“Joe, you place me eternally in your debt. As soon as I’m working—” Pop Bartell went off through Royal Street, his stride youthful.
Again on Wednesday, Joe made the rounds in vain. There was no word from Tony Vaux. Thursday was also barren. He counted days. Four more days left of the Munson option.
Thursday Lucille Borden returned from her N.B.C. audition in New York looking tired and pale. Make-up could not completely hide her pallor.
“One of the producers liked my work,” she said. “He held me over another day for a sponsor audition.”
That meant big time. Joe asked eagerly: “Did it go?”
“Infant,” Lucille drawled, “a sponsor audition gives you a beautiful view of a lot of frozen faces.”
Joe knew. He had had one sponsor audition.
Then it was Friday. The days of hope had dwindled to three. The searching bread-and-butter hunters had developed a stock question. Joe heard it on Royal Street and in the elevators. “Anything yet?” And there was a stock reply that fooled nobody, that was part of the front. “No, but I’m expecting a part next week.” Pop Bartell expected a part next week. Joe knew it was all hollow and unreal.
John Dennis was not at his office at FKIP. His secretary said: “Mr. Dennis has you down for something.”
“I’ll be back,” Joe told her. Perhaps, he thought in growing disillusionment, Dennis wanted to ask him had he had a good summer. He went on to FFOM and from there to FWWO.