The Pat Hobby Stories are a collection of 17 short stories written by F. Scott Fitzgerald, first published by Arnold Gingrich of Esquire magazine between January 1940 and May 1941, and later collected in one volume in 1962. The last five installments in Esquire of The Pat Hobby Stories were published posthumously; Fitzgerald died on December 21, 1940.
Pat Hobby is a down-and-out screenwriter in Hollywood, once successful as "a good man for structure" during the silent age of cinema, but now reduced to an alcoholic hack hanging around the studio lot. Most stories find him broke and engaged in some ploy for money or a much-desired screen credit, but his antics usually backfire and end in further humiliation.
Drawing on his own experiences as a writer in Hollywood, Fitzgerald portrays Pat Hobby with self-mocking humor and nostalgia.
Genre: FICTION / Short Stories (single author)I am an editor in Brazil, fully established, and I think this public-domain title would be welcome in Brazil.
It was Christmas Eve in the studio. By eleven o'clock in the morning, Santa Claus had called on most of the huge population according to each one's deserts.
Sumptuous gifts from producers to stars, and from agents to producers arrived at offices and studio bungalows: on every stage one heard of the roguish gifts of casts to directors or directors to casts; champagne had gone out from publicity office to the press. And tips of fifties, tens and fives from producers, directors and writers fell like manna upon the white collar class.
In this sort of transaction there were exceptions. Pat Hobby, for example, who knew the game from twenty years' experience, had had the idea of getting rid of his secretary the day before. They were sending over a new one any minute--but she would scarcely expect a present the first day.
Waiting for her, he walked the corridor, glancing into open offices for signs of life. He stopped to chat with Joe Hopper from the scenario department.
'Not like the old days,' he mourned, 'Then there was a bottle on every desk.'
'There're a few around.'
'Not many.' Pat sighed. 'And afterwards we'd run a picture--made up out of cutting-room scraps.'
'I've heard. All the suppressed stuff,' said Hopper.
Pat nodded, his eyes glistening.
'Oh, it was juicy. You darned near ripped your guts laughing--'
He broke off as the sight of a woman, pad in hand, entering his office down the hall recalled him to the sorry present.
