“I’d love to,” Rita said. “But now let me show you where everything is in our little annex, and then you’d better rest awhile. I’m sure you’re tired, and we have a company call tonight.”
Alison Lord would be in the room across the hall from Peggy. Rita and Gus were also upstairs, on the opposite side of the house. Danny Dunn, Chris Hill and Chuck Crosby, the director, were all downstairs. The patio was community property for coffee, line rehearsals, and just plain relaxation. It seemed like a good arrangement. Rita showed Peggy where she could shower and freshen up and said she would call her in time for dinner.
But Peggy was too keyed up to take a real nap. She sat on the edge of her bed, thinking of all the steps that had led her here, to this place, at this time. Her love of acting, the school plays, the productions in college, coming to New York, the long, hard work at the Dramatic Academy and in the Penthouse Theater. She was grateful for a private room where she could be quiet and think.
She remembered her home town of Rockport, Wisconsin, and suddenly had a vision of that other gay little bedroom where she had often sat quietly and thought—much as she was doing now. She remembered her mother’s kind, attractive face and her encouragement and understanding. Her father, too, would be glad to hear of this job, Peggy thought, and would probably run an article about her in his paper, the Rockport Eagle. She smiled, visualizing the headline—Local Girl Signed in New York—or something like that. Thomas Lane was a good newspaper man and would try to “hook” them with the headline. Nothing so simple as Local Girl Makes Good.
Peggy promised herself to write them good long letters as soon as possible. And she should write to May Berriman, and to her housemate in New York, Amy Preston. Well, there was a lot to do—and a lot ahead. Peggy sighed and opened a suitcase to change into something fresh for the evening.
After dinner, Peggy, Rita, and her young husband, Gus, walked up the road to the theater. Gus had joined them for dinner in the little roadside restaurant where the cast had made arrangements for meals at a percentage off the regular cost.
“Mrs. Brady, who runs the place, is anxious to do all she can for the theater,” Rita explained.
“To say nothing of the extra customers she hopes to attract by having real actors in her dining room,” Gus added. “Not that I’m a candidate for glamour, you understand—”
The girls laughed. Gus had hastily donned a clean shirt and a fresh pair of blue jeans, but the unmistakable signs of sheer hard work still showed on his pleasant, tanned face.
Rita squeezed his hand affectionately as they hurried up the road. “I do wish you’d let up a little,” she said. “After all, we do have nine days before opening.”