Radio and television mirror (Jan-June 1942)

Her voice always faded off in acute anguish. "Throwing over" Phil Stanley hadn't been easy, nor had Joan done it lightly. Their families had always expected them to marry, and the engagement had grown out of that expectation and childhood companionship. But from the day she laid eyes on Harry, Joan was no longer engaged to Phil. With the burgeoning of love, she knew what she felt for Phil was only fondness. It hadn't been easy to face his hurt disbelief that she wouldn't marry him; it hadn't been easy, or flattering, or any of those things, to hear him plead that he would always love her. She'd married Harry anyway. She'd followed her heart. Almost immediately Phil had married Eve Topping in a dizzying elopement, and Joan thought the old chapter closed forever. Eve was her "best friend," which in a town like Stanwood meant the girl whose family had always known yours, the girl you spent the night with after dances. Because they were best friends, Joan knew Eve loved Phil as passionately and tempestuously as she did everything in her impulsive life. There were no half measures in anything for Eve. The elopement hadn't gone down well with Phil's family, and Eve and Phil moved to their own little house in Bailey's Gardens while Phil started, for the first time in his life, to look for a job. Joan and Harry hadn't seen them since they'd been back from the honeymoon. With a vague prodding of her conscience, Joan knew she should. But to share her precious moments with Harry among outsiders was too much of a wrench. "Not yet," she told herself. "Tomorrow, maybe, FU call Eve. But today — ^just Harry and me." And she sang as she washed the gay new crockery and made the beds and rearranged for the third time the eight pairs of pewter candlesticks they'd received among the wedding presents. She was singing the day the bell rang and Fate led her down the narrow, brightly papered hall through the first invisible link in the chain of circumstances, to throw open the front door and come face to In thrilling ficfion form by Helen Irwin Dowdey, begin Elaine Carrington's popular radio serial, heard on NBC Monday through Friday at 5 P.M., EWT., sponsored by General Foods Corp. Illustrations posed by the cast — Mary Jane Higby as Joan, John Raby as Harry, Michael Fitimourice as Phil. 22 face with Eve Topping Stanley. They embraced, laughing excitedly, and Joan led her into the sunlit living room. It was as if they were little girls again, "playing house" — only this time it was real. And different. Eve's dark gypsy beauty seemed dimmed. Heavy shadows lay under her brown eyes, and there was a strained tightness around the full, wilful mouth. She moved as if too tight a rein had been laid on her, and Joan wondered suddenly what was wrong. "I don't want to interrupt the honeymoon," Eve laughed. "But we want you and Harry to have dinner with us one night next week. We haven't laid eyes on each other since — since we were all married." Joan felt the hesitant embarrassment, covered up with laughter. Naturally this was hard for Eve whose husband, after all, had been engaged to Joan imtil right up before the wedding. CO she answered quickly. "We'd love it. Harry's so busy now with a new case — "and for the life of her, she couldn't keep the pride out of her voice — "that we haven't seen anybody or been anywhere. He's trying to get a child out of the custody of a perfectly horrible old woman named Mrs. Ashbey, and he's awfully wrapped up in it. But I'm sure Wednesday would be all right. How's Phil?" Eve dropped her eyes. The strain around her mouth deepened. "Pretty well. He hasn't a job yet and we're living off the allowance his mother makes him. I didn't want to take it, but Phil's never worked in his life and we had to have something to live on." "He'll find a job soon," Joan comforted. "Phil's played a lot, like we all did, but he's smart. Have you seen any of the old gang?" "I saw Bertha Catlett yesterday. You going to her wedding?" "Bertha's? Why, I didn't even know she was getting married." "Oh, yes, to a perfectly darling young officer stationed at Fort Brander. A wartime wedding with all the trimmings. I thought surely you'd be going." "Well — Harry doesn't know Bertha of course. And I haven't seen her for ages — not since my wedding. What else do you know?" She listened eagerly while Eve ran through the old names: Jim Fawcett was in the Air Corps, and the Higginses were having a baby, and Don King had a new job at the defense plant, and the youngest Crowley boy had been dropped from the Country Club for insulting the president's brother. From then on, it was a fine visit. She told Harry about it at supper. He was properly and flatteringly reluctant to accept the dinner invitation. "It's the entering wedge," he said. "It's been perfect with just you and me. If we go to the Stanleys', we'll have to open the door and let the world in." Joan looked radiantly at him across the table. "You darling! I feel that way, too. But we have to open the door sometime. We have to see our old friends eventually." "Yes," he said slowly, "I guess we do. I guess you've been pretty lonely these last months." She jumped up and ran around the table to him in quick denial. "Oh, no, Harry. I couldn't be lonely with you and our house and — and — why, I'm so busy I haven't time to be lonely." "That's just it, honey. I've been pretty selfish, keeping you cooped up over here away from aU the people you used to know." "I'm not cooped up! I've loved it, BADIO AND TELEVISION MSIBOR