“Vic!” Stella cried.
Joe was already on his way. Lucille Borden without a part in small-time radio; Lucille Borden, hungry; Lucille Borden behind a counter selling stockings. And then, when nobody expected it, Lucille Borden in the big time. Show business! The down elevator stopped at every floor and passengers took their time getting on and off. Joe stewed. The Munson store was only half a block away but, reaching the street, he ran.
Lucille Borden, arranging boxes of hosiery, smiled at him. “Stockings, Infant? Don’t tell me you have a sweetie?”
Words poured from Joe. “N.B.C. wants you. They called Vic’s office.”
The smile was gone. “Another audition?”
“A part. The show sold. You’re in, Lu.”
Lucille Borden’s hands gripped the edge of the counter; the knuckles turned white. She said slowly: “At last.”
As though in celebration of Lucille’s triumph, the morrow dawned in golden splendor; but as Joe rode downtown the day became clouded and gray. The dress rehearsal at Studio B went off without a hitch.
“Kid,” Wylie said, “Lu leaves on the three o’clock.”
Joe stopped at the Everts-Hall Agency to sign the fan mail replies. Lucille Borden on a coast-to-coast! One of Wylie’s people. If you were good enough for Wylie.... The pen that wrote “Joe Carlin” wasn’t steady. He was one of Wylie’s people.