Tales of the Jazz Age by F. Scott Fitzgerald, is part of the HackerNoon Books Series. You can jump to any chapter in this book . PORCELAIN AND PINK here PORCELAIN AND PINK A room in the down-stairs of a summer cottage. High around the wall runs an art frieze of a fisherman with a pile of nets at his feet and a ship on a crimson ocean, a fisherman with a pile of nets at his feet and a ship on a crimson ocean, a fisherman with a pile of nets at his feet and so on. In one place on the frieze there is an overlapping—here we have half a fisherman with half a pile of nets at his foot, crowded damply against half a ship on half a crimson ocean. The frieze is not in the plot, but frankly it fascinates me. I could continue indefinitely, but I am distracted by one of the two objects in the room—a blue porcelain bath-tub. It has character, this bath-tub. It is not one of the new racing bodies, but is small with a high tonneau and looks as if it were going to jump; discouraged, however, by the shortness of its legs, it has submitted to its environment and to its coat of sky-blue paint. But it grumpily refuses to allow any patron completely to stretch his legs—which brings us neatly to the second object in the room: It is a girl—clearly an appendage to the bath-tub, only her head and throat—beautiful girls have throats instead of necks—and a suggestion of shoulder appearing above the side. For the first ten minutes of the play the audience is engrossed in wondering if she really is playing the game fairly and hasn’t any clothes on or whether it is being cheated and she is dressed. Julie Marvis. The girl’s name is From the proud way she sits up in the bath-tub we deduce that she is not very tall and that she carries herself well. When she smiles, her upper lip rolls a little and reminds you of an Easter Bunny. She is within whispering distance of twenty years old. One thing more—above and to the right of the bath-tub is a window. It is narrow and has a wide sill; it lets in much sunshine, but effectually prevents any one who looks in from seeing the bath-tub. You begin to suspect the plot? We open, conventionally enough, with a song, but, as the startled gasp of the audience quite drowns out the first half, we will give only the last of it: Julie: ( ) In an airy sophrano—enthusiastico When Caesar did the Chicago He was a graceful child, Those sacred chickens Just raised the dickens The Vestal Virgins went wild. Whenever the Nervii got nervy He gave them an awful razz They shook in their shoes With the Consular blues The Imperial Roman Jazz ( Julie Lois Marvis Lois Julie ) During the wild applause that follows modestly moves her arms and makes waves on the surface of the water—at least we suppose she does. Then the door on the left opens and enters, dressed but carrying garments and towels. is a year older than and is nearly her double in face and voice, but in her clothes and expression are the marks of the conservative. Yes, you’ve guessed it. Mistaken identity is the old rusty pivot upon which the plot turns. Lois: ( ) Oh, ’scuse me. I didn’t know you were here. Starting Julie: Oh, hello. I’m giving a little concert— Lois: ( ) Why didn’t you lock the door? Interrupting Julie: Didn’t I? Lois: Of course you didn’t. Do you think I just walked through it? Julie: I thought you picked the lock, dearest. Lois: You’re careless. so Julie: No. I’m happy as a garbage-man’s dog and I’m giving a little concert. Lois: ( ) Grow up! Severely Julie: ( ) The walls reflect the sound, you see. That’s why there’s something very beautiful about singing in a bath-tub. It gives an effect of surpassing loveliness. Can I render you a selection? Waving a pink arm around the room Lois: I wish you’d hurry out of the tub. Julie: ( ) Can’t be hurried. This is my kingdom at present, Godliness. Shaking her head thoughtfully Lois: Why the mellow name? Julie: Because you’re next to Cleanliness. Don’t throw anything please! Lois: How long will you be? Julie: ( ) Not less than fifteen nor more than twenty-five minutes. After some consideration Lois: As a favor to me will you make it ten? Julie: ( ) Oh, Godliness, do you remember a day in the chill of last January when one Julie, famous for her Easter-rabbit smile, was going out and there was scarcely any hot water and young Julie had just filled the tub for her own little self when the wicked sister came and did bathe herself therein, forcing the young Julie to perform her ablutions with cold cream—which is expensive and a darn lot of troubles? Reminiscing Lois: ( ) Then you won’t hurry? Impatiently Julie: Why should I? Lois: I’ve got a date. Julie: Here at the house? Lois: None of your business. (Julie ) shrugs the visible tips of her shoulders and stirs the water into ripples. Julie: So be it. Lois: Oh, for Heaven’s sake, yes! I have a date here, at the house—in a way. Julie: In a way? Lois: He isn’t coming in. He’s calling for me and we’re walking. Julie: ( ) Oh, the plot clears. It’s that literary Mr. Calkins. I thought you promised mother you wouldn’t invite him in. Raising her eyebrows Lois: ( ) She’s so idiotic. She detests him because he’s just got a divorce. Of course she’s had more experience than I have, but— Desperately Julie: ( ) Don’t let her kid you! Experience is the biggest gold brick in the world. All older people have it for sale. Wisely Lois: I like him. We talk literature. Julie: Oh, so that’s why I’ve noticed all these weighty books around the house lately. Lois: He lends them to me. Julie: Well, you’ve got to play his game. When in Rome do as the Romans would like to do. But I’m through with books. I’m all educated. Lois: You’re very inconsistent—last summer you read every day. Julie: If I were consistent I’d still be living on warm milk out of a bottle. Lois: Yes, and probably my bottle. But I like Mr. Calkins. Julie: I never met him. Lois: Well, will you hurry up? Julie: Yes. ( ) I wait till the water gets tepid and then I let in more hot. After a pause Lois: ( ) How interesting! Sarcastically Julie: ’Member when we used to play “soapo”? Lois: Yes—and ten years old. I’m really quite surprised that you don’t play it still. Julie: I do. I’m going to in a minute. Lois: Silly game. Julie: ( ) No, it isn’t. It’s good for the nerves. I’ll bet you’ve forgotten how to play it. Warmly Lois: ( ) No, I haven’t. You—you get the tub all full of soapsuds and then you get up on the edge and slide down. Defiantly Julie: ( ) Huh! That’s only part of it. You’ve got to slide down without touching your hand or feet— Shaking her head scornfully Lois:( ) Oh, Lord! What do I care? I wish we’d either stop coming here in the summer or else get a house with two bath-tubs. Impatiently Julie: You can buy yourself a little tin one, or use the hose—— Lois: Oh, shut up! Julie: ( ) Leave the towel. Irrelevantly Lois: What? Julie: Leave the towel when you go. Lois: This towel? Julie: ( ) Yes, I forgot my towel. Sweetly Lois: ( ) Why, you idiot! You haven’t even a kimono. Looking around for the first time Julie: ( ) Why, so I haven’t. Also looking around Lois: ( ) How did you get here? Suspicion growing on her Julie: ( ) I guess I—I guess I whisked here. You know—a white form whisking down the stairs and— Laughing Lois: ( ) Why, you little wretch. Haven’t you any pride or self-respect? Scandalized Julie: Lots of both. I think that proves it. I looked very well. I really am rather cute in my natural state. Lois: Well, you— Julie: ( ) I wish people didn’t wear any clothes. I guess I ought to have been a pagan or a native or something. Thinking aloud Lois: You’re a— Julie: I dreamt last night that one Sunday in church a small boy brought in a magnet that attracted cloth. He attracted the clothes right off of everybody; put them in an awful state; people were crying and shrieking and carrying on as if they’d just discovered their skins for the first time. Only didn’t care. So I just laughed. I had to pass the collection plate because nobody else would. I Lois: ( ) Do you mean to tell me that if I hadn’t come you’d have run back to your room—un—unclothed? Who has turned a deaf ear to this speech Julie: is so much nicer. Au naturel Lois: Suppose there had been some one in the living-room. Julie: There never has been yet. Lois: Yet! Good grief! How long— Julie: Besides, I usually have a towel. Lois: ( ) Golly! You ought to be spanked. I hope you get caught. I hope there’s a dozen ministers in the living-room when you come out—and their wives, and their daughters. Completely overcome Julie: There wouldn’t be room for them in the living-room, answered Clean Kate of the Laundry District. Lois: All right. You’ve made your own—bath-tub; you can lie in it. ( ) Lois starts determinedly for the door. Julie: ( ) Hey! Hey! I don’t care about the k’mono, but I want the towel. I can’t dry myself on a piece of soap and a wet wash-rag. In alarm Lois: ( ) I won’t humor such a creature. You’ll have to dry yourself the best way you can. You can roll on the floor like the animals do that don’t wear any clothes. Obstinately Julie: ( ) All right. Get out! Complacent again Lois: ( ) Huh! Haughtily (Julie Lois. Lois Julie ) turns on the cold water and with her finger directs a parabolic stream at retires quickly, slamming the door after her. laughs and turns off the water Julie: (Singing) When the Arrow-collar man Meets the D’jer-kiss girl On the smokeless Sante Fé Her Pebeco smile Her Lucile style De dum da-de-dum one day— ( ) She changes to a whistle and leans forward to turn on the taps, but is startled by three loud banging noises in the pipes. Silence for a moment—then she puts her mouth down near the spigot as if it were a telephone Julie: Hello! ( ) Are you a plumber? ( ) Are you the water department? ( ) What do you want? ( ) I believe you’re a ghost. Are you? ( ) Well, then, stop banging. ( ) If you’re the plumber that’s a mean trick. Turn it on for a fellow. ( ) Don’t argue! I want water—water! ! No answer No answer One loud, hollow bang No answer No answer She reaches out and turns on the warm tap. No water flows. Again she puts her mouth down close to the spigot Two loud, hollow bangs Water ( ) A young man’s head appears in the window—a head decorated with a slim mustache and sympathetic eyes. These last stare, and though they can see nothing but many fishermen with nets and much crimson ocean, they decide him to speak The Young Man: Some one fainted? Julie: ( ) Jumping cats! Starting up, all ears immediately The Young Man: ( ) Water’s no good for fits. Helpfully Julie: Fits! Who said anything about fits! The Young Man: You said something about a cat jumping. Julie: ( ) I did not! Decidedly The Young Man: Well, we can talk it over later, Are you ready to go out? Or do you still feel that if you go with me just now everybody will gossip? Julie: ( ) Gossip! Would they? It’d be more than gossip—it’d be a regular scandal. Smiling The Young Man: Here, you’re going it a little strong. Your family might be somewhat disgruntled—but to the pure all things are suggestive. No one else would even give it a thought, except a few old women. Come on. Julie: You don’t know what you ask. The Young Man: Do you imagine we’d have a crowd following us? Julie: A crowd? There’d be a special, all-steel, buffet train leaving New York hourly. The Young Man: Say, are you house-cleaning? Julie: Why? The Young Man: I see all the pictures are off the walls. Julie: Why, we never have pictures in this room. The Young Man: Odd, I never heard of a room without pictures or tapestry or panelling or something. Julie: There’s not even any furniture in here. The Young Man: What a strange house! Julie: It depend on the angle you see it from. The Young Man: ( ) It’s so nice talking to you like this—when you’re merely a voice. I’m rather glad I can’t see you. Sentimentally Julie; ( ) So am I. Gratefully The Young Man: What color are you wearing? Julie: ( ) Why, I guess it’s a sort of pinkish white. After a critical survey of her shoulders The Young Man: Is it becoming to you? Julie: Very. It’s—it’s old. I’ve had it for a long while. The Young Man: I thought you hated old clothes. Julie: I do but this was a birthday present and I sort of have to wear it. The Young Man: Pinkish-white. Well I’ll bet it’s divine. Is it in style? Julie: Quite. It’s very simple, standard model. The Young Man: What a voice you have! How it echoes! Sometimes I shut my eyes and seem to see you in a far desert island calling for me. And I plunge toward you through the surf, hearing you call as you stand there, water stretching on both sides of you— ( ) The soap slips from the side of the tub and splashes in. The young man blinks YOUNG MAN: What was that? Did I dream it? Julie: Yes. You’re—you’re very poetic, aren’t you? The Young Man: ( ) No. I do prose. I do verse only when I am stirred. Dreamily Julie: ( ) Stirred by a spoon— Murmuring The Young Man: I have always loved poetry. I can remember to this day the first poem I ever learned by heart. It was “Evangeline.” Julie: That’s a fib. The Young Man: Did I say “Evangeline”? I meant “The Skeleton in Armor.” Julie: I’m a low-brow. But I can remember my first poem. It had one verse: Parker and Davis Sittin’ on a fence Tryne to make a dollar Outa fif-teen cents. The Young Man: ( ) Are you growing fond of literature? Eagerly Julie: If it’s not too ancient or complicated or depressing. Same way with people. I usually like ’em not too ancient or complicated or depressing. The Young Man: Of course I’ve read enormously. You told me last night that you were very fond of Walter Scott. Julie: ( ) Scott? Let’s see. Yes, I’ve read “Ivanhoe” and “The Last of the Mohicans.” Considering The Young Man: That’s by Cooper. Julie: ( ) “Ivanhoe” is? You’re crazy! I guess I know. I read it. Angrily The Young Man: “The Last of the Mohicans” is by Cooper. Julie: What do I care! I like O. Henry. I don’t see how he ever wrote those stories. Most of them he wrote in prison. “The Ballad of Reading Gaol” he made up in prison. The Young Man: ( ) Literature—literature! How much it has meant to me! Biting his lip Julie: Well, as Gaby Deslys said to Mr. Bergson, with my looks and your brains there’s nothing we couldn’t do. The Young Man: ( ) You certainly are hard to keep up with. One day you’re awfully pleasant and the next you’re in a mood. If I didn’t understand your temperament so well— Laughing Julie: ( ) Oh, you’re one of these amateur character-readers, are you? Size people up in five minutes and then look wise whenever they’re mentioned. I hate that sort of thing. Impatiently The Young Man: I don’t boast of sizing you up. You’re most mysterious, I’ll admit. Julie: There’s only two mysterious people in history. The Young Man: Who are they? Julie: The Man with the Iron Mask and the fella who says “ug uh-glug uh-glug uh-glug” when the line is busy. The Young Man: You mysterious. I love you. You’re beautiful, intelligent, and virtuous, and that’s the rarest known combination. are Julie: You’re a historian. Tell me if there are any bath-tubs in history. I think they’ve been frightfully neglected. The Young Man: Bath-tubs! Let’s see. Well, Agamemnon was stabbed in his bath-tub. And Charlotte Corday stabbed Marat in his bath-tub. Julie: ( ) Way back there! Nothing new besides the sun, is there? Why only yesterday I picked up a musical-comedy score that must have been at least twenty years old; and there on the cover it said “The Shimmies of Normandy,” but shimmie was spelt the old way, with a “C.” Sighing The Young Man: I loathe these modern dances. Oh, Lois, I wish I could see you. Come to the window. ( ) There is a loud bang in the water-pipe and suddenly the flow starts from the open taps. Julie turns them off quickly The Young Man: ( ) What on earth was that? Puzzled Julie: ( ) I heard something, too. Ingeniously The Young Man: Sounded like running water. Julie: Didn’t it? Strange like it. As a matter of fact I was filling the gold-fish bowl. The Young Man: ( ) What was that banging noise? Still puzzled Julie: One of the fish snapping his golden jaws. The Young Man: ( ) Lois, I love you. I am not a mundane man but I am a forger— With sudden resolution Julie: ( ) Oh, how fascinating. Interested at once The Young Man:—a forger ahead. Lois, I want you. Julie: ( ) Huh! What you really want is for the world to come to attention and stand there till you give “Rest!” Skeptically The Young Man: Lois I—Lois I— ( Lois Julie ) He stops as opens the door, comes in, and bangs it behind her. She looks peevishly at and then suddenly catches sight of the young man in the window Lois: ( ) Mr. Calkins! In horror The Young Man: ( ) Why I thought you said you were wearing pinkish white! Surprised ( Lois ) After one despairing stare shrieks, throws up her hands in surrender, and sinks to the floor. The Young Man: ( ) Good Lord! She’s fainted! I’ll be right in. In great alarm (Julie’s Lois’s ) eyes light on the towel which has slipped from inert hand. Julie: In that case I’ll be right out. ( She puts her hands on the side of the tub to lift herself out and a murmur, half gasp, half sigh, ripples from the audience. ) A Belasco midnight comes quickly down and blots out the stage. Curtain. About HackerNoon Book Series: We bring you the most important technical, scientific, and insightful public domain books. This book is part of the public domain. F. Scott Fitzgerald (2004). Tales of the Jazz Age. Urbana, Illinois: Project Gutenberg. Retrieved October 2022 https://www.gutenberg.org/files/18857/18857-h/18857-h.htm This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at , located at . www.gutenberg.org https://www.gutenberg.org/policy/license.html
