explained. “You can hardly get a word out of her until sunset. Then you’re lucky if you can keep her quiet for five minutes!”
“How about you?” Peggy asked. “Are you a night person, or a morning person?”
“I think I must be a twenty-four-hour person.” Dot laughed. “I work on stage until eleven-fifteen, but it doesn’t keep me from getting up as if I were on a farm. I have to, though. I have a busy day. We rehearse three days a week, just to keep the chorus work tight, and I have special rehearsals for my understudy part. It keeps me going nearly every day from nine in the morning until after midnight, but I seem to thrive on it.”
Greta left for her office, to put in a day of script editing (whatever that is, Peggy thought), Irene went upstairs to “put herself together” for a photo shooting to take place later in the morning, and Maggie went off to a rehearsal studio to practice her stretches and scales. Amy and Peggy sat alone in the kitchen.
“What shall we do?” Peggy asked. “I feel so useless having no program, and we sure can’t spend the day sitting here in the kitchen.”
“Why don’t we go out for a walk, and learn something about the neighborhood?” Amy suggested.
“Good! In fact, why don’t we find a sight-seeing bus and take a ride around the city? My father said—”
“So did mine!” Amy interrupted.