Radio and television mirror (Jan-June 1942)

isTSie tove Just a Dream? ' Carole Landis wifh Victor Mature in "My Gdl Sal" (20th Century-Fox). Carole uses Jergens lotion. I /. .\ \ V-)i. \^ V J .♦' (Lovely Hollywood Siar) YOU can easily help keep your hands desirably soft, flower-petal smooth as Carole Landis does — by using Jergens Lotion. Helps prevent unexciting rough, chapped hands. Gives you almost professional hand care. To help common-looking rough skin to lovely smoothness, many doctors use 2 special ingredients which are in this famous Jergens Lotion. Never sticky! The first application helps you. M ^ '-s FREE! PURSE-SIZE BOTTLE Mail this coupon now — (Paste on penny postcard) The Andrew Jergens Company, Box 3537, Cincinnati, Ohio. (In Canada: Perth, Ont.) I want to try Carole Landis' band-care. Please send jree purse-size bottle of Jergens Lotion. Name Street — City -State The Touch of Your Lips Continued from page 39 Brant's did. They drew me close, like two steel bands. I couldn't have moved. Then he kissed me on the cheek, and let me go. For an instant I stood alone, and for an instant I wanted to be back in his arms. He took my hand and led me to the fireplace. "This one I made myself," he said. "I think it's better than the others." I could see why he thought so. The Zuni made their masks in the images of their gods, for whom they felt devotion and great respect. Never having seen the gods, they made them like themselves, but endowed them with supernatural features and qualities. Brant's mask was a gargoyle — an image of himself, but a self for which he had no respect. It was a gargoyle, looking at the world, but not part of it, grinning and mocking at everything it didn't believe in. Yet it was compelling — like Brant — and strangely frightening. He put his arms around my shoulders. Again I felt that twinge of — was it fear? But it thrilled me and quickened me. I didn't want him to take it away. I must have moved closer to him, because in an instant I was in his arms, hard and fast and very close. I think it was that night I wrote home and told my mother and father about Brant. I must have written everything I could think of, because three days later Dad sent me a wire. "Answer whether you are all right stop how is health." I laughed when I read it. Even about his daughter's well being, the business man in Dad kept the message to ten words. That evening I called them long distance. They wanted to know more about Brant, and I told them all I could, which wasn't much. They seemed to need reassurance that I was not falling in love with some ne'er-do-well. Was I? I didn't know. I wished that I hadn't mentioned Brant, and I wished, too, I'd been able to tell Mother and Dad more about him. THAT was on a Thursday. I was with Brant every day for the next three days. Knowing him better, I discovered many things. Always there was a core in him I could never reach, and frequently I suspected it was a thing he was ashamed to have other people see. But otherwise, on the surface and to the world, he maintained that strict mocking guard. Never once did he break it down again as he had during that first silent drive. When he kissed me it was a swift, dangerous bliss that shook me. Then he laughed and joked and belittled love and everything else I believed in. But still it was a height of ecstasy, and in those three days it came often. Monday Brant took me back to Buena Siesta in the late afternoon after we had been riding in his car all day. I walked into the lounge, expecting he would follow. Leaning over the desk, talking to Mrs. Hath away, was a man whose back was so familiar and so out of place that I stopped dead. "Here she is now," Mrs. Hathaway said. "George!" The exclamation — surprised, pleased — was out even before I had thought what his coming might mean. I wasn't quite prepared for the wave of gladness that swept over me at sight of him. It was good to see a familiar face. Without knowing it, 1 had been hungry for a friend. When he spoke he was the same George, so sure of himself, so very calm that my pleasure was a little dashed and I remembered what I'd forgotten at first — that in these weeks of sunshine I had grown away from him. "Hello, Jeanette," he said quietly. "You seemed to be enjoying it so much down here I thought I'd try some of it myself." "But how did you get here?" I asked. "In the old coupe?" He nodded. "Made it in just four days." My cordiality, so spontaneous in the instant I'd seen and recognized him, now sounded hollow in my own ears as I said, "It's nice you've come. This is really a wonderful place you picked out for me." George's gray eyes held steadily a moment on my face. For the first time I saw a look in them that seemed to say, I am master oj you because I am master of myself. "Then he looked beyond me, to where Brant had just come in. Very quietly, with a friendly quality in his voice, he said, "You must be Brant. Jeanette has written about you. I'm George Morgan." Brant said carelessly, "How do, Morgan. Jeannie's spoken of you a couple of times." George laughed, still quietly. "That's all a fiance can expect these days— a couple of ^honorable mentions a month." The three of us had dinner together that night. It was a strange meal — Brant trying to be his usual self, but operating under a considerable straip and George even quieter and more self-possessed than usual. There was animosity between them, I could see that, but they made an effort to be friendly and it came off all right. After Brant had gone, George and I sat in the lounge, listening to the radio and talking. Or trying desperately hard to talk. There wasn't any common ground for us to meet on, any more. I didn't want to hear about things that had happened at home since I left — all that seemed far in the past — and whenever I tried to tell about my life here at Buena Siesta, Brant Whitley crept into the conversation. I would have been glad to tell George all about Brant, how I felt about him and everything, because I wanted to get that unoleasant duty over with. But I could almost fe^^l George refusing to let me tell him. I didn't know exactly how I felt about George's unannounced arrival. Part of me resented it — resented it because it was an intrusion on the carefree dream-life I had found down DON'T MISS NEXT MONTH'S exciting First Nighter Drama, told as a thrilling love story of courageous nnen and women who are working for victory — 66 RADIO AND TELEVISION MIRROR