{"id":17939,"date":"2024-12-19T16:48:32","date_gmt":"2024-12-19T20:48:32","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/lecturia.org\/?p=17939"},"modified":"2025-12-18T20:41:39","modified_gmt":"2025-12-19T00:41:39","slug":"f-scott-fitzgerald-pat-hobbys-christmas-wish","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/lecturia.org\/en\/short-stories\/f-scott-fitzgerald-pat-hobbys-christmas-wish\/17939\/","title":{"rendered":"F. Scott Fitzgerald: Pat Hobby\u2019s Christmas Wish"},"content":{"rendered":"\n

Synopsis:<\/strong> “Pat Hobby’s Christmas Wish” is a short story by Francis Scott Fitzgerald, published in Esquire<\/em> in January 1940. The story follows Pat Hobby, a mediocre and declining screenwriter, trapped in the Hollywood studio grind and forced to work on Christmas Eve. His bitter existence takes an unexpected turn with the arrival of Helen Kagle, his new secretary, who, barely settled in, bursts into tears, leaving Pat bewildered. In trying to console her, Pat discovers that Helen is keeping a secret about a top studio executive and a letter that could change, perhaps forever, their fortunes.<\/p>\n\n\n

\n
\n
\"F.<\/figure>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n\n\n

Pat Hobby\u2019s Christmas Wish<\/h2>\n\n\n\n

by F. Scott Fitzgerald
(Full story)<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I<\/h3>\n\n\n\n

It was Christmas Eve in the studio. By eleven o\u2019clock in the morning, Santa Claus had called on most of the huge population according to each one\u2019s deserts.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

In this sort of transaction there were exceptions. Pat Hobby, for example, who knew the game from twenty years\u2019 experience, had had the idea of getting rid of his secretary the day before. They were sending over a new one any minute \u2014 but she would scarcely expect a present the first day.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2018Not like the old days,\u2019 he mourned, \u2018Then there was a bottle on every desk.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2018There\u2019re a few around.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2018Not many.\u2019 Pat sighed. \u2018And afterwards we\u2019d run a picture \u2014 made up out of cutting-room scraps.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2018I\u2019ve heard. All the suppressed stuff,\u2019 said Hopper.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Pat nodded, his eyes glistening.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2018Oh, it was juicy. You darned near ripped your guts laughing\u2014\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He broke off as the sight of a woman, pad in hand, entering his office down the hall recalled him to the sorry present.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2018Gooddorf has me working over the holiday,\u2019 he complained bitterly.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2018I wouldn\u2019t do it.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2018I wouldn\u2019t either except my four weeks are up next Friday, and if I bucked him he wouldn\u2019t extend me.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

As he turned away Hopper knew that Pat was not being extended anyhow. He had been hired to script an old-fashioned horse-opera and the boys who were \u2018writing behind him\u2019 \u2014 that is working over his stuff \u2014 said that all of it was old and some didn\u2019t make sense.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2018I\u2019m Miss Kagle,\u2019 said Pat\u2019s new secretary.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She was about thirty-six, handsome, faded, tired, efficient. She went to the typewriter, examined it, sat down and burst into sobs.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Pat started. Self-control, from below anyhow, was the rule around here. Wasn\u2019t it bad enough to be working on Christmas Eve? Well \u2014 less bad than not working at all. He walked over and shut the door \u2014 someone might suspect him of insulting the girl.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2018Cheer up,\u2019 he advised her. \u2018This is Christmas.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Her burst of emotion had died away. She sat upright now, choking and wiping her eyes.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2018Nothing\u2019s as bad as it seems,\u2019 he assured her unconvincingly. \u2018What\u2019s it, anyhow? They going to lay you off?\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She shook her head, did a sniffle to end sniffles, and opened her note book.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2018Who you been working for?\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She answered between suddenly gritted teeth.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2018Mr Harry Gooddorf.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Pat widened his permanently bloodshot eyes. Now he remembered he had seen her in Harry\u2019s outer office,<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2018Since 1921. Eighteen years. And yesterday he sent me back to the department. He said I depressed him \u2014 I reminded him he was getting on.\u2019 Her face was grim. \u2018That isn\u2019t the way he talked after hours eighteen years ago.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2018Yeah, he was a skirt chaser then,\u2019 said Pat.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2018I should have done something then when I had the chance.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Pat felt righteous stirrings.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2018Breach of promise? That\u2019s no angle!\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2018But I had something to clinch it. Something bigger than breach of promise. I still have too. But then, you see, I thought I was in love with him.\u2019 She brooded for a moment. \u2018Do you want to dictate something now?\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Pat remembered his job and opened a script.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2018It\u2019s an insert,\u2019 he began, \u2018Scene 114A.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Pat paced the office.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2018Ext. Long Shot of the Plains,\u2019 he decreed. \u2018Buck and Mexicans approaching the hyacenda.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2018The what?\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2018The hyacenda \u2014 the ranch house.\u2019 He looked at her reproachfully, \u2018114 B. Two Shot: Buck and Pedro. Buck: \u201cThe dirty son-of-a-bitch. I\u2019ll tear his guts out!\u201d\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Miss Kagle looked up, startled.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2018You want me to write that down?\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2018Sure.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2018It won\u2019t get by.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2018I\u2019m writing this. Of course, it won\u2019t get by. But if I put \u201cyou rat\u201d the scene won\u2019t have any force.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2018But won\u2019t somebody have to change it to \u201cyou rat\u201d?\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He glared at her \u2014 he didn\u2019t want to change secretaries every day.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2018Harry Gooddorf can worry about that.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2018Are you working for Mr Gooddorf?\u2019 Miss Kagle asked in alarm.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2018Until he throws me out.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2018I shouldn\u2019t have said\u2014\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2018Don\u2019t worry,\u2019 he assured her. \u2018He\u2019s no pal of mine anymore. Not at three-fifty a week, when I used to get two thousand . . . Where was I?\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He paced the floor again, repeating his last line aloud with relish. But now it seemed to apply not to a personage of the story but to Harry Gooddorf. Suddenly he stood still, lost in thought. \u2018Say, what is it you got on him? You know where the body is buried?\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2018That\u2019s too true to be funny.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2018He knock somebody off?\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2018Mr Hobby, I\u2019m sorry I ever opened my mouth.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2018Just call me Pat. What\u2019s your first name?\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2018Helen.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2018Married?\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2018Not now.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2018Well, listen Helen: What do you say we have dinner?\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n


II<\/h3>\n\n\n\n

On the afternoon of Christmas Day he was still trying to get the secret out of her. They had the studio almost to themselves \u2014 only a skeleton staff of technical men dotted the walks and the commissary. They had exchanged Christmas presents. Pat gave her a five dollar bill, Helen bought him a white linen handkerchief. Very well he could remember the day when many dozen such handkerchiefs had been his Christmas harvest.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The script was progressing at a snail\u2019s pace but their friendship had considerably ripened. Her secret, he considered, was a very valuable asset, and he wondered how many careers had turned on just such an asset. Some, he felt sure, had been thus raised to affluence. Why, it was almost as good as being in the family, and he pictured an imaginary conversation with Harry Gooddorf.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2018Harry, it\u2019s this way. I don\u2019t think my experience is being made use of. It\u2019s the young squirts who ought to do the writing \u2014 I ought to do more supervising.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2018Or \u2014 ?\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2018Or else,\u2019 said Pat firmly.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He was in the midst of his day dream when Harry Gooddorf unexpectedly walked in.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2018Merry Christmas, Pat,\u2019 he said jovially. His smile was less robust when he saw Helen, \u2018Oh, hello Helen \u2014 didn\u2019t know you and Pat had got together. I sent you a remembrance over to the script department.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2018You shouldn\u2019t have done that.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Harry turned swiftly to Pat.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2018The boss is on my neck,\u2019 he said. \u2018I\u2019ve got to have a finished script Thursday.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2018Well, here I am,\u2019 said Pat. \u2018You\u2019ll have it. Did I ever fail you?\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2018Usually,\u2019 said Harry. \u2018Usually.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He seemed about to add more when a call boy entered with an envelope and handed it to Helen Kagle \u2014 whereupon Harry turned and hurried out.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2018He\u2019d better get out!\u2019 burst forth Miss Kagle, after opening the envelope. \u2018Ten bucks \u2014 just ten bucks \u2014 <\/em>from an executive \u2014 after eighteen years.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

It was Pat\u2019s chance. Sitting on her desk he told her his plan.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2018It\u2019s soft jobs for you and me,\u2019 he said. \u2018You the head of a script department, me an associate producer. We\u2019re on the gravy train for life \u2014 no more writing \u2014 no more pounding the keys. We might even \u2014 we might even \u2014 if things go good we could get married.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She hesitated a long time. When she put a fresh sheet in the typewriter Pat feared he had lost.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2018I can write it from memory,\u2019 she said. \u2018This was a letter he typed himself<\/em> on February 3rd, 1921. He sealed it and gave it to me to mail \u2014 but there was a blonde he was interested in, and I wondered why he should be so secret about a letter.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Helen had been typing as she talked, and now she handed Pat a note.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

To Will Bronson
First National Studios
    Personal<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Dear Bill:<\/p>\n\n\n\n

We killed Taylor. We should have cracked down on him sooner. So why not shut up.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Yours, Harry    <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2018Get it?\u2019 Helen said. \u2018On February 1st, 1921, somebody knocked off William Desmond Taylor, the director. And they\u2019ve never found out who.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n


III<\/h3>\n\n\n\n

For eighteen years she had kept the original note, envelope and all. She had sent only a copy to Bronson, tracing Harry Gooddorf\u2019s signature.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2018Baby, we\u2019re set!\u2019 said Pat. \u2018I always thought it was a girl<\/em> got Taylor.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He was so elated that he opened a drawer and brought forth a half-pint of whiskey. Then, with an afterthought, he demanded:<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2018Is it in a safe place?\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2018You bet it is. He\u2019d never guess where.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2018Baby, we\u2019ve got him!\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Cash, cars, girls, swimming pools swam in a glittering montage before Pat\u2019s eye.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He folded the note, put it in his pocket, took another drink and reached for his hat.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2018You going to see him now?\u2019 Helen demanded in some alarm. \u2018Hey, wait till I get off the lot. I<\/em> don\u2019t want to get murdered.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2018Don\u2019t worry! Listen I\u2019ll meet you in \u201cthe Muncherie\u201d at Fifth and La Brea \u2014 in one hour.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

As he walked to Gooddorf\u2019s office he decided to mention no facts or names within the walls of the studio. Back in the brief period when he had headed a scenario department Pat had conceived a plan to put a dictaphone in every writer\u2019s office. Thus their loyalty to the studio executives could be checked several times a day.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The idea had been laughed at. But later, when he had been \u2018reduced back to a writer\u2019, he often wondered if his plan was secretly followed. Perhaps some indiscreet remark of his own was responsible for the doghouse where he had been interred for the past decade. So it was with the idea of concealed dictaphones in mind, dictaphones which could be turned on by the pressure of a toe, that he entered Harry Gooddorf\u2019s office.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2018Harry\u2014\u2019 he chose his words carefully, \u2018do you remember the night of February 1st, 1921?\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Somewhat flabbergasted, Gooddorf leaned back in his swivel chair.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2018What?\u2019<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2018Try and think. It\u2019s something very important to you.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Pat\u2019s expression as he watched his friend was that of an anxious undertaker.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2018February 1st, 1921.\u2019 Gooddorf mused. \u2018No. How could I remember? You think I keep a diary? I don\u2019t even know where I was then.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2018You were right here in Hollywood.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2018Probably. If you know, tell me.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2018You\u2019ll remember.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2018Let\u2019s see. I came out to the coast in sixteen. I was with Biograph till 1920. Was I making some comedies? That\u2019s it. I was making a piece called Knuckleduster \u2014 <\/em>on location.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2018You weren\u2019t always on location. You were in town February 1st.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2018What is this?\u2019 Gooddorf demanded. \u2018The third degree?\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2018No \u2014 but I\u2019ve got some information about your doings on that date.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Gooddorf\u2019s face reddened; for a moment it looked as if he were going to throw Pat out of the room \u2014 then suddenly he gasped, licked his lips and stared at his desk.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2018Oh,\u2019 he said, and after a minute: \u2018But I don\u2019t see what business it is of yours.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2018It\u2019s the business of every decent man.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2018Since when have you been decent?\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2018All my life,\u2019 said Pat. \u2018And, even if I haven\u2019t, I never did anything like that.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2018My foot!\u2019 said Harry contemptuously. \u2018You<\/em> showing up here with a halo! Anyhow, what\u2019s the evidence? You\u2019d think you had a written confession. It\u2019s all forgotten long ago.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2018Not in the memory of decent men,\u2019 said Pat. \u2018And as for a written confession \u2014 I\u2019ve got it.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2018I doubt you. And I doubt if it would stand in any court. You\u2019ve been taken in.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2018I\u2019ve seen it,\u2019 said Pat with growing confidence. \u2018And it\u2019s enough to hang you.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2018Well, by God, if there\u2019s any publicity I\u2019ll run you out of town.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2018You\u2019ll run me<\/em> out of town.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2018I don\u2019t want any publicity.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2018Then I think you\u2019d better come along with me. Without talking to anybody.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2018Where are we going?\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2018I know a bar where we can be alone.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The Muncherie was in fact deserted, save for the bartender and Helen Kagle who sat at a table, jumpy with alarm. Seeing her, Gooddorf\u2019s expression changed to one of infinite reproach.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2018This is a hell of a Christmas,\u2019 he said, \u2018with my family expecting me home an hour ago. I want to know the idea. You say you\u2019ve got something in my writing.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Pat took the paper from his pocket and read the date aloud. Then he looked up hastily:<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2018This is just a copy, so don\u2019t try and snatch it.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He knew the technique of such scenes as this. When the vogue for Westerns had temporarily subsided he had sweated over many an orgy of crime.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2018To William Bronson, Dear Bill: We killed Taylor. We should have cracked down on him sooner. So why not shut up. Yours, Harry.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Pat paused. \u2018You wrote this on February 3rd, 1921.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Silence. Gooddorf turned to Helen Kagle.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2018Did you<\/em> do this? Did I dictate that to you?\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2018No,\u2019 she admitted in an awed voice. \u2018You wrote it yourself. I opened the letter.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2018I see. Well, what do you want?\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2018Plenty,\u2019 said Pat, and found himself pleased with the sound of the word.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2018What exactly?\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Pat launched into the description of a career suitable to a man of forty-nine. A glowing career. It expanded rapidly in beauty and power during the time it took him to drink three large whiskeys. But one demand he returned to again and again.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He wanted to be made a producer tomorrow.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2018Why tomorrow?\u2019 demanded Gooddorf. \u2018Can\u2019t it wait?\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

There were sudden tears in Pat\u2019s eyes \u2014 real tears.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2018This is Christmas,\u2019 he said. \u2018It\u2019s my Christmas wish. I\u2019ve had a hell of a time. I\u2019ve waited so long.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Gooddorf got to his feet suddenly.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2018Nope,\u2019 he said. \u2018I won\u2019t make you a producer. I couldn\u2019t do it in fairness to the company. I\u2019d rather stand trial.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Pat\u2019s mouth fell open.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2018What? You won\u2019t?\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2018Not a chance. I\u2019d rather swing.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He turned away, his face set, and started toward the door.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2018All right!\u2019 Pat called after him. \u2018It\u2019s your last chance.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Suddenly he was amazed to see Helen Kagle spring up and run after Gooddorf \u2014 try to throw her arms around him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2018Don\u2019t worry!\u2019 she cried. \u2018I\u2019ll tear it up, Harry! It was a joke Harry\u2014\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Her voice trailed off rather abruptly. She had discovered that Gooddorf was shaking with laughter.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2018What\u2019s the joke?\u2019 she demanded, growing angry again. \u2018Do you think I haven\u2019t got it?\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2018Oh, you\u2019ve got it all right,\u2019 Gooddorf howled. \u2018You\u2019ve got it \u2014 but it isn\u2019t what you think it is.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He came back to the table, sat down and addressed Pat.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2018Do you know what I thought that date meant? I thought maybe it was the date Helen and I first fell for each other. That\u2019s what I thought. And I thought she was going to raise Cain about it. I thought she was nuts. She\u2019s been married twice since then, and so have I.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2018That doesn\u2019t explain the note,\u2019 said Pat sternly but with a sinky feeling. \u2018You admit you killed Taylor.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Gooddorf nodded.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2018I still think a lot of us did,\u2019 he said. \u2018We were a wild crowd \u2014 Taylor and Bronson and me and half the boys in the big money. So a bunch of us got together in an agreement to go slow. The country was waiting for somebody to hang. We tried to get Taylor to watch his step but he wouldn\u2019t. So instead of cracking down on him, we let him \u201cgo the pace\u201d. And some rat shot him \u2014 who did it I don\u2019t know.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He stood up.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2018Like somebody should have cracked down on you,<\/em> Pat. But you were an amusing guy in those days, and besides we were all too busy.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Pat sniffled suddenly.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2018I\u2019ve been<\/em> cracked down on,\u2019 he said. \u2018Plenty.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2018But too late,\u2019 said Gooddorf, and added, \u2018you\u2019ve probably got a new Christmas wish by now, and I\u2019ll grant it to you. I won\u2019t say anything about this afternoon.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

When he had gone, Pat and Helen sat in silence. Presently Pat took out the note again and looked it over.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2018\u201cSo why not shut up?\u201d\u2019 he read aloud. \u2018He didn\u2019t explain that.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2018Why not<\/em> shut up?\u2019 Helen said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

THE END<\/p>\n\n\n\n\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

“Pat Hobby’s Christmas Wish” is a short story by Francis Scott Fitzgerald, published in Esquire in January 1940. The story follows Pat Hobby, a mediocre and declining screenwriter, trapped in the Hollywood studio grind and forced to work on Christmas Eve. His bitter existence takes an unexpected turn with the arrival of Helen Kagle, his new secretary, who, barely settled in, bursts into tears, leaving Pat bewildered. In trying to console her, Pat discovers that Helen is keeping a secret about a top studio executive and a letter that could change, perhaps forever, their fortunes.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":17879,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"_kad_blocks_custom_css":"","_kad_blocks_head_custom_js":"","_kad_blocks_body_custom_js":"","_kad_blocks_footer_custom_js":"","footnotes":""},"categories":[559],"tags":[810,581,818,630,570],"class_list":["post-17939","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-short-stories","tag-14-en","tag-christmas","tag-f-scott-fitzgerald-en","tag-realism","tag-united-states","generate-columns","tablet-grid-50","mobile-grid-100","grid-parent","grid-33"],"acf":[],"taxonomy_info":{"category":[{"value":559,"label":"Short stories"}],"post_tag":[{"value":810,"label":"+14"},{"value":581,"label":"Christmas"},{"value":818,"label":"F. Scott Fitzgerald"},{"value":630,"label":"Realism"},{"value":570,"label":"United States"}]},"featured_image_src_large":["https:\/\/lecturia.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2021\/11\/F.-Scott-Fitzgerald-El-deseo-de-Navidad-de-Pat-Hobby.webp",1024,1024,false],"author_info":{"display_name":"Juan Pablo Guevara","author_link":"https:\/\/lecturia.org\/en\/author\/spartakku\/"},"comment_info":"","category_info":[{"term_id":559,"name":"Short stories","slug":"short-stories","term_group":0,"term_taxonomy_id":559,"taxonomy":"category","description":"","parent":0,"count":419,"filter":"raw","cat_ID":559,"category_count":419,"category_description":"","cat_name":"Short stories","category_nicename":"short-stories","category_parent":0}],"tag_info":[{"term_id":810,"name":"+14","slug":"14-en","term_group":0,"term_taxonomy_id":810,"taxonomy":"post_tag","description":"","parent":0,"count":15,"filter":"raw"},{"term_id":581,"name":"Christmas","slug":"christmas","term_group":0,"term_taxonomy_id":581,"taxonomy":"post_tag","description":"","parent":0,"count":17,"filter":"raw"},{"term_id":818,"name":"F. Scott Fitzgerald","slug":"f-scott-fitzgerald-en","term_group":0,"term_taxonomy_id":818,"taxonomy":"post_tag","description":"","parent":0,"count":1,"filter":"raw"},{"term_id":630,"name":"Realism","slug":"realism","term_group":0,"term_taxonomy_id":630,"taxonomy":"post_tag","description":"","parent":0,"count":52,"filter":"raw"},{"term_id":570,"name":"United States","slug":"united-states","term_group":0,"term_taxonomy_id":570,"taxonomy":"post_tag","description":"","parent":0,"count":294,"filter":"raw"}],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/lecturia.org\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/17939","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/lecturia.org\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/lecturia.org\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lecturia.org\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lecturia.org\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=17939"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/lecturia.org\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/17939\/revisions"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lecturia.org\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/17879"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/lecturia.org\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=17939"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lecturia.org\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=17939"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lecturia.org\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=17939"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}