Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1941-07-27
Il Short Story Complete on This Page

and Fuller Publishers, Inc, was having
~ private conference with his firms best
selling author at the seasons noisiest cocktail
party. People bumped into them, Filipino
walters, bearing trays of drinks and appetiz-
ers forced their way between the two men,
the host brought up other guests to be in
PRODUCED and the din grew ever louder but
publisher and author went OH yelling at one
another
II tell you, Bill, what this country - and
the publishing business - needs is a love
story, good, old-fashioned love story!'
Bill Matthews snorted. To make sure
Anterior heard him, he snorted again. Then
he twisted his handsome, middle-aged face
into an awful grimace. Romeo and Juliet
stuff" he shouted contemptuously.
Exactly Anterior shouted back. Young
love! Moonlight! Roses! Cruel parents!"
But no one falls in love any more!
mot in your books. That's just it, Bill.
The country's starved for romance. It's been
fed to the gills with history, with war, with
social significance. But love? No one gives
it love any more"
why should anyone? Love doesn't exist.
Are you in love? Am in love? Is anybody
you know in love? Are any of these people"
Bill waved his hand at the room full of chat
tering men and women - in love? OF course
not People are too intelligent these days"
The papers are full of marriages every
day."
Sure. But not because of your namby-
PANTY love- Those marriages are for the sake
of security or convenience or - or the libido.
Listen to the younger generation talk and
you'll find out"
Il agree with you. The kids do seem hard
boiled. But l still insist good love story
would 90 like wildhre. Now if a writer like
you would write one -"
Me-" Bill drew up six feet of affronted
artistic integrity. Me! write what | be-
lieve in; | don't believe in lOve!'
All the way home Bill muttered disgustedly
to himself, "Love Love! Mush!' He was
inside his apartment and had called "Helen!
before he remembered that his wife was still
away visiting her mother. He went on into
the bedroom and gazed angrily at its empti-
ness
Turquoise carpet, heavy white silk dra-
peries matching bedspreads - it was
strange, futile sort of place, he complained
to himself, when there was no feminine junk
strewn around, no negligee across chair.
no silk slippers beside bed.
And anyway - Bill glared at too-neat
row of perfume bottles - there was no
greater indignity to which man could be
subjected than to be left all alone with
befriled and beruff1ed dressing table!
In the living room he shifted the air A
cabbagy SMELL That wench in the kitchen
was actually giving him Brussels sprouts
again for the fourth consecutive night! If
there was one thing he couldn't stand it was
those damned imitation cabbages.
And where in heck was his daughter?
Della, the maid came into the living room.
Miss Kathy phoned she wouldn't be home
to dinner"
did she say when she would be home?"
mo, she didn't She just said to tell you
not to wait"
Bill sat down grumpily at the table. Some
how he never enjoyed meal unless Helen
was with him. 1t wasn't because he liked to
see her soft; brown hair and watch the light
in her dark eyes, although he had to admit
Helen was the best-looking woman he knew.
And it wasn't because she was always SYM
pathetic and understanding about his prob
lens with his newest book or the antics of
his publishers - Just wait until he told her
about Anterior and love! Wouldn't she laugh