Radio and television mirror (July-Dec 1941)

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O.pt 96BM J.H.-r.on, lowu STAINLESS SOOTHING ANTISEPTIC DRESSING Use CAMPH0 PHENIQUE SUNBURN and MOSQUITO BITES JAMES F. BALLARD, Inc., Dept. MB, SI. Louis, Mo. Apply CamphoPhenlque Liquid, then CamphoPhenique Powder lo cuts for best result!. 72 provement of his condition. Financially, too, there had been no improvement. The shop was making dishearteningly slow gains after the post-holiday lull, and every studio in Hollywood turned deaf ears to her overtures. On February first, if Drew was neither better nor worse, she had promised either to marry Gil or set him free. Set him free! Those were such false words. How could she ever set him free? THE time had nearly run out when she received, one morning, a letter that was like an ironic solution to all her problems. It was from the executive vice president of a famous department store in San Francisco, and it offered her the post of head designer, at a salary which would enable her to take care of all her obligations — pay Drew's fees at the sanitarium, keep Trenthony and her own shop, even if the latter did not do better. Once such an offer would have sent her spirits soaring. Now she accepted it simply because she knew nothing else to do. She would hate the lonely life in San Francisco. It would be tremendously difficult to see Drew; she could come south only once every two or maybe three weeks. But in the back of her mind as she wired her acceptance was the knowledge that here, in a way, was the answer she had promised Gil. It was not the answer he had wanted and hoped to have. She was taking herself out of his life. Aaron Carter, the vice president who had written the letter, had asked her to be in San Francisco on Monday. This was Saturday morning. Quickly, before she could weaken in her determination, Helen picked up the telephone and called Gil's office. But he was not there. He had gone to Palm Springs on business, his secretary said, but a long distance call to the hotel where he had expected to stay brought her no satisfaction. Apparently he had changed his plans and was stopping with friends. Again and again in the next twentyfour hours, while she made her hurried preparations to leave, she tried to locate him without success. In the end she wrote a letter — not a satisfactory letter, she felt as she read it over, for there was so little she could say in words. In the train she leaned back against the clean linen cover of her pullman seat, exhausted, drained of vitality. The days marched ahead of her in a sullen, dark procession. Gil would read her letter, and know that he had his answer. Perhaps he would not even write to her. She could not blame him if he did not. In San Francisco she plunged avidly into her new work. That, at least, she could count on — the delight of seeing line and fabric grow under her hands, the satisfaction of creating things supremely lovely. She worked at the store from eight in the morning until six in the afternoon; then she took more work with her to the hoJ;el where she lived. Late at night she might walk for an hour along the misty, steep streets, gathering and hoarding precious fatigue as a miser would his gold, so that sleep would come quickly when she crept to bed. The first week was nearly over when she came out of her office to find Gil Whitney waiting for her. The sight of him, so unexpected — and so disarmingly welcome — made her speechless while he explained that he had been delayed in returning to Hollywood, had read her letter and decided to come up to see her. But it was not until they had finished dinner that he spoke of what was on both their minds. "I talked to Agatha before I came," Gil said. "It isn't too much to say she gave me the courage to come." "The courage? . . ." "Agatha understands you rather well, Helen. She advised me not to leave you until you'd set the date for our wedding. She told me you'd hated leaving — hated everything you thought you had to do for Drew." "That's not true!" Helen said, anger stirring in her. "Oh, she said you'd deny it — that you probably didn't realize, yourself, how much you hated it." "But can't you see — can't anyone see — I'm only doing what I have to do? Drew — " "Oh, to blazes with Drew!" he interruped roughly. "You've done enough for him — more than enough. You've let him hold you back from happiness — you've worked and worried to make money to pay his bills — you've left your home, gone to a city where you know no one. And still you won't see! Agatha was right. You need someone to protect you from yourself." This was a new Gil. A Gil who had lost his tenderness and understanding. The fact that she could not deny the cold justice of what he said did not keep Helen from being infected with the virus of his own bitterness. She thought of Gil and Agatha discussing her, dissecting her thoughts and emotions, deciding between themselves that she must be handled like a willful child, and cold fury lodged in her breast. "You shouldn't have come, Gil. I was at fault for asking you to wait four months. I see that now. I was hoping that time would arrange things, and if I was weak and wrong, I should think you could understand and not blame me too much. And at least, when my pitiful little hope failed, when the time I had asked for came to an end and still I had the responsibility of Drew — then I was strong enough, and decent enough, to give you your answer by coming up here. I think you might have spared us both this — this humiliation." HE did not speak. She saw his expression soften, and guessed that if she would but release the tears that were so imminent, his pity would return. He would comfort her, offer to go on waiting, be sympathetic and tender. But she had made her decision; she would not go back on it now. She stiffened her resentment and waited until the lines of his face had grown stern. "I'm sorry," he said. "Neither of us can pretend, this time, that you haven't made your answer plain." Later, Helen sat alone in her hotel room, wrapped in a big robe and looking down through the window into the sparse life of the sleeping city. Gil was gone now, beyond possibility of return — gone, leaving only angry words as a memory of their last meeting. Dawn was brightening the sky above the Berkeley hills when at last she rose and went, shivering, to bed. It was a week later that she returned to the hotel after work to find RADIO AND TELEVISION IN/IIHROR