Radio and television mirror (July-Dec 1942)

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New York, New York 68 Helpmate Continued from page 30 Then one morning, Linda came back from her marketing to find a note on the table. "Jacoby called," Steve had scribbled. "Have gone up to see him. I love you." It was late afternoon before Steve got home. Linda had arranged a bowl of flowers on the piano and the little apartment had a festive air. But the moment Steve entered the room it seemed to disappear. He came in heavily, hardly looking at Linda, and threw a bundle on the table. "Steve—" "Well, there it is," he said. "What, darling? What happened?" Linda was frightened. "There it is," Steve repeated. "What is it?" "It's the score — the score of my Symphony." Steve's lips curled with anger and fatigue. "Your Symphony?" Linda was bewildered. "Our Symphony," Steve said. "But Steve—" Steve suddenly leaned forward and buried his face in his hands. Linda ran to him. "Steve — Steve, darling — " At last Steve looked up and drew himself away. "Well, you may as well know, Linda," he said in a strained voice. "Know what? Tell me, Steve." "You ought to know. You know what I've been feeling. What I've been expecting to happen. Well, it happened." "No, Steve," Linda said. "I don't know. You've got to tell me." "Well, Jacoby tried to be nice about it — said he still liked my music — but that the Society found it impossible to play it this season. I would have to wait, he said. Wait! After all the waiting I've done!" "The Society isn't going to play your music?" "I'm trying to tell you — Jacoby said they wanted to hold it until next season— oh, he gave me quite a line — about how wonderful my Symphony was — but that it had to wait." "But Steve — that's the truth. Mr. Jacoby does think your music is wonderful— " "Yes? Well, it seems the Board didn't agree with him. But he didn't fool me. I wish he'd had enough respect for me to give it to me straight from the shoulder." "Give you what straight from the shoulder?" Linda asked. "That he doesn't like my music any more. That it was just a passing enthusiasm on his part." Steve drew himself up. "Anyway, I got my score back." "You asked him for it?" Linda was horrified. "Of course I asked him for it. I did what I thought was right. Jacoby may have no respect for me, but I've got some for myself." But Steve was wrong, terribly wrong. Slowly, patiently, Linda pieced together the whole story. Mr. Jacoby had found it impossible to include Steve's Symphony in this season's repertory. That was all. But Steve's impatience had overflowed. By taking his score back he had perhaps antagonized the great conductor, injured his career as a composer. For days Linda tried to make Steve understand. She wanted to call Mr. Jacoby herself, but Steve turned on her so harshly that she didn't dare. Steve refused to discuss his music or his actions. He was morose and surly, hardly talking to Linda at all. He sat and brooded for hours and never touched the piano. It was only Linda's recognition of his unhappiness that made her own unhappiness bearable. But Linda couldn't give up hope. Steve must be made to understand. He had to call Mr. Jacoby, speak to him, come to some understanding with him, Mr. Jacoby thought so highly of the Symphony. It was a fine piece of work. Steve shouldn't, couldn't allow his own feelings to stand in the way of its performance — even if it meant waiting a whole year. Or even many years. Linda tried in a hundred ways, but she couldn't reach Steve. The pain and heartbreak in her voice and face seemed to drive him further away from her. But still, Linda tried, until Steve would grow harsh and impatient, or merely sullen. Then one night, even Steve couldn't stand the tension in the house. He grabbed his hat, mumbled something about getting an evening paper, and went out. The picture of Linda sitting there, so miserably unhappy, followed him. But what right did she have picking on him all the time? Why couldn't she leave him alone? He knew what he was doing. He was right. XTE bought a paper, then decided to •*-•* step into a coffee shop for a cup of coffee. He'd sit there and think it through. There wasn't any sense in his going back to listen to Linda's reasons why he should call Jacoby and apologize. Apologize! Steve sat at a corner table and tried to read his paper. But all he could see before him was Linda's hurt, unhappy face. Unhappy because of him, for him. Linda wanted him to be a success. She loved him, he knew that. It was a good thing to know. As Steve sat there, all his anger and resentment began to fade. "I'll have a cup of coffee, then get some flowers for Linda," he decided "And then maybe we can talk this whole thing out." He looked up to summon the waitress. There was a girl standing by his table, looking down at him, smiling. "Good evening, Steve," she said. "Agnes." "We always seem to be running into each other." "Yes," Steve said uncomfortably. "I guess we do." "All alone?" she asked. Then without waiting for Steve to reply she sat down opposite him. The waitress brought them their coffee. "You look tired, Steve," Agnes said. "I am tired." "Funny — our meeting each other this way — " Agnes began. "What's funny about it? I live just around the corner, and you — " "I don't live so far away," Agnes said. Steve stirred his coffee. "Your wife — " "My wife's fine, thank you," Steve said quickly. RADIO AND TELEVISION MIRROR