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It was an off night, when Gatsby hadn’t hosted a party, that I had sought his comfort. I’d been this person for him several times, when he would confide in me and go on waxing poetic about his adoration for my cousin. I let him, because that was what he needed. Now, tonight, was my turn to confide, although I am certainly not one for waxing poetic.
I’d spent the afternoon with Jordan. We’d taken to drinking and talking idly on her porch. Daisy came up, as she often does, and Jordan sighed in a way I can honestly say I’ve never heard her sigh. My expression conveyed enough confusion to get an explanation out of her. “She’s just...she’s glamorous, Nick. And gorgeous, so gorgeous, stunningly so. I keep hoping that one day…” she trailed off, twirling her glass and shaking her head, a signal to let the whole conversation drop. But she had piqued my interest, and when my interest is piqued, I have the terrible habit of not letting things go.
“One day?” I asked, taking a longer sip.
“One day perhaps she’ll leave that nasty brute Tom for me,” she answered, looking over at me as if to challenge me.
“For you? But how-”
“Oh really, Nick, you’re still in the past,” Jordan scoffed, polishing off her drink and letting the glass hit her table a bit harder for my liking, “This is the 20’s. It’s actually become quite fashionable for ladies to live with and love other ladies. Boston marriages they’re calling it. Women of our class are doing it, and I would be so lucky that Daisy should love me.”
I nodded, not saying much more. I finished my drink, thanked Jordan for her company, and left to go back to my temporary home. How was I to take that after all? A woman I had been seeing, albeit not officially or formally, was enamored with my cousin. Romantically, perhaps even sexually. I hadn’t known that that was something that could even happen, someone liking their own sex. Of course, reflecting now as I am, I should have seen that as being a possibility for the beginning. But as I walked from my home to Gatsby’s, it was something I could not wrap my head around. Jordan had claimed it to be fashionable, and Gatsby was far more fashionable a man than I, so perhaps he would understand it, shed some light on why the woman I had thought was interested in me was in fact interested in my cousin.
Gatsby welcomed me in and had a drink in my hand before I got a word in. Once we were sat in his study, someplace we often went on quiet nights like this, I decided to cut him off. He had been going on about something or other, I have a terrible tendency of spacing out when he starts trying to make small talk. “I just had the strangest conversation with Jordan.”
“Jordan Baker?” he asked, tilting his head. One good thing about Gatsby was his ability to jump onto a new conversation as quickly as he had been on the old one.
“Yes, the same. I was with her this afternoon, no not like that,” I added when I saw Gatsby raise an eyebrow, “We were on her porch and she mentioned Daisy.”
Immediately I had Gatsby’s undivided attention. “Well they are friends, are they not, old sport?” Gatsby more stated than asked.
“They are, but...Jordan expressed interest in something more than a friendship. Something...romantic between them, or at least she was hoping for such,” I said, noting the way Gatsby’s eyes narrowed slightly.
“And has Daisy expressed any like interest?”
This time, it was I who narrowed my eyes in confusion. “I...no, no I don’t believe so. At least, Jordan didn’t mention that she had, but Jay, that’s not the point,” I replied, bordering on exacerbation. Gatsby continued to look at me with a look somewhere between worry and amusement. “I mean,” I felt compelled to continue as I was met with more silence, “Have you ever heard of something so outrageous? A woman and a woman together like that?”
“In fact I have.”
“What are you talking about?” I nearly shouted now.
“Nick, old sport, you were in the same war as I was, correct?” Gatsby asked, full amused at this point. I could hardly see or understand why and I immediately became defensive.
“Yes, I was,” I replied indignantly.
“And in your platoon was it unheard of for men to seek the comfort of other men?”
That question had me silenced. Men with other men? I hadn’t considered it at the time. As it was I had very little interest in most things sexual. I had taken the time away at war as a welcomed reprieve from the hassles of flirting and dating and anything additional. However, thinking back, it would be ignorant of me to think it hadn’t happened. There were, looking back, signs that such things were occurring, but God, I did not even consider it a possibility at the time.
My thoughts were broken by Gatsby’s laughter, evidently at my silence and contemplation. “Nick you poor fellow,” he said, shaking his head, “I considered you innocent and perhaps a bit naive, but never to this extent.”
“I fail to see how naivety has anything to do with this,” I replied curtly.
“Oh come now, Mrs. Grundy, I meant nothing by it. I just feel sorry for you is all,” Gatsby assured, even going as far as to offer me a smile. It wasn’t a bitter or taunting smile either. It was genuine and it did aid in calming me down. Still I was left in a state of confusion, until a sudden realization struck me.
“So does that mean you…?” I couldn’t bring myself to finish the sentence, unsure of even how to without offending or sounding idiotic.
Again Gatsby laughed, leaning back in the chair he had taken to and nodding. “Of course. It’s really no big deal, old sport. Why, if you didn’t look as though you’d pass out at the idea, I’d even offer to be with you.”
“Y-you’d what?” I managed, thankful I hadn’t taken a sip of my drink. Spitting out expensive whiskey all over Gatsby’s hundred dollar carpet likely wouldn’t have made a good impression, not to mention how badly he would have teased me for it. But that didn’t mean I wasn’t still left pale and stuttering, the very idea making my mind swim. What left me even more surprised than the offer however was that I wasn’t feeling disgusted or terrified of the thought of it. Rather, I actually found myself intrigued. Women loved Gatsby, although he would hardly give any of them the time of day, and men, myself included, were drawn to him. I had always shrugged it off to respect, admiration, and the desire to be like him. But perhaps it was more than that after all. I thought back to all the times I had noted how well Gatsby’s suits fit, how charming his smile was, and even how my stomach turned sometimes during our talks of Daisy. I had thought I was simply sick of hearing about the love they once had, but was it jealousy? That seemed a stretch to me, but not an impossibility.
During all this, I hadn’t noticed Gatsby had moved from sitting in his chair to kneeling in front of me. When I realized, I jumped slightly, but didn’t move away. Gatsby only chuckled, low this time. He was looking at me differently. It was something I couldn’t quite categorize, but it was different, more like how he looked when he went on talking about Daisy. It made my stomach churn and I found myself biting my lip. Gatsby wasn’t speaking, but he wasn’t moving either. Was he waiting for something? Was I waiting for something? This seemed like a standoff, a terrible, tense standoff, and I couldn’t tolerate it much longer. “What is it, Jay?” I asked, surprising myself with how strong my voice was.
“Do you want this?” he asked without skipping a beat. Even his voice had changed, and I swallowed despite myself. Now I saw what all those women saw, even what Daisy saw, or had seen. Hell, if she saw him again, like this, how could she say no? There was something different in his eyes, inviting and comforting all at once, and suddenly he wasn’t the rich socialite of West Egg. No he was a bright-eyed boy from North Dakota, offering a world entirely different from this one. All I had to do was nod and it was mine.
So I nodded.
Gatsby smiled, slow and assuring, and leaned forward. At the first brush of his lips against mine, I tensed. He definitely felt it because he immediately shifted to move away. I had to reach out, my hand settling on the back of his neck, to keep him from doing so. He was smiling against my lips now, that much I could feel, and it made me smile in return. Eventually we both pulled back, though my hand remained on Gatsby’s neck. “You alright there, old sport?” he asked softly, bringing his own hand up to brush a strand of my hair out of my face. I hadn’t even noticed that hair had been there, but I didn’t dwell on it. Who could when Gatsby’s eyes were on you, on me, searching but pleasant, offering me this world.
I didn’t answer him. Instead I leaned forward again, our lips meeting somewhere in the middle of the space between us, and kissed him again. It was like kissing a girl in practice, but entirely different in sensation. The flipping in my stomach, the way my hand tightened on Gatsby’s neck, the shaking of my breath, none of that came from kissing Jordan. Kissing Jordan was routine, almost a necessity, like drinking water. Gatsby was like drinking champagne. It was exciting and arousing and left me wanting more.
When I opened my mouth, Gatsby chuckled but didn’t hesitate to deepen the kiss. One of us let out a small moan, but I refused to believe it was me. When I heard a second moan, I knew for a fact it was me, but I couldn’t believe anything anymore. I didn’t want to believe, or even think, I just wanted to feel. Gatsby’s hands cupped my cheeks, his thumb running over my cheekbone in a comforting motion that only made me melt into him. Soon it wasn’t just my hand at the base of his neck; it was both my arms lacing around his shoulders, holding him so close that I fell off the chair. Both of us began laughing, forced to break the kiss when my head nearly cracked Gatsby’s jaw. I resolved myself to sitting on the floor, shaking my head, and laughing breathlessly.
“Nick?” Gatsby sounded just as breathless, which comforted me to no end. At least I wasn’t the only one. Instead of answering I just made a small hum and yanked Gatsby closer to me. He straddled my lap, resting comfortably there for a little bit before either of us did anything. No kissing, no speaking, just mingled breathing and the occasional huff of laugher. It was ridiculous, to me especially, to be kissing the man so enamored with my cousin, here in the study of his million dollar mansion. Here was a man that could have anything, quite literally anything, and he was here with me. The thought made my stomach flip once more and I kissed Gatsby again. He was quick to kiss back, tilting his head and running his hands over the fabric of my shirt. The kiss didn’t last as long as the previous one, despite the position being much more conducive to kissing. Gatsby broke it, searching my face for a second before speaking, “I’m afraid I don’t know how far you’d be willing to go tonight, Old Sport.”
This time I laughed, letting my head fall back against the chair I had been sitting on. It seemed so clear to me, how could it not be equally clear to him? My laughter seemed to have only confused him, for now he was staring at me like he should get off of me and inspect my head for any bruises. To ensure that didn’t happen, I reached out and rested my hands on Gatsby’s hips, holding him in my lap. “I have lunch with my cousin tomorrow at noon. I’m yours until then, Jay.”