Radio romances (July-Dec 1945)

Ton prided itself on being up-to-date, and everyone worked only a five-day week. Our days off were staggered, so that the store wouldn't be without help on any one day. My day off was Tuesday— my day to listen to the radio. All day long I tuned in the daytime serials, and I loved to listen to them. Things happening to people. The sort of things I'd liked to have happening to me. Of course, the women who stayed home and could listen every day had the advantage of me, but I treasured my Tuesdays. I imagined that I was Helen Trent, or Big Sister, or Portia, or Valiant Lady, or any of the others of my favorites — that I was doing the things they were doing, living their lives. 'T'HE rest of the time — the whole week *■ but Tuesday — was very run-of-themill. I just worked hard all day long, nine to five, went home, cooked my dinner, listened to the radio (more romance, and laughter, for a little while) , read a book or magazine, and went to bed. Some nights I had to attend a club meeting; I belonged to the Business and Professional Women's Club. You know that club: lady doctors, lawyers, small business owners, school teachers and a few other "career" women. I disliked the thought of being a "career" woman, or considering myself one; because I honestly felt I just had a good job; and I belonged to the B & P W Club because my boss, Mr. Featherstone, thought it was good business. It was just after Thanksgiving Day last year that the feeling of futility descended upon me heavily. I don't know exactly what caused it, but I was really ' in a blue mood when I came home from work that night. I felt tired and bored. I undressed quickly and filled the tub with water, spilled in a quarter box of that bubble soap and relaxed in the soothing warmth of the bath. Mr. Featherstone had made the announcement that day: "To all employees. Starting today Miss W. Snyder will be buyer for the Bon-Ton's Linen Department." I should have been more excited than I was. Congratulations were abundant. I had worked hard for the promotion. Now it was here, and I just felt tired. Why is it that 'a girl my age looks forward to her bath more than anything else in the world? I could feel myself untie imaginary knots. I half closed my eyes and went over the day's events. Seven orders placed for various kinds of linen goods; tablecloths, pillow slips, towels, Mr. Featherstone's reminder that the annual White Sale would be held next month. The trouble with Mrs. Willis who tried to tell the section manager her charge account was not overdrawn. And Barnsley Geller. What made me think about Barnsley Geller when I took a bath? It was funny and unexplainable. Maybe his neatness reminded me of the soap. Maybe the soap reminded me of his neatness. Barnsley was in to see me that day, and somehow the thought of his visit did not cheer me; maybe he was the cause of my blue mood. It happened like this. I had known for a few days that his itinerary would take him to Worth City some day that week. He traveled for the Lily-White Linen Co., Springfield, Mass. His business calls, despite wartime traveling problems, were as punctual as the big electric clock on the main floor of the Bon-Ton. Barnsley Geller's coming to Worth City and the purchase of my new blue suit were simultaneous enough to be suspicious. No, no, no. Nothing planned. I told myself that so many times I almost believed it. The suit made me happy, and Barnsley's coming made me brighten up so much I felt ten years younger. I felt proud I could still wear a size 16, and I knew the suit was flattering. So when he walked in the door with his brief case in his hand and smiled a greeting at Miss Lango and myself that morning I felt as happy as a lark. I didn't show my happiness except in my cordialness. Strictly business, you know. Barnsley T. Geller discussing wartime problems of manufacture with Miss Snyder, new buyer for the BonTon linen department. My eyes casually taking in every detail of his appearance. He must be in the vicinity of forty-five, I decided. The shine on his shoes. The perfect part in his redbrown hair. |70R fifteen minutes, according to the miniature clock on my desk, he discussed his products. Then the conversation teetered oh the brink of infinity. He was running out of conversation, and I was trying to make the small talk that was so easy to make with other salesmen. I could think of a million things to say ordinarily, but not then. He remarked on the difficulties of getting good food while traveling; and, oh! the awful proximity of the opening that might have made the difference. I could picture Barnsley trying to get a good meal, and I could think of all the little dishes I could cook for him. Why didn't he ask me if I would be free for dinner that night? Why didn't I lead him into the suggestion for a date? It almost happened. Yes, it did. But Miss Lango told me Mr. Featherstone was on the phone and Barnsley Geller was reaching for his brief case. I felt like cursing the telephone, Mr. Featherstone, the Bon-Ton; all the elements of an unhappy fate. Barnsley Geller shaking hands with me, telling me he would be in again in six weeks. The sun going behind a cloud; staying there. Oh, what unhappy fate had made a spinster out of me? I asked myself that question so many times in my life it really stood out like a neon light in my consciousness. I could reason "it out, of course; tell you just how it was that I never married. Taking care of an invalid mother had something to do with it. The early interest in my job at the Bon-Ton also contributed to the circumstances. My disapproval of the men who did take an interest in me, the men of Worth City, was also a factor. But most important of all was my lacking the trait of being able to set my cap for some one. I. was the quiet type. No doubting that. My girl friends were rather frank in their objectives; and those of them who were married became even more frank in their expressions. "You'd better hurry along, Wilhelmina," Marjorie Smith once said to me, "find yourself some one nice with lots of money." I don't think I would have taken that remark from anybody but • Marjorie; I had known her since we were kids together, and I knew she meant nothing derogatory by it. But I was sensitive, just the same. And Barnsley Geller's coming and going, his visit to Worth City another time without asking me to dinner was just disappointing enough to annoy me. Just what was there to look forward to? I asked myself. Work and nothing more. November Sales, then the Christmas rush, then that very blue part of the year in January when life seemed to be going up-hill all the time. Then I sat up in the tub with a start. Sure enough, the Dry Goods Association Convention was the thing I had forgotten. In my mind I could recall the special invitation that had come to me: "The D.G.A. will hold its .-, ^ V1£W 24