Claiborne moved up the center aisle, scanned the house, and apparently was satisfied with what he saw. He turned and cupped his hands over his mouth.
“Frank!” he yelled. “Let’s have some lights.”
From somewhere backstage a muffled voice shouted, “Okay!” The next instant the stage was flooded with a soft yellow light. A moment later an electrician shuffled over to the worklight, unplugged it, and dragged it off to the wings. As he made his ungraceful exit, a tall, wiry man in his shirt sleeves stepped on stage. In his hand, he carried two scripts. He sat down behind a small, wooden table near the footlights and proceeded to light a cigarette despite the No Smoking signs that covered the theater walls. No one objected.
Claiborne turned and mounted some steps that led to the stage. Shading his eyes against the glare, he advanced toward the audience and cleared his throat for attention.
“Good morning,” he began. “I’ll skip the preliminaries because we all know why we’re here. The scene I want you to read this morning is in the second act of Innocent Laughter. It takes place between the young daughter and her grandfather. You understand that you’re not reading for the part of the daughter, but for the general understudy. Let me quickly describe the action for you, and we’ll start.”
In a long-legged stride, Claiborne moved to a doorway at stage left. “The daughter comes through this door into the living room. She thinks it is deserted, but actually her grandfather is sitting in that wing chair by the fire. The audience can see him, but she can’t. At this point in the play, the daughter has just decided to marry the young man. She’s excited at the prospect and also a little unsure of herself. She goes over to the window here”—Claiborne walked to a set of double French doors—“and looks out. She sighs once, then the grandfather speaks. She turns around in surprise, and they begin their conversation.”
Claiborne returned to the footlights. “I want each of you to go through the entrance. Mr. Fox”—he indicated the man puffing on a cigarette—“will read the scene with you. Mr. Fox, incidentally, is our assistant stage manager.”
The man at the table acknowledged the introduction by lifting one hand and then letting it drop.
“Now then,” Claiborne said, “we’ll have Miss Celia Forrester.” As a blond girl in a very tight dress got up to take her place on the stage, Claiborne continued, “Keep on reading until I tell you to stop. When you’re excused, please return the script to Mr. Fox and leave the theater by the stage door. You’ll find it out beyond stage right.”
Miss Forrester, meanwhile, had collected her copy of the playscript from Mr. Fox and was already disappearing behind the door. “All right, Miss Forrester,” Claiborne called out. “We’re ready whenever you are. Remember to take your time.”