Zelda Fitzgerald: Her Voice in Paradise (16 page)

In June 1919, still angry with Zelda, with his lack of success and with himself, Scott swung into the Sayres’ parlour where he tried to intimidate Zelda into an instant marriage, first with threats, then
with tears. She could not bear to see him demean himself. Marriage and New York was how Zelda planned to change her life, but she would not stand for any change founded on failure. Sad but resolute, she returned his ring and told him to leave.

He commemorated his personal tragedy first with a three-week binge, during which time he quit his advertising job and returned to St Paul,
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later with a fine story, ‘The Sensible Thing’, ‘about Zelda + me’,
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in which the anti-hero George O’Kelly seized Jonquil Cary in his arms ‘and tried literally to kiss her into marrying him at once’. When that failed he broke into a long monologue of self-pity and ceased only when he saw he had made himself ‘despicable in her sight’.
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Though Scott would never forget Zelda’s rejection, he used it to his best advantage as he metamorphosed from amateur to professional. During July and August ‘I dug in and wrote my first book.’
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In rewriting he discovered his style, his voice and his subject.

Scribners finally accepted
This
Side
of
Paradise
on 16 September 1919. Scott wrote immediately to Perkins asking for a fast publication: ‘I have so many things dependent on its success – including of course a girl.’
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In November Wilson, Scott’s literary mentor, suggested that Fitzgerald cease the cheap effects of commercial stories and substitute the serious work necessary for high art.
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Temporarily ignoring this issue, Scott recalled his words to Wilson when they left Princeton: ‘I want to be one of the greatest writers who ever lived, don’t you?’ Now on his way, he needed to see Zelda again.

In October he wrote asking if he could come to Montgomery, telling her of his success. She responded she was ‘mighty glad’ he was coming. ‘I’ve been wanting to see you … but I
couldn’t
ask you.’ With her old wicked touch she told him she was recovering from a ‘wholesome amour’ with Auburn’s ‘startling quarter back’ and asked him for a ‘quart of gin’. He might find her mentally ‘dreadfully deteriorated’ but ‘you never seemed to know when I was stupid and when I wasn’t, anyway … ’S funny, Scott, I don’t feel a bit shaky and “do-don’t”ish like I used to when you came – I really want to see you – that’s all – Zelda.’
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Zelda had taken pride in men not being able to fathom her intelligence. She had already written to Scott: ‘Men think I’m purely decorative, and they’re just fools for not knowing better … I love being rather unfathomable … Men love me cause I’m pretty – and they’re always afraid of mental wickedness – and men love me cause I’m clever and they’re always afraid of my prettiness – One or two have even loved me cause I’m lovable, and then, of cource, I was acting.’
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She believed Scott was the one person who knew and loved all of her. He wasn’t quite so sure.

In November 1919 he became a client of Harold Ober at the Reynolds Agency, who remained his friend and agent for years. Ober’s coup was to persuade the prestigious
Saturday
Evening
Post
to buy Scott’s story ‘Head and Shoulders’ for $400 before Scott left for Montgomery in late November.
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Thus he went with some triumph and some trepidation, but the reality of encountering Zelda could not live up to five months’ fantasies. Scott wanted to repeat the past, but realized that ‘There are all kinds of love in the world, but never the same love twice.’
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Although informally they renewed their engagement, Scott left Montgomery feeling they had lost what they had. Though Zelda wrote saying she would release him from any marriage obligation, she was the more optimistic. Earlier she had told a friend that she was not romantically in love with Scott but that she felt it was her mission to help him realize his potential as a writer.
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Unlike Scott, she now felt a more realistic romantic resurgence. She felt they were building their love castle on firmer foundations. That first abandonment couldn’t last. She thought it foolish to mourn for a memory when they had each other. ‘“When love has turned to kindliness” doesn’t horrify me like it used to – It has such a peaceful sound – like something to come back to and rest – and sometimes I’m glad we’re not exactly like we used to be.’
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Between November 1919 and February 1920 Scott’s stories about bright upper-class adolescents were accepted fast.
The
Smart
Set
published ‘The Debutante’ in November, ‘Porcelain and Pink’ in January, ‘Benediction’ and ‘Dalyrimple Goes Wrong’ in February. He cabled Zelda with each success.

In December she read
This
Side
of
Paradise.
Her response was: ‘Why cant I write? I’d like to tell you how fine I think the book is and how miserably and completely and – a little unexpectedly – I am thine.’
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By January Scott had made sufficient money to leave cold New York for warm New Orleans, from where he visited Zelda.
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When he said she had inspired his novel she responded: ‘It’s so nice to know you really
can
do things –
anything
– and I love to feel that maybe I can help just a little.’
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Scott wrote formally to the Judge for her hand
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and they resumed their sexual relationship. During February Zelda suspected she was pregnant. Earlier, on seeing Katharine’s baby, Zelda had told Scott: ‘It’s darling … I felt like I’d sorter like to have it’,
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but faced with a
possible baby herself she was initially unsure whether she
would
‘sorter like to have it’.

Yet when Scott, who was very sure he did not want the responsibility of fatherhood, sent her pills for an abortion Zelda refused to take them. ‘I wanted to, for your sake, because I know what a mess I’m making and how inconvenient it’s all going to be – but I simply
can’t
and
won’t
take those awful pills – so I’ve thrown them away. I’d rather take carbolic acid … I’d rather have a
whole
family
than sacrifice my self-respect … I’d feel like a damn whore if I took even one.’
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Before Zelda discovered that she was after all not pregnant, Scott had already repeated Zelda’s key phrase ‘self-respect’ in a note to a friend’s sister. If a young woman smokes and drinks in public, tells hair-raising stories to shock people and admits that she has kissed thousands of male admirers and certainly does not intend to stop, that girl is hardly a lady. But Scott confessed he had fallen for Zelda’s bravery, honesty and ‘flaming self-respect.’
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Between March and May Ober sold ‘Myra Meets His Family’, ‘The Camel’s Back’, ‘Bernice Bobs Her Hair’, ‘The Ice Palace’ and ‘The Offshore Pirate’ to the
Saturday
Evening
Post,
which raised his fee to $500.

Scribner’s
Magazine
paid Scott $150 for ‘The Cut-Glass Bowl’ and ‘The Four Fists’, more serious pieces. Then in February, having sold movie rights of ‘Head and Shoulders’ for a staggering $2,500, he sent Zelda a diamond and platinum wristwatch. She wrote back exuberantly: ‘O, Scott, it’s so be-au-ti-ful – and the back’s just as pretty as the front … I’ve turned it over four hundred times to see “from Scott to Zelda”.’
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Myth says the success of
This
Side
of
Paradise
reassured Zelda so that she decided to marry him. Zelda said it was because Scott had renewed confidence in himself. When his novel was accepted she knew nothing about it. When she agreed to marriage it had still not been published and she had no way of knowing its outcome.

Six days before Scribner’s published on 26 March 1920, Scott sent H. L. Mencken a review copy inscribed on the flyleaf with the words: ‘This is a bad book full of good things, a book about flappers written for philosophers, an exquisite burlesque of Compton Mackenzie with a pastiche of Wells at the end.’
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Five days before it was published, the
Montgomery
Advertiser
celebrated the twin achievements of two Montgomery Belles. It announced Zelda’s engagement, and on the front page of the society section of the same 21 March issue it ran the headline: ‘Sara Haardt
elected to Phi Beta Kappa.’ On Sara’s graduation in June, the Goucher yearbook hailed her as ‘a soulful highbrow’.
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The two women writers-to-be had decisively taken different paths.

Scott sent Zelda her first corsage of white orchids. She sent him her most loving letter:

Then, perhaps feeling she had tipped her hand a bit, she hastily finished with another courtly codeline: ‘I’m absolutely nothing without you – Just the doll that I should have been born – You’re a necessity and a luxury … you’re going to be a husband to your wife.’
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Zelda’s wedding was to take place in New York, where Scott insisted on being married in the Catholic church. He favoured St Patrick’s Cathedral because he had a cousin, Father William B. Martin, on the staff there who would marry them. Zelda’s family had always attended Montgomery’s Church of the Holy Comforter, where Minnie played the organ, Rosalind had sung in the choir, Marjorie had been married, and Zelda herself who went regularly to Sunday School had been baptized, a little late, in 1910. Zelda told Sara Mayfield she did not feel sentimental about the Holy Comforter and thought it more exciting to be married in Manhattan. The Sayres, who avoided the turmoil and expense of a Southern wedding, apparently raised no objections.

Zelda left Montgomery wearing a Confederate-grey suit, almost – according to Sara Mayfield – the colour of her eyes. ‘Some of the people with her thought they had never seen her look so beautiful before‚’ said Sara.
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A crowd of her friends laden with flowers for her saw her off at the station. Astonishingly, not one of Zelda’s many friends had been invited to the wedding. Apart from the bride and groom there were to be only Zelda’s three sisters – Marjorie Sayre Brinson, Clothilde (and her husband John Palmer), Rosalind (and her husband Newman Smith) and Scott’s Princeton friend
Ludlow Fowler. He was to be best man while Rosalind stood as matron of honour.

Zelda’s parents had decided not to attend. They were not overtly opposed to a Catholic wedding, as long as it was in the North. Family members thought that as devout Episcopalians they would have felt uncomfortable about a Catholic ceremony in Montgomery. The Sayres’ main concern was that Zelda should be accompanied by her sister Marjorie and would stay with her sister Clothilde. Indeed, the announcement in the
Montgomery
Advertiser
stated that Zelda and Marjorie would be guests of Clothilde and John Palmer.
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Events did not turn out as the Sayres had planned.

Zelda and Marjorie were met by Rosalind and Newman Smith at Pennsylvania Station, but instead of going to Clothilde’s home in nearby Tarrytown, they found Scott had arranged for them to stay at the Biltmore Hotel.
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Zelda and Scott were married on 3 April 1920 in the Rectory of St Patrick’s Cathedral. Scott, nervy and impatient, insisted that the wedding start even before the time at which Clothilde and John Palmer were due to arrive.

Zelda wore a blue-grey spring suit adorned by the single corsage of white orchids Scott had sent her. She had a matching hat trimmed with leather ribbons and buckles. She was the only ornament at her own wedding – for there was no music, no flowers, no photographer, and no lunch for the out-of-town visitors. After the ceremony the priest said: ‘You be a good episcopalian, Zelda, and, Scott, you be a good catholic, and you’ll get along fine.’ Scott said later to Ludlow Fowler that it was the last advice he got from a priest.
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Immediately after the wedding, Zelda and Scott hurried away to suite 2109 at the Biltmore Hotel, a favourite amongst Princetonians. It was noticeable that Scott had not thought to ask any Princetonians apart from Fowler to his wedding.

Zelda, who had been treated as a princess most of her life, must have been shocked by the tiny, hurried wedding about which she had barely been consulted and in which her family had not been taken into account. She was painfully aware that Rosalind, Marjorie and especially Clothilde were disconcerted, distressed and angry. ‘Scott had done all the planning without consulting me,’ said Rosalind. ‘Marjorie and the Palmers, and Newman and I lunched together, then Marjorie went home with Tilde.’
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Years later Scott described his emotions as a bridegroom: ‘The man with the jingle of money in his pocket who married the girl a year later would always cherish an abiding distrust, an animosity,
toward the leisure class – not the conviction of a revolutionist, but the smouldering hatred of a peasant.’
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Zelda never openly described
her
emotions. But she would have known, then, that her family’s feelings were not important to her new husband.