This Side of Paradise (Barnes & Noble Classics Series) (27 page)

But
all criticism of ROSALIND ends in her beauty. There was that shade of glorious yellow hair, the desire to imitate which supports the dye industry. There was the eternal kissable mouth, small, slightly sensual, and utterly disturbing. There were gray eyes and an unimpeachable skin with two spots of vanishing color. She was slender and athletic, without underdevelopment, and it was a delight to watch her move about a room, walk along a street, swing a golf club, or turn a “cart-wheel. ”

A last qualification
—
her vivid, instant personality escaped that conscious, theatrical quality that
AMORY
had found in
ISABELLE. MONSIGNOR DARCY
would have been quite up a tree whether to call her a personality or a personage. She was perhaps the delicious, inexpress
ible,
once-in-a-century blend.

 

ROSALIND: Honestly, there are only two costumes in the world that I really enjoy being in—(
Combing her hair at the dressing-table.)
One’s a hoop skirt with pantaloons; the other’s a one-piece bathing-suit. I’m quite charming in both of them.

CECELIA: Glad you’re coming out?

ROSALIND: Yes; aren’t you?

CECELIA:
(Cynically)
You’re glad so you can get married and live on Long Island with
the fast younger married set.
You want life to be a chain of flirtation with a man for every link.

ROSALIND:
Want
it to be one! You mean I’ve
found
it one.

CECELIA: Ha!

ROSALIND: Cecelia, darling, you don’t know what a trial it is to be—like me. I’ve got to keep my face like steel in the street to keep men from winking at me. If I laugh hard from a front row in the theatre, the comedian plays to me for the rest of the evening. If I drop my voice, my eyes, my handkerchief at a dance, my partner calls me up on the ’phone every day for a week.

CECELIA: It must be an awful strain.

ROSALIND: The unfortunate part is that the only men who interest me at all are the totally ineligible ones. Now—if I were poor I’d go on the stage.

CECELIA: Yes, you might as well get paid for the amount of acting you do.

ROSALIND: Sometimes when I’ve felt particularly radiant I’ve thought, why should this be wasted on one man?

CECELIA: Often when you’re particularly sulky, I’ve wondered why it should all be wasted on just one family.
(Getting up.)
I think I’ll go down and meet Mr. Amory Blaine. I like temperamental men.

ROSALIND: There aren’t any. Men don’t know how to be really angry or really happy—and the ones that do, go to pieces.

CECELIA: Well, I’m glad I don’t have all your worries. I’m engaged.

ROSALIND:
(With a scornful smile)
Engaged? Why, you little lunatic! If mother heard you talking like that she’d send you off to boarding-school, where you belong.

CECELIA: You won’t tell her, though, because I know things I could tell—and you’re too selfish!

ROSALIND:
(A little annoyed)
Run along, little girl! Who are you engaged to, the iceman? the man that keeps the candy-store?

CECELIA: Cheap wit—good-by, darling, I’ll see you later.

ROSALIND: Oh, be
sure
and do that—you’re
such
a help.

 

(Exit
CECELIA, ROSALIND
finished her hair and rises, humming. She goes up to the mirror and starts to dance in front of it on the soft carpet. She watches not her feet, but her eyes
—
never casually but always intently, even when she smiles. The door suddenly opens and then slams behind AMORY, very cool and handsome as usual. He melts into instant confusion.)

HE: Oh, I’m sorry. I thought—

SHE :
(Smiling radiantly)
Oh, you’re Amory Blaine, aren’t you?

HE:
(Regarding her closely)
And you’re Rosalind?

SHE: I’m going to call you Amory—oh, come in—it’s all right—mother’ll be right
in-(under
her breath) unfortunately.

HE:
(Gazing around)
This is sort of a new wrinkle for me.

SHE: This is No Man’s Land.

HE: This is where you—you—(
pause
)

SHE: Yes—all those things.
(She crosses to the bureau.)
See, here’s my rouge—eye pencils.

HE: I didn’t know you were that way.

SHE: What did you expect?

HE: I thought you’d be sort of—sort of—sexless, you know, swim and play golf.

SHE: Oh, I do—but not in business hours.

HE: Business?

SHE: Six to two—strictly.

HE: I’d like to have some stock in the corporation.

SHE: Oh, it’s not a corporation—it’s just “Rosalind, Unlimited.” Fifty-one shares, name, good-will, and everything goes at $25,000 a year.

HE:
(Disapprovingly)
Sort of a chilly proposition.

SHE: Well, Amory, you don’t mind—do you? When I meet a man that doesn’t bore me to death after two weeks, perhaps it’ll be different.

HE: Odd, you have the same point of view on men that I have on women.

SHE: I’m not really feminine, you know—in my mind.

HE:
(Interested)
Go on.

SHE: No, you—you go on—you’ve made me talk about myself. That’s against the rules.

HE: Rules?

SHE: My own rules—but you—Oh, Amory, I hear you’re brilliant. The family expects so much of you.

HE: How encouraging!

SHE: Alec said you’d taught him to think. Did you? I didn’t believe any one could.

HE: No. I’m really quite dull.

 

SHE: Liar.

HE: I‘m—I’m religious—I’m literary. I’ve—I’ve even written poems.

SHE: Vers libre—splendid!
(She declaims.)

HE:
(Laughing)
No, not that kind.

SHE:
(Suddenly)
I like you.

HE: Don’t.

SHE: Modest too—

HE: I’m afraid of you. I’m always afraid of a girl—until I’ve kissed her.

SHE:
(Emphatically)
My dear boy, the war is over.

HE: So I’ll always be afraid of you.

SHE:
(Rather sadly)
I suppose you will.

 

HE:
(After due consideration)
Listen. This is a frightful thing to ask.

SHE:
(Knowing what’s coming)
After five minutes.

HE: But will you—kiss me? Or are you afraid?

SHE: I’m never afraid—but your reasons are so poor.

HE: Rosalind, I really want to kiss you.

SHE: So do I.

 

HE:
(After a breathless second)
Well, is your curiosity satisfied?

SHE: Is yours?

HE: No, it’s only aroused.

 

SHE:
(Dreamily)
I’ve kissed dozens of men. I suppose I’ll kiss dozens more.

HE: (
Abstractedly)
Yes, I suppose you could—like that.

SHE: Most people like the way I kiss.

HE:
(Remembering himself)
Good Lord, yes. Kiss me once more, Rosalind.

SHE: No—my curiosity is generally satisfied at one.

HE:
(Discouraged)
Is that a rule?

SHE: I make rules to fit the cases.

HE: You and I are somewhat alike—except that I’m years older in experience.

SHE: How old are you?

HE: Almost twenty-three. You?

SHE: Nineteen—just.

HE: I suppose you’re the product of a fashionable school.

SHE: No—I’m fairly raw material. I was expelled from Spence
^ag
—I’ve forgotten why.

HE: What’s your general trend?

SHE: Oh, I’m bright, quite selfish, emotional when aroused, fond of admiration—

HE:
(Suddenly)
I don’t want to fall in love with you—

SHE:
(Raising her eyebrows)
Nobody asked you to.

HE:
(Continuing coldly)
But I probably will. I love your mouth.

SHE: Hush! Please don’t fall in love with my mouth—hair, eyes, shoulders, slippers—but not my mouth. Everybody falls in love with my mouth.

HE: It’s quite beautiful.

SHE: It’s too small.

HE: No it isn’t—lets see.

 

SHE:
(Rather moved)
Say something sweet.

HE:
(Frightened)
Lord help me.

SHE:
(Drawing away)
Well, don’t—if it’s so hard.

HE: Shall we pretend? So soon?

SHE: We haven’t the same standards of time as other people.

HE: Already it’s—other people.

SHE: Let’s pretend.

HE: No—I can’t—it’s sentiment.

SHE: You’re not sentimental?

HE: No, I’m romantic—a sentimental person thinks things will last—a romantic person hopes against hope that they won’t. Sentiment is emotional.

SHE: And you’re not?
(With her eyes half-closed)
You probably flatter yourself that that’s a superior attitude.

HE: Well—Rosalind, Rosalind, don’t argue—kiss me again.

SHE:
(Quite chilly now)
No—I have no desire to kiss you.

HE:
(Openly taken aback)
You wanted to kiss me a minute ago.

SHE: This is now.

HE: I’d better go.

SHE: I suppose so.

 

SHE: Oh!

SHE:
(Laughing)
Score—Home Team: One hundred—Opponents: Zero.

SHE:
(Quickly)
Rain—no game.

 

(She goes
quietly to the
chiffonier,
takes out a cigarette-case and hides it in the side drawer of a desk. Her mother enters, note-book in
hand.)

MRS. CONNAGE: Good—I’ve been wanting to speak to you alone before we go down-stairs.

ROSALIND: Heavens! you frighten me!

MRS. CONNAGE: Rosalind, you’ve been a very expensive proposition.

ROSALIND:
(Resignedly)
Yes.

MRS. CONNAGE: And you know your father hasn’t what he once had.

ROSALIND:
(Making a wry face)
Oh, please don’t talk about money.

MRS. CONNAGE: You can’t do anything without it. This is our last year in this house—and unless things change Cecelia won’t have the advantages you’ve had.

ROSALIND:
(Impatiently)
Well—what is it?

MRS. CONNAGE: So I ask you to please mind me in several things I’ve put down in my note-book. The first one is: don’t disappear with young men. There may be a time when it’s valuable, but at present I want you on the dance-floor where I can find you. There are certain men I want to have you meet and I don’t like finding you in some corner of the conservatory exchanging silliness with any one—or listening to it.

ROSALIND:
(Sarcastically)
Yes, listening to it is better.

MRS. CONNAGE: And don’t waste a lot of time with the college set—little boys nineteen and twenty years old. I don’t mind a prom or a football game, but staying away from advantageous parties to eat in little cafés down-town with Tom, Dick, and Harry—

ROSALIND:
(Offering her code, which is, in its way, quite as high as her mother’s)
Mother, it’s done—you can’t run everything now the way you did in the early nineties.

MRS. CONNAGE:
(Paying no attention)
There are several bachelor friends of your father’s that I want you to meet to-night—youngish men.

ROSALIND:
(Nodding wisely)
About forty-five?

MRS. CONNAGE:
(Sharply)
Why not?

ROSALIND: Oh, quite all right—they know life and are so adorably tired looking
(shakes her head)
—but they will dance.

MRS. CONNAGE: I haven’t met Mr. Blaine—but I don’t think you’ll care for him. He doesn’t sound like a money-maker.

ROSALIND: Mother, I never
think
about money.

MRS. CONNAGE: You never keep it long enough to think about it.