Photoplay (Jul - Dec 1940)

Life in the new house was different, of course. In the first place, there was Celestine. Celestine was large and black and placid and especially devoted to Mac. She was handing the toast that particular morning when Jerry saw the picture of young Mrs. Furness — Mrs. J. Broderick Furness — on the front page of the paper. Of Mrs. Furness' extreme beauty there could be no doubt. The caption said, "Glamorous society beauty who is seeking to divorce her second husband." Down in the column of type was Mac's name. Mrs. Furness was being represented by Alan MacNally, of the firm of Hymer and Brandon. "You didn't tell me," Jerry said, too casually, "that you had the Furness case." "U-uum," said Mac, from behind the sport page. Jerry regarded him wistfully for a moment. They'd used to read bits of the paper out loud to each other and there had been lots of laughs and kidding and kisses at breakfast. Now Mac was always preoccupied, always absorbed. There was also Celestine. Jerry said, "What's she getting a divorce about?" "A beautiful woman," Mac said absently, "has certain rights other women don't have. Just by being beautiful. She wants a divorce and it's my business to get her one. If I get her the settlement she wants, you can have a new fur coat like Wanda's." He kissed her hurriedly and was gone. Jerry went to the front door and stood watching him. He liked his bit of lawn and the small garden and usually stopped to putter and pick a dead leaf or two. "Will you be home early or are you going to be in court?" Over his shoulder he said, "Home early, lamb. Be a good girl." Jerry went back into the house and looked about disconsolately. Maybe she was all wrong. Maybe she was on the wrong track altogether. Mac had admired Wanda, he had been in love with Wanda. Maybe she was still second choice. Now that he was getting up in the world, maybe she didn't fit in the picture any more. All very well when they were broke and lived in one room, but now he wanted to entertain, he wanted a maid — and he thought a woman as beautiful as Mrs. Furness had special rights in the world. She wanted, she found, to talk to Wanda. They made a date for lunch. AFTERWARDS it always seemed to Jerry that it hadn't actually happened. Things like that didn't. People were always telling you about them and you were always reading about them, but they were like the murders on the front page — they didn't happen to you. Never in her life had she known so strangely violent an emotion. All the blood in her heart seemed to hold perfectly still for a moment, turning colder and colder until she knew it would never move again, and then it exploded like firecrackers through her veins. Probably every woman in the world had it at some time — that first utter shock of fear, of something deeper than jealousy, something more poignant than anger. It came to Jerry MacNally when, over the small luncheon table, she stared at her husband and the woman whose picture she had seen for the first time that morning in the paper. It came upon her as a shock, yet as something she had been expecting, something she had seen before or foreseen. The woman caught her eye first, the flash of recognition came to her, though in the paper she had been haughty and now she was laughing. How well she wears that silly kind of a hat. I'd look a fool in it, Jerry thought, but on her it's elegant, it's distinguished. She was frozen, she was afire and almost at once her mind began to work in fantastic circles, driven by emotions she could not name. If only Wanda didn't notice. But Wanda had seen her face and turned. Mrs. Furness wasn't laughing now, she was looking very pathetic and brave, as though she was discussing something delicate and important. And Mac reached across then and patted her hand and then she smiled dimly, sadly. Wanda said, "Who is she?" "She's a client," Jerry said. "Mrs. Furness." "Lucky man," said Wanda. "I remember her now. Society glamour girl. Mac's getting up in the world." "He has to take clients to lunch sometimes," Jerry said. "She wants a divorce and he has to get it for her. Her husband's very rich or something and I'm going to have a fur coat." "Darling," her sister said, "this is Wanda. Remember me? You don't have to put on an act for me. But you'd better take yourself in hand. That's real competition." "It isn't competition at all," Jerry said, icily. "What a mind you've got. You don't think I'm going to get all greeneyed because Mac has to have lunch with a client and she happens to be a — a knockout, do you?" She began to feel better. Almost, she convinced herself. She and Mac weren't like that. It wasn't jealousy, only that awful, old, never-conquered fear that she wasn't good enough for Mac, that he would regret choosing her, that now he was getting up in the world, as Wanda put it, she wouldn't be at all the kind of wife he wanted. As though she had read the thoughts, Wanda said, "You know, I'll have to admit I was wrong about Mac. He's going places. He's gained in personality and looks and everything. You'll be a dope if you don't go places with him. Plenty of wives lose their husbands for just that reason." Jerry was watching Mac and Mrs. Furness. They hadn't seen her, Mac hadn't turned around. Maybe he wouldn't and it would be easier. "I'll do all right," Jerry said. "Mac didn't marry me for my beauty. He married me because — " Wanda gave a funny little laugh. Maybe it was accidental that it came right there, maybe she didn't mean anything by it, maybe Jerry's own nerves betrayed her into a misinterpretation of that silky little laugh. To her it sounded like a taunt and for a moment she almost believed that Wanda had shouted at her, "Oh, you silly little goose, don't you know that he married you because he couldn't get me, on the rebound, second choice." Under it, Jerry stopped dead. Sat very still, holding her face as quiet as she could, holding it rigid like a mask between her and the world that in a few brief hours had turned so unfriendly, had become an enemy. Wanda put out her hand and took Jerry's. "Look, baby, I know how you feel. I've been through it myself. Don't get sore. Just remember, if you need me, I'm around and even if I don't go around playing the big-sister act to soft music, I'm for you and I know quite a lot about men. If Mac — " "Mac's okay," Jerry said. "You're sweet though, Wanda darling. You know darn well how I feel about you." They had to pass the table, Mac and Mrs. Furness. Jerry realized that suddenly and panic took her and she decided to get out of there in a hurry, she wanted the check, she wanted to go, but she hadn't been quick enough. The introductions were easy. Mrs. Furness was quite casual, it seemed ridiculous in the light of that very casual, everyday greeting and of Mac's undisturbed manner, to think anything. He Now well on her own way in the acting profession, Jean Cagney takes a day off from Paramount to visit her big brother James on Warners' "City For Conquest" set — where Jimmy's not doing so badly for himself, either! kissed his wife, quite naturally. None of it meant anything until they had gone and Wanda said easily. "My, aren't we all awfully civilized these days." "Sure," said Jerry. "Did you expect me to pull her hair or something? Wanda, you're a dope." uHE felt much better, she felt normal, she felt fine — until about eight o'clock that night. She had been out on the front lawn since five o'clock, waiting for Mac to come. There were four or five special rosebushes that had to have special care and of course you couldn't water anything until the sun was going down. It kept going down and Jerry finally decided to water the lawn, which was Mac's task. At seven-thirty Celestine said from the doorway, "I thought Mr. Mac was coming home early. Shall I put the steak on or not do you think?" "I'll eat now," Jerry said. "Ain't you going to wait for Mr. Mac?" asked Celestine. "No — no." At the table she couldn't eat. She said, "Celestine, do you think there's anything wrong with the telephone?" "No, ma'm," Celestine said. "Telefoam's all right." After dinner, she put up the card table and sat down with her back to the phone. If I don't look at it or think about it until I finish one game of solitaire, it will ring. The quickest, easiest kind and even when she cheated it wouldn't come right. After the third game, the telephone rang. Jerry knocked over a chair getting to it, but it was the wrong number. She called up the operator then and said things to her about getting people dashing around the house answering the wrong number. "You better test the phone," she said. "Maybe if somebody tries to call it, they will get some other number." The test shrilled. The phone was okay. When she had read eleven pages without knowing what was on any of them, she called Mac's office. No one answered. The clock said 10:30 and she turned it to the wall. Once she heard a car stop and a man's voice and she ran to the window, but it was only Celestine's Bill saying good-night. Celestine came in, grinning sheepishly. "You want anything?" she said. "You ain't been crying, is you?" An awful thought came over Jerry. "You don't think he's been hurt or anything, do you? Maybe his car — oh no, no — he couldn't — " "There now," said Celestine, "the times I imagine some no-account man laying out there 'it his head mashed in — " she laughed, richly, "and then fine out for sure they was gallivanting!" Celestine padded upstairs and Jerry went back to her solitaire. At one o'clock, in her nightgown and woolly bathrobe, she went shakily to the phone and called the Receiving Hospital. There were so many accidents and Mac was such a reckless driver. But no accident was on file there for the night and she walked up and down, the vision of Mac somewhere in the darkness, pinned beneath an overturned car, rising to terrify her. When at twenty minutes after one she heard a car stop and voices coming up the walk she ran to the door, warm with hope and welcome. The light showed Wanda and two strange men and Jerry's heart sank. She stepped back, feeling wooden and silly, holding the robe clutched about her. One of the men was big, hearty, goodlooking. The other was slight and the hair grew back from his forehead. Both of them were a little flushed. "Jerry," said Wanda, "what in the world? Where's Mac — we came to see if you wouldn't go dancing." Jerry stumbled over her words. "I— he didn't come home — he was detained on important business. I — I — " Wanda began to laugh. "Oh, my precious little nitwit. First time your husband doesn't come home to dinner and I suppose you think he's been run over." Her arm slipped around Jerry's shoulders. "She's really quite bright, my little sister," she said, "and very pretty, though you might not guess it at this moment. Jerry, this is Putz Harvey — and Mr. Willis. Get your clothes on, child, and come out and hear some music with us. What you need is cheering up." "I couldn't," Jerry said. "Suppose Mac came home and I wasn't here — " "A very good thing for him," said Wanda. "He hasn't worried about you, any, has he? Get your shawl, and teach him a good lesson. Next time he'll remember to telephone, at least. At that, I don't understand how you put up with him skittering around with all these cute little divorcee numbers. I sometimes wonder how far Mac goes to — (Continued on page 16) 74 PH OTOPLAY