Radio Mirror: The Magazine of Radio Romances (Jan-June 1943)

broad shoulders, rusty-colored hair which looked as if it took hourly combing to keep it under control at all, the kind of person who makes you think of sunlight and high places — well, he was just out of place in a night club, that was all. It was funny, my wondering that about him, because the very first thing Jerry ever said to me was, "What are you doing in a place like this?" That was after Sam Waller had called me from my dressing room to join the party, and Jerry had asked me to dance with him. "Why, I work here," I told him. It didn't occur to me that there were people who would consider my saying that I worked in a night club any more extraordinary than if I'd said I ran a switchboard or was a stenographer. "That's what I mean," he went on. "How does a girl like you come to be working in a place like this?" J FELT on the defensive — for myself, and for Sam Waller and all the others like him who run decent, respectable night clubs. "If you don't like it," I asked him a bit sharply, "why did you come here?" He grinned down at me. "We're giving Johnny Manners over there a send-off," he answered. "He's going into the Army tomorrow. He likes night clubs, and we're giving him the kind of party he likes." "You don't like night clubs, I take it?" There was an edge to my voice. "No," he said, briefly and finally. One of the other men of the party cut in, and after that I moved from one to another of them, dancings But all the while I was conscious of Jerry, his eyes following me about. Suddenly I decided that I disliked him intensely — smug, impertinent man! His party left soon, and I was glad to see them go. It wasn't until later, when I was getting ready for bed, that I realized that what he had said was a compliment, in a way. And then, because I was tired, and because I probably wouldn't see him again anyway, I stopped thinking about him altogether, and went to sleep. But I did see him again. He came to the club the very next night, alone, and he sent a little note to my dressing room. It was just a repetition of the same question, that note — "I'd really like to know what you're doing here." So I brushed my hair with more vigor than was absolutely necessary and slapped my nose with a powder puff. I was going to tell him just exactly what I thought of him. But the little speech I rehearsed 38 "With this ring I thee wed" — our language has no lovelier words. on my way to his table was never spoken. I just didn't have time, for Jerrys said, "Do you have to stay here?" and in answer to my rather doubtful, "No-o," I found myself being swept out of the club and into his car. We drove toward the outskirts of the city, and by the time I'd caught my breath I couldn't tell him what I thought of him — because I'd begun not to think that way of him at all! Weeks went by — weeks which were somehow fuller and brighter because I could be almost sure that Jerry would turn up sometime during each evening. Without my realizing it, Jerry had become a part of my life. Sometimes we drove out into the country between shows, or we'd go rowing on the lake near his home, or, when it was cool or raining, we'd sit and talk for hours before the fireplace in the big old Burns house which was all there was left of his family's once large fortune. And little by little I knew that I was in love with him, and that my whole world had changed values. But it wasn't until Jerry kissed me that first time that I dared to hope he felt the same way I did. We were in the car then, stopped on the summit of a hill. The top was down. The wind played softly over us. "You're so beautiful, Eileen," Jerry whispered. "Your hair, with the wind in it . . . your lovely little face ..." And he kissed me, very gently, very sweetly. I knew that no one had ever really kissed me before, and that, if I could help it, no one else would ever kiss me again. Jerry and I might not have decided to get married so soon if it hadn't been for Sam Waller. A couple of times Sam hinted to me that he wished I wouldn't leave the club between shows, and that, when I was there I wouldn't devote every moment of my time to Jerry. He was very sweet about it — really. I think he was worrying more on my account than on his own. One evening he followed me to the table Where Jerry was waiting, and as I sat down he slipped his arm across my shoulder, in that unconsciously possessive way of his which meant RADIO MIRROR