FRIDAY, 19 APRIL 1921, MIDTOWN MANHATTAN
It was almost seven o’clock when Poppy arrived at the Waldorf Astoria Hotel on the corner of Fifth Avenue and 34th Street. The WGY radio station, housed out in Schenectady, New York, had a satellite studio for the “in-town” stars who didn’t have the time or inclination to travel out to the more far-flung headquarters.
Poppy and Rollo had been invited to join the live audience for the experimental broadcast. She doubted her office wear – the same sage green coat over the honey skirt and blouse with the brown trim she had worn back in London – would meet the expected dress code. But she didn’t have time to squeeze in a trip back to Rollo’s to get changed and fit in her meeting with Toby. She hoped the doorman would not get shirty about it.
There was Rollo, pacing near the entrance to the hotel cloakroom. He had already checked in his coat and hat, and Poppy was thankful to see he too had not had time to change. His chequered bowtie and braces were also not appropriate dress for an evening do. He looked relieved when he saw her. “Thought you’d never get here, Miz Denby. They’re about to start.”
Poppy passed her coat and hat to the concierge, who raised a disapproving eyebrow at the second guest that evening who was under-dressed for the Astoria. A dollar bill, tucked into his top pocket by Rollo, silenced him.
Rollo took Poppy’s arm and led her down the hall to one of the ground floor reception rooms that had been converted into a makeshift studio. Inside was a select audience of around thirty people, all dressed up to the nines, as if going to a “proper” theatre performance. Eyebrows were raised and tongues tutted as Poppy and Rollo made their apologies and shimmied along a row to their two allocated seats in the middle, right next to Miss King, who was without her employer. “Where’s Aunt Dot?” whispered Poppy. But before the older woman could answer, a tuxedoed gentleman stepped onto the stage and announced that the broadcast was about to begin and could there be silence, please.
In the middle of the stage was a single ring-mounted carbon microphone surrounded by a circle of chairs. Behind the chairs was a prop table full of all sorts of paraphernalia, from a clapboard to a gravel tray with two pairs of shoes – a man’s and a woman’s. Delilah had already explained to her how the sound effects were made and Poppy was very excited to see it all in action.
Stage left was another table laden with machinery essential for the broadcast. Poppy had no idea how all the dials and knobs worked, but she assumed the two gentlemen wearing odd-looking devices over their ears did.
“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the live broadcast of The Wolf by Eugene Walter, brought to you by WGY Radio. We’re trying something brand new here, folks – broadcasting a play through sound only – so listeners can tune in with their wirelesses without having to leave their parlours.” He grinned and raised his hands to indicate the studio audience. “We’re not sure if it will work properly but we’ve got some folks primed at home and ready to give us a bell as soon as they hear it. If someone comes in from the lobby, don’t be alarmed. It’s not the Germans invading; it’s just a fella who will give us the thumbs up or thumbs down.”
The audience chuckled appreciatively. Poppy joined in, although she raised an inner eyebrow at the idea that the Germans would have made it all the way to America – three years after the war was over.
She was grateful, however, to hear that the play was not a fanciful rewriting of German/American history, but a drama set in the Canadian woods. It was an adaptation of a play that had originally been staged at the Lyric Theatre on Broadway in 1908. It was about a man called Jules who goes to look for his half-sister – a woman who is part French Canadian and part Indian – only to discover that she has been seduced by a man called McDonald, has had a child by him, and is then driven into the woods where she and her child are attacked and killed by wolves. Meanwhile, Jules falls in love with a young woman called Hilda, whom McDonald (aka the Wolf) also sets out to seduce. The resultant melodrama, of Jules trying to find the killer of his sister and save the virtue of his love, made for a gripping if far-fetched play. Poppy was pleased that in this play, unlike The Sheik, the rapist got his just deserts.
The biggest surprise though – when the cast, including Delilah, came out and gathered around the microphone – was the announcement that Miss May Leigh Rose, who was scheduled to play the sister, had come down with a bout of laryngitis. There was a collective groan from the audience. The compère raised his hands to quieten them. “But not to worry, ladies and gentlemen. The delightful Delilah Marconi, all the way from London, England” – he indicated Delilah, who took a little bow and received a round of applause – “let it slip that a legend of the West End stage, and someone who has previously trod the boards on Broadway, is right here in New York.” A titter went around the audience as they turned to one another asking who it might be.
“Good for you, Dot,” mumbled Rollo. Miss King could not keep the smile off her face when Poppy looked to her for confirmation.
“Ladies and gentlemen, may I introduce to you the legendary Miss Dorothy Denby!” A cheer went up from the audience as Dot wheeled herself in from the wings. One of the male actors greeted her with a kiss to the hand. Her face was aglow. Poppy had never seen her look so beautiful, or so happy. She felt the tears welling up.
“Oh, Aunt Dot,” she sniffed. Rollo passed her a handkerchief.
The forty-five-minute play was a sensation – both in the studio and, apparently, in broadcast. The thumbs-up came fifteen minutes into the performance that the signal was being received around the greater New York area. And then, after the show, over soft drinks in the Astoria bar, it was reported that when Delilah – playing Hilda – had screamed (while purportedly being attacked by the dastardly McDonald) a police officer had run into a home in New Jersey, believing a woman was really in peril.
Cheers went up all around. Then someone whispered to someone who whispered to someone else that perhaps they should decamp to Chester’s Speakeasy to “stiffen up” their drinks. However, Aunt Dot said it would be too tricky for her to get there in her wheelchair. Rollo instead offered to host an impromptu shindig at his house on 86th Street. Everyone thought this was a splendid idea.
“Oh dear,” said Delilah. “I’m not sure what to do,” she confided to Poppy and Dot as they were all waiting for cabs. “Miles Spencer popped in before the show and asked if I would accompany him to a party on Long Island this evening. He wants me to meet some producers there. Apparently they’re casting soon for a moving picture that he thinks I’d be just perfect for.”
“That’s wonderful, darling! But what’s the problem?” asked Dot.
“I want to help you celebrate your return to the stage, Dot,” said the younger woman.
Dot smiled and took Delilah’s hand. “You have already helped me, my dear, by suggesting me for the part. You go with Miles.”
Miss King cleared her throat.
“Yes, Gertrude?” Aunt Dot looked up at her companion.
“Do you think it’s appropriate that Miss Marconi goes on her own to this party?”
“Oh, but I won’t be alone!” chipped in Delilah. “I’ll be with Miles.”
“Yes, but it might not be considered appropriate, considering the questions you were subjected to by that immigration officer…”
Delilah was just about to pooh-pooh Miss King’s advice, when Rollo stepped in. “Delilah, I think Miss King is right. The Department of Immigration have already got a bee in their bonnet about you, so perhaps you shouldn’t give them any more ammunition.”
Delilah looked crestfallen. “But this is my chance to meet those producers.”
Rollo shrugged. “It’s up to you, but I think you might be stoking a fire here…”
“What if I go with her?” suggested Poppy. “If we go together surely that will be all right. Won’t it?”
Rollo and Miss King looked at each other. Miss King’s mouth tightened into a straight line.
“Well, I think that’s a splendid idea!” said Dot. “You two youngsters go to the party and we’ll all go to Rollo’s. Where is it at, Delilah?”
“Miles said they’re using Senator and Mrs Spencer’s holiday house for the evening.”
Aunt Dot looked smug. “Well, there you go. A senator’s house. My niece as a chaperone. What could be more respectable than that?”
Miss King let out a deep sigh and raised her hands. “I give up.”
Delilah clapped hers. “Fantabuloso!” Her smile widened even further when Miles Spencer, dressed in a tuxedo and top hat, walked into the Astoria lobby.
“I heard you on the wireless!” he declared. “Incredible! It’ll just be a matter of time now until they figure out how to put sound with pictures too. Then we’ll have talkies we can watch!”
“Oh, I hope not,” whispered Aunt Dot to Poppy. “Then I’ll be out of a job again.”
“I’m sure there’ll be room for both of them, Aunt Dot. And after what I heard tonight, you’ll be in work for a long time yet. Do you think they’ll be doing it in England too?”
Aunt Dot nodded enthusiastically. “Delilah says they will. Her Uncle Elmo has some plans. I’m just not sure when that will be… perhaps I should stay here in New York!”
“Perhaps you should,” said Poppy, but wondered whether her aunt would feel the same in the cold light of day. She would have to leave all her friends in London, and Grace would be getting out of prison sometime too…
“Are you ready, Poppy?”
It was Delilah, with Miles standing beside her.
“We’ll just pop up to Rollo’s to pick up some glad rags, then we’ll be off. Miles said he would be delighted to have you with us. And…” she winked, “Toby is going to be there too.”
“Oh!” said Poppy, and, despite her best efforts, blushed.