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

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Sold on money back guarantee at all drug, department and 5c-10c stores. BLEACH CREME ^ 25 Million Jars Already Used 86 long, as lonely, fear-ridden nights always are. But I fell asleep almost at once. I must have been completely exhausted, physically, mentally and emotionally. Next day was better, easier to get through, for I awoke with the strange, sort of suspended-in-air feeling that the whole thing was only something I'd dreamed. I sat down, before I went to work, to try to write a note to Dean, but I had to tear up three before I finally got down on paper one that made sense, one that didn't make me seem like a silly fool. Oh, I don't mean that I didn't care. There was a funny, hurt spot, like a sharp stone pressing into my breast. But sleep had somehow put a protective covering around it — the hurt was dull now, not swift pain. And the image of Dean had been strangely dulled, too. The sight of him, the sound of him, the touch of his hands was a memory and not a reality as I moved about in my dream-like state that morning. Strangely, I could remember Tom Trumble better. I could see his face sharply, recall his funny, half-awkward puppy-dog lovableness. I could remember what he had said to me before he left, and how he had gone, finally, with hope still in his heart. '"PHE office was buzzing when I got •* there. Anyone who's ever been in the radio business knows what a variable, uncertain, but fascinating profession it can be. Of course, I'd only been on the fringe, watching the stars, listening to the conferences, taking down the letters of negotiation and agreement, putting in my little two cents' worth at rehearsals, but even so, I always felt that radio was my job, that I was, in a small but still important way, a part of it. That morning, the buzzing in the office concerned that now-famous program of Hiya Soldier. Word had got around that the show at which the soldier "broke up" in a sentimental song and the popular Dean Hunter pulled the continuity together, was their best performance to date — that the show had really hit a new stride. And I felt — well, sort of possessive about the whole thing. I don't know how to explain it, but the office gossip, the talk that something new and important was brewing, in a way made up for the hurt Dean had caused me yesterday, for the loneliness, the sense of being at loose ends, which I felt. I was in Colonel Wilson's office that morning when one of the toughest radio men in Washington came in, to say, "We've got mail and calls and wires on that show that'd make your head swim. They loved it. It made people believe that it was the real goods. A soldier begins to cry while singing a song about his home. Then their favorite singer steps up and finishes the song for him while the audience chimes in. It's a winner! Boy, I've seen 'em try for an effect like that in rehearsal, but it never quite comes off. Believe me, it only goes over when it's the real thing." I suppose it was feminine vanity that came to my rescue to help me through that day. The idea that my husband and a boy who said he loved me were the center of a lot of talk like that gave me a warm little glow of pleasure, thawed away some of the ache. That afternoon came the telegram from Dean. It was short, and it was unsatisfactory — saying only that we'd see each other very soon — but it was something. It suggested no plan, gave me nothing to dream about, but it helped. So I was feeling a lot better when Colonel Wilson sent for me, just about closing time. And when I heard the Colonel's plan, my heart began to beat almost unpleasantly fast. He wanted a repeat show. Since everyone was in agreement — public and officials and critics alike — that it had been such a hit, why not bring the two men back on the program? I turned my face away, for I knew what that repeat performance would mean to me must show there. My heart raced, imagining it. That first program had had my destiny wrapped up in it. And now there was to be another one, one which would surely untangle, inevitably, dramatically, the twisted threads that fate had spun for me in the first one. The Colonel was waiting for me to say something, and finally I managed, "Do you think the Army will let Trumble come east again?" He shook his head. "That's the least of my worries. The real question is — can we get Dean Hunter to make another trip?" Could we? "Oh— I— I think so," I said, quickly. The Colonel smiled, and his eyes were twinkling. "Oh, we could, could we?" he chuckled. "What is this strange power you have over big radio stars?" I turned away from him, looking out the window at the scurrying traffic below, wondering myself — not what power, but if I really had it. Suppose I just sent for Dean, I mused. Just sent for him, without a reason, but urged him to come to me. Would he come? A husband would. Well, Dean was my husband — oh, but he wasn't like a husband! The Colonel's voice brought me Dack with a start. "You don't have to answer, young lady. I know how things are." I swung around to face him. "You mean you — ?" I began. XJE smiled and put up his hand to *■*■ stop me. "Now calm down, missy. I don't know any details. All I know is that I had a phone call from Dean Hunter before he went back to New York, and — " "He phoned you?" "Yes — he was trying to reach you and thought I might know where you were. When I told him that I didn't, he said he had to go back to New York, and he added, 'Take extra special care of her, will you, Bill?' " I felt as if I had walked into a bracing wind from a hot, stuffy room. Dean had tried to find me. Dean had told the Colonel to keep his eye on me. "He said that?" Colonel Wilson nodded. "Does that surprise you?" His eyes were twinkling again, pleasure crinkling the corners of his mouth. "No." Then I laughed a little, a laugh that sounded high and relieved. "No." "So listen to this, young lady. "We've decided on a repeat show, as I told you. And I've decided that you're just the person to go up to New York and arrange for a return appearance of Dean Hunter on Hiya Soldier!" "Me?" It was going to be all right. I could see Dean — "Yes, you." "When?"