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Little Women, Louisa May Alcott

Chapter 26-27

XXVI.

ARTISTIC ATTEMPTS.

It takes people a long time to learn the difference between talent and genius, especially ambitious young men and women. Amy was learning this distinction through much tribulation; for, mistaking enthusiasm for inspiration, she attempted every branch of art with youthful audacity. For a long time there was a lull in the "mud-pie" business, and she devoted herself to the finest pen-and-ink drawing, in which she showed such taste and skill that her graceful handiwork proved both pleasant and profitable. But overstrained eyes soon caused pen and ink to be laid aside for a bold attempt at poker-sketching. While this attack lasted, the family lived in constant fear of a conflagration; for the odor of burning wood pervaded the house at 314 all hours; smoke issued from attic and shed with alarming frequency, red-hot pokers lay about promiscuously, and Hannah never went to bed without a pail of water and the dinner-bell at her door, in case of fire. Raphael's face was found boldly executed on the under side of the moulding-board, and Bacchus on the head of a beer-barrel; a chanting cherub adorned the cover of the sugar-bucket, and attempts to portray Romeo and Juliet supplied kindlings for some time.

From fire to oil was a natural transition for burnt fingers, and Amy fell to painting with undiminished ardor. An artist friend fitted her out with his cast-off palettes, brushes, and colors; and she daubed away, producing pastoral and marine views such as were never seen on land or sea. Her monstrosities in the way of cattle would have taken prizes at an agricultural fair; and the perilous pitching of her vessels would have produced sea-sickness in the most nautical observer, if the utter disregard to all known rules of shipbuilding and rigging had not convulsed him with laughter at the first glance. Swarthy boys and dark-eyed Madonnas, staring at you from one corner of the studio, suggested Murillo; oily-brown shadows of faces, with a lurid streak in the wrong place, meant Rembrandt; buxom ladies and dropsical infants, Rubens; and Turner appeared in tempests of blue thunder, orange lightning, brown rain, and purple clouds, with a tomato-colored splash in the middle, which might be the sun or a buoy, a sailor's shirt or a king's robe, as the spectator pleased.

Charcoal portraits came next; and the entire family hung in a row, looking as wild and crocky as if just evoked from a coal-bin. Softened into crayon sketches, they did better; for the likenesses were good, and Amy's hair, Jo's nose, Meg's mouth, and Laurie's eyes were pronounced "wonderfully fine." A return to clay and plaster followed, and ghostly casts of her acquaintances haunted corners of the house, or tumbled off closet-shelves on to people's heads. Children were enticed in as models, till their incoherent accounts of her mysterious doings caused Miss Amy to be regarded in the light of a young ogress. Her efforts in this line, however, were brought to an abrupt close by an untoward accident, which quenched her ardor. Other models failing her for a time, she undertook to cast her own 315 pretty foot, and the family were one day alarmed by an unearthly bumping and screaming, and running to the rescue, found the young enthusiast hopping wildly about the shed, with her foot held fast in a pan-full of plaster, which had hardened with unexpected rapidity. With much difficulty and some danger she was dug out; for Jo was so overcome with laughter while she excavated, that her knife went too far, cut the poor foot, and left a lasting memorial of one artistic attempt, at least.

After this Amy subsided, till a mania for sketching from nature set her to haunting river, field, and wood, for picturesque studies, and sighing for ruins to copy. She caught endless colds sitting on damp grass to book "a delicious bit," composed of a stone, a stump, one mushroom, and a broken mullein-stalk, or "a heavenly mass of clouds," that looked like a choice display of feather-beds when done. She sacrificed her complexion floating on the river in the midsummer sun, to study light and shade, and got a wrinkle over her nose, trying after "points of sight," or whatever the squint-and-string performance is called.

If "genius is eternal patience," as Michael Angelo affirms, Amy certainly had some claim to the divine attribute, for she persevered in spite of all obstacles, failures, and discouragements, firmly believing that in time she should do something worthy to be called "high art."

316 She was learning, doing, and enjoying other things, meanwhile, for she had resolved to be an attractive and accomplished woman, even if she never became a great artist. Here she succeeded better; for she was one of those happily created beings who please without effort, make friends everywhere, and take life so gracefully and easily that less fortunate souls are tempted to believe that such are born under a lucky star. Everybody liked her, for among her good gifts was tact. She had an instinctive sense of what was pleasing and proper, always said the right thing to the right person, did just what suited the time and place, and was so self-possessed that her sisters used to say, "If Amy went to court without any rehearsal beforehand, she'd know exactly what to do."

One of her weaknesses was a desire to move in "our best society," without being quite sure what the best really was. Money, position, fashionable accomplishments, and elegant manners were most desirable things in her eyes, and she liked to associate with those who possessed them, often mistaking the false for the true, and admiring what was not admirable. Never forgetting that by birth she was a gentlewoman, she cultivated her aristocratic tastes and feelings, so that when the opportunity came she might be ready to take the place from which poverty now excluded her.

"My lady," as her friends called her, sincerely desired to be a genuine lady, and was so at heart, but had yet to learn that money cannot buy refinement of nature, that rank does not always confer nobility, and that true breeding makes itself felt in spite of external drawbacks.

"I want to ask a favor of you, mamma," Amy said, coming in, with an important air, one day.

"Well, little girl, what is it?" replied her mother, in whose eyes the stately young lady still remained "the baby."

"Our drawing class breaks up next week, and before the girls separate for the summer, I want to ask them out here for a day. They are wild to see the river, sketch the broken bridge, and copy some of the things they admire in my book. They have been very kind to me in many ways, and I am grateful, for they are all rich, and know I am poor, yet they never made any difference."

"Why should they?" and Mrs. March put the question with what the girls called her "Maria Theresa air."

317 "You know as well as I that it does make a difference with nearly every one, so don't ruffle up, like a dear, motherly hen, when your chickens get pecked by smarter birds; the ugly duckling turned out a swan, you know;" and Amy smiled without bitterness, for she possessed a happy temper and hopeful spirit.

Mrs. March laughed, and smoothed down her maternal pride as she asked,—

"Well, my swan, what is your plan?"

"I should like to ask the girls out to lunch next week, to take them a drive to the places they want to see, a row on the river, perhaps, and make a little artistic fête for them."

"That looks feasible. What do you want for lunch? Cake, sandwiches, fruit, and coffee will be all that is necessary, I suppose?"

"Oh dear, no! we must have cold tongue and chicken, French chocolate and ice-cream, besides. The girls are used to such things, and I want my lunch to be proper and elegant, though I do work for my living."

"How many young ladies are there?" asked her mother, beginning to look sober.

"Twelve or fourteen in the class, but I dare say they won't all come."

"Bless me, child, you will have to charter an omnibus to carry them about."

"Why, mother, how can you think of such a thing? Not more than six or eight will probably come, so I shall hire a beach-wagon, and borrow Mr. Laurence's cherry-bounce." (Hannah's pronunciation of char-à-banc.)

"All this will be expensive, Amy."

"Not very; I've calculated the cost, and I'll pay for it myself."

"Don't you think, dear, that as these girls are used to such things, and the best we can do will be nothing new, that some simpler plan would be pleasanter to them, as a change, if nothing more, and much better for us than buying or borrowing what we don't need, and attempting a style not in keeping with our circumstances?"

"If I can't have it as I like, I don't care to have it at all. I know that I can carry it out perfectly well, if you and the girls will help a 318 little; and I don't see why I can't if I'm willing to pay for it," said Amy, with the decision which opposition was apt to change into obstinacy.

Mrs. March knew that experience was an excellent teacher, and when it was possible she left her children to learn alone the lessons which she would gladly have made easier, if they had not objected to taking advice as much as they did salts and senna.

"Very well, Amy; if your heart is set upon it, and you see your way through without too great an outlay of money, time, and temper, I'll say no more. Talk it over with the girls, and whichever way you decide, I'll do my best to help you."

"Thanks, mother; you are always so kind;" and away went Amy to lay her plan before her sisters.

Meg agreed at once, and promised her aid, gladly offering anything she possessed, from her little house itself to her very best salt-spoons. But Jo frowned upon the whole project, and would have nothing to do with it at first.

"Why in the world should you spend your money, worry your family, and turn the house upside down for a parcel of girls who don't care a sixpence for you? I thought you had too much pride and sense to truckle to any mortal woman just because she wears French boots and rides in a coupé," said Jo, who, being called from the tragical climax of her novel, was not in the best mood for social enterprises.

"I don't truckle, and I hate being patronized as much as you do!" returned Amy indignantly, for the two still jangled when such questions arose. "The girls do care for me, and I for them, and there's a great deal of kindness and sense and talent among them, in spite of what you call fashionable nonsense. You don't care to make people like you, to go into good society, and cultivate your manners and tastes. I do, and I mean to make the most of every chance that comes. You can go through the world with your elbows out and your nose in the air, and call it independence, if you like. That's not my way."

When Amy whetted her tongue and freed her mind she usually got the best of it, for she seldom failed to have common sense on her 319 side, while Jo carried her love of liberty and hate of conventionalities to such an unlimited extent that she naturally found herself worsted in an argument. Amy's definition of Jo's idea of independence was such a good hit that both burst out laughing, and the discussion took a more amiable turn. Much against her will, Jo at length consented to sacrifice a day to Mrs. Grundy, and help her sister through what she regarded as "a nonsensical business."

The invitations were sent, nearly all accepted, and the following Monday was set apart for the grand event. Hannah was out of humor because her week's work was deranged, and prophesied that "ef the washin' and ironin' warn't done reg'lar nothin' would go well anywheres." This hitch in the mainspring of the domestic machinery had a bad effect upon the whole concern; but Amy's motto was "Nil desperandum," and having made up her mind what to do, she proceeded to do it in spite of all obstacles. To begin with, Hannah's cooking didn't turn out well: the chicken was tough, the tongue too salt, and the chocolate wouldn't froth properly. Then the cake and ice cost more than Amy expected, so did the wagon; and various other expenses, which seemed trifling at the outset, counted up rather alarmingly afterward. Beth got cold and took to her bed, Meg had an unusual number of callers to keep her at home, and Jo was in such a divided state of mind that her breakages, accidents, and mistakes were uncommonly numerous, serious, and trying.

"If it hadn't been for mother I never should have got through," as Amy declared afterward, and gratefully remembered when "the best joke of the season" was entirely forgotten by everybody else.

If it was not fair on Monday, the young ladies were to come on Tuesday,—an arrangement which aggravated Jo and Hannah to the last degree. On Monday morning the weather was in that undecided state which is more exasperating than a steady pour. It drizzled a little, shone a little, blew a little, and didn't make up its mind till it was too late for any one else to make up theirs. Amy was up at dawn, hustling people out of their beds and through their breakfasts, that the house might be got in order. The parlor struck her as looking uncommonly shabby; but without stopping to sigh for what she had not, she skilfully made the best of what she had, arranging chairs over the 320 worn places in the carpet, covering stains on the walls with pictures framed in ivy, and filling up empty corners with home-made statuary, which gave an artistic air to the room, as did the lovely vases of flowers Jo scattered about.

The lunch looked charmingly; and as she surveyed it, she sincerely hoped it would taste well, and that the borrowed glass, china, and silver would get safely home again. The carriages were promised, Meg and mother were all ready to do the honors, Beth was able to help Hannah behind the scenes, Jo had engaged to be as lively and amiable as an absent mind, an aching head, and a very decided disapproval of everybody and everything would allow, and, as she wearily dressed, Amy cheered herself with anticipations of the happy moment, when, lunch safely over, she should drive away with her friends for an afternoon of artistic delights; for the "cherry-bounce" and the broken bridge were her strong points.

Then came two hours of suspense, during which she vibrated from parlor to porch, while public opinion varied like the weathercock. A smart shower at eleven had evidently quenched the enthusiasm of the young ladies who were to arrive at twelve, for nobody came; and at two the exhausted family sat down in a blaze of sunshine to consume the perishable portions of the feast, that nothing might be lost.

"No doubt about the weather to-day; they will certainly come, so we must fly round and be ready for them," said Amy, as the sun woke her next morning. She spoke briskly, but in her secret soul she wished she had said nothing about Tuesday, for her interest, like her cake, was getting a little stale.

"I can't get any lobsters, so you will have to do without salad to-day," said Mr. March, coming in half an hour later, with an expression of placid despair.

"Use the chicken, then; the toughness won't matter in a salad," advised his wife.

"Hannah left it on the kitchen-table a minute, and the kittens got at it. I'm very sorry, Amy," added Beth, who was still a patroness of cats.

"Then I must have a lobster, for tongue alone won't do," said Amy decidedly.

321 "Shall I rush into town and demand one?" asked Jo, with the magnanimity of a martyr.

"You'd come bringing it home under your arm, without any paper, just to try me. I'll go myself," answered Amy, whose temper was beginning to fail.

Shrouded in a thick veil and armed with a genteel travelling-basket, she departed, feeling that a cool drive would soothe her ruffled spirit, and fit her for the labors of the day. After some delay, the object of her desire was procured, likewise a bottle of dressing, to prevent further loss of time at home, and off she drove again, well pleased with her own forethought.

As the omnibus contained only one other passenger, a sleepy old lady, Amy pocketed her veil, and beguiled the tedium of the way by trying to find out where all her money had gone to. So busy was she with her card full of refractory figures that she did not observe a new-comer, who entered without stopping the vehicle, till a masculine voice said, "Good-morning, Miss March," and, looking up, she beheld one of Laurie's most elegant college friends. Fervently hoping that he would get out before she did, Amy utterly ignored the basket at her feet, and, congratulating herself that she had on her new travelling dress, returned the young man's greeting with her usual suavity and spirit.

They got on excellently; for Amy's chief care was soon set at rest by learning that the gentleman would leave first, and she was chatting away in a peculiarly lofty strain, when the old lady got out. In stumbling to the door, she upset the basket, and—oh, horror!—the lobster, in all its vulgar size and brilliancy, was revealed to the highborn eyes of a Tudor.

"By Jove, she's forgotten her dinner!" cried the unconscious youth, poking the scarlet monster into its place with his cane, and preparing to hand out the basket after the old lady.

"Please don't—it's—it's mine," murmured Amy, with a face nearly as red as her fish.

"Oh, really, I beg pardon; it's an uncommonly fine one, isn't it?" said Tudor, with great presence of mind, and an air of sober interest that did credit to his breeding.

322 Amy recovered herself in a breath, set her basket boldly on the seat, and said, laughing,—

"Don't you wish you were to have some of the salad he's to make, and to see the charming young ladies who are to eat it?"

Now that was tact, for two of the ruling foibles of the masculine mind were touched: the lobster was instantly surrounded by a halo of pleasing reminiscences, and curiosity about "the charming young ladies" diverted his mind from the comical mishap.

"I suppose he'll laugh and joke over it with Laurie, but I sha'n't see them; that's a comfort," thought Amy, as Tudor bowed and departed.

She did not mention this meeting at home (though she discovered that, thanks to the upset, her new dress was much damaged by the rivulets of dressing that meandered down the skirt), but went through with the preparations which now seemed more irksome than before; and at twelve o'clock all was ready again. Feeling that the neighbors were interested in her movements, she wished to efface the memory 323 of yesterday's failure by a grand success to-day; so she ordered the "cherry-bounce," and drove away in state to meet and escort her guests to the banquet.

"There's the rumble, they're coming! I'll go into the porch to meet them; it looks hospitable, and I want the poor child to have a good time after all her trouble," said Mrs. March, suiting the action to the word. But after one glance, she retired, with an indescribable expression, for, looking quite lost in the big carriage, sat Amy and one young lady.

"Run, Beth, and help Hannah clear half the things off the table; it will be too absurd to put a luncheon for twelve before a single girl," cried Jo, hurrying away to the lower regions, too excited to stop even for a laugh.

In came Amy, quite calm, and delightfully cordial to the one guest who had kept her promise; the rest of the family, being of a dramatic turn, played their parts equally well, and Miss Eliott found them a most hilarious set; for it was impossible to entirely control the merriment which possessed them. The remodelled lunch being gayly partaken of, the studio and garden visited, and art discussed with enthusiasm, Amy ordered a buggy (alas for the elegant cherry-bounce!) and drove her friend quietly about the neighborhood till sunset, when "the party went out."

As she came walking in, looking very tired, but as composed as ever, she observed that every vestige of the unfortunate fête had disappeared, except a suspicious pucker about the corners of Jo's mouth.

"You've had a lovely afternoon for your drive, dear," said her mother, as respectfully as if the whole twelve had come.

"Miss Eliott is a very sweet girl, and seemed to enjoy herself, I thought," observed Beth, with unusual warmth.

"Could you spare me some of your cake? I really need some, I have so much company, and I can't make such delicious stuff as yours," asked Meg soberly.

"Take it all; I'm the only one here who likes sweet things, and it will mould before I can dispose of it," answered Amy, thinking with a sigh of the generous store she had laid in for such an end as this.

324 "It's a pity Laurie isn't here to help us," began Jo, as they sat down to ice-cream and salad for the second time in two days.

A warning look from her mother checked any further remarks, and the whole family ate in heroic silence, till Mr. March mildly observed, "Salad was one of the favorite dishes of the ancients, and Evelyn"—here a general explosion of laughter cut short the "history of sallets," to the great surprise of the learned gentleman.

"Bundle everything into a basket and send it to the Hummels: Germans like messes. I'm sick of the sight of this; and there's no reason you should all die of a surfeit because I've been a fool," cried Amy, wiping her eyes.

"I thought I should have died when I saw you two girls rattling about in the what-you-call-it, like two little kernels in a very big nutshell, and mother waiting in state to receive the throng," sighed Jo, quite spent with laughter.

"I'm very sorry you were disappointed, dear, but we all did our best to satisfy you," said Mrs. March, in a tone full of motherly regret.

"I am satisfied; I've done what I undertook, and it's not my fault that it failed; I comfort myself with that," said Amy, with a little quiver in her voice. "I thank you all very much for helping me, and I'll thank you still more if you won't allude to it for a month, at least."

No one did for several months; but the word "fête" always produced a general smile, and Laurie's birthday gift to Amy was a tiny coral lobster in the shape of a charm for her watch-guard.

XXVII. Literary Lessons.

325

XXVII.

LITERARY LESSONS.

Fortune suddenly smiled upon Jo, and dropped a good-luck penny in her path. Not a golden penny, exactly, but I doubt if half a million would have given more real happiness than did the little sum that came to her in this wise.

Every few weeks she would shut herself up in her room, put on her scribbling suit, and "fall into a vortex," as she expressed it, writing away at her novel with all her heart and soul, for till that was finished she could find no peace. Her "scribbling suit" consisted of a black woollen pinafore on which she could wipe her pen at will, and a cap 326 of the same material, adorned with a cheerful red bow, into which she bundled her hair when the decks were cleared for action. This cap was a beacon to the inquiring eyes of her family, who during these periods kept their distance, merely popping in their heads semi-occasionally, to ask, with interest, "Does genius burn, Jo?" They did not always venture even to ask this question, but took an observation of the cap, and judged accordingly. If this expressive article of dress was drawn low upon the forehead, it was a sign that hard work was going on; in exciting moments it was pushed rakishly askew; and when despair seized the author it was plucked wholly off, and cast upon the floor. At such times the intruder silently withdrew; and not until the red bow was seen gayly erect upon the gifted brow, did any one dare address Jo.

She did not think herself a genius by any means; but when the writing fit came on, she gave herself up to it with entire abandon, and led a blissful life, unconscious of want, care, or bad weather, while she sat safe and happy in an imaginary world, full of friends almost as real and dear to her as any in the flesh. Sleep forsook her eyes, meals stood untasted, day and night were all too short to enjoy the happiness which blessed her only at such times, and made these hours worth living, even if they bore no other fruit. The divine afflatus usually lasted a week or two, and then she emerged from her "vortex," hungry, sleepy, cross, or despondent.

She was just recovering from one of these attacks when she was prevailed upon to escort Miss Crocker to a lecture, and in return for her virtue was rewarded with a new idea. It was a People's Course, the lecture on the Pyramids, and Jo rather wondered at the choice of such a subject for such an audience, but took it for granted that some great social evil would be remedied or some great want supplied by unfolding the glories of the Pharaohs to an audience whose thoughts were busy with the price of coal and flour, and whose lives were spent in trying to solve harder riddles than that of the Sphinx.

They were early; and while Miss Crocker set the heel of her stocking, Jo amused herself by examining the faces of the people who occupied the seat with them. On her left were two matrons, with massive foreheads, and bonnets to match, discussing Woman's Rights 327 and making tatting. Beyond sat a pair of humble lovers, artlessly holding each other by the hand, a sombre spinster eating peppermints out of a paper bag, and an old gentleman taking his preparatory nap behind a yellow bandanna. On her right, her only neighbor was a studious-looking lad absorbed in a newspaper.

It was a pictorial sheet, and Jo examined the work of art nearest her, idly wondering what unfortuitous concatenation of circumstances needed the melodramatic illustration of an Indian in full war costume, tumbling over a precipice with a wolf at his throat, while two infuriated young gentlemen, with unnaturally small feet and big eyes, were stabbing each other close by, and a dishevelled female was flying away in the background with her mouth wide open. Pausing to turn a page, the lad saw her looking, and, with boyish good-nature, offered half his paper, saying bluntly, "Want to read it? That's a first-rate story."

Jo accepted it with a smile, for she had never outgrown her liking for lads, and soon found herself involved in the usual labyrinth of love, mystery, and murder, for the story belonged to that class of light literature in which the passions have a holiday, and when the author's invention fails, a grand catastrophe clears the stage of one half the dramatis personæ, leaving the other half to exult over their downfall.

"Prime, isn't it?" asked the boy, as her eye went down the last paragraph of her portion.

"I think you and I could do as well as that if we tried," returned Jo, amused at his admiration of the trash.

"I should think I was a pretty lucky chap if I could. She makes a good living out of such stories, they say;" and he pointed to the name of Mrs. S. L. A. N. G. Northbury, under the title of the tale.

"Do you know her?" asked Jo, with sudden interest.

"No; but I read all her pieces, and I know a fellow who works in the office where this paper is printed."

"Do you say she makes a good living out of stories like this?" and Jo looked more respectfully at the agitated group and thickly-sprinkled exclamation-points that adorned the page.

"Guess she does! She knows just what folks like, and gets paid well for writing it."

328 Here the lecture began, but Jo heard very little of it, for while Prof. Sands was prosing away about Belzoni, Cheops, scarabei, and hieroglyphics, she was covertly taking down the address of the paper, and boldly resolving to try for the hundred-dollar prize offered in its columns for a sensational story. By the time the lecture ended and the audience awoke, she had built up a splendid fortune for herself (not the first founded upon paper), and was already deep in the concoction of her story, being unable to decide whether the duel should come before the elopement or after the murder.

She said nothing of her plan at home, but fell to work next day, much to the disquiet of her mother, who always looked a little anxious when "genius took to burning." Jo had never tried this style before, contenting herself with very mild romances for the "Spread Eagle." Her theatrical experience and miscellaneous reading were of service now, for they gave her some idea of dramatic effect, and supplied plot, language, and costumes. Her story was as full of desperation and despair as her limited acquaintance with those uncomfortable emotions enabled her to make it, and, having located it in Lisbon, she wound up with an earthquake, as a striking and appropriate dénouement. The manuscript was privately despatched, accompanied by a note, modestly saying that if the tale didn't get the prize, which the writer hardly dared expect, she would be very glad to receive any sum it might be considered worth.

Six weeks is a long time to wait, and a still longer time for a girl to keep a secret; but Jo did both, and was just beginning to give up all hope of ever seeing her manuscript again, when a letter arrived which almost took her breath away; for on opening it, a check for a hundred dollars fell into her lap. For a minute she stared at it as if it had been a snake, then she read her letter and began to cry. If the amiable gentleman who wrote that kindly note could have known what intense happiness he was giving a fellow-creature, I think he would devote his leisure hours, if he has any, to that amusement; for Jo valued the letter more than the money, because it was encouraging; and after years of effort it was so pleasant to find that she had learned to do something, though it was only to write a sensation story.

A prouder young woman was seldom seen than she, when, having 329 composed herself, she electrified the family by appearing before them with the letter in one hand, the check in the other, announcing that she had won the prize. Of course there was a great jubilee, and when the story came every one read and praised it; though after her father had told her that the language was good, the romance fresh and hearty, and the tragedy quite thrilling, he shook his head, and said in his unworldly way,—

"You can do better than this, Jo. Aim at the highest, and never mind the money."

"I think the money is the best part of it. What will you do with such a fortune?" asked Amy, regarding the magic slip of paper with a reverential eye.

"Send Beth and mother to the seaside for a month or two," answered Jo promptly.

"Oh, how splendid! No, I can't do it, dear, it would be so selfish," cried Beth, who had clapped her thin hands, and taken a long breath, as if pining for fresh ocean-breezes; then stopped herself, and motioned away the check which her sister waved before her.

"Ah, but you shall go, I've set my heart on it; that's what I tried for, and that's why I succeeded. I never get on when I think of myself alone, so it will help me to work for you, don't you see? Besides, Marmee needs the change, and she won't leave you, so you must go. Won't it be fun to see you come home plump and rosy again? Hurrah for Dr. Jo, who always cures her patients!"

To the sea side they went, after much discussion; and though Beth didn't come home as plump and rosy as could be desired, she was 330 much better, while Mrs. March declared she felt ten years younger; so Jo was satisfied with the investment of her prize money, and fell to work with a cheery spirit, bent on earning more of those delightful checks. She did earn several that year, and began to feel herself a power in the house; for by the magic of a pen, her "rubbish" turned into comforts for them all. "The Duke's Daughter" paid the butcher's bill, "A Phantom Hand" put down a new carpet, and the "Curse of the Coventrys" proved the blessing of the Marches in the way of groceries and gowns.

Wealth is certainly a most desirable thing, but poverty has its sunny side, and one of the sweet uses of adversity is the genuine satisfaction which comes from hearty work of head or hand; and to the inspiration of necessity, we owe half the wise, beautiful, and useful blessings of the world. Jo enjoyed a taste of this satisfaction, and ceased to envy richer girls, taking great comfort in the knowledge that she could supply her own wants, and need ask no one for a penny.

Little notice was taken of her stories, but they found a market; and, encouraged by this fact, she resolved to make a bold stroke for fame and fortune. Having copied her novel for the fourth time, read it to all her confidential friends, and submitted it with fear and trembling to three publishers, she at last disposed of it, on condition that she would cut it down one third, and omit all the parts which she particularly admired.

"Now I must either bundle it back into my tin-kitchen to mould, pay for printing it myself, or chop it up to suit purchasers, and get what I can for it. Fame is a very good thing to have in the house, but cash is more convenient; so I wish to take the sense of the meeting on this important subject," said Jo, calling a family council.

"Don't spoil your book, my girl, for there is more in it than you know, and the idea is well worked out. Let it wait and ripen," was her father's advice; and he practised as he preached, having waited patiently thirty years for fruit of his own to ripen, and being in no haste to gather it, even now, when it was sweet and mellow.

"It seems to me that Jo will profit more by making the trial than by waiting," said Mrs. March. "Criticism is the best test of such work, for it will show her both unsuspected merits and faults, and help her to do better next time. We are too partial; but the praise and 331 blame of outsiders will prove useful, even if she gets but little money."

"Yes," said Jo, knitting her brows, "that's just it; I've been fussing over the thing so long, I really don't know whether it's good, bad, or indifferent. It will be a great help to have cool, impartial persons take a look at it, and tell me what they think of it."

"I wouldn't leave out a word of it; you'll spoil it if you do, for the interest of the story is more in the minds than in the actions of the people, and it will be all a muddle if you don't explain as you go on," said Meg, who firmly believed that this book was the most remarkable novel ever written.

"But Mr. Allen says, 'Leave out the explanations, make it brief and dramatic, and let the characters tell the story,'" interrupted Jo, turning to the publisher's note.

"Do as he tells you; he knows what will sell, and we don't. Make a good, popular book, and get as much money as you can. By and by, when, you've got a name, you can afford to digress, and have philosophical and metaphysical people in your novels," said Amy, who took a strictly practical view of the subject.

"Well," said Jo, laughing, "if my people are 'philosophical and metaphysical,' it isn't my fault, for I know nothing about such things, except what I hear father say, sometimes. If I've got some of his wise ideas jumbled up with my romance, so much the better for me. Now, Beth, what do you say?"

"I should so like to see it printed soon," was all Beth said, and smiled in saying it; but there was an unconscious emphasis on the last word, and a wistful look in the eyes that never lost their childlike candor, which chilled Jo's heart, for a minute, with a foreboding fear, and decided her to make her little venture "soon."

So, with Spartan firmness, the young authoress laid her first-born on her table, and chopped it up as ruthlessly as any ogre. In the hope of pleasing every one, she took every one's advice; and, like the old man and his donkey in the fable, suited nobody.

Her father liked the metaphysical streak which had unconsciously got into it; so that was allowed to remain, though she had her doubts about it. Her mother thought that there was a trifle too much 332 description; out, therefore, it nearly all came, and with it many necessary links in the story. Meg admired the tragedy; so Jo piled up the agony to suit her, while Amy objected to the fun, and, with the best intentions in life, Jo quenched the sprightly scenes which relieved the sombre character of the story. Then, to complete the ruin, she cut it down one third, and confidingly sent the poor little romance, like a picked robin, out into the big, busy world, to try its fate.

Well, it was printed, and she got three hundred dollars for it; likewise plenty of praise and blame, both so much greater than she expected that she was thrown into a state of bewilderment, from which it took her some time to recover.

"You said, mother, that criticism would help me; but how can it, when it's so contradictory that I don't know whether I've written a promising book or broken all the ten commandments?" cried poor Jo, turning over a heap of notices, the perusal of which filled her with pride and joy one minute, wrath and dire dismay the next. "This man says 'An exquisite book, full of truth, beauty, and earnestness; all is sweet, pure, and healthy,'" continued the perplexed authoress. "The next, 'The theory of the book is bad, full of morbid fancies, spiritualistic ideas, and unnatural characters.' Now, as I had no theory of any kind, don't believe in Spiritualism, and copied my characters from life, I don't see how this critic can be right. Another says, 'It's one of the best American novels which has appeared for years' (I know better than that); and the next asserts that 'though it is original, and written with great force and feeling, it is a dangerous book.' 'Tisn't! Some make fun of it, some over-praise, and nearly all insist that I had a deep theory to expound, when I only wrote it for the pleasure and the money. I wish I'd printed it whole or not at all, for I do hate to be so misjudged."

Her family and friends administered comfort and commendation liberally; yet it was a hard time for sensitive, high-spirited Jo, who meant so well, and had apparently done so ill. But it did her good, for those whose opinion had real value gave her the criticism which is an author's best education; and when the first soreness was over, she could laugh at her poor little book, yet believe in it still, and feel herself the wiser and stronger for the buffeting she had received.

333 "Not being a genius, like Keats, it won't kill me," she said stoutly; "and I've got the joke on my side, after all; for the parts that were taken straight out of real life are denounced as impossible and absurd, and the scenes that I made up out of my own silly head are pronounced 'charmingly natural, tender, and true.' So I'll comfort myself with that; and when I'm ready, I'll up again and take another."

#hellsitesonlybookclub #bookblr #Alcott #Little Women

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Rolling Stone issue #624 February 20th 1992

Mauled in malls by rabid fans, the stars of “Beverly Hills 90210” deal with their teen minutes of fame.

“Keep your feet on the ground, even though friends flatter you,“ reads the fortune that slips from Luke Perry’s cookie, sage advice for a man whose face adorns the country’s bestselling heart-shaped pillow and whose mobbed personal appearances make Ayatollah Khomeini’s funeral look like a church social. "I had a girl in Denver, she just wasn’t breathing,” he says. “She fainted right in front of me. And I was going, ‘Hey, hey, breathe, hey, hey.'

"I don’t like that,” he says. “I mean, I could understand if I was the King.” He gestures toward a decanter shaped like Elvis Presley. “But I ain’t.” Perry is sitting in the relative calm of a Hollywood Chinese restaurant decorated with celebrity kitsch and photographs of stars both hot and forgotten, household names and Frankie Avalon. He says he doesn’t make public appearances anymore. “They can’t be made secure,” he rasps, typically underplaying the line. “I’m through with the laundry mass-transit system.” Last May he had to be smuggled out of a mall in Seattle in a laundry hamper when throngs of adolescent female fans ran lemminglike into the barricades. In August thousands more worshipful teens rushed a portable stage constructed for Perry’s appearance and squashed each other like grapes. A dozen were rushed to a hospital, and anchormen around the country got to read droll copy like “A teenage crush turned into a crush of teenagers.” “If they hurt each other,” Perry says, “it’s a bitch.”

The cause of all this flattering ferocity is the Fox television show Beverly Hills, 90210, in which Perry portrays Dylan McKay, ultracool high-school loner, AA member and, according to Perry, “staggering intellect.” On the show, Perry and his costars Jason Priestley and Shannen Doherty deal with problems ranging from curfews to AIDS. After premièring in the fall of 1990 to wretched ratings and reviews — with a lead-in called Babes and a time slot shared with Cheers — 90210 seemed like a certain candidate for cancellation. But a devoted cult following grew into a national youth movement, and actors who’d originally planned on a few weeks’ work became superstars.

As a result, Perry’s gone from toiling in a doorknob factory (“I cleaned up, scraping up big fucking glops.” he says, knocking an ash from his cigarette, “cleaned the acidic waste off the shit — it was horrendous, man”) to being the subject of books like Luke-Mania! and Loving Luke (his “intensity” is “skyrocketing him into the upper reaches of the 'most-loved’ hemisphere,” said 16 magazine). He recently got the ultimate stud certification when he was linked in the tabloids with Madonna (“TV heartthrob Luke Perry is the latest hunk to fall into the clutches of man-eating Madonna,” reported The Globe).

Overwhelmed by his new status as a sideburned sex symbol, Perry has sought guidance from someone who’s been there. “Jason and I went out with Tom Jones, had some drinks and dinner,” says Perry. “You know, basically getting advice on 'Look, Tom, this shit is happening to us really quickly, and how do we deal with it?’ ” Before the evening was done, Perry and Priestley had sung some slightly off-key backup to Jones, warbling “I Want You, I Need You” and “Love Me.” “It was unbelievable, man,” says Jason Priestley. “I mean, what right did we have to be sitting there at a table with Tom Jones?"

His incredulity is understandable: This unlikely star summit conference would not have happened without several crucial twists of fate. For example, if Beverly Hills, 90210 had premièred on any network other than Fox, it would have been canceled before it caught on, and the chances that T.J. — as his new friends Priestley and Perry call him — would hang out with the two young actors would be slim to none. But Fox gave the show a chance to climb its way out of the ratings cellar, partly because the network, which had just expanded to four nights of programming, had no backup show to replace it.

Star was a screenwriter in 1990 when he came to Fox with the idea of doing a teensomething. Fox chief Barry Diller already had the idea of doing a series set at Beverly Hills High School. Shazam! The show was shopped to Aaron Spelling, who has produced enough prime-time TV footage to strangle an army, including such shows as The Love Boat and Dynasty. Spelling was at first reluctant. "My first reaction was 'Why me?’ ” says the silver-haired producer. “I hadn’t done a young show since Mod Squad, for God’s sake."

But Spelling quickly warmed up to the project, and it became a family affair when his eighteen-year-old daughter, Tori, joined the cast. (The story goes that Tori auditioned under the name Toria Mitchell for the director of the pilot, who had "no idea” who she was.) Today, Aaron Spelling, creator of Nightingales and Charlie’s Angels, finds himself shifting in his seat whenever his daughter appears onscreen in a skimpy outfit. “They always put her in the smallest bikinis in the world,” he says. “As a producer, I don’t mind, but as a father, well … the mermaid outfit really freaked me out.”

In the pilot the Walshes, a wholesome family from Minnesota, have just moved to Beverly Hills because of the father’s job transfer. The culture of this Southern California Gomorrah is exciting and alien to their kids, twins Brenda and Brandon (played by Doherty and Priestley). After their first day at the fictional West Beverly High, they attend a debauched but well-catered high-school party in a mansion; Brandon and a rich, spoiled brunette nearly have sex in a Jacuzzi before his Midwestern values win out; Brenda nearly gets down with an attractive yet smarmy lawyer. The parents stand by, befuddled. “You didn’t wear this much makeup in Minnesota,” Ma Walsh says.

After the pilot, Charles Rosin, who actually graduated from Beverly Hills High in the class of '70, came over from CBS’s Northern Exposure to become 90210’s executive producer. He thought he could help make the show “a little more sympathetic to the human condition.” The scripts immediately began to broaden their focus: The Walshes’ fish-out-o’-water story offered only limited possibilities (especially since shows from The Beverly Hillbillies to The Fresh Prince of Bel Air had used every swimming-pool joke at least three times), and there were plenty of story-ready issues that no teen show was dealing with. “We never used the word issues,” says Aaron Spelling, “but we thought that instead of just showing the fun, fun, fun of being a teenager that the other teen shows were doing, we would show exactly what their problems are."

Thus 90210’s plots vary dramatically, from Brenda’s stalking a date rapist or finding a lump in her breast or an equally dire crisis of the week (a tendency that led Mad magazine to title its parody Beverly Hills 911) to the wacky high jinks that ensue when Brenda takes her driving test. Yet the show’s writing consistently transcends the melodrama with an unpatronizing tone, thanks to a small, cohesive group of writers: Many of the scripts are written by Rosin, his wife, Karen, and Star.

It was Karen Rosin who wrote "Isn’t It Romantic?,” the first episode broadcast in 1991. “It was an important episode,” says Charles Rosin, “because it crystallized the way we dealt with sexual issues.” It was also the first episode that prominently featured future star Luke Perry.

“After the pilot, we felt there should be someone who is a little dangerous, a little on the edge, and we came up with the Dylan character,” says Aaron Spelling. “When Luke walked into the audition,” says Star, “it was like 'Wow, that’s the person.’ He seems exactly like James Dean to me, but it isn’t a conscious imitation — he’s really being himself."

The 90210 audition was a hard-earned break for Perry, who grew up in Fredericktown, Ohio, a small town that he has alternately described as a redneck backwater and a rural paradise. "Both are true,” Perry says. “I could not wait to get out of there, but I’ve learned a lot there, a lot of things that apply here. I’ve never learned anything here that applies there.” At the age of twelve, Perry realized he wanted to be an actor, but he waited until after high school to move to L.A. and start taking lessons. He continued his training in New York, where he got his first acting work, on daytime soaps — as Ned Bates in Loving and Kenny on Another World.

Dylan and Brenda’s first kiss — after a shouting match — was Perry’s baptism by fire. “It was very hard for me,” he says. “I was in some fucking frustration. It was my first really big show. I was very nervous. I felt under the gun. Finally, I just … I was wearing a long coat, and I just sat down on the sidewalk and threw that coat over my head until I was ready to go. I was screaming at Shannen like a fucking crazy man off camera before I came on to get the emotion. I was screaming and sobbing, and I’d step onto my mark and try to maintain it.”

Brenda and Dylan postponed sex until the infamous “Spring Dance” show, last May. “I was a little wary at first,” says Doherty. “But they reassured me that we wouldn’t be condoning it [sex] in the show. We represent situations to our audience, and I don’t think we take a side. It’s something that brings families together. I mean, after a character loses her virginity, how can a parent not turn to their kid and say, 'What did you think of that?’ ” The flood of angry viewer reaction to the suggestion that Dylan and Brenda did horizontal push-ups in a hotel room caused the show’s creative team to reconsider its course.

After the big kiss, Brenda asks Kelly, “What’s the next step? Do I get pinned or something?” “Yes,” replies Kelly. “Preferably to the mattress.” Later, Kelly schools Brenda on carrying a condom: “Rule 1: Never rely on the guy.” And Brenda schools her dad: “Do you want me to sneak around, or are you going to trust me to know what I’m doing?” In the end, a female heterosexual guest lecturer comes to West Beverly and talks about what it’s like to have AIDS, and Dylan, having had condomless sex before, tells a fearful Brenda that he’ll get tested.

Yet it was before the Bang Heard Round the World that Fox realized it had something special on its hands. As one Fox executive puts it, “It wasn’t the ratings, it was the riots.” In that spring of mall maulings, the network’s programmers looked for a way to build on the cult enthusiasm. When summer rolled around, they boldly decided to continue pumping out new episodes, ordering thirty new shows of 90210. This unprecedented order (twenty-two shows per season is standard for an hour drama) paid off: While the competition aired reruns, 90210 moved into the Nielsen Top Twenty.

The new summer episodes continued to explore teen angst — though more carefully, as a result of the “Spring Dance” experience. As Jennie Garth puts it: “I’ve tried to get them to let Kelly get laid or shoplift, but they wouldn’t go for it. It seems like we can never do anything bad. Bad things happen to us."

"Everybody is really keyed into the fact that 'God, if we show Brandon taking drugs, and he is everybody’s role model, what is that saying?’ ” says Star.

As a result, good boy Brandon twice has been slipped mood-altering substances. The second time, the evil drug was the fictional “U4EA” (the producers made up a drug, fearful that if any real drug had been mentioned, viewers would have been tempted to try it), which was dissolved into a glass of soda water by Brandon’s scary blond girlfriend, Emily. In a Reefer Madness homage, U4EA causes Brandon to “feel really good, really alive,” ask cosmic questions like “Hey, what are those little bumps on your tongue called?,” unbutton his shirt and lethargically make out on the hood of his car. But just because he took the drug inadvertently doesn’t mean he escapes fearsome retribution: The next day, he has a real bad headache (you know — an acid hangover) and is really embarrassed about the way he acted. And his car, when he finally finds it, has been stripped. The moral: Don’t take drugs. Or soda water from scary blondes.

But the spiking fun began back in January, when Brandon’s virgin daiquiri was violated with rum, leading him into days of tequila and roses and, ultimately, a drunk-driving accident. He ends up in jail, where his hair still looks great. “That was a fun episode,” says Jason Priestley. “It was the first time we saw Brandon just, you know, go off, and I loved the hell out of that.” In a West Hollywood bar, he’s downing his second pint of English beer, which on 90210 would probably make him a crazed alcoholic.

Priestley is acknowledged as the guy who can instantly lighten the mood on a tense set by cracking a joke or dropping his pants. “Hey, I just thank God I get to work with such great guys,” Priestley says. “It would be a drag if any of us were just huge pricks, you know.” You get the idea that he would find a way to enjoy himself anywhere. On a recent appearance on Late Night, host David Letterman made fun of Priestley (surprise, surprise), and Priestley took it smiling. “It was great fun,” he says. “I had to go onstage and just go, 'Hey, babe, go ahead and kill me now.’ I thought if I turned and ran, it would be okay, everybody would understand."

A native of Vancouver, British Columbia, Priestley has been acting since he was four. At that tender age, he had to talk his mom, a former actress, into taking him to see her agent. Most of the early jobs were commercials (if you want to bug him, ask him about the ad for pressed meat in which he sang the words "and ham!”), but he got a break in 1989, when he was chosen for the cast of Sister Kate, a sitcom about orphans raised by a nun (Stephanie Beacham), which was canceled faster than you can say, “Bless me, father, for I have sinned."

Last November, 90210 dealt with the teen issue to end all teen issues — death. In one of the highest-rated episodes to date, a recurring character named Scott (played by Doug Emerson) pulls a handgun out of his dad’s desk and twirls it playfully on one finger. "Check this out,” he says to friend David Silver. A shot rings out. David looks horrified. Cut to angelic voices singing “There’s a Place for Us” at a school assembly.

Now, wherever Doug Emerson goes, he gets condolences. “It’s always 'You’re dead, you’re dead, why’d you die? What happened?’ ” says the boyish blond actor. His death has definitely left Emerson with mixed emotions. “The hardest thing is to believe for myself that it was nothing I did to get killed,” he says. When 90210 started catching on back in March, Emerson felt certain enough about the show’s future — and his — to buy a cool new car, a Saab. That was before the production office called him in for a meeting on “future character development.” The news came as a shock, which is understandable: Imagine being Pete Best. And being dropped from the Beatles after Sgt. Pepper.

Through the summer, Emerson, like any terminal case, kept hoping for a reprieve, but the ratings reaper waits for no actor, especially once it’s established that his character likes to play with guns. “I hope that episode will save some lives,” says Priestley, “because, you know, guns don’t kill people.” Right. Producers do.

“We planned this episode back in March, when we knew we would be picked up,” says Rosin. “I wanted it to be not a suicide, not an illness, but an accident. It seemed a handgun accident was one that made the most sense.”

According to Spelling, Fox was responsible for the lurid publicity campaign — “Tonight, they will lose one of their own,” read the copy above a photo of the regular cast members, with Emerson stuck in among them.

Yet despite the success of life-and-death themes, there are certain issues you won’t see on 90210. For example, you will not see an episode soon about the sorry state of public schools in California. “It’s an entertainment media,” Rosin says. “The prime goal that we have is to entertain an audience. We’re not going to do an episode about the teachers’ strikes at Beverly Hills High.

"We hope that we can have some impact (a) to entertain, and (b) when it’s over, to get them to think about what they have seen, for maybe about five seconds. That was always our goal, just five seconds. And the fact is, it seems that our impact is a little longer than that."

"It seems the main response I’ve been getting is how realistic the show is,” says Brian Austin Green, who plays David Silver. “People think the story lines are so realistic,” says Tori Spelling. A high school with a hallway DJ booth, kids driving BMWs and wearing designer fashions, high schoolers looking like Jason Priestley and Shannen Doherty — this is realism? But then, reality on TV is a relative concept. As Aaron Spelling puts it, “A broken date or not to have a date — that’s the tragedy."

"Everything is life and death to these kids,” Perry says. And the parents just don’t understand — not because they’re too uptight but because they’re too loaded. Unless you’re from the Midwest, it seems, your family is destined to burst like a poodle in a microwave. Almost every family function stars a dysfunctional family: moms that are coked or spaced out (Kelly’s and Dylan’s), or very scary and castrating (Scott’s), or self-obsessed and unable to love (Steve’s); dads that are absent or running from the law (Dylan’s, Kelly’s, Steve’s).

By making teens the centers of good in their dramas — as opposed to blank moral slates waiting to be filled with Mom and Dad’s latest lesson — 90210 receives an intense loyalty from its fans. Of course, it doesn’t hurt that the stars are cute, wear nice clothes, drive cool cars and live in Beverly Hills.

They’ve succeeded as far as hair color goes. "This receptionist told me, 'What you have done for brunettes is amazing,’ ” says Shannen Doherty. “ 'It’s always the blondes that get the guy, who have the wonderful life, who are perceived as the most beautiful one. And you have totally turned it around.’ "

Doherty, in all her stigma-stymieing, dark-haired splendor, sits in the tearoom of the Beverly Wilshire Hotel sipping a Coke. She looks notably un-Brenda-like in a clingy black bodysuit and tight jeans. "I dress more for my figure than Brenda does,” she says. “She’d probably put a dress over this bodysuit to hide herself. Brenda’s more apple pie, girl next door, America’s sweetheart.” (And a far cry from Doherty’s most memorable previous role, as one of the title-character high-school bitch goddesses in the movie Heathers.)

Beyond showing a brunette with a life, Doherty, 20, is very conscientious about the responsibilities entailed in being America’s sweetheart. “In one episode,” she says, “they had my character wanting to lose weight, like eight pounds or something. I’m fairly thin, and with bulimia and anorexia such big problems, I was concerned that these girls who look up to me might take it the wrong way. I conveyed that to Chuck Rosin, and it was gone."

She sips again from her drink, and a large, pear-shaped diamond glints from her left hand. The ring was given to her recently by her fiancé, a businessman named Chris Foufas (she’s keeping her name), and inquiring minds quickly found out. "My fiancé opens up the Enquirer, and he goes, 'What? I bought you a six-and-a-half-carat ring, and they said it was three carats!’ And I get on the phone to Mike [her manager, Mike Gursey] and say, 'Have them print a retraction. That fucking ring is not three carats.’ I’m like going nuts on the phone, and Mike starts to laugh hysterically."

Besides the issue of ring size, Doherty would like to dispel the notion "that I’m a huge bitch.” She’s been called that and “spoiled brat” but mostly just “difficult.” (A 90210 press release diplomatically labels her “hardworking and determined.”)

“If you consider 'difficult’ being a strong woman who sticks up for herself, yeah, I admit to it,” she says. “I’m open to different ideas, but if you get on my bad side and don’t listen to me and you don’t treat me with as much respect as you treat a man, you’ve got a problem."

Doherty grew up in Southern California. Like Priestley, she says she had to persuade her parents to take her to her first audition. Her first TV appearance was in a two-part episode of Father Murphy, which was followed by a starring role in the series Little House: A New Beginning when she was eleven. She credits Little House’s Michael Landon with giving her a fighting spirit. "He told me, 'Go with your instinct, and never let anybody walk over you, and always stick up for what you believe in.’ "

For much of the last year, home has been a run-down studio — a cross between a crumbling college dorm and a decrepit airplane hangar — in the unglamorous San Fernando Valley, the place the cool characters on 90210 would rather die than call home. One of the crew members wears a button that sums up the show’s workaday attitude: It’s just television. When cast members exit through the back to the makeup trailer, they pass a dingy alley where used washing machines are sold.

“I feel like they don’t pay me to do the work,” says Priestley, “because the work is the fun part. They pay me to sit around.”During the long waits between shots, the actors smoke, goof off and play music really loud in their small, boxlike dressing rooms. There’s plenty of time to get really close or really irritated. “I’m not going to lie and say that everybody is buddy-buddy,” says Doherty. “You argue about things, and yeah, we make up in the end. It’s kind of like a brother-sister deal."

Within this "family” is a pocket of male bonding. “The three boys — Jason, Luke and Ian [Ziering] — are really close,” says Doherty.

“The girls, they’ve all got boyfriends and some other life going on,” says Perry, “and we kind of have each other, you know. We’re all going through it together."

"We get together and have reality checks,” says Ian Ziering, who plays movie-star adoptee Steve Sanders. “We talk about what’s happening to us and how we can’t believe it.” And the stars that hang together shoot together: Despite losing “one of their own” to a rogue pistol, all the young male stars in the cast are absorbed with guns. Perry, Ziering and Priestley recently shot in the Charlton Heston Skeet Shoot to benefit the U.S. Olympic shooting teams. “Moses was there, and that’s heavy, man,” says Perry. “Moses with a gauge. I was teamed with Chuck Norris and Robert Stack.” Unfortunately, because of scheduling problems, Ziering had to decline an invitation to the General Norman Schwarzkopf Shoot down in Florida.

Despite the myriad 90210 T-shirts, posters and beach towels, the merchandising has only begun. Soon, Mattel will release a line of Barbie-size dolls modeled on the show’s stars, when most of them already find it hard to walk to the corner store without being tugged and pulled like a living Gumby. "We get accosted in malls,” says Doherty. “Basically, it takes over your life."

"People come up to me all the time on the street and say, 'Brandon’s stupid for not wanting you,’ ” says Gabrielle Carteris, who plays brainy Andrea Zuckerman and who, at thirty, is the oldest teen cast member who gives her age. “Then the other night I was at the airport, and Brooke Shields came up to me and said, 'I love your show. It makes me cry. And he’s a jerk for not getting together with you.’"

"The fans of this show are not just fans,” Priestley says. “It’s heavy, man. They really relate to us all.” That’s an understatement. Brian Austin Green, 18, recalls public appearances where hundreds of teens shouted out the answers to trivia questions about his life. “They know my brother’s name, my sister’s name, their ages, my dog’s name, what color car I have, how big the bumpers are, how big the tires are."

At one appearance last May, Green had to be removed from a mall in an armored car. Didn’t they have a laundry hamper handy? "See, Luke pulled that off, but they wrote about it in all the magazines, so there was no way we could try it again,” he says.

Since last summer, you’d be hard pressed to find a teen magazine without extensive coverage of Green and the rest of the cast. On the cover, invariably, are smiling or brooding photos of Perry and Priestley and a cover line like Jason reveals secret love-life confessions! (The two are often credited with saving the teen-fanzine industry from post-New Kids on the Block depression.) Every aspect of Priestley’s and Perry’s lives has been picked over, while Perry’s attraction to women well past adolescence — like Linda Hamilton, Jane Pauley and Stephanie Beacham — has been conveniently played down. Beacham, who played Dylan’s spacey mom in one 90210 episode, especially spins the L-man’s beanie: “Man, I had to fight that Oedipal thing all week,” he says.

“Sometimes I wonder, 'Do I even have to be here anymore?’ ” says Darren Star. “I mean, yesterday I was directing a scene with Jason, and he didn’t want to say a certain word or something. I said, 'Jason, I wonder if it matters what you say anymore.’ "

"We all work extra hard,” says Perry, “because we know people are out there saying we’re just fucking pansies that look good.” He stubs out his cigarette. “I know that a lot of people are casting a very cynical eye my way, in terms of what happens in the future. I’m not worried about being a big star. But it makes me nervous when people talk about it like it’s already happened.” The nervousness is understandable: The cast of 90210 is quite aware that every generation creates its own Frankie Avalons, that every Chinese restaurant in Hollywood has head shots you can’t recognize.

“We need to be grounded,” says Carteris. “We need not to get lost in this make-believe world. I mean, as popular as the show is now, if tomorrow it dies, we still have to live with our lives."

As Doug Emerson has discovered. "It’s a hard thing to explain to people that I’m not mad at anyone for being killed,” he says. “The business fluctuates so much, you’re in one moment and out the next.” Whether you’re a victim of a mob hit or a TV hit, that’s just the way the fortune cookie crumbles.

“I’m putting a lot of emphasis on my personal life right now,” says Doherty, “because when it all goes downhill and you lose all your popularity, there’s got to be somebody else there.”

Shannen Doherty, Luke Perry and Jason Priestley by Andrew Eccles for the February 20, 1992 issue of The Rolling Stone magazine, featuring the trio on the cover.

You can read the article here.

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