Toby had a plan in mind, and his chance to put it into action came sooner than he had anticipated. Alice Tanner announced that the Workshop class was going to put on a private show for the advanced classes and their guests on the following Friday. Each student could choose his own project. Toby prepared a monologue and rehearsed it over and over.
On the morning of the show, Toby waited until class was over and walked up to Karen, the fat actress who had sat next to him during the play. “Would you do me a favor?” he asked casually.
“Sure, Toby.” Her voice was surprised and eager.
Toby stepped back to get away from her breath. “I’m pulling a gag on an old friend of mine. I want you to telephone Clifton Lawrence’s secretary and tell her you’re Sam Goldwyn’s secretary, and that Mr. Goldwyn would like Mr. Lawrence to come to the show tonight to see a brilliant new comic. There’ll be a ticket waiting at the box office.”
Karen stared at him. “Jesus, old lady Tanner would have my head. You know she never allows outsiders at the Workshop shows.”
“Believe me, it’ll be all right.” He took her arm and squeezed it. “You busy this afternoon?”
She swallowed, her breath coming a little faster. “No—not if you’d like to do something.”
“I’d like to do something.”
Three hours later, an ecstatic Karen made the phone call.
The auditorium was filled with actors from the various classes and their guests, but the only person Toby had eyes for was the man who sat in an aisle seat in the third row. Toby had been in a panic, fearful that his ruse would not work. Surely a man as clever as Clifton Lawrence would see through the trick. But he had not. He was here.
A boy and girl were on stage now, doing a scene from The Sea Gull. Toby hoped they would not drive Clifton Lawrence out of the theater. Finally, the scene was finished, and the actors took their bows and left the stage.
It was Toby’s turn. Alice suddenly appeared at his side in the wings, whispering, “Good luck, darling,” unaware that his luck was sitting in the audience.
“Thanks, Alice.” Toby breathed a silent prayer, straightened his shoulders, bounced out on stage and smiled boyishly at the audience. “Hello, there. I’m Toby Temple. Hey, did you ever stop to think about names, and how our parents choose them? It’s crazy. I asked my mother why she named me Toby. She said she took one look at my mug, and that was it.”
His look was what got the laugh. Toby appeared so innocent and wistful, standing up there on that stage, that they loved him. The jokes he told were terrible, but somehow that did not matter. He was so vulnerable that they wanted to protect him, and they did it with their applause and their laughter. It was like a gift of love that flowed into Toby, filling him with an almost unbearable exhilaration. He was Edward G. Robinson and Jimmy Cagney, and Cagney was saying, “You dirty rat! Who do you think you’re giving orders to?”
And Robinson’s, “To you, you punk. I’m Little Caesar. I’m the boss. You’re nuthin’. Do you know what that means?”
“Yeah, you dirty rat. You’re the boss of nuthin’.”
A roar. The audience adored Toby.
Bogart was there, snarling, “I’d spit in your eye, punk, if my lip wasn’t stuck over my teeth.”
And the audience was enchanted.
Toby gave them his Peter Lorre. “I saw this little girl in her room, playing with it, and I got excited. I don’t know what came over me. I couldn’t help myself. I crept into her room, and I pulled the rope tighter and tighter, and I broke her yo-yo.”
A big laugh. He was rolling.
He switched over to Laurel and Hardy, and a movement in the audience caught his eye and he glanced up. Clifton Lawrence was walking out of the theater.
The rest of the evening was a blur to Toby.
When the show was over, Alice Tanner came up to Toby. “You were wonderful, darling! I…”