Radio and television mirror (Jan-June 1942)

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Retain your youtbful charm. Got BKOWN ATONE today. 82 ir this joint, do we?" Mike was still staring at me, his mouth open, when Larry rushed him. "We'll just clean the critters out," Larry panted. "Yippee!" I yelled, riding on a wave of bedlam with them toward the door. "So that's the weasel that thinks he can shut up the Voice of the West!" Any other time I'd have been sorry for Mike, even though the tricks he'd pulled had made me blush often enough for being part of the office that took advantage of them. He was just doing his job. But when he saw us at our last port of call, I think he fainted. We had shaken him off our trail long enough to make a little trip to an obscure dark building on the West Side, but when we reached the night club with the latest closing hour in Manhattan, he was there waiting for us. I'll never forget the look of unbelieving horror on his face just before he disappeared. It was not coincidence that we entered in the midst of the club's broadcast. Through the dark night air went yery clearly the noise of our arrival. "Hey! Stop— Police! You can't bring that in here!" But Larry's voice rose true and strong over the shouts, the profane yells, the laughter, the women's screams. "Who says I can't? Don't you know who I am? I'm Larry Smith! And where I go I take my horse!" :)c :4e 4c But when I reached home that morning, I was not quite so gay. My thoughts were anything but cheerful. I looked back on what I had done during the night, and saw just what it was. I had simply made it possible for Larry to go away. To finish the goodbye he had come to say. Still, I felt a queer sort of peace. Even though my own future stretched before me bleak and lonely, I had helped to save him from a life that would have ruined him. I saw myself going back and forth through long years to some obscure small office job, if indeed I could get any job after this night. Yet I felt better than I had since the moment at the corral. He might not love me, but at last we were friends, everything clear and straight between us. I smiled a little as I turned on the radio to the morning news. I still smiled as I listened: "And so this morning, Larry Smith, the country's newest cowboy singer, found himself in jail following one of the wildest nights New York had seen since the crash in '29. Larry was on the police records charged with almost every known method of disturbing the peace, including an attempt to ride his horse into a famed Broadway night club." The announcer didn't have to add the rest. That Miss Carlotta Birch, until last night the star's manager, had agreed to tear up her contracts with him, that Larry's sponsors had not only agreed, but insisted upon canceling all their contracts and options. 1WAS there, of course, in the court room as I'd promised when Larry was fined and freed with a stern warning from the judge. We didn't talk, at first, when our taxi finally left the newsmen and photographers behind. Maybe it was the long night, with all its wild events, maybe it was the long weeks before that. Anyway, my teeth were chattering and I shivered. I felt his hana. Dig ana ni-m unaer my elbow. "Cold?" "N-no." And I wasn't then. His hand and his voice, they'd made me feel warm, steady. "What's wrong then?" he persisted gently. Everything! But I said, "N-nothing." Why wouldn't my voice behave? And he just sat watching me, seeing me act like a dopey schoolgirl. "Why don't you say it?" I cried out suddenly. "Why don't you finish saying your goodbye?" "Because," he said calmly, "I don't ever aim to say goodbye. Not to you." My mind refused to hear anything but the words themselves. "You're free now," I insisted. "Your contracts are broken. Aren't you going?" "Yes," he said quietly. "I'm going." His eyes were narrowing, studying mine, very close to mine. I couldn't stand their gaze. "What do you mean?" It was all a puzzle, and I was so tired. My head wanted to drop to his big shoulder, but I held it up. "I mean," he said gently, "that you're coming too, of course." "Larry — please don't — " The tears were coming up in my throat. "Only last week you and Carlotta — " His lips tightened before he spoke. But all he said was, "This isn't last week." "That's right." And his lips closed tight on that. He was maddening. "Oh, all right!" I cried out at him. "I'll believe you never loved her. But Larry — " now my voice was a wail. "That night by the corral. I was there. I heard her beg you to come East because— " "Because she said you liked me," Larry said softly. "Me!" I sat up straight, staring at him, frantically rearranging everything, all the jumbled mixed-up memories, the remembrance of Carlotta standing close to him, Larry saying, "How can you know a thing like this — so soon?" How natural for me to have assumed the obvious wrong meaning. But instead Larry had meant . . . "Me, Larry?" I repeated. "Who else?" He smiled with that boyish shyness twisting his mouth. "Who else would bring me East? Who else would I work in radio for, to get a ranch for us to live on? Was I wrong, honey? You do — like me?" "Like you!" My head dropped to his shoulder at last, and I was crying, crying and laughing until his rumpled jacket was damp under my cheek. He didn't say anything but held me close, his big hand strong and gentle, stroking my shaking shoulders until they rested quiet at last against his solid chest. It was only then that I became aware of the whirring roar outside the taxi window. I opened my eyes and blinked at the rapid flashes of the lights of Holland Tunnel. "Where are we going?" I cried out. "West," he answered simply. I looked up into his face that was so close to mine, and coming closer. I had time to gasp, "West of heaven?" But he had no time to answer, in words, before his lips came down on j mine. He didn't need to. That was two | years ago. In two years, you can get ' pretty sure of what you know. And [ with me it's this. That when you go west from heaven, the climate doesn't ! change at all. It's still heaven. ; RADIO AND TELEVISION MIRROIt I