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Saulles' party sat there. "The Astors," someone said, pointing to the first box, stage left. He'd arrive backstage casually, if she knew Jay. He'd probably bring her a whole box of gardenias; but where was he now?
For the second act she had to go out and around to the front of the house. Her next number worried her. But what stopped the show was this — the Merry Pickum number! She couldn't understand, she felt she had so little to do, standing on the dark stage while the great white face moved, a pale balloon across the screen. But when the film faded and lights went on, she had to come back again and again for curtain calls. She kissed her hands to them, to Jay wherever he was. Somehow that gray motionless picture had scored a hit and he could be proud.
Backstage fever was mounting, the show had built built built toward this finale. They all crowded on and came off giddy with triumph.
"You've got it," Jeanne Eagels brushed past the banked flowers to clasp her hand. "You've got it, young one."
"Our girl!" Mr. Dillingham said.
There were messages from everyone she'd ever known in New York.
"I'm George M. Cohan, may I tell you how ..."
Flowers from Vernon Castle. Flowers from Frank Tinney.
"Lovely, Mae," Billie Burke poked her head in and blew a kiss.
"Oh you beautiful doll," Berlin wrote.
One card puzzled her. "Come and see me. I wish to talk with you." It was signed Adolph Zukor. She'd never heard of him.
"Jenny, go through all the flowers again, you've overlooked a card I'm sure."
Ziegfeld's uniformed boy brought his silver tray with a telegram: the greatest compliment an audience could pay,
THEY PAID YOU. NO ONE LAUGHED, THEY DIDN'T EVEN KNOW YOUR COSTUME WAS HALF MISSING. CONGRATULATIONS. ZIEGFELD.
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