“But where did he get the money? What happened? Do you know?” Connie asked.
“You remember the reading we did at that Park Avenue penthouse a couple of months ago?” Mal asked. “The one where all the people seemed so cold and hostile, and we felt that we had made a miserable botch of it?”
“Don’t tell me!” Connie said.
“All right,” Mal said, his tough features composing themselves into a broad grin, “I won’t.”
“It’s only an Americanism, Mal,” Pip said eagerly, “and it means ‘tell me.’”
“Oh, I would never have guessed,” Mal said innocently. “Well, that was the reading that did it. Actually, those penthouse people weren’t hostile at all. It’s just what they consider good manners or something. Anyway, several of them came through, and we have almost all we need to put the play on. And Randy says that once you have most of the money, it gives other investors confidence, and they come along, too.”
“How much do you need?” Peggy asked. “I shouldn’t think it would take so very much to do an off-Broadway play.”
“Those were the good old days,” Pip said mournfully. “Nowadays you need at least ten thousand dollars, which is still practically nothing compared to what it costs to put a show on Broadway. You have to pay high rent for theaters now, if you can find one at all, and you have to spend money on costumes and sets, because the public expects more from off-Broadway than they used to. And you have to pay your actors, or else Equity, which is the actors’ union, won’t let you open. And you have to advertise, and print tickets, and pay for lighting equipment and a hundred other things. It all adds up to a lot of cash.”
“Will the backers have a chance of making money?” Amy asked.
“Well, it all depends on the type of theater we can find, and on the critical reviews of the play,” Mal explained. “If the reviews are good, and if the theater holds enough people, and if they keep coming for long enough, there’s a chance. If any one of those factors is lacking, then there isn’t a chance.”