CHAPTER 1
Alice and Harold paused for a moment, and gazedup at the skyscraper in front of them. Then they pushedtheir way through the revolving doors of the United RadioSociety.
"Remember, think like a professional," Haroldwhispered.
"Yes," Alice answered. She tried, but she couldn't.Not for a minute.
The Information Girl looked up after she hadfinished a line in her anthology of "Three Plays By EugeneO'Neill."
"May I help you?" she asked.
"Thank you, yes." Harold answered, professionally."Casting Department, please."
Information looked the pair up and down,suspiciously.
"Do you want to audition?" she asked.
"Bingo! That's what we'd like to do," Haroldanswered.
"Second floor. Room 207." Information went backto "The Hairy Ape."
Harold pulled Alice away.
"Now remember, they need us," he said. "Withoutactors there wouldn't be any Industry. We're not asking forany favors."
"Maybe they can do without us a little longer," saidAlice. "They've managed till now."
"Never mind that. Let's go upstairs and get it overwith."
They turned around.
"Harold, look!," Alice cried.
In the middle of the corridor, there was a large sign."Please Show Your Pass Before Entering Elevator."
"We don't have a pass." Alice was ready to gohome.
"Look at all the other people going in. They're notshowing any pass."
"Maybe they work here. Maybe they're pro—"Harold gave her a look.
"Maybe the guard knows them."
"He can only throw us out. Come on, we'll try it."
"Where are your passes?" said the guard as theywhizzed past him.
Alice emitted a ladylike burp.
"Don't have them with us this morning, Officer,"Harold said. "Just an oversight."
"We can go home and get them and come back later,Harold. We're holding everyone up." Alice left the elevator,and tripped on the door. Harold followed her.
"Why did you do that?", he demanded. "He wouldhave let us go up."
"I can't go through with it", she said. "I don'tlike my audition material anyway. Why don't we workon it some more, and then come back. When we're reallyprepared."
"You said that yesterday. We're as ready now aswe'll ever be. There must be some way to get up to Room207."
"I could get a job as a secretary," Alice said.
"What are all those people doing over there?"Harold asked. "They look like they're waiting for theelevator. Maybe he just wanted us to wait in line."
Around the corner there were a hundred peopleroped in against the wall. Harold spotted a Page and askedhim who they were."
"That's the Armstrong Theatre audience," said thePage. "It's on the air in half an hour. If you've got yourtickets, you'd better get on line." Alice was thinking hownice it would be to be a secretary with an elevator pass,when she found herself along with the crowd tied up againstthe wall.
"What are we doing here?" she asked, as shepulled at the rope on her stomach. "We don't want to hearArmstrong Theatre. But no matter because we DON'THAVE TICKETS!"
"They won't look at the tickets until we get to thestudio," Harold whispered. "We can duck out before then."
The line began to move.
"Here we go. Keep your face away from the Starter.He might remember us."
"Yes he will. We're Bonnie and Clyde on a badday." She felt less professional by the minute.
"Half the battle is believing. Start believing." Haroldanswered.
The elevator was so crowded Alice had the feelingshe was standing on someone. A small boy was under herlegs, squatting on his haunches. His hand was stretchedout into the people, evidently hanging onto someone. Alicehoped it was someone he knew.
They passed right by the second floor. The little boymoaned, "Mommy, I have to go potty. Now!" Everyonemoved slightly away from him, including whoever he wasattached to. The elevator was an express and didn't stopuntil the eighth floor. There the doors slid open and the littleboy was whisked away as Harold grabbed Alice's wrist andran for the first door that didn't have a number on it. Thiswas a bad choice because, after wading through a largelounge, it turned out to be the Men's Room, and there wasa small commotion when Alice showed up. But before anybig fuss could be made, they fled, ran down the hall anddisappeared behind a big red door marked "Exit."
"I don't like how things have been going," Haroldsaid simply. Alice nodded. "We've made a few mistakes,"Harold went on, "but nobody of any importance has seen usyet, so all we have to do is find Room 207. Forget about thelast few minutes, and let's start thinking like professionals."
So they ran down six flights of stairs. There theystopped another Page for directions.
"I beg your pardon," said Harold.
The Page put down his copy of "My Sister Eileen."
"Yes?"
"Do you know where Room 207 is?"
"You're actors, aren't you?"
Alice hid behind Harold.
"That's right," Harold answered.
"Sure," said the Page. "I've seen you in something.What was it?"
"Seen us? You mean in a play?"
"Maybe. You ever played on Broadway?"
Harold thought for a moment.
"No," he said.
"You never did? You sure?"
"I played 'Laertes' in 'Hamlet' at Columbia,"Harold offered.
"Well, I'm Cameron Cory", said the Page.
"Hi. I'm Harold Moore and this is Alice Cromwell."
Alice stuck her hand out from behind Harold
"You'd both be awfully right for my new play,"Cameron said.
"We would?" Alice asked as she stepped in front ofHarold.
"Sure. Would you like to read it?"
Harold said right out, "Yes!".
"Fine," said Cameron, and he took it out of hispocket. "I'm here every day. Let me know what you thinkof it."
"Well, thanks, Cameron." Harold said. "Do youknow where 207 is?"
Cameron closed his eyes and mumbled to himself."Well, 208 is on the other side of the corridor. Call me. Mynumber's on the script." He was whistling as he walked off.
"Isn't he nice?" Alice asked.
"See? Even playwrights have day jobs," Haroldanswered.
208 was where Cameron had said it would be, nextto 209. Harold and Alice went in.
"Pardon me, Miss. Where is Room 207?" Hesounded tired.
"207," the young lady answered. "Gee, I don'tknow. Isn't it next door?"
"No. No, it isn't."
She turned to the woman behind her. "Winnie, doyou know where 207 is?"
Winnie thought for a moment. "We're 209, aren'twe?"
"We want 207."
"What department is it?" Winnie asked.
"Talent," Harold said.
"Oh," was all Winnie could come up with.
"Talent. Oh. No," said the other one, and went backto her work.
"Come on, Alice," Harold said.
Then they walked past a supply room, a postagestamp machine and a soft drink dispenser before they found207, next to a broom closet.
Inside, Miss Ripple asked if she could help.
"We'd like an audition, please," Harold said.
"For which medium, sir?"
"What?"
"Radio or television?"
"Oh. Well, both, I guess."
"No. They have different casting directors. Ondifferent floors. It has to be one or the other."
"Radio, then," Alice said to ease the tension in MissRipple's voice.
"Right!". Ripple gave a little salute, which somehowseemed appropriate.
"Heller and Dabney are booked for the next sixweeks, but I can let you have Waller on the seventeenth."
"Tomorrow?" Alice was alarmed.
"Next month. July. Nine o'clock. That's good. Mr.Waller gets tired easily. He's like tuna salad in the coffeeshop. Catch him early in the day." She giggled quietly toherself.
Nine o'clock on July 17th. I'm available," Alice saidat once.
"Uh—just a minute," said Harold. "Let me check."
He opened his appointment book and waded through"July 4th—holiday, July 7th—Aunt Regina's birthday, sendcard—and July 24th—8:00 am—Unemployment Insuranceoffice."
Then he told Miss Ripple, "Yes, I'm available."
"Good!", she said, and she seemed genuinelypleased. "What are your names?"
Harold told her.
"And your phone numbers, in case we have tocancel?"
Harold gave them.
"Are those your home numbers?"
"Well, yes," Harold answered. "We don't have anoffice, if that's what you mean."
"You don't belong to a service??" She soundedtense again.
"A what?"
"An Artists' Phone Service!"
"What does it do?" Alice asked.
"It takes messages for Artists in the Industry. Youdon't sound like you're pro-"
"Oh we're professionals all right," Haroldinterrupted. "We just find our home phones completelysatisfactory."
"Then you'll be in on the 17th—of July. And if youmust cancel, be certain to call. However, be aware thatcancellation means going to the back of the wait list." Shegave them a nasty look. The interview was over. Haroldand Alice left Miss Ripple and Room 207 and emergednew-born into the Radio Industry. They hailed an elevatorwithout fear and shot down to the lobby with dignity. Theguard who had demanded to see their passes earlier nownodded to them as they left. Information looked up from"The Hairy Ape" long enough to smile in recognition.
Once through the revolving door, Alice spotted ataxi, and jumped in.
"We can't afford a cab, Alice," Harold said.
She grinned up at him.
"You goop, he who laughs last laughs longest."
Alice just wasn't clever, like Harold.
CHAPTER 2
The United Radio Society has a lounge on the thirdfloor which was originally intended as a waiting room foractors who had time off between rehearsals. However, sincethere are usually many more actors who are not "currentlyemployed" than there are those who are, it evolved into achat room for all those artists even peripherally connectedto The Industry.
There is a reception desk on the third floor, with atelephone and a microphone on it, and a blackboard behindit. Calls come in from the various Answering Services,whence the Lucky Recipients' names are blasted throughthe mic for all to hear. Should said Recipient not be aroundat the moment, his name is posted on the blackboard so thatwhen he does show up, he can check with his Service, andaccept or refuse the professional morsel that's been offered.This is the way it's supposed to work, but sometimes itdoesn't. Sometimes said Recipient is a married man whosewife, knowing she can generally find him in the Lounge,calls to try to reach him. If he is around, he will acceptthe call and stand there nodding his head professionally,mumbling things like "Yes, I can make it," or "No, I haveto pass; I have a conflict" even if Mrs. Recipient is onlyasking her husband to remember to pick up the spaghettiand meatballs on his way home. But for the benefit of hisfellow actors and competitors, who always have one eartuned to the floor phone, he will answer as he does.
Conversation flows freely in the Third FloorLounge.
"Hi, Joe", one actor says to another.
"Hello, Jim," might be the response.
"Wonderful weather, huh?"
"Just the greatest."
"You're looking fine, Joe."
"Thanks, Jim. Feel great."
"How's business?"
"Can't complain."
"Good. See you, Joe."
That might be it for two actors who play the sametype of roles. If a character lady runs into a young ingenue,it would be different.
"Darling!" says the character lady.
"Hello, Minnabess!" shouts the ingenue.
"Listen, darling—I've just come from HarveySapenstein's's office, and he's looking for a sixteen year oldChinese girl."
"No!"
"Can you do a Chinese accent?"
"It's not my best, but I suppose."
"Well, go on darling. Bluff it. It's a wonderful part,and tough to cast."
"Thanks, Minnabess. You're an angel."
"Any time, Darling!"
This conversation is called "the grapevine," verycommon on the Third Floor.
The Lounge then is divided into groups of twos andthrees, of various types and sexes. On one couch, near thetelephone (lest they should miss their names being blastedover the mics) you will find two of the younger members ofthe profession. You might find Genevieve Howard talkingto Fred Hoffman. They are planning their day as they doeach morning, but it isn't easy because they don't knowanybody except the four people they visited yesterday.
A little further down the Lounge, relaxing on oneof the couches, you might find little Marcia Mae who hasbeen in radio for eight years, and whose file card says shewill be nineteen next month. Marcia is a prominent radiopersonality, the star of "Home of Happiness." This morningshe is chatting with Byron Black who had been appearingwith her until his recent dismissal, after a short run of justthree weeks.
"Well, By" Marcia is saying, and very seriously,no giggles this morning. "Freddy was telling me yesterdaythat he was going to have a talk with Willy about why yourcharacter disappeared like that. I mean there you were withBabby in the middle of this plot thing, and it looked goodfor years. No one can understand it. If Willy were hereinstead of vacationing on that silly old Cape Cod spendingall the money we've made him, you could go and talk tohim. I mean when you got the part, my agent was sure itwas going to run forever. Why, Henry and Bobby and Janeyall said it would."
Byron put on his brave face. "Of course it doesn'treally matter. I've socked my dough away so I'm fine. Butit does seem a God-damned stupid way to run a program.No offense to you darling, I know it's your show, but I'msure you agree it doesn't make much sense to introducea new leading man to the plot line and then send him offto Belgium after three weeks. What can this idiot WillHammond be thinking of"
"Willy's absolutely unpredictable. By, if you knewthe crazy things he does, you simply would not believethem. Last week, just after you left the show, he came downfor a visit. Sometimes he can be very sweet, and this timehe brought Bobby and me a present. Do you know what hebrought me? You won't believe it! He brought me a teddybear. A stuffed teddy bear who was taller than I. Me!"
"He didn't!"
"He said it was for his 'little Ella girl'. Now By,I don't live the part of Little Ella. I do get weekends off!.I may sound ten years old, but God knows I am not tenyears old, so what can I do with a stuffed teddy bear? If hedoesn't stop treating me like a child, I swear I'll leave theshow."
"You're absolutely right Marcia. And it wouldn'thurt to leave anyway. You don't want to get typed as a tenyear old. Not with your potential for a giant career."
Marcia Mae frowned. "I hadn't thought of that. Isthat what they're saying about me? I'd just die if that's whatthe Industry thought of me."
"Now, now", said Byron as he rose to collect histhings.
"I'd just die!", said Marcia Mae.
"So long, darling. When you see Will again soon,be sure to tell him I can't speak Flemish, and I'm findingBelgium very dull."
"Me—type cast as a 10 year old? That would beawful!" was her response to that.
The Third Floor Lounge was at rest. The mostnoticeable sound on the floor flowed from the telephonedial on the Receptionist's desk, for the mic was a littletoo near the phone and it picked up the click-click-clickof thedial as it sprang back into place. It was summer,anditwas nine-thirty in the morning, and everyone wastaking it easy.
So it was that Paul Heller stuck his head out of theMen's Room, and prepared to cross the Lounge on his wayback to his office.
"That's Paul Heller!" Genevieve Howard whisperedto Fred Hoffman. "He's the strangest man. See the way hesneaks around the Lounge?"
"They say he doesn't like actors. We'll never workfor him."
"I had him in the elevator all alone last week."
"No! What happened?"
"I didn't speak to him."
"Why not?"
"He looked so frightened. I felt sorry for him."
"That was a real opportunity, Genevieve. You blewthat one."
"I had an interview with him a few days ago. Hedidn't say a word."
"Was it an audition?"
"No. He didn't say a word about my taking oneeither. I did all the talking. He's very strange."
"Why don't you go see him now? At least you knowhe's in."
"He doesn't like it when you show up with noappointment."
"Then go make one."
"You only get one. I've had mine."
"Oh."
"Who will we go see today, Fred?"
"Look, Genevieve. over by the Service Phone.That's Babette Saint."
"Really? How do you know?"
"I was on the phone one day when I heard her sayher name."
"Look at her writing notes. I'll bet she's getting callsfor three shows at once."
"Probably. She works all the time."
"I heard her last night on 'Lights Out.' She played amurderess. She's very good."
"Yes, she is. That's probably why she works all thetime."
"That may be part of it. But she has lots of influencetoo. She's been around the block a few times, let me tellyou." Genevieve had Babette all figured out.
"Everybody likes her. She's always doing nicethings for kids like us."\"She's never done anything nice for me. That'sbecause we sound alike. I could have played that murderesslast night."
