CHAPTER VII A Hidden Danger
The area between the first row of seats and the Golden Girl set wasfilled with a complicated maze of technical equipment. Judy nearlytripped over a trailing cable on the way to join Irene on the studiofloor.
“Come on,” Judy urged Clarissa a second time.
Irene was waiting for them. She seemed completely at home on the studiofloor, moving through and around the pieces of equipment as easily asshe moved about in her kitchen at home. The girls were introduced. Itwas all very informal and nice. Afterwards the floor manager suggested aquick tour behind the scenes.
“I know you want to show your friends around, Irene,” he said with anunderstanding twinkle in his eyes. “You have ten minutes.”
“Thank you, Si. I won’t take more than that. This doesn’t compare withRadio City, of course,” Irene apologized, turning to Judy, “but perhapsI can show you something you haven’t already seen.”
“What about the dressing rooms?” Judy thought of Clarissa’s request andexplained that they hadn’t seen them on their other tour. “It wasinterrupted,” she began and then stopped as there was too much to tellin ten minutes.
“How did that happen?” Irene asked.
“We’ll explain it later,” Judy promised. “Is there time to see thedressing rooms?”
“They’re small and crowded tonight, but I guess we can take a quickpeek,” Irene agreed. “This way, girls! Be careful and don’t fall overanything.”
The dusty, cluttered space behind the glittering curtain was adisappointment to Clarissa. Judy could tell by the look on her face.Backgrounds were folded one against the other. Props waited to be placedinside make-believe rooms that were nothing but painted canvas stretchedon wooden racks. Beyond, a narrow corridor separated two rows of doors.
“Will we see Francine Dow?” Clarissa asked suddenly.
Pauline looked at Flo and said pointedly, “We had a little argument overthe color of her hair.”
“You can settle it when you see her,” Irene told them as they enteredthe crowded dressing room. The girls who were to be good fairies on theprogram were fluttering about in their filmy dresses. Two of them wereseated before a long dressing table putting on make-up that gave theirfaces a yellowish tinge. A third girl, made up to look like an oldwoman, was dipping a sponge into a bowl of green stuff and then applyingit to her face.
“She must be the witch,” Pauline whispered to Judy. “Doesn’t she _scare_you?”
“Her hair is green, too,” Flo observed with a giggle. “How about washingyour hair with _green_ hair wash, Clarissa? You said you’d do anythingto get on TV. Would you play the part of an old witch?”
“I—I don’t know,” she faltered. “I’d hate to make myself any uglier thanI am.”
Obviously the witch could hear the whispered conversation behind her.Making her voice sound old and cackling, she said without turning herhead, “So you think I’m ugly, my pretty? Wait until you see the curse Iput on the child! I hope I don’t scare any little kiddies who may bewatching—”
“You scare me,” Clarissa interrupted. “I can see your face in themirror.”
“It’s bad luck to look into a mirror over anyone’s shoulder,” the witchwarned her. “Why don’t you go away?”
“I’m sorry.” Clarissa, her eyes still fixed on the mirrored face of thewitch, was backing out into the corridor toward a closed door.
“Is that another dressing room, Irene?” asked Flo. “We didn’t see yourguest star, Francine Dow.”
“Would you know her?” asked Judy. “I’m afraid I wouldn’t. She’s appearedin so many different roles. I don’t even know what color her hair is.”
“I’m afraid I don’t either,” Irene confessed. “She wore a black wig inthe _Mikado_ and looked quite like a Japanese schoolgirl. She is late,but I’m sure she’ll be here in time to play the part of the SleepingBeauty. She doesn’t appear until the show is half over. Maybe sheplanned to be late so she would have the dressing room to herself. Wehad to rehearse without her this afternoon,” Irene continued, a worriednote creeping into her voice, “but she assured me, over the telephone,that she knows the part.”
“The play would be ruined without Sleeping Beauty, wouldn’t it?”Clarissa asked. “I hope I haven’t brought bad luck.”
“Of course you haven’t. That’s just a silly superstition,” Irenedeclared. “Actually, it makes an actress nervous to have anyone lookover her shoulder when she’s applying make-up, so she’s apt to tell youit brings bad luck.”
“I see.”
Judy wondered if she did. “You say this isn’t a dressing room? What isbehind this other door?” she asked curiously.
She could hear voices that made her even more curious. “It’s forbidden!”someone was almost shouting. “This thing is still in the experimentalstage. It may be as dangerous as an atom bomb!”
“I don’t know what all the excitement is about. This is our film storageroom,” Irene explained, tapping on the door before she opened it. “Mostof our programs are on film or on kinescope, and they’re kept here. Mineis one of the few live shows that originate in this studio.”
She was calm as she entered the small room that was still charged withemotion. Rows of shelves and pigeonholes lined the walls. Two men wereglaring at each other across a high desk.
“You look like a couple of roosters ready for a fight,” Irene told themamiably. “Can you forget your differences long enough to meet somefriends of mine? This is Mr. Lenz, our projectionist.”
“How do you do,” the older man said in an agitated voice as he wasintroduced to the four girls.
Judy recognized the younger man as the one with the unruly lock of brownhair.
“You were on the tour with us!” she exclaimed in surprise.
“You _are_ from our agency! Why did you tell the guide you were fromHollywood?” Flo demanded.
“Usually,” said the brown-haired young man with an easy smile, “I tellpeople what they want to hear. You want me to be Blake van Pelt, anative New Yorker. Yes, my dear Miss Garner, that is my name. I alreadyknow yours because, you see, I do work on Madison Avenue just as youdo—and for the same agency, so I think we understand each other. Theguide, another charming young lady, wanted me to be from out of town soI gave her a line.”
“Did you say line or lie?” Flo was angry now and justifiably so, Judythought. Without in the least understanding what was going on, she feltherself on the side of truth. Something Clarissa had said back in therestaurant flashed across her mind. “Doesn’t anybody in New York careabout the truth?” Apparently there were a number of people who did,among them the white-haired projectionist, Mr. Lenz.
“The word is lie,” he said icily. “So you tell people what they want tohear, do you, Mr. van Pelt? I think the purpose of your agency is tomake them dissatisfied with what they have so they’ll buy what you haveto sell.”
The young man flashed another smile.
“You’ve put it very well. Advertising is a selling job. We’re not inbusiness to entertain people or to make them contented as they sit intheir living rooms watching TV. Contented people are like cows. It’s ourjob to make them discontented. That’s no crime, is it, Mr. Lenz?”
“No, but this is! None of the other networks allow it. I have my ordersfrom the director of this program,” the projectionist declared. “Now,suppose you take your film out of here.”
Young Blake van Pelt picked up a round gray can about an inch thick anda foot across, and sauntered out of the room. Did it contain a roll offilm or something more sinister? Judy found herself wondering what Mr.Lenz meant when he had shouted, “It may be as dangerous as an atombomb!” After he had calmed down a little the projectionist opened a cansimilar to the one the younger man had taken away with him and said toIrene, “This is the ad we’ll run on your show, Mrs. Meredith. It’s for atooth paste approved by dentists, and features a cute little girlcleaning her teeth
.”
“It may inspire little Judy,” Irene began and then stopped. “What wasthe other ad?” she asked. “Why were you so angry about it, Mr. Lenz?”
“An old man’s temper,” he replied. “Don’t mind me, and good luck withyour show tonight.”