Peggy Plays Off-Broadway

“First casting calls are so difficult,” Peggy Lane said, looking ruefully at the fifty or more actresses and actors who milled about nervously, chatting with one another, or sat on the few folding chairs trying to read.

“With only nine roles to be filled,” she continued, “it doesn’t matter how good these people are; most of them just haven’t got a chance. I can’t help feeling sorry for them—for all of us, I mean. After all, I’m trying for a part, too.”

Peggy’s friend and housemate, Amy Preston, smiled in agreement and said, “It’s not an easy business, honey, is it? But the ones I feel sorriest for right now are Mal and Randy. After all, they have the unpleasant job of choosing and refusing, and a lot of these folks are their friends. I wouldn’t want to be in their shoes.”

Peggy nodded thoughtfully, and reflected that it must, indeed, be more wearing on the boys. Mallory Seton, director of the new play, had been an upper-class student at the Academy when Peggy had started there, and he was a good friend of hers. She had worked with him before, as a general assistant, when they had discovered a theater. It would not be easy for him to consider Peggy for an acting role, and to do so completely without bias. It would not be a question of playing favorites, Peggy knew, but quite the reverse. Mal’s sense of fair play would make him bend over backward to keep from giving favors to his friends. If she was to get a role in this new production, she would really have to work for it.

And if it was difficult for Mal, she thought, it was more so for Randy Brewster, the author of the play, for her friendship with him was of a different sort than with Mal. Mal was just a friend—a good one, to be sure—but with Randy Brewster, somehow, things were different. There was nothing “serious,” she assured herself, but they had gone on dates together with a regularity that was a little more than casual and, whatever his feelings were for her, she was sure that they were more complicated than Mal’s.

“Do you think they’ll ever get through all these people?” Amy asked, interrupting her thoughts. “How can they hope to hear so many actors read for them in just one afternoon?”

“Oh, they won’t be doing readings today,” Peggy replied, glad to turn her attention from what was becoming a difficult subject for thought. “This is just a first cast call. All they want to do today is pick people for type. They’ll select all the possible ones, send the impossible ones away, and then go into elimination readings later.”

“But what if the people they pick for looks can’t act?” Amy asked. “And what if some of the rejects are wonderful actors?”

“They won’t go back to the rejects,” Peggy explained, “because they both have a pretty good idea of what the characters in the play should look like. And if the people they pick aren’t good enough actors, then they hold another cast call and try again. Mal says that sometimes certain parts are so hard to cast that they have to go through a dozen calls just to find one actor.”

“It seems kind of unfair, doesn’t it, to be eliminated just because you’re not the right physical type,” Amy said, “but I can understand it. They have to start somewhere, and I guess that’s as good a place as any.” Then she smiled and added, “I guess I’m just feeling sorry for myself, because Mal told me there was no sense in my trying out at all, because I didn’t look or sound right for any part in the play. If I don’t get rid of this Southern accent of mine, I may never get a part at all, except in a Tennessee Williams play!”

Peggy nodded sympathetically. “But it wasn’t just your accent, Amy,” she said. “It’s your looks, too. At least for this play. Mal and Randy told you that you’re just too pretty for any of the parts that fit your age, and that’s nothing to feel bad about. If anybody ought to feel insulted, it’s me, because they asked me to try out!”

“Oh, they were just sweet-talking me,” Amy replied. “And as for you, you know you don’t have to worry about your looks. You have a wonderful face! You can look beautiful, or comic, or pathetic, or cute or anything. I’m stuck with just being a South’n Belle, blond and helpless, po’ li’l ol’ me, lookin’ sad and sweet through those ol’ magnolia blossoms!” She broadened her slight, soft accent until it sounded like something you could spread on hot cornbread, and both girls broke into laughter that sounded odd in the strained atmosphere of the bare rehearsal studio.

It was at this point that Mal and Randy came in, with pleasant, if somewhat brisk, nods to the assembled actors and actresses, and a special smile for Amy and Peggy. In a businesslike manner, they settled themselves at a table near the windows, spread out scripts and pads and pencils, and prepared for the chore that faced them. Amy, who was there to help the boys by acting as secretary for the occasion, wished Peggy good luck, and joined the boys at the table. Her job was to take names and addresses, and to jot down any facts about each actor that Randy and Mal wanted to be sure to remember.

Mal started the proceedings by introducing himself and Randy. Then, estimating the crowd, he said, “Since there are fewer men here, and also fewer male roles to cast, we’re going to do them first. I hope that you ladies won’t mind. We won’t keep you waiting long, but if we worked with you first, we’d have these gentlemen waiting most of the day. Shall we get started?” After a brief glance at his notes, he called out, “First, I’d like to see businessman types, young forties. How many have we?”

Four men separated themselves from the crowd and approached the table. Peggy watched with interest as Mal and Randy looked them over, murmured to Amy to take notes, and asked questions. After a few minutes, the men left, two of them looking happy, two resigned. Then Mal stood and called for leading man types, late twenties or early thirties, tall and athletic. As six tall, athletic, handsome young men came forward, Peggy felt that she just couldn’t stand watching the casting interviews any longer. It reminded her too much of the livestock shows she had attended as a youngster in her home town of Rockport, Wisconsin. Necessary though it was, she felt it was hardly a way to have to deal with human beings.

Slipping back through the crowd of waiting actors, she joined the actresses in the rear of the room, and found an empty seat next to a young girl.

“Hi,” she said. “What’s the matter, can’t you watch it either?”

The girl smiled in understanding. “It always upsets me,” she replied, “but it’s something we simply have to learn to live with. At least until we get well-known, or get agents to do this sort of thing for us.”

“It sounds as if you’ve been in a few of these before,” Peggy said.

“I have. But not here in the East,” the girl replied. “I’m from California, and I’ve been in a few little-theater things there, but nobody seems to pay much attention to them. I heard that off-Broadway theater in New York attracts a lot of critics, and I thought that I’d do better here. Have you had any luck?”

“Oh, I’m just beginning,” Peggy said. “I’m still studying at the New York Dramatic Academy. I hope I can get some kind of supporting role in this play, but I don’t think I’m ready for anything big yet. By the way, my name is Peggy Lane. What’s yours?”

“I’m Paula Andrews,” the girl answered, “and maybe I’m shooting too high, but I’m trying out for the female lead. I hope I have a chance for it.”

Peggy looked carefully at her new friend, at the somewhat uncertain smile that played about her well-formed, generous mouth and the intelligence that shone from her large, widely placed green eyes. Her rather long face was saved from severity by a soft halo of red-brown hair, the whole effect being an appealing combination of strength and feminine softness.

“I think you do have a chance,” Peggy said. “In fact, if you can act, I bet you’ll get the part. I’ve read the play, and I know the author and director, and unless I’m way off, you look just the way the lead should look. In fact, it’s almost uncanny. You look as if you just walked out of the script!”

“Oh, I hope you’re right!” Paula said with animation. “And I hope you get a part, too. I have a feeling that you’re going to bring me good luck!”

“The one who needs luck is me, I’m afraid,” Peggy said. “Being friendly with Randy and Mal isn’t going to help me in the least, and I’m going to have to be awfully good to get the part. And it’s really important to me, too, because I’m getting near the end of my trial year.”

“Trial year?” Paula asked curiously.

“Uh-huh. My parents agreed to let me come to New York to study acting and try for parts for a year, and I agreed that if I didn’t show signs of success before the year was up, I’d come home and go back to college. I’ve been here for eight months now, and I haven’t got anything to show my parents yet. The part I’m trying for now isn’t a big one, but it’s a good supporting role, and what’s more, we get paid. If I can show my mother and father that I can earn some money by acting, I’m sure that they’ll let me go on trying.”

“But do you expect to make enough to live on right away?” Paula asked.

“Oh, no! I’m not that naïve! But when my year is over at the Academy, I can always take a job as a typist or a secretary somewhere, while I look for parts. If you can type and take shorthand, you never have to worry about making a living.”

“I wish that I could do those things,” Paula said wistfully. “The only way I’ve been able to make ends meet is by working in department stores as a salesgirl, and that doesn’t pay much. Besides, the work is so unsteady.”

“My parents are very practical people,” Peggy said with a smile, “and they made sure that I learned routine office skills before they would let me think about other and more glamorous kinds of careers. Daddy owns the newspaper in our small town in Wisconsin, and I’ve worked with him as a typist and a reporter of sorts and as a proofreader, too. I’ll always be grateful that he made me learn all those things. I don’t think he has much faith in the acting business, but he’s been wonderful about giving me a chance. What do your parents think of your wanting to be an actress?”

Instead of answering, Paula suddenly stood up. “Let’s go see how they’re coming with the actors,” she said. “I think they’re almost finished.”

Not wanting to press Paula further, and feeling that perhaps she had asked too personal a question on such short acquaintance, Peggy reluctantly stood too, and joined Paula to watch the last of what she now could only think of as the livestock show.

As she drew closer to the table, she heard Mal saying, “I’m really sorry, Mr. Lang, but you’re just not the right type for the role. Perhaps some other....” and his voice trailed off in embarrassment.

Lang, a short, thin, unhappy young man, answered almost tearfully, “But, Mr. Seton, looks aren’t everything. I’m really a funny comedian. Honestly! If you would only give me a chance to read for you, I know that I could make you change your mind about the way this character should look!”