Radio and television mirror (Nov 1939-Apr 1940)

"Don't want to — yet. Is that it?" "Not — now," she said, laughing nervously. But she knew she would kiss him some day. And meanwhile the thought of that kiss was with her through every waking hour, a pillar of cloud by day and of fire by night. FOUR days later, just before leaving for Los Angeles for a rather longer absence than was usual, he asked her to keep her word. They were standing on the high balcony outside of Persis' windows; they had been dining with eight or ten members of the usual group; now it was late evening, and the crowd had scattered and Tamara and Mayne were alone. In half an hour they would have to go to the train. Tamara was in wild spirits. The amazing thing had happened. Without her soliciting it, without her real belief in herself as a future actress, Markisohn had sent for her this morning and had offered her a little part in a play that was coming to San Francisco with most of the leading members of the New York production, but with half a dozen parts to be filled locally. This would mean that for a few weeks she really belonged to the fascinating world in which she had been an onlooker for almost a year. Meeting Mayne at Persis Holloway's later, Tamara had said: "You did it." "I did not. All I did was to say to old Mark a few days ago that I ■ Kathleen Norris is the first famous writer to have her works adapted to radio in serial form. "Woman in Love" will be heard weekdays on C. B. S. beginning in October. So that you may read this compelling story as well as hear it, Radio Mirror presents herewith the drama in its original novel form. often wondered why he didn't give you a break. I didn't even know the 'Black-eyed Susan' company was coming." "Rehearsal Tuesday at ten!" Tamara had sung rather than said, and now when dinner was over and almost everyone had gone she and Mayne were still discussing it. "You won't miss me, this time," Mayne said. "I'll always miss you," the girl answered with a quick look. And it was then that Mayne, looking down at her over her shoulder as he stood half behind and half beside her at the high balcony rail, asked, in a lowered voice: "How about my kiss?" For answer she turned, her color fluctuating, and raised to him a serious face, with expectant and half -frightened eyes, and instantly she felt the grip of his big arms about her slenderness and smallness, and the pressure of his lips on hers. "Tarn, I've been waiting a long time for that!" Mayne said in a whisper, as she drew back, laughing, breathless, a little dizzy, still with his arms about her. Even then she knew that this hour was forever to be remembered: the high balcony, the glorious sweet spring night, the sprouting grass on all the ledges and in the little gardens, and this nearness of Mayne — his tobaccoscented tweed coat, the touch of his smoothshaven cheek, the faint scent of shaving soap and fine, firm, brown flesh. "I love you, you know that," the man said very low. Tamara even now could not speak, but she felt ecstasy run like a light heady wine through her soul and her mind, and every fiber of her body respond to it. Still silent, her blue eyes like stars, she went with him to the station. Their farewells were said without words. Afterward Tamara drifted in a happy dream through the city, thinking only of Mayne, remembering moments of delight, and pushing them aside to give right of way to other memories. In the two weeks "Black-eyed Susan" played, Tamara earned seventy dollars. Her first taste of footlights proved thrilling, too. Not as thrilling as she had at first hoped, for the city didn't like the play, and the company lost money on it. Then came a long dull idle summer interval, and then September again with warmer, windless weather, and Mayne back. Tamara met him (Continued on page 78) ■ Then the weary, dragging voice came again: "Oh, let me alone, can't you!" 26 ■M