Radio romances (July-Dec 1945)

THE STORY: Wf HEN I married Woodie, I knew " very little about him — only that he was a handsome, intense young man, and that I was in love with him. I knew, too, that he had held a large number of jobs — too many — but I also knew that he did well at them, and I felt that marriage would settle him down. And it seemed to, for a while. He sold automobiles for Acme Agency, and did very well. We had a pleasant apartment, pleasant friends, a pleasant life — in short, we were happy. And then there came a time when Woodie was too happy — too excited, too elated over sales he had made, excited out of all proportion. It was then that I learned something I had not known before — that Woodie bad been mentally ill, had spent some time in a sanatorium before we were married. Neither he, nor his mother, who didn't like me, who said I didn't "understand" her boy, .had told me. And now Dr. Blythe said that Woodie would have to go back to the sanatorium for a while, but assured me that there was every hope for a complete recovery, that Woodie's love for me, and his complete need of me, would help him to make that recovery. I went to work as a bookkeeper for Acme, and there I met a new salesman, Don Colman, who was very pleasant and friendly. Several times he took me to dinner at that moment when my spirits were lowest — when I had come back from my weekly visit with Woodie at the sanatorium. When at last Woodie was released, I stopped seeing Don, however— Woodie took a job at another agency, I quit mine at Acme. For a while all was well, but it soon became apparent that something was wrong. Once again the great elation seized Woodie, and this time he himself admitted that he had better go back to the sanatorium. Once again I went to work for Acme, once again I began to see Don. Only this time it was different — this time, we knew that we were in love, Don and I — a hopeless, this-cannever-be love that seemed to be all the stronger because it was so hopeless! THEY say that love transfigures a woman, that when she is well beloved, she is beautiful. That night after Bon left, I went into the bedroom and looked in the mirror and I knew that that was true. To myself at least, I had always seemed just an ordinary girl with medium features, a clear skin and a slim figure. I had never had any illusions about being really pretty. But tonight my hair was touched with a new brightness, there was radiance in my skin and in my eyes, and my lips somehow seemed softer, fullers. Even my body moved with a new grace, as if to music that only I could hear. I could look at myself without vanity and be glad at what I saw. This was the way Don had seen me, this was the inner glow that he had stirred to life,' that made me prettier than I had ever been before. He had created it and I was glad that it belonged to him. Then suddenly the glow and the gladness faded. It was as if I had seen Woodie's face beside mine in the mirror. What right had I to be transformed by Don's love when Woodie was my husband? How could I, bound by marriage and all its vows, to one man, long for another? Yet it was true. And what I had told Don was true, too. What I felt for him was real and for forever. I knew now I should never have married Woodie. When I met him, my parents had jusl 44 Real walls closed around Woodie; but there were other walls, that were unbreachable and solid although they could not be seen — walls that closed Don and Nancy off from one another