Alison Lord, who was playing the very demanding lead of “Mrs. Manningham” in Angel Street, was particularly upset.
“It’s bad enough to be under the strain of doing this part,” she said tearfully to Chuck. “Sometimes I wonder why I bother at all—why not just quit? It doesn’t seem worth the effort!”
“It will, tomorrow night, when we open,” Chuck reassured her. “You’re doing a beautiful job, Alison, and, of course, it’s worth while!”
“Cheer up, Mrs. Manningham,” Howard Miller said, patting Alison on the shoulder, “you and I are going to have a wonderful time out there, audience or not. Right?”
“I guess so.” Alison dried her tears and smiled ironically. “I’m unhappy enough really to feel like Mrs. Manningham, anyway. If this keeps up, I won’t have to work very hard!” She went to the dressing room to change into her costume. Peggy followed, worried about Alison’s mood. “Mrs. Manningham” was on stage almost constantly and really carried the show. If some of Alison’s fire was gone, even the fine performance that Howard Miller was giving wouldn’t be enough to save the play.
“How is your costume?” Peggy asked Alison, thinking that clothes and make-up always seemed to have a magical effect on the leading lady. “Have you unpacked it yet?” The large boxes of costumes had arrived earlier in the afternoon from New York. Because Angel Street was a period piece, everything had to be rented. Measurements had been sent, and now the girls could only hope that everything fitted properly. If not, there would be last-minute sewing—a difficult project to fit into the next few short hours.
“It’s dull,” Alison replied disinterestedly, “but it fits. At least I don’t have to worry about that!” She put on a smock and sat down at the table to apply her make-up. Watching her draw in the tiny lines on her forehead, and apply blue shadow under her eyes, Peggy had to giggle.
“Oh, Alison!” She laughed. “Forgive me, but really, what a change!”
Alison stared blankly into her mirror and then had to smile at herself. Gone was the bright, vivacious “Ruth,” and even beautiful Alison. In her place was a wan, haunted woman about thirty, with circles under her eyes and an expression of fear. “For once I look just the way I feel,” said Alison, and as Peggy and Rita laughed, even she had to join in.
“I really should be a blonde for this,” Peggy considered as she put up her hair, arranging it in little curls on the top of her head. She was playing the pert, saucy maid, Nancy.