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important thing in my whole life.
How different this party seemed to me than the ones I remembered with Ray. Jack Richards, Ellen's husband, was an advertising man, and I think he must have sensed, or perhaps read in my strange restraint, my concern for the future.
Toward the end of the evening, he took me aside. "How are you getting along?" he wanted to know.
JANUARY. 1940
A tall, not handsome man called Bud drove me home. How nice, how warm his voice was . . . "May I call you up when I'm in town?"
I was too tired to pretend. "Not very well," I admitted. "I've tried everything, but there just doesn't seem to be any opening. And the only training I've had has been in dramatic work."
Suddenly he snapped his fingers.
"Say, you can sing. I'll tell you what — I'll get you an audition at NBC. I'll do it tomorrow!" He was so happy over the idea that his en
She's lived the life of Helen Trent — Virginia Clark, star of the daily CBS serial, sponsored by Edna Wallace Hopper.
thusiasm infected me. I'd never thought of radio; I hadn't even thought of myself, really, as a singer. But the moment after Jack made his suggestion I was again up in the clouds, dreaming of the success that awaited me. He made it all seem so easy, so simple!
A business man they called Bud drove me home. He had been so retiring, and I had been so preoccupied with my own problems, that we had hardly noticed each other during the evening.
When Bud stopped the car in front of my apartment house, and helped me out, he said — and I remember how nice, how warm, his voice was — "I'm out of town quite a bit, on business, but may I call you up when I am here once in a while?"
"Of course," I said. I didn't even think about him until the next day — when suddenly I remembered how indifferent he had been, except for that last-minute request. With what I suppose was typically feminine lack of logic, I forgot that I certainly hadn't paid much attention to him, and felt irritated because he hadn't seemed more bowled over by me. And then, after that momentary flash of pique, I forgot him again.
I had enough to think about, that day and the next. I still shiver a little when I think of the mental torture of those two days — and
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