Radio and television mirror (July-Dec 1942)

hearsal. This was what Nell was talking about, when she said she was glad. "Please, God," I prayed, "let it be true. Let him be alive. Give me a chance to tell him I love him, that it was all a horrible mistake. Please, God, give him back to me." I stared at myself in the mirror. Then, somehow, it wasn't my face there in the glass. It was Jimmy's face, smiling softly, his warm, dark eyes tender, as I had seen them so often, his lean face tan and glowing and his dark hair brushed tight to his head. I covered my eyes. I couldn't bear it. How could I have been such a fool? How could this have happened to us? VU E started our married life, Jimmy and I, with everything in our favor. We were young and healthy and ridiculously in love. The future was bright ahead of us. For such a young man, Jimmy was already a success — and it was a success of his own making. Only two years before we were married, when his father had died, Jimmy had left Annapolis — where he was just entering his third year — and had taken over the running of the small advertising agency, which in his father's hands had been a pretty shaky enterprise. In a short time, Jimmy had not only put it on its feet, but was well on the way to building it into a big thing. I was insanely happy, those first two years, and terribly proud of my Jimmy. I had everything a girl could ever want. I loved Jimmy and he loved me. He belonged to me and I belonged to him. And we were going to live happily ever after! By the time we'd been married almost three years, the agency had grown so much and prospered so well, that we were able to move to our own house in the suburbs. Jimmy gave me the house and, for himself, he bought a plane. It was a fine old house and I loved it. We were getting along fine. At least, I thought we were. And then, one morning, I woke up feeling strangely, unaccountably, empty and lonely. I couldn't understand it. Had Jimmy and I quarrelled and not made up? No, I remembered, we hadn't quarreled — not exactly. Jimmy had come home very tired, the evening before. We had had dinner in almost complete silence. And, afterwards, Jimmy had patted my shoulder and said, "Think I'll take a turn in the plane. Want to come, Janice?" I was a little irritated with him for asking me. He knew perfectly well I got sick in a plane. He also 18 "/ didn't want to break it to you this way," Jimmy said. "I can't put it off any longer." knew I hated his dashing off in that plane all the time. "Jimmy," I had said, "can't we drive in to town and see a movie, or something?" "Look, darling," he'd said. "I'm all tied up in knots— tight. I'll just take a short flight — just enough to relax. Then, we'll drive in and see a movie, hm?" "There was a time," I had said a little snappishly, "when I was enough for you — enough to make you relax, without needing a plane ride." Jimmy frowned. "You don't understand, Janice," he'd said with a helpless sigh. "There's something about flying — you don't like to flyso I can't explain it to you — the free feeling you get — the way everything, worries, problems, nerves, falls away from you up there." He'd gone out then. And he hadn't cohie RADIO AND TELEVISION MffiB08 back for hours. We didn't get in to a movie. I lay there a long time, that morning, thinking of all this. And always, I was stopped at that one point. "You don't understand. I can't explain it to you." Jimmy had said those things to me. My Jimmy, whom I had thought so close to me that we didn't need words for understanding, had Implied that there were things he could feel and know, which I never could. And I realized, suddenly, that there were lots of things, little things, that should have shown me Jimmy was drifting away from me. Now, I know what I should have done. I should have run to Jimmy, while it was all fresh in my mind and told him how frightened I was, how I felt. And, maybe, if I had, Jimmy would have told me all about his own feelings and all this stupidity and mess could have been averted. But I was hurt and bewildered and I thought only of myself. In a way, we were both at fault, I guess. But I see now that most of the fault was mine. Someone once said, wisely, that the art of love lies in forever finding something new in the same person. Well, Jimmy was always new to me. His business contacts kept him on his toes, his mind alive, growing. Every day, he brought home all this freshness, this newness to me. And I? I'm afraid I didn't change. I'm afraid I still lived in a dream world, full of hazy illusions and vague longings. I wanted us to "live happily ever after" and I was sure we would Just like that! These are things I understand and know, now. I didn't see them, then. Then, my pride was shattered, my belief in our love was gone. And, because I couldn't bear to stay around the house, where everything reminded me of my failure, I threw myself into a flurry of social activity and, very soon, found a balm, if not for my heart, certainly for my vanity. I made the happy discovery that other men found me attractive, even if Jimmy no longer did. And I thought that was better than nothing. JJAVING started on this path quite innocently, out of sheer pique and loneliness, I soon found myself being swept along it, almost against my will. Our marriage automatically became the kind of marriage, which, in some circles, is considered the ideal — one of these terribly modern, you-go-your-way-I'U-gomine affairs. Looking back on it, I don't see how Jimmy stood it. I know, now, that he was unhappy and confused and just as miserable without me, as I was without him. But I didn't find that out until much later — when it was all over. Then, I just drifted along, not caring too much where I was going. I'm still not quite clear how it happened that the circle of my admirers — and I had them — narrowed itself down to Raymond Haslitt. Ray fascinated me. He was the kind of person people are afraid not to know. He was rather thin, with blond hair and a long, sardonic looking face. His eyes were steely gray and deep set and wise, not in a kindly way, but in a cold, analytical way that saw right through people to their most hidden weaknesses. And Ray had no qualms about using the secrets his sharp eyes uncovered. His wit was based on exposing people's foibles. Maybe the other men began to stay away from me, because they were afraid of Ray's tongue. Maybe the choice was mine. Maybe I preferred Ray to the others, because I could be with him and never think of Jimmy, never find some word, some gesture, reminding mc of Jimmy and forcing me to make comparisons. I don't know. One Fall evening, after a round of night clubs, instead of heading for River road to take me home, Ray drove to his own apartment house. "It's late," I said, not getting out of the car. Ray grinned at me. "Time for a talk, my sweet." He pulled me out of the car. We rode up on the elevator to his penthouse in silence. He led me out to the terrace, pushed me into a chair and poured himself a drink. He stood before me, looking at me thoughtfully for a long time. Finally, he said, "How long does this go on?" "This— ?" I asked. "This imitation love affair — call it what you like," Ray said. "Are you in love with me, Janice?" I stared at him. "I— I don't know. No, I don't think I am," I said in a small voice. He laughed. "Well, that's an honest beginning." He sprawled out on a wicker settee and he was just a shadow in the darkness. "Now, we can talk this over without any sentimental nonsense. Will you marry me, Janice?" I was stunned. "Marry — ?" I stammered. "I'm married — I just said I don't love you — I — " "Wait," Ray said quietly. "Let me explain. I'm going to be perfectly frank with you. I don't know whether I love you, or not. I hope I don't. From all I've seen, love isn't much of a foundation for marriage. Look at yourself. You were in love with Jim, weren't you?" I nodded dazedly. "All right, what happened? You fell out of love and then you had nothing to hang on to." "If that's the way you feel," I said, "why do you want to marry me — or anyone?" Ray chuckled. "Maybe I don't love you, but I want you. You're a very lovely creature — very desirable. It's more than that, though. I'm pretty lonely. I know a lot of people, but I don't like them and they don't like me. Most of them are just afraid of me. Of all the people I know — especially women — you're about the only person I could stand having around. So here it is. I can't honestly offer you love, but I can give you companionship, a luxurious, amusing life and a reasonable amount of passion." "But there's Jimmy — " I began. "Come now," Ray said. "Isn't it a little late to resurrect your conscience? You be frank, too. Actually, you've been unfaithful to Jim for 19