Oscar Stalkey drew a deep breath. “Did she tell you that?”
Emily nodded. “She thinks it would be bad for her career to open in a play that’s as bad as this.”
“Oh, she does, does she?” the producer said grimly.
“Don’t blame her, Oscar,” Emily urged. “Besides, she’s had a very attractive offer from Hollywood.”
Oscar Stalkey sighed. “Let her go, if she wants to. That’s one problem I’m not worried about. I know who’ll take her part.”
“Who?”
“Peggy Lane.”
Stalkey made the announcement of Emily Burckhardt’s resignation late that afternoon. The cast was shocked by the news and sat in numbed surprise. After that, Craig Claiborne excused them and posted a notice for ten o’clock the following morning. Slowly, everyone left the theater, struggling into heavy coats as they prepared to face a swirling snowstorm that had struck New York about noon that day.
Peggy didn’t leave the theater at once. She hunched in one of the seats of the auditorium, thinking about the past three and a half weeks. It seemed impossible that they would be opening in ten days. Half her life she had been looking forward to the day when she would be rehearsing a play with a professional company. She had imagined the fun of working together, the excitement of the big night approaching. But instead of what her imagination had led her to expect, she was left with an empty feeling of hopeless frustration. She realized with sudden clarity that she didn’t care when the play opened. It all seemed so pointless.
She sighed, struggled wearily to her feet, and walked aimlessly down the aisle and on up to the stage. There was no sense in staying here. She’d go home and talk to May. She turned the corner to go backstage, then stopped abruptly.