anticipated lunch. It was everything that she had hoped and she devouredit with relish, right down to the last, tiny, quivering mouthful. Then she reached into the night table drawer for the two wonderful books that she had stuffed into her suitcase along with the negligées. One of these books was entitled
Lovelier After Forty
and the other
How to Develop Your Personality, A New You!
Both had been written by an ex-heavyweight champion with whom she was, of course, in love. She could never hope to meet him but she was in love with him anyway. Contact was incidental. It was the tone of his words that attracted her. They were easy words; words that made her feel warm and comfortable in a way that Harold never had. During her frequent stays at the hospital she would often spend her afternoons imagining “the champion” (as she secretly called him) bending over her like a parasol of rippling muscles and shining skin, breathing easy words into her ears.
“Many a homely younger woman has, through persistence, turned herself into a beautiful, lovable, older woman,” he would whisper, and then, “You are not alone. There
are
order and truth and eternal reality in the universe.”
And when she danced with him upon the shores of her imagination he crooned exotic instructions into the microphone of her brain.
“Draw hips slightly forward then flick backwards quickly as if to strike imaginary wall with buttocks …,” he would sigh. Then she would sigh and chant along with his ballroom litanies, while her stark, private room turned from institution to palace, to mysterious night club, to the starlight lounge, to Hernando’s Hideaway.
During this particular stay at the hospital, dancing took up some of her time but the greatest portion of her energy wasdevoted to personal development; that is, the development of her NEW SELF, a self that would necessarily be lovelier after forty. There were, she knew, seven success secrets and the champion had assured her that the mastery of these would result in a young and magnetic personality. SECFIMP was the key, seven was the number:
1
S
Sincerity
2
E
Enthusiasm
3
C
Charity
4
F
Friendliness
5
I
Initiative
6
M
Memory
7
P
Persistence
And the greatest of these was charity.
How kind she was to the champion, sewing imaginary buttons on his skin-tight clothing and cooking up imaginary feasts in her brain. She allowed him to read newspapers or watch ball games all night and she never complained. She ironed his imaginary socks. She kept his imaginary house spotlessly clean and she never burdened him with her own insignificant problems. She showed a definite interest in his career, encouraging him to confess to her those tiny nagging moments of self-doubt that afflict every man at one stage or another. But most importantly, she wore her negligées constantly in an effort to keep herself as young and attractive as she was the day she first imagined him.
He was pleased but not entirely satisfied. He introduced her to his greatest beauty secret—a three-week plan to beautifyher bust contour. He assured her that no one was more interested in helping her with this delicate problem than he. He sympathized. He understood. Hadn’t he once been a ninety-pound weakling, who through persistent effort had raised himself to the very heights of power and personal magnetism? Hadn’t he counselled countless other women who were suffering from the misery and self-consciousness of possessing an unattractive bosom? Didn’t he know everything there was to know about the growth and tone of pectoral muscles? Of course he did. Of course he had. And he would help her by setting out a rigid schedule of exercises that she could begin that very day.
The weeks rolled by both in illusion and in reality. Nurses glided in and out of her makeshift gym. They trod softly on squeaky shoes. They carried their trays of Jello and Dream Whip
Lovelier After Forty
and the other
How to Develop Your Personality, A New You!
Both had been written by an ex-heavyweight champion with whom she was, of course, in love. She could never hope to meet him but she was in love with him anyway. Contact was incidental. It was the tone of his words that attracted her. They were easy words; words that made her feel warm and comfortable in a way that Harold never had. During her frequent stays at the hospital she would often spend her afternoons imagining “the champion” (as she secretly called him) bending over her like a parasol of rippling muscles and shining skin, breathing easy words into her ears.
“Many a homely younger woman has, through persistence, turned herself into a beautiful, lovable, older woman,” he would whisper, and then, “You are not alone. There
are
order and truth and eternal reality in the universe.”
And when she danced with him upon the shores of her imagination he crooned exotic instructions into the microphone of her brain.
“Draw hips slightly forward then flick backwards quickly as if to strike imaginary wall with buttocks …,” he would sigh. Then she would sigh and chant along with his ballroom litanies, while her stark, private room turned from institution to palace, to mysterious night club, to the starlight lounge, to Hernando’s Hideaway.
During this particular stay at the hospital, dancing took up some of her time but the greatest portion of her energy wasdevoted to personal development; that is, the development of her NEW SELF, a self that would necessarily be lovelier after forty. There were, she knew, seven success secrets and the champion had assured her that the mastery of these would result in a young and magnetic personality. SECFIMP was the key, seven was the number:
1
S
Sincerity
2
E
Enthusiasm
3
C
Charity
4
F
Friendliness
5
I
Initiative
6
M
Memory
7
P
Persistence
And the greatest of these was charity.
How kind she was to the champion, sewing imaginary buttons on his skin-tight clothing and cooking up imaginary feasts in her brain. She allowed him to read newspapers or watch ball games all night and she never complained. She ironed his imaginary socks. She kept his imaginary house spotlessly clean and she never burdened him with her own insignificant problems. She showed a definite interest in his career, encouraging him to confess to her those tiny nagging moments of self-doubt that afflict every man at one stage or another. But most importantly, she wore her negligées constantly in an effort to keep herself as young and attractive as she was the day she first imagined him.
He was pleased but not entirely satisfied. He introduced her to his greatest beauty secret—a three-week plan to beautifyher bust contour. He assured her that no one was more interested in helping her with this delicate problem than he. He sympathized. He understood. Hadn’t he once been a ninety-pound weakling, who through persistent effort had raised himself to the very heights of power and personal magnetism? Hadn’t he counselled countless other women who were suffering from the misery and self-consciousness of possessing an unattractive bosom? Didn’t he know everything there was to know about the growth and tone of pectoral muscles? Of course he did. Of course he had. And he would help her by setting out a rigid schedule of exercises that she could begin that very day.
The weeks rolled by both in illusion and in reality. Nurses glided in and out of her makeshift gym. They trod softly on squeaky shoes. They carried their trays of Jello and Dream Whip
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