Read Ebook: Peggy Finds the Theatre by Hughes Virginia Leone Sergio Illustrator Illustrator

Font size: 10 px 15 px 20 px 25 px 30 px 35 px

Background color: BlackWhiteGrayLight GrayDark GrayDim Gray

Text color: BlackWhiteGrayLight GrayDark GrayDim Gray

Apply/Save settings

Ebook has 866 lines and 45246 words, and 18 pages

"They both seemed to think it was fair," she concluded, "and when I went out, they were talking it over. They promised me an answer by bedtime, and I'm over here waiting until the jury comes in with its decision. You know," she said suddenly, sitting up on the floor and crossing her legs under her, "I bet they wouldn't hesitate a minute if you would only change your mind and decide to come with me and try it too!"

After a moment's thoughtful silence, Jean answered slowly, "No, Peg. I've thought this all out before, and I know it would be as wrong for me as it is right for you. I know we had a lot of fun in the dramatic groups, and I guess I was pretty good as a comedienne in a couple of the plays, but I know I haven't got the real professional thing--and I know that you have. In fact, the only professional talent I think I do have for the theater is the ability to recognize talent when I see it--and to recognize that it's not there when it isn't!"

"But, Jean," Peggy protested, "you can handle comedy and character lines as well as anyone I know!"

Jean nodded, accepting the compliment and seeming at the same time to brush it off. "That doesn't matter. You know even better than I that there's a lot more to being an actress--a successful one--than reading lines well. There's the ability to make the audience sit up and notice you the minute you walk on, whether you have lines or not. And that's something you can't learn; you either have it, or you don't. It's like being double-jointed. I can make an audience laugh when I have good lines, but you can make them look at you and respond to you and be with you all the way, even with bad lines. That's why you're going to go to New York and be an actress. And that's why I'm not."

"But, Jean--" Peggy began.

"No buts!" Jean cut in. "We've talked about this enough before, and I'm not going to change my mind. I'm as sure about what I want as you are about what you want. I'm going to finish college and get my certificate as an English teacher."

"And what about acting? Can you get it out of your mind as easily as all that?" Peggy asked.

"That's the dark and devious part of my plan," Jean answered with a mysterious laugh that ended in a comic witch's cackle and an unconvincing witch-look that was completely out of place on her round, freckled face. "Once I get into a high school as an English teacher, I'm going to try to teach a special course in the literature of the theater and maybe another one in stagecraft. I'm going to work with the high-school drama group and put on plays. That way, I'll be in a spot where I can use my special talent of recognizing talent. And that way," she added, becoming much more serious, "I have a chance really to do something for the theater. If I can help and encourage one or two people with real talent like yours, then I'll feel that I've really done something worth while."

Peggy nodded silently, not trusting herself to speak for fear of saying something foolishly sentimental, or even of crying. Her friend's earnestness about the importance of her work and her faith in Peggy's talent had touched her more than she could say.

It was nearly ten o'clock when Peggy finally felt that her parents had had enough time to talk things out. Leaving the Wilson house, she walked slowly despite her eagerness, trying in all fairness to give her mother and father every minute she could. Reaching her home, she cut across the lawn behind the lilac bushes, to the steps up to the broad porch that fronted the house. As she climbed the steps, she heard her father's voice raised a little above its normal soft, deep tone, but she could not make out the words.

Crossing the porch, she caught sight of him through the window. He was speaking on the telephone, and now she caught his words.

"Fine. Yes.... Yes--I think we can. Very well, day after tomorrow, then. That's right--all three of us. And, May--it'll be good to see you again, after all these years! Good-by."

As Peggy entered the room, her father put down the phone and turned to Mrs. Lane. "Well, Betty," he said, "it's all set."

"What's all set, Dad?" Peggy said, breaking into a run to her father's side.

"Everything's all set, Peg," her father said with a grin. "And it's set just the way you wanted it! There's not a man in the world who can hold out against two determined women." He leaned back against the fireplace mantel, waiting for the explosion he felt sure was to follow his announcement. But Peggy just stood, hardly moving a muscle. Then she walked carefully, as if she were on the deck of a rolling ship, to the big easy chair and slowly sat down.

"Well, for goodness' sake!" her mother cried. "Where's the enthusiasm?"

After the kisses, the hugs, and the first excitement, Peggy and her parents adjourned to the kitchen, the favorite household conference room, for cookies and milk and more talk.

"Now, tell me, Dad," Peggy asked, her mouth full of oatmeal cookies, no longer "sedate" or "poised," but her natural, bubbling self. "Who was that on the phone, and where are the three of us going, and what's all set?"

"One thing at a time," her father said. "To begin with, we decided almost as soon as you left that we were going to let you go to New York to try a year's experience in the theater. But then we had to decide just where you would live, and where you should study, and how much money you would need, and a whole lot of other things. So I called New York to talk to an old friend of mine who I felt would be able to give us some help. Her name is May Berriman, and she's spent all her life in the theater. In fact, she was a very successful actress. Now she's been retired for some years, but I thought she might give us some good advice."

"And did she?" Peggy asked.

"We were luckier than I would have thought possible," Mrs. Lane put in. "It seems that May bought a big, old-fashioned town house and converted it into a rooming house especially for young actresses. She always wanted a house of her own with a garden in back, but felt it was foolish for a woman living alone. This way, she can afford to run a big place and at the same time not be alone. And best of all, she says she has a room that you can have!"

"Oh, Mother! It sounds wonderful!" Peggy exulted. "I'll be with other girls my own age who are actresses, and living with an experienced actress! I'll bet she can teach me loads!"

"I'm sure she can," her father said. "And so can the New York Dramatic Academy."

"Dad!" Peggy shouted, almost choking on a cooky. "Don't tell me you've managed to get me accepted there! That's the best dramatic school in the country! How--?"

"Don't get too excited, Peg," Mr. Lane interrupted. "You're not accepted anywhere yet, but May Berriman told me that the Academy is the best place to study acting, and she said she would set up an audition for you in two days. The term starts in a couple of weeks, so there isn't much time to lose."

"Two days! Do you mean we'll be going to New York day after tomorrow, just like that?"

"Oh, no," her mother answered calmly. "We're going to New York tomorrow on the first plane that we can get seats on. Your father doesn't believe in wasting time, once his mind is made up."

"Tomorrow?" Peggy repeated, almost unable to believe what she had heard. "What are we sitting here talking for, then? I've got a million things to do! I've got to get packed ... I've got to think of what to read for the audition! I can study on the plane, I guess, but ... oh! I'll be terrible in a reading unless I can have more time! Oh, Mother, what parts will I do? Where's the Shakespeare? Where's--"

"Whoa!" Mr. Lane said, catching Peggy's arm to prevent her from rushing out of the kitchen. "Not now, young lady! We'll pack in the morning, talk about what you should read, and take an afternoon plane to New York. But tonight, you'd better think of nothing more than getting to bed. This is going to be a busy time for all of us."

Reluctantly, Peggy agreed, recognizing the sense of what her father said. She finished her milk and cookies, kissed her parents good night and went upstairs to bed.

But it was one thing to go to bed and another to go to sleep.

Peggy lay on her back, staring at the ceiling and the patterns of light and shade cast by the street lamp outside as it shone through the leaves of the big maple tree. As she watched the shifting shadows, she reviewed the roles she had played since her first time in a high-school play. Which should she refresh herself on? Which ones would she do best? And which ones were most suited to her now? She recognized that she had grown and developed past some of the roles which had once seemed perfectly suited to her talent and her appearance. But both had changed. She was certainly not a mature actress yet, from any point of view, but neither was she a schoolgirl. Her trim figure was well formed; her face had lost the undefined, simple cuteness of the early teens, and had gained character. She didn't think she should read a young romantic part like Juliet. Not that she couldn't do it, but perhaps something sharper was called for.

Nothing seemed quite right. Peggy's thoughts shifted with the shadows overhead. All the plays she had ever seen or read or acted in melted together in a blur, until the characters from one seemed to be talking with the characters from another and moving about in an enormous set made of pieces from two or three different plays. More actors kept coming on in a fantastic assortment of costumes until the stage was full. Then the stage lights dimmed, the actors joined hands across the stage to bow, the curtain slowly descended, the lights went out--and Peggy was fast asleep.

When Peggy awoke in the early-morning sunshine that slanted into her room, it was not yet six o'clock. She reached over to shut off the alarm so that it would not ring at seven, the time she had decided to get up for her big day.

"People say that actors live in a dream world," Peggy thought with a smile. "Maybe that's why I seem to want so little sleep. I get enough of dreams when I'm supposed to be wide awake!"

Recognizing that it would be useless to try to doze off again, she quickly slipped out of bed and quietly set about her morning routine of washing and dressing. The extra time gained by her early awakening would give her an opportunity to select her reading for the Academy, Peggy told herself as she stepped into the shower. But first things first; before she could think about the reading she would need a clear mind, and that meant that all the many details of packing and dressing must be taken care of. As she wrapped herself in an oversized bath towel, Peggy was already mentally choosing her clothes.

An hour and a half later, when Mr. and Mrs. Lane came downstairs for breakfast, they discovered Peggy, dressed and ready for the trip, sitting surrounded by books at the big desk in the "library" end of the living room. Her suitcase stood fully packed in the front hall, a large traveling purse leaning next to it like a puppy sleeping by its mother.

"My goodness!" Mrs. Lane said. "What did you do, stay up all night? Why, you're ready to board the plane this very minute!"

"Not quite, Mother," Peggy answered with a smile. "I still haven't settled on what to read tomorrow, and I want to do that before I go. Otherwise I'll be carting so many books with me to New York that we'll have to pay a fortune in extra-baggage charges!"

"Oh, I'm not worried about you," her mother said. "You'll have your mind made up and your part memorized before we even leave, if I remember the way you go at things! Now you can just put the books away until after breakfast, because I'm going to need some help in the kitchen."

As Peggy stood up, her mother looked approvingly at the costume she had chosen for the flight. It was a smart beige suit with a short jacket that was well cut to accent Peggy's trim figure, and its tawny color was the perfect complement for her even summer tan and her dark chestnut hair. A simple pearl choker and a pair of tiny pearl earrings provided just the right amount of contrast.

"Is it all right?" Peggy asked. Noting her mother's admiring nod, she added, "I packed my gray silk suit and two dresses--the green print and the blue dress-up, in case we go someplace. I mean someplace dressy, for dinner or something. And I have the right shoes packed, too, and stockings and blouses and toothbrush and everything," she added, anticipating her mother's questions.

Mrs. Lane smiled and sighed. "Well, I suppose there's no use my pretending that you're not all grown up and able to take care of yourself! You pass inspection with flying colors! Now, let's get that jacket off and get an apron on--we have some work to do!"

Peggy and her mother went into the kitchen to prepare what Mr. Lane always called his "traveling breakfast," a huge repast of wheat cakes, eggs, sausages and coffee, with plenty of orange juice to start, maple syrup to soak the wheat cakes in, and more coffee to finish up on. While breakfast was cooking, Mr. Lane was on the phone, confirming their plane reservations and, when this was done, arranging for hotel rooms in New York. The last phone call was finished barely a minute before the first steaming stack of wheat cakes was set on the kitchen table.

"Well," he said, sitting down to look with satisfaction at his plate, "everything's under control. We leave at two this afternoon, which should have us in New York by five. That gives us plenty of time. We'll leave the house about one."

"Plenty of time!" Peggy wailed. "What about my reading? I've got to get started right away!" She gave a fairly convincing performance of someone who must get started right away, except for the fact that she showed not the least sign of moving until she had finished her breakfast.

During the meal, the talk was all of reservations, changing planes at Chicago, what kind of rooms they would have at the hotel, and all the many little details of a trip, but Peggy hardly heard. She was still sorting out plays and roles in her mind and trying to make a decision.

"Makes sense," her father agreed. "What three parts do you think you'll try?"

"That's a good choice," Mrs. Lane said. "Now I think you'd better pick out one that's more dramatic and another that's something of a comedy or a character part, don't you?"

"Exactly what I had in mind," Peggy answered. "It shouldn't be too hard to select, now that I know what I'm looking for."

But it wasn't easy, either. Peggy spent the whole morning carefully looking over her collection of play scripts. Every time she thought she had the right role, she found there was no single scene that seemed to be right for a short reading. There was no trouble over Viola, because Shakespeare always wrote good scenes and speeches, and because there was no need to sketch in what had led up to the scene in the play, since everyone was sure to be perfectly familiar with it. But everything else seemed to be a problem. It was not until her parents were all packed and there was only half an hour before leaving, that she finally made up her mind.

Share on: WhatsApp @Hash Facebook Tweet