This Side of Paradise - F. Scott Fitzgerald (good books for 7th graders .txt) 📗

first kiss, a whispered word⁠—something that makes it worth while. Gillespie

And then?

Rosalind

Then after that you make him talk about himself. Pretty soon he thinks of nothing but being alone with you⁠—he sulks, he won’t fight, he doesn’t want to play⁠—Victory!

Enter Dawson Ryder, twenty-six, handsome, wealthy, faithful to his own, a bore perhaps, but steady and sure of success.

Ryder

I believe this is my dance, Rosalind.

Rosalind

Well, Dawson, so you recognize me. Now I know I haven’t got too much paint on. Mr. Ryder, this is Mr. Gillespie.

They shake hands and Gillespie leaves, tremendously downcast.

Ryder

Your party is certainly a success.

Rosalind

Is it⁠—I haven’t seen it lately. I’m weary⁠—Do you mind sitting out a minute?

Ryder

Mind⁠—I’m delighted. You know I loathe this “rushing” idea. See a girl yesterday, today, tomorrow.

Rosalind

Dawson!

Ryder

What?

Rosalind

I wonder if you know you love me.

Ryder

Startled. What⁠—Oh⁠—you know you’re remarkable!

Rosalind

Because you know I’m an awful proposition. Anyone who marries me will have his hands full. I’m mean⁠—mighty mean.

Ryder

Oh, I wouldn’t say that.

Rosalind

Oh, yes, I am⁠—especially to the people nearest to me. She rises. Come, let’s go. I’ve changed my mind and I want to dance. Mother is probably having a fit.

Exeunt. Enter Alec and Cecelia.

Cecelia

Just my luck to get my own brother for an intermission.

Alec

Gloomily. I’ll go if you want me to.

Cecelia

Good heavens, no⁠—with whom would I begin the next dance? Sighs. There’s no color in a dance since the French officers went back.

Alec

Thoughtfully. I don’t want Amory to fall in love with Rosalind.

Cecelia

Why, I had an idea that that was just what you did want.

Alec

I did, but since seeing these girls⁠—I don’t know. I’m awfully attached to Amory. He’s sensitive and I don’t want him to break his heart over somebody who doesn’t care about him.

Cecelia

He’s very good looking.

Alec

Still thoughtfully. She won’t marry him, but a girl doesn’t have to marry a man to break his heart.

Cecelia

What does it? I wish I knew the secret.

Alec

Why, you cold-blooded little kitty. It’s lucky for some that the Lord gave you a pug nose.

Enter Mrs. Connage.

Mrs. Connage

Where on earth is Rosalind?

Alec

Brilliantly. Of course you’ve come to the best people to find out. She’d naturally be with us.

Mrs. Connage

Her father has marshalled eight bachelor millionaires to meet her.

Alec

You might form a squad and march through the halls.

Mrs. Connage

I’m perfectly serious⁠—for all I know she may be at the Coconut Grove with some football player on the night of her début. You look left and I’ll⁠—

Alec

Flippantly. Hadn’t you better send the butler through the cellar?

Mrs. Connage

Perfectly serious. Oh, you don’t think she’d be there?

Cecelia

He’s only joking, mother.

Alec

Mother had a picture of her tapping a keg of beer with some high hurdler.

Mrs. Connage

Let’s look right away.

They go out. Rosalind comes in with Gillespie.

Gillespie

Rosalind⁠—Once more I ask you. Don’t you care a blessed thing about me?

Amory walks in briskly.

Amory

My dance.

Rosalind

Mr. Gillespie, this is Mr. Blaine.

Gillespie

I’ve met Mr. Blaine. From Lake Geneva, aren’t you?

Amory

Yes.

Gillespie

Desperately. I’ve been there. It’s in the⁠—the Middle West, isn’t it?

Amory

Spicily. Approximately. But I always felt that I’d rather be provincial hot-tamale than soup without seasoning.

Gillespie

What!

Amory

Oh, no offense.

Gillespie bows and leaves.

Rosalind

He’s too much people.

Amory

I was in love with a people once.

Rosalind

So?

Amory

Oh, yes⁠—her name was Isabelle⁠—nothing at all to her except what I read into her.

Rosalind

What happened?

Amory

Finally I convinced her that she was smarter than I was⁠—then she threw me over. Said I was critical and impractical, you know.

Rosalind

What do you mean impractical?

Amory

Oh⁠—drive a car, but can’t change a tire.

Rosalind

What are you going to do?

Amory

Can’t say⁠—run for President, write⁠—

Rosalind

Greenwich Village?

Amory

Good heavens, no⁠—I said write⁠—not drink.

Rosalind

I like businessmen. Clever men are usually so homely.

Amory

I feel as if I’d known you for ages.

Rosalind

Oh, are you going to commence the “pyramid” story?

Amory

No⁠—I was going to make it French. I was Louis XIV and you were one of my⁠—my⁠—Changing his tone. Suppose⁠—we fell in love.

Rosalind

I’ve suggested pretending.

Amory

If we did it would be very big.

Rosalind

Why?

Amory

Because selfish people are in a way terribly capable of great loves.

Rosalind

Turning her lips up. Pretend.

Very deliberately they kiss.

Amory

I can’t say sweet things. But you are beautiful.

Rosalind

Not that.

Amory

What then?

Rosalind

Sadly. Oh, nothing⁠—only I want sentiment, real sentiment⁠—and I never find it.

Amory

I never find anything else in the world⁠—and I loathe it.

Rosalind

It’s so hard to find a male to gratify one’s artistic taste.

Someone has opened a door and the music of a waltz surges into the room. Rosalind rises.

Rosalind

Listen! they’re playing “Kiss Me Again.”

He looks at her.

Amory

Well?

Rosalind

Well?

Amory

Softly⁠—the battle lost. I love you.

Rosalind

I love you⁠—now.

They kiss.

Amory

Oh, God, what have I done?

Rosalind

Nothing. Oh, don’t talk. Kiss me again.

Amory

I don’t know why or how, but I love you⁠—from the moment I saw you.

Rosalind

Me too⁠—I⁠—I⁠—oh, tonight’s tonight.

Her brother strolls in, starts and then in a loud voice says: “Oh, excuse me,” and goes.

Rosalind

Her lips scarcely stirring. Don’t let me go⁠—I don’t care who knows what I do.

Amory

Say it!

Rosalind

I love you⁠—now. They part. Oh⁠—I am very youthful, thank God⁠—and rather beautiful, thank God⁠—and happy, thank God, thank God⁠—She pauses and then, in an odd burst of prophecy, adds. Poor Amory!

He kisses her again.

Kismet

Within two weeks Amory and Rosalind were deeply and passionately in love. The critical qualities which had spoiled for each of them a dozen romances were dulled by the great wave of emotion that washed over them.

“It may be an insane love-affair,” she told her anxious mother, “but it’s not inane.”

The wave swept Amory into an advertising agency early in March, where he alternated between astonishing bursts of rather exceptional work and wild dreams