Radio and television mirror (July-Dec 1951)

ii THERE'S ONLY ONE YOU../ wandered into Papa David's Book Shop one night and Papa David ended up by adopting me, naturally Toby's been in and out of the place ever since. So twhen he called long distance and said we had to come to his engagement party, we had to come. That's how I happened to land out there under the moon with Cal Duncan. That's how the trouble started. It didn't seem like trouble at the time. It didn't seem very important, even — just an awfully sweet guy with a nice voice singing to me under the moon. A guy without too much conceit, I thought, because when I told him how much I liked his voice he was almost too grateful. He kept saying, "Do you really, Miss Conrad? Do you honestly think it's a good voice?" I was puzzled by his eagerness. After all, so I think it's a good voice — so what? Who am I to judge if it's good or not? "It's just my opinion," I told him. "But the way you sing that song about 'Only One of Me' — that's good. Anyway, I've noticed all the others around here keep calling for you to sing all the time. That's pretty convincing." Cal Duncan sighed. "Oh sure, but that's only down here," he said. "Now you're from a big town, you've heard the best. If you think I'm good . . ." Well, with the moon and all, I wasn't thinking very clearly that night, or I'd surely have seen where the talk was heading. It wouldn't have taken much brains to see the guy was stagestruck, and I'd have maybe kept my big mouth shut about knowing Barry Markham, the Broadway producer. I didn't boast, of course, but I was just trying to make Cal feel good and show I was taking an interest in. him. And Papa David wasn't around to look thoughtful and say, "Now leben, is it the right thing to do, to encourage this young man to think you have connections that will help him. . . ?" Dopey Chichi, they better call me. Big-hearted but short-sighted. Because naturally, what do you think happened? We weren't back in New York a week before Cal Duncan turned up, complete with guitar, cowboy hat, big ideas — and little money. Startled was a mild word for what I felt when I saw him. At first it didn't quite sink in that he had practically come all the way from Texas to our doorstep, but as we sat around drinking coffee and talking, the picture began to clear up, and that was when I began to get more than startled. We, Papa David and I, were his friends in New York City! His only friends. When he was ready to come, he just packed up, got on a bus, went to a hotel and dropped his bags and his guitar, and came straight downtown to see us. The fact that we'd only known each other so briefly down in Texas — in fact, Papa David hardly knew him at all — didn't seem to bother Cal at all. He felt friend Lise Martaine — so lovely and so worldly, so very sufe of herself. ly toward us," so naturally we were his friends. He was right in one way; you couldn't help feeling warm and friendly toward those nice blue eyes and that big, confiding grin of his. What worried me was that as he told us about how he'd saved up and so on I began to realize that he wasn't just making a pleasure trip to the big town. He was seeking his fortune, like they do in books. And as Cal saw it, his fortune lay in show business. After a while Papa David looked at me and I looked at him and it was plain to both of us that Cal Duncan's main reason for coming to New York was to get me to introduce him to Barry Markham. "You see, Mr. Solomon, I've been hankering to come here all my life and try my luck singing. Never did get up the gumption till I met Miss Chichi down home." He looked at me, and suddenly I felt like patting him on the head. Or maybe like smoothing his hair, which in one spot stood straight up like a little boy's. "And when Miss Chichi was so encouraging, I made up my mind now was the time. I had to wait to get a couple weeks more pay saved up, and then I hustled me onto a bus. And here I am." He took a long gulp of coffee and sighed. "I been walking all over town all day, trying to get the hang of it. Sure is a busy place." Oh, I thought. Oh, me! He might as .well have pointed a long accusing finger and said right out, "Chichi Conrad, if it hadn't been for you I wouldn't be here. So you've got to do something to help me." Papa David interrupted my uneasy thoughts. "Chichi leben, don't bite your nails," he said gently. "Also I think Mr. Cal could use another piece of coffeecake." I jumped up! "There's something else I want to do first," I said briskly. "Cal, what hotel are you. at?" He pulled an old envelope from his pocket. "It's written down here — the Statler. Real fancy place, but—" "Expensive." I nodded. Here at least was something I could do. "I'm going to call Mrs. Calucchi's rooming house and get her to give you a room. Then you can save some on rent anyway." I went right out to the phone, partly because I wanted to get Mrs. Calucchi before she went to bed but more because I wanted to avoid the almost i pleading look in Cal's eyes. I knew what he was thinking. The room, that didn't matter. He'd sleep in the park if it came to that. It was Barry he wanted to know about — my big producer contact. Could I get him in to see Barry Markham or couldn't I — that was what his eyes were asking. And in spite of the years I've known Barry, in spite of knowing that Barry was in love with me, I couldn't answer that question offhand. I'd never asked him to do anything like this for me before — anything that leaned over (Continued on page 82) 54