Dawn of a New Day

by Gilbert, Morris

  She was mistaken, however, in her feeling that she would not be chosen. Mr. Spender came to her and said, “I can tell you right now you’re in the running, Prudence. You have a good, clear voice, and I think you might do well in the part of Sally. It’s not a big part, but it’s very important. The main character, Helen, will be defined by those around her, especially by the character called Sally.” He handed her a few sheets of paper, and said, “We’ll try you on a scene tomorrow with other actors and see how you do.”

  The next day after almost a sleepless night, Prue walked through the scene somewhat awkwardly, but not forgetting her lines. The scene involved Helen, played by Debbie Peters, and she knew her lines perfectly as well.

  After the scene was done, Prue left the auditorium feeling that she had at least a chance. Debbie walked over to Mark, who had been watching, and said, “I know she hasn’t had any experience. That might be a problem.”

  “Not a chance.” Mark shook his head. “She doesn’t do well in her subjects except for math, but she’s got a memory like an elephant. She can remember everything that ever happened to her, I think.”

  His words somehow displeased Debbie, and she gave him an odd look. “We’ll see,” she said.

  Later that day, after school, Mr. Spender was gathering his books together and preparing to leave when he had a visitor. He looked up as the door to his classroom opened and said, “Why, hello, Debbie.”

  “Oh, Mr. Spender, may I talk with you for a few moments?”

  “Of course, Debbie.”

  Debbie came over and said with a worried look, “Mr. Spender, you’re the director, and I know it’s up to you, but one thing about the play concerns me.”

  Spender blinked with surprise. “What’s that, Debbie?”

  “Well, it’s Prue. I don’t think she’s right for the part of Sally.”

  “Why, I thought she did very well. She hasn’t had any experience, of course—”

  “But it’s such a terrible chance to take! She does all right when there’s nobody there, but what about in front of an audience? Why, you know how Mary Ann Gateau froze up last year during the play. It ruined it!”

  Spender rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “That’s right,” he said. “I hadn’t thought about that.” Then he added, “But I think she’ll be all right.”

  “Oh, it isn’t just that. She’s so terribly tall, and I’m petite. Helen is supposed to be a strong person in the play, and here’s this giantess towering over her. I don’t think I can overcome that, Mr. Spender.”

  Spender walked over and sat down on his desk, his brow furrowed. He rubbed the wrinkles away, and for the next ten minutes the two talked earnestly. Finally he said, “Well, I’ll think it over, Debbie. I wouldn’t want anything to go wrong with the play.”

  “Of course, I’m sure she’ll understand, and Dale Roberts would be perfect for the role.” She added quickly, “And you could let Prue help with the costumes or something like that.” She gathered her books up, held them to her breast, then said, “It’ll be better. You’ll see, Mr. Spender.” She turned and walked out, a satisfied smile lurking on her lips.

  Prue could not keep the good news to herself, and she excitedly told her parents that night at supper that she was going to be in the play. Her sparkling eyes and obvious good spirits made her father say, “Why, that’s fine, Prue! I’ll even come to it myself. Might be better than a Texas wrestling match.”

  Prue laughed at him and then went out the next morning with the same excitement. Mark met her with a smile and said, “I bet you didn’t sleep a wink.”

  “Oh, I did too, but it is exciting. And I think, like you said, Mark, it’s going to be fun.”

  The two talked about the play all the way to school, and all that morning Prue thought about the days that were to come.

  At lunch, in the cafeteria, she was almost through eating when Mr. Spender came by and paused beside her. “Prudence,” he said very quietly, “after you finish eating, I need to have a word with you.”

  “Of course, Mr. Spender. I’ll come to your classroom.” Thinking that it was something concerning the part, Prue hurriedly finished, then made her way out of the cafeteria and down the halls. When she went into Mr. Spender’s classroom, she saw that a troubled look was on his face. “Yes, sir?” she asked. “What is it?”

  Ira Spender was not a man who could deal with difficult situations easily. He began talking in a rambling fashion about the integrity of a cast and how every member was a part, like a part of a machine. Prue listened to him, wondering where in the world he was going. Finally, almost in desperation, he said, “I know you’d like to do the part of Sally, but I just don’t feel it’s right for you.” He saw the disappointment drive the smile from her face and hurriedly said, “You’ve got another year, and this would be a good time for you to get experience. Perhaps you could help with the costumes, or be a prompter.”

  All the joy left Prudence, and she said dolefully, “No thank you, Mr. Spender. Maybe I wasn’t meant to be an actress anyway.” She turned to leave, hearing him call out to her, “Now wait a minute, Prudence! Don’t take it like that!” But she closed the door quietly, and for the rest of the day said not a word. The disappointment cut like a knife, and then she saw Mark and Debbie walking down the hall arm in arm late that afternoon headed for practice, obviously, and anger touched her. She was not a girl given to anger, as a rule, but somehow she just knew that Debbie Peters had something to do with her rejection. She knows how to work men, and Mr. Spender wouldn’t be anything for her, she thought as she watched Mark and Debbie disappear into the auditorium.

  “Hi, sweetie pie.”

  Prue turned to find Leon Dicus approaching, and, as usual, he managed to put his hand on her, this time on her shoulder, which he kneaded with his strong fingers. “Why don’t you and I go out and hit a flick tonight? Maybe get something to eat afterward?”

  “All right. I’d like that.”

  Leon Dicus’s face assumed a comic air. “Why, I must’ve asked you a hundred times and you’ve turned me down a hundred times. You’re gettin’ smart, Prue.” He squeezed her shoulder again, then winked. “I’ll pick you up at six thirty.”

  “All right, Leon.”

  Prue watched him walk away in that peculiar walk that athletes have, those trying to be athletes, at least. It was a sort of a rolling swagger, and he acted as if his neck were so muscular that he could not twist it around, so he turned slowly to face people. “Why did I do that? I can’t stand him.” Prue knew with one part of her mind that she was getting revenge somehow on Mr. Spender, and Debbie, and even Mark. The bitterness that came to her did not allow for logical thinking. She lifted her head high and said, “I’ll go out and have a good time.” She left the school and went home, determined to show somebody that she could have a life without a role in a sorry little high school drama.

  The movie was Dr. No, starring Sean Connery and Ursula Andress. It was the second of the series that Prue had seen, and she enjoyed the smooth antics of British Agent 707. She thought Connery was amusing, and as for the feminine star, her chief claim to acting fame came from her curvaceous body, which she displayed at every possible opportunity.

  In one scene where Ursula Andress appeared to her best advantage, Leon put his arm around Prue and pulled her closer. He whispered hoarsely, “Her name ought to be Ursula Undress.” His wit, such as it was, amused him, and he kept his arm around Prue, constantly caressing her. At one point, his caresses became so objectionable that Prue jerked herself away and said, “Keep your hands to yourself, Leon! This is a public place!” He grabbed her hand and grinned. “We’ll go to a private place then after the show.”

  The private place proved to be something called the Blue Moon. When they pulled up in front, suddenly Prue remembered something. “Wait a minute!” she said as Dicus prepared to get out. “I’m not going in that place. That’s where Bobby Stuart got into trouble and Maggie Satterfield was attacked.”

  “Y
ou don’t have to worry about that, baby. I been here before. I can handle any trouble that comes.”

  Against her better judgment, and protesting all the way, Prue was dragged inside the nightclub. As soon as she stepped inside and looked around, her heart sank, and she knew she had made a terrible mistake.

  Mark was up late studying; his parents had already gone to bed. He jumped when the phone went off right behind his head on the kitchen wall. Leaping up, he wondered who could be calling at eleven o’clock at night.

  “Hello?”

  “Mark—?”

  “Prue, is that you?”

  “Why—yes. Mark, I need you.”

  Mark clutched the phone harder and said, “What’s the matter? Where are you? You’re not at home?”

  “No. I’m out on Highway 28 at a Texaco station, the one right across from the water tower.”

  “I know the place,” Mark said. “What are you doing there?”

  “Please, don’t ask questions! Can you come and get me?”

  “Sure. I’ll be right there. Do your folks know you’re out?”

  “I don’t want them to know anything. Please, just come and get me, Mark.”

  Fear shot through her voice, and she said, “Please,” in a whisper.

  “All right, Prue. Don’t worry. You stay right there inside the station. I’ll be there in twenty minutes. All right?”

  “All right, Mark.”

  Mark hit the front door running, got into the Buick, the family’s second car, and hoped that his parents wouldn’t hear the engine start up. It caught at once, and he eased out onto the road, waiting until he got out to the blacktop before he opened it up. Floorboarding the accelerator, he shot through the night, a thousand things racing through his mind. He covered the distance in record speed, pulled up beside the Texaco station, which was still lit up, and by the time he got out of the car he saw Prue running toward him. Her eyes were wide, and her lips were trembling, and he said, “Prue, what is it?”

  “Please, Mark, take me home.”

  “Sure. Get in the car.” He walked over with her, opened the door, then shut it when she was inside. Quickly he moved back to his own position behind the wheel, put the Buick in gear, and drove away. Out of his rearview mirror, he saw the attendant standing outside scratching his head. Twisting his head, he saw that Prue was as far away from him as she could get, and she was staring out the window. He also thought he could see that her shoulders were trembling as though she were crying.

  Reaching over, he touched her shoulder and said, “Look, Prue, you’d better tell me about it. What are you doing way out here in the middle of nowhere?”

  Prue did not turn for a moment. She cleared her throat, searched through her purse for a Kleenex, and then blew her nose. Finally she turned and said, “I’ve been at the Blue Moon with Leon Dicus.”

  “What?” Mark swerved the car as he turned to face her. “Have you lost your mind, Prudence Deforge?”

  “Please don’t scold me. You can’t say anything that I haven’t said to myself.”

  Mark heard the plea in her voice and turned his attention back to driving. He said nothing, and she sat there quietly until he pulled in her driveway. “The lights are on,” he said. “I guess your folks are up waiting on you.”

  “I know they are,” Prue said. She had regained her composure now and added, “Mark, thanks for coming after me.”

  “Sure. That’s okay.”

  “I–I guess I owe you an explanation. You heard about Mr. Spender deciding not to let me be in the play?”

  Mark swirled in the seat. “What do you mean? I didn’t hear anything about that!”

  For an instant Prue thought of telling him that it was Debbie Peters’ idea, but she had no evidence, so she said, “I felt so bad, like I’d been cut off at the knees, and then when Leon asked me to go out, I guess I just was so desperate I accepted. It was awful! Everybody was drinking, and there are rooms there that couples kept going off into. I begged Leon to take me home, but he was drunk. He started to drag me into one of those rooms, and I tore away from him and ran out the front door. He chased me, but he stumbled, and I disappeared into the woods, and then I came out down the highway and walked to the Texaco station, and that’s when I called you.”

  She broke off suddenly, and Mark saw that she was crying again. He put his arms around her and held her close for a minute. “Look, we all make mistakes. You made one, so go in and tell your folks all about it. I hope your dad doesn’t punch Leon out.”

  “You do? I thought you might like that.”

  “No, I’m planning to do it myself,” he said.

  “Oh, please, Mark! Don’t do that!” Turning her face to him, Prue touched his chest, and then she whispered, “I don’t know what I would have done if it hadn’t been for you. I was so afraid.”

  She was soft against his chest, and her tearstained face was blurry in the moonlight. He did see her lips were trembling, and as he had done once before, he bent his head, meaning to give her a friendly kiss. It did not turn into that though. Her lips were soft under his, and vulnerable, and for a long moment he held her, and then she broke away. Her voice was thick as she whispered, “Mark, I’ve got to go in.” She left and went up the walk, wiping her face on a Kleenex as she went. She turned back and waved at Mark, then took a deep breath, and stepped inside the house.

  The next half hour was as bad as anything Prudence had known. She was very honest with her parents, as she always had been. She explained how hurt she had been by being cut from the play, and how she had made a foolish decision. She saw the anger in her father’s eyes and the muscles of his shoulders bunched up, but she went to him and said, “Please, Daddy. I know you want to go beat him up, but that would just make things worse.” She took a deep breath and shook her head. “You don’t have to worry about him anymore. I hope I never see him again, or anybody like him!”

  5

  THE BIG TIME

  Hey! You can’t come in here!” Ossie Peabody, the drummer of Bobby’s band, was well-built, but he had no chance against the burly man who simply pushed the door open and brushed him aside. Ossie made an angry noise, which caused Bobby Stuart to turn around and say, “That’s all right, Ossie. Take it easy.” He was exhausted after a tiring concert. It had gone on for more than four hours, and he had given it everything he had. Bobby was accustomed to backstage visitors, but usually they were fifteen- or sixteen-year-old teenyboppers.

  The man who entered the room looked like a truck driver. He was short, muscular, and had hands like hams. His smallish brown eyes were deep set and were regarding him carefully. For a moment fear touched Bobby, for he was not yet clear on the charges he had incurred back in Arkansas. The girl’s parents, whatever her name was, were pressing it, and Bobby had paid a mint to lawyers. This man looked like a policeman, or maybe a process server. “What can I do for you?” he asked.

  “Nothing, but I can do a lot for you.” The big man looked at Ossie and said, “Take a walk, fella.”

  Ossie straightened up, preparing to argue, but something about the man’s demeanor impressed Bobby. “That’s okay, Ossie. Go get the car ready. I’ll be there as soon as I finish with this gentleman.” He waved off Ossie’s angry look, and when the door shut he said, “Now, what’s up?”

  “I’m R. D. Fitzgerald. Did you ever hear of me?”

  Bobby swallowed hard and said, “Yes, sir! Of course I have!” He came forward at once, put his hand out nervously, and summoned a smile. “I’m glad to know you, Mr. Fitzgerald.” Fitzgerald had a grip like a Stilson wrench, and Bobby pulled his hand back before it was mangled. “Why don’t you sit down.”

  “Okay.” Fitzgerald pulled a cigar from his inner pocket, bit the end off, and spit it on the floor. He pulled out a kitchen match, struck it with his fingernail, and held it to the tip of the huge cigar until it was burning with a cherry red light. He then leaned back and blew a perfect smoke ring up at the ceiling. “So…you’ve heard of me.”
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br />   “Why, everybody’s heard of you, Mr. Fitzgerald,” Bobby said. This might not have been strictly true, but people in the entertainment world, at least on the inside, had heard of one of the biggest producers in Hollywood. Bobby kept close track on this, for he had a great desire to make a movie. He longed to see himself up on the big screen, and now he sat down thinking, This is it! He wouldn’t have come to see me unless he had moviemaking on his mind! “Your last picture was great, Mr. Fitzgerald,” he said. “I went to see it three times.”

  Fitzgerald had a tough face, but pleasure moved across his features. “Glad to hear that. Always like to hear a good word about the work I do.” He blew another perfect ring at the ceiling, watched it until it dissipated, and appeared to have nothing to say.

  Bobby thought, He’s pretty sharp. He knows I’m nervous, and he’s letting it all build up. I can’t let him con me like that. He leaned back, stretched, and yawned, and said, “Were you out in the audience tonight?”

  “Yeah, I caught your act.” He waited for Bobby to ask how he liked it, but Bobby simply stretched again and kneaded his shoulder muscles.

  “Pretty tough being out there that long. Sometimes I think I’d rather be pumping gas at Exxon.”

  This amused Fitzgerald. “No you don’t, Bobby. You’re doing exactly what you want to do.”

  Startled, Bobby laughed. “I guess you’re right about that. I don’t mind getting tired. After all, that’s what puts the beans on the table.”

  Fitzgerald suddenly sat up straighter and said, “You’re a pretty sharp kid. I’ve had my eye on you for a long time, and now I guess you know pretty well why I’m here.”

  “From what I hear, you don’t have any hobbies. All you do is work, so if you’re here I guess you want to talk to me about some sort of project you’ve got on your mind.”