Joe, groping, found the answer. They were trying to get him out of here and get him out in a hurry. Why? Lucille, in front of the mirror above the watercooler, patted a stray curl into place. The rapid-fire click of a typewriter ceased and Miss Robb carried letters in to Vic Wylie. A voice came from the inner room:
Were in this fight together, Mother. We’re partners. At least—
Miss Robb came back and the door closed.
Archie looked at Stella, shrugged, took off his hat, and placed it back on the rack.
Joe made a point of carefully, deliberately pouring more coffee. The Dick Davis part in the Munson show! His part. “Who’s reading, Arch? Sonny Baker?”
“Mrs. Munson’s nephew.”
They had tried to save him the agony of waiting for the audition to end. He thought of Vic Wylie. Wylie, hiding behind a closed door all morning and keeping him locked out. Wylie, calling somebody in for an audition and telling him nothing. Wylie, whom he had believed in, worshiped.... He dumped what was left of the coffee into the cooler drain.
Archie Munn’s voice was deep in the silence. “Mrs. Munson says her nephew’s made for the part. She’s repeating Amby, of course. What can Vic say? That he isn’t? Vic’s never heard him.”
Joe was cold. “I thought Mr. Wylie was insisting on his original cast.”
“He’d still have to call the nephew in. Amby’s recommendation doesn’t mean a thing, but.... Suppose the nephew is made for the part?”