Free Z: A Novel of Zelda Fitzgerald by Therese Anne Fowler Page A

and I had been discussing my trousseau. “Good for him, but it’s not a job . How long will it be before he can sell another, and what will you two live on in the meantime?”
    I explained that Scott had begun selling his short stories. “ The Saturday Evening Post bought one called ‘Head and Shoulders’ for four hundred dollars—and they liked it so well that they paid nine hundred for two more.” When Daddy still didn’t look impressed, I said, “Add that to how much he got for his novel and it’s already as much as he’d have earned in two years at his old job. And he’s got a pile of stories already done.”
    “I don’t like it,” Daddy said. “It’s not a plan, it’s luck. And when his luck runs out—”
    A knock on the door interrupted him, and a moment later Katy came into the parlor to hand me a telegram.
    I opened it quickly and read the short message, and then I whooped! “How about this, Daddy: the Metro Company is paying two thousand five hundred dollars for movie rights to ‘Head and Shoulders’!”
    For a girl who needed irrefutable proof that her father was plain wrong in his thinking, nothing could have been better. I danced around the parlor waving the telegram before me, and didn’t care a bit that Daddy left the room in disgust.
    *   *   *
    Later that week, I was in my bedroom working on a story of my own when Mama came in with a small package. I was glad for the distraction; the story, which Scott had encouraged me to write, was going nowhere. I could give the most detailed examinations of my characters, but then couldn’t seem to make them do anything interesting.
    “This just came for you,” Mama said.
    Inside the plain brown paper was a short, square box, and inside that box was a hinged, velvet-covered one. I opened the lid and gasped.
    Mama said, “Lord!”
    It was a watch unlike anything I’d ever seen before. Its narrow rectangular face was set inside a perimeter of sparkling square-cut diamonds, with a band made up of diamonds laid out in an intricate, almost floral design.
    I took it out. Beneath the watch, Scott had tucked a card that read, To wear at our wedding—just a little “something new .”
    “It’s heavy!”
    “I’ll guess it’s platinum,” Mama said.
    Engraved on the back was From Scott to Zelda . I turned it over again and again, marveling at the design, the shimmer, the very fact of it.
    “Baby, do you have any idea what an extravagance this is? It had to have cost hundreds of dollars. He really ought not to spend this way; it’s irresponsible. This is a time to save .”
    I fastened the watch onto my wrist. “I know how it seems. But he’s earning a lot now, and his book’s not even out yet. He’s making his place in the world, Mama. It’ll only get better from here.” Everything he’d promised was coming true.
    My mother sighed. She looked suddenly ancient, as if she’d aged ten years in one. Her hair had gone steely gray. Her skin had grown crêpey and was so pale—paler, even, than wintertime could explain. She didn’t seem ill, just tired and worn. I felt I could disregard anything she said because what could such an old woman know about modern love and life?
    I said, “It’s different for us, Mama. We’re not going to do things the same old ways.”
    She sighed again. “Honestly, I don’t know whether to envy your optimism or pity it.”
    I took off the watch and turned it again to see the inscription, then flipped it back to admire the diamonds. As I did, I caught sight of Daddy standing in the doorway.
    “When the novelty wears off,” he said—and I got the feeling he was referring to more than just the watch—“you can trade that for a down payment on a house.”

 
    8
    “Just think,” Eleanor said, the night before I was to leave home, “New York City! Did you ever imagine?”
    It was April 1, 1920; my wedding was set for April 3, one day before Easter and one week after the publication of This Side of