Complete Works of F. Scott Fitzgerald (Illustrated) (513 page)

Camera shoots between them at the crowd.

GREY HAIR: Table beside the bass drum.

RUMPLED HAIR (moving his opera glasses): I’ve got it.

GREY HAIR: What do you say?

RUMPLED HAIR: Let me concentrate.

A blurred dose shot of a table across the room seen through a frame shaped like this [sign] OO to suggest open glasses. The blur dears to show two young people leaning ecstatically over: the table toward each other.

The observers’table.

RUMPLED HAIR: I say, engaged.

GREY HAIR: Sure. Now the couple on their right.

Camera, acting as opera glasses, pans to a dull couple of thirty, utterly bored, staring for amusement anywhere bur at each other. Accidently, their eyes meet with a glazed expression and, as if startled, hastily seek other focuses.

GREY HAIR’S VOICE: Married.

RUMPLED HAIR’S VOICE: That’s too easy.

Camera, as opera-glasses, pans gain to the right, picking up a devoted couple of thirty-five, happy; at ease with each other, interested in what’s outside because they are seeing it together.

RUMPLED HAIR’S VOICE: Married?

GREY HAIR’S VOICE: Yes. (Pause.) Lucky devils.

Camera, as opera glasses, pans left, picking up another couple. The girl is talking earnestly, passionately to the man. The man is listening, his mouth moving uneasily. Once his eyes wander quickly from side to side, then back to her. Her eyes have swayed slightly with his.

GREY HAIR’S VOICE: Cheating.

The observers’table: Both men lower their opera-glasses, laughing.

RUMPLED HAIR: That’s obvious.

He drinks as Grey Hair raises his opera glasses again.

RUMPLED HAIR (calling off): Waiter — the check.

GREY HAIR: Wait a minute. Close-up of Grey Hair’s face: His face tightens with interest as he looks through the glasses.

GREY HAIR: Take a look at this couple. The camera shoots between them at the crowd.

RUMPLED HAIR (raising opera glasses as a waiter’s hand lets check fall on table): Where are they?

GREY HAIR: Near the mike... where the waiter is. Seen their faces somewhere... Camera, as opera glasses, picks, up Nicolas and Althea

Gilbert at a table beside the floor show; they are a handsome,

attractive, vital, well-dressed pair. Camera holds on them during following business during which their lips move appropriately but we hear nothing. They have just been served a light supper by a waiter who now retires. Nicolas makes a polite reference to the floor show which she answers with a courteous smile, such as one gives to a stranger. The smile fades rather quickly, however, and their eyes meet for a moment, gravely — but not as if they were strangers’eyes, for with a stranger, some conversation would have to go with such a look.Now Althea says something and he reacts politely and deferentially, again as to a stranger, but once again their eyes meet and hold, silent and inscrutable in the way no strangers’eyes would. They are certainly accustomed to each other; with equal certainty there is a barrier between them.

GREY HAIR’S VOICE: What do you make of them?

RUMPLED HAIR’S VOICE: Brother and sister.

GREY HAIR’S VOICE Too polite. (Pause)

RUMPLED HAIR’S VOICE: Married — but love somebody else.

At this point the couple’s eyes meet for the second time.

GREY HAIR’S VOICE: I don’t know about that either.

RUMPLED HAIR’S VOICE: I give up. Come on. Who started this game anyhow?

A sort of wipe dissolve, as if the glasses were being laid down, disclosing: Full shot of the room from the observers’table. As Grey Hair and Rumpled Hair rise to pay their bill, the camera forgets them and moves swiftly forward through the tables with the music swelling up. It takes position for a two-shot of Nicolas and Althea Gilbert and during the rest of the scene, as a distinct innovation in treatment, it remains entirely stationary. The shot is wide enough so that we can see the entertainment on the other side of their table — enough of it to almost hold our interest by itself. In the floor show, between and beyond them, we see a soprano finishing a torch number.

SOPRANO (singing): There’s love outside the window.
There’s love beyond the door,
There’s love around the corner,
But I don’t go there anymore.

Nicolas and Althea clap perfunctorily. Their eyes meet but this time they avoid the glance just slightly.

NICOLAS (attentive): More sherry?

ALTHEA: No, thanks.

Some gay people pass them going out, brush against the table, excuse themselves. Nicolas looks quickly to see if Althea has been annoyed, then inclines his head slightly. The two eat in silence. With a not too emphasized gesture, Althea turns her wedding ring with her thumb. Headwaiter comes into scene.

WAITER: Everything all right, Mr. Gilbert?

NICOLAS: Very nice.

ALTHEA (almost in the same breath): Very nice. Waiter retires

NICOLAS (polite): Salt.

ALTHEA (handing it): Oh, I’m sorry.

NICOLAS (using it): Thanks.

A ventriloquist number how begins on the floor — they give it mild attention.They are well-bred; their expressions are in full control. The air of constraint will transpire from what they do and say — there should be no attempt to “act”.

THE VENTRILOQUIST (to his dummy): Well, Jimmy, since you took the fatal leap, I haven’t seen so much of you.

DUMMY: My wife complains of that, too. A peal of laughter from a nearby table. The Gilberts’expressions are pleasant but they do not smile. Their attitude continues through several other jokes on marriage. The ventriloquist moves our of our vision; his voice continues, faint and indistinguishable.

NICOLAS: Want some coffee?

ALTHEA: No thanks, but you have some.

NICOLAS: Not for me.

Laughter at the ventriloquist comes from the tables. Nicolas turns his head slightly but isn’t much interested. He raises his hand to the waiter who, comes into the scene.

NICOLAS: Check, please. (To Althea:) Or perhaps you want to see.

ALTHEA (wakening from an abstracted mood and covering up with a polite smile): What? No — no. I’ve had enough.

Nicolas nods at the waiter who figures the check. Nicolas pays, and for the first time Althea looks around at the other tables, ending by looking directly into the camera which thereupon moves up to a dose shot of her. Her face is passive, mask-like, but we are sure she is a woman who has not found in life what she desires.

The lobby of the Waldorf: The Gilberts step out of the elevator; his attitude is protective. The other passengers cast covert glances at this notably handsome, well-dressed couple. Camera follows them out the door.

The street in front of the hotel: Nicolas stops beside a newspaper vending machine for an early morning edition. After a step, Althea stops too. In deference to her, he hurries forth the paper, stuffs it in his pocket, and they walk on together. The doorman recognizes them. DOORMAN: Yes, Mr. Gilbert — your car’s here. (Signals down [unknown] and blows whistle.) Limousine draws up, chauffeur jumps out, the Gilberts get in and they drive off.

Interior of limousine; night: Althea is staring straight ahead; Nicolas takes out his paper, turns on the little light and reads. Althea’s glance is caught by an item on an inner page — an advertisement for fine laces. Nicolas adjusts the paper politely so she can see it — before he turns the page, he paid a side-glance to see if she’s finished.

ALTHEA: I’m through. (She turns eyes front again.) Hold on Nicolas and Althea riding in silence long enough to indicate that their silence is habitual. No individual shots — the camera should emphasize their physical nervousness, yet sort of intimacy. They seem to be so perfectly mated, they would be in each other’s arms, deliriously happy. A rich but not palatial house in the East Sixties; night: Nicolas starts to unlock the door when Starks, the butler, opens it.

As camera follows them in:

NICOLAS (to butler): You didn’t have to sit, Starks.

BUTTER: There were some phones, sir. Camera follows them into a luxurious drawing room, in the best taste, family portaits, etc., not just Park Avenue interior decoration. These are people of tradition.

BUTLER: Your brother phoned from the airport in Chicago, sir. He’s arriving by plane tomorrow morning.

NICOLAS: Ah, good, good, (He half turns to Althea as if to share his joy, but recollects himself immediately, enthusiasm fading.)

ALTHEA (shedding her fur coat): That’s nice.

BUTLER: (reading from a list): And Mr. E.R.P. Chetton, and Senator Wade from Washington, and Mr. Morris Cauley.

NICOLAS (lightly): Give me the list — I’ll dream on it.

BUTLER (to Althea from another list): And from the hospital (Althea is instantly alert), the superintendent — Mrs. Gostal, or —

ALTHEA (supplying it): Mrs. Gosnell.

BUTLER: She phoned that she has the other trustees for ten o’clock.

ALTHEA: Oh, thanks.

BUTLER: And there was Mrs. Payson calling from Southampton, and Mrs. Cromwell (she takes the list from his hand), and some gentleman who will call again. (To Nicolas:) A something to eat, sir? (Picks up Nicolas hat, stick, rtc.)

NICOLAS: Thanks, we’ve eaten. Althea starts out into the hall.

ALTHEA (looking at list as she walks): Starks, tell the new parmaid she can stay. Get her some new uniforms.

Nicolas stands out of her way. As she slowly passes the place, her fur coat catches in the projecting spike of an late andiron. She stops; detaches it in a gesture and goes on. Nicolas quietly picks up the andiron and quickly bends offending part until it breaks off. Althea, unseeing, passes to the door. Close shot of Starks looking startled at the piece of andiron which Nicolas now drops on the floor. Nicolas’face has not tangled with the effort.

The hall: Althea mounts the stairs slowly. Nicolas follows her steps behind.

Starks’s face is seen looking up at them, faintly frowning. Two open bedroom doors.

ALTHEA (formally — a little hurried): Good-night. I enjoyed the play.

NICOLAS: Good-night, Althea. She goes into her room. Nicolas looks after her for a split second. Then camera follows him into his room. Moving about, he takes off his coat, his vest and slips off suspenders. Then he looks at the list the butler has given him, crumples it, flips it absently into basket, frowns and stoops to look for it. The basket has other papers in it, and patiently he smooths out one or two. His hanging suspender, dangling on his arm, upsets the basket. He stands up and looks at it listlessly. The scene is not comic — it is to indicate and accentuate his alone-ness, his helplessness, that boyish clumsiness which makes women feel maternal.

Althea’s bedroom: Luxurious. She is taking off her necklace. Through the door, the maid is seen drawing a bath. On her dressing table is a big open jar of cold cream. She lets her dress slip off, stands on tiptoes and stretches. Then she picks up a squash racket from a chair and, in front of the mirror, makes a couple of tentative strokes, practicing form; that brings her hair tumbling down. Nicolas’room: In his pajamas, Nicolas presses a window-opening device, then he gets into bed and lies staring at the ceiling a moment before he turns off the light. Althea’s room: The maid waits. Althea is coming from the bath, ravishing in a silk nightgown, looking like love — but no lover. Camera should hold on these shots if tense mood of mystery has been successfully established.

THE MAID: Is there nothing Madame wants?

ALTHEA (turning): Nothing — absolutely nothing.

The maid leaves. Althea aims out the sidelights and gets into bed. She opens a book, reads a few lines, then lowers it and stares at the ceiling.

The camera moves up to the page of the book, open on her breast, and we read:

INVICTUS. “Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever Gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.
In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud — “

The shadow of her hand crosses the page. The light goes The Gilberts’breakfast alcove cm a May morning: A New York street outside the window. Althea, dressed in pajamas, looking very fresh and beautiful, is pulling up her chair at the breakfast table as the butler sets down two glasses of orange juice and two newspapers.

Nicolas comes in, dressed for business.

ALTHEA: Good morning.

NICOLAS (politely as he sits down): Morning. Sleep well?

ALTHEA: Yes, thanks. (To butler as he brings over covered dish from the serving table and shows it to her:) Is this made of the new ham?

BUTLER: Yes, Madame.

ALTHEA: It ought to taste of hickory smoke and molasses. (More to herself:) When I was a girl in Virginia, we had smokehouses full of it every autumn.

The butler serves her husband who drinks his orange juice, looks at the headlines and puts the paper in his pocket. Two lovebirds in a cage behind Althea cheep at her, and she gets up and goes to them. The birds perch on her finger, and she chirps back at them.