Good evening. Welcome to the Just Sleep podcast. I'm Tasia, your host.

Every week, I will read you an old story to help you relax, put the stressful day behind you,

and drift off to sleep.

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Tonight, I will be reading a short story by F. Scott Fitzgerald.

Bernice bulbs her hair.

So lie down, close your eyes, and let me read you a story.

One. After dark one Saturday night, one could stand on the first tea of the golf course

and see the country club windows as a yellow expanse over a very black and wavy ocean.

The waves of this ocean, so to speak, were the heads of many curious caddies,

a few of the more ingenious chauffeurs, the golf instructor's sister,

and there were usually several stray diffident waves who might have rolled inside had they so desired.

This was the gallery.

The balcony was inside.

It consisted of the circle of wicker chairs that lined the wall of the combination clubroom and ballroom.

At these Saturday night dances, it was largely feminine, a great babble of middle-aged

ladies with sharp eyes and icy hearts behind lorgnets and large bosoms. The main function

of the balcony was critical. It occasionally showed grudging admiration, but never approval.

For it was well known among ladies over 35 that when the younger

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