Photoplay (Jan-Jun 1940)

thought of him, tried to face what tortured her heart. She had done her best to make him enjoy his life with her. She had given him all she possibly could. Loyalty, inspiration, devotion. Marriage. Even a child. Eut, had she ever given him love? Had she ever been able to give him something she had never felt for him? Was it her fault that he had never sounded that certain chord in her heart? If only she could convince herself that somehow Teddy had never really known, had never really felt the lack of love from her. DIAMOND JIM BRADY was still the top manabout-town, his great bulk sparkling with precious stones. And while Jim still attended all first nights and was seen at the best-known restaurants with the auburn-haired Edna McCauley, as he had been years before, he and Edna were still unmarried. Everyone still considered them engaged. One afternoon over a plate of steaming corn on the cob Lillian asked Jim, in her frank way, why he and Edna had not wed. But the scarlet, which spread over Jim's great Irish face as he sat there stammering, made her know his answer was one he could not word. Suddenly Jim threw his great head back and laughed. Listening, she recognized that note of sadness she had detected years before. Her ears were more knowing now, more sensitive to the things of the heart "Why are you laughing, Jim?" she asked. "I was just thinking that after waiting to tell you something for over five years, I sit here and eat my fill of corn and can't even answer when you ask me why I haven't married Edna." "We're friends, Jim — anything that's near your heart, you can tell me — if you want to. With you — talking over our taste for corn — I came to know how I felt about— about Teddy—" At last, she could talk about him. She could tell this big-hearted fellow all the pain, and anguish and longing she had experienced. It wasn't easy for Jim Brady to listen while the woman he had loved so long told him about her heartbreak over another man — for him to see that her heart had not really mended, that through her constant drive and work she had only cemented the pieces together. "You're my best friend," she told him. Jim took care of her moods and what he could not express in words he tried to say through gifts, supplying her with bracelets, necklaces, rings — parties — and even a pair of spanking bays and a carriage. The harness for the horses was gold-plated! As if he were content to take the role of comforter and confidant in her life, Jim shared her company often with his friend, Jesse. And during the weeks before her engagement with Weber & Fields opened, each day found Lillian pedaling in Central Park on a bicycle-built-forthree between Jesse and Jim. Lillian knew in her heart she loved those men, loved them both — that she needed them. She thought at times she could not have lived without their friendship, their loyalty — their attention. SHE could not know that the afternoon before she opened at Weber & Fields Music Hall, Jesse met Jim as he left Lillian at her hotel. The few words exchanged between those long rivals at last released the door to Jim's heart. At last he could open his heart to Lillian. "Every time I have a date with Lillian, I find you hanging around," Jim said jokingly. Jim laughed and Jesse put a hand on his arm, "I don't think it's so funny — and you don't, either. I know you, Jim. You laugh when you're hurt. You still love Lillian— you have for years." "Don't you?" Jim asked seriously. "It's true, Jim. I'm honest with you — I'm in love with Edna." "Edna?" Jim stared. "You mean — my Edna." "I know you and she have been friends for a good many years, that you introduced me to her. But this is the real thing, Jim — we're going to be married this afternoon. Do you mind?" After a pause, "Have you told Lillian?" "I haven't had a chance — you're with her all the time. Besides, she doesn't love me, Jim — never did. She's the best friend a man ever had — but she doesn't love me and she doesn't love you, either. And that sort of spoils things for me." "Why?" "Because I know how lonely you're going to be without Edna — since you've lost Lillian again." "You wouldn't want to bet a lot of money on my chances, would you?" "No — but you can't buy her, Jim. I tried that." "You never offered to lay down everything you had in the whole world at her feet, did you?" "Not exactly." "Well, I will — and it's millions, Jesse. Millions." A determined faraway look settled over Jim Brady's florid face as he walked out of the hotel. He wanted to do something big, striking for Lillian. Something more generous than any of the things he had ever done before. And he did it. ACROSS the mirror of Lillian Russell's dressing table that night, were these words, in thick greasepaint letters: LILLIAN, I LOVE YOU. "Marie, who wrote that?" Lillian asked. Before Marie could rest her mistress' blue satin train on the floor and come around to look at the glass, a man's voice replied, "I did, Lillian." Jim Brady came out from his place of hiding behind the screen and laughed, laughed to hide his embarrassment. "Jim Brady! What are you doing back here during the performance?" And as Jim continued to laugh, "Why aren't you out front?" "I couldn't wait, Lillian. I got an idea and the minute I got it — I just had to do it." "You mean, this?" pointing to the mirror. "I've been trying to say it for a long time." She looked into his Irish eyes, saw his heart shining there, and going over to him she pulled his forehead down to her lips. "Jim, you're sweet— but I'm going to scold you tonight." She looked at him with serious eyes. Then took in the flower -lined room with a sweep of her arms. "I want you to look at all the things you've sent me tonight." "But I've seen them, Lillian." "Look at them again — and try to repent your extravagance. Now— that basket of roses — with the bracelet and necklace to match of diamonds and rubies — " "I sent you one like that the first night I saw you at Tony Pastor's — remember?" "Oh, Jim — you?" She looked at him, seeing suddenly the crowded years between . . . The deep, darting pain of that first night so long ago came back . . . when she had hoped that Alex Moore had sent the present, which only now she learned Jim Brady had sent. Jim saw the sentiment creep into her eyes . . . she smiled and cried at the same time. "Oh, Jim — you!" "I — I lost my heart to you — then, Lillian, but I couldn't tell you . . . tonight I've many other things to tell you . . . Edna and Jesse were married this afternoon . . ." "You were fond of her — " He saw the tears flow then over her cheeks. "And you — you were fond of Jesse?" He thought that was why she cried. "I'll miss him — and you'll miss Edna, too." "I won't miss anything or anybody in the whole world if I can have you — and I'll give you everything I've got in the world ... if you'll just say 'yes'." He paused, and when she said nothing he went on again, "And, Lillian, if at the end of a year, you tire of me, I'll walk out of your life and leave everything I've spent my life for." His big arms went around her, pulling her to him. "I love you . . . Lillian." Lillian let him hold her in his arms and let her head rest on his shoulder while the tears drenched her face. After what seemed endless minutes of sobbing, which she could not control, she bowed her head and gently pushed him from her. "Why are you crying?" he asked in a strained, awed voice. Struggling with words, she told him as best she could, tried to make him understand that she did not love him. "I wish I did, Jim — and please don't laugh, because I can't bear to hear how this hurts you." Jim did not laugh. He did not speak. Perhaps he could not. After strange, awful seconds, he touched Lillian's arm. "Lillian, stop crying — you've got to go on with the show, dear. Say, can't you take a joke? You know I don't care about marriage — never did. And if you promise not to scold me about the gifts I send you, I'll promise never to get serious again." "All right — Jim — sweet," she smiled up at him. "Now — how about supper with me tonight after the show?" "Fine," brightening. "I'll be waiting for you." The door closed behind him and Lillian turned to the mirror to repair her make-up, when a quick, familiar knock sounded on the door. "See who it is." MARIE opened the door to Tony Pastor! And while Lillian went into his wide arms, over his squat, broadcloth shoulder she looked into the eyes of Alex Moore. Alex held her hand, explaining: "I was in the theater enjoying your show — and I did not want to leave without saying 'hello.' " If only he could tell her that he had never wanted to leave her. Years had not ever mattered. "Leaving? Where are you going now?" her voice soared. She took him in — a tall man, with grey temples and serious eyes, whose strong fingers clasped hers, held them as he answered. "I go back to Pittsburgh tonight — you see, I'm here to cover your show for my paper ... I have a paper of my own now — " How proud he was to tell her that! Her eyes rewarded him. "The last act, Ma'am," Marie interrupted. "You'll have to change and there's only a couple of minutes left." Alex backed toward the door — Tony, who had stood in the background, watched. "I wish you didn't have to go back. I want to hear all about you — your paper — I have to change for the next act ... I wish — " "I'll be coming up again soon — " She wanted him — he saw it in her eyes. "Why don't you wire me and let's have dinner together?" "I've had dinner with you lots of times." "You have? When?" "You wouldn't remember — you weren't there. But now — " The music was starting. She hadn't changed yet. She did not want to let him go! Why did everything happen at once? Her greatest role, her return to Broadway, Jim's proposal . . . now, Alex Moore! "Everytime something important has ever happened to me you have come along — " she said. "Do you understand? Is it a coincidence?" "I think I understand. I don't believe in coincidences. I believe in you . . . since that day in Fourteenth Street. I knew again — in London — " Had he said too much, he wondered. Did she really hear him? He thought she was listening with her heart — so his heart spoke out. Now it hammered, beating out in bold design the pattern of love held there secretively so long. Too long! But he could not tell her more. The stage manager pushed into the door. "Last act, Miss Russell. You'll have to hurry!" The door closed between them. Inside the dressing room Marie worked with flying fingers, fastening hooks and tying ribbons. "Marie! He's been thinking of me all these years. That's what he meant. Grandma told me I loved him. I do! I have loved him all my life! I'm sure of it now! Marie — don't let him get away — go after him . . . I'll get myself ready. You go get him!" The show had to go on. Lillian had to go with it. It was, indeed, the greatest triumph of her career because that night the audience saw before them not only a great artist, but a woman, inspired, throbbing, newly alive with love. A woman, who had grown, who had lived through great emotional experiences and been enriched and glorified by them. ***** Later, back in the dressing room again, a certain hush spread over Lillian . . . quieted her heart. She sat down before her mirror. Marie was not there. She had gone to bring him back to her — but perhaps, Marie had been too late . . . because she had been too late herself . . . too late in knowing. The full pageant of her life flowed past during those still hushed moments. She lived again as a girl, an actress, a wife and a mother. But now — now, she was a human being, a woman in love. She looked up, saw her face in the mirror — and then, she read the letters written there — read them again— because this time LILLIAN, I LOVF: YOU bore the signature . . . "Alexander Moore." Alex emerged from his hiding place behind the screen then and Lillian rose to meet him. "I — I wanted you to come back, so we could make another pact — " she told him, smiling through a sudden mist in her eyes. "I've never really broken our pact — Helen," taking her into his arms. 40