Modern Screen (Feb-Dec 1959)

to pass, seemed like an eternity. But, to tell the truth, although I was excited over meeting Tommy, I figured the whole afternoon would be 'planned' by Modern Screen. I expected it to be one of those guided dates I'd read about in gossip columns. As the rumbling train roared into the black tunnel of Grand Central Station, I said a prayer. I asked God to help me through the afternoon for suddenly I was afraid. I was scared of being just a Little Miss Nobody. Who was I that Tommy should spend an afternoon with me — when all the movie starlets were at Tommy's beck and call. . . . Tommy was waiting in the middle of the huge Grand Central waiting room. I spotted him right away in his navy blue raincoat. He was holding my picture in his hand. Bright-eyed, his dark hair shiny and brushed, he looked just as handsome as his photographs. He recognized me when I was about ten feet away from him, and he came over and said hello. He was shy, too, but his voice was so soft that I felt comfortable immediately. He asked me if I had a good trip. I told him I did. Then he said, "Did you order this great weather? We're really in luck. This is the first real day of spring! I wonder if that's an omen for two strangers meeting. . . ." In Connecticut, I told him, there were traces of green on the weeping willow trees. "Say," he said. "Are you hungry?" "Just a little." "Well, we'll fix that right now," he commented as we went outdoors. He hailed a yellow cab, and the two of us sat in the back seat. Tommy said, 'Tve made a reservation for lunch at Sardi's." "Oh," I said, not knowing what to say. "They have terrific Italian food. Canelloni and manicotti and chicken cacciatore. I'm sure youll like it" "But ..." I hedged. "I'm ... I'm too excited to eat a lot." Tommy's idea He smiled his wonderfully wide Tommy-smile and reached over and took my hand. "Hey," he said, "I have an idea. Since this is such a beautiful day, the first really warm day of spring, why don't we get a couple of sandwiches and go wandering through Central Park?" I nodded, and he stopped the cab, and we hustled into the bustling Sixth Avenue Delicatessen with its rich smells of grilled meat. We ordered roast beef sandwiches on rye 'to go' — and Tommy asked for an order of sour pickles. The two of us headed for the park which was around the corner. We passed a pet shop window and looked at the playful puppies. Tommy confessed he wanted a dog, but couldn't have one. "Too many tours," he said sadly, "and I couldn't always take him with me." "Where's your next tour taking you?" I asked, hoping I wasn't prying. "Hawaii and Australia," he said. "It's fun, touring. You get a chance to meet lots of new people, but the thing I don't hke about touring is flying. After a while, flying bothers you. It makes you nervous, and you wonder if maybe you aren't taking too much advantage of luck!" We entered Central Park and found a rock formation near the lake. We sat on the cold rock and ate our sandwiches. Then, out of the blue, the two of us started talking about our dreams. Tommy said he wants to build a big house surrounded by a beautiful garden. Something to look forward to every time I come^home from my tours. And," he added, "I hope I'm married soon so that IT! have someone to look after me— and the house, and garden — and kids, too!" He asked me about my ambitions, and I admitted I didn't know what I wanted. \ wasn't certain if college was for me, and I was mulling over the idea with my parents. But, I told him, I wanted to be a good wife and have a family of my own someday. "I know just what you mean," Tommy said, looking into my eyes. . . . We wandered — hand in hand In a moment we fed the gliding white ducks in the blue lake. We gave them crumbs from our sandwiches. Tommy tossed a pickle to them, and you should have seen the ducks dive for it. Then Tommy and I wandered through the dry dirt paths of the park, hand in hand, laughing at silly things like the funny shapes of some rock piles which looked like people's faces and a dog convention which some elderly women were having. But the dogs were barking so loud the women couldn't get a word in edgewise about their pets. "I bought tickets," Tommy started to say, ". . . for a matinee for us to go to see . . ." We were walking uphill to the Woolman Rink to watch the iceskaters. "But. ..." THE RESEARCH ATTACK ON CEREBRAL PALSY w JOIN THE 53 MINUTE MARCH "Yes?" I said. ". . . But," he continued, "I'd just as soon — " He didn't finish the sentence. '^What?" I asked him. "I'd just as soon," he said again, "spend the afternoon . . . wandering through the park . . . with you. . . ." There was a queer lump in my throat, and I couldn't answer. "What do you say?" he said. "Shall I give the tickets away?" "All right," I said softly, barely able to hear my own voice. He took the two theater tickets out of his wallet (later he told me they were for Flower Drum Song) and he called the photographer over and told him to enjoy the show with the compliments of Paulette and Tommy. We watched the graceful iceskaters for a while, then we strolled through the dusty, crooked lanes of the park. We visited the zoo and laughed at the frisky chimpanzees. We bought ice cream sticks from a white-uniformed vendor with a cart who told us this was his first day on the job. We sat on a bench, licking our ice cream, and looked at the still bluegrey water of the lake and at the ruffled, ribbonlike trails of the floating ducks in it. Later, we walked to the boat house and looked at the rows of canoes at the edge of the water. It was too early in the year to rent one. At the boat house we had candy and Cokes, and when I looked at my watch, I knew it would be time for me to leave soon, time to take the train home. It felt so natural But I didn't want to go. Tommy made me feel so comfortable. He was just like one of the guys back in Greenwich, Connecticut, so natural and easy to get along with. Except for the time when a gang of schoolgirls spotted Tommy and ran over for autographs, I never felt I was dating a big movie star. Wending our way toward Fifth Avenue from the park, I said, "Gee, Tommy . . I . . . I hate to go. . . ." "I've had a wonderful time," he said. "I hope you didn't mind missing the show. But I wanted to spend the time with you instead." "When will you be leaving for Hawaii?" I asked. "Tomorrow," he answered. Suddenly there was a strange, fierce pounding in my heart. Tomorrow! Within twenty-four hours he'd be hundreds of miles away. What would happen? Would he meet another girl somewhere next Saturday . . . and another girl . . . and another . . . every Saturday of his tour. . . ? And I . . . Would I ever see him again? He asked for my address and he said he'd send me some postcards. "And when I get back," he said, "maybe we can get together again?" "Swell," I said, hoping he would hear the enthusiasm in my voice. I checked my watch again. It was time for me to be heading for Grand Central for the train. Tommy hailed a taxi, and the two of us rode to the station. When we got off at Forty-Second Street, Tommy said, "Just a minute . . ." and he ran to a flower shop and came back with a bunch of pink sweet peas for me as a little reminder of the first day of spring . . . and our date. We started to say good-bye and he took me in his arms and embraced me, and I had a hard time holding back the tears. Don't ask me why, but I couldn't help it. I know it was only a first date, but . . . well . . . he's so special I just couldn't help feeling a little sorry for myself, thinking I might never see Tommy again. . . . Were you pretending, Tommy. . . ? And now, weeks later, I just can't forget him. Tommy's in my mind all the time. I even went and told the girls at school that I planned to ask him to our spring dance, and one of the girls started a wild rumor that Tommy accepted. True, he's sent me picture postcards from Hawaii and Australia, and I have them scotchtaped to my bedroom wall. And I've pressed the pink sweet peas in my Webster's Dictionary because I'm going to keep them forever. But my heart. . . ? Well, Tve lost it— to Tommy. It wasn't such a lovey-dovey afternoon we spent together, but it was so easy and natural and I wonder if I haven't fallen hopelessly in love. All the sweet things Tommy did, I wonder if he was pretending. . . . Maybe I'm a fool to be so free with my heart, but I just can't seem to help it. . . . And every night before I go to bed I wonder what Tommy's doing, what girls he's seeing, whether or not I'll ever see him again. And some nights, when I think about our Saturday afternoon date on that gentle spring day, my eyes fill with tears and I cry myself to sleep because I know within my heart I've met a really wonderful and very special kind of guy. But all the while I wonder if maybe Tommy isn't forgetting me while I go on remembering . . . remembering. ... END