6/25/39
Darling:
I certainly haven’t been a very dutiful husband this week-end. I have delayed writing until now, and now you may not get it until Tuesday.
The week-end may be described by one four letter word—swim. And how. I swam a third mile yesterday and a half mile stretch today. Both of these were in addition to my regular pool-piddling. I am beginning to look brown and healthy. The sky seems to be always cloudy these days, so I have gotten a gradual tan rather than a quick burn.
Precious, I have bad news for you. Remember it’s my business-man talking and not my heart. Under no circumstances marry me before I have the degree. There is not enough security without it. Frankly, I am worried. Perhaps I am doing ok by the RCA, but I honestly don’t think I’m turning in the work I should. I have the one consolation of knowing that I told them the truth about my ability. I didn’t make any claims which I haven’t backed up, but I am afraid they expected more of me. Maybe it’s just the old complex of not accepting anything that isn’t perfect, especially in my own work. But darling, I never want you to wander across the continent again in search of a home. It may mean a couple of more horrible years for us, but it will also mean that when we are married, no matter who fires me, I shall have the introduction to other jobs. I heartily condemn wpk* for being a selfish brute, and I don’t ever want to put myself in that class.
Well, let’s forget that bridge. I don’t expect to be fired, for they are already planning more work for me. But I do expect to have to work like hell to hang on.
I went to the show tonight and made it a point to remember to tell you to be sure to see it. Well, I’m telling you. The only thing I forgot is the name of the picture. Claudette Colbert and James Stuart are in it, and it is funny as hell, and yet a strong plot. Maybe by the next letter I shall remember the name. Tommy Riggs and Betty Lou were on the stage at the show.
Well, toots, you’re still mine and always will be. Not even the little error in 1936 changed that opinion. I didn’t have time to eat and write both, so I picked up a pint of milk and of potato salad and a jelly roll. The letter is finished and so is supper, and I must go to bed—without a kiss from my wife—which is hell.
Your devoted husband, Cy
P.S. New stationery the end of the week!
*William P. Kennedy