Radio and television mirror (July-Dec 1942)

of Castle. This time there was nothing new ahead of me, no city of wonders to conquer, to dull the pain of parting. I went back to New York with nothing to look forward to. Before that trip to Castle my work, my life in New York, had been the foremost things, the things I'd kept in the front of my mind. Michael had been the hidden thing, the hurt which I must shut away, the deep shame which I must gloss over or be unable to bear. But after I came back from the funeral, Michael filled my mind and heart. I knew that I must not let that be, that I must fill them with something else, that each day must be a cup which overflowed, leaving no room for the pain, for the shame of what I had done to Michael and to myself, for the regret. And so, when I got back to New York I went to work as I had never worked before. Perhaps in the future, sometime far in the future, I could let myself think of Michael again. But not now. Now his hurt was too new, and it had doubtless edged the old one to a fresh sharpness. He didn't want me. He didn't want to see me. I knew that without being told. So I must fill my time so that I could keep, as far as possible, from wanting him past the point of bearing that want. Because, having seen Michael once more, I knew that all I had was dust compared to one day of working side by side with him. INHERE was my program, of course — and that doesn't mean that I appeared one night each week, and sang. It meant conferences and rehearsals that took up a good part of the week. And to fill the rest of it, I volunteered my services to the U.S.O. for the shows they staged at nearby army camps. Michael was a soldier now. He would go away. He might not come back. He would be lonely, tired, discouraged, sick sometimes. There were other soldiers who perhaps were lonely and tired, too. Singing for them, I was singing for Michael. I filled time so full that the days seemed hardly to separate into distinct periods, but to slide by, one into another. And the weeks into months. And the months into a year. Only once during that year had I heard from Michael — a card, three months after Anne's funeral. "My affairs at WNUX are all settled, and I leave tomorrow. Good luck, honey. I'll let you know what happens." But no word as to the camp he was going to, no word at all, after that. The camp shows were fun. I've never in my life had so very appreciative an audience as those boys with eager faces, with hands ready to applaud almost before I'd finished, with voices raised to cry for more. I sang the songs I hadn't sung since the days of "Sweet Dreams" — old ones, simple ones, songs to remember. And everywhere I went, I saw Michael in uniform. There were so many big men, well-put-together men, with squared shoulders and high-held heads. I knew how Michael would look in uniform, and in every blueeyed Irish soldier I saw him. So it wasn't strange that, walking through Penn Station after a show one night, I saw a soldier who looked as Michael would in uniform. And that the soldier was Michael himself. My heart stopped, and before it raced on again something in my brain cried out, "Be careful, be careful!" DECEMBER, 1942 But my heart was only crying, "Oh, my darling, my darling!" I crossed the little space between us, put my hand on his arm. "Michael." He turned. With a rush of relief I saw that some of the dullness was gone from his face, from his eyes, that he looked, if not happy, at least alive once more. "Nome, honey — it's so good to see you! I was lonesome." I looked about the station. "Are you coming or going?" "Going on furlough — going home to Castle." "Now? Michael, take time to come up to my apartment, to talk to me. There so much to say, so many years to cover. Please, Michael!" I was frantic, afraid that he would escape me, afraid that he would turn and go, and shut forever the door between us. But he only smiled the old, gentle smile, and said, "Why, yes, Norrie. I'd like that." We were silent in the cab on the way to my apartment. But I slipped my hand into his. He did not pull away; his fingers pressed mine in a reassuring squeeze. In the apartment he looked slowly around, sat down in the big green chair by the fireplace, inspected the room piece by piece. "You got everything you wanted, didn't you, honey?" he asked without preamble. The words had been locked inside me too long. Now they spilled out, incoherent, fumbling. "Michael, no! Oh, I've been so lonely. Michael, I meant to come home — I meant to come home. Even if you wouldn't take the money I sent you for the station, I meant to come home with plenty of it — plenty to put us on our feet again. But I got caught in a pyramid of better jobs piled on better jobs, more influential friends on more influential friends, harder work on harder work, fame on fame! I thought for a while that it was important, but it wasn't important at all. What's important is — is being not alone!" UE nodded gravely. "Yes, I found " that, too." He was silent a moment. "Norrie, I loved Anne. I don't want you ever to think that I didn't. I loved her, but in a different way from the way I loved you. She knew it. I want you to know it." His eyes moved away from mine, traveled slowly about the big room. Then he went on, as if what he said now somehow followed what he had just finished saying. "This long furlough means that we're probably going to be sent overseas soon. I've got to see little Mike — it may be a long time before I see him again." I knew that I couldn't bear to have him come like this and go away again. I couldn't bear it. This was Michael, big and gentle, and infinitely dear to me. Whether he would have it so or not, I belonged to him. I would belong to him for the rest of my life. I had to cling to him, to be with him. And yet, I still couldn't offer myself to him, still couldn't cry, "Michael, take me back!" Instead, I said, "Michael, take me with you to Castle. Look, I can drive you up. How's that? I'd like to — I'd like to see the baby, too." "Sure," he replied. "Sure, Norrie. Come along. Maybe you can help me, tomorrow. I've got appointments with a lot of people. I have to hire a new WANT TO BE THE KIND OF A WOMAN MEN FLOCK AROUND? Would you like to have that "somethiicK" that draws men like a flower does bees? Any woman or girl ol ordinary Intelligence, beautliul or plain, can learn to be attractive to men. It's the way she dresses — and the cute way she smiles. The eager and Interesting way she talks — and the poised and gracetul way she walks. It's her enthusiastic manner and gay personality — and It's always so easy and pleasant to be with her. 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