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Saturday, August 12 1922

I have heard of Gatsby's party for a long

time, and finally I experienced it by myself

today. There are all kinds of people, the

profusion of champagne, many-colored,

many-keyed commotion. Everything looks

almost perfect, but I don’t like it. I felt an

unpleasantness in the air, a pervading

harshness that hadn’t been there before. I

even hate it a bit.

At the party, I met Marlene Moon, a

hitherto ghostly celebrity of the movies.

She is so beautiful, gorgeous, scarcely

human orchid. I hope I can be like her,

always so beautiful and elegant. I saw her

and a director standing under a white

plum tree, kissing in the moonlight. I envy

her so much. From the look in the