Call Me Zelda (18 page)

“‘But still, he did not,’” he said.

I stiffened under the stony inflection with which he read, and looked up to see that he had Zelda’s aviator paper in his hand.

“But still I did not,” he said. He exhaled a short laugh, shook his head, and ran his hand over his eyes. The dark circles were so heavy and his face so pale, I felt the nurse in me long to send him to bed and care for him, but his disgust was a barrier between the two of us that I dared not cross.

He laughed again in a few short bursts, and then continued until he worked himself up to hysterics. I prayed Zelda wouldn’t come down the stairs.

“Scott,” I said.

“Mr. Fitzgerald, actually,” he said. “Nurse Howard, I’d feel better if we returned to formality, because we are not a team. No, we are in opposing camps and you have chosen your side, and for that, you may call me Mr. Fitzgerald and give me the respect I deserve.”

“Please allow me to explain,” I said.

“Explain what? Explain that you are encouraging my wife in the very hobby I’ve forbidden? Explain that you are a willing participant in making sure that my next novel never reaches completion because of the stresses you’re feeding in this house? Explain that you yourself probably sent Zelda’s book to Scribner’s in the first place and started this whole war?”

His words slipped into me like arrows, but I took issue with his last statement. I was not responsible for his marriage problems.

“I understand that you do not wish Zelda to write, and I will admit that I asked her to write little essays for me to help me understand her background and where her breakdowns occurred so that I may assist her in preventing them in the future. These essays are therapeutic and we’ve been using them for some time, and we are, I believe, making great headway in allowing Zelda to discover exactly where it is that she lost herself and how we can help her restore at least a bit of it.”

“Essays?” he said. “So there are more?”

“
Were
more. They are destroyed and we intended to destroy the one you’ve
stolen
. It gives Zelda pleasure to burn these things. It’s become a purification ritual for her, and if she finds out you’ve found this piece and read it, you will cause a serious setback in her mental state.”

“Ha! As if it could get any worse.”

“Let me assure you,
Mr. Fitzgerald
, it can and will get much worse if you continue to use her as you would a marionette to position and hang before you like some sick stimulus.”

“Sick? She’s my wife. A wife should support her husband.”

“Support, yes, but you don’t want support. You want to consume her. You want to use her up. And you’ve used her up many times over, but she is not a phoenix and she cannot crawl out of the ashes reborn over and over again, because she is human.”

“You’re wrong,” said Zelda. She appeared in the doorway wearing an obscene pink tutu and smoking a cigarette. She looked like a manifestation of the ballerina painting on canvas, larger than life, blotchy with eczema, and flicking her glassy gaze around the room. “I am no mortal. I am a salamander.”

Mr. Fitzgerald looked disgusted. “Here is your subject, Nurse Howard. See her progress. Maybe we can take her to Scottie’s school for show-and-tell?”

“That would be lovely,” said Zelda. “I do love a show.”

I quivered with frustration. I was well aware that Zelda took two steps back for every small gain, but I didn’t know how to communicate to her husband that no matter what her mental state, she deserved to be treated with dignity and not used up and wrung out until there was nothing left.

Z
elda played her record as loud as she could while thumping around above me in her room upstairs. I placed a cool rag to my neck and wondered how she could stand to exert herself in such heat.

As I rinsed the lemonade pitcher at the kitchen sink, I stared out the window at Scottie and Andrew running around the yard in bathing clothes, soaked from their swim and, mercifully, oblivious to the strain in the Fitzgerald house. When I turned off the water, I heard a sob from somewhere downstairs. I could hear Zelda’s continued dance on the ceiling above me, so I knew it wasn’t her weeping. I crept into the hallway and to Fitzgerald’s study where he wrote. He sat at the desk, crying, with his arms crossed over his yellow notepad. There were papers taped on the
walls all around him, papers littering the floor, and empty beer cans everywhere. I was moved but immobilized by indecision. Would he want my comfort? Did I have a right to give it?

He sat up and jumped when he saw me standing in the doorway. He had such a look of hopelessness that I went to him.

“I’m sorry about earlier,” I said. “I just want to help to restore her so that your lives can improve.”

“It’s me who should apologize,” he said. “For bringing anyone into this madness. For my poor Scottie.” His voice trailed off and he began sobbing again.

It disturbed me beyond words to see a grown man so broken. I crouched before him.

“You are a good father,” I said. “I’ve seen how you care for your daughter. And you must know this: She’s a happy child. You’ve sheltered her well; at least, as much as you possibly can.”

“Maybe I should send her away,” he said. “Do you think I should send her away to school so she doesn’t have to be around this?”

“No,” I said. “It’s good for her to be around you, but you have to take care of yourself.”

His skin was pasty pale, and he was covered in sweat. I was quite alarmed by his pallor and put my hand on his forehead. It burned with fever.

I reached for his arm. “May I?”

He extended his wrist and I took his pulse. It was extremely high.

“Mr. Fitzgerald,” I said.

“Scott.”

“Scott, I think you should consider checking into Hopkins for some rest.”

He started to protest, but I raised my hands.

“You are not well,” I said. “And you have to stay well. If not for yourself, then for Scottie.”

He shook his head and tried to stand, but collapsed into a coughing fit in the chair. I helped him up and guided him over to the couch.

“I’ll pack some things for you, and call the doctor,” I said.

“What will you tell Zelda?” he asked.

“I’ll tell her the truth.”

FOURTEEN

Scottie walked up to the bank of the reservoir where I sat watching Zelda slice through the water with strong, bold strokes for her morning exercise.

“She’s a good swimmer,” I said.

“Yes,” said Scottie. “I think she feels best when she’s exercising.”

“I agree,” I said.

Scottie sat next to me on the grass. It pleased me that she was comfortable enough to do so.

“Are you enjoying living here, in Baltimore?” I asked.

“Yes, very much. The neighbor’s son, Andrew, is fun. And I look forward to going to school here. I visited last week and I thought it very pretty.”

I was impressed by her fine speech and manners. Scottie had been taught well and seemed to possess an ease of temperament that neither of her parents was blessed with—at least not in their current states.

“You seem very grown-up for a ten-year-old,” I said. “Your parents are proud of you.”

Her face lit with a smile.

Zelda continued her laps. She’d been swimming without rest for thirty minutes, and the ripples and splashes she’d made now filled the entire reservoir. It was easy to imagine her dancing herself into exhaustion.

“Would you like to join her?” I asked. “I could fetch your suit for you.”

“Oh, no, thank you. Mommy’s focused right now. Best not to disturb her.”

Scottie’s matter-of-fact tone saddened me. She spoke from experience and yet she did not seem to possess a shred of self-pity or sadness. To Scott’s credit, he worked hard to protect his daughter and give her a sense of normalcy.

A boy appeared through the trees and motioned for Scottie to join him. She jumped up and brushed off her behind.

“Bye, now,” she said. “It was nice talking to you.”

“You, too, dear,” I said.

I watched her disappear into the woods, warmed by our conversation but sad that such a sweet child had a father in the hospital drying out and a mother who was so unstable. These recent interactions with Scott and Scottie stirred me in a new way. Perhaps Zelda was beyond help, and I was called here for them. Perhaps they needed me more than she did.

S
cott stayed in the hospital for two weeks. I visited him on the way home from La Paix every day, and encouraged him on his progress with his novel. At first, Zelda seemed more at ease when he wasn’t there, but as time passed she started to grow anxious.

I’d made plans for a field trip to the ballet for Zelda, scheduled for the day before Scott’s return. I knew Scott would never agree to her going out without him, so I wanted to get it in before he
came back. My stomach was nervous at the thought, but my excitement overshadowed my reserve. We had never attempted such an outing, and I had high hopes that it would stitch one of her torn emotional places, as music had often done in my own life.

“When is he coming home?” she asked. “I’m ready for him to come home.”

“He’ll be home tomorrow,” I said.

“Oh, Anna, help me set my hair and pick out a dress. It will be just like old times. I’ll be my old self and we’ll all be new and shiny again.”

Her complexion was marred by the eczema she picked at, and her hair had grown wild. She wore a stained tutu and had chewed her nails to nubs. Scott would surely be repulsed to see her in her present condition.

I sent her up to the bath and searched her closet for her most becoming dress. I would tell her about my plan to take her out after she was dressed and primped, and her hairdo could carry over to the following day. Once Zelda was scrubbed clean, her hair set, and she had a little rouge on her cheeks, she looked fresh and young. Her pale blue dress showed off her tanned skin, and her eyes looked alert.

“Do you think he’ll love me, Anna?” she asked.

“He always loves you, Zelda, more than he can bear.”

She nodded. “Yes, I know he does.”

“So,” I said, “would you like to know why I had you dress up tonight?”

“To prepare for tomorrow?”

“Not exactly,” I said. “I have a gift for you.”

“Is it my diaries?” she asked.

I felt the nerves in my stomach start as I shook my head. I tried to make light of her question. “No, silly. When would I have been able to go on a trip to find them?”

She rolled her eyes and shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t know. Nights? Weekends?”

I heard a car pull up and the horn beep.

“I’m taking you on a field trip,” I said.

Her eyes got a wonderful, mischievous glint. She hunched her shoulders up to her ears. “Oh, Anna, where are you taking me?”

“You’ll just have to see,” I said, giving her a coy wink. “I’ll change my clothes and we’ll be on our way.”

I walked to the front window and waved down at Lincoln. He gave me the thumbs-up.

My dress hung in the hobby room closet. I had bought it with my pay last week—a chiffon frock that moved like zephyr and was the exact shade of pinky salmon that Zelda loved. I pulled off my work clothes and kicked off my clunky shoes. The dress was so light and pleasant, I knew it would be perfect in the heat, and so were the strappy heels I’d found at the consignment shop down the street. Zelda watched me dress and pin up the sides of my hair, oohing and ahhing over my transformation.