Modern Screen (Jan-Dec 1960)

asked, when her mother was finished explaining, "they don't mean that Daddy doesn't love you any more?" '"Of course not," June had said. "Because if he doesn't love you," Cathy had said, "how could he love me — or anybody ....?" "He loves us, you and me," her mother had said. "Very much. . . . Believe me." "I hope so, Mommy," Cathy had said. "I hope so. . . ." "I wish we were closer . . ." "Oh, I hoped so, so much," she said to herself now, sitting there in that hospital room, alone, remembering. And as she said that, she saw his face again, in front of her, pale and angry. This time he was yelling at her. "Who were you out with tonight?" he asked. "Dino," Cathy said. "I told you to stop seeing him," he said. "I love him, Daddy," Cathy said. "I don't care," he said. "He's too old for you, for just one thing." "Thirteen years difference isn't that much," Cathy said. "He's divorced," her father said. "Doesn't that mean anything to you as a Catholic?" "I love him," Cathy said. "That's all that means anything to me right now." Her father's voice became louder. "Have I denied you anything, before, ever, in your life?" he asked. ". . . How many other seventeen-year-old girls have gotten all the things I've given you?" "Not many," Cathy whispered, almost methodically, looking down. "You have a convertible, pink and black, just the way you like it?" "Yes." "You have pretty clothes? Closets of them?" "Yes." "Have you gotten everything from me you've ever wanted?" This time Cathy didn't answer. "Well?" he asked. Cathy looked up and stepped towards him and put her arms around him. "Sometimes," she said, "sometimes, Daddy, I've wished we could have been closer to each other. Sometimes I've wished there could have been fewer fights between us. Like now, Daddy. I know you're thinking about me. Itfs for her own good — I know that's what you're saying to yourself through all this. Just like you said the other times, with any other boyfriends I ever had, when you told me to get rid of them. 'It's for her own good' you're telling yourself, and — " But her father didn't seem to be listening to her. "I don't want you to see this Dino Castelli anymore," he said, interrupting. "I love him," Cathy said. "I don't want you to see him," he said, "and, for the time being, I don't want you getting interested in anyone . . . You're still just a baby, Cathy. Remember that. You don't know what you're doing. You're like most kids today. With crazy ideas about life, romance, everything. Newfangled ideas about morality. Bad ideas. You take the Ten Commandments, and if there's one of them you don't like — " He stopped, and he removed Cathy's hands from around his waist. "Now get to bed," he said. "Something I'm not guilty of . . ." Cathy didn't move. "Did you hear me? Get to bed," he said. 'And from this moment on I want you to start acting respectable." He shouted the word. "Respectable!" "I haven't done anything wrong," Cathy said, still not moving. "Oh Daddy, oh Daddy," Cathy said, fighting back the tears. "What do you want from me? What do you expect me to do? Do you want me to go upstairs and lock myself in my room and stay there the rest of my life? Do you want me to get on my knees and beg your forgiveness for something I'm not guilty of?" She gasped. "Or do you just want me to go away?" she asked, suddenly. He turned back to her. "Is that what you really want to do," he asked, "go away?" Cathy shook her head. "I don't know. ... I don't know what I want any more, Daddy," she said. "I'm so confused." "I've said what I have to say," he told her. "Now you do what you want." "Please, Daddy — " Cathy started to say. "And if you do go," he cut in, "be sure to leave your car keys. I'll call you a cab." And with that he left the room. . . . The memories of what had happened after that moment rushed through Cathy's mind now. The cab that came to pick her up the next day. The flight to that tiny apartment on Dohany Drive. The two years on her own, making ends meet with the money she got from a few scattered nightclub and TV appearances. The breaking off with Dino in that time. The complete loneliness — broken only by occasional secret visits with her mother. The attempt at a reconciliation with her father last April, arranged and prayed for by her mother. The dinner at home again that night. The smiles from her dad. The hugging and the kissing and the tears of joy. And then — a few weeks later — the fights again, the bitter tears again, the bad words all over again, just like the old days. Until there was another flight, another apartment, another period of terrible loneliness and confusion. Until there came that night, last month, when she could cope with it no longer. And she collapsed. And she was brought here, to this place. . . . She opened her eyes and rose from her chair and walked across the dark little room to a sink. She filled a glass with water and brought it to her lips. There's trouble again, she thought, —tonight. I know. The house of terrified women At the big house, at that moment, Bob Crosby put down the glass he'd been holding, rose and went to Malia's room. According to June, his wife, this is what happened next: "He walked into the room and I could see he was feeling belligerent, that something was wrong. I suppose he had been drinking quite a bit. He usually does drink. I wanted to ask him where he'd been since his golf game ended. Except that I'm not supposed to ask. He has a persecution complex. He thinks everyone is against him. "Yes, I could see that something was wrong, by the way he was still talking to himself, by the look in his eyes. I didn't want any trouble in the baby's room. So I ■ got off her bed and went to another room. I called our doctor and asked him if there was anything I could do. The doctor said no, just to keep quiet and not to get into an argument with him. "I went back to Malia's room, to see if he was still there. He was. As soon as he saw me this time he began to shout. It was something about where were the boys and why weren't they home yet. I know it was mostly Cathy's being in the hospital that was preying on his mind. But he didn't mention that. "Then, suddenly, in the presence of Malia, he began to walk over towards me and he began to beat me. He beat me unmercifully. He hit me about the head !iL-i 1 Bill! Tall? Send for Free |4 '"i 'jS Catalog of new tBIljfjk smart styles to fit 1k4** you. Prices are no IQAsSj higher than regular U 3l ' misses' size fashions. k Cotton Shirtwaist I'bf i *> Dress in multicolor Si*^ striped print. Stepin style; washable. Sizes 12 to 24. Only $3.98. Also coats, sportswear, lingerie, shoes. 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