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lasted this long. Gary didn’t tolerate much nonsense.
    “Nah,” Anna replied. “Didn’t you know? Gary’s dad and Peter were friends in the old days. Peter got the old man his first job or something. Gary will carry him for the full run.”
    Leda thought that over. Gary’s late father had been a big name in Hollywood, before the blacklisting of the fifties had ended his career. Gary had his faults, but he was very loyal.
    “Here it is,” Anna said triumphantly, extracting a tin of powder from a hatbox on the radiator. “I forgot I put it in there.”
    Leda turned to look at what she was doing. “Anna, don’t put that cardboard box on the radiator. You know we can’t control the heat in that old thing. One of these days we’re both going to go up in smoke.”
    “It’s a wonder this whole place hasn’t burned down long before this,” Anna replied irritably. “When was it built, during the Revolution? What a firetrap. And whoever heard of doing Picnic in December anyway? We should be putting on A Christmas Carol or The Winter’s Tale .”
    Leda didn’t answer, aware of the reason for Anna’s discontent. She’d recently gone down to the wire for the role of Nora in a PBS revival of A Doll’s House and lost out at the last minute to a mysterious late arrival. Anna subsequently discovered that the victor was the producer’s new girlfriend.
    Leda sighed. Everybody knew that sort of thing went on in this business, but it still hurt when it happened to you.
    Finished with her foundation, Leda picked up the tube of blood red lipstick she used to transform herself into Madge Owens.
    It was enough to make an actress retire from the stage and become a librarian.
    * * * *
    Several hours later Leda was back home, sipping a glass of wine and trying to recover from an unmitigated disaster.
    Everything had gone wrong during that evening ‘s performance. The crew missed their cues, the actors forgot their lines, and the prop man dropped a bucket backstage when Anna was making her entrance. During Chip’s big dramatic speech, which demanded the breathless attention of the audience, a cat leaped from the balcony onto the stage. The accompanist was a substitute, called in at the eleventh hour when the regular pianist took ill, and the new person brought his own sheet music, unfamiliar to Chip and Leda. The resulting dance scene, meant to be slow and seductive, looked more like a beer barrel polka.
    Leda took another swallow, closing her eyes. Things had gone on in that vein all night, mistake after mishap, until by the final curtain Leda was seriously considering suicide. The bewildered audience had been gracious about the debacle, but that didn’t make the crestfallen company feel any better. Gary had given them all a pep talk afterward, which fell on deaf ears. Leda could only remember one performance worse than this, a college production of A Midsummer Night’s Dream , in which she had played Titania. On that occasion Puck had fallen out of the plastic tree set up on stage for his revels, and broken his leg. Leda’s recollection of the rest of that evening was mercifully blurred, but the experience was sufficient to drive her to the registrar’s office the next morning, intent on changing her major from drama to anything else. The head of the department had talked her out of it when she brought him the drop forms for his signature. Up until now, she’d been glad he did. But she was discouraged once again. There were few things worse than making a fool out of yourself in front of a houseful of people expecting to be entertained.
    Leda heard footsteps on the porch she shared with Claire, and realized that the other woman was coming home. The feet paused in mid-stride and switched direction. Leda got up as Claire rapped sharply on the glass pane set in her door.
    “Leda, are you in there?” Claire called.
    Leda opened her door and stepped aside to let Claire pass. Claire took in the bottle on the end table and