Call Me Zelda (38 page)

She was quiet for a moment, then replied, “Okay. I love you. When are you coming home?”

“I don’t know exactly when, but hopefully in a couple of weeks.”

She exhaled loudly. “Okay. I’ll help.”

“I love you,” I said.

“Me, too.”

There was another pause until Will got back on the line. “Anna, it’s me.”

I was filled with guilt. The three kids were a handful to manage even when I was home. I should never have gone on this trip.

“Will, I’m sorry. I’m going to come home tomorrow and forget all of this. I didn’t think it through enough. This is madness.”

“No,” he said. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to do this. I told myself I could handle them and I wouldn’t let you know if it was otherwise, and I’ve failed already on day one.”

“Please don’t apologize,” I said. “I’m sorry.”

“Well, you can’t come home yet,” he said. “This was just a bad start. Keep at it and we’ll reassess after a few days. Where are you?”

“Princeton.”

“Princeton?” he said.

I proceeded to tell him the whole story, from Ellerslie, to the drive, to the sign appearing in the darkness. He laughed.

“I might believe in ghosts now,” he said.

“I sure do, after that god-awful house.”

“It sounds like it was worth it, though, for those pictures you got of the dollhouse,” he said.

“I wish you were here with me.”

“Me, too,” he said.

“Especially because I was all alone in a bathtub.”

He whistled through the phone. “Stop it, woman; you’re killing me.”

I laughed.

“Listen,” he said. “In all seriousness. You need to do this, and I can handle them back at home—” He cut himself off and must have covered the phone with his hand, because I heard his muffled yelling at the kids.

“Pardon me,” he said. “As I was saying, I can handle them. I might have to start spanking them again, like when they were little ones, but we’ll come through. Please, though, please be more careful. Please try to keep out of danger.”

“I promise,” I said.

“Good,” he said. “And I’ll try to relax a little more. It felt like midnight when the phone rang. I couldn’t believe it was only seven.”

“If we talk every night it could get expensive, so I’ll try to call around this time every other night,” I said. “That way you should be done with dinner and I should be done with my explorations.”

“Deal,” he said. “I love you, Anna.”

“I love you.”

“I’ll be thinking about you and that tub later,” he said.

“Good.”

After I hung up the phone, I went back into the room, set my hair, crawled into bed, and slept like the dead.

T
he arches of Princeton framed the snowy paths in and out of the campus with all of the romance and tradition I’d imagined from Scott’s novel
This Side of Paradise
. Young men in smart coats and orange-and-black scarves hurried over the
cobbled paths, singing, tossing snowballs at one another, and making general mayhem as young men tend to do.

On a recommendation from the woman at the front desk of the inn, I found a little shop where I bought a pair of warm winter pants and a pair of well-lined boots. She told me the afternoon was expected to warm up and the snow might melt from the roads by as early as tomorrow. After my shop visit and some internal debate, I decided to send Sorin a telegram in New York City telling him that I would be in town soon. It would be nice to see his friendly face after all these years.

It felt good to tromp through snow in pants and boots, and I decided to take a walk around campus to try to understand Scott’s world a little better. This trip was about Zelda, but when Scott fell in love with her and when she controlled the relationship, he was a product of this environment. I wanted to remind her of the time before the power shifted, which Zelda probably considered the good times. It occurred to me that they never managed to balance the power in their marriage, and maybe if they had, neither of them would have deteriorated so much.

The impressive Gothic buildings covered in dried, snow-covered ivy inspired awe in me, and a feeling of old money hung in the air about the lawns, spires, and cloisters. A group of young men walked by, turning as they passed to see me better. I didn’t imagine females frequented the campus much. When they noted my age, however, most of them lost interest, except for one very tall young man at the front of the pack who tipped his hat at me, winked, and then continued on. I smiled to myself and snapped a picture of them as they walked away. Then I turned and took pictures of the buildings and winter trees looming over me. I shivered, and thought I should have brought a scarf.

When I reached a courtyard with a central feel to it, the carillon bells in the Princeton University Chapel began to play and
filled the outdoor space with their beautiful music. I wished I could have recorded it for Zelda, but I could not, so I simply took a picture of the chapel.

“Inspiring, isn’t it?” A young man stood at my side, and when I turned to him, I was surprised to see that he was a Negro. I didn’t know that Princeton admitted colored students.

“Yes,” I said. “Though I’m afraid my camera can’t quite capture the beauty.”

“Are you here writing a story about Princeton?”

“No. I’m just trying to bring a little of the past to a friend of mine. Though if I were going to write a story about the school, I would like to talk to you.”

“And how I got here,” he said.

“Yes.”

The bells ended, and we fell into step together.

“Yes, there are many Southern supporters of Princeton,” he said. “President Wilson being the head Southerner, if you understand my meaning.”

“I do,” I said. “Mr. Wilson was known for many things, but racial tolerance was not one of them.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Please call me Anna,” I said. “What’s your name?”

“Pete.”

“I have a brother named Peter,” I said. “I’m very fond of him.”

Pete smiled and looked down at his shoes.

“So are there many other colored students?” I asked.

“No,” he said. “Though I’m not alone. They opened a Naval Training School here in ’forty-two, during the war. That started the new admission policy of allowing Negroes. Princeton was one of the later schools to allow us.”

“How has it been for you?” I asked.

He was quiet for a moment. Then he said, “I’d say it’s been satisfactory. I mostly keep my nose in the books. I don’t have any
illusions about being welcome in the popular eating clubs on campus, so I’m in Prospect, but I enjoy myself.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” I said.

We walked in silence a bit more, and then ended up at the library.

“It was nice talking to you,” he said. “I wish you success in bringing the past to your friend, though I’d personally like a bit more of the future.”

“Very young people say that,” I said. “Though for someone like you here, I can understand why. I wish you a lot of success, Pete.”

“Thank you,” he said. “Would you like to come into the library and warm up? You look like you’re freezing.”

“No, thank you,” I said. “I’m going to find a place to eat and write a letter to my friend. But it was nice talking to you.”

He smiled and nodded. Then he thought a moment, unwound his Princeton scarf from around his neck, and held it out to me.

“Would you like this?” he asked. “They’re pretty easy for me to come by around here.”

I was touched by his offer and glad to accept it, for myself, and as an artifact later for Zelda.

“I would like that very much, thank you,” I said, wrapping it around my neck.

With that, he disappeared into the library.

L
ater that evening, after I sent a telegram home updating Will on my progress, I stepped into the bar at the Nassau Inn with my book and my camera. There were many smartly dressed young men and women laughing and carrying on. I was out of place amid all of the youth and carelessness but was very charmed by them, so I found a table out of the way where I could observe.

I was a horrid cliché, sitting there reading
This Side of Paradise
,
sipping beer, but I had reached the age of not caring what those around me thought. I opened the book and had just come to the moment when Amory Blaine had begun to think of others outside of himself, when someone walked over to my table and cleared his throat. I looked up and saw the tall young man who had tipped his hat at me earlier that day.

“Required reading for all us Tigers,” he said, pointing at my book. “May I join you?”

“Please,” I said. I noticed his friends sniggering in the corner, watching us. “Though you might be the butt of many jokes following our chat. I am probably old enough to be your mother.”

His face was flushed from the warm bar and the cocktail in his hand, and he laughed. “I am the butt of all the jokes anyway,” he said with a great deal of charm. “But this is no joke. They are all jealous that I have the courage to approach the lovely woman we’ve seen around campus, who has a great air of mystery and romance about her.”

I laughed aloud at his description of me, and he seemed pleased. He smoothed a lock of his light brown hair out of his blue eyes and held out his hand.

“Wallace,” he said. “Charles Davenport Wallace the Third.”

I reached for his hand. “Nice to meet you, Charles Davenport Wallace the Third. I’m just Anna.”

“Well, just Anna, what brings you to our fine campus, with your camera and your snow boots?”

“And my great air of mystery and romance.”

“That especially.”

I drank more of my beer, and because I was emboldened by the alcohol and the admiration of young Wallace, I spoke without censor. “I am traveling on behalf of my dear friend, Mrs. F. Scott Fitzgerald, who is unable to travel, in order to bring her a remembrance of her past.”

His face suddenly became very serious. “Is that true?”

“Every word of it.”

“You’re friends with the Fitzgeralds?”

“Yes. I was once, anyway.”

“How wonderful.” He looked very wistful and tragic, and his forehead wrinkled. “I wish I had known him, and her,” he said. “Would you tell her we all remember the Fitzgeralds often and think highly of them? I know she’s not well, but tell her she still has many admirers, and many of us came here wanting to be like him and find a girl like her. But to do it without all of the trouble, of course.”

“I’ll tell her,” I said.

Wallace turned to his friends and motioned them over, telling them who I was and what I was doing. I was suddenly flooded with introductions, handshakes, and drink offers. One of them asked me to dance, which I politely declined, but I did accept another beer, and listened to all of them discuss their favorite passages from Scott’s work.

“I know you all know Scott’s novels, but have you read Zelda’s?” I finally asked. “Or did you know that he used passages verbatim from her diaries and letters in his stories?”

There was a general uproar when I said that.

“She wasn’t a writer,” said one of the young men. “She was a drunk and a nymphomaniac.”

“And a wacko,” said another.

Wallace smacked both of them on the shoulder. “Watch it! This is Zelda’s friend.”

“I know all of the popular views of Zelda,” I said. “But before you spout them off in bars, you need both sides of the story. Read
Save Me the Waltz
, and then form your judgment.”

“I’ve read it,” said one of them. He was the quietest in the group, and the smallest. His neat blond hair parted in a wave, like Scott’s, but he had big brown eyes and loads of innocence.

“What did you think?” I asked.

“I think she gave up a lot for him. I think she could have been a swell writer, too.”

The uproar began again from his companions, but he ignored them and smiled at me. Wallace put up his hands and silenced the group.

“Just Anna,” he said, “I pledge that I will force all of them and myself to read
Save Me the Waltz
. You have certainly piqued my curiosity.”

I smiled and finished my beer. “Good. If you’ll excuse me, I’m very tired, and I have to leave tomorrow, but tonight has been very interesting. Now please go and pay attention to the beautiful girls at the bar whom you’ve been ignoring for far too long.”