Radio Mirror: The Magazine of Radio Romances (Jan-June 1945)

the lake. The sled made a dizzy spin and spilled us over the side. "That's enough for me!" said the man with Lou Ann. So we went back to the cabin. And almost immediately things started to go wrong. The place took on the atmosphere of a barroom and Lou Ann and Vivian acted as I'd never seen them — or anyone — act before. When I'd been out with them other times they had never behaved like this. The men kept pouring drinks and pulling the girls, shrieking with laughter, onto their laps. One of them caught my arm — but at Tom's expression he let go again. "See what I got Doris!" he shouted at me. And held up a set of intimate black lace things. Vivian squealed hysterically and tried to get them away from him. In the resulting brawl they fell over a stool together. It was all sickeningly cheap. I felt Tom's eyes on me and knew what he was thinking. These were supposed to be my friends. . . . This was the wonderful day I had planned for us! He was getting the wrong impression of me — and there was nothing I could do about it. It drove me into a kind of frenzy. I danced a crazy dance to the boogie-woogie music from the radio. I sang crazy songs. Anything to keep up some pretense of gaiety. But it fell flat. Flat and dull, and I couldn't fight the ugly thing that had crept into the room with us. Something sordid. It was as if dirt had been thrown, spoiling the most decent thing I had ever known — Tom's love for me. He came over and stood behind me. "Here's your coat," he said. "We're going out." 'T'HE clean, crisp air was a God-send -1 after the cabin. "I'm sorry, Tom," I said weakly. He turned — and I froze at his look. He began to speak. Words that were like knife-thrusts. He told me a few basic truths about what a man wants to find when he comes back from the hell they call war. And the thing Christmas stands for was one of them. Something warm and real and good. Something shining, clean, to draw men back from all the bitterness. . . . "You had me fooled for a while, Doris. I thought I had found what I was looking for." "And you know differently now?" "Yes." From the sharp, ragged edge to his voice I knew how deeply he had been hurt. I had done that to him. He walked off alone to the bus station, miles distant. And I let him go. Because I was powerless to stop him. Powerless to tell him all that I felt. For years I had built up this hard little wall, and I could not break through. I stood there watching his figure grow smaller and smaller, knowing that he was lost to me. And in that moment I knew too that I loved him for all time. With all my heart. Loved him so that it was a white flame consuming me, burning through that brittle shell I'd made for myself. . . . I started to run after him. And stumbled. I lay there sobbing helplessly. . . . How could I ever make him understand the queer, twisted pattern of my life? I'd had to become hard in order to survive. Steve had loved my tears. So I'd learned to cry in secret. Even when I was six. I had to keep everything from Mother because she would only have suffered more. She used to ask about the bruises on my arms and back and I'd lie to her. Once Steve nearly broke my arm when I spilled his coffee. I told Mother I had fallen. foe war bowls complete the rietorg ie "SEASON'S GREETINGS" to you from the makers of famous ROMA California Wines. Especially during the holidays, do ROMA Wines add a gracious, yet inexpensive extra delight to entertaining; to family meals or get-togethers. Because they are so uniformly good, so true to type, so constant in quality — more Americans enjoy ROMA than any other wine! ROMA WINE CO., Fresno, Cal. WW} MORE AMERICANS ENJOY ROMA THAN ANY OTHER WINE 51