Tender Is the Night by Francis Scott Fitzgerald Page A

fortune,
in a Duncan Phyfe dining-room, in an aviation port, and during a yacht-race
that was only used in two flashes, in a subway and finally in a bathroom. But
Rosemary triumphed. Her fineness of character, her courage and steadfastness
intruded upon by the vulgarity of the world, and Rosemary showing what it took
with a face that had not yet become mask-like—yet it was actually so moving
that the emotions of the whole row of people went out to her at intervals
during the picture. There was a break once and the light went on and after the
chatter of applause Dick said to her sincerely: “I’m simply astounded. You’re
going to be one of the best actresses on the stage.”
    Then
back to Daddy’s Girl: happier days now, and a lovely shot of Rosemary and her
parent united at the last in a father complex so apparent that Dick winced for
all psychologists at the vicious sentimentality. The screen vanished, the
lights went on, the moment had come.
    “I’ve
arranged one other thing,” announced Rosemary to the company at large, “I’ve
arranged a test for Dick.”
    “A what?”
    “A
screen test, they’ll take one now.”
    There
was an awful silence—then an irrepressible chortle from the Norths .
Rosemary watched Dick comprehend what she meant, his face moving first in an
Irish way; simultaneously she realized that she had made some mistake in the
playing of her trump and still she did not suspect that the card was at fault.
    “I don’t
want a test,” said Dick firmly; then, seeing the situation as a whole, he
continued lightly, “Rosemary, I’m disappointed. The pictures make a fine career
for a woman—but my God, they can’t photograph me. I’m an old scientist all
wrapped up in his private life.”
    Nicole
and Mary urged him ironically to seize the opportunity; they teased him, both
faintly annoyed at not having been asked for a sitting. But Dick closed the
subject with a somewhat tart discussion of actors: “The strongest guard is
placed at the gateway to nothing,” he said. “Maybe because
the condition of emptiness is too shameful to be divulged.”
    In the
taxi with Dick and Collis Clay—they were dropping Collis, and Dick was taking
Rosemary to a tea from which Nicole and the Norths had resigned in order to do the things Abe had left undone till the last—in the
taxi Rosemary reproached him.
    “I
thought if the test turned out to be good I could take it to
California
with me. And then maybe if they
liked it you’d come out and be my leading man in a picture.”
    He was
overwhelmed. “It was a darn sweet thought, but I’d rather look at YOU. You were
about the nicest sight I ever looked at.”
    “That’s
a great picture,” said Collis. “I’ve seen it four times. I know one boy at
New Haven
who’s seen it a
dozen times—he went all the way to
Hartford
to see it one time. And when I brought Rosemary up to
New Haven
he was so shy he wouldn’t meet her.
Can you beat that? This little girl knocks them cold.”
    Dick and
Rosemary looked at each other, wanting to be alone, but Collis failed to
understand.
    “I’ll
drop you where you’re going,” he suggested. “I’m staying at the Lutetia .”
    “We’ll
drop you,” said Dick.
    “It’ll
be easier for me to drop you. No trouble at all.”
    “I think
it will be better if we drop you.”
    “But—”
began Collis; he grasped the situation at last and began discussing with
Rosemary when he would see her again.
    Finally,
he was gone, with the shadowy unimportance but the offensive bulk of the third
party. The car stopped unexpectedly, unsatisfactorily, at the address Dick had
given. He drew a long breath.
    “Shall
we go in?”
    “I don’t
care,” Rosemary said. “I’ll do anything you want.”
    He
considered.
    “I
almost have to go in—she wants to buy some pictures from a friend of mine who
needs the money.”
    Rosemary
smoothed the brief expressive disarray of her