“Then you can understand Paula’s view?” Peggy asked.
“Yes. I can understand.”
“Peggy,” Mr. Andrews said, “I’m willing to wait a few days to see her, if you really think it’s best—and if my wife agrees. But what harm would it do for us to call her on the phone?”
“It would be the same thing,” Peggy said. “She’d know that you’re in town, and she’d start to suspect that you were doing things for her again. Besides, it might throw her into such a state of excitement that she wouldn’t do her best on opening night.”
“Perhaps you’re right,” Paula’s mother said thoughtfully. “Nerves do get on edge close to opening, and from what you tell me, I can’t imagine that Paula’s are in the best of shape now.”
“Then you’ll wait?” Peggy asked.
“Yes, Peggy, I’ll wait. If only as a favor to you. Heaven knows, we owe you a favor for all you’ve done. Do you agree, dear?”
Mr. Andrews looked thoughtful. “All right,” he said at length. “But we’re going to be at the opening! We’ll sit in the back of the house so she won’t see us. My wife will have to wear a veil or a false mustache or something, but you can bet we’re going to be there!”
“We’ll put you in the projection booth!” Randy said. “You’ll have a perfect view, and nobody will see you at all!”
“Fine,” Mr. Andrews agreed. “And what do you want us to do until opening night? Shall we just hang around New York, or shall we lie low somewhere?”