CHAPTER 5: The Girl at the Far End of the Row
As soon as he awoke, Thomas knew he was sick. His nose was completely plugged, his mouth was dry from having breathed through it all night, his throat hurt when he swallowed, and he had a small, tight headache under his left ear.
I'm in my bed at least. He forced his eyes open and found himself staring at the stone head on the shelf. "Good morning," he croaked at it.
Once he stood up he felt a little better. He slid into his shirt and pants and padded barefoot to the greenroom. Spencer was there, talking to half a dozen people Thomas didn't know.
"Well, look what shambled out of the swamp," Spencer grinned. "Mornin', Rufe."
"G'morning." Thomas slumped into a chair.
"You sound awful," spoke up a pretty, auburn-haired woman. "Got a cold?" Thomas considered the idea, then nodded. "It's this Santa Ana wind," she said. "Comes in from the desert."
"Gang, this is Rufus," Spencer said. "Rufe, I won't run through everybody's names, because you wouldn't remember them anyhow. This is the guy," he remarked to the others, "who split the skull of the android that was about to put a bullet into me."
They nodded and looked at Thomas more respectfully. The auburn-haired woman crossed the room and sat on the arm of his chair. "Would you like some breakfast?" she inquired.
"Uh… coffee," Thomas said. "Thank you. Hot, with sugar."
"You just sit there and rest, hon. I'll bring it." She scurried out of the room.
"Well, Rufus," said a tall, hearty-voiced young man with short-cropped hair, "I understand you are, to a certain extent, one of us." A couple of the others shot sharp looks at him.
"Yes," answered Thomas, too tired to care whether or not the man's sentence held sarcasm.
"Say," put in a woman across the room. "How's Pelias? Does anyone know?"
Several people shrugged. "Somebody told me," said Thomas, "that he's probably dead, and the government's afraid to admit it."
"That may be," nodded the short-haired man. "Hell, it's been three days now since the, uh, resistance guerrillas detonated those two bombs in his house. The administrators may well be holding a corpse and stalling for time."
"I never permit political talk in the greenroom, Lambert, as you know," said Gladhand, who had propelled his wheelchair through the doorway. "In our line of work it's an unaffordable luxury." He glanced around at the group. "And speaking of our line of work, everybody had better remember to be at the noon rehearsal today. We'll have two newcomers— Rufus here, and hopefully someone to play Rosalind." Everyone shifted uncomfortably. Jean must have been doing Rosalind, Thomas realized. "Where's Alice?" the manager went on. "Not here? Well, when she shows, have her finish nailing up the Arden set. Rufus, why don't you come along with me. I'll pick the new actress and then explain everything to both of you at once."
The woman returned with Thomas's coffee; he thanked her and then followed Gladhand down the corridor, taking cautious sips of the hot brew.
"I sent a boy to the L.A. Greeter office last night," Gladhand. said over his shoulder. "Had him put an ad in this morning's paper. 'Actress wanted, for the part of Rosalind in As You Like It. Apply at the Bellamy Theater, 10:00 h.' With the city in its current uproar, I have no idea what kind of response it'll draw. Might be nobody, might be every female north of Pico."
They entered a side hallway that led between two heavy curtains and eventually out onto the stage. The house lamps were lit and three broad, scrimmed spots illuminated the stage. Jeff stood in the central aisle, near the lobby doors.
"Have we got any, Jeff?" Gladhand called.
"Yes sir, a good dozen."
"Trot 'em in." The theater manager turned to Thomas. "By the way, uh, Rufus, I want to have it established that no further escapades like last night's will take place. Spencer told me about it. I can see your motivations, but nothing like that must ever recur. I've already spoken to him and Robert and Jeff. I hope I make myself clear?"
"Yes sir," said Thomas, embarrassed. "It won't recur."
"Good lad! Now look sharp, I may want your advice on these young ladies."
A gaggle of women entered and walked uncertainly down the aisle. "If you'll all just sit down in the front row, ladies, we'll commence," Gladhand said loudly. The women filed along the row and found seats.
Thomas regarded them curiously. Several were obviously too fat, and a couple looked too old to him, though he admittedly had no idea what could or could not be accomplished with makeup. That skinny little one there might do, he thought, or—then he noticed the girl at the far end of the row.
She had a round face, with black bangs cut off in a line just above her heavy-lidded eyes. She didn't chat with the others, but simply watched Gladhand and Thomas with an air of wary amusement. She wore a gray sweater over a pale blue blouse with a folded-over collar.
"The first thing," said Gladhand, wheeling to the edge of the stage, "that I should make clear is the fact that I pay no salaries. My actors live on the premises and receive room, board and clothing by way of payment."
"How's that going to feed my kids?" queried a broad-shouldered woman in a hat.
"Ma'am, I'm afraid it will not. The position I offer is suitable only for an unattached person with no pressing responsibilities."
The woman in the hat and several others stood up, picked their way out of the row and strode impatiently up the aisle. One paused at the door to make a rude gesture. Six remained sitting, and a couple of these looked doubtful. The expression, though, of the girl at the far end had not changed.
"Well," said Gladhand, "now that we're weeded down to a manageable number, tell me about yourselves. You first." He pointed at the heavily made-up woman who sat nearest the aisle.
She stood up. "Well, sir, I feel a… creative urge within me that demands expression in the theater, treading the boards. I have too vast a soul, you see, to keep it to myself. In a manner of speaking, I am Life. To me—"
"Please," interrupted Gladhand firmly. "That's enough."
"Enough for what?" she asked.
"Enough for me," he replied irritably. "Get out of here."
She left indignantly, with sotto voce observations to the effect that certain people were crippled in more ways than one. So long, Life, Thomas thought.
The self-descriptions of the next few women were very subdued, and Thomas soon stopped listening and stared at the girl in the gray sweater. After a while he became aware that she was staring back at him, and he blushed and looked away.
"And yourself, miss?" Gladhand said politely, turning finally to her.
She rose. "I saw your ad in the Greeter," she said, and shrugged. "I've never acted before, so I haven't developed any prejudices or bad habits. I have read the play, at least. And I have no previous jobs or commitments to prevent my starting immediately."
Gladhand nodded and wheeled himself back to the middle of the stage. He beckoned to Thomas, who hurried over to him. "What do you think, Rufus?" the theater manager asked solemnly.
"Good Lord, sir," Thomas answered under his breath. "Take the one in the gray sweater. She's…" He hesitated.
"Yes?" pursued Gladhand with a half-mocking smile. "She's what?"
"She's probably the best actress among them," finished Thomas defensively.
"Nonsense. That one I ordered out was probably the best actress." He threw up one hand in a surrendering gesture. "But… I must have people I can work with. Okay. I'll take her."