F. Scott Fitzgerald - Tender is the Night [34]
“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 hair.
“We’ll stay just five minutes,” he decided. “You’re not going to like these people.”
She assumed that they were dull and stereotyped people, or gross and drunken people, or tiresome, insistent people, or any of the sorts of people that the Divers avoided. She was entirely unprepared for the impression that the scene made on her.
XVII
It was a house hewn from the frame of Cardinal de Retz’s palace in the Rue Monsieur, but once inside the door there was nothing of the past, nor of any present that Rosemary knew. The outer shell, the masonry, seemed rather to enclose the future so that it was an electric-like shock, a definite nervous experience, perverted as a breakfast of oatmeal and hashish, to cross that threshold, if it could be so called, into the long hall of blue steel, silver-gilt, and the myriad facets of many oddly bevelled mirrors. The effect was unlike that of any part of the Decorative Arts Exhibition—for there were people IN it, not in front of it. Rosemary had the detached false-and-exalted feeling of being on a set and she guessed that every one else present