“Meanwhile,” Claiborne said, “we’d better contact Eddie Jarmin or Jim Donohue. If this Agate fellow doesn’t pan out, we’ll have to fall back on one of them.”
“Yes, I suppose so,” Stalkey said mournfully. “Will you see to it, Pam?”
Pam made a note of the request and then cleared her throat. “There’s another matter you’ve got to attend to,” she said.
Stalkey stopped in surprise. “What’s that?”
Pam pointed to the door. “You’ve got about two dozen young ladies cooling their heels out there. Don’t you think you’d better see them?”
Stalkey clapped his hand over his forehead. “What a waste of time!” he groaned. He turned and walked over to the door.
“Wait a minute,” Pam called out. “What about Peggy Lane?”
Stalkey stopped and looked at Peggy for the first time since the phone call. “Oh,” he said, blinking at her as if she were a complete stranger. “Oh, well, tomorrow morning, then,” he said airily.
“For what?” Peggy asked timidly.
Stalkey wrung his hands impatiently. “For what?” he muttered. “To read, of course,” he said. “We want you to read for the general understudy.” He glanced over at Claiborne. “What time are we holding tryouts?” he asked.