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

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Promise for Tomorrow Continued from page 15 gives you a chance to he with him, nor can you explain that you're very glad to be here, because he means more to you than anyone has ever meant before or ever will again. No, you couldn't say any of those things — and he wouldn't guess them, not ever in a thousand years. It was spring outside and an earlyevening breeze danced through the open windows of the office and ruffled my hair. I brushed back a dark strand from my forehead. "First to Robert Darnett," he was saying. "Washington, D. C. My dear Bob—" My pencil raced over the paper almost automatically, in time to his words. I tried to concentrate on the meaning of those words, to lose myself in the work. The new shipment of parachutes would be delayed three days, to make improvements. These would be the most practical developments— But other thoughts kept crowding into my mind. I tried to keep them away — I didn't want to admit to myself the full and somehow frightening truth — that I'd actually fallen in love with him. How did I dare to fall in love with this lean young man who sat only a few feet from me, whose heart and soul were wrapped up in his business, who didn't really think of me as a human being at all, but only a part of the office equipment? T^UNNY how things happen, how -* different people are, how life gets itself all mixed up. Take Helen, for instance, my sister. She and I are millenniums apart. Helen's pretty as a princess and she's tall and slim, and her dark, curling hair falls to her shoulders. But it's more than that — Helen has a manner, a gaiety in her laughter and talk. Men seem to cluster around her — there's hardly an evening when she isn't off to some party or dance. Both Helen and I have worked ever since father died three years ago. Helen started as a model and worked up to be assistant buyer in a department store, and I've been typist and stenographer at the McAllister Textile Company. Helen's only a year older than I, and even though we're so different, we've always been terribly close — in a way. But you see, I was afraid. To start with, I was — well, it sounds like a funny thing to say about your sister, but I was afraid of Helen. It wasn't her fault that she was always the center of attention, that from the time, years ago, when boys first began to come around to our house they always came to see Helen. Or, if they didn't come to see Helen the first time, it was always Helen they came to see the second time and all of the times afterward. And pretty soon I just got so I didn't ever bring boys home any more. It hurt too much. Out of that fear of Helen grew other fears. I knew I wasn't beautiful, and in contrast to Helen, I just simply wasn't anything. And so I set aside a neat little compartment in my heart, and I locked it. That place was for love, and maybe the door would never be opened. I swore I'd stay away from love, stay away so I'd never be hurt. I would make my career my life. I would find all of my happiness in work. But you can't, not really. And in my heart I knew I was hungry for love. Only it had to be real, it had to be new and clear and honest, it had to mean more than anything in the world. It couldn't be cheap or tawdry — it had to be more than schoolboy kisses and petting in the rumble seat. I certainly had had no intention of falling in love with Victor McAllister. Yet, looking back, it seems that it was almost inevitable. I knew how the firm was in bad shape when he took over after his father died — how he battled with the doddering trustees and forced them to agree to convert to making parachutes for the Army. I knew the way he had of making a decision and fighting it through. And I knew, also, how those hard gray eyes could suddenly kindle and seem eager and somehow lonely. You watch a man at his work, learning these things about him, day after day, until — until one bright morning you realize you're in love. The dictation was done and I closed the book with a professional snap and stood up. Mr. McAllister leaned back in his chair and glanced up at me. I could see the fatigue in his gaunt features — fatigue that had come with long hours of work daily, month after month, since the outbreak of war. Our eyes met and for a long instant we were looking at each other without speaking. There was something electric in that moment. I didn't want it to end. Yet I was afraid — afraid my eyes might tell him something my lips would never say. I turned away from him quickly. He stood up, walked to the window, gazed out at the darkened office buildings and factories. "You like working, don't you, Miss — Miss Prim?" His lips broke in a smile. Across the room from him, I drew back a step. Miss Prim, he'd called me. "That's not my real name," I said hurriedly. "My real name is Miss Marshall. The girls outside made up the other name — " IT sounded silly, saying that. I 1 watched Mr. McAllister light his pipe. "I know," he told me. "You've worked here over a year, haven't you? I was only — tell me, why do they call you Miss Prim?" I shook my head. I wondered if he were joking with me or — or trying to make friends. "I don't really know," I lied. "Maybe it's because I'm mostly interested in work." For a moment he seemed puzzled. Then he said, "Yes, I know. You're — you're really in love with your work, aren't you? You find romance in doing your job. I know because — that's the way I am, too." "Yes, I know you are," I told him. Then, without pausing to think a moment I said, "You've been working too hard, Mr. McAllister. You ought to take a good rest." I stopped short, horrified at myself. It sounded presumptuous and out-ofplace for me to tell him that. But he wasn't angry — he was grinning. "You sound," he said dryly, "almost like a wife." With an effort I managed to smile "I guess it's — really a sisterly instinct Besides — the firm ought to watch ou1 for its president, times like these." "For its young ladies, too," he said RADIO MIRROP