Radio and television mirror (July-Dec 1942)

place been here longer than two years?" I asked. He thought a moment, then his face brightened. "The cook's been here for three years. Wait a minute— I'll get him." And he hurried to the back of the club. Pretty soon he came back with a white-capped chef in tow. "This is Andre," he told us. "Maybe he can give you some information." So we talked for a while with Andre, but didn't seem to be getting anywhere at first. He didn't remember any Susie Brown, he said. I described her to him — brown eyes, brown hair, medium height, turnedup nose, sweet smile, but it still didn't jog his memory. "She was from Oakdale, Indiana," I finally said desperately, "and she had a dog named Cracker." LIE wrinkled his brow thoughtfully. " "There was a girl here once from Indiana, but her name wasn't Susie Brown. And this girl's hair was red and her smile wasn't so very sweet. As a matter of fact, she didn't get along very well with the rest of the help. She had kind of a mean disposition." "Doesn't sound much like Susie," I said doubtfully. "This girl's name was Sue LeBrun," said the chef. "That's something like Susie Brown." "But that red hair and that mean disposition ..." I started to say, and then Jeff interrupted me. "Did Sue LeBrun eat popcorn all the time?" he asked Andre. Andre threw up his hands. "Did she eat popcorn! She ate it all the time, and not only that, but she was the first cigarette girl in a New York nightclub to sell popcorn!" Jeff and I solemnly shook hands. "It's her, all right," I said, and turned back to Andre. "She must have dyed her hair. But what we want to know now is, where is she?" Andre looked at me sympathetically, for a minute, then he waved an arm at some murals on the wall. "See those paintings?" We said we saw them all right. You couldn't help seeing them — they were splashed from floor to ceiling in dazzling colors. "Well," Andre went on. "Those were painted by a young artist named Julian Scott." We couldn't see where that fitted into the story, but Andre went on talking. It seemed that Julian Scott was a starving young painter who had made a bargain with the manager of the night club to paint murals on all the walls for free food and drinks. He was more interested in the drinks than in the food, Andre said. One day he was in the kitchen and he saw Susie — or Sue LeBrun, as she was then calling herself. It was a case of love at first sight for both of them. "And," Andre finished, "she married Julian Scott and they went to live in Greenwich Village. 23 Macdougall Street. I remember, because I used to send them a little food now and then — just in case." My head whirled and I felt a little sick. My Susie married to a painter and living in Greenwich Village! I didn't know what to think. I just stood there dumbly, staring at Andre. Susie — married! She might at least have waited a little longer, a small reproachful voice inside me whis 56 pered. It just didn't add up right, somehow. Whatever adventurous ideas Susie had ever had she was basically a sensible person with both feet on the solid ground. It wasn't like her to dye her hair and change her name. And it certainly wasn't like her to fall in love with a drunken artist and marry him after knowing him for only a few weeks. I couldn't understand it. And that business about her not getting ?.long well with the other people who worked at the night club. Why, Susie Brown was one of the friendliest people I've ever known. Everybody back in Oakdale was crazy about her. Walking down Main Street with Susie was almost like a parade. Everybody she'd meet wanted to stop and talk to her. The whole thing just didn't make sense. Jeff shuffled his feet then and coughed apologetically. "C'mon, Chip," he said, patting me on the shoulder, "we may as well get goin'. With Susie married and everythin' . . ." But what Andre had just said about sending them a little food now and then suddenly hit me full force. Good "We cannot have all we want if our soldiers and sailors are to have all they need." — Franklin D. Roosevell BUY WAR BONDS Lord, maybe Susie was starving! Maybe that husband of hers couldn't even pay the rent. Maybe she was sitting all alone in a garret somewhere with nothing to eat. Even if she was married, I wanted to be sure that things were all right with her. All I wanted now was to see her with my own eyes and know that she wasn't in any trouble. It was a little difficult to persuade Jeff that we still had to find her, but after some grumbling and arguing he came along with me and we got on a Sixth Avenue bus and headed foi Greenwich Village. We found 23 Macdougall Street and knocked at the purple door. Imagine! I said to myself — Susie Brown from my home town, living in a Greenwich Village studio with a purple door! The door didn't open, but a window upstairs was raised and a woman's head appeared. We asked for Mrs. Julian Scott and she shook her head. Then we asked her if she knew of a Sue LeBrun or a Susie Brown. She didn't, but she told us that if anyone would know, it would be Old Adam, who could probably be found at Angelo's, around the corner. So we went to Angelo's and there in a corner of the room at a little table by himself sat an old man with a long beard and a beret. "That must be Old Adam," Jeff said, and we walked over to him. He was pretty vague about Susie. There was a girl, he said, that Julian Scott once painted. She had long red hair that fell over her shoulders and a white unsmiling face. She never talked, and she always carried around a small black monkey wherever she went. That didn't sound like Susie to me, but when I asked him if she ate popcorn and he said she did, I knew it must be. "Do you know where she is now, sir?" I asked him, and was startled when he turned on me angrily. "Go away," he said thickly. "Leave the past alone. The Village has its ghosts — don't disturb them." I hastened to assure him that I was a friend of Susie's and wanted to help them if they needed help. He relented then and told us what had happened. Julian Scott had been a friend of his, Old Adam said, so he knew exactly how it was. Julian was not a successful artist. He drank too much, for one thing. He couldn't seem to help himself. And when he would try to sell a picture and couldn't he'd go over to Angelo's and try to drown his desperation in whisky. Susie just sat at the table with him and watched him ruin his life. When he couldn't drink any more she would take him home. And then, one night, Julian shot himself. It was the old story, Adam said — it had happened before and it would happen again. For six months after that, Susie sat in their old room in the Village and hardly spoke to anyone. People would try to talk to her, but she just stared at them and turned away. Then she went to the 43rd Street Hotel, and never came back to the Village again. Old Adam shook his head sorrowfully and then turned his back on us in an unmistakable gesture of dismissal. We walked quietly out of the little restaurant and stood on the sidewalk for a moment, blinking at the street lights. "Gee," said Jeff, "your Susie sure had her troubles." I NODDED my head and without a * word we caught an uptown bus and got off at 42nd Street. Walking around the corner to the 43rd Street Hotel, we decided we'd spend the night there and ask about Susie in the morning. Jeff was inwardly writhing at not getting over to Broadway, but it was late by then and we were both tired, and he sensed my unhappiness about Susie, so he didn't say anything. I was in a turmoil over the whole thing. Poor Susie! All those things to have happened to the gay little happy-go-lucky Susie I used to know. It didn't seem possible, yet there it was. And I clenched my fists as I realized how wrong I had been ever to let her go away from me. Well, it won't happen again, I told myself grimly. This i time I'll find her and let her know how I feel about her. Maybe it's too late — maybe she's forgotten all about me, but at least I can try. I didn't get much sleep that night, and got up the next morning early, more determined than ever to find \ her. Maybe she was right there in ■ the hotel! Maybe even in the next j room! I routed Jeff out of bed and ! together we went down to the desk to RADIO MIRROR J