Complete Works of F. Scott Fitzgerald (Illustrated) (480 page)

Dada. I should say that Lincoln was our greatest President.
[He turns back to the bookcase with an air of having settled a trivial question for all time.]

Jerry. I mean to-night. They’re getting a new one. Don’t you read the papers?

Dada
[who has heard only a faint murmur].
Hm.

Charlotte. You
know
he never reads anything but the Bible. Why do you nag him?

Jerry. He reads the encyclopaedia at the Public Library.
[With a rush of public spirit.]
If he’d just read the newspapers he’d know what was going on and have something to talk about. He just sits around and never says anything.

Charlotte. At least he doesn’t gabble his head off all day. He’s got sense enough not to do that
anyway,
haven’t you, Dada?

Dada does not answer.

Jerry. Lookit here, Charlit. I don’t call it gabbling if I meet a man in the street and he says, “Well, I see, somebody was nominated for President,” and I say, “Yes, I see saw — see so.” Suppose I said, “Yes, Lincoln was our greatest President.” He’d say, “Why, if that fella isn’t a piece of cheese I never saw a piece of cheese.”

Dada
[turning about plaintively].
Some one has taken my Bible.

Jerry. No, there it is on the second shelf, Dada.

Dada.
[He doesn’t hear.]
I don’t like people moving it around.

Charlotte. Nobody moved it.

Dada. My old mother used to say to me, “Horatio — “
[He brings this word out with an impressive roundness, but as his eye, at that moment, catches sight of the Bible, he loses track of his thought. He pounces upon the Holy Book and drags it out, pulling with it two or three other books, which crash to the floor. The sound of their fall is very faint on his ears
—
and under the delusion that his error is unnoticed, he slyly kicks the books under the bookcase. Jerry and Charlotte exchange a glance. With his Bible under his arm Dada starts stealthily toward the staircase. He sees something bright shining on the first step, and, not without difficulty, stoops to pick it up. His efforts are unsuccessful.]
Hello, here’s a nail that looks just like a ten-cent piece. 
[He starts upstairs.]

Jerry. He thought he found a ten-cent piece.

Charlotte
[significantly].
Nobody has yet in
this
house.

In the ensuing silence Dada can be heard ascending the stairs. About half-way up there is a noise as if he had slipped down a notch. Then a moment of utter silence.

Jerry. You all right, Dada?

No answer. Dada is heard to resume his climb.
He was just resting.
[He goes over and starts picking up the books. Cli-n-ng! There’s the front door-bell again. It occurs to him that it’s the b-o-o.]
I’ll answer it.

Charlotte
[who has risen]. I’ll
answer it. It’s my own sister Doris, I
know.
You answered the last one.

Jerry. That was a mistake. It’s my turn this time by rights.

Answering the door-bell is evidently a pleasant diversion over which they have squabbled before.

Charlotte. I’ll answer it.

Jerry. You needn’t bother.

Cli-n-ng! An impatient ring that.

Charlotte and Jerry
[together].
Now, listen here —

They both start for the door. Jerry turns, only trying to argue with her some more, and what does the woman do but slap his face! Then, quick as a flash, she is by him and has opened the door.

What do you think of that? Jerry stands there with an expressionless face. In comes Charlotte’s sister Doris.

Well, now, I’ll tell you about Doris. She’s nineteen, I guess, and pretty. She’s nice and slender and dressed in an astonishingly close burlesque of the current fashions. She’s a member of that portion of the middle-class whose girls are just a little bit too proud to work and just a little bit too needy not to. In this city of perhaps a quarter of a million people she knows a few girls who know a few girls who are “social leaders,” and through this connection considers herself a member of the local aristocracy. In her mind, morals, and manners she is a fairly capable imitation of the current moving-picture girl, with overtones of some of the year’s debutantes whom she sees down-town. Doris knows each debutante’s first name and reputation, and she follows the various affairs of the season as they appear in the society column.

She walks
—
walks, not runs
—
haughtily into the room, her head inclined faintly forward, her hips motionless. She speaks always in a bored voice, raising her eyebrows at the important words of each sentence.

Doris. Hello, people.

Jerry
[a little stiffly — he’s mad.]
Why, hello, Doris.

Doris sits down with a faint glance at her chair, as though suspecting its chastity.

Doris. Well, I’m engaged again.

She says this as though realizing that she is the one contact this couple have with the wider and outer world. She assumes with almost audible condescension that their only objective interest is the fascinating spectacle of her career. And so there is nothing personal in her confidences; is as though she were reporting dispassionately an affair of great national, or, rather, passional importance. And, indeed, Jerry and Charlotte respond magnificently to her initial remark by saying “Honestly?” in incredulous unison and staring at her with almost bated breath.

Doris
[laconically].
Last night.

Charlotte
[reproachfully].
Oh, Doris!
[flattering her, you see, by accusing her of being utterly incorrigible.]

Doris. I simply couldn’t help it. I couldn’t stand him any longer, and this new fella I’m engaged to now simply had to know — because he was keeping some girl waiting. I just couldn’t stand it. The strain was awful.

Charlotte. Why couldn’t you stand it? What was the trouble?

Doris
[coolly].
He drank.

Charlotte, of course, shakes her head in sympathy.

He’d drink anything. Anything he could get his hands on. He used to drink all these mixtures and then come round to see me.

A close observer might notice that at this statement Jerry, thinking of his nefarious bargain with the b-o-o, perceptibly winces.

Charlotte. Oh, that’s too bad. He was such a clean-cut fella.

Doris. Yes, Charlotte, he was clean-cut, but that was all. I couldn’t stand it, honestly I couldn’t. I never saw such a man, Charlotte. He took the platinum sardine. When they go up in your room and steal your six-dollar-an-ounce perfume, a girl’s got to let a man go.

Charlotte. I should say she has. What did he say when you broke it off?

Doris. He couldn’t say anything. He was too pie-eyed. I tied his ring on a string, hung it around his neck and pushed him out the door.

Jerry. Who’s the new one?

Doris. Well, to tell you the truth, I don’t know much about him, but I’ll tell you what I
do
know from what information I could gather from mutual friends, and so forth. He’s not quite so clean-cut as the first one, but he’s got lots of other good qualities. He comes from the State of Idaho, from a town named Fish.

Jerry. Fish? F-i-s-h?

Doris. I think so. It was named after his uncle…  a Mr. Fish.

Jerry
[wittily].
They’re a lot of Fish out there.

Doris
[not comprehending].
Well, these Fishes are very nice. They’ve been mayor a couple of times and all that sort of thing, if you know what I mean. His father’s in business up there now.

Jerry. What business?

Doris. He’s in the funereal-parlor business.

Jerry
[indelicately].
Oh, undertaker.

Doris.
[She’s sensitive to the word.]
Well, not exactly, but something like that. A funereal parlor is a sort of — oh, a sort of a
good
undertaking place, if you know what I mean.
[And now confidentially
.] As a matter of fact, that’s the part of the thing I don’t like. You see, we may have to live out in Fish, right over his father’s place of business.

Jerry. Why, that’s all right. Think how handy it’ll be if —  —

Charlotte. Keep still, Jerry!

Jerry. Is he in the same business as his father?

Doris. No. At least not now. He was for a while, but the business wasn’t very good and now he says he’s through with it. His father’s bought him an interest in one of the stores.

Jerry. A Fish store, eh?

The two women look at him harshly.

Charlotte
[wriggling her shoulders with enjoyment].
Tell us more about him.

Doris. Well, he’s wonderful looking. And he dresses, well, not loud, you know, but just
well.
And when anybody speaks to him he goes sort of —
[To express what Mr. Fish does when any one speaks to him, Doris turns her profile sharply to the audience, her chin up, her eyes half-closed in an expression of melancholy scorn.]

Charlotte. I know — like Rudolph Valentine.

Doris
[witheringly
—
do you blame her?].
Valentino.

Jerry. What does it mean when he does that?

Doris. I don’t know, just sort of — sort of passion.

Jerry. Passion!

Doris. Emotion sort of. He’s very emotional. That’s one reason I didn’t like the last fella I was engaged to. He wasn’t very emotional. He was sort of an old cow most of the time. I’ve got to have somebody emotional. You remember that place in the Sheik where the fella says: “Must I play valet as well as lover?” That’s the sort of thing I like.

Charlotte
[darting a look at Jerry].
I know
just
what you mean.

Doris. He’s not really as tall as I’d like him to be, but he’s got a wonderful build and a good complexion. I can’t stand anybody without a good complexion — can you? He calls me adorable egg.

Jerry. What does he mean by that?

Doris
[airily].
Oh, “egg” is just a name people use nowadays. It’s considered sort of the thing.

Jerry
[awed].
Egg?

Charlotte. When do you expect to get married?

Doris. You never can tell!

A pause, during which they all sigh as if pondering. Then Doris,’with a tremendous effort at justice, switches the conversation away from herself.

Doris
[patronizingly, condescendingly].
How’s everything going with you two?
[To Jerry.]
Does your father still read the Bible?

Jerry. Well, a lot of the time he just thinks.  

Doris. He hasn’t had anything to do for the last twenty years but just think, has he?

Jerry
[impressed].
Just think of the things he’s probably thought out.

Doris
[blasphemously].
That old dumb-bell?

Charlotte and Jerry are a little shocked.

How’s everything else been going around here?

Jerry. I got analyzed to-day at —  —

Charlotte
[interrupting].
The same as ever.

Jerry. I got anal —  —

Charlotte
[to Jerry].
I wish you’d be polite enough not to interrupt me.

Jerry
[pathetically].
I thought you were through.

Charlotte. Well, you’ve driven what I had to say right out of my head.
[To Doris.]
What do you think he said to-night? He said if he hadn’t married me he’d be President of the United States.

At this Jerry drops his newspaper precipitately, walks in anger to the door, and goes out without speaking.

You see? Just a display of temper. But it doesn’t worry
me. [She sighs
—
the shrew.]
I’m used to it.

Doris tactfully makes no reply. After a momentary silence she changes the subject.

Doris. Well, I find I just made an awful mistake.

Charlotte
[eagerly].
Not keeping both those men for a while? That’s what I think.

Doris. No. I mean — do you remember those three dresses I had lengthened?

Charlotte
[breathlessly].
Yes.

Doris
[tragically]. 
I’ll never be able to wear them.

Charlotte. Why?

Doris. There’s a picture of Mae Murray in the new Motion Picture Magazine… my dear, half her calf!

Charlotte. Really?

At this point the door leading to the dining-room opens and Jerry comes in. Looking neither to left nor to right, he marches to his lately vacated place, snatches up half his newspaper, and goes out without speaking. The two women bestow on him a careless glance and continue their discussion.