Authentic Science Fiction Monthly, No. 65 — page 84: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

DUET FOR TWO “‘What’s your home town, Mister Valdesco ?”’ “Give us a break; who’s your girl . . ?” “How come we haven’t heard of you before . . ?” He pushed his way through, nodding, smiling, hating the whole blasted lot of them. Until suddenly a question was asked at his side. “How about letting me take you home and cook you some dinner? You can relax afterwards and maybe give me a story.” He glanced in amazement at the voice, finding its owner to be a young girl with dark hair and brown eyes, and a smile that was a little desper- ate as she was buffeted by the figures around her. For a moment he paused, gazing at her closely and liking what he saw. “It’s a date,” he said finally, grabbing her hand and pulling her along after They reached the door and dashed for a taxi, the crowd of waiting girls being taken by surprise and realising too late who he was. By then they were inside and he was giving the driver his hotel. Settling 83 back with the girl, he turned to regard her more closely. ““You’re an unusual asset to the newspaper world,” he told her, smiling. She held out her hand. “‘The name’s Valerie McKinnon. I’m on a woman’s weekly, and they want the story of your life.” He grimaced. “‘I had hoped you were one of my fans.” “Keep trying, I’m on the turn. Ten minutes of your life history and Ill love you for the rest of my life...asa brother!”’ They laughed and he caught his breath at the depth of her eyes, the perfect curve of her small red mouth. By the time the taxi slid to a halt before his hotel they were laughing and talking as though this was a meeting between old friends. Unfortunately, his suite was not equipped with a kitchen, but they settled for drinks mixed by Valdesco with a dinner ordered by Valerie. The food was good and he found pleasure in just listening to the gay chatter of the girl. After the meal, before the fire with the night growing old and the gentle strains of comiclooks.cormn