This Side of Paradise
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—goodbye, 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, goodwill, 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 anyone could.
He No. I’m really quite dull.
He evidently doesn’t intend this to be taken seriously.
She Liar.
He I’m—I’m religious—I’m literary. I’ve—I’ve even written poems.
She Vers libre—splendid! She declaims.
“The trees are green,
The birds are singing in the trees,
The girl sips her poison
The bird flies away the girl dies.”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.
A slight hesitation on both their parts.
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.
They kiss—definitely and thoroughly.
He After a breathless second. Well, is your curiosity satisfied?
She Is yours?
He No, it’s only aroused.
He looks it.
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—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—let’s see.
He kisses her again with the same thoroughness.
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.
He goes toward the door.
She Oh!
He turns.
She Laughing. Score—Home Team: One hundred—Opponents: Zero.
He starts back.
She Quickly. Rain—no game.
He goes out.
She goes quietly to the chiffonier, takes out a cigarette-case and hides it in the side drawer of a desk. Her mother enters, notebook in hand.
Mrs. Connage Good—I’ve been wanting to speak to you alone before we go downstairs.
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