Peggy Plays Off-Broadway

by Virginia Hughes

Peggy’s planned attack on the bathtubs worked out just perfectly, and the two friends had plenty of time to prepare themselves for the evening’s date. The comforting dip in the hot tub and the change to their best party clothes (or, rather, Peggy’s best party clothes, since Amy elected to wear her print dress) served to change their mood as well. By the time that Randy and Mal rang at the door, Peggy and Amy were ready and waiting, in a cheerful mood of anticipation.

This was the first time that they had taken a real night off for over a month, and they were all looking forward to an enjoyable evening, free of the worries of the production. After a few minutes devoted to discussion, they decided to go for a drive into Westchester County for dinner and dancing in the country. All agreed that if they were trying to get their minds off the play, the best thing to do was to get out of the city, with its permanent air of show business.

It was a clear and starry night that had mixed in it the elements of two seasons—the end of winter and the first hint of spring. The stars were as hard and bright as in winter’s clear skies, but the air was almost soft, and the trees silhouetted against the pale sky, though still bare of leaves, were fuller in the bareness than they had been a week before; the buds on the branch tips were swollen, nearly ready to burst into little green flags.

Randy’s car, an old, but still elegant English convertible sedan, purred smoothly through the countryside. Peggy, settled comfortably in the deep leather seat, felt as if she were already a thousand miles away from New York, the theater, and her hard week’s work.

Randy drove with skill and confidence, and in far less time than they had thought possible, they were pulling into the driveway of a low stone restaurant with a slate-shingled roof, screened from the road by evergreens and shrubbery. The restaurant overhung a little lake in whose still surface its lights were reflected.

Inside, in a low room illuminated only by candles, a small orchestra was playing quiet dance music, and a few couples drifted about the floor. A courteous headwaiter, after checking their names on the list of reservations, led them to a small room containing only about a dozen tables. Their table was at the side of the room, by a picture window overlooking the lake, which could be seen, dark and bright, through the reflections of themselves and the swaying flames of the candles on their table.

“A thousand miles away,” Peggy was thinking. “No, a million miles!” as the conversation, as light and pleasant and unimportant as the music, went on. They were talking about the charming restaurant, the countryside, and the pleasures of getting out of the city.

“We’ll have to come here in summer,” Randy was saying. “They have little boats on the lake and you make them go with paddlewheels worked with a kind of hand crank. They have fringed canvas awnings on top, and cushioned seats to lean back in. The lake is bigger than it looks, and has lots of pretty coves and inlets, and even a landscaped island up at the far end. It’s a nice place to drift around.”

With a little twinge of feeling that she did not care to examine too closely, Peggy found herself wondering whom Randy had rowed around the lake, but she quickly put the thought out of her mind. She had no right to think about things like that, she told herself. Her relationship with Randy was ... well, it was what it was.