Radio and television mirror (July-Dec 1942)

Contimied jrom page 50 to slip in and out among them on his agile feet. The captain stopped us at the door, and by the time Eddie had made a hurried explanation the music had stopped and Rudy was almost up to us. He reached the door and got to the head of the stairs as we ran down. His hand was in his pocket menacingly and I never heard such threat in a voice as when he said, "Stop right there, Rogers. Or you'll never have a chance to wish you'd kept away from my girl — " We were at the landing then, momentarily behind an ornate pillar. But the rest of the stairway was completely exposed to Rudy — and his pocket. Eddie stopped and whirled. There was a window behind us and with a lightning swift motion he had it up and got me on the sill. "I'll drop first," he said beside me, "and as soon as I land you jump. I'll catch you." IT WAS dark down there and if I'd -* had time I might have tried to persuade Eddie not to jump. But he had leaped before I could speak. I heard his feet thud on the pavement of the areaway and his low voice, sort of strained, gasping, "Come on." And I jumped. It was farther down than I expected, but his strong arms caught me so that I didn't feel much shock as I hit the concrete. I started off, but he grabbed me. "Help me, Marie," he whispered. "Quick, let me lean on your shoulder. Something's happened —my leg — " Somehow I controlled ray terror and we got around the corner to the street on the opposite side of the block from the main entrance. We were out of range of danger for the moment. But Eddie was sinking down, and he lay there on the sidewalk, horribly relaxed, his face a terrible gray under the streetlight. I forced back a scream and managed to signal a cruising taxi. "Get away quick," I gasped to the driver as he helped me get Eddie in. I guess I was still dizzy and stupid from the champagne, but there was just one thought in me; one stubborn certainty. If Eddie needed someone to look out for him, to take care of him, it had to be me. I had to take him home. I told the driver how to get to the Home Plate Diner. Well, maybe it was wrong. Maybe Eddie would have made a better recovery in the hospital, so that his leg would have been limber and free and agile again, instead of stiff the way it is now. I don't know. The doctors say — and maybe they're just trying to comfort me, now that it's too late to change anything — they say the damage was all done right there on the spot, when he stood with a broken leg and caught me in his arms, and kept going with me till he had me out of range of Rudy Scallare's drunken jealousy. Oh, I hope I didn't do wrong! Sometimes I've thought I'd give any 52 thing to see Eddie dance again, to feel the choking joy that used to tighten my throat as his toes tapped out their intricate rhythms. But how much worse, I've thought, Eddie himself must feel! For the first few weeks after Eddie was up and around on crutches, doing what he could to help us at the restaurant, sitting behind the cash register and giving the customers the jokes and patter that makes them crowd into the Home Plate just as they did at the Clover Club, I used to wonder how he could stand it. How could he smile, how could he think of jokes? It wasn't till nearly six months after we'd come back, a day in April, when something happened that sort of tripped me up into talking about things I'd never meant to. Eddie came down from his room early and he swung into the restaurant, using his cane in a way that made him look more swaggering than limping, so cocky and proud, it made tears come to my eyes, and yet I didn't feel sad, somehow. Dad looked up from the cash register and smiled at him in that sort of shy, loving way he had whenever he looked at Eddie, and got down from the stool. "All right, all right," he said, "you needn't tell me to get go iC«O»S«Q»O«0»Q4O40«O»O»0»e40«0«O»0tO(0«O«C*0»0«O»04e» &OAA rreiuLo lo JOSEPHINE ANTOINE— the Metropolitan Opera star who's singing on the NBC Carnation Contented program, Monday nights on NBC. Josephine is entirely American, in spite of her foreignsounding name. She was born in Boulder, Colorado, and never once went out of the United States to study music. Her lovely coloratura soprano voice was first heard at the Metropolitan in 1936 when she was twenty-one, but before that she'd won the Atwater Kent award and had sung in operatic productions of the Juilliard School of Music. You've also heard her many times on the air, first on the Palmolive Beauty Box shows and later as a frequent guest star. She's brown-haired and not very tall. •^•^♦©•©•©•©•©♦©♦©♦©♦©©©♦©♦©♦©♦©♦©♦©♦©♦©♦©♦©e©«©«©»©*©a©#©4©©oa0«©*©$©3©# ing. I know when I'm not needed." He took the newspaper from under the counter and tucked it under his arm and I watched him make his way to the back door. Outside he looked up at the sky and straightened his stooped shoulders and sort of shook his body the way a dog does when it feels the warmth of spring. Then he settled himself in a chair and started to read the paper, but I saw his eyes close and his gray head bow more and more, and he sat there dozing. "Eddie," I whispered, "come and look." He came to stand beside me. "Look," I breathed, "isn't it funny? I always used to dream of fixing things so Dad could sit in the sun. And now, to look at him, you'd think my dreams had all come true — " "Haven't they?" Eddie whispered, his lips almost against my ear, his breath soft on my cheek. His arm was tightening around me. "What do you mean?" I turned and stared into his face. There was a light in his blue eyes that stirred me and made me feel weak and soft, so that no matter how I tried I could not back here to this dreary life." "Is it dreary?" Eddie asked quietly. His eyes held mine, steadily, waiting for my answer, as if he really wanted to know the truth. "Have these six months been dreary for you, Marie?" "Why, Eddie—" My lips faltered. They weren't saying what I wanted them to say. "Eddie, it hasn't been dreary! Why, Eddie, all this time I was washing dishes and waiting on tables I thought I was just working hard to keep from thinking, but Eddie — do you know, Eddie — I — why, I've been liking it!" He chuckled, and there was a gay light in his eyes. "Se*e?" he asked. I shook my head. "No, I don't see, Eddie. Besides, what difference does it make about me? It's you that counts. You're the one that had the talent, the life before you. What about you?" "Well, what about me?" he asked quietly, "Look at me and tell me what about me." I looked at him as if my eyes had suddenly been opened and I saw for the first time that there was something different about his face. Something good that had not been there when we were working at the Clover Club. He wasn't tense and thin and taut-looking. His face was firm and smooth and there was a look in his eyes — peace, it seemed like. "Eddie. I can't believe you like this life!" He said, ' 'You've got it, honey. I like it, and so do you. We like a life that means we're doing something together, something worth doing. What's dreary about feeding people that need to eat to do jobs that have to be done? What's dreary about working with someone you love? What's dreary about planning and figuring so that we can go on and build and work together — with your hand in mine — always?" His eyes were really shining now. He led me to the little office behind the cash register. "See here, honey?" His hands were trembling as he drew some blue prints out of the drawer. really make things seem bad to myself, when I said the words. "Eddie, how could my dreams have come true? I've not only failed myself, but wrecked your career and dragged you TF we can turn the living quarters back there into an addition that will take care of ten more customers we can have enough help so you can stay home and keep house. If we make it big enough to handle twenty more, we can start buying a house for you to keep. And if there's room for forty more, we can give you a little more to do at home — say taking care of a baby — " Even his calculations didn't go beyond that. It was far enough for both of us. Far enough to give me the wisdom it had taken a long time for me to learn, but wisdom that I would never lose, now that I had it. I knew now that it was not the outward things that make a life humdrum and dreary or glowing and wonderful — it is the inner purpose, the reason for what you're doing. I had loved my work, as I would love any work, because I was doing it for Eddie. And, with Eddie, I always would. RADIO MIRROH