Millicent was a
literary groupie and her plan was simple."I'll screw
F.ScottFitzgerald," she thought to herself, "and end up a
character in one of his books." Here's how she planned to do
First of all she
painted on her best Cupie-doll lips.Then she checked her
overly-long imitation pearl necklace that hung down to her
stomach to make sure it wouldn't tangle when she flappedfor
Millie was a flapper and this was the Jazz Age. You could hardly
expect one without the other.
She checked her
mascara and smoothed her shimmering silk stockings down over her
shapely legs with the palm of her hand.They were magnificent.
Then she looked back to check the seams. They were straight. She
adjusted the angle of her hat, picked up her beaded purse, and
was out the door now hot on F.Scott's trail.
always been a literary groupie.It's not as if she woke up one day
and said, after eating her Wheaties, "I know what I'm gonna be,
I'm gonna be a literary groupie."
The process had
started slowly when she screwed her professor in her college
English class.Later he did a description of her "well turned"
legs in his book " Coeds I have known."He meant "known" in the
Biblical sense of course. It became a best-seller and gave her a
taste of fame.
Then a novelist met
her at a book signing and the same thing happened.After one night
with Millie he named a character after her.He described her to a
T.She was thrilled when she read it, convinced she'd seen proof
of her own magic. Now she'd set her sights higher.She decided to
screw the best, all the way to the top, and see what would
happen.She got off the trolley at the Biltmore, but before she
when in, she unfolded her compact and re-rouged her cheeks. A man
passing by in a model T whistled.
"Look out F.
Scott.I'll be coming on like Gangbusters."
Besides the fact
that she'd read This Side of Paradise she knew nothing about him,
not even what he looked like, only his name.
"Which way is the
book signing?' she asked the bellboy, "Mr. Fitzgerald is
He directed her to
"Top floor," and
pointed the way.
The room, when she
got there, was packed.
From the corner she
heard, "POP!"They were drinking champagne.A waiter arrived with a
tray. She took one and while drinking it, regarded herself in a
nearby mirrored column.The woman she saw there looked twenty-two.
She took off her hat and revealed her bobbed auburn hair.The
fringe on her little black dress hung just to her knees and below
that were her marvelous silk-clad legs.
well-turned.And worth a full paragraph at
As much a she
admired the woman in the mirror she admired herself even
That would never
"Which way to the
ladies room?" she asked the waiter when he returned for her empty
glass. She took another. He motioned to a door across the crowded
"I've got to check
The ladies room
suited the hotel.It was art-deco.On one side was a long white
marble counter, the faucet gold plated, above it the mirror.Two
chairs were beneath it.On the other side of the room were the
stalls.A woman was sitting in one of the chairs checking her
mascara.Millie could tell from her dress and shoes and purse she
was pure upper-crust.Her bottle of Faberge was still out on the
She snatched it,
saying, "Do you mind?" and gave herself a squirt.
The woman never
even looked up, though she noticed what happened. She was too
busy, her face only inches from the mirror.
"It's this eyelash;
it's stuck on my eyeball!"
"Here, let me
Millie wet a towel
and touched it gently.It came off at once.
"Thank you. I owe
"Then you can pay
me back.Tell me, which one is F. Scott Fitzgerald?"
The woman's face
"You don't know
him?Just what are you here for? It's an exclusive signing you
"Of course I
around. It was quiet and seemed safe enough. She took the woman
into her confidence and revealed her entire plan. The professor,
the unknown novelist, and now an author of repute.When she was
finished the woman looked at her legs and admitted,
right.They do deserve at least a whole paragraph! Maybe a whole
confided, "an entirebook!"
"But how exactly
are you going to do it?" the woman said keenly. She had an
appetite for the stuff.
"With a little of
Millie pulled up
the hem of her dress revealing one of her awesome legs.
"And a little of
She did a bit of
bump and grind.
And if that fails,
a little of this!"
She reached into
her purse and took out a small bottle with a gold spoon attached
to the cap. Obviously the champagne had gone to her head.It was
drinking a bit Honey.You'd better do a spoonful yourself.
was she drunk.
After Millie did a
spoon she offered one to the lady.
"That's OK Honey, I
understood.The lady had too much class.
They talked a bit
longer and the lady promised she'd point out Fitzgerald.
"So you know who he
"All of us southern
girls know him.I've know a girl that actually dated him!"
"It's really nice
of you to help out!
"But before we go
out, I need to pee."
"Don't let me stop
you. It's the champagne and cocaine that does that."
Millie went into
the stall.She peed and found there was no toilet paper.
"Say, can you give
me some paper?"
"I don't have any
paper.Can you hand me some?"
Nothing at all. The
room was quiet as a tomb.
She pulled up her
panties and lowered her dress and opened the door to the
No nothing, no
nobody, and most of all, when she saw that her purse was still
there, no cocaine.Oops!
Just then a black
attendant appeared at the counter to straighten the towels.Millie
walked over and opened the door to the room and looked
The room was
seething with people.Over in the corner where the champagne had
popped they were crowded together singing.
"Can you tell me
which one is F.Scott Fitzgerald?" she asked the attendant.
She was short and
had to stand on her toes.
"It's hard to see,
there's so many people. And they're so far away.But there he is,
standing by Miss Zelda."
the woman standing by the handsome fresh-faced man.She'd seen her
close up.Now she was putting something in his face and after she
was finished he sneezed, and they started laughing harder than
"Who's Miss Zelda?"
she asked hot and bothered.
"Why," she answered
looking puzzled, "Don't you know?Miss Zelda be his wife."
Ironic isn't it,
how much broken dreams sound just like champagne?