Radio and television mirror (Nov 1939-Apr 1940)

THE ROMANCE ■ Beginning the vividly dramatic novel of radio's popular heroine, who met new love where she least expected it — even though she thought her heart was locked tightly, forever, upon the memory of the man she had lost WHAT was it about Drew Sinclair that had sent Helen Trent's mind racing backwards, backwards into depths of memory she had tried so long to close away? It was not that he was so like Dennis Fallon . . . rather, perhaps, it was because he was so unlike that daredevil Irishman who had torn through life welcoming danger as a friend. Drew Sinclair would not welcome danger. He would fight it, bitterly, angrily, with all of his abundant energy and every facet of his diamond-sharp brain. She rose and moved restlessly about the perfectly appointed living room of the apartment. It was after dinner, Agatha Anthony, her elderly friend and living-companion, had gone to bed; she was alone. Looking around her, feeling the flattering touch of silk against her skin, she smiled. Hollywood! You lived in a hotel-apartment that cost two hundred and fifty dollars a month, you dressed for dinner in one of your score of evening gowns — and then you spent the evening alone. Alone, and wondering, no doubt, how soon your bank-account would dwindle away to nothing. But, with all this show, you accomplished one important thing. You kept up "the front" — you showed that you weren't worrying — and, eventually, you got another job. Just as she had, this very day. She would take the job, of course, because she needed it desperately — but just the same, there was something strange about it, something not quite right. And the strangeness had nothing to do with Drew Sinclair himself. It was something apart from him, something of which he had as little knowledge as she herself. It was three months, now, since "Heaven on Wheels," the first motion picture for which Helen had designed costumes, had been released. By all the laws of success and Hollywood, that fabulously popular picture should have made her one of Hollywood's first designers. Yet Steinbloch, who had produced it, had nothing more for her to do, and it had brought two other offers of a contract — one, immediately, from Independent Pictures, which she had refused, hoping for something better. And one, today, Drew Sinclair, head of Sentinal Studios. Drew Sinclair had been in Europe when "Heaven on Wheels" was released, but press comment and the reports of his own Hollywood agents had interested him enough so that he'd sent Helen a cable: "Please contact me when I return in two weeks." After that, though Sinclair had returned to Hollywood — silence. She called his office, only to be told by a frostyvoiced secretary that "Mr. Sinclair was out." She sent him a The Romance of Helen Trent Is based on the radio serial of the same name, sponsored by the manufacturers of Edna Wallace Hopper and Louis Phllllppo Cosmetics. Tune it In over CBS Mondays through Fridays at 12:30 P. M.. Eastern time. I letter, a telegram. At last, she had her answer — a curt note telling her he had no immediate production plans. And that, she knew from her reading of the gossip columns, was untrue. Then, only this morning, the same secretary telephoned and in a voice that had completely thawed out, invited her to come to Sinclair's office immediately. The interview had been normal enough, at first. It had, in fact, been tremendously brisk and businesslike. This was her first meeting with Drew Sinclair, the young production genius of Sentinal, and she was, for a time, overwhelmed by his virile personality as well as by the luxury of the office in which he received her. The first impression Drew Sinclair gave was one of strength — strength both physical and mental. Here was a man, she thought, who drove straight through to whatever he wanted. His features were blunt and deeply carved, and his heavy eyebrows and his hair looked as though they would be rough to the touch. Then, as they bent together over the book of sketches she had brought, she noticed his hands and saw, with a shock of surprise, that they belonged to an artist; they were muscular, like the rest of his body, but they were also delicate, finely modeled, with long, sensitive fingers. He talked steadily, like a man whose mind had been made up long ago. "I saw 'Heaven on Wheels,' Mrs. Trent. Your costumes were wonderful — really new and original. I'd like you to think about doing the clothes for a new picture I'm planning — here's the script, you might take it home, I think it can do a better job of persuading than I could—" Helen contrived not to smile. Persuading! As if she needed any! "As to salary," he rushed on, "would two thousand dollars a week