Radio romances (July-Dec 1945)

couldn't seem to get them to see each other. They were courteous and pleasant but detached. "People have to work things out for themselves," I told myself, but I was disappointed that my Cupid's part had failed. I didn't give up though. All that month I tried to bring them together as often as possible. But they were so wrapped up in their own personal tragedies that they didn't see each other at all. Finally, I hit upon a sure-fire idea. I had tried to point out their attractions to each other, but they had remained indifferent. Now I decided to try something else — to sell them on the idea that they needed each other. I decided to tell each of them the other one's story. That night I told Jimmy about the confession Betty had poured out on her teletype machine. "Why, the poor kid," Jimmy said, "what a rotten break." He was thinking of her as a woman for the first time. "How could the big heel do anything like that to Betty? She's a grand person." The very next noon I called Betty and took her to lunch. And during the noon hour I told her what Marybelle had done to Jim. "I'll appreciate anything you can do to make Jim happier," I told her, "because he needs a friend so terribly." Then I added my master's touch. "Of course, he'll never fall in love again — but you could have fun together." I said that so that she wouldn't be afraid of becoming involved in another emotional upset. MY LITTLE campaign worked. The next time we had dinner together — Jim and Betty and I — they actually looked at each other. I could almost feel their awareness of each other growing. And by the time we got to dessert, they didn't even know I was at the table. Oh, what a sense of power 1 had that night after I had shooed them off to the movies. I sang "Always" as I did the dishes (soulfully, too, if you please) and I enjoyed each tender note of it. I felt like a puppet master who had known how to pull the right strings. But my puppets weren't dolls — they were Jim and Betty — my two favorite people. In the following weeks I dreamed of floating white veils and orange blossoms and Lohengrin. Because now Jim and Betty were together a lot and they were discovering how much they enjoyed each other. They hiked together on crisp, red-and-gold autumn days — they danced together at purple-lighted Shadowland Ballroom — they sang together in the moonlight. And, then, suddenly it was all over. It just stopped. No longer did Betty call to say, "Tell Jim to pick me up at the station, will you, Dorie — I have to work late." And no more did Jim race to the phone to dial Betty's number and say, "Hi, Bets — how about the show at the Strand?" No one told me what happened. Suddenly, Jim's face was tight and closed up again and he asked me not to bring Betty to the house any more. I couldn't ask him why. He wouldn't let me. "Please, Doris," he seemed to convey without saying a word, "Let's don't talk about it." Betty didn't tell me anything, either. In fact, she avoided me. When I called her at KWMT, she dismissed me coolly and finally — and her voice was as strained as Jim's face. All is Forgiven! • When the day arrives — and it will — that Fels-Naptha comes home from the wars, let's hope that the greeting in your household will be 'all is forgiven 7 This famous soap is still 'seeing service' far from home. A large part of the output of the Fels Plant is assigned to special duty in the four corners of the world. Most women have been understanding and patient about this absence of an essential item in good housekeeping, even though it has made the family laundry an unaccustomed burden. They know that good soap is part of the superior equipment furnished to our fighters. To all these good-natured, patriotic women we make this promise: when its present obligations are discharged, Fels-Naptha Soap will be back — unchanged — ready to resume its familiar job of making homes bright and washes sweet and white. Fels-Naptha Soap BAN/SHESyATTLE-TAL£ GRAY* j7