Radio mirror (July-Dec 1947)

At EKPM prepaid this cuddly Rainbow fiiimiin is priced to beat any store in the country by $1.00! Glamour . . . glamour . . . glamour is yours in beautiful chenille. And this wonder of a Rainbow Robe is especially wrinkleproof! There's quiet comfort in its luxurious styling with deep piles of tuft. Twotone sunfast dyed rainbow colors. And to clean it — simply suds it! Order by mail today — get the robe direct from manufacturer — use the dollar you save (at least $1.00) for that new trinket you've been hankering for! Immediate shipment. Money Back Promptly If Not Absolutely Scrtl$fied. U. 8. CHENILLE CORPORATION Dept. H-i 47S Fifth Avenue New York 17. N. Y. Yes, I want a Rainbow Robe at theie extremely low prioes listed belowl Enclosed Is my (check) (money order) tor i (I will pay $ Check Colors a American Beautyn Peach D Aqua D Copen Blue a Maize C.O.D. plus postage.) Check Sizes Price I4-I6-I8-20 (Reg.) ....$4.99 40-42.44-4G (Large) ...$5.99 48-50-52-54 (Stout) ...$6.99 8-I0-I2-I4-I6 (Junior). $3.99 Name Street Address City State 66 I Met the Rif?ht Man (Continued from page 33) 99 stamps." And with no trace of a smile! So, of course, I didn't write to him. Naturally not. Felt, indeed, no compulsion to write. Felt, I told myself, rather crossly, I remember, nothing at all, nothing whatsoever, for that — that young philatelist! When, therefore, upon my return to Prague, Walter took me out to dinner and, over the canapes, said to me, as a statement of fact, "We are going to be married," I laughed hysterically. Perhaps, I thought, I misunderstood him, for his impossible English and my bad German made speech between us something of a guessing game. But no, I hadn't misunderstood him and I knew it. SO I continued to laugh, and said that nothing could be more fantastically impossible and thought I meant it; thought, I would not dream of marrying a European. Thought, what would I, an American girl, born in New York City, and brought up in Elmhurst, Long Island, be doing with a European husband? Like marrying a man from Mars, I thought, or someone come alive out of an old, illunained storybook. Why, every time I'd meet him, and he'd kiss my hand, and he always did, I was always embarrassed, terribly embarrassed— and why not, used as I was to my football-playing brother and his pals who would as soon have thought of kissing your foot as of kissing your hand! But when, that summer, I went home to visit my parents I found, incredibly, that I v/as missing him . . . missing him so much, indeed, that I couldn't wait to get back to Prague and didn't wait to get back to Prague but left weeks earlier than I'd planned . . . Upon my return, Walter began showing me attention, "serious" attention and a colder word than "attention" was never used, or misused, to describe the old continental atmosphere of romance, intrigue, uniforms and legend that was our courtship . . . Those were beautiful days. . . . . . . the European way of life he showed me . . . the strange places and the authentic places to which he took me, or chose for our rendezvous . . . cafes and old curious houses and museums and old cemeteries Time had forgot and hidden-away streets and little parks and gardens so submerged that even the rain didn't dust them anymore ... to a Beer Garden one night, perhaps, with Czech dancers in Czech costumes and Czech music playing ... to a place of crystal and champagne the next night where, in that bated breathing spell before Hitler came, gay and gracious and high-born people were taking their final curtain call and didn't know it . . . . . . and the flowers he sent mie. I did not know such flowers grow and do not believe they do . . . the jewels with which he presented me . . . not diamonds, for I am not fond of diamonds and never wear them . . . but rubies, for I love rubies, and gold, for I love gold and most of my things are gold . . . and still, and now, ten years later, he is always presenting me with jewelry ... a pair of earrings, golden earrings, he had made for me last winter — one, the mask of Comedy; the other, the twin mask of Tragedy — a bracelet, gold of course, formed of letters that spell my name. Rise, and with an inscription on the inside which reads, "We love you, Walter and Nicky." Nicky, it needs a separate and special paragraph to say, is our little son who comes, being now two and a half, later in our story . . . and who will be followed, we hope, we pray, a very little later in our story, by a brother or a sister and then another brother or a sister . . . By this time, of course, this time of rendezvous and flowers and the presenting of jewels, Walter and I were formally engaged — although no one in Prague took our engagement seriously. Everyone thought it a joke, two people of the theater marrying and expecting it would last. When, on January 6, 1939, we were married in New York, our friends in Prague still thought it a joke. ("We give it two months," they wrote us and then, two months having passed, "We give it four months") — and, believing it a joke, they did not send us one wedding present. Not one. Now, in our ninth year, what would they think, our friends in Prague, what would they say — if we had not lost track of them through the war years? When, at the end of that season abroad, I returned to America, with Walter's engagement ring, a thin-asthread gold band, like a guard on my hand, Walter soon followed. He had no intention of remaining here. He came to America only to marry me and then to go back. He was busy in the theater in Vienna. He was, also, doing a great many pictures for Ufa and for Vienna Film. When he did come, and we were married, Walter decided to take over my career, to become my manager as well as my husband. 10NCE read a short story titled something like "A Diva's Marriage Day." In the story, the diva, regal in satin and old ivory lace, walked to Wagnerian music, an aisle of orchids to the altar. When Walter and I want a good hearty bout of laughter, we recall our marriage day. Not for us Wagnerian music, an aisle of orchids, white satin and old lace . . . we were married in City Hall, New York. We went to the City Hall by subway, I remember, because we could not get a taxi. I wore a very plain sports dress, golden brown, with a small matching hat and an ocelot coat, not new, I had bought in South America for one hundred and sixtynine dollars. In the excitement Walter forgot — for the first and last time, ever — the flowers. At the very last moment, my brother had to rush out and buy a bouquet for me to hold. Still unable to speak more than a few words in English, Walter had arranged with my brother to poke him each time it was his turn to say "I do." Whether my brother poked him at the wrong time, or whether it was a delayed take on Walter's part, I do not know — I do know that Walter said some of his "I dos" at the wrong times! After the ceremony we went for our wedding supper, not to a place of crystal chandeliers and champagne, but to a nearby cafeteria — because, rehearsing that night, as I was, for the Rosenkavalier, we had no time. Nor did we meet again, after that hasty