moment. Suddenly her eyes flashed. “Neely O’Hara!”
“What?” Lyon and Anne choked on the word together.
“Neely O’Hara. It’s perfect. I’m Irish, and Scarlett is my favorite person—”
“She’s just read Gone with the Wind,” Anne explained.
“Neely, I’m sure we could come up with something more euphonious,” Lyon suggested.
“More what?”
“Yes, Gil, I’m still with you,” Lyon said. “We’re just having a small board meeting on a name.”
“I want to be Neely O’Hara,” Neely insisted stubbornly.
“It’s Neely O’Hara,” Lyon said with a grin. “Yes, O’Hara. That’s right. And have the contract at rehearsal tomorrow—she’s the nervous type. And Gil, make it a white contract—standard Equity, not chorus. Let’s start the girl off right.” He hung up. “And now, Miss Neely O’Hara, you’d better go over to Actors Equity and join immediately. There’s a rather stiff initiation fee—might be well over a hundred dollars. If you need an advance . . .”
“I’ve got seven hundred dollars saved,” Neely said proudly.
“Fine. And if you’re really determined to stay with the name, I’ll be glad to put through the necessary forms to make it legal.”
“You mean so no one can steal it?”
He smiled. “Well—let’s say it will make things easier. Your checking account, Social Security . . .”
“Checking account? Geez, when would I ever need a checking account?”
The phone buzzed again. “Oh, Geez,” Neely muttered. “I bet he’s changed his mind.”
Lyon picked it up. “Hello? Oh, hi. . .” His voice changed. “Yes, I saw the story in the paper. I told you all along I was just playing Cupid. . . . Come now . . .” He laughed. “You make me feel seven feet tall. Look, Diane angel, there are some people in the office and I’m keeping them waiting. We can talk about it tonight. Would you like to see the show at the Copa? Gil Case invited us along. . . . Fine, I’ll pick you up around eight. . . . Good girl. ’By.” He turned back to Neely and Anne with a slight smile that begged forgiveness for the interruption.
Anne stood up. “We’ve already taken up too much of your time. Thank you very much, Lyon.”
“Not at all. I owed you a whopper of a favor . . . in fact, I owe you the very bed I sleep in. At least this helped even the score.”
When they were in the outer office, Neely did a pirouette and hugged Anne ecstatically. “Anne, I’m so happy I could shout at the top of my lungs!”
“I’m very happy for you, Neely.”
Neely stared at her. “Hey, what’s the matter? You look upset. Are you mad because I busted in like I did? I’m sorry. But Lyon wasn’t mad and Mr. Bellamy didn’t even know I was here. See, it all worked just fine. Please, Anne, say you’re not mad or it will ruin my whole day.”
“I’m not mad—just a little tired. Honestly, Neely.” Anne sat down at her desk.
Neely looked puzzled. “Yeah, I guess we both have been through a lot of excitement.” She leaned over and hugged Anne. “Oh, Anne, some day I’ll make this all up to you . . . somehow. I swear I will!”
She watched Neely skip out of the office. Mechanically, she inserted a fresh piece of paper in the typewriter. The carbon smudged her engagement ring. She polished it carefully, then began to type.
Anne found herself living with Hit the Sky. In the beginning her exposure was limited to Neely’s detailed descriptions of the daily rehearsals. Neely was in the chorus, and for three days she showed Anne every step. Then came the startling announcement: Neely had a “part”—three lines in a crowd scene. But the crowning achievement was the understudy role.
“Can you stand it?” Neely asked. “Me —understudying Terry King! Terry has the second lead, and usually with Helen they have the dreariest ingenue they can find. But Terry King is sexy and beautiful. Imagine me ever trying to look sexy and beautiful!”
“Then why did they
“What?” Lyon and Anne choked on the word together.
“Neely O’Hara. It’s perfect. I’m Irish, and Scarlett is my favorite person—”
“She’s just read Gone with the Wind,” Anne explained.
“Neely, I’m sure we could come up with something more euphonious,” Lyon suggested.
“More what?”
“Yes, Gil, I’m still with you,” Lyon said. “We’re just having a small board meeting on a name.”
“I want to be Neely O’Hara,” Neely insisted stubbornly.
“It’s Neely O’Hara,” Lyon said with a grin. “Yes, O’Hara. That’s right. And have the contract at rehearsal tomorrow—she’s the nervous type. And Gil, make it a white contract—standard Equity, not chorus. Let’s start the girl off right.” He hung up. “And now, Miss Neely O’Hara, you’d better go over to Actors Equity and join immediately. There’s a rather stiff initiation fee—might be well over a hundred dollars. If you need an advance . . .”
“I’ve got seven hundred dollars saved,” Neely said proudly.
“Fine. And if you’re really determined to stay with the name, I’ll be glad to put through the necessary forms to make it legal.”
“You mean so no one can steal it?”
He smiled. “Well—let’s say it will make things easier. Your checking account, Social Security . . .”
“Checking account? Geez, when would I ever need a checking account?”
The phone buzzed again. “Oh, Geez,” Neely muttered. “I bet he’s changed his mind.”
Lyon picked it up. “Hello? Oh, hi. . .” His voice changed. “Yes, I saw the story in the paper. I told you all along I was just playing Cupid. . . . Come now . . .” He laughed. “You make me feel seven feet tall. Look, Diane angel, there are some people in the office and I’m keeping them waiting. We can talk about it tonight. Would you like to see the show at the Copa? Gil Case invited us along. . . . Fine, I’ll pick you up around eight. . . . Good girl. ’By.” He turned back to Neely and Anne with a slight smile that begged forgiveness for the interruption.
Anne stood up. “We’ve already taken up too much of your time. Thank you very much, Lyon.”
“Not at all. I owed you a whopper of a favor . . . in fact, I owe you the very bed I sleep in. At least this helped even the score.”
When they were in the outer office, Neely did a pirouette and hugged Anne ecstatically. “Anne, I’m so happy I could shout at the top of my lungs!”
“I’m very happy for you, Neely.”
Neely stared at her. “Hey, what’s the matter? You look upset. Are you mad because I busted in like I did? I’m sorry. But Lyon wasn’t mad and Mr. Bellamy didn’t even know I was here. See, it all worked just fine. Please, Anne, say you’re not mad or it will ruin my whole day.”
“I’m not mad—just a little tired. Honestly, Neely.” Anne sat down at her desk.
Neely looked puzzled. “Yeah, I guess we both have been through a lot of excitement.” She leaned over and hugged Anne. “Oh, Anne, some day I’ll make this all up to you . . . somehow. I swear I will!”
She watched Neely skip out of the office. Mechanically, she inserted a fresh piece of paper in the typewriter. The carbon smudged her engagement ring. She polished it carefully, then began to type.
Anne found herself living with Hit the Sky. In the beginning her exposure was limited to Neely’s detailed descriptions of the daily rehearsals. Neely was in the chorus, and for three days she showed Anne every step. Then came the startling announcement: Neely had a “part”—three lines in a crowd scene. But the crowning achievement was the understudy role.
“Can you stand it?” Neely asked. “Me —understudying Terry King! Terry has the second lead, and usually with Helen they have the dreariest ingenue they can find. But Terry King is sexy and beautiful. Imagine me ever trying to look sexy and beautiful!”
“Then why did they
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