Radio and television mirror (Jan-June 1942)

on the villain and his voice quality." "Voice quality?" whispered Carol, and the producer nodded in her direction. "But yes, Madame Breen," he said. "Oh, you do not know the troubles of a man in my position! To find someone of handsome appearance, with a voice that holds frightfulness — a voice that ees harsh and dreadful, deep in the throat — dramatic — " He turned swiftly to Stan. "Have you ever thought of going upon the stage?" Stan asked— "Who? Me?" For once he was flabbergasted and the producer nodded, "Yes. You're a finished radio performer — you know the treeks. Added to that you have the looks that will make women fall froni their chairs, and the voice that will make children run home screaming to hide behind their mothers' skirts. . . . You will not be risking anything eef you play the lead in thees play, Mr. Breen. You can safely give up your other commitments." Carol started to say, "He hasn't any other commitments," but Stan silenced her with a ferocious glance. "You interest me strangely," he said to the producer. "What's your proposition?" Swiftly, very swiftly, the producer was all business. He even lost his accent. He said, "Come to my office tomorrow morning and we'll talk terms and contracts — ■ I think I can guarantee a motion picture production as well as — Broadway. If you create the part you will have to do it in every version — because it will be you." Stan said, "If Maude and Ken and my wife will excuse us — " was he faintly sarcastic or just commanding?— "you and I can go into the living room right now and talk things over. Of course, I'll have to read the play before I make a decision — I can't rely on the other fellow's judgment, not even yours. But if it's as good as you seem to think — " Maude Sanborn and the producer left around midnight and Carol — worn down with combined excitement and bewilderment — went out to the kitchen to tidy up. The dinner dishes were still standing on a table, they hadn't even been scraped. Ken followed her and picked up a knife and started to transfer greasy morsels to the garbage pail. "We should have a dog," he said, "to eat the scraps." Carol told him, "It's like magic. . . . Do you realize, Ken — Stan will be rich again!" Ken said, "He'll have the world by the tail, and no mistake. He can buy a dozen convertibles and another house and the weekend parties can begin all over again." "Yes," said Carol. She started to run water from the faucet but it wasn't quite hot so she dabbled her fingers in it and waited. "Yes," she said, "the weekend parties — can begin again." SHE laughed hysterically and while she was laughing Stan came and stood in the kitchen doorway. "You folks at it again?" he asked. Ken said, "You mean washing dishes?" Stan said, "You know damn well what I mean — and it isn't washing dishes. Oh, you may think I'm a blind fool, but I'm not. I've been watching and listening for months and I'm wise to your game. Ken, you've wanted Carol since before we were married, and you still want her." Ken told him, "For one of the first times in your life you're right about something." Carol was still dabbling her fingers in a stream of water that was growing warmer. She said, "Please — please!" "Well," Stan said, "you can't have her. Ken. Carol's my wife." "You don't love her," said Ken. "You never did." "Whether I love her or not makes very little difference," said Stan, "to you. Carol and I are married and we'll stay married. A wife's very useful when a man's on the stage. He needs a good hostess and if he talks out of turn — " Stan was quoting himself — "a wife acts as an alibi. Ken — -" his voice rose; it had the power and hatefulness of a grinding machine— "you can get the hell out of my house." Ken smiled at Carol. "Do you want me to go?" he asked. Carol turned off the water faucet. She said slowly, "Yes." All at once Ken Willams was white — white to the lips. 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