Radio and television mirror (Jan-June 1949)

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No endorsers or cosigners. We do not contact employers, friends or relatives. Convenient monthly payments. Send us your name and address and we will mail application blank and complete details FREE in plain envelope. There is no obligation. STATE FINANCE COMPANY 511 Walker Bank BIdg., Dept. M 1 1 9,Salt Lake City 9, Utah Not long after, we moved to Los Angeles and I got a spot on KHJ's Happy Go Lucky show. And when I was thirteen I got what I thought was the most wonderful break a girl could ever get. I got a motion picture contract! At Universal Studios. Oh, I was in seventh heaven. There were all kinds of talk about making me another Deanna Durbin, and there were story conferences and meetings with producers and directors. It was terribly exciting. And then came the let-down. One of those "out with the old, in with the new" regimes overtook the studio, and I was outside the gates before I even had a chance to look a camera in the eye. So I went back to radio. I got a job singing on The Squirrel Cage Show at KFWB, and another singing spot on a night show. This was followed by several stints with some well known bands, singing at clubs and special dances. IT WAS good to be working, but something was missing. I was lonesome. It got to the point where dates, books and even good jobs weren't enough to wipe out that strange desolation I was experiencing. I needed something else. Or rather someone else. I needed someone to be close to. Someone to be in love with. It was indeed a dreary six months. Then came that wonderful day when I got word that Spike wanted me to come and work for him. Not for just one performance. But for good! I spent hours fixing my hair, brushing it till it shone golden. I put on my lipstick a dozen times before it satisfied me. And as a final touch, I broke open a bottle of my best perfume and then satisfied with my appearance at last, I sallied forth to meet my new boss. To be perfectly truthful I wasn't entirely preoccupied with business at the interview. I kept watching Spike's face . . . the way it lit up when he talked about his new show, the way his eyebrows slid off at the corners, giving him that funny, quizzical look that I love so ... so that I didn't hear everything he said. Which was quite a lot. Except that it was terribly business-like. "Would you mind moving over under the light, Miss Greco, so I can check something, please." I smiled my most alluring smile, but there was no answering smile. "That's good," he said scrutinizing me with all the intimacy of a CPA going over his notes. "You'll show up well under lights. Makes your eyes glow." Maybe he could see that they could glow, but I'll bet anything he didn't know what color they were. He had me turning and walking, hitting high notes and low notes, breathing and bowing and I don't know what all. He scribbled little notes in his book as he talked to me. Then he stood up, shook hands with me, said he hoped we'd enjoy working together and out the door he went. That was the beginning of my big romance! It certainly didn't start out with much promise. In fact the relationship was on such a professional level that I was nearly convulsed with laughter when my mother insisted on sending my sister along as chaperone on our first tour. "That's silly, Mom," I said when I could stop laughing. "He doesn't even know I'm alive." "Never mind," said my mother stubbornly, "he will." Well, you certainly couldn't have proved it by me. He was my boss. Nothing else. A charming one to be sure. And helpful and friendly. But there was a wall of business between us a mile high. I decided I'd better forget what romantic fantasies I'd ever had about him. He was interested in me solely as an investment. And for that reason he spent quite a lot of time giving me lessons. I have had teachers before, but believe me Spike is the best teacher I ever had. He has such patience. But above all he knows what he's talking about. His criticism is both constructive and imaginative. As I worked with him I realized more and more what a fine muscian he really is. There is no more similarity between him and the zany character he plays as band leader of the Slickers than between Bergen and Charlie McCarthy. He's just a quiet, hard working guy who loves what he does, thinks a lot, reads a lot, and whose only relaxation is an occasional golf game; or a few hours with his camera. I saw a lot of Spike, but it was strictly business. Whenever we ate dinner together it was with half a dozen other people . . . publicity men, song writers, theater managers and other -behind-the-scenes people. Or if we had coffee, it was with the band. We were seldom alone. And then one night after a rehearsal in Chicago we found ourselves the last two people on stage. Everyone else had gone, and I started to pick up my things and leave as usual. I had my coat half on and was heading for the exit when Spike stopped me. "Wait a minute, Helen," he said, "how about having dinner with me?" "Of course," I answered automatically, thinking it would be the usual way with half the band along. "No," he said sensing my interpretation. "I mean you and me. Just the two of us." I think you could have knocked me over with a pizzicata I was so surprised. I just stared at him. "What's the matter," he said banteringly, "don't you approve of going out with the hired help?" "CJURE," I said, "but isn't it all so 13 sudden?" Whereupon he began to laugh, and tell me about the wonderful place he was going to take me to. The Pump Room. "Ever hear of it?" he asked. I nodded. It was the most famous place in Chicago. "Good," he said. "Run along and change and I'll pick you up in an hour." I rushed home like a school-girl going out on her first date. I felt exhilarated and not a little afraid. I guess a lot of girls feel that way when they first go out with the boss, especially such an attractive one. And then Spike wasn't just a boss. I had gotten dressed so quickly that the time lag between the final touch of lipstick and the hour when he said he'd be over seemed eternal. Then I began to think maybe he wouldn't come. Maybe he'd forget about our date. Or maybe some important business had come up. But I needn't have worried. In exactly an hour the doorbell rang, and there was Spike with a single rose in his hand. All I could think to say was "Oh, Spike." He looked so handsome in his dark blue suit — he dresses very conservatively and with impeccable taste — that I could hardly stop looking at him. But it wasn't long before he had put me entirely at ease. We had a wonderful time that night. It was the first time I had ever talked to Spike as Spike. After my first uneasiness wore off, I was confiding in him like an old friend.