Work Text:
Nick
Being friends with Jay Gatsby was something you could never get used to. The extravagant parties, the wealthy cliques, his magnificent residence- it was all so surreal. His mysterious life was the topic of all the conversations around town, whispered with fleeting glances as he carelessly drove by in his shining yellow automobile. What they speak of, I don’t know, but what I’m sure of is that I know Gatsby better than any of them ever could. I didn’t always know him well. But we met not long ago, one night at a party of his, and from that point onward, my life became something I could never have anticipated…
I wasn’t anything like him. I lived in the old gardener’s house next door, and until recently I had thought myself to be practically invisible to this man. That isn’t to say that I was poor; on the contrary, I was a Wall Street man, dabbling in finance to maintain my (admittedly average) social status. I had never truly craved to be a part of this elite society, but I found myself somewhat invested in its lifestyle. Every night, I saw the flashing lights from Gatsby’s window– I heard laughter floating from the crowd and conversation humming until the earliest hours the next day. I watched people come and go, driving their cars around his expansive property, as carefree as I would expect from that sort of group. The girls dressed in shimmering frocks dangled off the arms of well-dressed men as they sashayed through his front door.
I had seen so many faces at these parties, but Gatsby never showed himself. The only time I had ever seen him was through the third-story window that faced my little cottage. I didn’t actually see him, of course, only a silhouette of his body before he turned off the light. I tried to suppress my slight jealousy of his extravagant life, but I continued to watch the glittering people flutter about his house, and I couldn’t focus on my own life until that silhouette disappeared into the dark of his mansion each night. I had no idea why I was so interested in this man and his parties– my own cousin Daisy was married to one of the wealthiest people in town. Every time I engaged with them, I became part of the upper class and lived out my fantasies of money and irresponsibility. Daisy was only a year or two older than me, yet she had built herself a life exactly like the ones of those who attended Gatsby’s parties. Her husband, Tom Buchanan, was unremarkable in every aspect other than his money– a tall, beefy man whose head I was convinced was completely hollow. I somewhat disliked the two of them, but I tolerated their antics in order to enjoy myself once in a while.
On a quiet afternoon in April, I was lounging in my house when the phone rang shrilly, interrupting my daydreams and forcing me off the sofa. I picked up the phone reluctantly, and with a yawn answered:
“Hello, who’s this?”
“Nick, it’s Daisy. We wanted to see if you were free this evening for dinner? Tom and I would love to have you over,” she said sweetly.
“Dinner? Why, I’d love to come!” I replied, not altogether truthfully.
“Then please do! It’ll just be us, maybe a couple of friends.”
“Friends? I suppose that’s alri-” I was cut off as she hung up the phone. I wasn’t sure why I kept doing this to myself, but I slowly made my way into my room to get ready. I put on a suit, one of the nicer ones that I wouldn’t wear to work, and by the time I was ready the sun had begun to set in the sky. I drove my car (it was an older model, hardly functioning, but it served the purpose) away from West Egg and across the bay into the town of East Egg, where everything seemed to shine with stylish glamour. This was where the folks born into rich families lived, carrying on their legacies and keeping every penny of the fortunes within their society. In West Egg, wealth was the norm, but it was the new money crowd that ran the place. I bought my place for dirt cheap in hopes that I could build myself enough wealth to become like the people around me.
I arrived at the Buchanan residence, and collected myself before I stepped inside. Daisy greeted me enthusiastically, and I conversed with her easily while my mind wandered. I was observing the decor when I saw a woman that I hadn’t seen before. Her dark hair and white dress were both cut short, and her eyes settled on me. I felt uneasy, a little fearful; she was intimidating, almost aggressive in her gaze in a way that most women I had met were not. Nevertheless, my eyes glazed over once again and we settled at the mahogany dining table. We were halfway through dinner, this eccentric crowd and I, when the doorbell rang and brought me back into the present. Tom answered, and came back with a couple– a short woman with brown curls and a round face, and a slim, graceful man who nodded at me politely.
“This is Mr. McKee and his wife, they’ve just arrived from the city. He’s a photographer there, working on… what did you say that project of yours was?” asked Tom.
“I’m doing a nature series,” McKee said. His voice was mellow. “I work mostly in parks and nature reserves.”
“How lovely! I could never work in such a profession; I’ve got no eye for such things,” I said. My voice shook a little and I realized this stranger was most surely judging me.
“Nonsense! Anyone can take photographs, really, it’s not difficult. I’ll have to teach you sometime,” he said with a smile. I relaxed a little, but my mind unintentionally focused on him for the rest of dinner. I unintentionally drank my entire glass of wine twice, much to Daisy’s surprise. I’m not a big drinker, but my mind wasn’t on the food or drink that evening. The sun had set completely, and I said hurried goodbyes to Daisy and Tom on my way out. I was about to open the door when I heard my name.
“Carraway, wait!” McKee appeared behind me, his wife still chatting with the other women. “Why don’t you come over to our place for a drink? I could show you some of my photographs.”
“Well…alright, then. We can take my car.” I said slowly. He followed me out to my car (I was slightly embarrassed when it took several tries to start it) and we started off towards town. He lived further into the city, and after a maze of crisscrossed streets we arrived at a sleek apartment building. I followed him inside the marble lobby, where he greeted the elevator boy cordially. We rose to the fifth floor in a tense silence– I was unusually nervous around this man. We made polite small talk as he showed me around the spacious apartment, pointing out various photographs hanging on the walls. I listened and complimented him on them, as my eyes scanned the unfamiliar space I was in.
“This one is one of my favorites.” McKee gestured to a picture of a bird sitting on a snow-covered branch.
“It’s very nice,” I said. “I do love when it snows.”
“Me too,” he said. “How about a drink? Or do you prefer something else?”
“A drink would be nice.” I said simply. How unenthusiastic! I couldn’t think of anything else to say. He poured us two full glasses and sat in an armchair across from me. The apartment was clean, the furniture expensive, and the atmosphere cozy. There was a long moment of quiet as we sipped our drinks. The minutes seemed to drag on, and I realized I had already finished my glass.
“So, Carraway…are you married? Our wives might get along.” McKee finally broke the silence.
“Oh, no, I’ve never married. I suppose I haven’t had the time.” I told him.
“That’s right, you work with finances. That must pay well.”
“I wouldn’t say that… it’s well, but the time is greater than the pay. I hardly go out anymore unless it’s with Daisy and Tom. Speaking of wives, won’t yours be arriving home soon?”
“Oh, she stays out a while when she’s with Daisy. I might not see her until late tomorrow. Say, why don’t you come over again sometime?” I was almost taken aback by this, but I agreed and stood, about to leave. He quickly jumped to his feet as well, and followed me towards the door. I was exhausted and moderately tipsy at this point, but I remember him discussing the dinner party and my job on our way to the door. I had only had a few drinks, but I suddenly tripped in the hallway and fell into the nearby wall. My head hit the floral wallpaper painfully and I slumped against an antique end table. McKee rushed to my side, and helped me stand before I could collapse onto the floor. I was humiliated; I knew my face was a bright scarlet while he led me to the sofa.
“Carraway…Carraway!” He said. “Nick! Hey, wake up!” I was dizzy and a little disoriented, but his voice snapped me out of it.
“Oh— oh, I’m terribly sorry…my apologies, I’ll be getting out of your wa-”
“No, don’t even mention it. You can’t go home like this, anyway…here, I think I might have medicine in the cupboard.” He stood, and I leaned on him as we walked into the bedroom. For a slim man, his arms were steady and strong around me as I staggered along. I stumbled onto the bed, and he went into the bathroom to fetch some sort of remedy for me. I became acutely aware of everything in the room– it was tidy, smelled of cashmere and jasmine, and the furnishings were much classier than my place. I was so immersed in my surroundings that I didn’t even notice he had returned with a cold towel and a glass of water.
“You’re warm,” he said simply, holding the towel to my face. I was indeed beginning to sweat profusely– whether it was from sickness, intoxication, or nerves I didn’t know. He took off my jacket and started to unbutton my vest. He had put on a pair of wire-rimmed glasses, and removed his jacket as well. My vision was hazy, so I closed my eyes in an attempt to reorient myself. I felt as if I would pass out at any given moment. The next thing I knew, I had fallen backwards onto the bed, and I looked up to McKee’s concerned face peering into mine.
“One drink can’t have possibly affected you so much,” he remarked.
“Oh, well, I did have some wine at dinner,” I said slowly, thinking a few hours back. McKee just chuckled and continued to wipe my face and neck with the towel. He looked like a doctor: professional and clean, his sleeves rolled up to showcase surprisingly toned arms and an expensive wristwatch. He was no longer wearing the vest and silk tie from earlier; his shirt was unbuttoned a little and hung loosely off his chest. He leaned in slightly to push my hair out of my face, and I smelled his clean, rather woody cologne. My head was spinning, and it had just occurred to me that the alcohol may not be the only thing affecting me. McKee appeared oblivious to my increasing nervousness, but my heart was racing. He offered me a glass of water and I gratefully accepted it with shaking hands. I took a long sip and handed it back to him quickly. The water didn’t help, and McKee must have noticed my anxious demeanor; he took my hand and held it steadily, looking right at me.
“You’re looking very unwell, Nick. Is something else the matter?” His eyes were genuine and concerned behind his glasses. I wasn’t exactly sure what to say, but I was very conscious of the fact that his hand was still firmly holding mine. Though my vision was hazy, my eyes swept across his body. His hair, stylishly neat earlier, was messier and had begun to fall into his eyes. His lips were a soft pink and parted slightly in a concerned expression. His clothes were a little more disheveled than earlier, and his slender frame was clearly visible beneath his ivory shirt. I suddenly realized what I was doing, and averted my eyes as quickly as possible, wrenching my hand from his grip and hoping that he wasn’t offended by my intoxicated mind-wandering. That was all this was, after all.
I reached for the towel across the bed when I felt a hand on my back. I turned to face McKee, who was looking at me with an expression I had never seen before. His eyes were on me as his hand moved down my arm, settling firmly above my elbow. My head was pounding with confusion, alcohol, and adrenaline.
Next thing I knew, his face was inches from my own. I swallowed hard as he moved closer to me, sliding a hand down my back and pressing his soft lips to mine. I didn’t try to fight it; emboldened by the alcohol, I grabbed hold of his neck and pulled him closer. His body pushed me down as I sank my fingers into his hair, my mouth responding enthusiastically, almost automatically to his. I felt his hands begin to creep downward, tugging my shirt free from my belt and caressing my stomach. He guided my hands along his back, to which I held tightly, prompting him to press me down harder. He pulled away for a moment, his breaths hot and heavy on my face before our lips met again, this time more urgent than the first. His tongue teased at my lips and I parted them slightly, trembling as he explored my mouth. He moved slowly from my face, to my neck, to my chest, as I melted into the sensations…
***
The next morning dawned bright and cheerful through the linen curtains of McKee’s apartment. I awoke with a terrible hangover and a looming fogginess in my head. The April weather was cool and refreshing, but the breeze coming through the window was unusually cold. I pulled the covers tighter over my body when I realized that this was not my bed, nor my house. I jolted upright, which only worsened my headache, when it occurred to me that my clothes were strewn everywhere but my body.
My face burned as I attempted to recall the events that might have led to this. I suppose that really did happen. Humiliation was not a strong enough word, but that was a matter for another time. The bed was empty beside me, so I quickly gathered my things and made myself presentable again, trying to focus on something else. On my way out, I found a small scribbled note on the table by the front door.
Last night was enjoyable
McKee
Shit. I shoved the note quickly into my suit-pocket and shut the door behind me. I left his apartment in record time and was pleased to see my car parked on the side of the curb where I had left it. I glanced fleetingly at the building before speeding off towards West Egg without looking back.
I arrived home before noon and parked my car in the gravel driveway outside of my house. I sat for a moment in the car, glancing around in hopes that nobody had seen my travels or wondered where I had been. I assumed that most people around here were too wrapped up in their own business to pay any attention to me, but the thought of exposure frightened me considerably. Leaving the car quietly, I walked to my front door when a white paper sticking out of my mailbox caught my eye. I hadn’t received mail in quite some time. I pulled out the crisp white envelope addressed to me and turned it over to see a golden seal on the back, which I hastily broke. My eyes skimmed the party invitation, not fully registering what I was seeing until the signature line.
Jay Gatsby.
This was no ordinary mail; it was an invitation to a Gatsby party, the same ones I had seen every day since I had moved in. The same ones with the extravagant people and music and dancing and glowing lights that I had hoped to be a part of. I glanced up at the mansion next door just in time to see a figure disappear in the third-story window. The excitement hit me suddenly and any thoughts of McKee left my head. I was going to a Gatsby party; this was my chance to enter high society and live in a world of wealth for a night. Maybe I would even be able to meet Gatsby himself, after seeing him in the window all this time. I clutched the envelope tight and went inside, setting it in a place of honor on my bedside table.
When I closed my eyes to go to sleep that night, visions of the upcoming party swirled in my head. I pictured the interior of the house; spiraling staircases, lushly furnished with the finest designs, and covered floor to ceiling in sparkling decorations. Surely all of the most important people would be there— government officials, actors, directors, artists, and the children of wealthy empires. And the women! There would surely be women there with all sorts of money, and plenty of them single. I tried to picture the scene, but my daydream-self ultimately moved from the faceless burlesque performers on stage to the main parlor where Gatsby and his closest friends were hanging out. I imagined stepping into the room and being greeted by servants and attendants, and Gatsby calling me by name and escorting me into the party. I hadn’t a clue what this man might be like, but the anticipation of it made me anxious to sleep and for tomorrow to come.
***
I took one last glance into the mirror at myself. Adjusting my tie, I examined my reflection, making sure that my clothing was properly fitted. A Gatsby party called for my appearance to be as pristine as possible. As the sun sank into the hills beyond the bay, the first few guests had finally begun to arrive. I watched them enter through the window, still working up the courage to walk the short distance to my neighbor’s residence. Several long minutes passed, but I continued to stand there, watching the crowds pour through the doors, poised to leave with my invitation in hand.
I took a deep breath and swiftly exited my house, trudging through my overgrown grass into Gatsby’s perfectly manicured lawn until I reached the door. Several well-dressed attendants stood at the door; when I handed them my invitation, they looked at me with bewilderment. My heart skipped a beat at their unusual reactions, but I disregarded this and slipped inside. My eyes were instantly overwhelmed with the visual spectacle of it all.
The entire place was decked out with glitter, banners, garlands and balloons. There was a large dance floor in the center of the room, filled with couples swaying to the jazz music coming from the band in the corner. A small stage showcased women in dazzling costumes dancing and twirling while onlooking men applauded with delight. Waiters in tuxedos carried sky-high trays of champagne glasses throughout the entire room. I pushed my way through the crowds of unfamiliar yet beautiful faces until I reached the back of the room. I walked onto the less crowded porch that overlooked the bay, and the night breeze was cool on my skin. I turned away from the wind to fix my hair, only to find myself face to face with a man that I immediately knew must be Gatsby.
He was marginally shorter than I, but of similar stature, and with far more elegant posture. Practically radiating charisma and charm, he had a sophisticated yet very approachable air about him. His suit, tailored to perfection, was a deep shade of midnight blue; he wore a white silk tie and a gold pocket watch attached to his jacket. His light brown hair was cut short and styled loosely out of his face (which was admittedly quite handsome). This man was everything I had expected him to be– no, he was even more impressive in real life.
For a moment I stood still, unable to think of the proper way to introduce myself. Then he smiled, and I forgot everything I had been planning to say to him. His smile was so genuine, so welcoming that I felt suddenly as if I had known him for years, as if I was seeing an old friend. I was in awe of this man, whom I knew nothing of, though I found myself with a strong desire to see him again and again until I had memorized every last detail of his character. I learned, in that moment, that there must be certain people in your life that you are meant to know above others, that you feel connected to at once, being pulled towards them as if by a magnet belonging to some greater force than yourself.
“Welcome, Carraway! It’s nice to finally see you here, old sport.” His voice was smooth and melodic.
“Thank you for the invite,” I managed to get out, choking on my words.
“Of course, of course! I knew you had moved in, but I can’t believe we never met. What is it that you do for work again?” He chatted with me naturally as if he already knew the answers.
“Oh, well, I- I’m in finance,” I spluttered. I knew my face was burning red.
“Finance? You must allow me to introduce you to some friends of mine, old sport.” He led me through the crowd, greeting many of the other guests on the way. “There are so many people here I’d like you to meet. It’s wonderful that you were finally able to attend one of my little get-togethers!” he exclaimed, smoothly parting the sea of people. I followed ungracefully in his wake, hoping that nobody here could see my face. We arrived at a table of older men who appeared deeply invested in their game of cards. “Nick,”- my heart leapt when he mentioned my first name- “this is Meyer Wolfsheim.” Gatsby gestured to a man whose face was shielded by a cloud of smoke from his cigar. Wolfsheim grunted in acknowledgement without looking up from the game. Another man threw down his cards violently, and the others erupted in outrage. Wolfsheim instantly began spewing insults, slamming his fist on the table. I was beginning to feel out of place around these people, and was brainstorming excuses to leave when Gatsby turned to me, completely unbothered. “He used to work with stocks,” he explained. “Maybe he could help you kickstart your career.”
I was about to correct him that I had been in this business for a little while now when I heard my name being called from far away. I whipped around to see the dark-haired woman that I met at Daisy’s house. She motioned to me and I followed her, glancing back at Gatsby. He just smiled calmly, and nodded at me as if to say ‘enjoy the party’. The woman practically dragged me across the dance floor to a smaller room.
“Nick! That is you, right? Nick Carraway? It’s me, Jordan! From Daisy’s little dinner party,” she said. So that was her name!
“Yes, that’s right…” My voice trailed off as I looked past her into the main parlor. Gatsby had once again been sucked into the crowd, and was out of my sight in the blink of an eye.
“Wasn’t it lovely at Daisy’s? She’s such a wonderful hostess,” continued Jordan.
“Yes, she’s very nice…very fun dinner…” My eyes were scanning the room for where he might have gone.
“...wish I had hair like hers, that’s what all the boys seem to prefer anyway…” Out of the corner of my eye I saw a flash of blue near the stairs. “...and she’s so agreeable! I could just talk to her for hours, you know? But she…” I nodded idly while watching the man in blue ascend to the second floor. “...I just hope she knows that that brute Tom isn’t right for her, she-”
“Jordan, this has been lovely, really– will you excuse me one moment?” I cut her off, and before she could protest I had already made my way upstairs and onto the balcony, where I found Gatsby alone. I quietly came to stand beside him, looking out across the bay. The moon was full and the light shined on the rippling water, illuminating the shoreline.
“I had to break free from Jordan,” I told him. He chuckled and turned to face me, leaning on the ornate marble railing.
“These parties can be a lot. To be completely honest, I often get bored of speaking with many of the women,” he said quietly, as if the rest of the party was listening. He spoke with such natural grace; I found myself calmed by his very presence. He continued to talk to me, though I wasn’t truly listening anymore. The moonlight shone on his face in the dark, and the breeze ruffled his hair gently. He was truly a very attractive person. His deep brown eyes held my gaze with unexpected sincerity. I was torn between feelings of envy and of deep respect. I wasn’t sure what he was saying to me, but he had reached out to place a hand on my shoulder.
“Can you believe that? I wish you could have been there, old sport. Those were the best times,” he concluded. I smiled and agreed, hyper aware of the steady warmth of his hand on me. He leaned back onto the railing, exhaling quietly and looking out onto the bay. I composed myself and tried to lean back , but I was feeling clumsy and nervous. I must have looked as awkward as a child next to Gatsby. I attempted to relax as well, but realized that my heart was beating increasingly faster. My face was quite warm; I just hoped that Gatsby couldn’t notice my newfound anxiousness. Every time our eyes met, I felt reassured but nervous at the same time.
“Say, have you seen the rest of the house yet? I should show you around, old sport,” Gatsby said cheerfully.
“Yes—yes, of course,” I stammered. He led me through the house, where we had been before, and up the spiraling staircase into a large, open library. The entire room was dark mahogany and dimly lit by only a few warm lamps. “Have you really read all these?” I blurted out. I recoiled in embarrassment, hoping that didn’t come off as insulting.
“Why, I suppose I’ve read most of them…but between you and me, Nick, there are several that I’ve never even opened once,” he said. There it was again! That little smile that made everything else in the room disappear instantaneously. He walked along the bookshelves, running his hands along the embossed spines while I stood and watched intently. I couldn’t take my eyes off him, admiring how he moved so effortlessly. Without saying a word, he beckoned me towards a shelf in the corner.
“This is one of my favorite sets.” Gatsby gestured to a gold-embellished trio of books. I couldn’t quite make out the titles, but I leaned in as if intrigued by what I saw. I sensed Gatsby close to my side; our knees brushed together and I could almost hear his breathing. Fuck, he was so close. I smelled his citrus and sandalwood fragrance and inhaled deeply, my head swimming in his presence. The air suddenly became thick and warm as the room seemed to close in around us. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, fighting hard to keep down any unbecoming thoughts. I felt as though if I turned to face him, I might have a panic attack or something of the sort. Before I could die of nerves, a servant came into the room and whispered something into Gatsby’s ear. He straightened and nodded. I breathed a sigh of relief.
“Nick, it’s been a pleasure, really, but I’ve got to take this call,” he said. “Say, old sport, why don’t you come over for tea tomorrow? Seeing as we’re neighbors, after all.”
“I’ll be there,” I told him assuredly. He left the room, and I stood there for a moment in his absence. The scent of him lingered in the air and I closed my eyes for a moment, taking it all in. This man was different from the others, somehow, he seemed so close to me and yet so distant at the same time. I wanted to know who he truly was, to learn his fears and dreams and deepest desires. I wanted to be more than just another guest, just a neighbor to him. My thoughts were interrupted by a loud crash followed by roaring laughter below. I shook my head as though to rid myself of these musings and smiled to myself. Maybe these parties were worth it, after all.
Gatsby
I returned from my phone call to find the library empty and dull once again. The lamps that burned so brightly in company now flickered weakly, barely illuminating the room. Truthfully, the majority of the books had been collecting dust for numerous years now; however, Nick seemed so enthralled with my wealth that I couldn’t let him down. Even the most miniscule lie that I told him filled me with culpability. I sighed and slumped into an armchair, exhausted from the events of the evening. These parties always ended the same way; with the couples going home frustrated with each other and with myself alone in my spacious house. Alone. In the past, the afterparties had always presented me with the women who had fought with their husbands or had lost their escorts to some Hollywood actress. I would entertain them for a night, but even they couldn’t warm the cold space in my bed, and I somehow felt even worse in their presence. These days, everybody simply went home to their equally miserable lives and I had no choice but to simmer in my loneliness until sleep came at last.
I forced these thoughts out of my mind and started for the door, about to rejoin the festivities when a slip of paper fluttering off the table caught my eye. It could have sworn it hadn’t been there before, but I was curious all the same. I picked up the scrap and tried my hardest to make out the messy writing on it.
Last night was enjoyable
McKee
I thought for a long moment about the signature line. McKee was not a common last name; I shuffled through a catalog of names in my head until I remembered one: Chester McKee. I had met him about a year ago at a gallery in the city. I didn’t remember much about him, only that he carried a camera with him everywhere he went. How strange, I thought, that his name should come up now after so long. And the last night part? Surely he wasn’t seeing another woman as a married man. He was a regular attendee to my parties– his only escape from an unwanted marriage, like so many others– so I pocketed the note and slipped into the parlor to find him.
I was soon bombarded with several people, all shouting drunkenly. A woman was at my elbow, saying something about the music and a burly man appeared in front of me with a thick stack of papers and a pushy glare. I squeezed past them and pushed my way through the people, not stopping to speak to anybody. At last, after what seemed like an hour, I found him in a secluded corner talking to none other than Nick Carraway. They sat with each other at a small table, chatting affectionately. I noticed that McKee had placed a hand on his wrist as they talked, a detail that bothered me a little for some reason. I approached their table and cleared my throat, and McKee immediately withdrew his hand and leaned away from Nick, who flushed and looked at the floor.
The realization hit me like a speeding train, and I clenched the note in my fist. I had imagined it to be about a woman, or maybe even some nameless other man, but I couldn’t have been farther from the truth. And of course, nobody had entered my library that night except Carraway. This note must’ve been his…from McKee? My simple, average neighbor was not who I thought him to be. I was experiencing a broad range of emotions, some of which I recognized to be confusion, surprise and agitation. Nick…I suppose I knew nothing about him, but this information changed how I saw him. Had this been going on for long? Was Nick really...closeted like that? The thought made me mildly uncomfortable.
I stood there for a while processing when the crumpled note fell from my hand unintentionally. At the sight of this paper, McKee (who seemed to recognize it instantly) jumped from the table and disappeared into the crowd in seconds, with one last glance at me as he left. I watched him go and turned to face Nick, whose face was now an intense shade of crimson. The music, so loud just moments ago, was muted in my ringing ears. He stood clumsily to leave, stammering something about the time, and stepped towards the door when he stopped suddenly. I then realized that I had grabbed his arm; or rather, my hand had acted of its own accord to stop him.
His green eyes met mine, and for a split second we exchanged a glance that said a thousand words at once. His face softened into a hurt expression of guilt before he quickly tore his arm from my grip and bolted into the parlor, where I lost sight of him completely. I exhaled and picked the note from the floor, sinking into a nearby chair to get a grip on myself. The music was loud in my ears, but I couldn’t focus on anything for the rest of the party.
That night, I lay in my enormous bed, the empty space to either side of me seeming to stretch out for miles. I recalled the events of the night, and Nick’s shocked face was burned into my mind. I remembered the feeling of anger mixed with repressed guilt as I watched him run from me, humiliated or maybe even afraid. I had done that to him. My chest ached with deep regret, though I wasn’t sure exactly what for. He was such a kind man, with potential for a loyal friendship, so genuine; but I had scared him away without saying a single thing.
The candle on my bedside table flickered accusingly at me, as if to agree that my actions were wrong. I sighed and threw back the covers, walking across the room to turn on the lamp by my window. Wrapping myself tightly in my plush robe, I leaned on the wall and observed the bay lapping gently at the shoreline of my property. I peered out into my lawn, watching the trees beside Nick’s house swaying in the breeze. All the lights were off, and there was no sign of movement behind the thin curtains.
I wondered if he was inside, and what he might be thinking. Was he upset with me, planning never to speak to me again? Was he feeling self-conscious of his actions, and distancing himself from anyone and everyone that could interpret something the wrong way? Was he weeping in despair at my heartless reaction? The old sport was all I could think of. He attracted my attention in the most infuriating way, and no matter how much I tried to ignore it. I thought of our conversation on the balcony, him listening intently to my stories, his eyes shining in the night. I thought of us in the library, him standing so close to me I could almost hear his heart beating. And I thought of him and that little photographer faggot all over each other, getting touchy at my party without a care in the world.
Wait.
Maybe not that last part. Either way, none of it mattered now that I had turned Nick against me. I had invited him to tea, too, but there was no way he was going to show his face at my mansion anytime soon. I groaned and rubbed my eyes in frustration. Fuck. Carraway had me more confused than ever before. Why on earth did I care so much?
Nick
Gatsby’s party had put me in a terrible mood. I woke up in a continued fit of rage from the previous night. I wasn’t sure what to expect when he came to our table, but that note was not anywhere near what I was thinking. I was still unsure of how he even acquired that; I could have sworn I had put it into my other suit pocket, which was still hanging in my closet. Why did I even keep it in the first place? I should have thrown it away—no, burned it the moment I left McKee’s apartment. The audacity of Gatsby to befriend me, gain my trust, personally invite me to his party, to be so damn attractive and then barge into my private business? Had he any idea how embarrassing of a thing this was to be exposed?
I assumed he hadn’t; Gatsby struck me as a ladies’ man, through and through. I had seen the way he interacted with women so politely, drawing them in effortlessly, which was something I was sparsely able to do. After all, with his wealth he could have any woman in the country that he wanted. I grit my teeth and angrily filled my kettle, slamming it down on the stovetop so hard that I dented the bottom. A cup of tea was sure to calm me down.
Tea! Gatsby had invited me to tea today! There was no way I could go. Part of me was too humiliated to even think of seeing him, but another part of me longed for his presence, to hear his voice and smell that wonderful scent of his again. To have him in my space, in place of McKee, on top of me, lips pressed firmly against mine. This was the first time I had thought of Gatsby in this way, and I frustratingly punched a nearby plant, scraping my hand on the tough branches. The plant bent away from me, drooping sadly with its broken stem. This struck me as rather relatable. I was feeling similarly at that moment. I would likely never see McKee again, as he likely couldn’t afford for the rumors to be spread to his wife.
However, the photographer seemed irrelevant now. My thoughts were now consumed by my neighbor, who I had only just met. Perhaps all of this was just a misunderstanding, albeit somewhat severe. But the question still remained; was seeing Gatsby again today a bad idea? Thunder rumbled overhead as if to forbid me from going next door, and fat drops of spring rain began to fall noisily on the roof.
My thoughts were quieted as I listened to the weather overhead. The rain seemed to wash away all my anger, shame and betrayal along with the fallen leaves on the roof. The wind blew hard and my shutters clattered against the windows; the creaking of the wood floors led me to believe that my entire house might fall down in a storm like this. I heard a loud bang, followed by several more and I whirled to find where they might be coming from. I peeked out the front window expecting to see a fallen tree branch, but to my surprise, it was a man standing outside, drenched in rain that dripped from my tattered awning. Somebody outside in this weather?
I opened the door quickly to invite the stranger inside and found myself, once again, face-to-face with Gatsby. His golden hair was dark from wetness and plastered to his face, and his suit hung damply on his body, soaked with rainwater. He was heaving breaths of great effort and his brow was furrowed as he looked at me, his brown eyes almost desperate; for what I had no idea.
For some foolish reason, I stepped onto the porch, closing the door behind me as if to prevent him from entering my life rather than simply allowing him inside. The thought of inviting this man into my house was repulsive yet exhilarating, which was a notion that left my head as quickly as it entered. He stared at me blankly as the rain pelted the both of us hard. A clap of thunder boomed above us, followed promptly by a flash of forked lightning.
“Old sport, can we talk?” he said to me, his voice cracking. The nickname, once endearing to me, was infuriating to hear now. I wanted to leave, but the sincerity in his face prevented me from going; I felt as if my feet were cemented to the porch, sinking into the ground and holding me firmly accountable for this conversation.
“What about?” I said harshly. What more was there to say? He cringed a little and looked away from me. The rain was cold on my skin; I was starting to shiver but I held my ground and looked expectingly at Gatsby.
“See, old sport, I- I think you may have gotten the wrong impression last night, if I could just come inside-”
“Why? You know what happened. What else do you want from me?” My voice was colder than usual. His shell of perfection seemed to crack a little from my sharp words, and his tone was a little pleading as he spoke.
“Carraway, I’m sorry. I’m not…upset about it, or anything, I just…” He trailed off. Not upset? Right, that’s exactly the impression I got when he stared at McKee’s note with disgust, looking at me like I was some kind of oddity, like he was taking back all of his prior actions toward me to discard me from his life. No matter how much I wanted to slam the door in his face and never see him again, some unknown force kept me there, glaring at him as he attempted to fumble through an explanation. The same magnet that pulled me towards him so strongly was now pushing me away from him, a double-sided force that made me reconsider everything I had ever known about trust.
“You see, old sport, it was a surprise, I only… I was only upset because- well, because…” Through the pouring rain I noticed his face turning pink. “I didn’t want you associating with the wrong- well, the wrong crowd, old sport.”
“Wrong crowd? What’s so wrong about somebody who respects me and my privacy?” I delivered the words with a force that I knew would be almost fatal. I didn’t care. Thunder sounded above, sealing my sentence. Gatsby faltered, clearly hurt, and I turned my back to end it all when he spoke again, this time with confidence.
“Nick, he’s not right for you.” My hand gripped the doorknob, but instead of turning it I spun to face Gatsby again. His shaky demeanor had been replaced by a new side of him that I would have never expected to see. In that moment, he was so open, so genuine like that smile of his, though not present now; it was as if a wall had been broken down and I could begin to peer inside at the person behind all the parties and the charm and the wealth. The rain continued to drench us, and for what seemed like an eternity he stared me down, feet planted firmly on the ground while his statement hung in the air between us. Silently— surely— I opened the door for him, and he hurried inside, splashing water around the entryway. I followed behind him, raking my wet hair out of my face and shutting the door, muting the torrential downpour outside. Gatsby was standing there, leaning on the door and brushing water off his clothes, and in a split second he looked at me shyly and everything that had just been said between us evaporated from my head. Without thinking, I closed the gap between us, pinning Gatsby to the door and kissing him softly.
Gatsby
I was paralyzed with shock. I could have predicted anything but this from Nick. A part of me told me to break away, run back to my mansion and hide in a corner, but it was soon silenced as I kissed him back tentatively, experiencing a completely new sensation. I tasted a mixture of chamomile and mint dancing on his lips. Nick’s hands moved freely about my torso, pulling at my damp clothes and settling on my waist as he pushed me gently against the door. I felt his tongue running over my lips and my hands came to his shoulders, gripping him tightly, and I wondered if this could really be happening to me. Everything that I had thought about him, all of those confusing feelings– they all came together to paint a picture of a truth I was only just beginning to accept.
“Nick, why?” I heard the unfamiliar words leave my lips as we pulled apart. He looked at me, green eyes shining with desire, barely anything but his pupils visible through long, fluttering eyelashes.
“I’m not sure.” His voice was quiet. “Why did you come here today? Just to apologize?” No. Of course not. I had no idea what brought me to him but it was the same force keeping me here now, standing inches from him and wanting more, to pull him in until there wasn’t a centimeter left separating us.
“Not just that.” I whispered. Nick kissed me again, with more passion this time and I bit back a groan as his strong arms came to pin my wrists on either side of my head. His hair left a trail of rainwater down my face as he moved downwards, tenderly but impatiently nibbling on a soft part of my neck. He pushed his knee between my legs, and the sensation of him there made me a little numb. I made an odd sound and threw my head back into the door as he felt my thighs, his hand squeezing the muscle there in a way that I had never felt before. His other hand toyed with my jacket, his nimble fingers undoing the slippery buttons efficiently, never taking his concentration away from me for even a second. His breaths were warm on my skin as he reached up my back to slip my jacket off, discarding it elsewhere in the room.
Unsure of whether I should return the favor, I ran my fingers along the collar of his shirt, tugging at it to expose his collarbones and shoulders. I laid my eyes on his body this time in a new light; I noticed his slim physique and long, toned legs, visible through the wet cloth covering him. I used his shirt to pull him closer to me, until the tips of our noses touched and I could hear his heartbeat.
“Say, old sport, why don’t we dry off?” My voice shook a little as I attempted to retain my dignified persona. Nick just laughed, a wonderful, sweet sound that echoed in my ears, and grabbed my hand, taking me away from the door and down the cramped hallway to his bedroom. It was littered with books, pillows, and a large assortment of disheveled boxes. It felt so different from my pristine home— this place had been lived in, been used as a house should be. It was a reflection of him, fragments of his life scattered around in a way that I couldn’t quite understand. It occurred to me that we were meant to be drying off, and I turned to find Nick already stripping off his shirt. My face burned and I spun back around quickly to give him some privacy.
I tried to distract myself when I felt his hands on my back, yanking my shirt from my belt easily and reaching around my hips to start unbuttoning.
“Is this okay, Gatsby?” he murmured, pausing for a moment. Any words I wanted to say were stuck in my throat, so I just nodded.
He came to each button painfully slowly, his warm hands brushing against my skin and sending sparks through my entire body. When he finally arrived at the very last one, I turned hesitantly to face him and shook off my shirt. His bare torso was shining with leftover rainwater and I could barely think. Nick looked me up and down, his eyes scanning me carefully as if attempting to store the picture in front of him permanently in a file somewhere. His eyes met mine and he smiled gently. Fuck, he looked so good. We tumbled onto the bed together and I felt his cool skin on mine and his hair dripping water into my eyes from above. He traced a finger lightly along my chest and I looked up at him, wanting nothing else in this moment or in any other moment in my life than to see him leaning over me with the sound of rain falling heavily on the roof.
I sat up to kiss him deeply, and his body seemed to melt into mine. His breathing was heavy and rugged and the feeling of his hands sliding down my waist was dizzying. His movements were so sure; he had a strength about him that I assumed was only noticeable in a man. The thought that I was with a man like this now persisted in my mind, but I pushed it away to feel everything that I could, even if only just once. I wanted to experience Nick in every way possible. As if sensing my thoughts, Nick ran his hands along my hips, pulling lightly at the waistband of my pants and leaving trails of fire wherever he touched. He lowered himself onto me until our hipbones touched, and I cupped his flushed face in my hands. A flash of lightning outside illuminated his silhouette above me, like a glowing halo surrounding his head. He looked so, so beautiful to me that I could hardly stand it.
I knew in that moment that I wanted this right here, right now, and everywhere that I could have him every day that followed.
He shifted his hips a little and the unfamiliar firmness of his cock against mine made me let out a quiet moan. Upon hearing me, he moved to unbutton the top of my trousers. I nervously fidgeted with a strand of his hair.
“Gatbsy, take it off…” I swallowed hard and gazed into his green eyes. The same green eyes that looked at me across the balcony at the party, the eyes that looked at me through the pouring rain and understood everything that I was feeling. The same eyes that could always tell me something without a word being spoken.
“Old sport… call me Jay.”