Radio and television mirror (July-Dec 1942)

"Don't try to laugh it off. Don't fence with me," he said almost roughly. "This is important." It was. And when the music stopped and he led me back to Harry and took his arm from about me, I drew a long, shuddering breath as though I'd been released from an embrace. Harry smiled at us. "You looked fine, dancing together. You ought to do it again." "It's too hot," I said quickly. "As a matter of fact," Ken said, "it would be a wonderful night for a boat ride on your lake, Mr. Ormsby. How about it?" "It might be for you youngsters, Ken, but the dampness is bad for an old guy like. me. Besides, I've got to get a couple of tables of bridge started for those who don't want to dance. Why don't you take Carol for a quick ride?" "But Harry—" "No, run along. I've got to be a host now." And he moved away from us, whistling his cheerful little whistle. There was moonlight on the lake and we drifted along with the breeze soft on our faces. I had been afraid to come on this ride, afraid of my own feelings. Yet I had come and I was still afraid, only now the fear seemed part of the high excitement. After a while Ken stopped rowing, and we floated in the moonlit stillness, and talked. Ken told me about himself. He'd been a poor boy, left alone as I was, and he'd worked his way through college to learn to be a chemist. When he got out jobs were few and hard to get. "I piled up debts I'm still paying off, while I waited," he said. "But that wasn't what worried me the most. It was the feeling of wasting myself, my youth, everything." I nodded sympathetically. I, too, had felt that. Then he'd come to Harry for a job, and Harry had been interested in him. He'd given Ken the first really important job he'd ever had, and all the boy's driving, rebellious energy had gone into it. He lived for it and in it. But he was lonely. "In fact, tonight is the first time in my life I've ever not been lonely. And that's because of you . . ." "Maybe it's because I have been, too, and I understand." I looked away from him as I said it, trying to keep my tone only conversational, but I felt his eyes on my face as they had been when we danced. Then, as if by mutual consent, we changed the serious tone of our conversation, and we were laughing when we got back to the dock. After he had helped me out of the boat, Ken said, "When can I see you again?" "Why — tomorrow. Everybody's staying over until Sunday." "I don't mean here, at the house party. I mean alone. Will you have lunch with me next week?" "I'm — really awfully busy these days, Ken." His grasp on my arm tightened. "I asked you not to fence with me. What about Monday?" "But I — all right, Ken, Monday." T'M sure that all the guests at that house party had a wonderful time, because Harry is an excellent host. But never once was I really aware of them or whether they had a good time or not. Nor did I remember the real purpose of the party, which was to give Harry the chance of observing them. All that I was aware of was Ken Willis. We seemed drawn together like the opposite poles of a magnet, and no matter what one of us was doing — swimming in the lake or chatting with the others or driving around the countryside — the other one would be there too. If Harry noticed, he gave no sign. Driving back to town Sunday night I told Harry I was lunching with Ken the next day. "That's good," he said. "I'd like your opinion of him. The field has pretty well narrowed down between him and Bill Dean. Tell me what you think, so I can make my final decision." I think that Sunday night was the longest I ever spent. I couldn't get Ken out of my mind. Maybe, I thought, I'd been mistaken. Maybe it had been a kind of abnormal excitement— just the mood I was in, undecided about my real love for Harry, and all that. But when I saw him Monday noon at the little French restaurant, I knew it had been no mistake. The same surcharge of electricity went through me and I knew this was the feeling I'd been waiting for all those ' years when I hadn't married. We made conversation for a while about trivialities, each trying to be j natural. Finally Ken said, "Let's ! quit stalling, Carol. It isn't any good. If things were different with me I'd never talk to you like this — about the books we've read lately and how we get along in our jobs; I'd talk to you about what I'm feeling — and what you are too." In one last vain attempt to be casual, I said. "And What is that?" "Face it, Carol. There's something tremendous between us and we both know it. It happened — bingo, just like that. But I'm in no position to offer you anything. If I could, if I had a better job — " "But I'm engaged to Harry, Ken. I thought you knew. I thought everybody in the plant knew that." "I do know," he said bitterly. "And I know he can give you everything in the world and I can give you nothing." "It isn't what he can give me! That has nothing to do with it. I promised to marry him for what he is in himself." "He's a great guy, all right. But you don't feel for him what you do for me." "I — I'm not sure . . ." "I'd make you sure. If I could only say, 'Marry me right now!' If I could only — " "Oh, don't!" I cried. "Don't." For I knew something that Ken didn't. I knew if I urged Harry to put him at the head of the plant he would do it. Then Ken would have enough money to support a wife. His voice was urgent in my ears. "Harry's going to Washington on business this weekend. Have dinner with me Saturday night, Carol. I've got to see you again." "I can't," I said miserably. "Please don't ask me." "You're being cowardly. You're afraid to face facts. That's not fair to any of us, Carol." He was right. There's no sense, ever, in trying to evade the truth. "Till Saturday, Ken," I whispered as we said goodbye. Being with Harry that week was like tearing my heart into small pieces. While he talked of what our life would be like when he was established in his new job in Washington, I was thinking of another man — of a keen dark face and an urging voice. While he kissed me, I was wondering how I could ever bring myself to hurt this fine, sweet man who loved me so much. He seemed to sense something was wrong. Continued on page 52 RADIO AND TELEVISION MIRROR