Modern Screen (Jan-Dec 1960)

split nails... made lovely in minutes WTH Marvel Nails us a ghost story her old sister Rosie had read in a grown-up magazine. Then came the day when mother cooked spaghetti and the doctor said I could come to the table to eat it. I knew I was well. My sickness was over. That next Sunday we went to Mass at St. Charles Roman Catholic Church on Moore Park Boulevard, and as I knelt to pray to Him, I also thanked Him for looking after me, for watching over me all through my crisis. That night I went into my mother's bedroom and looked at the figure of Jesus on the wooden Cross, and I leaned over and kissed it. I have never forgotten my faith since. I pray every day. I thank Him for protecting me. And for letting me see my dreams come true. For, not long afterward, the day came when I appeared on television, in my short skirt and cheerleader sweater, as one of the Mouseketeers on the Mickey Mouse Club TV show. And, later on, when we moved into our new house, my bedroom wish came true. It's all pink, and the bed has a pink satin bedspread, and in the corner I have my mirrored vanity dresser with the ruffled pink skirt and a collection of perfume bottles, each of them with a sweet heavenly scent. God never forgets those who trust in Him. END Annette's last picture was Walt Disney's Shaggy Dog. At 17 My Life is Over (Continued from page 20) "I think I'm pregnant," Beverly said, softly, still looking away. Her girlfriend squeezed her hand now. "Yes," Beverly said. "I'll know for sure in just a little while. I have an appointment with the doctor. At two o'clock." She pulled her hand back from her friend's and brought it up to her face to wipe away the tears that were there. "There," she said, "I've told you. What I*ve told nobody else . . . Are you surprised?" Her friend nodded. "I am," she said. "Yes." Beverly smiled a little. "It's funny," she said. "I'd thought it would be so different ... I mean, here it is, the middle of the day, a bright and sunny day, in a restaurant, over lunch, a cold chicken salad, me in my black dress, my eyes still burning from all the crying, looking like I-don't-know-what because I haven't looked in a mirror for two weeks now — looking like I-don't-know-what and caring even less . . . and — " She shook her head. The smile was gone from her lips already. The muscles in her slender white neck seemed to be pushing hard against her skin. "And what, Bev?" her friend asked. "And I'd just thought," Beverly went on, straining to get the words out, "that it would be so different . . . that's all." She picked up a glass of water and took a sip. She held up the glass for a long minute, looking into it, at the insipid and colorless water — silently, neither she nor her friend saying anything. "I want this baby . . And then, talking again, almost as if to herself, she said, "For two years I'd thought exactly how it would be, if and when this moment ever came, when it came time for me to tell ... It would be night, I'd thought. I would be wearing something new, and special. I would be beautiful. And I'd joke with him for a while. And then I'd run into the kitchen, to the refrigerator, and grab hold of a bottle of champagne I'd had icing all that day, hidden, behind a big milk container or something. And I'd run back to where he was sitting and, holding the champagne up high, I'd say, 'It's time for a little celebration, my darling.' He'd ask why, of course — 'And what is it we have to celebrate now, Woodnymph?' he'd ask. And I'd make him try to guess. Till he did guess. And then we'd both begin to laugh. And he'd get up and kiss me and hug me and squeeze me, hard, so hard that I'd have to remind him to be more gentle. that I was very fragile now, that I was different now and had to be treated very tenderly. And he'd stop. 'Yes, that's right,' he'd say, 'you're not a little girl any more, Woodsie, are you? You're the woman I'll be marrying someday soon, as soon as I get my divorce. You're the woman who will be my wife, and the mother of my child. Aren't you?' And as I would say yes, happily, he'd take me in his arms again, only much more gently this time, much more tenderly. And we would kiss. That minute. The next minute. All night. Kiss and hold each other and make love, forgetting all about the champagne, all about everything. Everything but us. . . . "I had it all figured out, dreamed out, if and when," she said, putting down the water glass. "It would have been so wonderful. Except that he died, before I even knew about the baby myself, or had a chance to tell him." She smiled again, a small and bitter smile this time. "It's all what I guess some people would call ironic, isn't it?" she asked. "Beverly," her girlfriend asked, "are you sure? About the baby?" "Pretty sure," Beverly said. "I wake up sick. I hurt up here . . . I'm pretty sure." "And do you feel all right about it?" her friend asked. "Do you mean how do I feel about it in my heart, a young, husbandless, loverless, broken-up girl like me?" Beverly asked back. "Do you want to know if I'm happy or sad about this? Ashamed or proud? Is that what you mean? Honestly. Is that what you mean?" Her girlfriend's face reddened and she tried to say something to explain. "This baby — " Beverly said, after a moment, " — this is all I've got left of the only man who has ever meant anything to me, or ever will ... I want this baby More than anything else on earth." A waiter came over to the table now, as she said this, and he asked the two girls if they would care for something else. "A brandy, Beverly?" her girlfriend asked. "No, thank you," she said. "Coffee?" "No," Beverly said. She looked down at her watch. "As a matter of fact," she said then, "it's about time for me to be going. Two o'clock, the doctor said. It's nearly that now . . . Do you mind if I go? Now?" "No, not at all," said her friend. Beverly rose from her chair and began to reach into her purse. "Forget about splitting anything," her — a new liquid preparation that hardens into long, glamorous finger nails. Now you can change broken, split, bitten nails into strong beautiful nails — stronger than your own nails. STOPS NAIL BITING. Will not break or crack. Stays on until your own nails grow out. Can be filed, trimmed and beautifully polished. Each nail is made in one minute. You can do any type work while wearing these nails. No oreparation like it. MARVEL KIT. 59« DELUXE JIFFY KIT, S1.50 MARVEL NAILS, Dept. DM-2 5249 W. Harrison St. Chicago 44, II! 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