Even Chris was nervous. Peggy couldn’t help giggling as she watched him break cracker after cracker into his soup until it looked like a snowbank. He didn’t have the slightest idea of what he was doing. Rita plowed into her food, grimly determined to put something into her stomach, and urged Peggy to do the same.
“Never mind how you feel about it—you’ll have more energy.”
“I can’t,” Peggy said, still giggling. “I just can’t. There’s something absolutely ridiculous about food at a time like this! Imagine—tomato soup and Dear Ruth—they just don’t mix!” She started laughing again, and everyone looked at her accusingly. “I can’t help it.” She giggled helplessly. “I always do this—it’s just nerves. It’ll stop in a while!” She took a deep breath, trying to calm down, but then another thought sent her off again. “What do you imagine your husband is having for dinner tonight?” she asked Rita. “I can just see him up at the theater, decorating the set and eating lilacs dipped in crackerjack!”
“Oh, Peggy, please stop!” Danny protested as he choked on a mouthful of soup. “Stop talking and eat.”
“Please!” everyone echoed, and Peggy subsided, trying to force down some food. It was worse, though, than nervous giggles. The palms of her hands were first icy and then hot, her stomach felt as if a thousand birds were migrating through, and the very thought of walking on stage gave her a shiver from head to toe.
“Well, the worst is over!” Rita said with relief as they finished dinner and left, with Mrs. Brady’s good wishes following them.
And she was right. Somehow the food, the sparkling night air, the familiar feeling of the auditorium, and the good smell of grease paint in their dressing rooms relaxed everyone. This was their job—it was opening night. In half an hour when they walked on stage, they would be fine—and everybody knew it.
“It’s funny how the anticipation is always worse than the fact,” Rita mused as she started to put on her make-up. “And that dinner is the most dreadful thing of all. It’ll never be that bad again.”
“Aren’t you nervous?” Mary Hopkins asked innocently from her table. The girls all shared one large dressing room, and the men another.
“What a question!” Peggy laughed. “Aren’t you?”