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

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The fact is, it's difficult to remember and believe how gay and unconcerned the people were that night. Margaret Shelley had a great knack of gathering together all the most amusing and attractive people in the radio industry. Her home was one of those big frame houses set on a little hill with sloping lawns, with one huge maple tree and shrubs and hedges that gave you the feeling there was no form or plan to the landscaping but that there wasn't a corner of the estate that wasn't picturesque. The house, by the time we got there that fall evening, was simply jammed with guests. Margaret knew everybody, and nobody who was invited to one of her parties ever failed to show up. Margaret was witty and warm — a warmth I felt the moment Dean introduced us. "This is my favorite person, Margaretta," he said and she took my hand warmly and said, "I'm really glad to know you." THERE was glamour in the place and everybody felt it. There was tension, too, and I soon found out why. It centered around Dean Hunter — and me. A lot of us were crammed into the little room beside the huge dining room. Here Margaretta was accustomed to hold court behind the tiny bar and mix each guest's favorite drink. There were more of us in this cubicle than in all the other rooms of the huge house put together. But it was very gay and the air was filled with pleasant banter. Then Margaretta said in her forthright way, "Oh, Dean, I must tell you. Diana is coming." I saw that his face went suddenly pale, but he said, "Margaretta, you demon. You know she shouldn't — " "Now I know just what you're going to say, Dean," she told him, "but don't be silly enough to think that I'd invite her. Not me. She just wrote me a note which said — well, here it is right here — so listen: 'Dear Margaretta. Of course^ you can't invite me to your soiree since Dean will have to bring his little visiting firewoman. But I wouldn't miss it for the world, darling, so I'll be there with bells on. Love, Diana.' Think of it — a thing like that happening right in these four walls! How does it feel, child," she went on, smiling at me warmly, "to be in the middle of a drama? Just you, and Dean, and this fantastic demon of a woman . . ." Then Margaretta Shelley was suddenly starting a new sentence, directed at the tall, striking blonde who had come into the room, and whom I instantly recognized as the girl I'd seen in the lobby of the Washington hotel that fateful morning-after. Margaretta was saying, "Why, Diana. Fancy meeting you here. Don't you really think you should knock before entering a private apartment?" Diana Stuart's voice was calm, dangerously so. "Now, Margaretta, don't you start being clever. I came here to look at the little Washington heartbreaker and I intend to . . ." She faced me squarely but went on talking to the crowd. "Well," she said, "she's not half bad, is she, in a certain repulsive sort of way?" There was a gasp, like a hiss from an engine, in that little room. People began to turn away and Margaretta was busy with mixing a drink. Dean was incredibly pale, glaring with unrelenting fury at this woman. It was easy to see that she had had too many drinks and that she was determined to cause trouble. Some sixth sense told me that this was one time in my life when I had to call on all my self control to keep from showing the white fury that burned inside of me. I said very quietly to Margaret Shelley, "Perhaps I should have a drink, please. I'd like to try to catch up." Margaretta laughed out loud, and Dean gasped. Diana Stuart turned on her heel and unluckily for her staggered a little as she went into the other room. Then Margaretta said with emphasis, "We'll drink to you, Washington heartbreaker. You're all right, God love you," and the crowd's . nervousness dissolved in laughter as they all joined in the drink. Supper passed uneventfully — Margaretta managed to keep Diana and me conveniently apart. It was a superb buffet, spread across the long dining room table with every manner of meat, fish, and hors d'oeuvre. All of us ate eagerly, because it was so excellently planned and prepared, and because the wine we were served was a rare experience even in those days. After dinner, Margaretta found a chance to take me aside and tell me what apparently had been on her mind all evening. "Tell me something," she said when we were sitting alone in a little window cove in her bedroom, "hasn't Dean ever told you about this Diana Stuart?" "He gave me a letter to mail to her once. A good-by letter." "Isn't that just like Dean! Well, I thought he wouldn't tell you directly. So I will. They have been very close for almost six years." "I see." "She's married to somebody else." "I see." "She never has wanted to get a divorce because her husband takes very good care of her and she was never sure that Dean would." "I see." "Stop saying I see." "I'm sorry," I turned away from her ©tt£-!)Hfnut0 Prag^r ® <©oli of lobe anb feinbness, forgibe out humanity for all its rrueltp anb baroness. Sustain those toho labor to allebiate pain. Strengthen the hearts of those toho gibe foot) to the starbing millions, (©rant Wbp Spirit in full measure to all those toho speak tombs of comfort artb hope to the bereabeb. Strengthen the faith of those toho prap anb labor totnarb the bap of peace anb goob brill. 3)n 3Jesus' JSame. Submitted by: The Rev. Dr. D. B. Titus, Minister of the First Christian Church in Woodland. California Broadcast over Mutual RADIO MIRROR