Radio and television mirror (July-Dec 1942)

Where Are You, Dearest? Continued -from page 13 But as far as I was concerned it was settled. Susie Brown wasn't the girl I had left behind. She was the girl who had left me behind. Three years ago she had left our home town, kissing me absent-mindedly on the ear and tossing another popcorn into !; her mouth as she climbed on the train ' for the big city. That was one thing about Susie — -if you didn't like popcorn you'd better stay away from : her, because she ate it by the pound. ! It used to irritate me and it was alI ways one of the things we fought [ about — not that it did any good, because she just kept on eating popI corn. It's funny about people, though. I Since she'd been away, that popcorn1 eating habit of hers seemed to me j to be one of the most endearing things , in the world. I even took to eating i it myself! Susie wrote to me a few times when she got to New York, but her letters I were just like Susie — kind of absent I minded and rambling. They never j really said anything — except maybe she'd seen a good movie or met a I nice girl or made friends with the I keeper of the lion house at the Cen I tral Park Zoo. She never once said she missed me or would like to see me, and it made me pretty unhappy because Susie was my favorite girl I in Senior Class the year before she left. 1 REALIZE now that it was mostly my fault. I had never tried to understand Susie. She had an adventurous spirit and I always tried to quell it. I wanted to marry Susie some time and I had an idea that any wife of mine would have to be the kind of person whose whole world was bound up in her home. I was too young to know then that sometimes a woman can be interested in dozens of different things and still be a wonderful wife. I was selfish, too. I wanted Susie all to myself. I resented it when she read so many books and took art courses and talked about wanting to travel and see the world. I didn't understand that her restlessness was mostly curiosity about life and the world in general. She wanted to know and see and do everything. It was inevitable that she should go to New York, and after she had gone I was sorry I hadn't been more understanding about it. Well, her letters kept getting scarcer, and pretty soon they stopped, except for an occasional post-card showing a scene of the Statue of Liberty or Grant's Tomb, with Susie's unreadable scrawl on the back. By that time I had gotten on my high horse and told everybody I didn't care about not hearing from her. And then the war came and I got into the Army and things went along so fast that I didn't even have a chance to think about Susie. Except nights sometimes, or when I saw somebody eating popcorn. And then this two-day leave came along and all of a sudden I decided I wanted to see Susie. After all, I told myself, I hadn't seen her for three years, and she had been my best girl, and I'd like to know that she was getting along all right, and besides I didn't know anybody else in New York. It's amazing the num NOVEMBER, 1942 ber of excuses you can think up for doing what you want to do! Jeff was against the whole idea. He kept saying there were better things to do than look up a girl I hadn't seen for three years, but the more abusive he got the more determined I became. It was suddenly a burning necessity. I just had to find Susie! WE got off at Pennsylvania Station and I maneuvered Jeff into the 8th Avenue Subway. "She used to live in a boarding house on West 86th Street," I told him. "We'll go up there first." We finally got to the address on West 86th Street— I checked it with an old letter of Susie's — the last one she'd ever written to me as a matter of fact — and I rang the bell. A regular old battle-axe of a woman came to the door and practically snapped my head off when I said I was looking for Susie Brown. "Nobody here by that name," she said, and started to close the door. "Wait a minute," I yelled. "She used to live here. See?" and I showed her the return address on Susie's letter. She peered near-sightedly at the letter. "Humph," she grunted, "maybe her name's in the forwarding book. I'll look." And she closed the door in our faces. Jeff grinned at me. "Neighborly old sort, isn't she?" I shrugged my shoulders and we both waited. Pretty soon the door opened again and the old lady stuck her head out. "Well, there was a Susie Brown left here two years ago. No forwarding address." "No forwarding address at all?" I asked, crestfallen. "Hold on," and she ran her finger down the notebook she held in her hand. "Only address is a night-club on 52nd Street — 'The Last Drink' it's called. Humph! I remember her now. Might know she'd end up like that. Girl had no manners. Used to eat popcorn all the time — even at the supper table. Humph! — cigarette girl in a night club." I pounded Jeff on the back. "Hear that, Jeff? — She used to eat popcorn all the time. That's Susie all right" Jeff pretended to cough violently. "Thanks, Ma'am," I said to the old lady, and pulling Jeff along bodily, started for the subway. I was excited. I'd be seeing my Susie pretty soon! With Jeff protesting every step, we got off the subway and found "The Last Drink" night-club. The head-waiter came rushing up to us with a big smile, but when he found out we were looking for a cigarette girl named Susie Brown, the smile faded and he shook his head. "Never heard of her," he said. But I insisted. "I know she used to work here." "How long ago?" he asked. "Two years ago." He shrugged his shoulders and smiled a little ruefully as he told me that two years was almost a lifetime as far as most night-clubs are concerned. 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