Paula, looking more pale, drawn, and tired than Peggy had ever seen her before, opened the door and motioned Peggy in. The apartment, obviously rented furnished, was comfortable enough, but almost without personality, like a hotel room. It consisted of one bedroom-sitting room, a compact kitchenette and a bath. The only sign that anyone lived in it was a small collection of books, no more than a dozen, on a shelf.
“Sit down, Peggy,” Paula said formally. Then, as if she were asking about some event that didn’t concern her at all, but asking only out of politeness, she said, “And how did the audition go? Were you good? And did Sir Brian invest in the play?”
“It went very well,” Peggy said gloomily, “considering that it was me and not you. Sir Brian is putting five thousand dollars into the production.”
“Then I guess I’m fired,” Paula said, in the same lifeless tone.
“You don’t have to be,” Peggy said. “If you can only explain—or just convince Mal and Randy in some way that it won’t happen again—I know they want you back!”
“That’s nice of you, Peggy,” Paula said, “but I can’t explain. And there’s no point in my trying to. No, the part is yours.”
“But I don’t want it!” Peggy said earnestly. “I’d never have been able to play that scene if I hadn’t seen you do it so often! All I was doing was a fair imitation. You’ve got to come back and do the part!”
“Peggy,” Paula said with sudden intensity, “it’s not a question of my wanting to come back and do the part or not. It’s a question of being accepted back. Of course I want to do it! But Mal and Randy have to make the decision that they’re willing to let me come back after the terrible way I acted this evening.”
“If you could just tell them why—” Peggy began.
“I can’t. Honestly, I can’t,” Paula interrupted. “I would if I could, but if they’re going to take me back, it can’t depend on an explanation. They’ll just have to do it on faith—and on my promise that nothing like this will happen again. That’s the only assurance I can give them.”