“I smelled apple pie,” Joe said. He watched her take the brown, fragrant pies from the oven. “I’m through with acting.”
She almost dropped a pie. “Joe!”
“It’s all right. You and Dad never really liked the idea of my acting, anyway. I’m going into production. I start Monday with the Everts-Hall Agency.”
She followed him to the stairs. “Why, Joe?”
“Vic Wylie advised it. I was out of the Sue Davis show. He told me I was good, but that there’d always be somebody better. He said I’d never make big time. It was hard to take at first, but, well, Vic makes you believe him. You know he’s shooting straight.”
He went at once to the bureau. He’d wade into those plugs.... He took the script from the drawer, and hard concentration gathered between his eyes. He knew exactly how he had left the script and now the pages were turned about, reversed. The frown deepened.
“Mother, were you looking over some papers in my bureau?”
“I don’t recall any papers. What drawer were they in?”
“The small top drawer on the right.”
“The only drawer I opened was the large middle one. I put away your laun—Oh! I remember, Joe. Dad ran out of razor blades and went to your room for a fresh blade.”