“It’s probably Randy,” Amy said.
Peggy nodded and disappeared into the corridor. Randy was Randolph Clark Brewster. Peggy had met him when she first came to New York and had been seeing him ever since. In the early days he had more or less taken her under his wing and had guided her first faltering steps in that actor’s nightmare known as “the rounds.”
Doing the rounds meant mapping out a systematic campaign of personally seeing every producer, actor’s agent, and casting director in town. It was tedious, foot-wearying work, but it was necessary. Peggy learned soon enough that you couldn’t simply send a picture and a note, and then sit back, and expect the calls to come in. You had to keep knocking on doors, reminding people of your existence, hoping that sooner or later somebody would remember you and say, “Why don’t we try that girl who was in here this morning? She might be right for the part.”
She still remembered the morning she had made her first rounds with Randy. They had agreed to meet outside the Gramercy Arms at eight-thirty. Right on the dot, she saw Randy’s tall, lanky figure swing along the sidewalk, move toward her, and stop in undisguised dismay.
In her eagerness to make a good impression, Peggy had put on a dress that was far too sophisticated for her. She had plastered make-up all over her face, complete with mascara, and covered her eyelids with a heavy film of dark green, which she fancied went well with her coloring and dark chestnut hair.
Randy took one look and shook his head. “No, Peggy. That won’t do at all,” he had said gently.
“Why not?” Peggy had replied. “You said the important thing was for them to notice me.”
Randy tried to cover up a grin by rubbing a hand over his jaw. “They’ll notice you all right,” he said. “In fact, they’ll never forget you.” He took her hand and led her up the steep steps of the brownstone house. “Let’s go inside and sit down awhile,” he suggested.
Peggy followed him obediently to the tiny sitting room off the entrance hall. She listened carefully as Randy told her how important it was to let her fresh young beauty speak for itself. He explained that she was not yet ready to play sophisticated, older women, and that it was useless to try. He got her to go upstairs, rub off the make-up, and change into a simpler dress. At first Peggy had been furious, but later she learned that he was right.
Now Peggy hurried eagerly down the corridor. It would be good to talk to Randy again. She picked up the telephone. “Hello.”