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

ingly upon us from the wall. But when Jerry slipped the slim gold circlet on my finger, when I heard his voice, With a little husk of emotion making it deeper, saying, "With this ring I thee wed, and with all my worldly goods I* thee endow," — well, what more could any woman ask of heaven? T DON'T suppose I'll ever be as happy again as I was those four months between the time we were married and that day when I parted from Jerry in the taxicab, when he was inducted. It was a new sort of life for me — secure, regular, steady. I'd been working since I was eighteen, singing with bands, traveling around, living out of my suitcase more often than not. I loved feeling settled, with roots, in a home that was mine. Most of all, I loved Jerry with the fullness of my heart. Perhaps we were always conscious, both of us, of the threat to our security, and that had something to do with the gripping intensity of our love. We were together now, we would soon be parted — and although we never put it into words, the feeling was always there. We lived for the present, from day to day, doing the simple things that made us happy because we could do them together, seeing few people, caring only about each other. But now all that was over. Jerry was gone, and I was alone once more. All the memories of those happy months crowded into my mind and my heart after I left Jerry that day, as I stumbled along the streets, not caring where I was, not knowing where I was going. I don't know how long I walked, but it began to grow dark and I knew that I must go home sometime— it might as well be now. Now I might as well face the empty house, the rooms in which Jerry's laughter still echoed, making the silence somehow more still. There were things to do, thank heaven, for tomorrow I was going to be a working girl once more. Jerry had arranged that with Mr. Perry, who owned the city's biggest department store. I had to work — with Jerry gone to war his income stopped, of course, and there was the house to keep up. "Please don't worry," I told him. "I can earn my own keep — I've done it before." But I'd never done anything like this before. The job was selling behind the perfume counter — and I hated it from the very first. The heavy scent of the perfumes made me sick. Never before had I had to get up in the morning in time to punch a time clock. Never had I had to stand, smiling, all day long, telling myself grimly that the customer is always right. Just the same, because Jerry wanted me to do it, because he would rather have me doing this than the singing I knew so well, I determined to do my very best to make a go of it. Perhaps it was a good thing, after all, that the job was so new and so distasteful. It was hard work, and it kept my mind occupied during the day. Better still, it left me so tired at night that I usually fell asleep as soon as I slid my aching feet between the cool sheets. But sometimes, even so, I lay awake for a little while, feeling very small and lost in the big double bed which Jerry and I had shared. You can get used to anything, I suppose. It just takes time — and the time that it takes is dreadful. At least, it was for me. I never really did get accustomed to the loneliness, the terrible longing for Jerry, the yearning for a return to the sweet security I had so cherished. No, I never "did get used to it — it would be better to say that I became numb, like a tooth that has stopped jumping and settled down to a dull, steady ache. For long hours of the day I would almost forget that the pain was there — and then the sight of someone in uniform, the sound of a man's carefree laughter, would bring it all back sharply once more. And so I existed in a sort of vacuum for the first six weeks that Jerry was away, smiling automatically at customers until the muscles at the sides of my mouth ached and twitched. But it wasn't real. Then Jerry got his first week-end pass, and I began to live again. But that day at the store was Adapted for Radio Mirror by Madeline Thompson from an original radio drama, "No Small Change," by George Axelrod, heard on Manhattan at Midnight, Wednesday nights at 8:30 EWT, over the Blue Network, sponsored by Energine. worse than all the others — the thought that Jerry .was at home, waiting for me, and I was prisoner behind the perfume counter until 5:30, drove me wild, hoping and hoping for the ringing of the closing bell, until at last it sounded. I stepped outside, looking about for a taxi — nothing was going to keep me away from Jerry one moment longer than absolutely necessary tonight — when a hand reached out for mine. And there he was — Jerry, laughing at my surprise, looking strangely different in his uniform, with his face leaner and more tanned, his eyes bluer in contrast. Beginning right there, in front of the store, that whole weekend was delightful madness. I was swiftly in Jerry's arms, laughing and crying all at once, and Jerry was kissing me, neither of us caring a bit about the people who turned to stare. As far as we were concerned, there just weren't any other people in the whole world. It was wonderful, but it was so short, that weekend. So little time to say all the things to be said, to do all the things to be done. So little time to feel secure once more in the shelter of Jerry's arms. We gave those two days over to happiness. I heard from Jerry only the pleasant things about life in the army, and he heard from me only the ordinary little incidents which went to make up my life — none of the anxious loneliness, none of the fears, none of the weariness my job brought me. I couldn't bear to tell him things like-that. But it was too soon over, and I stood beside him at the station, waiting for a train to take him away from me. The last thing he said, as he put his arms around me once more, was, "Honey, honey— =-it's so good to have a wife like you! Some of the fellows spend all their time worrying about what their wives are doing, how they're spending their time, if they're going out with other men. But whenever I think of you — and that's just about all the time — I don't have to think anything but happy thoughts. I guess that's the most precious gift a woman can give her husband to take away with him — a firm faith in her, in knowing that wherever he goes, however long he stays away, he can trust her completely." "I'm glad," I began, but I had to kiss him goodbye for the rest of the answer, for the train was coming in. I was alone again, and my life settled down into monotonous routine. Up in the morning, off to the store, and everlastingly smile, smile, smile (Continued on page 58) 40 RADIO MIRROR