May looked at her watch and shook her head. “Too late.”
“Oh dear!” Peggy started to get up, but May pushed her firmly back down on the studio couch.
“You sit down, young lady,” she ordered. “There’s no point in worrying about something you can’t help. Besides, I think I can give you some idea of the play.”
“You can?” Peggy cried eagerly. “Oh, May, you’re an angel!”
“Flattery will get you nowhere,” May said. “Just sit back and listen.” Peggy and Amy settled down obediently and waited.
“First of all,” May began, “Innocent Laughter has only four parts for women.” She ticked them off one by one. “There’s the lead, a brilliantly successful career woman living in New York, who decides one day to try to recapture her youth. Then there’s a wonderful part—the woman’s mother, a shrewd old gal who’s made a fortune in real estate out West, and who hasn’t seen her daughter in years. The third big part is the career woman’s daughter. She’s a young girl who’s been sent to finishing school in Europe, and hasn’t seen her mother in years, except for brief vacations.” May looked around inquiringly. “All clear so far?”
“You mean there are three generations—the grandmother, the mother, and the daughter?” Amy asked.
May nodded. “You’ve got the picture.”
“What happened to all the men?” Peggy asked.
“Ah, now we’re getting to it,” May said. “The grandfather—that’s the old gal’s husband—disappeared years ago. He left home because he said he couldn’t stand his wife’s domineering ways. The mother’s husband is dead, and the daughter, of course, doesn’t have any husband yet.”