“Munson’s.”
Amby became excited. “Didn’t I call the turn on that? Look, Joe, that’s big. Munson’s tops. He buys plenty of radio time; he spends plenty of money. You didn’t go begging Wylie for a job; he came looking for you. He wants you on that show. That puts you in the driver’s seat. Tell him you want ten dollars a show.”
Joe had few illusions left concerning Ambrose Carver. “Are you still my agent? I thought agents handled salary demands.”
Amby coughed. “I’m pretty busy, Joe. As soon as I get around to it—”
“Sure,” said Joe, “you’ll tell Wylie.” He hung up.
A new day colored yesterday and softened it and made yesterday’s sweating agony yesterday’s romance. Joe counted impatient hours until it was time to walk into Vic Wylie’s office. Miss Robb, the stenographer, greeted him as one had been admitted to an inner circle. Tall, thin Archie Munn cast aside a copy of Variety.
“What’s Vic got you reading, Joe, the Munson show? Dick Davis? A fat part. Lucille Borden auditioned for Sue Davis. No dice. Vic’s giving the part to Stella Joyce. You remember her. She worked the I Want Work platter.”
Joe remembered the small, bird-like woman with the fluttering, bird-like voice. “What was the matter with Lucille?”
“Too much on the Tug-Boat Annie side. The script makes Sue Davis the self-sacrificing mother type. The part wants sweetness and light. Stella fits. That’s the curse of show business, Joe; you get typed, and that’s the only way they want you.”
Joe thought: “What’s the difference so long as they want you?” The telephone was never still for long. He tried to concentrate on yesterday’s rehearsal, to run lines through his mind, but the closed inner door proved a disturbing fascination. Every time that door opened, Wylie’s quick, nervous voice reached the outer office with some talk of radio.