Your Coca-Cola Bottler presents, Claudia. Music Claudia, based on the famous play and novels by Rose Franken. Brought to you transcribed Monday through Friday by your friendly neighbor who bottles Coca-Cola. Relax and while you're listening refresh yourself, have a Coke. Music And now, Claudia. Music Claudia! David, you're home finally! How'd the meeting go? What are you doing up? Why aren't you in bed? I've been waiting for you. I heard your footsteps crunch on the drive so I got up. You get back in bed. You haven't even got your slippers on. Is that all you have to say to me? Get back into bed. That's better. Hello. Hello. I couldn't go to sleep all alone like this. Too lonesome. I've been waiting for you to come home. It's very late. It's after eleven. Well, then it's late for you too. Who cares what time it is anyway? Now it's early. I missed you so. I got home just as early as I could. Of course you did. I just missed you, that's all. I should hope you did miss me. You'd have been mighty hurt if you hadn't. It's just amazing how long an evening can be, isn't it? Mm-hmm. That kiss almost makes me forget. Now, now to bed. Listen, you didn't tell me how the meeting went. No, nothing was decided, but there was a lot of talk. Are you going to get the contract? I certainly hope so. So do I. We'd be in the chips if we did. I will keep me fingers crossed. Good for you. Not that I give a hoot about the chips, but just because I hope you get the contract because you want it. Well, the chips come in handy. When you're home, darling, I don't need nothing else, not even chips. You are a unique little woman, as they say in the magazines. The only chip I'm really interested in is the little chip off the old block sleeping in the next room. Oh, David. So nice to have you home. I'm starting to think that you missed me. Now, why should you think that? Come on, bed. Do you mind if I brush my teeth first? No, brush them all, everyone. Coming back on the train, I thought I'd never get here. It was crawling. No express after 9.30. It's funny. You'd think that's when they need it most, expresses. Say, David, does it seem as queer to you when you don't come home of an evening as it seems to me when you don't come home? Queer, because I'm the one who's not coming home. I'm certainly glad you didn't spend the whole night in town. Still, it's a terrible trip for you to make for just a few hours sleeping. I don't mind. Oh, here it is after 11 o'clock and you're just coming home. In less than eight hours, you'll have to get ready to go back to New York again. I said I don't mind. I know, but I do. You'll be exhausted if this keeps up. It's an awful strain. There's no strain on the train. The train does all the work. Well, I'm not so sure. As a matter of fact, I might have to stay in town quite a bit until these plans are submitted and the contract bids settle. David, wouldn't it be simple if at a time like this we lived in New York? It would take you just 10 minutes to get to the office, 10 minutes to get home, and when you had to work in the evenings, we could still have dinner together. We'll have breakfast together instead. Life is so simple in the city, isn't it not? People usually say that life is simple in the country, though. Well, those people don't know what they're talking about. That's all I've got to say. In the city, there you are. Now, that is a profound remark. Right in the hubbub. In the hubbub of nothing. Where your life gets ground away between cement walls and train tracks. Well, but, David, how can you say that? In the city, everything is done for you. Plumbing, heating, lighting, sidewalks are swept, snow is taken away. Well, you don't have to walk upstairs. There are elevators. You don't spend hours going to and fro. I can even drop into the office to see you a million times a day if I want. Well, you just try it. And I can call you for a nickel only. The country certainly has its advantages. Your bed's all open, David. Oh, boy, does it look inviting. This maybe you can take a later train in tomorrow. So you can sleep a little later? Yeah, we sure could, but I have a 9.30 appointment. David, you're working too hard. Nonsense. No, no, no nonsense about it. Well, life is certainly a queer business. When work is slow, you have time to do all the other things you like to do besides work. And then you worry because work is slow. You're not making enough money and there's no future to it. So, you start thinking that as an architect you're a flop. And I start thinking that as a husband you're a great success. Oh, great. Because I can't provide for my family decently, I'm a big success. Oh, rubbish, and you know it. And then business picks up. So you get orders for this building and that building and you start drawing plans and you make estimates and you have endless meetings. You have no time to eat decently. You can't get home for dinner. Finally make it at midnight and you collapse in bed and that, I suppose, is supposed to be better. It is a pretty poor choice, isn't it? Well, it's the way we live, we and everyone else. I suppose. Because it's the kind of world we live in, David. Why can't we just go and sit on the moon? Just the four of us, you and Bobby and Mama and me, sitting on the moon. I think you are asleep. No, by making great sense. Because it's so nice having you home and listen, you better go to sleep. You don't have much time left. How's bed? Oh, boy. It feels wonderful. Clean sheets. There's nothing like fresh laundry and pillowcases, is there? I always hate to put a crease in them. Well, I guess I'll sleep carefully. I'm putting out the light, David. That's better. You going to read? No, I guess not. Well, don't go to sleep with your light on. I won't. What are you thinking about? Who said I'm thinking? The pleats in your forehead. David, stop thinking about the meeting tonight and going over every word that was said. You won't ever go to sleep that way. Yeah, I was thinking of that. Darling, how would you like to go back to New York? What do you mean? I mean, you've made a lot of sense tonight. I did. Although you probably didn't know it. Oh, well, listen, can't you just give me a compliment straight? Of course I made sense. I knew it, too. What did I say? About New York. How would you like to go back to New York? To New York? For a few days, for weeks, a month maybe, if you like. Oh, David, why? Well, I'm going to be kept pretty busy these next few weeks. I'm going to have a lot of conferences and smoke-filled rooms and talk and business. I have to work nights, and I don't like having you sit up here in Eastbrook all by yourself. Listen, I'm not all by myself. I have a whole house full of fritz and bertha and the baby. That's certainly a house full. Not counting the two dogs and the cow and the cow and the calf and the pig. Heaven knows what else. Well, all those things are not the proper company for a young woman of 19. What's improper about it? They're just not enough. You should be seeing other people your own age. Other people my age are too young for me to see. Listen to Methuselah. I am listening. Go on, Methuselah. Well, why shouldn't you come into New York? We'll take a couple of rooms in the hotel, or we could... No, no, Mama wouldn't let us. She'd insist on having us stay with you. For once, I wouldn't mind. Then you wouldn't be alone all day and all evening. How many times do I have to tell you I'm not all alone and I like it here? You certainly are perverse. What do you mean? Just five minutes ago, you were telling me all of the advantages of living in New York, besides the mere mechanical conveniences. You gave me a long speech on how much easier it would be for me these next few weeks and for you. Well, that's true. It would be. Then, and now, I suggest you come and stay in New York for a while. Why do you look so surprised? Because what I said had nothing to do with me, darling. Why not? David, are you really serious? Yes, I'm really serious. You mean you're not just saying this because of everything I said? No, there wouldn't be anything wrong with that. But as a matter of fact, I thought of it all by myself on the way home. It's been a long winter. It hasn't been an easy one either. I know it. You can't transplant a tender little flower like you and not have it feel the change of the soil. Am I a tender little flower? You certainly are a small cactus. Oh, I love cactuses. Well? Cacti, I mean. What do you say? Do you want to decide tonight? Why not? New York. Mm-hmm. It is February, that's true. Listen, there are a lot of plays on Broadway I haven't seen yet. And Mama's been alone for two months. She must be lonesome. And David, you do look tired, darling. And when you come in at 11 like this, it's no good. Milk at the door, newspapers at the door, steam heating, subways, nickel phone calls. My office just 10 minutes away. It's all settled. David, what about the baby? It'll be awfully crowded at Mama's for the four of us. Well, we'll leave the baby here. Bertha'll take care of him. Leave him behind? Why not? Bertha takes much better care of him than you do. He's much fonder of her than he is of you. That's a fine way to talk to your child's mother. Well, face it. I will not face it. What you say probably is so, but I won't face it. You really mean that about leaving the baby here, really? Of course. You don't want him to be a mommy, mama baby, do you? He's only seven and a half months old. Then already you're tying him to your apron string. You have no feelings. That's the trouble. Well, my son doesn't need to be coddled by his mother. Don't coddle him. A couple of weeks away from the baby, it'll do him good. Do you good, too. Certainly won't hurt him. He won't even notice. Well, it'll hurt me, and I'll notice. You were you long before you were a mother. Yes, but being a mother is a lot stronger than just being me. Strange as it may seem, I feel like a mother first and me afterwards. That's all right, too, but that doesn't mean it's the only thing. Besides being me, it's true I was a wife before I was Bobby's mother. David, first come, first serve. We can leave Bobby here. If we didn't have birth in Fritz, I wouldn't do it for five minutes. No, not even two minutes. All right, then we'll call Mama the first thing in the morning. How soon will we move? We're not moving. We're just going to take a little visit. This week? Well, I'll know better tomorrow. Maybe not until next week. Oh, good. The way you talked about living in the city. I thought you'd be delighted when I suggested it. Oh, David. Don't you know how I love this farm? Yeah, I guess I do. Funny old salt box house with its slamming roof and that poor old crow who flies around during the day. Majesty, lowing away in the stable. Yeah, good old Majesty. I even love all the trouble with the electricity, the oil bill, and shoveling the snow out of the front hall. Now, I tell you right now that I don't like shoveling the snow out of the front hall. I'll tell you that any day of the week, any time, any month, any year. I love it when it rains. I love it when it snows. I love being alone in the middle of nowhere, listening to the drops on the window panes, and the roof. I love the big festive fires we build in the fireplace in the evenings. I love to take out the ashes and sweep up the hearth and all those things. David, you're so unromantic. Here I'm being poetical for a change, and I love looking out over our land and seeing Jared Tucker mincing up the road. David, I love this farm. I don't ever want to leave. Neither do I. I want us to live here the rest of our lives, become ancestors here. Oh, we will. There'll be generations and generations and generations of ancestors of us right here. All right, David. I made up my mind. Because we love it here, we'll go to New York. Maybe that doesn't make such good sense, does it? It's not good sense, darling. It's profound sense. It's like loving someone. When you're sure, you can't let go. Put out your light, darling. How dark it is, David. How beautifully, beautifully quiet. This broadcast of Claudia was supervised and directed by William Brown Maloney. Remember the little man who sorted oranges for a living and complained that his job involved decisions, decisions, all-day-long decisions? Well, shopping often gives you that same confused feeling. If you grow weary during a shopping expedition, head for the nearest coke cooler. Have yourself a nice, cold, sparkling, delicious Coca-Cola, and you'll be able to shop refreshed. Every day, Monday through Friday, Claudia comes to you transcribed with the best wishes of your friendly neighbor who bottles Coca-Cola. So listen again tomorrow at the same time. And now this is Joe King saying au revoir. And remember, whoever you are, whatever you do, wherever you may be, when you think of refreshment, think of Coca-Cola. For Coca-Cola makes any pause the pause that refreshes. And ice-cold Coca-Cola is everywhere. For shit. Thank you.