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I was settling in for the evening, a kettle on the stove and late summer’s half-light brightening the drapes of my cottage when a harsh knock struck my door. I straightened my casual sweater to appear semi-presentable for the unexpected guest and pattered over.
I was surprised to see my neighbor standing in distress on the porch. The setting sun illuminated his golden hair which settled in a delicate curl above his, now tremoring, right brow. It was not common for the public to see the great Jay Gatsby in this manner- hands fidgeting and breaths short, but I’d gotten to know him better than the general public of New York in my few months of companionship with the man. I recalled a time when he was standing only a few feet from here, awaiting the arrival of my cousin.
“Mr. Gatsby,” I started, “to what do I owe the pleasure?” I became self-conscious regarding my loungewear in the shadow of the man’s perfectly tailored suit.
“May I come in, Old Sport? There’s something I need to… confess” His words shook along with his physical frame and his eyes darted around.
“I’m afraid I’m not much of a priest, but please,” I beckoned him inside and guided him towards the small sofa, all while anxiety crawled up my spine.
Gatsby sat on the edge of the cushion, abstaining from any form of relaxation. and I folded myself down next to him.
“I haven’t been much honest with you, Old Sport.” He still gazed towards the worn carpet and I let a small laugh escape my lips.
“I figured,” I tried to say humorously “San Francisco isn’t exactly in the Midwest,”
The corner of his mouth pulled upward but he maintained his worried expression.
“I suppose one day ought to dispel the rumors of my past, if you’d have me” His blue eyes met mine in a magnetic hold.
“What is it you wanted to talk about?” I pushed.
“I don’t love Daisy.” He whispered after a deep breath, “Mrs. Buchanan is, in reality, not the dream I’d conjured up over the last several years.”
I didn’t know what to say. My chest gripped with a strange mix of relief and anticipation. I placed my hand on the weary man’s knee in a way I thought comforting, but in retrospect, I surmise it was mostly to ground myself.
He scrunched his eyes closed in pain and a tear escaped down as he croaked out: “Please, Nick, please don’t make this more difficult than it already is.” All the same, his soft palm covered my hand.
“Make what more difficult?” I moved closer to him, trying to draw out an honest answer.
I was granted access to the swirling ocean of his irises once more and I simultaneously feared and hoped I knew the answer.
“You,” the tears were streaming more freely now,“ It’s you I’m in love with, Nick.”
I needed to stop. Take inventory and place this moment in a photograph to hold against my breast til death enveloped me. I wanted to ask if he was drunk, search for any signs that my most shameful fantasies were not being realized right before me. My internal tempest sent a shock to my system which only panicked Gatsby further.
He stood abruptly and faced the opposite wall, a hand rising to cover his mouth.
“I apologize. You must think me a- a sinner. An invert!” he stuttered out and I lept to approach him, grabbing his elbow so he would turn to face me.
“No, Jay, never.” I tested the waters and brought his hand to my lips, gently kissing his knuckles. I looked up and saw his expression soften into confusion.
“I don’t know if you’ve noticed,” it was my turn to have an unsteady voice, “but I happen to be a rather flaming homosexual, and you… are the most exquisitely wonderful man I’ve ever had the pleasure of crossing paths with.” My head still reeled to figure out if I was experiencing reality as my eyes darted down to his lips which once seemed unreachable.
He took the hint and leaned in slowly. Our lips met in a reserved, sweet embrace. When we parted I rested my forehead against his. His eyes were glossy. I wiped the tears from his cheeks and cradled his handsome face in my hands.
“Jay,” I broke, “if this is a dream I beg of you don’t wake me.” His hands fell to rest on my hips and I pressed the side of my face to his. He smelled of lavender and brillantine.
“I must ask the same of you, Old Sport.”
I kissed Jay Gatsby again and prayed I could spend the rest of my life in this bliss. We had stumbled back to the couch, breaths becoming one, and legs entangled when a screech cut through the air. The noise caused Gatsby to pull back, and remember to breathe. I laughed in admiration, disbelief, and a third emotion I’d yet to name.
“Would you care for some tea?” I asked casually, as if we had not just passed a new and unexplored level of intimacy.
“I think that could do me some good.” He leaned back, the complete opposite picture of the stiffness he had been in when he arrived mere minutes prior.
I extricated myself from the warmth of the sofa and the man next to me then made my way to the kitchenette. I went slowly, looking back as if the reverie would disappear if he left my gaze.
I returned moments later, two steeping cups in hand, relieved to find that Gatsby had not dissipated. Although, a noticeable air of uneasiness had made its way back to his mind.
“What’s the matter, Jay?” I set down the tea on the old coffee table and took the seat next to him. “I hope I haven’t been too forward…” My thoughts spun with every possible way this could go wrong.
“No it’s not that, I’m really quite enjoying your initiative, Old Sport,” a blush spread across his countenance, “but before we -er- go any further you should know who I really am, my past that is. I can’t imagine you’ll want me to stay after hearing it but I’m trying to be done with the lies, at least with the people I… care about.”
I held his hand in mine, “I’ve been taught to reserve all judgements.” He looked me in the eyes and began.
I listened to the story of a poor farmer boy with dreams much bigger than the world he’d known. I heard about a part of the war all too familiar, and then about sailors and business in dark corners of the city. All of it, thorns included, made me fall in love with James Gatz more as his honesty unfolded.
“Can I ask you something?” I’d said at one point.
“I can’t promise you’ll like the answer,”
“I’m still here, aren’t I?” In fact I had only grown more physically close over the course of his stories. My head laid on his shoulder and our fingers were twisted together.
“Alright, what do you want to know?” He sounded more vulnerable than I’d possibly ever seen him.
“When did you know about…?” I was unsure how to phrase it so I gestured vaguely at our rather romantic tableau.
“About my inclinations towards men or my inclinations towards Nick Carraway?” He smiled against my hair.
“Either,” I replied. I simply wanted to know as much about this man as humanly possible.
“When I was thirteen, I believe. A circus had come into town and I snuck in. The ringleader was just… extraordinary. I imagine there was a part of me that wanted to be him as much as I was attracted to him, all that showmanship and confidence I hadn’t yet possessed.”
“Mm, you’re a fabulous host.” I hummed into the crook of his neck eliciting a giggle.
“Thank you, Old Sport. It took me some time to understand that the incident wasn’t stand-alone, you see, I still find myself attracted to the feminine gender. I did genuinely love Daisy at one point. But of course during the war, I had more experiences with men. I suspect I rather enjoyed it differently.”
“Well we have something in common there,” I smiled.
“That afternoon that we reunited, Daisy and I, I spent the entire time feeling like something was off. It had tormented me for days and then I saw you again and realized you were my missing piece. I had subconsciously kept you there for the whole parade because I’d wished I was impressing and holding you.”
I looked up and kissed him slowly, remembering I was allowed.
“You could never fail to impress me.”
“You’re too forgiving,” he shied away.
“I owe you my faults then.”
Gatsby raised a brow at me and I sat taller.
“I’m inactive, for one. I play the role of an innocent bystander in my own life too often. I suppose in the event drama or scandal occurs I can displace any blame that way. To say that I am honest is a lie within itself, I obscure truths and lie consistently. I’m selfish, I won’t say I was happy to help you with my cousin- I wanted you to myself for heaven’s sake! And you were just stringing me along!” I stopped myself before repeating more of a scornful and embarrassing soliloquy my walls had heard hundreds of times.
“I don’t like to let myself fall in love.” I continued, “Not anymore, anyway, so I distance myself. And you just keep pulling me in with your upsettingly perfect smile.” ;and he flashed it bashfully. “Yes! There you bastard!
“Neither of us are pillars of virtue by any means, Jay, but I find myself enamored with every part. Jay Gatsby, James Gatz, I’d love you either, any, and all ways”
He subtly shook his head in disbelief and let himself fall into me. I wrapped my arms around his ostentatious suit, basking in the warmth he exuded.
“Thank you,” he leaned back just enough to comfortably face me “How did you know about your preferences anyhow?”
“Oh. Well, I suppose I’ve always known somewhat. Never exactly chased girls in the schoolyard. But there was this fellow in my later years of schooling who caught my eye. We eventually became friends and he asked me if I’d ever kissed a girl. When I said no, he suggested we could ‘practice’ with each other. I thought I’d die at that moment. It soon led to other ‘practices’, you understand, and we uhm” The memory terrified me still nearly a decade and a half later. I felt a sob form through my gut to the back of my throat. “We got caught.”
“My dear Nick,” Gatsby held my trembling head. I couldn’t look him in the eyes.
“His father beat us. Yelled ‘Get the fuck out of my house faggot!’. It’s all quite fuzzy in my memories now.” It wasn’t quite but it was still hard to describe in any conscious detail. “I ended up back at my house, out of breath, trying to clean my injuries. I’ve never been a church going man, even in my youth, but I prayed to a god that my father wouldn’t be notified of my behavior. If he ever was, he didn’t make it known to me. I played off the apparent bruises at supper as fighting at school. Got praised for ‘finally becoming a man’ for that.” I scoffed at the memory. “There’s still a scar you can see, if you’re looking” I gestured to the mark above my left eyebrow. Gatsby pulled my head close and placed a gentle kiss to the discolored skin and I thought I could die from his pure affection.
“What ever happened to your fellow?” He asked softly.
“I never talked to him again.” I shrugged sadly. “We avoided each other at school, and then both left for college eventually. I don’t know whatever became of him.”
“I’m so sorry.”
I wiped away tears I didn’t realize had rolled down my face and tried to change the topic.
“Would you like to hear about when I started falling for you?”
Gatsby smirked and said “of course”
“Narcissist,” I teased. I regaled him with the tale of my experience at that first party. The magic of the fireworks framing him as I tried to compose myself and not jump him right then and there. “You’d made me so distraught I went home with a man I’d just met only a few days later!” I laughed and remembered how ridiculous it had seemed that I had silently wished McKee had been the man I now sat with.
“I’m quite sorry, old sport, you should’ve said something,” he said it lightheartedly but it made me woeful all the same.
“You know I couldn’t have,” I said lowly “It had to be you.”
“I know.” Gatsby ran his fingers through my hair. “I’m sorry it took me so long.”
“Don’t apologize, you’re here now. That’s more than I could ever ask for.”
We stared at each other for a time, it could have been hours for all I cared.
“Your eyes are just like emeralds,” he said eventually.
“Fitting, as yours are sapphires.” We smiled and life was good.
“My, it’s gotten dark” Gatsby and I took note of the surrounding room, the sun had long diminished. “I suppose I should be going.” He went to stand and I restricted him.
“Stay.” For the first time in my life, I was acting purely on instinct. “Won’t you? We don’t have to…” I trailed off.
“Oh yes no, I mean I do want to. Eventually, but not tonight. But, I would like to stay.”
I led him to my bedroom. Everything felt so small compared to his mansion but it also felt so perfect for what the evening had become. We dressed in sleeping clothes, Gatsby in a borrowed pair of mine. The pants and sleeves were too long on him, a staggering display compared to his perfectly tailored suits. I was finally starting to see the full picture of this man, and I couldn’t wait to see more for as long as he and God would allow.