Chapter Text
The roaring twenties, as we called them, were just that. Music and chatter anywhere you went, dazzling colors everywhere you looked. It was like walking through a dream. The neon and technicolor lights made the people beneath them glow. There was a lamp illuminating every street corner, as if expecting even the busiest passerby to join in on the fun. Sparkling essence trailed behind the laughing crowd like an afterthought, making you wonder if you were already tipsy without having been drunk at all.
This description applied to the city, as well as Gatsby’s mansion.
As his neighbor, I knew of all the fuss made about his parties. I’d attended a few of them myself. This Saturday, however, I was much too tired to attend. I didn’t think much of it. I assumed Gatsby had plenty of party-goers to entertain him.
This is why I was genuinely surprised to hear a knock on my door so early in the day on Sunday.
I was still in my nightclothes when I answered. A concerned-looking Gatsby greeted me. His hair was disheveled. He seemed out of breath, as though he'd ran.
“Mr. Gatsby?”
“Please, call me Jay." He interrupted in a way that seemed more desperate than friendly. "We are friends, are we not?”
I didn’t know what to make of that. We had met on several occasions, spoken often, yet I hadn’t realized his immediate attachment.
“Of course. What troubles you?”
“You didn’t come to my party last night.” His accusation was hasty and worrisome. “Are you well?”
“Yes, I’m fine. I just had a lot of work that evening and was much too exhausted to leave the house." A hidden bird sang from a nearby tree. "In all fairness, you do host these parties every weekend. I simply cannot attend all of them.”
I had hoped to come off as courteous, but sounded indignant to my own ears.
Gatsby blinked a few times, opening his mouth before closing it again. His hands fluttered at his sides like he was stifling their erratic movements. Inwardly, I was perplexed. He was normally composed when confronted with any issue, yet was taken off guard at a matter this minuscule.
“Yes… Right, yes, of course. I wasn’t trying to… I didn’t mean to harass you on the subject.”
His voice sounded different. It was as if the chime of coins that sounded at the end of his syllables had disappeared. The very tone of wealth diminished.
“No, no, you aren’t harassing me! You have been nothing but generous.” I noticed that we were still on my porch, and the sun was drawing perspiration to Gatsby’s forehead. “Please, come in. I was just about to make tea.” I held the door open wider as a gesture for him to walk forward.
He hesitated. He then gave a close-mouthed smile.
“Thank you, Old Sport.”
My living quarters were still a bit cluttered from moving in just a month before. Books were scattered amongst the loose-leaf papers and random belongings. I shuffled into the kitchenette and set the kettle on the stove.
“Apologies for the mess— I wasn’t expecting visitors. The people I engage with have much more splendid estates, so I’m usually the one invited over, you see. I haven’t had the motive to pick up around here."
Gatsby waved the concerns away dismissively with his decorated hand. The ring on his littlest finger glistened as it caught the light.
“Don’t worry about it, Old Sport. It was rude of me to drop by unannounced.”
“Not at all! You are always welcome.”
He sat down on the cushioned armrest of my favorite chair, glancing around the room and taking in every detail.
“You are a kind, honest fellow, aren’t you, Nick?”
The way he said my name made my hand still in its reach for the sugar. The sound of it rolling off his tongue was enchanting, in a much different way than the nickname, Old Sport.
“Well, I certainly try to be.”
“Yes, I think so.” He nodded thoughtfully. “I try to surround myself with honest people. It makes life much more… Invigorating.”
I couldn’t help but ask: “If you are searching for stimulation, why not surround yourself with interesting people?”
He laughed, softly and within himself. “Honest people are the most interesting type of humans I have ever known. Many people think the interesting ones are the folks that have crazy stories to tell and lives that are beyond compare, but the honest folk will tell you exactly what they think of you, and of this world, and that is the most fascinating thing there is.”
The kettle whistled, saving me from having to respond. It was an odd concept, but as a writer I loved concepts I couldn’t quite wrap my head around. It was refreshing.
I poured us both a cup.
“How do you take it?” I asked. He didn’t reply, staring out my window, across the bay. “Jay?”
He turned towards me, jolted. “Yes?”
“How do you take it?”
His eyebrows furrowed together.
I gestured to the cup on the table. “Your tea.”
“Oh, yes, of course. Plain.” He looked to the window again, before turning back, tacking on, “Thank you, Old Sport.”
I pushed his cup and saucer over to him. As he brought it up to his lips, I added three spoonful’s of sugar and one dollop of milk to my own. I had no idea how Gatsby could drink his plain, especially since I’d come to notice his love of sweets.
It was true that, in the last month, I had learned much about Gatsby, while learning nothing of great importance.
Sure he had admitted a few items of his past to me, but the things I remembered were small details; footnotes on the pages of his chapter in my life. I noticed he always went to bed at eleven thirty, unless it was a weekend. He was constantly on the phone, arguing with an unnamed caller. He had a sweet tooth and tended to drop by pastries at my doorstep after one of his famous parties. All of these tiny strings wound together to make Gatsby; the Gatsby that I knew, rather. Not the Gatsby mentioned in rumors or the tabloids, but the Gatsby that was my charming, mysterious neighbor.
“Why do you always do that?” I ask, unable to contain my outburst.
His gaze shifted. “What do you mean?”
“I beg your pardon, but you tend to stare out at the water.” He looked as though he were going to object, drawing an ounce of fight within me. “Don’t deny it, I saw you a fortnight ago out on your dock. I wasn’t spying or anything of the sort. I was just about to go inside when I saw your silhouette. You had your arms outstretched, reaching towards the tiny green light—“
“That is quite enough.” Gatsby stopped my words like they hurt. I’d just crossed a line. “I think I ought to be going.”
“Wait.” I stepped in front of him. I could tell by his immediate scowl that he wasn’t used to that. “I’m sorry, but I don’t appreciate your hypocrisy.”
“Excuse me?”
And there it was. His voice was the definition of offense. I could practically hear the coins filling his throat, his tone regaining its air of wealth. It wasn’t the same as my cousin Daisy’s but it eerily began to resemble hers— the soothing accent of those with money lining their pockets.
“You say you prefer honesty, then get upset when I ask a question. I do not appreciate that.”
Gatsby fell silent, sizing me up. He was only a head or two taller and a few sizes larger, but he didn’t seem keen on attacking. He was judging me, I could feel that, but I could not understand why, nor why my stomach flipped as his eyes bore into mine.
It wasn’t fear. It was something entirely different. We stood so close that if I wanted to I could just… I didn’t know where that thought lead, but it wasn’t important. I didn’t dwell because Gatsby inclined his head, closing his eyes and sighing.
“You’re right, Old Sport. I apologize. I will offer you my own honesty... in good time.” He paused for a beat, the money draining from his lips once more. He seemed to decide something, searching my eyes in a way that made it oddly difficult to breathe. “I had actually come over to invite you to lunch in the city this afternoon but lost my nerve.”
The sudden change accompanied with the fact that he still hadn’t stepped away made me dizzy. I could smell his cologne, expensive and spicy with a hint of citrus, like cinnamon sticks in a glass of ice-cold lemonade. I’d actually seen him drinking a similar concoction at one of his parties. I never asked but I assumed it must have been good. Gatsby had only the best.
“Yes… I think I’d like that very much,” I breathed, finally stepping away. I busied myself by grabbing my tea from the table and took a sip though it was lukewarm.
Gatsby’s eyes sparkled familiarly. “Great. I’ll bring my car around at noon.”
He downed the rest of his tea and took his leave with a nod. I changed into proper clothes and spent the rest of my morning in silence, waiting for the horn of Gatsby’s car to wake me from my reverie.