Radio and television mirror (July-Dec 1941)

At the broadcast, Linda was conscious only of his dark eyes, deep and burning, of his romantic voice speaking of love— offering temptation to a beautiful woman who was hungry for admiration AT LAST you are asleep, George. /A The room is very quiet now. J * All the words and tears have faded into nothing in the night. I should be there beside you, asleep, too. But I cannot sleep. I have a strange feeling that I must put it all down, as it happened, so you can read it and know all the things you don't know now. Being a doctor, you'll understand better than I do, why I have to do this. All I know is that I must tell you. Where shall I begin — the day I met Les? I told you about that the same day. Do you remember? No, how could you remember. You were so tired when you came home, you could barely keep your eyes open long enough to say hello. The day I met Les. That was the day I returned the corrected proofs for the second edition of your book to the publishers. I did that in the morning and after it was done, I felt sort of at loose ends. I'd been to the beauty parlor the day before and I couldn't get hold of Julie or Helene, so finally, I decided to have an extravagant lunch and go to a matinee. I felt like indulging myself. The restaurant in the hotel was full. I could have gone somewhere else, but I chose to wait in the lobby until there was a table for me. I didn't have anything better to do. Besides, I'd always liked that hotel, with its luxurious atmosphere and the smart, glamorous people who go there. As I was sitting there, one of the most strikingly beautiful women I've ever seen came toward me, her hand outstretched. "Linda, darling!" she said. "You haven't changed a bit. How are you?" It was Kathy Andrews. But so changed. You remember her, George —one of my sorority sisters at college. I think you once said about her that she wouldn't have an easy time in life, that she'd always be struggling for something she didn't have. And I think I laughed at you and scolded you for trying to impress me with your wisdom. Now, I know you were right. Even that day, I noticed something tense about her, a sort of 8 brittleness. Everything about her was too perfect to go very deep. Her eyes were brilliant and quick and restless. She was telling me about what she'd been doing since I last saw her and the words tumbled and sparkled much more than they need have. Not that she hasn't had an exciting life. It sounded like one of those unbelievable movie stories. Kathy, starting as a stenographer, then writing, then acting on the stage and radio, and ending up by marrying one of the vice presidents of a radio network. All this in four, short years. I couldn't help feeling a little commonplace and dull, listening to her. Suddenly, a man was standing before us and saying, "I'm terribly sorry, Kathy. I was held up at a rehearsal." Kathy's eyes darted up at him, then back at me. There was an awkward silence, then Kathy introduced us, very formally. "Linda, may I present Mr. Cavanaugh? Mr. Cavanaugh, Mrs. Burrey." She stressed the Mrs. just a little.'. I smiled up at him quite casually. And then, surprisingly, I was conscious only of a pair of dark eyes, deep and burning, and the feeling that I was slowly sinking into their depths. "If you've got to broadcast at three, we'd better have our lunch, Les," Kathy said. Her voice was sharp and cut through the strange fuzziness in my head. Les Cavanaugh smiled. "Won't you have lunch with us?" he asked me. Thoughtlessly, I said yes. That it was a mistake I discovered as soon as we sat down. Kathy was irritated. All through lunch, she insisted on talking to me. She rattled on and on about the things we'd done at college. (Continued on page 52) RADIO AND TELEVISION MIRROR