Queens Full Read Free Page A

him?”
    Stone said carelessly, “Fifteen hundred a week might do it.”
    â€œGive me that phone!” Dullman said. “Who do you think you’re dealing with, Phil? Benedict’s washed up in Hollywood, dead on Broadway, and TV’s had a bellyful of him. I happen to know he’s flat on his tokus. I wouldn’t let Mr. Bluefield touch him with a skunk pole if Manson’s accident hadn’t left us over this barrel. Seven-fifty, Phil, take it or leave it. You taking or leaving?”
    After ten seconds the agent said, “I’ll call you back.” Dullman gave him the number of the Hollis phone and his extension and hung up.
    â€œHe’ll take.” Dullman lay down on the bed and stared at the ceiling.
    Scutney began to hop around the room again.
    â€œYou’re asking for it,” Roger Fowler said tightly. “Benedict’s a bad actor, Scutney. And I’m not referring to his professional competence.”
    â€œ Please , Roger,” the little man said testily. “Don’t I have enough on my mind?”
    Twelve minutes later the telephone rang. From the bed Dullman said, “You can take it.”
    â€œYes?” Scutney cried.
    â€œWe’re taking,” Stone’s bass said. “But you understand, Mr. Bluefield, you got to clear this deal with Equity yourself before we lift a hoof.”
    â€œYes, yes. First thing in the morning.”
    â€œI’ll be waiting for Equity’s go-ahead. Soon as I get it, Benedict’s on his way.”
    â€œHold it,” Dullman said.
    â€œHold it,” Scutney said.
    Dullman got wearily off the bed, whispered something, and returned to the bed.
    Scutney pursed his lips. “According to my information, Mr. Stone, Benedict might start out tomorrow for Wrightsville and wind up in a Montreal hotel room with some girl he picked up en route. Can you guarantee delivery?”
    â€œWhat’s that sucker Dullman want, my blood? I’ll put him on the plane. That’s the best I can do.”
    Scutney glanced anxiously at Dullman. Dullman shrugged.
    â€œWell, all right, but please impress on Mr. Benedict …”
    â€œYeah, yeah.”
    â€œHe’ll have to change planes in Boston, by the way. There’s no through flight. I’ll have a car waiting at Wrightsville Airport. If he makes an early enough connection we ought to be able to get in a quick run-through.”
    â€œThat’s up to Equity. Like I said, he ain’t moving a muscle—”
    â€œLeave Equity to me. You just get Benedict here.”
    â€œUp in his lines,” Dullman said.
    â€œUp in his lines,” Scutney said, and he hung up. “Archer, that was an inspiration!” Dullman grunted. “Roger, would you run across the Square and ask the Record to hold the press? I’ll phone them the new copy for tomorrow’s ad in a few minutes.”
    â€œYou’re dead set on going ahead with this?” Roger said, not moving.
    â€œNow, Rodge,” Scutney said.
    Dullman began to snore.
    Ellery thought the whole performance extraordinary.

ACT I. Scene 4.
    Ellery made his way around the Square and into Lower Main under a filthy sky.
    It had been an exasperating day for Scutney Bluefield. The little man had been on the long-distance phone to Equity since early morning. By the time the details were straightened out to Equity’s satisfaction and Foster Benedict was airborne to Boston, he was on a schedule so tight that he could not hope to set down in Wrightsville before 7:55 P . M . This would give the actor barely enough time to make up, get into costume, and dash onstage for the 8:30 curtain.
    Ellery walked into the lobby of the rejuvenated Bijou, pushed through one of the new black-patent leatherette doors, and entered Scutney Bluefield’s Playhouse.
    The elegantly done-over interior lay under a heavy hush. The cast, made up and in costume, were sitting about the nakedly lit