Zelda Fitzgerald to Scott Fitzgerald [March 1919]

First damn scene with Scott and Ernest in One last glimpse by James Aldridge and they’re already being dumb as hell, domestic and for some reason Ernest is naked and no one gaf

F. Scott Fitzgerald

Francis Scott Fitzgerald fue uno de los novelistas y escritores estadounidenses más conocidos del siglo XX, nacido en Saint Paul Minnesota en septiembre de 1896.

Nació en el seno de una familia de clase media y recibió el nombre de Francis Scott Key, en honor a su primo segundo el cual era famoso.

Su padre era un hombre callado y caballeroso de ascendencia irlandesa y su madre la hija de una inmigrante irlandesa que había hecho su fortuna con una empresa de alimentos.

Sus padres ambos católicos mandaron a Fitzgerald a escuelas de este tipo en Buffalo en donde su padre trabajaba para compañía Procter & Gamble. Pocos años después, en 1908, y al ser despedido de esta compañía regresaron a Minnesota en donde Scott fue enviado a una prestigiosa escuela secundaria católica a la edad de 15 años.

‘Nevertheless you did throw me over,’ said Jordan suddenly. ‘You threw me over on the telephone. I don’t give a damn about you now but it was a new experience for me and I felt a little dizzy for a while.’ We shook hands. ‘Oh, and do you remember—’ she added, ‘——a conversation we had once about driving a car?’ ‘Why—not exactly.’ ‘You said a bad driver was only safe until she met another bad driver? Well, I met another bad driver, didn’t I? I mean it was careless of me to make such a wrong guess. I thought you were rather an honest, straightforward person. I thought it was your secret pride.’ ‘I’m thirty,’ I said. ‘I’m five years too old to lie to myself and call it honor.’ She didn’t answer. Angry, and half in love with her, and tremendously sorry, I turned away.

One afternoon late in October I saw Tom Buchanan [...] ‘Tom,’ I inquired, ‘what did you say to Wilson that afternoon?’ He stared at me without a word and I knew I had guessed right about those missing hours. I started to turn away but he took a step after me and grabbed my arm. ‘I told him the truth,’ he said. ‘He came to the door while we were getting ready to leave and when I sent down word that we weren’t in he tried to force his way upstairs. He was crazy enough to kill me if I hadn’t told him who owned the car. His hand was on a revolver in his pocket every minute he was in the house——’ He broke off defiantly. ‘What if I did tell him? That fellow had it coming to him. He threw dust into your eyes just like he did in Daisy’s but he was a tough one. He ran over Myrtle like you’d run over a dog and never even stopped his car.’

There was nothing I could say, except the one unutterable fact that it wasn’t true.

‘And if you think I didn’t have my share of suffering— look here, when I went to give up that flat and saw that damn box of dog biscuits sitting there on the sideboard I sat down and cried like a baby. By God it was awful——‘

I couldn’t forgive him or like him but I saw that what he had done was, to him, entirely justified. It was all very careless and confused. They were careless people, Tom and Daisy—they smashed up things and creatures and then retreated back into their money or their vast carelessness or whatever it was that kept them together, and let other people clean up the mess they had made….