Believe me I've shrugged off a lot of things my fair haired room-mate Linda Grayson did because they more or less never upset my own private apple cart. But when she started a lend-lease act around my boyfriend the fireworks really started.
She could borrow my clothes, borrow a spot of cash now and then, even borrow my lipstick--but when it comes to Johnny Towers uh--huh! A girl has to draw the line someplace especially when Linda usually borrowed for keeps. You've got to know that gal. You've got to see her in action; you've got to live with her to decide whether she's just plain innocent and beautiful to boot, or a spitting rattlesnake.
For almost a year I'd been saving my dancing feet and wearing a shine on the posterior of my blue serge suit as switchboard operator at Continental Broadcasting Company, Chicago office. I'd blown into the big town with one idea--to make my tapping feet be the means of getting my name up in lights in a real honest to gosh musical. Now---well, Mrs. John Towers sounds like the only career into which I'd like to plant my number 5A wedgies.
I had a room of sorts at The House of Lords--honest that's the name of the box like establishment I try not to call home. And I had Linda.
Now there was a female so darn beautiful she had every other gal hating her almost on sight. Especially if there were males present. Linda had that natural, and I'll swear to it, genuine platinum colored hair, dark eyebrows and pansy blue eyes fringed with good half-inch black lashes, also real--darn it.
She was blessed with a figure that dipped and curved in exactly the right places. I suppose I should have mistrusted Linda right the minute Mrs. Lord introduced us. But gosh she acted so helpless and gave me that "all alone in the big city from Flat Bucket, Arkansas" line. So I got all big sisterly and fell over myself being helpful.
I didn't even realize she'd pushed aside my small handful of clothes hanging in the closet. In fact she'd buried them at the far end, while she slid several suits that had me drooling over their flower petal colors in their place. She put good looking dresses on my padded and scented hangers too. The ones I'd been saving until I felt I had something worthwhile to hang on such elegance.
"Jean..." she was ready to ask another question I wouldn't have the chance to answer. "I'm so darn tall, and don't you agree it would be better, well, you're so short--" she continued looking down on my five-foot-one-inch. "So I'll take the top three drawers for all my old junk and you can have the bottom ones."
She failed to mention I could have the bottom two drawers and one was just an inch above the floor. And boy that's way down even to a shorty like me.
But darn my hide if I didn't find myself doing just as Linda asked.
"Is this the guy?" Linda questioned picking up a kinda flattering picture of Johnny from the dresser.
"Sure is," I answered feeling proud of the black haired, dark eyed fellow in the picture. In fact I got carried away and told Linda about how Johnny was one of the youngest guys in television advertising and was super clever. This time I knew for certain Linda was listening and suddenly I didn't like it.
Well after a week or so my roommate had gotten palsy with most of the girls in the house. Guess we were all stunned to have such glamour in our midst. She'd borrowed my best pair of nylons, the ones with arrows laddering up the heels--they were too long for me but still my best pair. My nail polish, my entire bottle of "Flame of the Soul" perfume--I discovered she used it in the bathtub just like bath salts.
Linda had a way of getting the girls talking and then just fading out and listening. Heck before you knew it you'd divulged every intimate detail of your entire life.
That's what happened when Linda got especially friendly with Susan Borning downstairs. She was a sweet, good-natured kid and had been trying for months to land even a small part in any play in or around Chicago, summer theaters included.
This particular evening Linda was glancing over her mouth-watering array of suits and had a smart looking rose pink number spread on the bed, when Sue dashed in practically beside her chubby self with joy.
We gathered finally that a certain Mr. Abel had broken down and just about okayed Sue for a part in a new play he was directing.
"I'm trying out tomorrow afternoon--and gosh," she added wistfully eyeing the suit on the bed. "I wish I had something special and luscious to wear."
Linda hadn't said a word, but she now glanced at the pink suit and back at Susan. Heck anyone could see that the suit and Susan's flaming red hair staged a riot act together, and you could have knocked me over when Linda carelessly tossed the jacket to Susan.
Susan fingered the material. "Linda, it's so beautiful. Can I wear it this once?"
"Help yourself," said Linda, and while I stood there beating my brains out trying to think of something to stop this farce, Susan thrust willing hands into the sleeves.
I shuddered as the pink made Susan's unusually lovely skin look blotchy and unattractive. Her hair suddenly lost all it's fire and seemed dead and frizzy.
"Susan," I said sharply. But Linda interrupted pulling Sue and suit to the door.
"Jean has a heavy date. Let's take the suit to your room and fix the skirt. It will look wonderful on you."
And that was that. Sue seemed in such raptures and Linda so convincing I began to doubt if I had any clothes sense at all. Maybe my taste was all in my mouth.
No, Sue didn't get the part.
"I was so sure Jean," Sue told me at dinner the next night. "All Mr. Abel said was the part had been filled, no reason, no nothing." And Sue sitting there in that pink suit looked the picture of despair.
A faint suspicion about Linda began to beat a tango in my head and I told Johnny all about it.
"Too bad for Sue, but really Linda probably thought that she was doing the kid a good turn. Anyway don't worry about it tonight--we're supposed to be celebrating."
And we were celebrating as Johnny had been made a sorta small cog, but a step up nevertheless in TV advertising for my honey. I began to feel my career as Mrs. John Towers might begin any day now.
Linda was propped up in bed reading when I got in which surprised me as she usually rolled in long after I'd hit to road to dreams.
"I've got a job, Jean," she said laying down her magazine. "It's just a small part really. It seems Sue was all wrong for the part." When I looked startled Linda continued on. "Mr. Abel decided he needed someone taller, a bit more sophisticated--she will probably get something later."
I started to say something, then closed my mouth and shut the bottom drawer of the dresser with a such a bang it took me a full half hour to work it open the next morning. Right then I felt I'd been roommated to a snake.
After this episode I was just a bit more careful around Linda. The other girls treated her a bit on the cool side after the squeeze out she'd given Sue got around, but we all had to admit she was darn good in the part. Even a critic or two mentioned her startling beauty and spoke pleasantly of a real future for her. But right about that time I was very busy, Linda met Johnny and I began to sharpen my fangs for action.
Linda never bothered to hang around the house or to establish any of her numerous boyfriends in the Lord's parlor, but I noticed suddenly that when Johnny was due, Linda would be just about ready to go out.
She'd fuss with her hat or lipstick and when my buzzer sounded, Linda would pick up her purse from the dresser and declare airily, "I'm on my way. Have fun. I'll tell Johnny you're coming."
All right so I was jealous. But Linda always looked like a picture right out of Vogue--and me, well Good Housekeeping was my dish.
Also the thing that got me was that Johnny seemed to enjoy Linda. They'd usually be laughing about something or other when I'd come galloping post haste down the steps. Linda, or was it Johnny, even suggested we double date. So I'd find myself silently seething alone with Linda's current bored date, while the pretty gal did a highland fling with my Johnny.
I loved dancing, natch. Wasn't that what supposedly had brought me to Chicago? Before Linda we'd had a great time dancing, Johnny and I that is. He's good and he'd try to stump me with some new steps all the time. Heck there were times when the whole floor would almost clear and everyone else would just stand around applauding--well, one or two would clap--but we'd sure have fun.
Linda was again out of a job. The show had closed and now Linda had declared she was setting her sights for TV. Of course she knew Johnny could help her. He knew all the right people an he was in a position to hear about any future openings. But so far Johnny hadn't even attempted to get Linda an interview or even a spot TV commercial.
Well the double dating and double dirging for me came to a discouraging climax on night when Johnny suddenly suggested that a beauty firm wanted a lovely girl for a soap commercial. It would be on a favorite program so thousands of people would see the thing and it might be an opportunity for Linda. In fact Johnny built the whole thing up mighty big it seemed to me.
Linda sure had her tentacles wrapped around Johnny because he might be the next step on her way up. After him there would be other to help her career, but then it would be too late for Johnny and me.
I did comfort myself with the thought all the next day that Johnny had said he'd see me again tonight. But he'd also mentioned we could watch Linda make her TV debut on the new TV set the girls and I had chipped in to buy for the Lord's parlor.
So my hopes were as low and gray as the weather when I dragged in very damp, lifting my spirits off the curb by hand. There was Linda all decked out for the evening.
"I take it you got the job?" I asked.
Oh yes," smiled Linda sweetly. "Johnny really saw to that. I spent darn near all afternoon at the beauty parlor and got the works, took most of my money but hope the hair is worth it."
Boy she was a knockout. I was beaten. I was down. I was no match for this girl.
"I told all the girls here in the house about the program so you and Johnny will have company watching me."
Everyone will be at my wake I thought, even Linda on camera.
I didn't wish her luck. Heck she didn't need any more luck. If only she's slip on a banana skin--get a runner a mile wide in her stocking--drop dead.
Lord's parlor was a bit crowded when I trudged wearily down the stairs, but at least I wouldn't have to cope with Linda in person tonight.
Johnny grabbed my hands and practically pulled me down the last step.
"Hurry up or we'll miss Linda's debut." He acted pleased and so blasted happy. You can be so gay at my funeral I thought dismally.
There were several other dates in the parlor clustered around the TV set which was performing crystal clear. Fate was sure against me. In another moment the flawless beauty that was Linda's would be pictured for Johnny to see.
I closed my eyes and felt dizzy. This was how you must feel when the world ended. Suddenly I was startled to hear Johnny laughing. In fact the entire room was in an uproar.
My eyes flashed open and there on the screen was Linda. Or I guess it was Linda, but this girl was covered from her neck down with a large towel. Her hair, that beautiful hair, was loaded with a mess of the soapiest soap bubbles I'd ever seen. Linda might have been a store dummy for all the glamour that oozed forth from the soap bubbles.
I stared fascinated wile Johnny continued to snort and hoot with gasping chuckles. You could see just a bit of Linda's slim neck, a pair of manicured hands that listlessly rubbed and dabbed at the suds while the announcer's voice waxed poetically over the merits of the shampoo.
The rest of the room still rocked with laughter and Johnny kept sputtering.
"Linda's debut," and off he'd go into another spasm.
Sure he knew all along what would happen. Linda had signed the contract and had to go on shampoo or no shampoo.
Well that's the story. I wish I could say the shampoo worked a miracle and washed out the meanness or the step-on-anybody's-neck-to-get-what-I-wantness out of Linda. But I guess that's just part of the girl.
Sure we watch "The Linda Show" if once in awhile we can talk John Jr. into forgoing the "Sammy Skunk" program which is on at the same time.
But as Johnny says while winking at me, "Somehow Sammy has more heart than "The Linda Show" and what's more he knows he smells."
This is a short story that I didn't know existed until I was researching old newspapers on line to obtain published dates. A small article came up in April, 1953 that listed this story as "first place" in the short story category sponsored by the area's Women's Club. Probably written in 1951 or 1952. The pages are well worn.