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You’ve waited a long time for this Kiss of Fashioif**
forma, where her mother, happily married to Robert Palmer for over a year, had just found a new home.
Reports being eminently satisfactory at both ends of the line, Bette sailed into preparations for five-o’clock dinner. This meant that we moved from the living room side of the chimney to the dining room side. Sherry took over the broiling of four steaks in the fireplace, while Bette devoted her genius to a tossed salad and Bobbie set the great round pine table with the raised Lazy Susan center that revolved to serve sugar, relishes, salt and pepper to whoever could pull the hardest. The idea was familiar but the size of it — out of this world!
After pinner we started to move back into the living room — i. e., the other side of the chimney — and the men actually completed the maneuver. But halfway there the ladies fell by the wayside. -It was a perfectly innocent-looking table, to be sure, but on it was a huge jigsaw puzzle, the pieces spread out in disarray, just the moment when challenge rides high. To a woman, we fell upon it, intense, admonitory, taking bets we’d find the missing link, losing them, having a grand if utterly unproductive time.
And then the hour arrived for bed because we had to be on the road early the next morning.
“Don’t worry, I’ll get you up,” was Betty’s last word. And indeed she did. A last quick breakfast down at Butternut, then we said our goodbyes and climbed into the car. Far across the valley the sun was shedding majesty on the Presidential Range spearheaded by Mount Washington, highest of them all.
And at our running board stood Hollywood’s star — a pair of gaudy blue corduroy slacks, a little too long, bright red plaid lumber jacket, much too big, and perched on the back of her head, a silly little Tyrolean cap with a beat-up feather which she’d bought at a carnival her . first summer in New Hampshire. She looked like a kid dressed up for Halloween. Even the grin.
As the car moved reluctantly away, her voice called after us. “You’re the last people from the outside we’ll see until Spring!”
The End
" )Qeal people instead ofi puppets"
— That’s what one of the listeners to “MY TRUE STORY” writes of the characters in each day’s complete radio drama. “These people, and their problems ring true!” Like thousands of other women, you’ll be fascinated by these real-life stories on the air taken from the files of TRUE STORY magazine.
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