Radio Mirror (Nov 1936-Apr 1937)

RADIO MIRROR New Deodorant . . . QUEST 100% Effective on Sanitary Napkins! Now there's no excuse to be guilty of the "Unforgivable Offense!" The makers of Kotex bring you a new deodorant powder named Quest that positively destroys all types of napkin and body odors! . . . Quest is 100% effective, even on hottest days! It assures all-daylong freshness, yet it does not irritate the skin, clog the pores or interfere with normal body functions. Try Quest today, for the personal daintiness every woman treasures. Use this soothing cool powder on sanitary napkins, after the bath, to stop perspiration offense. It is unscented, which means it can't interfere with the fragrance of lovely perfume. Quest costs no more than other kinds . . . only 35c for the large two-ounce can at your favorite drug counter. Buy it today! there was no time to think. At night she went to bed with her mind and body drugged with fatigue. All the time the build-up went on. The publicity machine told the world about the great love affair between her and Rossman. Abruptly, it was the night of the broadcast once more. Before a studio full of people, Gwen listened to Rossman read lines written for him by someone else: "Gwen darling, I offer you my heart— and a life-long devotion that will not and cannot be denied. Will you — can you — become my wife?" Automatically, she nodded, "Yes." The "re-enactment" of Frank Rossman's proposal was the greatest publicity stunt radio had ever known. America took these newest lovers of the air to its heart. Telegrams and mail poured in from everywhere/ three times as much response as the program had ever "received before. Offers of free homes, cars, clothes poured in from manufacturers eager to seize their share of the publicity. Through it all, Gwen tried to shake off the impression that everything was happening to some other person— not to her. Or perhaps she did not really try to shake off that belief. Perhaps, deep inside, she was afraid of the moment when she must face reality. That moment came at last, on the afternoon before the next broadcast. Gwen had remained in her apartment all day, resting, refusing to answer telephone calls. Not until five o'clock did she pick up the insistent telephone. IT was Jack Carson, downstairs in the lobby and clamoring to see her. "I've got a new contract for you to look at," he said when she opened the door to him. Wearily Gwen accepted the contract, turned over the pages without understanding what was written on them. "By the way," Jack asked, "where are you and your crooner going on your honeymoon?" Honeymoon! Gwen dropped the contract and turned to Jack, her eyes wide in disbelief. The word had crystallized _ the whole fantastic farce into sudden reality. "Maybe this will interest you," Jack went on, reading from a telegram: "'Offer you all expenses three weeks in Cuba for eye-witness account of honeymoon. Feature Press Syndicate.' " Play-acting and reality sharply divided themselves in her mind. This was a real wedding, performed by a real minister, which was to take place over the air in a few more hours. No more pretending. She would be Mrs. Frank Rossman. The telephone rang again, and J ack^ answered it. "Your fiance is downstairs," he said, "with a lot of reporters. He wants you to let them come up and tell them how the bride feels." Gwen's eyes filled with tears. "What kind of girl do they think I am? I'm sick of reporters — sick of cameras — sick of publicity! And do you know what I'm sick of most of all? Me!" . She whirled and ran into her bedroom, slamming the door behind her. For an instant she stood trembling, then she crammed a hat on her head, ran to another door which led into the hallway, and ran for the' stairs. Only one thought was in her mind. She must get out of this city. She knew she could never marry Frank Rossman, and the only way to escape the situation into which she had allowed herself to be drawn was to drop out of sight, completely. • A taxicab drew up to the curb at her hail "Pennsylvania Station," she gasped. She would go back home,' back to Fergus Center. ' 66