Radio-TV mirror (July-Dec 1952)

PERIODIC PAIN Menstruation is natural and necessary but menstrual suffering is not. Just take a Midol tablet, Edna, and go your way in comfort. Midol brings faster relief from menstrual pain — it k relieves cramps, eases head 1 ache and chases the "blues." FREE 24-page book, "What Women Want to Know," explains menstruation. (Plain wrapper). Write Dept. B-92, Box 280, New York 18.N.Y. 32 All Drugstores have Midol Then a doorman handed us out of the limousine and we paraded into the hotel. The manager came forward and bowed. There was a bellboy for every bag and even one for my beautiful mink coat. Our room was so large — well, the Clipper could have easily landed there. We had a balcony overlooking a garden and the furnishings were luxurious. "Pinch me," Powell said, "it's impossible. Are we really here?" "Can you understand what people are saying?" "No." "Then you're in France, all right." To describe everything we did during the next eight days would fill a book. Every day was just crammed full of excitement. Food, we soon discovered, is considered one of the finer arts in Paris and we were sent to the best restaurants. We were told the sky is the limit and we never did come down to earth. When we lunched at the Table du Roi, the chef came right over to the table and kissed my hand before I even saw a menu. Then I learned there was no menu. The chef himself decided what you would eat. And the woman, I discovered, is queen and her husband is at the foot of the table. The waiter or chef would slice the best portion for me and Powell got the leftovers. The only white meat Powell ate was what I gave him from my plate. At the Tour d'Argent, a restaurant in existence since 1582, we ate pressed ducknumber 229,100 — prepared with a recipe as old as the building, the same recipe used for George Sand, Alexandre Dumas, Napoleon III, Edward VII, Princess Elizabeth and every other notable who stopped in Paris. We were all eyes during the sight-seeing tours and saw everything. We spent two exciting days at Versailles and Fontainebleau, the most magnificent show places of Europe, once the palaces of kings. We saw a room with walls of gold that cost fourteen million dollars. We visited the abodes of Marie-Antoinette and Madame du Barry. So much, and too much to tell about. It was breath-taking. Paris lives by night and we conformed. Our supper took always two and a half hours from eight to ten-thirty, and then came more fun. We were in the most famous theatres and night clubs: The Latin Quarter, the Opera, the Bal Tabarin. One night, we saw the famous Folies Bergere. Powell liked it. To everyone we explained how we had won the trip. Surprisingly, the French accepted our prize as just another indication of the wonders of American life. Americans who hadn't heard of The Big Pay-Off were astounded. One night when we got back to our hotel, I wanted chewing gum badly. The only room open was the bar, and I asked the bartender. "You could try the drugstore but the drugstore is closed," he said. "Try Broadway and Forty-Second Street," an American called from a table. We turned around to face George Raft. He asked us to sit at his table, and we told him and his friends our story. "How about that," he said. "I've got to work hard to make this trip and you win it." When we left at the end of eight days, I knew my dream had come true. Paris was everything I'd imagined: Exciting, romantic, gay, beautiful, enchanting. On the plane back, Powell said, "This I call The Big Return. We've had an experience that I'll remember as long as I live." And, if I could make a wish come true, it would be that everyone who reads this wins the same trip on The Big Pay-Off. It could happen to you, too. Anything's possible. My Astonishing Husband (Continued from page 63) another song, and people spoke of him as a composer. Since then, he's entertained with great success in night clubs, and now — television, where his CBS show gives him a chance to reveal a multitude of talents. A hard man to classify, my Mel Torme. We three had a pleasant evening, but there wasn't any special reason why I should carry the acquaintance further. I told him as much when he phoned next day to ask for a date. I didn't see him again until we both had returned to Hollywood, two months later. Glimpsed through the milling crowd at one of the smartest cocktail parties of the year, Mel's rebellious forelock of yellow hair, his quick, boyish smile, seemed familiar, but I didn't particularly care. It was one of those evenings when I felt lost. Even my new dress hadn't given me a lift. Everyone else was having a wonderful time, but I was wondering how soon I could slip away and go home. I had just found an inconspicuous place to set down my glass when Mel turned up at my elbow. "You're Candy," he said. "I met you in New York. Can I get you a cocktail?" "I'll tell you a secret," I confided. "I don't drink." "I'll tell you another. I don't either." Instantly, there was a bond between us. Each knew how the other felt. It was silly to be bored to death in the midst of a brilliant party, yet we frankly acknowledged we were. We edged into a corner and sat down to talk. As the gaiety and laughter swirled around us, we found we had much to say to each other. We started, I think, by discovering our mutual love for Chicago. Mel was born there; I had worked there. Somewhat surprisingly, I was soon telling him things I seldom talked about in Hollywood, simple, personal things that didn't quite fit the brittle bright pattern of conversation in a city where everyone is an actor, and sets his scene to depict the character he wants to be. I told Mel, too, about my name problems. I was born Florence Tockstein. At the College Inn, it became Candy Toxton. Now, I had still another name. Now I was Susan Perry. Mel considered them all, and announced, "I like Candy Toxton best." As he said it, the syllables became a song. "That's like you," he added. "It has rhythm, movement. But Candy Toxton Torme sounds better." I stared at him, unbelieving. Literally, this was so sudden. I had seen this young man only once before. He had the grace to blush. Suddenly, I was flustered, too. "Let's go," said Mel abruptly. For a moment, I had a strange little panicky feeling that the next few minutes would decide what would happen during the rest of my life. I wasn't ready for a big decision. My own career looked bright, and I had no room for romance. A million excuses tumbled around in my mind. "Please." Mel repeated, "let's go."