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Should a woman be strong, a help to the man she loves? Or is it better to cling, let him believe that all strength comes from him?
I keep telling myself that the whole trouble was that I stepped off my
own home territory. Let's face it, I'm a New York girl born and bred —an East Side New York girl. In New York I know what's what. When I go out on a date, for instance, I know pretty much what's going to happen — a guy will take me out to dinner at some little place, and after that we'll go somewhere, maybe the Sapphire Room, and dance a while, and when he takes me home he might get a little smoochy, maybe, but the kind of fellows I go out with I can be pretty certain it'll be just a very little smoochy. And a good time is had by all.
But you take this New York girl, now, and set her down in Texas of all places. Put her in a big, beautiful ranch house at a tremendous party with the champagne flowing like mad, and after a while take her out of the party and have her walk up a hill. Not alone, you understand. With her is six feet two of Texas ranch hand,
with smoky blue eyes and black hair and a guitar and a voice that would melt your spine. Like Gregory Peck plus Bing Crosby, you might say. And over all this a moon such as they have (they tell me) only in Texas, and I can believe it because the little white balloon that goes up over the East River every night never looked like that to me.
That's exactly the way it was the night Tex Burton gave his big party to celebrate his daughter Kitten's engagement to Toby Nelson. Papa David and I went all the way down to Texas just for that, because Toby claimed he wouldn't feel engaged if we weren't there to celebrate with him. We're about all the family Toby has, Papa David and I — some ways closer than a real family because we all picked each other out. I mean Toby and I got closer than a real brother and sister when we were a couple of lonesome, practically homeless kids hanging around by the wharves and sort of bringing each other up, and when I
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