FITZGERALD IN THE TWENTIES
21
eight inches of height, which was mainly a matter of short legs.
("Perfection," he had noted in his sophomore year in college, "black
hair, olive skin and tenor voice.") But there is some objective justifica–
tion for complaint against Hill's portrait, too.
All this suggestion that the book had its scandalous side was of
course encouraged by the newspaper paragraphers; "Readers may
satisfy their curiosity . . . " and " ... if there is so much smoke ... "
they said. But one had, perhaps, to be as simple-minded as Grace
Moore, actually to know· the Fitzgeralds and still be victimized by
this idea. Gloria and Anthony were not the Fitzgeralds; they were
what the spoiled priest in Fitzgerald thought the Fitzgeralds might
become. "Gloria," he wrote his daughter, "was a much more trivial
and vulgar person than your mother. I can't really say there was any
resemblance except in the beauty and certain terms of expression she
used, and also I naturally used many circumstantial events of our
early married life. However the emphases were entirely different. We
had a much better time than Anthony and Gloria did."
There was not, moreover, only his troubled conscience to dis–
turb Fitzgerald; he also came up abruptly against the fact that he
had no money. "It costs more," as Zelda remembered, "to ride on
the tops of taxis ... [and] Joseph Urban skies are expensive when
they're real." He eventually made a joke of it, and insofar as the
joke was on their financial innocence and irresponsibility it was de–
served, even though the matter was more than a joke.
. . . after we had been married for three months I found one day
to my horror that I didn't have a dollar in the world... .
I remember the mixed feelings with which I issued from the bank
on hearing the news.
"What's the matter?" demanded my wife anxiously, as I joined her
on the sidewalk. "You look depressed."
"I'm not depressed," I answered cheerfully; "I'm just surprised. We
haven't got any money."
"Haven't got any money," she repeated calmly, and we began to
walk up the Avenue in a sort of trance. "Well, let's go to the movies,"
she suggested jovially.
It
all seemed so tranquil that I was not a bit cast down. The
cashier had not even scowled at me. I had walked in and said to him,
"How much money have I got?" . And he had looked in a big book
and answered, "None."
That was all. There were no harsh words, no blows. And I knew
