Modern Screen (Jan-Dec 1960)

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ANDREW RAYCO.,3605S.lSthAVE.,IVIINNEAPOLIS7,IVIINN. POEMS WANTED For musical setting . . . send Poems today. Any subject. Immediate Consideration. Phonograph records made. CROWN MUSIC CO., 49 W. 32 St., Studio 340, New Yorkl EART DISEAS #X Enemy The Nice Girl (Continued from page 28) such a surprise, Diane," she said. "Such a wonderful surprise." She drew back her head, suddenly. "Darling, there's nothing wrong, is there?" she asked. Diane forced a smile. "Of course not, Mother," she said. She shook her head. "I was just lonesome," she said, "and I missed you all and . . . well, I still had the money I'd saved and I decided to come back. That's all. There's nothing wrong." "Well," her mother said, taking her hand now, "you just come inside and I'll go upstairs and wake up Daddy and the girls and we'll all — " "No, Mom," Diane said, interrupting her, "don't wake them. Not now. It's so late. ... I'd rather you didn't wake them." Her mother looked at her, then shrugged. "Well then," she said, "you just come inside and I'll turn off the TV and you'll talk to me at least. It's been a long time, Diane. Six months. And New York's a far away place, three thousand miles from California. And you haven't exactly written us every week, you know." She laughed again. "Come on," she said, "and tell me all about it. . . . Life in the big city "Has it been fun, Diane?" she asked, when they were seated on the couch. "Yes, Mom, it's been great fun," she said. She tried to be very airy about this, very gay. "It's a little harder in New York than I thought. But I've been taking my acting lessons, and I've been modeling. I made three-hundred dollars on my last job alone, Mom — three hundred dollars. And I wrote you I was moving. . . . Well, this new apartment is divine. It's on Riverside Drive, looking out on the Hudson River, the river down below and the New Jersey Palisades on the other side — you know, and there are four other girls, airplane stewardesses, real swell girls. And between the five of us girls there are fellows over all the time. And I go out quite a bit, to restaurants for dinner, to movies on Broadway, to the theater — the theater! It's fabulous in New York, Mom, just like everybody says. Golly, I don't know how many plays I've seen since I've been there." She stood up, suddenly, and ran over to the suitcase she'd brought in with her. "I nearly forgot," she said, opening the suitcase. "I brought something home. Something I want you to hear." She pulled an L-P out from under some clothing and held it up. "What's that, Diane?" her mother asked, squinting a little. "A record, the whole musical score from one of the shows I saw," Diane said. "It's got a song in it I want you to hear . . . It's kind of special." She walked towards the phonograph, in a corner of the room. She placed the record on the turntable. A voice, Ethel Merman's, began to sing. "Gee, but it's great to be here! . . ." "I bought this," Diane said, looking over at her mother, "because the words in this song — they say what I feel." She smiled again, and threw out her arms, musical-comedy style, and she began to sing along with the record. "Gee, but it's great to be here!" she sang. "Gee, but it's great to be — " Suddenly, she lowered her head. And she stopped singing. And she began to cry. "Oh Mom, oh Mom," she sobbed, rushing back to the couch. "Diane." her mother asked, taking her hand, "what is wrong? What is wrong, honey?" Failure "Mom," Diane said, "I've been lying to you. I've been happy in New York in one way — yes. But when I think of all the hurt I caused you and Daddy, when I left, running off like that . . . When I think that, fun or no fun, I really did the wrong thing in hurting you — when I realize this. . . ." "Diane," her mother started to say. "what's past is past. Over . . . You shouldn't get upset this way." "But, Mom, I ran out on you and Dad." Diane said. "I thought I was going to prove so much by doing what I wanted to do. And all I've proved is that . . . that I've taken some acting lessons and — " The tears came rolling down her cheeks now. "And," she said, " — that I'm such a failure ... As a daughter." Her mother squeezed her hand. "Now you can talk and talk, Diane, and get whatever you want out of your system, and I'll listen to you," Mrs. Baker said, gently. " — But don't let me hear you saying bad things about yourself." "I'm not much good," Diane said. "I'm not." Again, her mother squeezed her hand. "You are," she said. "You're a good girl, a good daughter. And we're all very proud of you, always, no matter what. You should know that. . . . "Now really," her mother went on, after clearing her throat and letting go of her daughter's hand, "what's all this fuss about, anyway, Diane? You went to New York and you made a mistake by doing that? Well, you were trying to do the right thing." Diane said nothing. "A person makes mistakes, I always say. and that person learns by those mistakes," her mother said. "You've made mistakes before in your lifetime, haven't you? And learned by them." She stopped, and she took a deep breath. "You're tired, Diane," she said, suddenly. "And you must be hungry after that long trip . . . Can I go inside and make you some tea?" Diane nodded. "Yes, some hot tea," her mother said, getting up. "A cup for you, and a cup for me. It'll set nice with us both, and make us both feel better." And, with that, she left the room. And Diane, sitting there alone now. wiped some of the tears from her face. And, as she did, she thought of what her mother had said to her a few minutes back: "You've made mistakes before in your life, haven't you? And learned by them." Diane remembered now. Such a nice girl . . . She was fifteen, a sophomore in high school. She was a popular girl. She went around with a group of girls whom she liked, and who liked her. Except that one day Diane realized that this group was more-than-a-little on the snobbish side, that they made a point of 'outlawing' girls of any religion different from theirs, girls whose fathers didn't earn as much as theirs, girls who just weren't quite up to standard. Diane objected to this one day. But she didn't get very far in her objection. "Oh, Diane," the other girls started to say, "you're such a nice girl — so goshdarned nice — The sarcasm in their voices wasn't lost on her. Diane knew she was being made fun of. She didn't like being made fun of. And HEART FUND Defence 6