“I’d better wake her up, too,” Rita said and went out for more coffee. In a moment she was back, and Alison, beautifully sleepy-eyed, joined them in Peggy’s room.
“Why, oh, why did I ever decide to be an actress in the first place?” Alison muttered over her coffee.
Peggy and Rita went off into gales of laughter while Alison looked at them indignantly. “It isn’t funny,” she said. “I don’t feel funny in the least.”
“We know!” Peggy laughed. “It’s just exactly what I said a minute ago—I mean what I said I would be saying about eight o’clock tonight!”
“Well, but you don’t have to carry the show,” Alison said, still glum. “I’ll blow up, I know I will—or I’ll trip over the stairs coming down—I’ll probably fall flat on my face on my first entrance. Oh, I wish it were over! Heavens, my hair! I’ve got to wash and set my hair!” She gulped down the last of her coffee and fled to the shower.
Peggy and Rita watched her go with real compassion—they knew exactly how she felt!
Chuck Crosby knew what he was about when he called the cast together for a morning reading of next week’s play, Angel Street. By the time the cast had finished, they had forgotten their anxiety about opening night. It helped to be reminded that Dear Ruth was not the only play of the season. There would be other opening nights, too. But this was the big one—everyone felt that as the day wore on and nervousness slowly returned.
The company gathered together at a large table for an early dinner at Mrs. Brady’s. They seldom ate en masse like this, but tonight they did, almost huddled together for support.
“It feels like the last meal!” Danny mourned as he stirred his soup listlessly.
“I can’t even stand the thought of food!” Alison declared, looking at her bowl with distaste.