Peggy observed carefully how Mal would interrupt one or another of the actors, acting out a line for him or her, or asking for a somewhat different emphasis. Sometimes a small change in timing or inflection would turn an ordinary line into an unexpectedly comic one, and Peggy and Amy laughed aloud several times.
Randy followed with his master script, every so often stopping the action to make a change in dialogue. “Sometimes a thing sounds fine when you write it, but it just doesn’t read well,” he explained. “That’s one of the main purposes of these early readings—to let me have a chance to hear what I’ve written and see if it plays.”
Other changes were made at the suggestion of one or another of the cast, who found a line unnatural to say, or somehow uncomfortable or out of character. Randy listened to every suggestion, and took most of them, but on one or two occasions he insisted that the actors accommodate themselves to what he had written.
Peggy was fascinated by the whole process, and particularly appreciated the air of good will with which changes in script, style of reading, and interpretation of character were made. This was a company of willing, hard-working friends, and they were already molding the play in a joint effort. She was sure that they would be successful.
At last the readings for the evening were completed, and people started to say good night. Randy brought Mal with him and said, “Why don’t you come along for coffee and a sandwich with us? Peggy seems to have some ideas about the theater problem.”
“Oh, no!” Peggy disclaimed. “Not really! I was just wondering if—”
“Let’s wonder over coffee,” Mal cut in. “Come on, Amy. Let them talk about the theater, and we can talk about you!”
A few blocks’ walk brought the four of them to a coffee shop where, seated around a tiny marble-topped table, they studied the menu. To Peggy and Amy it was a revelation. There were over twenty kinds of coffee offered, most of which they had never heard of, plus dozens of exotic pastries and sandwiches. They finally settled, on Randy’s advice, on cappuccino, which proved to be coffee flavored with cinnamon and topped with a froth of milk, and which was perfectly delicious. With it, they had an assortment of amaretti—hard, sweet Italian macaroons that came wrapped in gaily decorated tissues, and cornetti—pastry horns filled with some creamy whip.
“Now,” Randy said, when they were all served, “what did you have in mind about a theater for us?”
“Well, nothing at the moment,” Peggy admitted, “but I’m against the idea of just trusting to luck, the way you said you were going to do. It seems to me that some hard looking would get better results.”