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To say that I was confused would be a drastic understatement. Gatsby was a man prone to impulsive ideas, and I’d learned in the months of our friendship that once he had an idea he thought would work, he would stop at nothing to achieve it. I’d never admit it, but his ambition was one of his most admirable traits, of which he had many. That day though, Gatsby must’ve had one of those types of ideas again, as he himself came to find me to ask me to lunch. While he did this often, he had seemed a little uneasy. Twice when he spoke he would stick out his hand as if to shake mine or to hold my shoulder, but almost immediately yanked his hand back as if burned.
I’m afraid I knew what made him so uncomfortable. It must have been last night on the dock. Oh how the tables turn. He didn’t ask too much of me, but I asked too much of him. When I got back from work for lunch, I changed my clothes. Once, twice, three times, four times. Vests and slacks began to pile on my bed until I could no longer sit on it. I groaned. Attraction was truly a terrible thing. I found a vest I’d managed to never wear before and made my way through the hedges up to the mansion. I had expected the man himself to answer the door, but it was his butler. The surprise must’ve shown on my face as the older man looked bitter as he nodded to me. “Mr. Gatsby is in the ballroom.”
“Ah.” I said, awkwardly. I never did know how to act around help. I knew they were people like me, and I was forever closer to becoming someone’s janitor than anything like Tom or Gatsby, but they all acted so stiff and formal it was hard for me to connect. For the millionth time in my life, I wished I had my friend’s ability to read people. I followed him down the halls and through many large rooms complete empty of both life and dust before being ushered through a large doorway into the ballroom.
The door closed behind me and I found myself facing a small table with our lunch upon it. I found the man I was looking for leaning his forehead on a window pane, facing the river. I hesitated for a moment, as it didn’t seem he’d heard me enter before I cleared my throat. Gatsby jumped as if a child caught with his pockets stuffed with candy. Once he whirled around though, his face shifted into something ecstatic. “Nick! Old sport…! Lovely- I mean wonderful of you to join me!” I shifted my weight awkwardly. “Lovely to join…” I said cautiously. He motioned me to the table and we sat. For a strange moment, he simply stared at me before he caught himself and began to eat. For a while after that, we ate in silence, only exchanging very base level small talk. I felt wildly uncomfortable and was beginning to wish I’d never come in the first place when Gatsby cleared his throat.
Once I managed to look up, he stood -and winced as his chair scraped rather ungracefully against the floor- and spread his arms wide to gesture to the room. “I must say Old Sport! You were right!” I paused. “What about?” Another smile. “Why about this room of course!” I let my eyes follow the length of his arm, from his broad shoulders down to the slight bend of his elbow, sliding down his long tan fingers, to finally stare blankly at the surrounding room.
Tall, vaulted ceilings with Grecian quartz pillars supporting the grand staircase that also seemed it could float on its own, but liked having pillars. Much like a four piece suit on a man whose waistcoats and sleeves, boyishly rolled up to reveal strong tan forearms, suited his sun kissed skin infinitely better. The room felt like a church, but without all the guilt associated whenever I found myself in one for somber weddings or lively funerals. Perhaps it felt a bit too much like a church because when Gatsby smiled nervously, he suddenly looked like a groom at the altar just before the bridal march starts. I could feel my ears begin to burn. “It’s…very well…decorated.” I said finally.
That apparently was the wrong thing to say though, because the man’s face fell and he looked much like a kicked pup. “Really? Is that all?” I shrugged sheepishly. “Would you rather I lie and give a flowery and formal opinion?” His smile returned and he nodded exaggeratedly. “Yes! Lie to me! Tell me it’s wonderful and beautiful and magnificent!” He dragged his chair closer to mine and sat again; Leaning forward so his elbows rested on his knees casually. His voice was soft and somehow damp with something sorrowful. “Lie to me, Nick. Old sport.” Even as our knees knocked together under the table, he still felt the need to keep me at arm’s length.
I tried to subtly move closer to him in my chair and caught his gaze. “Jay.” I tried very hard not to watch his throat as he swallowed. I could appreciate fine architecture just as much as anyone else, but I expected he wanted something other than a subdued rehashing of details he already knew of. I did my best to channel my cousin, to give that sparkling performance of wondrous amazement she flawlessly slipped on as easily as a fur coat. “It’s…Lovely. It’s wonderful and magnificent! I can’t begin to wonder how you manage to live here all on your own!“ All at once I watched as his face cycled through many emotions before settling on something slightly disappointed. I tried not to cringe. I never was the best actor I suppose. My forced tone of amazement had done nothing to convince the man trained since adolescence to read people. I watched the way his shirt strained to be free from where it was tucked tightly into his trousers when he sprawled back in his chair.
“Old Sport.” Gatsby said, sounding hollow. I stared resolutely at the tray of tea before me. “Who did I invite to my home?” I looked up in confusion to see he had moved to rest his crossed arms on the table. I bit back the smartass urge to comment about his elbows on the table. “Myself?” I said. He nodded, his hair falling into his eyes before he pushed it back, almost irritatedly.
He nodded and continued. “Now tell me. If I invited Nick Carraway to my home, what is Daisy Bucchanan doing in my ballroom?“ I flushed all the way up to my ears. Of course I had been caught. I felt my fingers drumming nervously on the table, and Gatsby watched them. “Um…I’m sorry. Are you upset?” He sprawled back again. “…No.” I glanced around awkwardly.
”It looks like the Pantheon in Athens with its pillars and marvelous ivory work, the floors and sweeping arches remind one of the Vatican Church in Rome, but not quite as garishly opulent. The French tastes are perfectly balanced to not disgust one’s palate with excessive richness like a German chocolate cake.” Gatsby’s blue eyes widened in surprise at my description. Embarrassed, I smiled at him sheepishly and darted my eyes away. “Or you know. Something like that.” The sunshine smile streamed out from behind the storm clouds that were golden eyebrows at last. “You truly are a writer aren’t you, Nick?” I consciously lowered my shoulders. “Only in theory.”
He shook his head again before resting his chin in his hand, leaning forward. “The only theory there is, is all the publishing world is made of fools and idiots.” When I laughed bitterly, he reached over and playfully pushed my shoulder. It sent a zip of heat through me that swept low and curled in my stomach. “What you’re doing in that bond office is beyond me. You belong in my library behind a typewriter.” I hesitated, and he realized his slip of tongue.
“Nevermind that.” Gatsby says quickly. “My verdict is that I don’t want Daisy now. I want you.” This time I didn’t hesitate. The small curl of heat from earlier now raged so suddenly to an inferno, that I became dizzy with it. I felt myself stand suddenly, the chair sliding soundlessly against the polished floor. Had I been in my right mind I would've likely wondered how that was when Gatsby’s had been so disturbing.
“Nick..?” Gatsby stood as well, confused at my sudden outburst. I swallowed in a vain attempt to ease my suddenly dry mouth. I opened it, closed it. No words came to me. The wonderful thing about being a writer is that all manner of words swirl within you at all times. The horrible thing about that is when those words leave you and you are left stumbling over nothing. Your emotions overwhelming you so that you nod jerkily at your friend and host before spinning around so fast your already spinning head spins faster. I made for the door, but Jay Gatsby was quicker.
“Nick! What’s wrong? Do you feel quite well?” I couldn’t look at him now. I knew I’d do something awful that would forever ruin my life. “Do you ever hear yourself, Gatsby?” He flinched as if struck. “What..?” He truly looked confused and reached up with one hand to feel my forehead while the other held my wrist, albeit gently, to keep me from bolting. “Do you feel alright, Old Sport? You look pale and rosy at the same time!”
The horrid words banged around my headspace, Gatsby’s smooth voice lilting the words and the potential implied emotion behind them was going to drive me mad. “I don’t want Daisy now, I want you.”
Had anyone ever actually said they’d wanted him in any capacity before? He’d never had much in terms of romantic partners due to his… preferences. His parents hadn’t seemed to ever want him, and he was beginning to suspect that he was becoming less and less of Daisy’s equal and more of a plaything with each passing day.
I snapped back to myself when the back of Gatsby’s cold hand made contact with my forehead. I flinched. For someone who could certainly afford gloves, Gatsby always had cold hands. My own hands were always a regular temperature, but when in Gatsby’s hold, they radiated warmth just like the rest of me. I used my free hand to pull his down, assuring him I felt fine. “Physically at least.” I muttered as he stepped closer in concern. “Really Nick, I worry.” He pleaded. “I know, though I don’t know why. I’m truly fine.” Jay’s brow furrowed further. “It’s just not like you to suddenly leave, Old Sport.” I shrugged as flippantly as I could.
Hand still hovering close to my face, Gatsby got a funny sort of look on his face, much like being chased in the dark only for the sun to come up and reveal you’d been running from your own dog all night. It was that sort of realization that crossed his face and his confusion turned to sympathy. “Oh, Old Sport…” I raised an eyebrow. “You needn’t worry. Daisy is wonderful, but your company is…” He thought for a moment, as if sifting through a dictionary of adjectives to properly convey his nebulous feelings for me. He opened his mouth to speak, hand still hovering at my face before sighing, and dropping it on my shoulder.
“It’s…preferred.” I blinked, not quite understanding his meaning and not even daring to misinterpret. “What is?” I said slowly. Gatsby smiled at me again, this time it was soft and fond. “Your company is preferred.” I blinked hard. ”Over…Daisy’s?” He hesitated a moment, and I could see the great tug of war happening within him. I began to wonder if he would ever admit to preferring anything on earth more than her, but he eventually nodded slowly. “…Yes. I believe so.” He said with an air of finality that heavily implied he didn’t want to dwell on the topic anymore.
Ever the romantic though, I valiantly pressed on. “Truly? You’ve been after her for years.” The hand on my shoulder slid up to the crook of my neck, siphoning not just my body heat, but my willpower as well. “And I refuse to regret a moment of it. Though the pursuit of an idea resulted in it reshaping from that of a woman-“ He delicately reached to hold my jaw and I stood still as stone, lest he move away if I so much as breathed too hard. “To that of a man.” The weight of what he’d just confessed to me simultaneously smacked me over the head and rested soothingly on my cheek in the form of a golden tanned hand, thumb twitching as if stroking my cheek haltingly.
The Great Jay Gatsby seemed small and fragile when I squeezed his fingers with mine in his decadent ballroom with his insignia splashed everywhere. “A man whose company you prefer?” I joked, feeling my expression soften from dubious confusion to something reserved entirely for the man holding me. When Gatsby laughed, I could feel his breath fan across my face along with my heartbeat staggering. “More than anyone else’s” He admitted soberly.
I could never understate the impact those words had on me, and I intended to show him as his hand slipped through my hair to cradle the back of my head, gently, as if I was something precious and valuable.
As his hand took the last of my restraint, I moved my hand to his lips and gently touched them, feeling the chapped skin underneath the sheen left by the tea earlier. I felt his breath falter as I moved closer, and my heart flinging itself all around my body, ricocheting off my rib cage like a fish on a deck. He seemed to flounder over what to do before settling on simply following my lead.
I moved slowly, carefully, giving him all the time to suddenly change his mind and back away. But when it never happened, and he closed his eyes, I brushed his lips with mine for a moment before finally, blessedly, closing the gap between us. I was gentle, and he, tentative, his grip on my hand so passionate I almost worried. In contrast to his hands, his lips were warm and softer than I expected. He tasted of the tea; hibiscus, blueberries, and apples, as well as lime and club soda. The latter I knew was his favorite drink and it sent a thrill through me to know I was tasting it on his lips.
I felt his lips curl into a smile as they held mine, and my own smile grew. I pulled back just enough to hold his gaze and he chuckled, I felt the sound in my own chest. “You taste of apples.“ He said jovially. “Sorry. I know you prefer oranges.” I grinned sheepishly. He waved our joined hands as if waiving the idea away. “I used to. Apples are really growing on me.” He looked positively giddy and my heart burst at the notion. “Though I admit, I’ve never quite tasted an apple like the ones you must eat. They’re so rich and sweet! You must hide an orchard somewhere in that cottage.” He teased, bringing our hands up to his lips to kiss my knuckles. I could feel the heat as it filled my face, starting in my ears. “The first sin was having an apple.” I said, feigning reverence. “Then you are Eve to allow me to share in this sin.” Gatsby said, immediately understanding my meaning.
For the first time in my life, I understood all the world’s chatter about soulmates. “You were willing.” I reminded. He pulled me closer still and blew the hair out my face. “Trespass sweetly urged.” He replied simply before kissing the tip of my nose. “Give me the sin again.” I rolled my eyes but did so anyway. “You’re insatiable.” The second kiss was long and slow, infinitely tender, and I caught myself pulling Jay back in by his lips when he tried to pull away. I felt him laugh and give me a small peck for my trouble. “On the contrary, I feel rather saited at the moment.” I lifted my gaze to his, and noticed the tears forming in his blue eyes.
I started, and reached up to wipe them away, but he caught my hand before I could and instead reached around me to wrap me into an embrace. “Thank you, Nick. I used to think I’d never find it.” I hesitantly settled my arms around him. “Find what?” I felt him nose his way into the crook of my neck, wrinkling my shirt. “ I’ve always been looking for someone who would accept me as I am. I used to think that person would be Daisy…” He tensed and gently pulled from the embrace before standing in front of me, taking both my hands. “But Daisy wouldn’t even come to me for comfort unless I could wipe her tears with silk…” I frowned. It sounded harsh, but we both knew it was true. “But you don’t really care about all of it, Nick.” He said. “You can appreciate it, and I admire that, but it’s not necessary for you to enjoy being here.” He glanced at me shyly as if to confirm.
I nodded shakily, nearly vibrating in my skin with adrenaline. I couldn’t figure out if this was some kind of torturous prolonged dream or a wonderful answer to all the prayers I’d never even tried to voice. When I said as much, Jay threw his head back, exposing the long column of his neck, and laughing heartily, the same way Tom did when I said anything- but with none of the mocking tone his laugh carried.
Gatsby’s eyes suddenly came alight with excitement- the way they always did when he was about to ask me to do something with him. “Nick.” He said slowly, cocking an eyebrow. “Now that I know I have you at my whim, would you join me in the pool?” I let out a huff of laughter, and smacked his shoulder lightly. “I may be at your mercy, but not your whim.” I soothed the smack with a pat of my palm against his perfectly tailored shirt. “The only whims I can afford to indulge are God’s and my boss’s.” A moment passed where Gatsby stared at me blankly. Then he said in a tone tinged in amusement and embarrassment, “To be completely hones with you, Old Sport, I’d forgotten you have a job.” When I laughed at him, he floundered, voice pitching higher. “You can’t blame me! You’re never at work anyway!”
“You ordered me a cab to get here from work, Jay!” I said through laughter. I watched his smile grow into an unrestrained grin, and I reached for his wrist to check his watch. “I do have to go back sometime, you know.” I said. His grin shut. “Sometime is for later, stay now.” I shook my head. “I said I’d only be gone an hour and it’s been one and a half.” I must've been one of the few people in the world to see Jay Gatsby pout like a child as a grown man of two and thirty. “If you must.” He eventually coincided. “But I will drive you back and invite you for dinner the moment you return.” Oh boy.
”Gatsby, your romanticism will be your fatal flaw.” I said plainly. “I might enjoy your company over everyone else on the earth, but I do need the time for myself to unwind.” I was given a look that said the thought had never crossed his mind. “I have other ways for you to unwind.” He protested as I turned to leave. Against my will, I felt my ears warm. “Really Jay, I need my space. I’ll come over this evening, don’t worry. I’ll just need a moment.” I waved at the exposed enigma of a man who I liked quite a bit. Apparently it was requited, as before I could reach the door, he roped me back into an embrace and bowled me over with a quick kiss. “You promise?” He breathed into my neck. I swallowed and nodded. “Yes. I promise.” He pulled away and distractedly tugged at his waistcoat. “Right. Yes. Have a good day Mr.Carraway. Nick. Old Sport.” His cheeks were ruddy like a sunburn over the bridge of his nose and my heart swelled. “I’ll be seeing you. Don’t take any wooden nickels.” I said. He nodded and smiled wide.
“I’ve no need of the sort.” He said playfully. I rolled my eyes and finally left the room. The time I’d spent away from work was completely worth the reprimand from my boss, but not quite the prodding of my coworkers.