Walking into Wylie’s office and finding Lucille, Stella, and Archie Munn already there brought back the long, idle days of the summer when they had always been together. In the rush of eager talk yesterday’s hard road was forgotten; nobody thought of lunch. Stella, called for an audition at FFOM, was the first to leave; Archie, with a bit on a two o’clock FWWO show, soon followed. Joe carried Lucille’s bags to the station.
“I’ll be listening,” he said. “Not only the opening—every day.”
“Infant,” Lucille said with a catch in her voice, “I’m going to miss my old gang.”
A mist was falling when Joe came out of the station. Then, while he was still two blocks from the FKIP Building, the skies opened and the mist became a torrent of rain. Royal Street broke into confusion with everybody running and getting in everybody else’s way. A river poured down upon him. Wet and cold, he reached Studio B.
The studio was warm. He would, Joe decided, jump home when the show ended, change, and hurry back for the evening rehearsal; but by the time Sue Davis Against the World signed off his chill had passed and he went to supper with Stella. For once the evening rehearsal was short. The cast sat around for an hour, and Vic sat with them, and they talked of Lucille Borden and the big time. Joe’s clothing had dried.
He awakened to a new day with the early sun in his eyes. He said aloud: “I’m hungry enough to eat—” The words died away, and he lay rigid. Had that hoarse rasp come from him? He said again: “I’m hungry enough—” His body broke out in a sweat. At nine o’clock, worried and shaken, he walked into Wylie’s office.
“Vic.” His voice was down to a whisper.
Vic Wylie’s face paled. “You got wet yesterday,” he croaked, and then he went into a frenzy. “Miss Robb! Dr. Zinn—twelfth floor. I’m coming right up.” He dragged Joe toward the hall. Twenty minutes later he was back, a wild-eyed lunatic. “Get Curt Lake.”
The stenographer made the call. “No answer,” she reported.
The producer pounded her desk. “Find him; find him.”