"Movies?" Gloria had drawled in a surprisingly deep voice for such a small woman, "Oh dear, too many to remember. But we started in live theater and have always felt more comfortable with a real audience."

The interviewer asked, to his later regret, what famous plays they'd been in. John rattled off a long, slightly slurred list of productions the interviewer (and Jane) had never heard of.

John Bunting leaned close to Joani and said, "You sure are a looker."

Joani got a whiff of his breath and moved her chair away from him, then turned her back to continue reading her script.

"John," Gloria said, "mind your manners." She tossed one of her many wayward scarves around her throat to make her point. She went around the

table and made John sit in another chair, while she sat next to Joani. She slapped her husband's copy of the script in front of him.

Professor Imry said, "I know it's unusual to send scripts out before the first reading session, but we're short on rehearsal time and I wanted the Buntings, in particular, to be prepared. I hope you've all read them and have them pretty well memorized already."

Jane studied Gloria Bunting. She looked better in real life than on television. She was about five foot four, slim but not skinny. She, like most aging actresses, had probably undergone a good deal of plastic surgery. If so, it didn't show. She had a small, thin nose, high cheekbones, and only a hint of wrinkles. Really good shoulders, which didn't seem to be padding. She must have been a very pretty woman when she was younger and was still attractive.

It wasn't easy to guess her age. She could be anywhere from sixty-five to seventy-five. Her luxuriant white, slightly curly hair looked as if it was her own, not a wig. Her eyes were a clear, perceptive light blue. She moved erectly and easily. No hint of arthritis. Only her hands gave away that she was old. A few age spots. A couple of slightly enlarged knuckle. Jane hoped she'd age as well as Gloria Bunting had.