STATION L-O-V-E

Matamata Record, Volume XIX, Issue 1787, 30 November 1936, Page 3

STATION L-O-V-E

By CRAIG CARROLL.

• . CHAPTER 21. A man Judy had never seen before came looking for her, following a page. “Miss Allison?” [ “Yes,” Judy said. .. “I’m John Flavin. The Beauty Builder account is one of mine. And Mr Jenks, the client, wants to meet you. Wants you to come over to his office. I’ll go along. He’s so tickled about the show he’s got a new idea of some kind. Can you get away now?” “I- ” Dick would be through, in a moment, with the noon programme. Then he was going down to the drug store with her to have a sandwich, to talk for the scant half-hour he had I to spare before his next time on the Lijair. But Judy had learned things, in her few days on the air. Learned that clients must not be told to wait. Learned that plans or engagements ; mean nothing at all, when the client speaks. “Yes. Of course, Mr Flavin. Just a moment, though, I’ve got to leave a note.” •He grinned. “For Dick, eh?” “Why ” : “Don’t worry, Miss Allison. Everybody knows. Can’t keep secrets v around a radio station, you know.’* Everybody knows? Knows what? That Dick Mason looks at you, through the glass, while you’re watching a show from the gallery? That he has lunch with you each day in the drug store downstairs? That he waits to see you before going in to set the programme each morning? Judy’s cheeks burned. Suddenly, she put the pencil back in her bag. “Tell Mr Mason I had to go over and see the client,” she said to a page boy, who grinned knowingly as he nodded. Then she said, •‘‘l’m ready, Mr Flavin. Shall we go?” She said little, as they rode across town to the big building on Michigan Avenue., The advertising man talked, about programmes, about people. Names that would have thrilled Judy ■ Allison a week ago. Names that meant nothing at all now, but people you saw and listened to, people who were not at all Olympian, people with problems and worries like her own. > She answered “Yes” sometimes; then “No”; then, “I hadn’t heard.” And the advertising man, sensing her aloofness, nodded a little, remeymbering how she had flushed when he mentioned Dick. At last, he said with «)orate disinterest, “Dick Mason’s a d announcer, isn’t he, Miss Allir i,* “Ithink he’s, the best I’ve ever heiard,” Judy said quiokly. Then , flushed again* at the amused look on Flavin’s face. ; ’ “Too , bad he. doesn’t get out of 1 the . studio side,” he said; V / ; •; ' \ “Simple enough. He gets a salary. Works a half-dozen shows a day. Sometimes more.. All for one salary. But if he were a freelance, he could sell himself direct to the ' same clients. Maybe for a lot more money. You see?”

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“Yes. But doesn’t that take money?” “No. Takes being forced to do it, that’s all.” “Oh.” She was silent, thinking. If Dick wern’t working at the studio, if he had to go and see people—the Ihing lie hated to do —he might overcome his shyness,, be might suddenly reach the earning power lie needed if his worry was to end. “Here we are, Miss Allison. Thirtyninth floor.” They shot upward breathlessly, the door snapped open, they emerged into a lobby elaborately done in black and silver, with modern desks of metal and glass, with deep-cushioned mctai chairs. “Mr Jenks,” Flavin told the girl at the desk, “Mr Flavin and Miss Allison calling.” “Oh, Miss Allison!" The girl stared unaffectedly. Then, “I heard you yesterday, Miss Allison. You were swell I” “Thank you,” Judy murmured, trying to be casual, trying not to feel suddenly important. This was the first time anyone on the outside had said “I heard you.” This was the first of all the people who heard her whom Judy Allison had met. A girl as old as herself, or older; a girl probably better-train-ed, cleverer than Judy Allison of Hiawatha; but because Judy Allison was talking on the air she was somebody of importance to this girl. Funny! Like mother, writing from home, “I hear you every morning. Mrs Thornburgh always comes over, and Mr Delancey, and twice now your father has stayed home from the store. He doesn’t say a word, but I know how lie feels. He’s got everybody in town listening for you. We’re so proud of you, Judy, knowing you’ve ready got an important job and knowing you’re helping so many people. Do you write those things yourself? I guess you do, because it sounds just exactly like you talking, every word you say. The way you talked about reducing. I declare I laughed for an hour. And I’m trying that exercise you gave,, and I guess maybe I don’t do it quite right, because it doesn’t seem to help. Wish you’d write and tell me about it with all the secrets, so I’ll lose some weight. Maybe that Paul Whiteman diet you said he told you about. I’ve beien worrying about bfeing- so -heavy. And ” “Hello,” a small man said, “Miss Allison?” “Yes.”, ’ l ‘"'’’V' • '/ V • He shook hands vigorously. . “I’m the man who pays the bills, Nobody at all. Name’s Jenks. Adel? bert A. Jenks.’B He chuckled selftconsciously. “Flavin, let’s get .some lunch. .Miss Allison, you’re free for lunch?” ; • Flavin nodded. “Yes,” Judy said. '‘That’s fine. I’ve been wanting to have a good long talk with you., And Mr Day’s coming along, too. Oh, Elton I” (Continued in Next Column)