Roselia's only known move is. After dinner they danced at the Linx Club. But an immediate marriage wasn't discussed--even the engagement was to be secret until after the war. When they came South three weeks later, neither Anson in his satisfaction nor Paula in her relief at the reunion realized that the psychological moment had passed forever. So often we see poor people as victims of their inherited circumstance. The only way I can describe young Anson Hunter is to approach him as if he were a foreigner and cling stubbornly to my point of view. In the early days of their married life they had all needed him; he gave them advice about their slim finances, he exorcised their doubts about the advisability of bringing a baby into two rooms and a bath, especially he stood for the great world outside.
Here the protagonist is Anson Hunter, a well-to-do young New Yorker, who would seem to have the whole world ahea Includes: The Rich Boy -- The Bridal Party -- The Last of the Belles. Placing this within the context of new historical criticism, it can be effectively argued that the prevailing mechanism that spurred the creation of social discourse during the first half of the twentieth century was the division of within society. His story might have been interesting if there were any point in it. But he never abandoned the Yale Club. Anson, of all people, ought to be the last person to condemn anyone for moral lapses, and certainly not lapses of the heart; Anson's heart is far more lapsed than Edna and Cary's. In the morning you were never violently sorry--you made no resolutions, but if you had overdone it and your heart was slightly out of order, you went on the wagon for a few days without saying anything about it, and waited until an accumulation of nervous boredom projected you into another party. If I could go to sleep for a while and wake up into a home that was really mine--why, that's what I'm made for, Paula, that's what women have seen in me and liked in me.
His family was sufficient, for in the East money is still a somewhat feudal thing, a clan-forming thing. You've been married eighteen years, and you're old enough to know better. Karger knocked discreetly at the library door to announce that he had left a bottle of old brandy in the dining-room, Anson felt that life was hemming him in. His hair was yellow and grew in a funny way on his head, his nose was beaked--these two things kept him from being handsome--but he had a confident charm and a certain brusque style, and the upper-class men who passed him on the street knew without being told that he was a rich boy and had gone to one of the best schools. The rich boy -- The bridal party -- The last of the belles. After blocking Clefairy's , the Rich Boy immediately recalled Roselia.
He wired congratulations and, as was not the case with Paula, they were sincere--he had never really hoped that Paula would be happy. The comparison also extends to the fact that the both of them are about a rich boy. Then, with every opportunity given back to them, with no material obstacle to overcome, the secret weavings of their temperaments came between them, drying up their kisses and their tears, making their voices less loud to one another, muffling the intimate chatter of their hearts until the old communication was only possible by letters, from far away. He was a man somewhat superior to his class, which composed New York society, and to his period, which was the snobbish and formalized vulgarity of the Gilded Age, and he wanted his sons to learn habits of concentration and have sound constitutions and grow up into right-living and successful men. At first, too, he despised her emotional simplicity as well, but with his love her nature deepened and blossomed, and he could despise it no longer. It is a more existential thing, more caste than cash. Thus, the people around him know he is superior — they know he is rich by just looking at him.
He regretted that this afternoon's groom wouldn't be along--they had always been able to cram so much into such nights: they knew how to attach women and how to get rid of them, how much consideration any girl deserved from their intelligent hedonism. He knew it, and he was both amused and sorry. Now a cousin of Paula's was staying with them at the Ritz, a severe, bitter girl who loved Paula but was somewhat jealous of her impressive engagement, and as Paula was late in dressing, the cousin, who wasn't going to the party, received Anson in the parlor of the suite. The first letter that caught his eye was in Dolly's hand. Outside the area window a soft artificial twilight already hovered, though the sun was still bright on a back roof across the way.
One evening after a dance they agreed to marry, and he wrote a long letter about her to his mother. He's rich, and the rich make the rules, don't they? Yet when Anson got leave in April, and Paula and her mother accompanied him North, she was impressed with the standing of his family in New York and with the scale on which they lived. The Rich Boy is an interesting take on the seek of romance and the need to be loved by the right woman, even if she doesn't feel the same about you, and that is something we all men can relate, at least at some points of our life. All the children were less self-reliant than Anson, more conventional both in their virtues and in their shortcomings. They are different from you and me.
As when Anson falls in love, there is the distinct feeling that Fitzgerald is giving an intimate account of his own foibles in love and the passions and alcoholic histrionics that occurred in his infamous marriage to his wife, Zelda. She was in bed, leaning up anxiously with elbows on the pillow; sitting beside her he took her in his arms. Francis Scott Key Fitzgerald was an American writer of novels and short stories, whose works have been seen as evocative of the Jazz Age, a term he himself allegedly coined. At two o'clock in a small night-club on 53d Street, Edna's nerves suddenly collapsed, and she cried to go home. Long afterward he told me that it was not about anything in particular but was composed on both sides of immature and even meaningless statements—the emotional content that gradually came to fill it grew up not out of the words but out of its enormous seriousness.
Anson was too acute to wonder. Anson paid the telephone bill--the girl tried unsuccessfully to joke with him about its size--and for the second time that afternoon started to leave the Plaza and go he knew not where. I'll fall for some chorus girl like the rest. The dissolute rich boy incapable of feeling anything beyond his drive for idealized states of being---for him it is the idea of love, not love itself, or any emotion really, that drives him. There is a rich boy, and this is his and not his brothers' story. All my life I have lived among his brothers but this one has been my friend.
Even his wealth and his absolute capability cause apprehension. Two years before he would have known the date, the hour, come up at the last moment for a final drink, and planned his first visit to them. After that he frequently invited me to family dinners at his house and behaved as though there was a special relation between us, as though with his confidence a little of that consuming memory had passed into me. Her family kept a winter residence just outside of town, and in spite of her primness she was enormously popular; there is a large class of men whose egotism can't endure humor in a woman. So-and-so was out, riding, swimming, playing golf, sailed to Europe last week.
At the Everglades Club after dark Paula and Lowell Thayer and Anson and a casual fourth played bridge with hot cards. Fitzgerald responded in a short but, I think, brilliant letter: Dear Ernest, Please lay off me in print. Those who did--and there were many--bored her after a brief encounter, but for her failures she reserved the warmest spot in her heart. Then he was aware of Cary Sloane's dark anxious presence upon the cold hearth. He was drinking rather heavily, and he pretended for a week that he was falling in love with her. There would be the appeal to his chivalry, then to his pity, finally to his superior sophistication--when he had shouldered his way through all these there would be admissions, and he could come to grips with her. She met him at the appointed time in the Plaza lobby, a lovely, faded, gray-eyed blonde in a coat of Russian sable.