Hemingway and Fitzgerald

I started reading A Moveable Feast by Ernest Hemingway yesterday and I am already excited! It is like stepping right back into Paris but in a time I can only imagine living in. Writing was his whole world and he talks a lot about it. He describes the advice Stein gave him and the fast life his friend F. Scott Fitzgerald led. Hemingway suffered a lot in life and never truly finished this book that was published posthumously. This specific version I am reading is the restored edition. It was collected and put together by his children and grandchildren in a manner they felt reflected what he really wanted for the book of his life in Paris from 1920-1926. I feel I can learn a lot about being a writer from this book. I will never be a writer like Hemingway. To  be a writer of that caliber I would have to completely lose myself to the craft. I could never do that to the people I love. I just hope to be half the writer Hemingway and Fitzgerald were. 

I hope everyone is having a great week! Last week I gave Sage a bath. As you can see from the pictures, she was not a fan.

I am really happy with this story. The names are all from my favorite great American novel. If you can guess it let me know!

Week 7 (16-22 February 2015)

Mr. Fitzgerald and Ms. Carraway

He didn't look anything like she expected. She imagined an older man with salt and pepper hair, a tailored suit and stern eyes. Instead she got a man in his early 30's like her, perfectly coiffed dark blond hair and soft but piercing blue eyes. The only thing she was correct about him was the suit. It was an exquisitely tailored suit with a skinny tie instead of the regular style. If she had not been there to interview for the job of his assistant she thought he would be a a good candidate for a date or at least a drink at the bar. She shook her head and cleared her throat. He smiled at her, with his elbows on his desk and his finger tips tapping each other, he began the interview.

“Ms. Carraway, why exactly do you think you deserve to work for me?” he did not start the interview off slowly. He went right for the gut.

“I... uh... I have...” she stuttered.

“Your stuttering and stammering are really concerning. I can't have someone working for me who can't speak. I am a busy man, a wealthy man, a man in high demand and I cannot have someone like you working for me,” Jordan was shocked. She had never been in an interview where the interviewer was so incredibly rude. His kind eyes disappeared behind the well of tears that were building up behind hers, “I apologize, it has been a long day and I just do not have the energy to deal with another incompetent person. Please, let's pause. Would you like a coffee? A soda? Maybe some tea? Catherine please bring Ms. Carraway a chamomile tea with some honey and lemon,” he didn't even wait for her to respond before paging someone in the office. Lucky for him she liked tea.

Catherine brought her tea. She put a little bit of honey and stirred in some lemon juice before taking a sip. She took a deep breath and swallowed the tears she was holding back. He was an ass. He was certainly not as she expected. She expected a gentle encounter and if he didn't like her she would never hear from him again. It was just a job not a reason to be unkind. She felt a bitter disdain for the ambitious alpha male that sat across the sleek oak desk from her. He's such a prick she thought as she counted down the minutes before she was brave enough to leave or he told her to go.

“Let's start over. I see you worked at various offices and have assisted several people. It does not look like you have ever worked for someone of my caliber so how can I know you will be able to keep up with my hectic schedule and high demands?”

“Honestly, I don't know that I could because, as you've said, I do not have the experience. I have done this job for several years and I want more than just some small time gig. I thought this would be the place to start expanding my horizons,” she knew he liked her answer but at this point she did not care. She did not want the job. She did not want to ever see him again.

“Thank you Ms. Carraway. I will be finishing interviews this week and I will have Catherine call you about my decision. It was very nice to meet you,” he extended his hand and she shook it. It was over. She could go home and forget this ever happened. The interaction was short but it left a bad taste in her mouth.

Jordan left the office with a defeated smile on her face. She didn't want anyone to know she would cry in the taxi on the way to the bar. She was pissed, fuming and could barely fight back the urge to scream. She choked back her scream and huffed into the elevator. How dare he be so rude. How dare he assume she is incompetent before the interview even begins. If he gained his wealth this way she really wanted to get out of New York and be nowhere near people like him. She wanted to go to the bar next to the elevator doors at the main level but she really did not want to run into him again or anyone in his office. The shame would be too great. She shot out of the elevator and flagged down a yellow cab. She was almost free when she heard his voice.

“Ms. Carraway!” Christ! She thought. Had he followed her down to berate her some more? “You left your scarf in my office. It is a nice cashmere. I figured you'd miss it,” how thoughtful of him. She rolled her eyes and turned towards him.

“Thank you. I do like this one. My father gave it to me before he was killed in the line of duty, he gave it to me the day before he died,” She gracefully grabbed the scarf, thanked him again with a strained, toothless smile and got in the cab. She told the driver where she needed to go and watched as the arrogant interviewer walked across the street rather than head back into the building. She was stopped at a light when, like a bolt of lightening, a motorcycle flew past the taxi. It turned the corner as quick as it could. The back tire whipped out and hit her interviewer, knocking him into oncoming traffic. She watched with horror as he landed in front of a car which then hit him. She burst through the taxi door and ran to the man.

“Call 9-1-1! Someone call 9-1-1!” She screamed as she approached him. His perfect hair was stained with blood. His tailored suit was shredded and embedded with asphalt. She could smell his musky cologne mixed with the strong, metallic taste of iron from his wounds, “Oh my God! Oh my God! Can you hear me?” she snapped her fingers and checked his pulse. He let out a light groan and slightly open his eyes. He looked like he was fading. The man she sat before just minutes earlier had disappeared from her mind. Laying on the street was now a wounded man in a dire situation. She didn't want to move him for fear he may be paralyzed but he was losing so much blood she wanted to do something to comfort him. She took off her coat and scarf, the one he had just handed her, and laid it over him. Within minutes an ambulance had made its way through traffic. They loaded him up and she was left standing in the street soaked in blood talking to an officer.

After Jordan gave her account of the accident she dashed into the taxi, whose driver was also explaining what he saw. She burst through the doors, asked where her interviewer was and how he was doing. She only barely remembered he called himself Mr. Fitzgerald.

“Ma'am you have to be family. I can't give away any info about him.”

“I am! I am his... uh... cousin!” she announced to the irritated nurse.

“His cousin?”

“Yes!” she snapped back and immediately felt guilty about it because she knew the nurse was just having a busy night, “I'm sorry, yes, I am his cousin. How is he? Is he okay?”

“Mr. Fitzgerald is in surgery. I am going to take you to the doctor. You should talk to him. Do you have numbers for the next of kin?”

“Oh god, is he going to die?” she was devastated. This man was a jerk to her but he certainly did not deserve to be pulverized by a car and die!

“No, no, no! Well, not likely. Here please speak to Dr. Eckleburg. He has more answers,” the nurse brought her to the aged doctor with round spectcles adorning his nose.

“Ms...”

“Carraway.”

“Yes, Ms. Carraway. Scott has some very serious injuries. He is currently in surgery but it looks as if he will be needing a blood transfusion. We need next of kin so we can quickly match his blood type. Unfortunately, Mr. Fitzgerald is type O-,” explained the doctor. Jordan was dumbstruck. This stranger that she interviewed for happened to be the same blood type as her.

“Doctor, I am O-,” Jordan could not believe her luck at being a blood match.

“Why my dear, that is a miracle. There is only a 7% chance of finding a compatible donor for that blood type. I suppose since you are family it is not that surprising. Well, if you will, lets get you ready. This is a dire situation,” he motioned a nurse and took Jordan down the hall to a room. She didn't even think twice about saying yes. She was his fake cousin after all and besides, it was just blood. She could make more of it and help someone who needed it. She no longer thought of the ruthless, inconsiderate man that sat across his oak desk from her but rather the man who lay helpless and shattered in the road.

The next morning, Scott woke up groggy and achy. He saw Jordan asleep in the chair next to him. She had on sweats and a hoodie that looked far too large for her petite frame. He tried to adjust in the hospital bed but his body was too beat up for much movement. He let out a groan that stirred Jordan.

“Mr. Fitzgerald, uh Scott? That's what they kept calling you so I assume that is your name. I just nodded my head in agreement. Oh! We are cousins by the way. It is the only way they would let me know anything about you. How are you feeling, cousin?” she snickered at him and he smiled back. It felt natural, like they had been friends since grade school.

“Fitz. You can call me Fitz. That is what my closest friends call me. I suppose that is what a cousin would call me too if I had one. What happened? Last thing I remember was thinking of my father after I gave you your scarf. I guess I was feeling a bit nostalgic. I was heading to the hot dog stand he would take me to when I was a kid but I only remember bits and pieces from there,” Jordan was beginning to answer when a nurse walked in.

“Good! You're up Mr. Fitzgerald. I imagine you are uncomfortable. Let me check a few things and I will give you something to ease the pain since it has been a while. It's a good thing your cousin was here. She saved you,” the nurse checked his vitals and did as she said, gave him something to ease the pain, then left him to continue speaking with Jordan.

“Saved my life huh?” he was perplexed at the nurse's statement.

“Yeah, apparently type O- is hard to find. You needed blood and, well, I just happened to have it. Obviously you know you were in an accident. A car hit you and it was really bad,” Jordan remembered the fear and the taste of iron in her mouth from the smell of so much blood, “I thought you were going to die. All I could think of to do was cover you with my coat and my scarf. I wanted you to be comfortable and not alone if you died.”

He took in a deep breath. His body told him it had been that bad but he was mostly unconscious for everything she explained, “Your scarf, the one your father gave you. I am so sorry I ruined it,” Fitz began to cry. He knew it meant the world to her because of her loss and he knew the despair of loss.

“Don't worry, my father would have been proud of what I did for you. Especially after that interview. Does this mean you'll reconsider me for the job?” they both chuckled and the thoughts of him as a jerk wore off.

Fitz explained to Jordan that his mother died when he was a child. His father was a financier who had a heart attack when he was 22. This left him a large inheritance so he started his own company. He was able to be successful by being zealous, tenacious and not being bullied by others. This made him slightly bitter in life and he tended to rub people the wrong way, as he had with Jordan. They talked for hours until he dozed off to sleep from nighttime meds the evening nurse gave him. Family never showed up for him but Jordan's family helped her take care of him until he recovered. He did give her a job as his personal assistant with her own office and extra holidays, it was the least he could do for her since she saved his life. The greatest thing he did for her though was replace her scarf. He gave it to her at the opening of a fallen officers memorial he donated to the city her father was born in.

“I could never repay you for this,” she cried at the opening.

“You already did. I am alive because of you. I am able to be a far better person because you saved me.”

Jordan and Fitz became the closest of friends. He introduced her to her future husband while she taught him the kindness he needed to grow his business and increase his generosity in the community. This led him to meet his wife at benefit he held for New York's homeless veterans. Since the day in the hospital, they acted as if they really were cousins. Fitz felt he could never repay Jordan for changing his life and making him a better person. He wasn't sure if he would have hired her the day she was interviewed but without her he would not have become the man his wife would have ever spoken to. His life had been lonely as a child. He had very little family and few friends but now his life was so full. The goodness of one changed so many and with so little effort, Fitz wondered why he had never been as hospitable before.