Radio and television mirror (Jan-June 1942)

sat down to talk to them, Bob said, "Wayne, Betty has a silly idea. She wants to go to New York." "That's crazy," Wayne said and launched into a sales talk on Chicago, not forgetting to put in a great many words about how he and certain people who loved her would miss her terribly. The things Bob was too shy to say, Wayne managed to say for him. After a little while, however, Bob managed to get in a few pleas of his own. Betty, to this day, feels very indebted to Wayne King. "You'll stay then," Bob said, when they were driving back to her hotel. "You and Wayne really think I should?" Betty asked. "7 really think you should," Bob said. He smiled, shyly. "I guess Wayne was speaking for me." Every day after that Bob sent flowers. And almost every night they went out together — alone. It didn't take long for Bob to get used to being with Betty — sans crowd — and it didn't take long for him to get over his shyness and begin talking about how Continued from page 46 marriage can be an awfully fine thing if two people are in love. Then, suddenly, he had to go to California on business. He was to be gone a week. One morning, a day before she expected him back, the doorbell rang and there was Bob with an armful of roses and a very funny expression on his face. "Come on," he said, "let's go." It wasn't until they were in the lobby that Betty thought to ask where they were going. "To Wheaton, Illi' nois," Bob said, matter of factly, "to get married." "Oh," Betty said, "I thought we were going to breakfast. Say," she said breathlessly, "I'm not going to get married today." "Oh yes, you are," the shy, young m.an said. "But I'm not," Betty said, firmly. Betty continued refusing to marry Bob right up until they faced the Justice of the Peace. Then she kept very quiet until it came her turn to say "I Do," and be kissed. When they got back to Chicago, Betty's mother had her suitcases all packed. There were ten in all, and — you know the way mothers feel about their only child — Betty's mother had packed almost everything Betty had ever owned, including her first pair of baby shoes. The Jennings honeymooned in Bermuda and Bob struggled with the ten suitcases. But you don't mind something like that if you love someone, just as you'll put up sharing someone you love with a crowd — if you really love him. nnHAT was two and a half years •• ago. Now the girl who wanted to go to New York all her life is starring in a radio show that originates in New York. The show is called "The Man I Married." But, all week long she keeps looking forward to Friday afternoon, because just about dusk she boards a plane that takes her back to Chicago, to a beautiful, three story home on Schiller Street, and a young fellow named Bob Jennings, who is still shy, but no longer cares for crowds. see her face, and anyway she wore a veil, but she was small and slender and — Maude Sanborn, discussing it with Ken, said — "It's about time I took Carol into a corner and told her the facts of life. She's too swell to get herself talked about." Ken said, "If anybody dares to talk about Carol I'll knock him loose from his front teeth!" But Maude shook her head. "A gentleman can't knock women loose from their front teeth, my pet — " she murmured — ■ "and it's mostly women who are talking. Jealous women." "Jealous of what?" grated Ken. Maude said, "Stanley Breen is the catch of the season — he's the catch of any season for my money! I hate his guts, Ken, but if he asked me to walk down the street with him I'd buy a new hat and a gardenia. Just to do him proud." Ken said slowly, "Maybe he's in love with her." "That guy couldn't be honestly in love with anybody," Maude said, "but — " the glance she darted at Ken was sympathetic — "but Carol's in love with him and I don't mean maybe. He's putting on the heat. Ken, and Carol can't cope with it — she hasn't had enough experience." ^ WIFTLY— unexpectedly— Ken Wili^ liams lost control of himself — he was a mild chap usually, Maude had never seen him go off the deep end before. "Why should she be able to cope with it," he raged, "Stanley Breen knows all the tricks, and on top of that he's good looking and wears swell clothes! He has more glamour than anyone in radio, and more earning power. Naturally Carol's had no experience. She isn't the sort men paw and push around. They treat her gently — " his voice broke here — "gently and reverently." "Listen here, Ken," said Maude, "no woman likes to be treated reverently— when a man treats a woman reverently he's insulting her. Why the dickens didn't you rush Carol off My Heart Was True Continued from page 17 her feet when you had the chance? Why did you stand like a goon, with your hat in your hand, saying prayers?" Ken Williams answered very simply, "Because she was my whole heart and soul — because I didn't want to startle her; because I wanted her to sense the way I felt about her and respond naturally. ... I always thought Carol and I would be married some day and have a little place in the country, with a room for me to write in and a garden for her to walk in. A garden with hollyhocks and a sun dial." "Did you ever give her a hint of your — er, plan?" queried Maude. "Did you ever take her into your big secret?" "Once," said Ken very low, "I wrote a poem about the — the house and garden. . . . She thought it was a nice poem." "Stan hasn't wasted a second writing verse," Maude said. "Probably this very minute he has Carol in his arms, kissing her deaf, dumb and blind. Ken — " her voice was pleading — "ask Carol to marry you, and ask her in words of one syllable, before that rat has her so dizzy that she doesn't know what she's doing. Go to her flat this evening and don't take hollyhocks or verses with you — take T. N. T. Show her that you're jealous, show her that you love her, kiss her and show her that Stan hasn't a monopoly on technique. It may turn the trick." Long after Maude had gone her way Ken sat where she had left him, staring into a horizon that was only a blank wall. And then he got up and went to his apartment and dug the ring box out from under his shirts and put on the Sulka tie that he'd been keeping for an emergency and started toward the door, with his chin jutting forward at a rather surprising angle. He opened the door just in time to save a messenger boy the trouble of knocking. "Mr. Williams?" asked the messenger. "Mr. K. Williams?" and when Ken nodded he thrust a thin yellow envelope into his hand. "It's collect," he said. Ken paid for the telegram and after the messenger had gone ripped open the envelope. The message ran well over ten words and it was signed with Stanley Breen's name. "Carol and I," Ken read through a mist, "are bound for Virginia to be married. I wanted you to be the first to know." Not we. I. Even as he dragged off the Sulka tie that was choking him. Ken knew that Stanley Breen had sent the telegram on his own^ hook, and that Carol would never know he'd sent it. 'T'HE Breens' honeymoon only lasted ■■ for a weekend — Stan had to be on the air every morning, or else. The day he came back from the honeymoon, a Monday, he swaggered into the studio and accepted congratulations with one eyebrow raised. He told the ones who kidded him about losing his freedom that they were old-fashioned — that marriage was no longer a pair of handcuffs — and he told the director of Ken's show that he had married Carol because he couldn't get her any other way. The director grinned as he repeated the line to Ken, but Ken didn't think it was funny — his hands clenched so hard that his knuckles looked faintly green and it was lucky that Stan wasn't within arm's reach. Even though Stan was bigger than Ken — well, it was lucky. That Monday Stan— for the first time in weeks — didn't take Carol to lunch, he took another girl. Nobody in particular — just a girl with nice legs who happened to be hanging around the studio. Ken, hearing that Stan was engaged during the noon hour, called Radio Registry and learned where Carol and Stan were staying — it was the city's smartest hotel — and called Carol and asked her to have lunch with him. "For old sake's sake," he said. "Champagne!" Brides are popularly supposed to be radiant on their return from the honeymoon. Carol was radiant but the radiance wasn't of the high white incandescent variety — it was a shaded candle. She met Ken with no sign of Continued on page 50 48 RADIO AND TELEVISION IViniSOR