To Buy the Moon and the Stars (For You I Would) - Hopeless_1322 - Great Gatsby (2024)

Chapter 1

Chapter Text

The few romantic escapades of Jay Gatsby are all quite similar and not nearly as bold, exciting, or numerous as one would assume.

However, rumours circulate around West and East Egg both, claiming that the billionaire bootlegger is a secret Casanova, and that he refrains from mingling at his parties in order to scout out his next muse, usually a dainty flapper or an aspiring cabaret girl.

Some women claim to have had been one of these selected flames once upon a time, whispering about expensive wine dinners and ballroom dancing behind cupped, gloved hands. Other women, ones who do not pretend to have been picked by the mysterious Mr. Gatsby, snort in disbelief at these tales of romance, while others yearn for the private, lustful attention of such a young, wealthy man.

After all, money and youthfulness is a rare mix. Most women are forced to pick between a comfortable, respectable life with someone as old as their father or an utterly unglamorous existence with the boy next door.

Gatsby is a desired breed by women looking to climb the steep social ladder of New York.

However, despite the numerous women who would gladly throw themselves into his arms, Gatsby is a relatively elusive man. His heart is not easily won over, especially with the idealistic ghost of Daisy Fay of five years prior holding it in a vice grip.

Everything Gatsby has done that makes him so attractive to other women has been in homage to Daisy. The immense wealth, the mansion and its location, all of the risky business ventures that nearly left Gatsby dead, have all been for Daisy. Daisy is the pulling force of Jay Gatsby’s life, making other women nothing more than background props at his parties, even if Daisy herself is nothing more than a warm, pleasant memory.

After becoming acquainted with Gatsby, Nick quickly realizes that Gatsby is not really in love with Daisy, despite all of his painful pining and acts of devotion that swing dangerously close to self-sacrifice.

Nick knows that Gatsby is in love with who he thought Daisy Fay was, with the impression he got of the exciting, pretty girl in Louisville five years ago.

Daisy is an enigma to Gatsby, a faint memory that burns bright and hot because it represents hope for better times; hope for surviving the bloodbath of Europe, hope of creating the man Gatsby had always wanted to be, and hope for love and acceptance.

Nick understands this, but believes that Gatsby is far too disillusioned with the Daisy of his dreams to be convinced otherwise. Nick only brings up his viewpoint once, the night before he agrees to host a reunion between the two hopefully soon-to-be love birds.

“Do you really think she’ll be how you remember her, Gatsby?” He asks casually, trying not to sound too doubtful or critical as he stares out over the bay, eyes glued to the green light of the Buchanan’s dock.

“What could have possibly changed, old sport?” Gatsby asks through a warm laugh.

Nick can’t tell if the other man is truly so deep in his fantasy world that he can’t logically reason that Daisy has possibly changed over the wear and tear of many years of life, or if he’s simply too stubborn to admit it.

“Time changes people,” Nick replies with a shrug, daring a glance at Gatsby’s face, obscured through the dark and the thick fog.

Gatsby doesn’t reply right away, drumming his fingers absently off of the wooden rail in front of him.

“You think marriage changed her?” He finally asks, still looking out at the green light beyond the choppy waves of the bay. “You think she’s a different woman now that she’s got a husband to take care of her?”

“That’s not exactly what I meant,” Nick admits. “Although, her marital status may be something to discuss-”

“She doesn’t love him,” Gatsby insists suddenly, a hint of anxiety inching into his voice like a trembling note that hangs in the air at the end of an unhappy song.

Nick doesn’t say anything, unsure of what he should say in response. He coughs into his elbow once the silence becomes too heavy, an excuse of the late hour and bed on the tip of his tongue, when Gatsby speaks again:

“She doesn’t love him,” he repeats, almost sounding as if he’s on the verge of panicking. “You’ve seen her with her husband, haven’t you, old sport? Tell me, what were they like together?”

“What were they like together?” Nick parrots, caught off guard and confused. “Well, I suppose they...they weren’t happy, not like married couples ought to be.”

Gatsby seems to perk up at this news, but only for a brief moment before a troubled look clouds his face yet again.

“You aren’t just saying things I want to hear, are you?” He asks tentatively, turning to face Nick with a look of worry. “Because I don’t want you to just say things you think will make me happy, not if they aren’t true. Is she really not happy with her fellow, Nick? Does she really not love him?”

Nick swallows thickly, starting to feel panicked himself. Is he an architect of Gatsby’s delusions if he continues to speak ill of Daisy and Tom’s dysfunctional marriage without mentioning that few aristocrats marry to be happy? Should he disrupt the mirage now?

“No, she’s not happy, but…”

“But?” Gatsby demands breathlessly, the sangfroid nature of his character being chipped away to reveal a much different, much more insecure figure.

“I can’t speak of love, Gatsby,” Nick admits with a shake of his head, looking anywhere but at Gatsby’s pleading eyes. “I don’t know if she loves him or not….love isn’t as important of a factor to people like Daisy when considering marriage.”

Gatsby looks confused, eyebrow quirked. “But she’s got money,” he says with a shake of his head. “Doesn’t your family have money, old sport? Why would she need-”

“It’s...it’s complicated,” Nick says lamely, unsure how to proceed. “Money plays a part, definitely, but-”

“Well, I’ve got money now! I’ve got-”

“But you haven’t got...you haven’t got-”

“Got what? I have enough bed chambers for her to sleep in a different one every night of the month! I’ve got a ballroom, a staff of chefs, a pool, and a-”

“It’s a pedigree, Gatsby!” Nick interrupts with another shake of his head and a wince as shame washes over his face. “My cousin has a pedigree and so does her husband. People like them don’t...they don’t stray from their own kind, they have an unspoken rule about-”

“But I’ve got it all now,” Gatsby mumbles in a small voice, suddenly looking defeated and crushed. He turns away from Nick and gazes back out over the bay. “She’ll see this place tomorrow, she’ll see it and she won’t want to leave.”

Nick, feeling defeated himself, says nothing. He squints over at Daisy’s green light and finds that it hurts his eyes, so he looks away.
--------------------------------

The reunion between Gatsby and the reason for his heart’s very beating takes place in Nick’s living room, recently spruced up by a fleet of servants sent by Gatsby.

Nick is unsure of what to expect, as emotions are surely going to run high. Gatsby is lovesick and expecting the ghost of years gone by to greet him with a kiss, and Daisy is interested in excitement, in an adventure, but not in leaving her husband and daughter behind for a fling from her youth.

It’s really a long term disaster waiting to happen, a bomb sitting on Gatsby’s lap, a grenade laying at the bottom of his pool, but he won’t let Nick help him.

“How do I look?” Gatsby asks as he paces back and forth in front of Nick’s sofa, sliding a hand through his slick, gelled hair.

“Fine,” Nick assures him for the seventh time.

Gatsby doesn’t seem convinced and repeats this question five more times as he continues to wander around the room, messing around with the various lilacs, roses and petunias the servants placed atop of the tables and fireplace mantel.

When Daisy does finally arrive, under the pretense that she and Nick are going to have tea and talk, Gatsby runs for the hills, leaving through the back door while Nick invites his cousin inside of his humble home.

Nick is horribly confused and slightly embarrassed as Daisy makes a big fuss over the plethora of flowers gathered around the room.

“My, Nicky, you didn’t have to do all of this for me,” she coos with a wide smile, sitting on the edge of the sofa and picking at the sandwiches on the coffee table. “Are you in love with me?”

Nick flushes and manages a smile back, his mind racing as he wonders what to say. He hadn’t planned on actually hosting a conversation with his cousin, especially under such awkward circ*mstances. All he can think of is Gatsby and how shaken and nervous he must be to have jumped ship.

Daisy, ever the conversationalist and a natural center of attention, begins to babble on about a shopping trip she embarked on with Jordan Baker last week as she plucks the petals off of a nearby rose and scatters the white blossoms across her feet.

Halfway through the story (which would be utterly boring if anyone other than Daisy were telling it) there is a knocking at the front door.

“Who all did you invite, Nicky?” Daisy asks with a faint laugh. “Is she who the flowers are for?”

Nick is torn between relief and disappointment when he opens his front door to see a disgruntled and fidgety Gatsby.

“Is she still here?” He whispers urgently, carelessly wiping his sweaty palms off on his white suit pants.

Nick nods, stepping aside to allow his second guest inside. Gatsby looks like an emotional wreck, visibly perspiring as he slicks back his hair again and, for the hundredth time, asks Nick if he looks acceptable. With yet another assurance on Nick’s behalf, Gatsby steps into the living room.

The fantasy world in Jay Gatsby's head and the real world of sharp edges and unhappy endings collide.

Nick excuses himself twenty minutes into the reunion, as the living room has become unbearably awkward. Unspoken words hang in the air like smoke, suffocating all of the room’s inhabitants.

Gatsby stands in the corner, twiddling his thumbs and coughing into his hands, and Daisy stares resolutely out the window, refusing to look at him. Nick feels like an intruder in his own home, so he steps outside with the excuse of needing to run into town.

“You can’t go!” Gatsby hisses as he follows Nick into the hallway. He looks downright scared, and Nick almost pities him enough to stay. “Nick! Please!”

“You’re just embarrassed,” Nick whispers with a shake of his head, already slipping on his jacket. “She is, too. You just need to clear the air, and I don’t think my presence here is helping.”

“Nick-”

“You’re being very rude, Daisy’s all by herself in there,” Nick says as sternly as he can, despite feeling very rude himself for walking out while there's company sitting in his living room. “Go talk to her, I’ll give you half an hour.”

“That’s an awfully long time.”

“So is five years,” Nick replies as earnestly as he can, one foot out the door. “Go on, you’ll be fine. My cousin won’t bite you.”

Gatsby manages a shaky smile and nods. “You sure I look alright?”

“I promise you, you look fine.”

Gatsby nods, hesitating a moment. “Thank you, old sport. You have no idea how much this means to me...you sure you don’t want a new car or a-”

“This is a favor for a friend, not a business transaction,” Nick says with a soft smile and a shake of his head. "Now go on, go talk to her."

Gatsby grins again, although there’s an emotion hidden behind his teeth that Nick can’t quite decipher.
-------------------------------

When Nick arrives back to his house after a long stroll around West Egg, he finds a completely different scene in his living room than when he left.

Daisy is beaming like the sun, her cheeks smeared with mascara and tears. Her and Gatsby are now sitting on the sofa together, knees touching as they talk to one another in hushed voices, whispering so softly that it's as if the trees and flowers outside are trying to eavesdrop on them.

Nick, feeling awkward and out of place for an entirely different reason now, makes as much noise as possible while re-entering his home, slamming the front door and pointlessly banging around the pots and pans in the kitchen. However, Daisy and Gatsby are too invested in one another to pay him much mind.

“Oh, Nicky,” Daisy breathes with an embarrassed giggle, dabbing at her eyes with Gatsby’s handkerchief. “Did you get what you needed?”

Nick nods and politely averts his eyes as his cousin excuses herself to the bathroom to wash her face.

Gatsby smiles over at Nick, and says in a single breath, “I think she’s happy to see me, old sport, I think you were right about her husband, she still has a spot for me in her heart.”

Nick nods encouragingly, although he’s still concerned. There’s no possible way for Daisy to live up to the fantasy Gatsby has woven in his head over all of these years, not to mention Daisy’s fickle affections….

“Now we’ve just got to get her back to my house, I’ve got to show her around, show her all of the things I’ve gotten for her…” Gatsby whispers hurriedly, still grinning like the cat who caught the canary.

“Invite her over, then,” Nick says with a wave of his hand. “Show her your palace.”

Gatsby’s smile drops. “You have to come with her.”

“Why? Wouldn’t it be better for the two of you-”

“Sure, sure, some time alone was good, it got us talking, but I’m...if it’s just the two of us for too long...I think I need to ease into it, you know? I still can’t believe she’s here, Nick, warm skin and a beating heart. She was a ghost before, phantom touches and invisible smiles, but now she’s here. I need...I need some company.”

Nick is about to object and inform Gatsby that he has Daisy for company, that Daisy is the meaning behind this entire hoop-jumping escapade, but he can’t. Gatsby still looks nervous, and Nick can’t blame him.

After all, Gatsby's entire life’s work along with all of his hopes and dreams are on the line, balancing on the tip Daisy’s pinky finger. So Nick begrudgingly agrees to his friend's pleas, and he accompanies Gatsby and Daisy to the mansion once Daisy rejoins them, fresh faced and cheery.

The tour starts off well, as Daisy is already weak-kneed and gushing before they even enter the front doors.

“Oh my God,” she breathes, spinning in a circle in order to take the entire front garden in. “It’s beautiful! Jay, it’s gorgeous!”

Gatsby smiles, daring to slip an arm around Daisy’s waist as he takes his place beside her.

“It is,” he agrees, his confidence seemingly restored. “The orchids are my favorite.”

Daisy continues to look around in awe, Gatsby leading her down the paved pathway to the back gardens, which are even more vast, diverse, and breathtaking. Nick follows a few paces behind, feeling oddly like a chaperone.

The whole thing slowly but surely seems to change from a simple tour to an open house, Gatsby playing the over excited real estate agent and Daisy the potential buyer. As they move from the garden to the mansion, from room to room, Nick can’t help but notice that Gatsby becomes more and more prideful of his belongings, more so than he’s ever been.

Nick remembers how Gatsby had showed him around the mansion a few times after the two of them first met, and it was nothing like this. Gatsby hadn’t fawned over pieces of artwork (occasionally telling lies, as Nick is familiar with some of the paintings himself), nor had he showed Nick his entire wardrobe and insisted that he touch every article of clothing.

With Daisy, it truly feels like Gatsby is attempting to sell the property, and, in a way, he is.

It seems to be working, too, as Daisy is crying again by the end of the tour, weeping over the Egyptian cotton sheets of all of the bedding and the large, polished ballroom floor.

“You must have lots of guests at your parties, Jay,” she insists with a wild smile, twirling around on the marble floor by herself, skirt billowing out around her waist.

“Yes, thousands,” Gatsby answers smoothly with a smile. “Can I get you another drink?”

“Oh, no thank you, I really shouldn’t drink any more,” Daisy insists with a laugh, Gatsby catching her when she nearly trips over herself. “These parties, Jay, I wish I could throw such parties….so many people, so much dancing and laughter!”

“You should come to my next party this Friday,” he insists. “Bring your husband, I’d love to have you both.”

“Perhaps we’ll come….with so many people-”

“I’ll be a gracious host and show you both around, introduce you to the important folks. I host a myriad of people; wall street brokers, upcoming starlets, even a few politicians grace me with their company.”

Nick, feeling as if he’s a spectator to this event, decides that he’s ready to head home. He sneaks out through the front doors while Gatsby and Daisy begin to dance a simple waltz together, skirting around the edges of the ballroom.

As he begins to leave, Nick hears Daisy let out a squeal of laughter before exclaiming; “You must never be lonely with so many interesting friends, Jay!”

Gatsby doesn’t respond, his lack of a response flooding through the hallow house and making it feel even bigger.
----------------------------------------

It’s three days after the reunion when Nick sees Gatsby again, the other man lurking outside of his house, clearly hoping to catch Nick when he gets home from work.

“Hey, old sport,” he greets with a smile, casually making his way over. “You got a minute for me?”

“Sure.”

Gatsby smiles, although it looks strained. “I just wanted to thank you again for hosting Daisy for me, I really can’t thank you enough. I had no way of connecting with her before you came along, because, you see, she wasn’t coming to the parties, and I couldn’t very well just show up at her home…”

“It was no trouble, really,” Nick insists kindly.

“Oh, but it was, and I...I wanted to say thank you,” Gatsby explains, reaching into his overcoat pocket to retrieve his wallet. “I know you keep saying that I don’t need to even the score between us-”

“You really don’t,” Nick insists quickly, face aflame as Gatsby retrieves a check from within his wallet. “Gatsby, really, there’s no need to pay me. I did it for you as a kindness, it was-”

“A favor for a friend?” Gatsby asks, looking unsure of himself as he says it. “You don’t have to be so humble here, old sport, I’m offering you a real nice chunk of cash to show my appreciation.”

Nick, embarrassed, shakes his head. He can’t accept money from Gatsby, as he truly didn’t host Daisy in hopes of gaining anything, just to help (or possibly hinder) a friend. Gatsby's inability to understand this is both baffling and frustrating.

“I can’t accept this, Gatsby,” he says quietly, sticking his hands in his pockets before Gatsby attempts to shove the check at him. “It’s terribly unnecessary, really.”

Gatsby blinks, looking confused, but nods and repockets his wallet. “If you’re sure, Nick…”

“Positive.”

Gatsby smiles again, trying to regain his grace. “Well, uh, I’ll leave you to your evening then.”

Nick waves, wishing Gatsby a good night before turning to his front door. However, Gatsby doesn’t make a move to leave, and Nick feels it would be rude to turn his back on a friend.

“Is something troubling you?” Nick asks awkwardly, hand hovering above the doorknob.

Gatsby shifts his weight from foot to foot and lets out an odd sounding laugh, eyes focused on the ground. “Well, I have a strange question for you, old sport, and if the question rubs you the wrong way, or makes you feel uncomfortable, you don’t have to answer.”

Nick, curious and engaged, takes a step away from his front door and nods.

“I was wondering…” Gatsby pauses, letting out another strange, high pitched laugh. “You see, I think that...I think….”

“You think what?”

Gatsby forces another shaky smile. “Well, we’re friends, aren’t we?”

“Of course,” Nick reaffirms with a nod. He waits for Gatsby to say something else, to state the question, but he doesn’t.

He simply beams at Nick, looking the same way Daisy had while exploring the gardens, and turns to go.

It’s not until Gatsby disappears into his vast front gates that Nick realizes that Gatsby had, in fact, asked the question.
---------------------------------------

The fantastical parties Gatsby hosts aren’t Nick’s cup of tea. The throngs of people, loud music, and hysterics of drunkness are too much, so Nick typically refrains from attending.

That is unless Gatsby asks him to come, which is occasionally the case. Tonight, the night that Daisy is to attend one of the great Gatsby’s parties for the first time, is such an occasion that Gatsby requests Nick’s attendance.

So Nick goes.

It’s loud and crowded, as always, and Nick fights his way through the giant entryway and up the twisting staircase to Gatsby’s study.

Gatsby is excited as a child on Christmas Eve. This is it, the big show. The woman of his dreams is going to finally come to a party, as was intended from the very beginning of Jay Gatsby’s reign over New York City.

“Thank you for coming tonight, old sport,” he says with an eager grin. “It means a lot to me...I know you’re not the biggest fan of my get-togethers, but it means a lot to have you here tonight.”

Nick smiles cordially and takes a seat across from Gatsby’s desk. “Of course. Have you heard from Daisy since Thursday?”

Gatsby’s smile flickers briefly. “No, but I supposed it would be hard for her to contact me, what with her husband and all.”

Nick nods in agreement, and decides that mentioning Tom’s various daytime activities that keep him occupied would be cruel. “Sure.”

“I’m going to need your help,” Gatsby continues, opening the top drawer of his desk and pulling out a small velvet box. “At one point in the evening, I need you to take off with Daisy’s fellow and chat him up, distract him. Just give me a moment or two with Daisy. Do you think you can do that for me?”

Nick nods, raising a curious eyebrow as Gatsby opens up the box for him to see the string of pearls inside.

“I bought it yesterday,” Gatsby explains with a proud smile. “All real, genuine pearls. You think she’ll like them?”

“I’m certain she’ll like them,” Nick replies, admittedly a little shocked at the expensive gift. It’s not that Gatsby isn’t able to afford such lavish things, he could buy Daisy a new necklace made of pearls or rubies every single day for the rest of his life if he so well pleased, but already buying her expensive gifts after only being reunited for a single meeting?

“Do you think she already has pearls?” Gatsby asks lowly, suddenly looking nervous again. It would seem that Daisy tends to drain him of his usual confidence. “By God, I bet a woman like her already has five or six strings of pearls, Nick.”

“Yes, but this will be the only string she has from you,” Nick supplies encouragingly with a soft smile.

Gatsby frowns, looking confused. “What difference does that make?”

“Well…” Nick feels himself blush. He’s a much more sentimental person than his cousin is, surely who the pearls are from wouldn’t make much of a difference to her….

“Would it make a difference to you, old sport?” Gatsby asks, his look of confusion morphing into one of playfulness. “If you already had six or seven watches, and a girl of yours gave you another, would you really make a big fuss over it? Would you kiss her, tell her thank you, and make a point of wearing it every day?”

Nick laughs quietly and nods. “I would...I suppose that makes me a bit of a romantic.”

Gatsby nods. “I suppose it does. Nothing wrong with that though, old sport, nothing at all. I wish I’d had a woman in my life who felt like that.”

“You ever had another woman besides my cousin?” Nick asks curiously. He’s always wondered if Gatsby’s one-sided love affair with Daisy was a full time commitment or not. It surely couldn’t have been, could it?

“A few,” Gatsby admits with an absent nod. “Mostly women who came to my parties alone...it never was the same, though, and none of those flings ever lasted more than a week or so.”

“A week?”

“Yes, a week. I think there were two problems with all of my affairs that caused them to be so short lived.”

“And what would those two problems be?” Nick inquires.

Gatsby’s lips spread into a wide, self deprecating smile. “The two problems, old sport, were me and the woman. I would always overthink it, compare the woman to Daisy and find myself uninterested. The women...I don’t think any of them really cared for me very much….not like Daisy did.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Nick hums thoughtfully, trying to picture Gatsby with a woman other than Daisy. It’s a difficult task, and Nick finds that he can only create realistic images of the lone bachelor kissing and holding his cousin.

“It was nothing really. All of these women...they weren't very interested in me at the end of the day. I think they were more interested in my money….not that there’s anything particularly wrong with that, but...I suppose I felt….unloved at times.”

Nick feels a tug at his heartstrings, and once again wonders if by his helping his cousin and Gatsby start an affair he’s leading Gatsby to another inevitable disappointment.

“I’m sorry,” he says again, watching Gatsby gaze down at the pearl necklace in a quiet, contemplative sort of way.

Gatsby guffaws and waves a hand, seemingly brushing the subject away into a dark, musty corner to be dealt with later. “It’s in the past, nothing but a memory. Besides, I’ve got Daisy in my world again…..it’s all coming together, because of you, Nick.”

Nick manages a smile, but once again can’t help but feel guilty as Gatsby reaches across the desk to give his shoulder an affectionate squeeze.

“Of course…”

“You’re a good friend, Nick, easily the best I’ve ever had,” Gatsby continues with a small, appreciative smile. “I really can’t thank you enough.”

The moment feels too intimate, too close. Gatsby is smiling at Nick as if he’s fixed his world, and Nick can’t help but think that he’s playing a role in its destruction.
-------------------------------------

The party scene seems unfitting for Tom Buchanan; large, brooding, and unsocial. He frowns and looks semi-disgusted by Gatsby’s out of control guests, an air of superiority about him as he scans the ballroom.

Daisy doesn’t look particularly enthralled either, the drunken, wild antics of the party-goers, along with how uncivilized and unbred some of them are is clearly displeasing to her.

Gatsby puts on a show, regardless, showing the Buchanans around with the same pride he exhibited while showing off the mansion to Daisy. Hands are shaken, names and business cards are exchanged, and the party goes on in full swing. Jordan Baker breaks away from her own usual groupies to accompany Daisy, the two walking around arm-in-arm.

“You finally came!” Jordan exclaims with a smile. “Finally, someone I can talk to! I’m always so lonely here without you. There’s no one worth talking to, just a bunch of high budget prostitutes, really. Let’s have a ball, Daisy.”

Nick does his best to keep from rolling his eyes, finding the two heads of Miss Baker rather distasteful and ridiculous.

Tom eventually seems less appalled by the drinking and dancing, perhaps due to a combination of Jordan Baker’s presence (after all, she is good people and if she’s having a good time then perhaps this chaotic scene is alright to indulge in) and an appreciation for the young flappers’ slender figures.

Nick doesn’t even need to take Tom aside, as he takes off to exchange pleasantries with a nearby dancer after receiving the grand tour from Gatsby. Daisy, used to such inattentive behavior, seems untroubled by it, and gladly follows Gatsby away into his study, leaving Jordan with Nick.

The two of them take refuge in the entryway, sitting in the leather padded chairs, sticky from the humidity, and drinking. Nick always finds that he enjoys Jordan’s company more when he’s intoxicated.

“She’s been talking about him all week,” Jordan yells over the music with a serious nod of her head. “She wouldn’t shut up about him, Nick. All she would say was Jay this and Jay that….it gets to be a bore, but she seems happy. I think he’s her distraction now.”

Nick frowns, not liking the sound of that. Gatsby doesn’t view Daisy as a mere distraction, she’s his whole world, her idealized ghost helped build the Gatsby empire that they all currently bask in.

“He loves her, too,” Nick replies simply, finishing off his scotch and finding that he’s too sober still to enjoy this evening.

“Do you suppose Tom’ll still be mad when he finds out?” Jordan asks with a snort. “That’d be awfully hypocritical, now wouldn’t it?”

Nick frowns yet again, as he’d almost completely factored out Tom’s reaction to Daisy having an affair. Surely a brute like him wouldn’t handle such news well, despite his having a mistress…

“They won’t get divorced, though, I can almost guarantee you that,” Jordan continues with a smirk that borders sardonic and uninterested. “They’ll never get divorced. Tom’s an economically sound man, with good respect in the right households. There's no reason for Daisy to stray too far, nor is there any reason for Tom to leave her, what with the baby and all...”

“Hmm.”

“You know what, Nick? I think I’m going to call it an early evening tonight. I’m just too tired,” Jordan says after a beat of silence, setting her half drained glass down on the end table before getting up to leave.“If you see Daisy again, let her know I left.”

“Sure.”

Nick watches Miss Baker depart, and once she’s safely out of sight, he snags her drink and finishes it off for her.

It would be a shame to let it go to waste.
----------------------------------------------

Despite the commotion surrounding him, Nick manages to doze off, the alcohol subduing him.

When he comes to again, he finds that the party is wrapping up, people streaming out the front doors in droves, many too intoxicated to really walk, but instead swaying and stumbling outside into the hot summer night.

Figuring that Daisy and Tom have left with the rest of the herds, Nick begins to try and find Gatsby. He, like many of the other partygoers, is more drunk than he’d like to be, and finds that he can’t exactly walk, instead bumping from wall to wall as he wanders the immense halls of Gatsby’s abode.

“Nicky! Come give me a hug goodbye, why won’t you!”

Nick groggily blinks before turning around, surprised to see his cousin, as bubbly and vibrant as ever, absolutely glowing under the spotlight.

“You’re still here,” Nick says dumbly, allowing his cousin to envelop him in her arms, her perfume bringing involuntary tears to his eyes.

“I’m on my way out now, just waiting for Tom to pull the car around front,” Daisy explains. “I’d offer you a ride home, but that seems a little silly, now doesn’t it?”

Nick, too drunk to get the joke, is momentarily offended.

“Nick,” Daisy whispers through an excited giggle. “I got a little something special tonight, would you like to see it?”

Nick blinks, watching as Daisy brandishes the string of pearls from within her purse. She smiles again, waiting for Nick to fawn over her new shiny thing as she always does.

“Aren’t they lovely?” She prompts when Nick fails to supply an adequate compliment in time. “Jay gave them to me tonight, and I’m just blown away by their beauty!”

“They’re nice,” Nick assures her with a nod, leaning against the wall as his stomach begins to lurch, unhappy with his earlier binge drinking. “Why don’t you wear them out?”

“I don’t have on the right dress for pearls,” Daisy replies simply, slipping the gift back into her bag. “The pearls from my mother would go much better with this dress.”

Nick can’t help but laugh and shake his head, as he’s never understood how the mixing and matching of seasonal fashion and their accessories works. It all seems overly complicated to him, but he doesn’t object. Instead he simply allows Daisy to hug him again before taking off with a new set of pearls in her purse.

Nick then attempts to climb the steps in a fashion close enough to normal so not to feel embarrassed, and wanders down the hallways for Gatsby’s study, which he seems to have forgotten how to locate.

Much to Nick’s luck, he manages to bump into a butler, who walks him to Gatsby’s office, seemingly unperturbed by his drunkenness.

“You have a private visitor, Mr. Gatsby,” the butler announces as Nick stumbles into the study.

Gatsby laughs, clearly amused, as he helps Nick down into a chair. “You doing alright there, old sport?”

“I drank too much,” Nick admits, despite the evidence for this being overwhelming and clear without an explanation. “I...I thought you might want to talk to me.”

“I do, I was going to send someone to go get you soon,” Gatsby replies with a nod, settling himself down in the chair beside Nick’s. “Do you mind?”

“Course not,” Nick slurs, balancing his chin on his knuckle and gazing over at Gatsby with hooded eyes. “What’s on your mind? She liked the pearls, she showed ‘em to me on her way out.”

Gatsby smiles again, but he looks troubled, like there’s something sour in his mouth. “Did she? That’s nice...she seemed to like them when I gave them to her. I was worried though, Nick, I really was. Did you see the necklace she had on tonight?”

Nick furrows his brows as he thinks, but he finds that he can’t recall whether or not his cousin had on a necklace at all, much less what it looked like.

“It was golden, an intricate design of golden flowers,” Gatsby explains. “It sat atop of her collar bone and she looked beautiful...do you think my gift will hold up?”

Nick chuckles. “What? Hold up? Gatsby, you gave her a gift, what she had on before-”

“She won’t think it unimpressive?” Gatsby asks, looking uneasy and paranoid. “She didn’t like the party, Nick, so I’m banking on this necklace. If it wasn’t good enough-”

“This is ridiculous,” Nick mumbles with a shake of his head. “Utterly damned and stupid.”

Gatsby side-eyes the other man, mouth snapping shut and eyes narrowing. He looks offended, and if Nick weren’t so gone, he’d apologize.

Instead, he continues:

“Look, here’s the thing about the people I come from, Gatsby,” he starts, unable to hold back a laugh as he thinks back to his childhood and the ridiculous practices of the blue bloods that he tried to leave behind. “They’ve got the attention span of damned goldfish.”

“Daisy-”

“Daisy isn’t any different, not where it counts,” Nick insists slowly. “The necklace was great, she loved it. The party wasn’t up to par for her because of the people.”

“What’s wrong with the people?” Gatsby asks. “I only have these parties for her! I thought she liked extravagance...would she prefer a smaller party? A more private one?”

“No, I mean it’s the kind of people you host here,” Nick clarifies, scrubbing his cheek with his palm. “They aren’t aristocratic snobs, Gatsby, you have...you have dancers and flappers in your ballroom….that’s not the kind of people my people mingle with.”

Gatsby looks pensive, leaning back in his chair and staring up at the ceiling. It’s clear that his fantasy, his idea of who Daisy Fay is and what she’ll do for his happiness, is fading, as the real Daisy, Daisy Buchanan, becomes the focus of Gatsby’s world.

“I don’t know what to do,” Gatsby finally admits, letting out a small sigh through his nose. “I was hoping that she’d...that she’d take to my parties the way she took to my house. She kissed me tonight, Nick, and I kissed her. In that moment, with her lips on mine, I felt like I knew her again.”

“It’s not hard to know Daisy.”

Gatsby doesn’t reply, but instead stands and walks over to the glass window in the front of the study. He pulls back the curtains and looks out at the mess of cars fighting to pull out of his drive. He says nothing, but Nick can sense his inner turmoil, he can see it in Gatsby’s stiff stance and the restless tapping of his left foot against the carpet.

Thud, thud, thud.

“Let me walk you home, old sport,” Gatsby offers a moment later. “You’re too drunk to go down the stairs alone.”
---------------------------------------

Luncheons and afternoon tea are commonplace on the social scene of New York, and socialites such as Daisy indulge in them often.

Nick isn’t as fond of taking days out on the town as his cousin is, but whenever she invites him, he goes.

“Nicky, you have to try the cheesecake here,” Daisy insists with a wink. “It’s better than anything else I’ve eaten in this part of town before.”

Nick hums in response, flipping through the menu and shielding his eyes from the merciless sunlight drifting in through the back windows.

“Oh, Nick, did I show you the new ring Tom bought for me?” Daisy asks, eyelashes fluttering as she holds out her dainty hand and wiggles her fingers. “Isn’t it just lovely?”

“Yes, lovely,” Nick agrees with a nod, a strong sense of deja vu in the air.

“He got it in Rochester,” Daisy continues, gazing down at her emerald studded finger fondly. “He told me it goes well with my eyes.”

“It does.”

Daisy laughs, throwing her head back as if Nick’s compliance to her gleeful materialism is the most splendid thing since sliced bread. Daisy is, if anything, animated, and Nick assumes that’s part of her charm.

Every joke is the absolutely funniest, wittiest thing she’s ever heard.

Every dress and hat is the most beautiful to ever touch her skin.

She’s a live wire, sending out warm shock waves to all that make contact with her.

“Have you seen Gatsby lately?” Daisy asks softly, as if she's about to tell her cousin a scandalous secret. “He and I had tea on his back terrace two days ago, but I didn’t see you. Why didn’t you pop by to visit with us?”

“I was probably at work,” Nick says dismissively, now using the menu to keep the agonizing sun out of his eyes. “Did you enjoy yourself?”

Daisy’s ruby red lips spread into a small, secretive smile, and she leans forward across the table, looking prepared to confess to adultery.

“He was lovely,” she whispers dreamily, eyelids dramatically fluttering shut. “He’s so romantic, he says all the right things. He gave me a bouquet of roses, and the shoes I’m wearing right now. I showed them to you earlier, didn’t I?”

“Yes, I believe so. They look very nice on you.”

Daisy nods in agreement and giggles. “He said so, too. He’s quite the romantic, I wish he were on East Egg.”

Nick nods and smiles easily, placating his cousin further by ducking under the table briefly to look at her shoes again.

“Nicky, would you mind if I invited someone else to sit with us?” Daisy asks, tilting her head towards the table across from them. “I’m friends with those two women, we all play cards together on Tuesday nights, and I figure it’d be rude to ignore them.”

Nick would really rather Daisy didn’t, but he agrees anyhow. He figures more people to show off her new ring and shoes to would brighten up Daisy’s day, and give him some room to breathe.

Sure enough, Daisy turns around in her seat, squeals, and the next thing Nick knows, there are two other squealing women sitting next to him, gushing over Daisy’s beautiful new accessories and fussing about her romances.

“Your husband has quite the eye, doesn’t he?” The first woman says, smiling the fake, all teeth smile Nick has become accustomed to during his time in New York. “How lucky you are, Daisy!”

“He does have quite the eye,” the second woman agrees, smiling in the same fashion as her companion. “Do you have a wife yet, Mr. Carraway?”

“No, not yet,” Nick replies politely, imitating their smiles with ease. “I’m still learning the lay of the city.”

“It is a big city,” the first woman says with a nod. “There are so many people to get acquainted with, so many that sometimes I have trouble remembering names and faces. But, of course, I could never forget the face of Miss Daisy!”

Daisy bursts into shrill, delighted laughter, reaching across the table to give Nick’s wrist a pat.

“I could never forget you either, Jasmine. My, my!”

“I could never forget Miss Baker the golf champion either. Such a talented woman,” the second woman adds. “I was just talking to her yesterday, Daisy, and she had on the prettiest pearls I’d ever seen! She said that you gave them to her as a gift. How kind!”

Nick quirks an eyebrow, and Daisy’s sudden discomfort isn’t lost on him.

“Oh, yes, I saw them, too!” The first woman exclaims with a nod of approval. “What a beautiful gift. Did you pick them out yourself?”

Daisy purposely looks away from Nick and smiles the same toothy smile as everyone else.

“Oh yes, I did. Just for Miss Baker, a dear friend of mine.”

Nick, not as suave and skilled as his cousin, is not so fast to hide his emotions. He visibly stiffens and shoots Daisy a wary look. Gatsby had just given her those pearls a mere week ago, and she’d already become bored with them and pawned them off...Nick isn’t sure whether to be disappointed with Daisy for this act of betrayal, or with himself for being surprised.

After lunch, as they walk out onto the sidewalk, Daisy loops an arm through Nick’s and smiles innocently up at him.

“Tom doesn’t always have the best eye for jewelry,” she says. “A few years ago he bought me these god awful pearls for our anniversary. I hardly wore them, so I gave them to Jordan. She seemed thrilled and thought they were beautiful.”

“I’m glad someone likes them,” Nick replies stiffly, wondering how soon it will be until he spots Miss Baker or another one of his cousin’s friends sporting her new ring or shoes.

Chapter 2

Chapter Text

Nick will never understand why Tom is so insistent on flaunting his infidelity in front him.

Daisy is Nick’s cousin, after all, making Tom’s brazen acts of adultery even more offensive and confusing.

If Nick weren’t so afraid of Tom snapping him in half, he’d be more direct with his disapproval of his cousin in-law’s behavior. However, quite liking his unbroken neck, Nick keeps quiet and sticks to subtle passive aggression and sarcasm, two verbal arts that Tom is relatively deaf to.

“I hope you ate before we left,” Tom says as they sit on the train, the car packed to the gills with suit clad business men and secretaries on their way home for the evening. “Myrtle always likes to walk through the shopping district before going to the apartment.”

“I did,” Nick replies, gazing out the window as he watches the sandy beaches slowly give way to gravel roads and small brick houses, their chimneys billowing white smoke.

The heavier the air becomes with pollution, the closer they get to the ominous Valley of Ashes

“She’s had her eye on a new gown lately,” Tom comments off handedly. “I assume she’ll want to get fitted this evening.”

Nick winces as if slapped, as he honestly can’t imagine a more uncomfortable evening. He gets to watch his cousin in-law’s mistress try on dresses before heading back to their little nest of infidelity and discontentment to stare at the wall while they both drink, fight, and f*ck.

Wonderful.

Sometimes Nick doesn’t understand why he allows himself to be roped into such uncomfortable and unenjoyable situations, but he always does. Whether it be a lunch with Daisy, a dinner with his arrogant coworkers, or a night out on the town with Tom and Myrtle, Nick always puts his head down and goes.

However, this particular excursion quickly becomes more unbearable than most, as the moment Tom and Nick exit the train car, a cloud of ash and cinders swallowing them both whole, Tom casually asks:

“Do you think I should buy Daisy something while we’re out?”

Nick chokes as both the pollution and Tom’s suggestion lodge themselves uncomfortably into his throat.

He covers his mouth with his hands as he violently gags.

“She’s been having quite the affair with shoes lately. Perhaps I’ll pick her up a pair,” Tom continues, clearly well adjusted to his dual citizenship between his Morningside Heights apartment in New York City and his marital mansion on East Egg bay. "What do you think, Nick?"

Nick finds how easily Tom manages both of these worlds disturbing. How can Tom so casually slip between Daisy and Myrtle at whim? How can he feel secure enough to think of Daisy while he’s on his way to pick Myrtle up and whisk her away from her husband?

Nick finds the complicated web of interpersonal relationships in his life somewhat overwhelming, what with being an accomplice in Daisy and Gatsby’s affair while simultaneously holding court with Tom and his mistress, who is also married….

It all feels cheap.

All of New York’s bright lights, all of the toothy smiles exchanged over expensive lunches, all of the declarations of love made through expensive gifts….it all feels cheap.

It’s beginning to dawn on Nick that his attempted escape from the suffocatingly patrician Midwest was fruitless, as it only landed him in the same sort of haughty city, full of worthless green paper being tossed willy nilly at jewels and cars and suitors.

Nick’s dying to see anything worth a penny anymore.
----------------------------------------

The evening slips by in thick droplets of vodka, only certain memorable events staying within Nick’s alcohol addled brain.

He can recall picking Myrtle up, and he vaguely remembers the cab ride to New York City, as Myrtle had babbled about wanting a new French fragrance the entire drive. Nick can also remember snippets of the shopping spree, and he knows that the dress Myrtle settled on was a deep forest green with lace adornments, but he can’t recall leaving the shop, or the events leading up to his heavy drinking splurge on Myrtle and Tom’s sofa.

“What about this one?” Myrtle asks with a flirtatious wink, clumsily spinning around the cramped living room in another new dress that Nick doesn’t recall her purchasing earlier.

“It looks lovely,” Tom mumbles with an inebriated smile, pouring himself another glass of vodka with shaking hands. “Come here and let me see it better, darling.”

Myrtle, all smiles, stumbles over to him, letting out a shrill shriek when Tom pulls her into his lap and begins to feverently press drunken kisses to her cheeks and lips.

Nick blankly watches for a moment, the images taking a minute to compute in his head. Once he realizes what’s about to take place a mere five inches away from him, Tom's slipping his hand under Myrtle’s dress sending up red flags, Nick decides it’s high time for him to go.

He’d really rather not lay drunk and inert next to two people having sex, especially not Tom and his mistress.

So Nick forces himself to his feet, only to suddenly lurch forward and tumble over the coffee table with a sound thud, his lower back and head smacking off of the carpeted floor.

Nick is more stunned than hurt from the fall, and he lays still as a corpse on his back for what feels like an hour, trying to steady his panicked breathing. Neither Tom nor Myrtle bothers to check on him, both too intoxicated and caught up in one another to even notice Nick’s fall. By the time Nick clambers back to his feet, head swimming and vision blurred, Tom and Myrtle are in the middle of making love. Tom has the skirt of Myrtle’s dress hiked up over her thighs as he moans and pants into her shoulder blades, while Myrtle mewls into the arm of the sofa, back arched.

Nick shakes his head and stumbles back towards the front door, feeling sick and disoriented.

He needs to leave, he shouldn't even be here in the first place. This is too much, too vivid and too wrong.

As Nick stumbles away in a blurred frenzy, another new dress that he doesn’t recall being bought wraps itself around his ankles and sends him crashing into the front door frame.

This time, Nick is not so fast to get up. His nose bleeds into his open hands, and his lower back aches and twitches.

Images of Tom’s wedding ring pressed against the flesh of Myrtle’s bare hip, Gatsby’s pearls around Jordan Baker’s neck, and his own mother’s collection of pale-faced china dolls filter lazily through Nick’s head like an upsetting and infinite film roll.

He feels trapped, like he’s stuck on a merry-go-round. He can walk around the rotating platform as much as he wants, passing by each still-eyed, pearly toothed horse as many times as he damn well pleases, but he can never get anywhere.

He’s effectively a prisoner of the circus grounds.

“Honey, you’re bleeding all over yourself.”

Nick blinks and glances up to see a glowing, post coitus Myrtle leaning over him, her breasts hanging halfway out of her frilly corset. She presses a wadded up piece of toilet paper into his hands and awkwardly attempts to hoist him back up to his feet.

“Tom! Tom, your friend’s all b-banged up!” She yells as she all but dumps Nick back down onto the floor, unable to lift his dead weight. “Tom, come get him!”

So concludes the miserable evening as a sweaty and grumpy Tom slings Nick back onto the sofa, which is disgustingly sticky from both cum and the summer heat.

Nick is in too much pain to complain, so he doesn't. He pinches the bridge of his nose, slick with blood, and graciously accepts a second piece of wadded up toilet paper from Myrtle.

Around him, New York City bustles on.

Myrtle tries on the dress that tripped Nick up in the hallway, strutting around the apartment like a model. She smokes a cigarette as she peers out through the balcony and complains about the traffic with a content smile.

This is the life she desires.

Tom pours himself yet another drink and accuses Nick of ‘drinking like a goddamn woman’ when he declines. He mumbles about buying Daisy shoes again, elbows Nick in the ribs when he starts to drift off, and seats Myrtle in his lap.

This is one of the lives Tom refuses to give up.

Somewhere in the haze, Myrtle and Tom retire to the bedroom in the back of the apartment for the night, leaving Nick alone on the sofa with a throw blanket. Laying in the dark, his bruised face aching like a heart and his mind still racing a mile a minute, Nick finds that he’s crying, cheeks thoroughly soaked.

He convinces himself that it’s the twin burdens of pain and drunkenness, and tries to sleep.
------------------------------------------------

Work the proceeding Monday is a horribly awkward affair.

Nick’s battered face draws the attention of the entire office floor, yet no one breathes a word to him about it.

Secretaries direct their gaze down at their typewriters when he passes by, while the other bondmen whisper behind his back, some even being bold enough to vaguely gesture towards Nick’s work space or use their palms to squish up their faces in childish imitation.

Even Nick’s boss, Mr. Murrow, makes it a point to avoid him, going so far as to leave the restroom without washing his hands upon Nick’s entry.

It’s all too much, and Nick finds himself feeling deeply ashamed. After all, the injuries that have made him the talk of the town were sustained because he was too drunk to walk… Nick doesn’t feel very good about himself when he considers this, so he tries not to.

He attempts to go about his day as usual despite his colleague's cold shoulders.

Nick finds that he doesn’t mind eating lunch by himself, as his meal is more enjoyable without the uppity oration of pseudo-philosophers and ‘self-made men’ who like to speak over one another in a jumbled cloud of commotion.

Nick is fine.

New York is big enough to feel alone while in the presence of others, anyhow, so Nick doesn’t feel as if he's really lost anything. Not to mention that he’s never really found the company of his colleagues to be exceptionally comforting, as all of the stuck-up, cold young men remind him too much of his uncles.

Nick is perfectly fine.

On the third day of his social exile, Nick is eating dinner in the nook of a crowded and noisy restaurant near the train station when a familiar face slides into the booth across from him.

“You look even worse than I thought you would, cruiser. How does the other guy look?”

Nick sets his mug of coffee down and glances up to see Jordan Baker smirking at him, Gatsby’s pearls around her neck.

“I heard you got mugged,” she continues without waiting for Nick to respond. “Some people even seem to think that you were the target of the mafia.”

Nick, completely caught off guard, fixes Jordan with a look of disbelief.

“Who the hell have you been talking to?” He asks, wondering who has been saying what about him and his injuries.

“I’m very close with Miss Abigail Winston, a secretary at your office,” Jordan explains, pausing to glance over towards the front of the diner. “I’m actually meeting her here momentarily.”

“And she says that I’ve been mugged?” Nick asks flatly, not amused by such wild tales, or even shocked by them now that he’s aware of them.

Nick has learnt that people gossip relentlessly, lips flapping away and giving off puffs of hot air left and right.

There’s no need to be surprised.

“Well, she told me that’s what other people are saying around your workplace,” Jordan says with an all-important nod. “Apparently they all think you’re too embarrassed to report it.”

“And where exactly does the mafia come into this story?” Nick asks as he finishes his coffee. “Was it the mafia that mugged me?”

“Close,” Jordan says with a sardonic grin, leaning closer. “They think that your neighbor, Mr. Gatsby, ordered a hit on you for blabbing on someone working for him within the mafia. Although Abby says that a few of the older gentlemen at the office believe it’s an underground prostitution ring.”

Nick raises an eyebrow and gives Jordan an incredulous look. This is even more absurd of a story than he was expecting. It sounds more like something he pre-drafted in high school than an actual surmation made by adults.

“I’m a rat? I ran my mouth to...to turn Gatsby in?”

Jordan smiles again, this time looking genuinely entertained, and nods.

“Yes, although, like I said, others think you were simply mugged and are too embarrassed to say anything about it.”

“Why would I be embarrassed about being mugged?” Nick asks, finding this entire situation to be uniquely bizarre in that special New York mayhem sort of fashion that he’s thoroughly fed up with.

Jordan laughs, actually laughs at Nick’s confusion, as if he’s joking.

“Welcome to New York City, Mr. Carraway,” she says through another chuckle, shoulders shuddering as she dabs at her eyes with a spare napkin. "Do you care for it here?"

Just as Nick is about to ask Jordan to clarify why being the victim of a crime is something to be ashamed of, Abigail Winston enters the diner, glancing around anxiously and clutching her hand bag to her chest. Long gone are her mousy, gray work clothes and modest blush, instead being replaced by vibrant blue eyeshadow and a skimpy dress that looks like something a back-door dancer would buy.

“Ah, that’s my girl,” Jordan says with a smile, hungry eyes raking up and down the other woman’s figure as she stands and excuses herself. “Have a nice night, Nick.”

“You, too,” Nick replies softly, his stomach sinking when his eyes land on Jordan’s shoes.

Daisy seems to have grown very fond of regifting, or perhaps Nick just hadn’t noticed this undesirable tendancy before.
------------------------------------------

Phone calls are a rarity for Nick’s residence.

His mother hasn’t bothered with him since he left three months ago, his colleagues never contacted him outside of work even when they were speaking to him, and Daisy has a habit of simply dropping by without calling ahead.

So when his phone rings around two in the morning on Saturday night, Nick is admittedly startled.

He considers letting it ring, as he’s tired. A long and awkward week of work combined with the insessant aching of his abused back and face has worn him down, but he can’t help but feel that a call this late must be important.

Nick can’t help but let his mind roam to morbid thoughts, such as something bad having had happened to Gatsby, Daisy, or his mother. Once he allows these dark thoughts to infiltrate his head, Nick finds that he can’t shake them.

So he hurries into his living room and answers.

“Hello?” He asks through a yawn.

“Hey, old sport, did I wake you up?”

Nick can’t help but smile, drifting as close to his window as the phone cord will permit him to and peering over at Gatsby’s mansion, which is dark and seemingly asleep like the rest of West Egg.

“No...well, yes, but it’s no problem,” Nick replies hastily with a shake of his head. “Can I help you, Gatsby?”

“Well….” Gatsby hesitates, the silence crackling over the line like electricity. “Are you doing alright, Nick?”

Nick quirks an eyebrow, not finding the question itself odd, but instead taking alarm at Gatsby’s nervous tone.

“Fine, and you?”

“Fine, fine,” Gatsby quickly dismisses. “Are you particularly tired?”

“No,” Nick lies, still gazing out his window at Gatsby’s mansion in a vain attempt to guess which part of the grand palace the prince is currently residing in.

Nick finds that this odd little game makes his and Gatsby's conversation feel distant and secretive, an odd sense of separation permeating the air despite the enigma that is Jay Gatsby being within walking distance.

“Well, if you aren’t too tired, and I mean it, don’t bother if I’m keeping you up, would you mind popping over?” Gatsby asks with a mellow air that would fool most but strikes Nick as forced.

“Sure,” he replies. “I’ll be there in a minute...but I have to warn you, my face isn’t exactly a pretty sight at the moment.”

“Yes, last night at my party I was informed by someone who had spotted you that whatever strike I had ordered on you had been successfully carried out,” Gatsby says, the nervous smile audible in his voice. “I would like to see the damage done.”

Nick smiles, although he’s still ashamed by his appearance. If he’d actually been mugged, as some of the rumors tell it, he wouldn’t be so embarrassed, but stumbling around while drunk?

“I’ll see you in a moment and you can assess the damage for yourself,” Nick promises before hanging up.

As he slips on a proper shirt, Nick’s fingers graze over his swollen and distorted nose before running down to press tentatively at his purple and gray left cheek.

A soreness blooms beneath his fingertips like a flower.
-----------------------------------------

Gatsby waits for his much anticipated guest on the front balcony, a fat cigar caught between his lips and his hands stuffed inside of the pockets of his slacks.

His eyes light up when he sees Nick moving through the dark of the shadowy front gardens, but that look of excitement fades into one of worry once the other man steps into the light and reveals his battered face.

Gatsby doesn’t comment on it at first, instead waiting for Nick to say something, to comment on his own injuries and provide an explanation. However, when Nick says nothing, Gatsby decides to proceed with caution.

“You look like you got jumped, old sport,” he says softly, the worry etched onto his face seeping into his voice. “Are you doing alright?”

Nick manages a small smile and nods as he ascends the marble stairs leading to the balcony. “I’m fine, really, it looks worse than it feels, I assure you.”

Gatsby doesn’t look convinced, a ringlette of smoke sneaking past his lips and drifting apart in the starless night sky.

“Is that what happened, Nick?” He asks quietly, eyes filled with a seriousness that Nick could’ve never imagined seeing on a carefree spirit such as Jay Gatsby. “Were you mugged?”

Nick lets out a wheeze of a laugh and shakes his head as Gatsby reaches out to set a steady hand on his shoulder.

“No, no, I wasn’t mugged, Gatsby, I just had an accident, that’s all.”

“It happens to the best of us, old sport, even the most prudent and cautious of men,” Gatsby continues, ignoring Nick’s statement of denial. “When I first moved to New York I got jumped outside of the Heinrich laundromat, ended up with an empty wallet, a cracked rib, and a black eye. There’s no shame in-”

“What the hell is with New York and shaming victims?” Nick asks with another laugh, smiling in an easy, broad way that assuages Gatsby’s concern, so much so that he manages to laugh along.

“It’s just an intrinsic part of the life here, you have to fend for yourself, you know? We live in an individualistic age, old sport,” Gatsby says with a nod, smoke lazily drifting out of his nostrils. “Failure to fend for yourself is seen as a shameful thing.”

“I don’t really care for that mentality,” Nick remarks with a hint of distaste, watching the smoke from Gatsby’s cigar cloud the overhanging terrace.

Gatsby smiles, clearly amused. “I’m afraid that’s just how the world works, old sport. I’m fairly certain that people are inherently selfish, though it pains me to say it.”

Nick hums contemplatively in response, finding that such a cynical statement leaving the mouth of an idealistic dreamer like Gatsby is too sobering to be comfortable.

“Why don’t we go inside?” Gatsby offers, gently ushering Nick towards the front doors with a wide, cordial smile. “You ever been in my library, old sport? Because I’d love to show it to you. Daisy says that its the modern-day equivalent of the Library of Alexandria.”
----------------------------------

Nick finds that his night spent with Gatsby is immensely different than the night he spent with Tom and Myrtle a week prior.

Nick sustains no new injuries through drunken antics, nor does he get completely sloshed in the first place. Nick also feels as if his company is much more appreciated by Gatsby than it was by Tom and his mistress, as Nick doesn’t feel alone while at Gatsby’s side like he did that night while laying drunk on the Morningside Heights apartment floor.

Gatsby is just as attentive as always, gladly fulfilling the role of the gracious host. He all but glows as he shows Nick around the vast library, chock full of rows upon rows of bookshelves, all of them alphabetically organized.

“You a big reader, Gatsby?” Nick asks through an impressed whistle that echoes off of the walls as he wanders about the room, the mere size of it enough to overwhelm him.

Gatsby laughs in a quiet, embarrassed sort of way before poking his head around the corner of a nearby bookshelf to watch Nick trace the spines of several thick thesauruses.

“Not really, I must admit. They’re more for decoration than for practical use. How about you, do you read?”

“I used to,” Nick replies, grabbing a copy of The Last of the Mohicans and idly flipping through it. “I suppose I fell out of the habit after college.”

“You want any of them?” Gatsby offers, peering over Nick’s shoulder to watch page after page of critically acclaimed text flicker by in the blink of an eye. “All you have to do is ask, old sport, and any book in here is as good as yours.”

Nick, finding the offer very kind, flushes and shakes his head. Gatsby attempts to give gifts often, whether it be pure cash or a different commodity, almost as if rewarding people for keeping his company.

“I can’t, Gatsby-”

“It’s really nothing, old sport, look around you! How many goddamn books do you think I have in here? Easily over a thousand,” Gatsby exclaims with a smile, stretching his arms out to gesture about dramatically. “You know how many of these books I’ve actually read?”

“How many?”

“None!”

Nick finds this hard to believe at first, assuming that Gatsby must have gotten bored at least once during a lull in the day and opened up a book, but after a single glance at the sincere, goofy smile on Gatsby’s face, Nick suddenly isn’t so sure.

It’s hard to be skeptical with a dream as magnificent and enthralling as Jay Gatsby.

“Not a single one?” Nick asks in quiet disbelief, still staring at Gatsby in awe. “Never?”

Gatsby shakes his head, once again making a grandiose gesture to the stocked bookshelves around them.

“Not a single one ever, old sport.”

Nick glances around the vast library again, feeling like he’s back at Princeton...yet this library is so much more than that. It feels different, a mysterious air of abandonment and untold secrets coloring the room.

“What’s your favorite book?” Gatsby asks, face lit up like a lantern as he begins to pace down the grand aisle of shelves. “I can almost guarantee you that I have it here in my library. You much of a philosophy man? Is there an economics book you don’t already have in your own collection?”

Nick hurriedly follows his host down the aisle, shaking his head.

“Do you by chance have The Scarlet Letter by Nathaniel Hawthorne?”

“Of course!” Gatsby cries excitedly, whirling around on the spot and nearly knocking Nick over. “Hawthorne….Hawthorne…”

Nick watches Gatsby scan several of the shelves before finding the correct one, continuing his search from a crouched position on the floor.

“Ah, here it is!” Gatsby says with an impossibly bright smile, presenting the book to Nick with a delicate look of anticipation hidden beneath his mask of cool confidence.

Nick smiles, but doesn’t take Gatsby’s offering, shaking his head. “I want you to read it.”

Gatsby’s smile falters for a moment, a look of panicked confusion filling in the momentary gap.

“Hmm?”

“I want you to read it.”

Gatsby frowns ever so slightly, lowering his outstretched arm and scanning the cover of the book with critical eyes. He still looks confused, and he voices this confusion:

“Don’t you want it, old sport?”

“I want you to read it first,” Nick answers simply, unable to help but find Gatsby’s confusion endearing. He’s clearly been thrown for quite a loop, unable to fully grasp Nick’s request, a request that goes beyond that of material obtainment.

“You want me to read it?” He asks pointedly, eyebrows raised. “Wouldn’t you rather read it again?”

“No,” Nick says with another shake of his head, smiling to himself. “If you find yourself with any freetime, I want you to sit down and read a few pages. You might like it.”

Gatsby frowns again, but only briefly. He tucks the book under his arm and grins, traces of confusion still lingering in his eyes along with a spark of amusem*nt.

“Alright then, old sport, if I find myself with some time, I’ll take a look at it. You sure there isn’t a book in here you want for yourself?”

Nick politely shakes his head. “That’s a very kind offer-”

“Aw, c’mon, old sport, it’s the least I can do for you.”

“No, really, thank you but-”

Gatsby smiles and co*cks his head, clearly becoming frustrated but managing to conceal his emotions.

As much as Gatsby is foreign and bizarre to Nick, Nick is to Gatsby, and Gatsby is unsure how to respond to Nick’s dejection of his gratitude.

Should he take offense? Should he offer Nick something else, something more worthy of his companionship at such a late hour?

Perhaps a watch would be a more appropriate gift, Gatsby thinks, suddenly feeling as if he’s insulting his guest. Nick’s coveted company is worth more than a book Gatsby previously mentioned having no attachment to...

“If you don’t mind me asking, why did build yourself a library if you never read?” Nick asks, snapping Gatsby out of his head and back to the library.

“What’s that, old sport?”

“Why did you build yourself a library if you never read?” Nick asks again, quieter this time, as if he’s afraid that his question is disrespectful.

Gatsby opens his mouth to respond, but nothing comes out.

Why did he buy all of these books?

He supposes that he’d had Daisy in mind, as he remembers that he’d enjoyed daydreaming about showing it to her, envisioning her amazed, breathless expression as she gazed around at another one of his many monuments to her.

Is that why he assembled such an impressive, breathtaking library? To impress the woman of his dreams? To ensnare her in his charming trap in hopes of holding her captive?

“Do you like it?” Gatsby asks instinctively, lips curling into a small, desperate smile.

When he’d asked Daisy this same question three days ago, she’d been in a fit of exhilarated giggles as she gazed around the library with wide eyes.

It’s so beautiful, Jay! All of this is so beautiful! My God, my good God! How many books do you have in here?! You should have someone count them all!

Nick looks appreciative of it, too, but in a different way. Gatsby can’t quite find the right words to describe Nick’s quiet appreciation, but there’s something different about it that makes Gatsby feel strange.

There’s something about it that makes Gatsby feel secure.

“It’s lovely,” Nick answers, the sad air about him as he looks around at the marvelous room causing Gatsby great confusion.
----------------------------------

As the sun rises over the bay, Nick and Gatsby are both still awake, taking up residence in Gatsby’s study and filling the empty space between them with casual conversation.

“You ever been to California, old sport?” Gatsby asks, puffing through his fifth cigar of the night, his eyes bloodshot from lack of sleep but his body as lively and electric as ever.

“I’m afraid not,” Nick replies, his own cigar hanging from his mouth, the lit end burning orange and yellow. “Tell me about it, Gatsby.”

“Gladly,” Gatsby replies with a satisfied smile, hands folding neatly around around his left knee. “I was out there two times, the more recent trip being two years ago. While I was there, staying in a beach house in San Diego, I met the strangest, most brilliant fellow.”

Nick nods along, having had heard a similar version of this story before. That’s the thing about Gatsby’s stories that pull Nick in so completely; they always change.

Minor details are blurred like smudged pen ink or outright omitted if Gatsby so fancies it. Certain names are changed, while others are forgotten, and the sequence of events tends to become jumbled.

Nick doesn’t believe anything Gatsby tells him, as he’s no fool, but Nick wants to believe. He wants to believe in the crazy dream world that Gatsby resides in, wants to have faith in the American dream that Gatsby is living proof of.

So Nick eagerly listens to Gatsby’s stories, occasionally being drawn to the edge of his seat before being gently pulled back as the wild tale concludes, always in Gatsby’s victory.

It all resonates strongly with the stories Nick recalls the governess reading to him when he was a child, except the dragons have been recast as greedy, corrupt men in trench coats, the damsel in distress as Daisy, and the knight as the ever daring Gatsby.

Nick finds he likes this fantasy world of Gatsby’s and, more so than ever, he can see the appeal in taking up permanent residence within it and all of its beautiful falsehoods.

“You need to see the west coast someday, Nick,” Gatsby concludes with a nostalgic, far-away look in his eyes. “Perhaps that Jones fellow is still there in his hut.”

“Perhaps,” Nick agrees with a nod, inhaling a mouthful of smoke as his nose starts to ache again like it does every morning, six on the dot.

“You know, old sport…” Gatsby drawls quietly, the distant look in his eyes turning to one of horrible sullenness. “I’m sorry for keeping you for so long.”

Nick is admittedly taken aback. Mere moments ago Gatsby was animatedly telling stories and soaking in Nick’s attention like an eager child. Now he looks ashamed and small, the smoke of his cigar clouding his face.

“You didn’t keep me, I stayed,” Nick protests with what he hopes is a reassuring smile. “Really, Gatsby, I enjoy our time together.”

Gatsby doesn’t reply, but he manages to smile in return.

“I enjoy our time together, too, old sport. You’re really the only person I feel that I can talk to these days.”

Nick has a feeling that this statement isn’t entirely true, as he’s seen Daisy’s chauffeur drop her off at Gatsby’s front gates at least five times within the last week, but he’s touched nonetheless.

“I hate to be sticking my nose in your business, old sport,” Gatsby starts slowly, nibbling at the end of of his cigar as a look of anxiety washes of his face. “But I can’t shake this feeling that you aren’t being truthful with me.”

“I beg your pardon?” Nick asks, caught off guard and slightly alarmed, unsure of what he’s being politely accused of.

“Well, your face, old sport,” Gatsby mumbles worriedly. “I know you said you didn’t get jumped-”

“I didn’t.”

“-but you obviously got roughed up pretty bad, Nick. Now, I know that men are hesitant to talk about….unpleasant occurrences that they believe make them look weak, but I assure you, Nick, there’s nothing weak about you because-”

“I wasn’t jumped, Gatsby, I...I fell. I was drunk and I fell….a few times,” Nick admits shamefully with a shake of his head.

Gatsby looks mildly surprised by this revelation, lips pursing into an ‘o’ as he blinks. However, he catches himself quickly, taking a drag from his cigar and nodding in an understanding way that makes Nick feel even worse.

“I thought you didn’t drink often, old sport,” he admits nonchalantly.

“I usually don’t, I was with Tom Buchanan-”

“I would drink, too, if I had to spend time with that bastard,” Gatsby remarks coldly with a look of hostility.

“Well, Tom was drinking, and the evening was horribly awkward and uncomfortable, so I started drinking, too. The next thing I knew, I was plastered, and I couldn’t function very well,” Nick continues, gazing down at his cigar to avoid eye contact.

“Didn’t Tom at least have the decency to keep an eye on you, old sport?”

“Well, he was drunk, too, Gatsby, and we weren’t alone, he had his mistress there-”

“Ah, yes, Daisy has told me all about the mistress. I have to ask, who is she?”

“Myrtle Wilson, she’s the wife of a mechanic in the Valley of Ashes. She was with us, and she was drunk, too. We were all drunk in their apartment in New York City, and I wanted to leave. In my haste I fell over the coffee table and into the front door.”

“Sounds like it hurt,” Gatsby says sympathetically with a frown. “I’m sorry to hear that, old sport.”

Nick shrugs it off. “I just don’t appreciate the outcome. All of my colleagues have been avoiding me like the plague. You would think I killed someone, Gatsby, none of them will even look at me. It’s just like…”

“Just like what?” Gatsby prompts curiously, an odd sparkle in his eyes.

“Well, back home I was engaged, believe it or not,” Nick says with a disbelieving snort of his own. “She was the daughter of a family friend, my mother and her mother arranged the entire thing.”

“You didn’t go through with it,” Gatsby states knowingly.

“No, I didn’t,” Nick affirms with a shake of his head. “I broke it off a week before the wedding was to happen, and everyone hated me, Gatsby. The girl’s family sent me a handful of nasty letters, my aunts and uncles openly chastised me, and my mother wouldn’t even look at me.”

“No one should be forced to marry anyone they don’t want to,” Gatsby says with a firm nod, stubbing his cigar out on his ashtray. “Traditions be damned, Nick, I don't think that's the way the world ought to work.”

Nick smiles to himself, feeling slightly comforted by Gatsby’s support. “Well….my family sure as hell didn’t feel that way. That’s part of the reason I left. But all the cold shoulders I’ve been getting lately reminds me of my family, and I suppose it makes me a little homesick.”

“Homesick for what, exactly, old sport?” Gatsby asks. “You’re a logical man, Nick, you don’t really think-”

“No, I don’t really think they’d all forgive me if I went back, but I wish they would.”

Gatsby sighs softly and nods. “Your coworkers will all be back once you heal up, Nick, I promise you. Something I’ve learned about the upper class is that they’re fickle, real damn fickle. Once you’re...palatable again they’ll come back.”

“I figured as much,” Nick replies with a dull shrug. “I just wish that New York was different. I wish it was what’d I’d wanted it to be.”

Gatsby looks pained by this statement, as if it resonates with him too strongly to be comfortable.

“Nothing is what you want it to be, old sport. That’s just life. Say, would you care for some breakfast? My chefs should be here any minute.”
---------------------------------------------

Nick finds that Gatsby’s prediction is correct; once his face starts to heal, his bruises fading and his nose gradually straightening itself out, his coworkers come around again.

He gets invited out to lunches again, only to sit there and listen to meaningless arguments over yachts, raises, and self importance.

He gets invited out to dinners again, only to witness various bizarre and pointless pissing contests.

He has people approach him in the breakroom again, only to be used as an excuse to boast about nothing of importance.

Nick's re-integration into the social scene of his workplace is drastically expedited as new rumours unrelated to him begin to take form, swirling around the office like a swarm of angry hornets.

One of the younger secretaries, Belinda Hatcher, is supposedly pregnant out of wedlock. As she moves about the office in a cloud of shame and humiliation, eyes swivel around to stare at her slightly swollen midsection.

“Women are all whor*s when it comes down to it,” One of the bond men says with distaste at lunch, his recent divorce still clearly weighing heavily on his mind.

“I wouldn’t go that far, but I will admit that there are more and more of them running around like hussies these days,” another bond man drawls through a sip of his iced tea. “I wouldn’t let my wife wear any of those new skirts I see in the shop windows.”

“Neither would I,” the stout and womanizing accountant agrees. “I haven’t the faintest idea why Wilson gave them the vote. They can’t even decide when it’s appropriate to keep their legs together.”

Nick finds the entire conversation disgusting. He has a rather witty comment about some men not knowing when it's appropriate to keep their pants up on the tip of his tongue, but he refrains from sharing.

He knows it wouldn’t change anything.

Instead, on his way back to the office, Nick stops by the florist and picks up a bouquet of pale, pink lilies wrapped up in delicate crepe paper. He carries them under his to avoid attention, and makes his way to the secretaries’ floor in the building.

He finds the desk of the troubled and recently-abandoned Belinda Hatcher and leaves the flowers laying behind her name plate before sneaking away.

Nick knows that she needs a lifeline, no matter how flimsy.
--------------------------------------------

Gatsby’s midnight calls to Nick’s house slowly but surely become a more and more frequent occurrence.

Gatsby is lonesome, that much is blatantly obvious, but Nick can’t help but feel that the other man’s sense of loneliness is becoming more and more crushing.

The calls, as they increase in number, also seem to increase in desperation.

“Do you mind coming over, old sport? If you’re tired, well, if you’re tired don’t bother, but...I would like to see you.”

“Old sport, did I wake you up? My apologies if I did, but would you mind keeping my company for a little bit?”

“Hey, Nick, do you think you could swing over here for a little while? Just for a few hours?”

“Nick, I need you to come over, just for a little bit, just until I fall asleep….please.”

Nick doesn’t comment on Gatsby’s worsening state, although he’s worried by it. Something must not be going accordingly with Daisy, something must not be the way Gatsby had dreamt it would be.

When Nick and Gatsby spend the night together, they don’t sleep.

No matter how tired Nick becomes, Gatsby makes it a point to keep him awake and moving. The two of them traverse from room to room, faster and faster the drowsier and drowsier Nick becomes. They talk and talk, wandering through the library, through the gardens, through the kitchen, and through the sunroom.

Gatsby babbles all night long, telling wild, fantastical stories and encouraging Nick to do the same. The bold, untouchable air of Jay Gatsby always wears thin around morning, as the sunlight begins to stream in through stained glass windows, and Nick always feels helpless.

Gatsby always asks Nick if he likes the mansion, asks him if it’s really as wonderful as Daisy claims it to be.

“It’s lovely, Gatsby,” Nick replies automatically, unable to help but feel desperate himself, close to shameful tears at times.

Gatsby is falling apart, something’s eating at him, and Nick can’t help but wonder if it’s partially his fault. After all, he was the one who brought Daisy to Gatsby’s front stoop, all but wrapped up in a bow….

Did Nick help destroy his fantasy?

Did Nick help destroy him?

“Tell me, old sport, what do you think of the silverware?” Gatsby asks one morning over a sleepy breakfast. “It’s all real silver, imported from Turkey.”

“It’s beautiful, Gatsby,” Nick replies, rubbing at his tired eyes as they begin to water. “Really.”

Gatsby frowns down at his plate, looking troubled. “Say, old sport,” he mumbles bashfully, fidgeting with the napkin in his lap. “Do you think you can quit calling me Gatsby?”

“Hmm?” Nick asks through a loud yawn, just barely covered through a forced cough.

“Well, it’s just….friends don’t usually call each other by their surnames, do they?” Gatsby asks anxiously, forgetting to hide his more turbulent emotions in front of Nick for the fifth time that night. “I call you by your first name and by nicknames...could you just call me Jay?”

Nick nods, mumbling the new name to himself under his breath. It sounds foreign, like the name of a stranger he’s never laid eyes on before.

“It might take me some time to adjust,” he admits with an apologetic glance at his restless, tense host. "But I'll try."

Gatsby grins shakily and nods. “Of course, of course...thanks, Nick.”

“Of course, Gat-....Jay.”

Gatsby smiles again, bright and sure, the way he had smiled when Nick first met him and they were both on top of the world.

Chapter 3

Chapter Text

The final, agonizing heat wave of the summer rolls through New York like a tidal wave, swallowing the entire city.

The bond office is not immune to this influx in temperature, and it becomes a sweltering pit of perspiring bodies and discarded jackets, even with all of the windows and doors propped open.

Such a muggy and uncomfortable environment spoils people’s already lukewarm temperaments, causing tensions to run high and several flighty arguments to break out sporadically throughout the work day.

“Keep your damn papers on your side of the table, Caraway!”

“Quit setting your jacket so close to me, Donovan! I mean it!”

“Where the hell is the damned water girl?! How much is Walters payin’ her lazy ass, anyway?!”

Work is more miserable than ever before, and if quitting didn’t require returning home to the Midwest, Nick is certain that he’d toss up his phone receiver and leave.

“I heard that it’s supposed to cool down in September,” one of the secretaries chirps in an upbeat tone that draws envious and hate-filled glares from the bondmen. “Can’t come soon enough, can it?”

“I’m afraid that it can’t,” Nick agrees softly, edging as close to the nearest open window as he can without throwing himself out of it.

The suffocating heat makes it hard to relax, hard to think, and hard to breathe.

By noon every day Nick finds that his dress shirt is stuck to his back like a second skin and that he’s dizzy with the heat, no matter how much water he drinks. The train rides home in the evenings are the worst, as all of the cars are like large tin ovens, baking the poor passengers alive.

Nick can’t recall another summer being quite so hot before. Twice during his walk to work he witnesses someone succumb to the heat, collapsing in the middle of the sidewalk.

“Sun stroke,” Jordan diagnoses knowingly after Nick details these encounters to her over lunch. “I’ve seen it out on the green before, people get overheated and drop like flies.”

“It’s too hot these days,” Nick mumbles, loosening his tie and holding his glass of water up to his temple. “I’m surprised we don’t all keel over.”

“I love weather like this,” Jordan replies contently, tipping the brim of her sun hat back to reveal her freckled face. “I wish it was like this all year round. I hate snow, ice, heavy coats, and being cold.”

“You should consider moving to Florida, then.”

“Florida doesn’t have the social scene that New York has,” Jordan says with a pointed glance towards the congested cross walk beyond the cafe’s balcony. “There’d be no one to talk to, and I haven’t heard of any women’s golf leagues south of the Mason-Dixon line.”

“You could start one,” Nick offers with a small smile. “You’re the trail blazer for women in athletics, after all, surely you could find a sponsor to help fund such an endevor...and you’d attract plenty of friends, what with being the face of the new league and all.”

Nick expects Jordan to brush away his suggestion with an uninterested flick of her wrist, the same way she dismisses all topics that bore her, but she actually looks intrigued.

It would appear that she’s seriously weighing Nick’s suggestion.

“Perhaps I’ll think about it,” she mumbles with a meditative hum. “Although, there is a certain charm to New York City that I would miss...”

Nick nods along, even though he has yet to understand this mystic New York City charm that he’s heard Daisy and several of his coworkers rave about time and time again.

“Speaking of charming things, have you seen your cousin lately, Nick?” Jordan asks, cutting into her slice of lemon meringue pie. “Her and Tom are having a dinner party this Saturday, and I was wondering if I’d see you there.”

“Daisy called and invited me last night, but I’m not sure if I’ll attend or not,” Nick admits, swiping his napkin across his sweat slick forehead.

“Why not?”

Nick doesn’t have a good excuse, not really. His reluctance to attend his cousin’s dinner party is caused by a co*cktail of circ*mstantial happenings, including Jay’s worsening mental state, his own feelings of disenchantment with life, and the unbearable heat.

However, Nick feels that it would be too difficult and too personal to share this with Jordan.

So he lies.

“I might be going on a date,” He says indifferently, the cogs in his head spinning and whirring as he scrambles to weave a believable tale of bland office romance.

“A date?” Jordan asks, seemingly astonished by this news, a little too astonished for Nick’s comfort.

“Yes, a date,” He reiterates with a nod, Jordan’s shock making him feel uneasy. “It’s nothing serious, just dinner and maybe a picture.”

“Who is she?”

“You don’t know her.”

“I might, Nick. I daresay that I know half of New York,” Jordan presses, eyes narrowed and fingertips dancing over her bottom lip.

She’s moved past shock to suspicion and is analyzing the scene before her, looking for a crack or chip to pry open. Nick isn’t sure why Jordan is so suspicious of him, isn't sure why she finds his alibi so unbelievable, but she’s clearly trying to catch him in a lie.

“I’d rather not say.”

“Why not? Are you taking up company with a woman of the night, Nick?” Jordan teases in a mock whisper, lips spreading into a small, amused smile.

“No, no, she’s not a sex worker, it’s just that I think she’d prefer I keep her private life quiet.”

Jordan’s smile becomes harder with confusion, but she doesn’t press any further.

Instead, she flicks her wrist, effectively ending their conversation, and turns her empty eyes to the shiny, polished automobiles speeding up and down the street.
-------------------------------------------

When Nick’s phone begins to ring on Thursday night, he assumes that it’s Jay.

This is a reasonable conclusion to come to, as Jay’s late night escapades of desperation and loneliness have escalated to a bi-weekly occurrence, and an invitation to these manic episodes is really the only social outing Nick embarks on.

However, Nick is surprised when he answers the phone to find that it’s not Jay on the other end, but Daisy.

“Hello, Nicky. How are you?”

“I’m well, and you?” Nick asks politely, seating himself in his worn out armchair and glancing over at Jay’s mansion, searching for a lit window or a silhouette.

“Oh, I’m fine. I’m always fine,” Daisy replies with a light, breezy laugh. “I was wondering if you’ll be coming to my little party tomorrow. I need to know whether or not to have the girls set you a place at the table.”

Nick hesitates to respond, the pang of guilt in his chest quarreling fiercely with the squirming sense of reluctance in his stomach.

He’d really rather not go.

An evening spent in the Buchanan’s miserably stuffy living room is unappealing enough as it is, but factor in Tom’s typical bigotry, Daisy’s marital and extramarital trinkets on display, and the suffocating heat wave and it becomes a living hell.

“I’m sorry, Daisy, but I don’t think that I can go,” Nick says awkwardly, feeling both guilty and relieved. “You see, I have other plans-”

“Oh, I see...Jordan mentioned something over brunch today about you possibly going on a date Friday night,” Daisy says, her disappointed frown translating over the line with perfect clarity.

“Ye-es, I am-...I do have a date on Friday night with a girl from the office.”

Daisy is silent for a moment, the uncomfortable gap filled by Pammy’s muffled crying and the clattering of utensils and plates being put away in the kitchen.

“I was really hoping to see you, Nicky,” Daisy finally says through a sigh. “You see, Tom and I...we’ve been having a rough go at things lately.”

“I’m awfully sorry to hear that. Are you alright?”

“Oh, yes, I’m fine, but...it would be nice to have other people around. I’ve been spending more time with Miss Baker, and I’ve gone out nearly every day this week. I saw a picture the other day and it was quite funny. It was about an odd little cat playing baseball.”

“Do you need to spend the weekend at my house?” Nick asks, feeling it necessary to offer shelter if Daisy is truly in need of escape. “You can sleep in my bed, I won’t mind putting the couch to use.”

“Oh no, Nicky, but thank you. It’s not the first time Tom and I have had….a little lovers quarrel. We both just need some time to blow off steam, that’s all.”

Nick can’t help but wonder, with a sense of dread, if this ‘little lovers quarrel’ has anything to do with Tom finding out about Daisy’s affair with Jay.

Usually Tom is heavily preoccupied with various activities, such as horseback riding, reading propaganda, playing tennis, and romancing Myrtle Wilson. Surely he hasn’t suddenly concerned himself with Daisy’s day-to-day whereabouts….has he?

“Well, if you’re sure you’re alright-” Nick begins to say apprehensively, only to be cut off by Daisy’s sudden epiphany:

“Why, Nicky, I should just throw a second dinner party on Saturday! You could come then, couldn’t you?”

Nick internally groans, as his plans of aversion have successfully been foiled. He can’t very well just make up another excuse, as he’d look like an inconsiderate flake…

“Why, yes, I can come to your second dinner party,” he says with forced enthusiasm. “I’ll see you then.”

“Yes, I’ll see you then and I want to hear all about this date!” Daisy says through an excited giggle. “I want to know this girl; where she works, what she looks like, the whole nine yards!”

Nick runs a hand over his face and winces, feeling as if he’s set up a rather sticky, uncomfortable trap for himself.

Of course, the one time he lies it comes back to bite him….
-----------------------------------

As the sun begins to set on Friday night, bathing West Egg in darkness and quiet, Jay’s house casts light and commotion across the island.

The orchestra in the ballroom quite literally rocks the house, causing the walls of Jay’s mansion to violently rattle and shake.

Party-goers drink liquor and dance, swirling around the vast lower levels of the mansion in several flurries of slurred pleasantries and drunken cat calls.

The fountains in the back gardens become a popular spot, as several people wade into them in an attempt to stave off the insufferable heat, carelessly tossing their shoes and jackets into the hydrangea bushes.

There’s an abundance of human activity and commotion filling Jay Gatsby’s mansion. Shouts and laughter carry through the air like a fairground melody, the melody of humanity, filling in any space left by the orchestra.

And yet, Jay is seemingly unsatisfied with the company that floods into his home in search of booze, music, and a roaring good time.

At least Nick assumes that Jay is unsatisfied, as he can’t imagine Jay would still request his company if the drunken guests filling up the house were enough.

“It’s very loud!” Nick yells over the commotion as the butler in the entranceway offers him a cigar. “I can barely hear myself think!”

“The parties here are always very loud, Mr. Carraway!” The butler replies with a cordial smile as he leads Nick up to Jay’s study. “Although, this one does seem louder than most, doesn’t it?!”

“Yes, it does! Do you reckon there are more people here tonight than usual?!”

“Perhaps! I won’t miss these obnoxious parties one bit, I can tell you that much with certainty! And I imagine as Mr. Gatsby’s neighbor that you won’t miss them too dearly yourself!” The butler yells with a hearty laugh and a shake of his head.

Nick quirks an eyebrow, mildly shocked. “You mean he’s done throwing parties?”

“I believe so, Mr. Carraway! He told the entire wait staff this morning that we won’t be working late on Friday nights for much longer, as he plans to discontinue throwing these big shindigs!”

Nick is surprised by this news, but only for a brief moment, as he can’t think of a single reason why Jay would continue to throw such extravagant parties.After all, the parties have always been nothing more than a means to try and capture Daisy’s heart, and Daisy was rather unimpressed with them, all in all.

They’ve outlived their purpose.

“Hey, old sport!” Jay greets with a little too much enthusiasm, his shaky smile making Nick’s stomach twist uncomfortably. “I’m glad to see you, come on in.”

Nick shoots the butler one last smile before entering Jay’s study, which is all out of sorts, several books and newspaper clippings scattered across the desktop, chairs, and floor.

“Did a twister blow through here, Jay?” Nick teases gently, eyeing up the mess with mixed amusem*nt and concern.

Jay laughs sheepishly, sweat damp hair hanging in his face. “No, I’ve just been, eh...you see, I’ve been going through some things…”

“Yes, I can see that,” Nick replies softly, settling himself down in a chair across from Jay’s desk, the muffled noise of the party below causing the floor to vibrate and hum beneath his feet.

“Were you offered a cigar, old sport?” Jay asks through a cough, fishing around in his desk, presumably for a cigar box. “I have some in here that were imported from France….”

“Yes, I was, but I’m alright, thank you.”

Jay shrugs, lighting himself a smoke with shaking hands. “Alright then, old sport, alright…sorry about the mess.”

Nick shakes his head, picking up several of the newspaper clippings at his feet and unfolding them atop of his lap. “The mess doesn’t bother me at all...but something is clearly bothering you. What’s on your mind, Jay?”

Jay takes a drag from his cigar and wilts down into a chair, fingers drumming restlessly off of the desktop.

Something heavy is clearly weighing on his mind and crushing him beneath it’s tremendous weight, but it would appear that Jay is unsure how to vocalize this trouble of his.

“Well, you see, old sport, I….I, eh….I’m…well...”

Nick waits as patiently as he can given his own anxiety and the nagging heat, watching as Jay repeatedly stumbles over his own tongue, trying his best to articulate.

“It’s….I-I think….I think it’s everything, Nick,” Jay finally manages to say, sounding confused and unsure of himself, the statement phrased more like a question. “My life, my entire life, is….you see, it’s falling apart on me, I’m afraid...and I don’t think I can salvage it.”

Nick is admittedly stunned, feeling as if his lungs have been punctured, his breath escaping him along with his ability to speak. His mind reels, trying to piece together what must have happened to bring Jay down to such a hopeless and forlorn state.

Did he finally spot one of his gifts to Daisy, given out of misguided but intense adoration, being sported by Jordan Baker?

Did Daisy express a desire to remain at Tom’s side in their comfortable and respectable marital bed?

“Well, I...I’m sorry,” Nick manages to mumble, heart sinking when Jay’s eyes dart down to analyze the label of the cigar box in order to avoid contact with Nick’s. “If there’s anything I can do-”

“You do too much for me already, old sport. I drag you out of bed at all hours of the night and keep you up by talking your goddamn ear off. And….and the thing that blows me away is that you always come...no matter what, you always come and let me talk you into the ground.”

Nick frowns worriedly, feeling uneasy and ill equipped to deal with this messiness. He’s always been relatively clumsy with delicate things such as glassware and emotions, and it would appear that Jay really can’t afford to be dropped at the moment.

“Jay, I...it’s really nothing. You’re my friend, and I would hope that if I ever….well, if I ever decided at three in the morning that I was lonesome and in need of company that you would do the same for me.”

Jay cracks a small smile, daring to make brief eye contact before shifting his gaze to the stub of his cigar.

“Of course I would,” he replies with a nod, a faint smile still on his lips. “I’d do whatever you needed me to, Nick.”

“Then stop being so damn critical of yourself, Jay,” Nick implores with a shake of his head, desperation edging his voice. “Now, let’s try and figure out what we should do here. My father always used to say that the best way to clear your head is with the help of some scotch.”

“You want a scotch, old sport?” Jay asks eagerly, clearly hoping to offer Nick something. “I’ll have someone fetch you a glass! I’ve got some of the finest scotch in my kitchen!”

“Don’t you want a glass, Jay?”

“Oh, I’m afraid I don’t indulge in drinking myself, but I’d be more than glad to serve you a glass!”

“Well, if you aren’t drinking-” Nick begins to protest, but Jay is already reaching for the phone set balanced precariously on the edge of the desk.

“Say, could one of you fellows in the kitchen fetch a glass of scotch for our guest and bring it up to the study?”

Nick feels awkward at the mere thought of drinking alone, as the consumption of alcohol is most definitely meant to be a social activity, but Jay looks so pleased with himself….Nick can’t possibly deny him this.

“Why don’t we tidy up in here, Jay?”

The rest of the night passes in a rather predictable and calm manner, despite the pulsating noise of the party below seeping into the study.

Nick collects all of the flimsy newspaper clippings from about the room and arranges them in a neat pile atop of the desk, glancing down at the snipped headlines as he goes:

Debutante Daisy Fay Spotted With Unnamed Beau at Kentucky Derby!

Debutante Daisy Fay Attends Golf Championship with Father in Florida!

Murdered Gangster Found in Brooklyn Possibly Had Ties to the Underworld of Illicit Alcohol Sales!

Kentucky Debutante Daisy Fay and Chicago Billionaire Tom Buchanan Marry!

Twister in North Dakota Wrecks Havoc; 15 Dead!

Nick wants to ask questions, as he has several buzzing around in his head.

All of the clippings about Daisy don’t surprise him in the least, as Nick had figured that Jay must have hounded after any source of Daisy’s whereabouts like a madman in order to track her down, but some of the other articles seem out of place and downright bizarre.

For example, Nick finds that the death notice for a North Dakotan woman named Jessabelle Gatz as well as the various articles about Eastern farmers losing their land to both natural disasters and government repossessions stick out like sore thumbs.

However, despite his numerous curiosities, Nick doesn’t dare ask, as he would hate to rock the boat after the waters have just calmed.

Jay seems to have finally found some sense of contentment, smiling softly to himself as he slips the newspaper clippings back into several thick photo albums. He continuously glances across the study at Nick, an oddly warm look in his eyes.

Nick is feeling rather mellow now himself, the two scotches in his empty stomach along with Jay’s relaxed state putting him at ease.

“The scotch is very good,” Nick says with a dopey grin when he catches Jay staring at him again. “Thank you.”

Jay shakes his head, a sudden flush coloring his cheeks as he looks away.

“Of course, old sport. Say….”

“Say what?” Nick asks, slightly embarrassed by how slow his speech is from the scotch.

“Well…how fond are you of your new house now that you've lived in it for awhile?”

Nick giggles into his glass, shaking his head. “What? You want to purchase the property to tear it down and build yourself a second pool, Mr. Gatsby?”

Jay manages a laugh, although it sounds more nervous than merry. “No, one pool is plenty for me. I was just wondering how much you enjoy living there. It’s rather small, isn’t it?”

Nick shrugs and gazes out the large windows at the front of the study, overlooking Jay’s crowded front drive.

“It’s a little small, I suppose, but plenty big for one man. I grew up in a much bigger house, but...I’m not that concerned about the size of my house, really.”

“No?”

“No. It’s not like I’ve got ten kids.”

Jay laughs again, still sounding rather nervous. “Ah, I see. Well, I was just thinking, you see, and I was wondering if you’d be interested in...ah, never mind! It’s a stupid idea,” Jay dismisses with a shake of his head and yet another uneasy chuckle.

“What’s a stupid idea?” Nick asks curiously, slumping down into a chair.

Jay looks downright embarrassed, face bright red. He coughs into his fist and digs around for yet another cigar to puff on before attempting to answer.

“Well, you see, I was just thinking that your house is so small and my house is so big, Nick, really much too big for one man...and, well, I’ve got so many extra rooms, so I was wondering if you’d...if you’d want to take up residence in one of them.”

Nick is beyond flattered, finding that he’s speechless yet again that night, unsure what to say as his heart swells and his lips quiver.

“Oh...Jesus, that’s...that’s a very kind offer, Jay, I’ve never…no one’s ever...”

Jay is once again brushing off his own suggestion through a series of rapid head shakes and humiliated splutters as he sucks on his cigar. “It’s a stupid idea, I oughtn’t make such stupid suggestions, really, old sport, I-”

“Well, it was a very kind suggestion, Jay,” Nick insists with a soft smile, his own face bright red with it. “I don’t think that I can accept, but-”

“But?”

“But I’m touched, really and truly. Thank you.”

Jay, still flushed and shaking ever so slightly, returns Nick’s smile with one of his own and a firm nod.

“Of course, Nick.”
------------------------------------------

The Buchanan’s living room is just as stifling and uncomfortable as Nick had imagined it would be, and the lack of any breeze flowing in through the open windows makes it all the more miserable.

“You look like you’ve gone swimming, Nick,” Jordan teases as she joins him on the sofa, a glass of iced tea in her hand. “Did you come across the bay instead of going around it?”

Nick laughs, despite being rather embarrassed by how sweat slick his hairline and under arms are after only a half an hour of sitting out in the heat.

“I went around, but you can’t tell. I didn’t expect so many people to be here tonight. Do you know any of the women keeping my cousin company over by the piano?”

Jordan shakes her head, the ice in her glass rattling. “No, but she said something earlier about having had invited some of her book club friends. The only one I’m familiar with is the tall Italian woman, I know the two of them often go shopping together.”

Nick nods, glancing around the living room to take inventory of all the guests again. He had been surprised upon his arrival when he was greeted by a living room full of unfamiliar women, all claiming to be dear friends of Daisy.

“It was worse last night,” Jordan says lowly with a wicked grin. “Tom had all of the men he plays pollo with over, and Daisy invited this shrill little woman who did nothing but shriek with laughter whenever someone so much as smiled.”

“Sounds like a lovely evening.”

Jordan snorts into her glass. “Yes, perfectly lovely. I considered drowning myself in the bay halfway through dinner, Nick, it was all so uncomfortable and awkward.”

“Daisy said that she and Tom weren’t getting along too well these days…” Nick mumbles quietly, as if afraid that Daisy or Tom could possibly hear him over the numerous conversations going on throughout the room.

“They aren’t. I’m not sure what happened, Daisy won’t tell me, but I can’t imagine it takes very much for a marriage between two unfaithful parties to become volatile.”

The word volatile stirs something unpleasant in the pit of Nick’s stomach, causing him to squirm ever so slightly and glance across the room at his cousin, as if he’s afraid she won’t still be there.

“So, now you know how my Friday night went,” Jordan continues, seemingly oblivious to Nick’s sudden discomfort. “How was your date?”

“Fine.”

“Daisy seemed very excited about it.”

“About what?” Nick asks, assuming that he must’ve missed something while he was busy staring at his cousin in concern.

“About you going on a date, Nick,” Jordan replies, smirking. “She went on and on about how picky you are with women.”

Nick shrugs as casually as he can, grabbing a glass of water off of a refreshment tray when one of the maids skirts close enough to him.

“I suppose I am a little picky.”

Jordan hums, side eyeing Nick with the same unnerving smirk on her lips. “Yes, that’s what Daisy said. She said that you never had a girlfriend in high school or college, despite several girls being very interested in you. She said it was because you found all of the girls to either be too flighty or too vain.”

“I don’t recall ever making such statements,” Nick says slowly, not sure if he should rebuff such claims or simply let them lie.

The way Jordan is silently analyzing him is unnerving, to say the least, and Nick has a bad feeling about the unwelcome direction that their conversation is taking.

“Daisy also said that you only had one real relationship, one with a family friend, Eliza Fredrickson.”

“Yes, she and I were-”

“Engaged. But you repeatedly postponed the wedding, pushing it back months at a time with the excuse that you felt that you didn’t know Eliza well yet and that you didn’t want to marry a girl you didn’t know.”

Nick feels cornered. He’s very aware of where this conversation is headed now, as he’d had a similar one with his mother before deciding to leave Minnesota. Jordan is beating around the bush, clearly hoping to extract a confession from him instead of saying it herself.

“Eliza is a wonderful person,” Nick mumbles, tongue feeling thick and heavy in his mouth. “We knew each other as children, we saw each other every Sunday afternoon while our mothers held bridge club. I always thought very highly of Eliza, she was always very kind to me, even given my….condition.”

Jordan’s smirk drops, her empty eyes filling with what Nick recognizes as pity.

“Condition?” She asks softly, uncharacteristically soft for a woman of her particular hardness. “Do you really view it as a condition, Nick?”

Feeling completely uncomfortable and hot, Nick wishes more than anything that he could end this conversation with the same authority and confidence that Jordan ends all conversations that disinterest her with.

But he can’t.

“No, I don’t, but other people-”

“You have to know that you’re in more than safe company with me,” Jordan interrupts, her smirk reappearing. “Really, Nick, you know I like women, don’t you?”

Nick can’t help but laugh quietly at the boldness that the usually subtle, snide, and secretive Jordan Baker is exhibiting like a fashion statement. Her smirk grows into a genuine smile, the first one Nick has ever seen on her lips.

“You know, Nick,” she whispers in a conspiratorial hush. “It would be fabulous if the two of us could just switch. It would make both of our lives so much simpler, wouldn’t it?”

Nick laughs again, louder this time, and nods in agreement.

Jordan continues to smile, eyes full of mirth and a deep sense of understanding that makes Nick momentarily forget his worries.
-------------------------------------------------

Nick attempts to leave the Buchanan’s dinner party at a reasonable hour.

After a grand three course meal full of inane and polite chit chat among the court of women and irritated grumbles from Tom, Nick quietly requests that one of the maids fetch his jacket for him.

He bids goodnight to Jordan, who has made herself rather comfortable with one of Daisy’s book club groupies. The two of them are tucked away in the reading room, whispering to one another and laughing over iced tea.

Nick then makes his way to the front door, only to be stopped by a clearly bored and restless Tom.

“Nick!” He cries, clapping a heavy hand down on his fleeing guest’s shoulder. “I haven’t spoken to you yet tonight. How are you?”

“Oh, I’m fine, just a little tired. I was actually just leaving-”

“You want a drink, Nick?” Tom asks, already steering Nick back into the house. “I’ve got some brandy if you want a glass.”

“No thank you, really, I’m just-”

“I need to talk to you, Nick,” Tom continues, voice firm and subtly forceful in a way that makes Nick feel as if he’s being lead into a jailhouse instead of a dining room. “You have a new woman? Daisy said something about you going out last night.”

“Yes, just a secretary from the bond office. I took her to dinner and a picture,” Nick replies, watching as the maids scurry to finish clearing the vast oak table, working even faster under Tom’s scornful eye.

“You bring her home?” Tom asks casually.

“No, it was late by the time the picture let out.”

“You know, now that I'm thinking about it, I doubt that taking her home would've have gotten her legs open, anyway. Not with that castle next door to your little house,” Tom dismisses with a grunt, moving to reseat himself at the table. “She’d have been knocking on that bastard’s door within minutes. What’s his name? We went to one of his shindigs weeks ago...Gaber?”

“Gatsby,” Nick answers, daring to take a seat next to Tom. He flinches when the Tom snaps his fingers, gruffly ordering a nearby servant girl to bring out the brandy and close the dining room doors to ensure that none of the other guests catch a whiff of any alcohol.

“That’s his name then. Well, I overhear Miss Baker and Daisy talking about him quite a lot these days,” Tom continues with a disapproving sniff. “Daisy says that his house is the goddamn palace that’s lit up like a Christmas tree every Friday night.”

Nick nods along, waiting for Tom to begin to reel, hissing and snapping fouly about Daisy leaving him for another man and his own dissatisfaction.

So he's not very surprised when Tom sniffs again and mumbles with disdain; “I wonder if he’s who my wife’s f*cking.”

“I beg your pardon?” Nick inquires, too tired, sweaty, and miserable to even bother feigning shock more genuine than a co*cked eyebrow. “You think Daisy is-”

“Oh I know she’s seeing men behind my back,” Tom replies, left hand curling into a fist as he glares daggers through the cabinet of china up against the wall. “I’m no idiot, Nick, but she...she thinks that I am.”

Nick finds that he’s nervous, not for himself, but for both his cousin and Jay. Tom has already correctly stated the true situation, although only in passing, bitter sarcasm. If he ever is to actually realize that it’s Jay….

“Why do you think that Dai-”

“I know her, I’m f*cking married to her!” Tom hisses lowly, face turning red and lips trembling. “She’s not a good liar, Nick, I know that she’s slipping away from me! I found a love bite on her collar bone a week ago, and she just batted her eyes and claimed that it was nothing! She said that my eyes were playing tricks on me! She thinks I’m nothing but a blind, batty old man!”

Nick once again finds his eyes instinctively wandering for Daisy, despite being all alone with a steaming mad Tom in the unbearably hot dining room. She needs to be safe, she needs to be careful…

“That’s not all, though,” Tom growls, leaning forward in his seat. “I came back from lunch early one day and found that she was gone, so-”

“She could’ve just been out to lunch, too.”

“No, no! She was not just out to lunch! I thought so, too, at first, Nick, she had me fooled until I came home from a tennis match early the following day, and she was gone again! So I made it a habit to come home an hour or so early-”

“Tom, this sounds like blatant paranoia.”

“Don’t interrupt me, Nick! She has you fooled, she has you bamboozled! She’s a tricky one, I really fell for quite a slippery woman, but I know what she’s been up to! She was gone every time I came home earlier than expected, so I asked the chauffeur where the hell he’d been taking her-”

“Tom, she’s allowed to have a life outside of the house!” Nick interrupts, feeling too bold and too frustrated to think clearly. “She was probably out to lunch or at her...her book club, for God’s sake!”

Tom frowns, blue blooded veins in his forehead bulging. “She was not, Nick, she was not! The chauffeur said that he’d been taking her over to see you for tea almost every other day, but I know that’s not the case! I know that she’s been seeing some man-”

“How do you know that she and I don’t have tea together every day?” Nick challenges angrily, clambering to his feet. “How do you know-”

“Because she went over there every other afternoon! The chauffeur says that she’d be at your house from one until four, and I know for a fact that you don’t get home from work until six! I know-”

“What do you know, Tom?” Nick asks just a tad too loudly to be considered polite. “What do you know about my cousin?”

Tom bangs his fist off of the table and growls. He draws his shoulders back and opens his mouth, clearly ready to yell until he’s blue, when a look of horrified confusion clouds his face.

His jowly mouth snaps shut, and he stares up at Nick in a dangerous mixture of disbelief and anger.

“What do you know, Nick?” He asks with a shake of his head and raised eyebrow. “You’re jumping to her defense here, claiming you’ve had tea with her while at work...what do you know that you’re not telling me?”

Nick doesn’t answer, brushing past the frazzled maid, a brandy in each of her hands, and exiting the dining room in a hurry.

On his way out, his head spinning and his hands shaking, he actively scouts out Daisy to go say goodbye.

“Oh, Nicky!” She gushes upon his approach, pausing in her animated conversation with a group of her friends to wrap him up in her arms. “I haven’t really talked to you yet tonight! How are you? Oh my, how was your date?! I want to hear all about it!”

“I’m actually afraid that I’m on my way out, Daisy,” Nick replies softly, managing to crack a small smile. “Why don’t you meet me for lunch sometime next week and we’ll talk all about it?”

Daisy smiles back at him, but she looks worried, briefly holding a cool hand up to his cheek.

“You’re warm, Nicky,” she whispers softly. “Are you feeling alright?”

“Yes, I’m just overheated and tired, so I’ll be going. Are…” Nick pauses, casting a wary look over at Daisy’s friends, who have all busied themselves in another conversation during her absence. “Are you sure you’re alright, Daisy?”

Daisy nods, smile widening. “Of course, I’m always fine! Thank you for coming tonight, I just wished I’d seen more of you!”

“Oh, it’s alright, you have more than enough guests to get around to.”

Daisy nods, looking around the crowded, stuffy living room with a fake, toothy smile that embodies the New York charm that had, until this very moment, confused Nick horribly.

“Yes, there’s always plenty of people, aren’t there?”
---------------------------------------

Given his fever from the heat and his broiling anger at Tom, Nick knows that he really should just end the miserable day by going to bed.

However, he finds that he’s too worked up to do so much as sit down for more than a few moments at a time, his mind racing away from him and back across the bay to Daisy.

He hopes that she knows what she’s doing, hopes that she’s an expert at handling the snarling beast that is Tom’s poor temperament.

Nick paces up and down the stairs, shaking with both anger and suppressed anxiety. Guilt gnaws away at him, as he knows that he's had a helping hand in this entire situation. He was the one to reunite Jay and Daisy, and he’s also played docile witness to Tom and Myrtle’s affair ….

Does unhappiness hang around him like an odor? Does the falsity of New York become of him all too well?

What about Jordan? Is Nick like her in more aspects than their ‘peculiar aversion of courtship’? Nick is aware that Jordan truly is a lovely woman beneath her hard, well polished exterior, but Nick is also aware that Jordan purposefully utilizes this exterior in order to thrive in the pits of New York City.

Is he the same?

Is he just as fake?

Nick suddenly wishes that he’d accepted Tom’s brandy, wishes that he’d downed both of the glasses and let his body hum with it. At least when he’s been drinking he floats, he floats like a goose feather atop of the murky pond instead of sinking into its depths.

In the midst of this existential crisis, Nick catches a glimpse of a lit room on the upper west side of Jay’s mansion. Nick pauses in his frenzied pacing to stare at it, the warm, yellow glow stretching out across the edge of his living room rug like the incoming tide.

The next thing he knows, without much thought at all, Nick is reaching for his phone, still staring up at the lit room in Jay’s house with bated breath.

“This is the residence of Mr. Jay Gatsby, to whom am I speaking?”

“Ah, yes, hello, this is Nick Carraway. Could I please speak with Jay?”
-------------------------------------------

Despite having had been inside of Nick’s home before, Jay acts as if he’s never seen it, gazing around at the chipped white paint on the walls and worn-in rugs as Nick leads him inside.

“Can I get you anything, Jay? I think I have tea and coffee in the kitchen,” Nick offers, voice cracking like static.

“Tea sounds great,” Jay answers with a smile, looking all too excited to be in Nick’s home. He walks around the perimeter of the living room, seemingly admiring all of the decorative plates and ceramic figurines displayed along the shelves mounted on the walls.

“Alright then,” Nick mumbles, moving into the kitchen to fetch the kettle and tea bags.

He fully expects Jay to settle himself down on the sofa and wait for his host to return, but when Nick turns around to light the gas stove top, he finds that Jay is right behind him, bouncing on the heels of his feet.

“I like the ceramic robins you have on those shelves in there,” he says conversationally. “Did you bring them with you from home?”’

“Yes, they were my father’s,” Nick replies with a nod, finding Jay’s lack of judgement towards his less than glamorous abode ever so slightly shocking.

Jay is all-in-all a very kind, generous, and non judgemental soul, but Nick had still assumed that someone who lives in a mansion only a few terraces short of a palace would find the under-furnished gardener’s house next door to be unimpressive and perhaps even ugly.

But Jay seems excited to be in Nick's home. He glows, almost as if he believes it a privilege to bear witness to the inside of Nick's humble abode.

“Are you feeling alright, old sport?”

“Hmm?”

Jay looks worried, no longer bouncing in place or smiling. “You look warm and...well, I assume, from personal experience, that a request for company so late into the night is because you have something weighing on your mind.”

Nick laughs, but it comes out sounding much more disheartened and tired than he intended for it to.

“I’m alright, just tired. I was at Daisy’s house tonight, she had a dinner party, and….well, Tom knows that she’s having an affair, Jay. He doesn’t know it’s you that she’s having an affair with, but...he knows that she’s been unfaithful.”

Jay looks confused, a slight laugh escaping his lips. “Well, of course he knows, Nick! He was bound to find out at one point or another, it’s not like she could just up and leave him with no explanation!”

Nick rubs at his throbbing temple, finding Jay’s optimism that borders delusional to be too much tonight.

How crushed will Jay be when Daisy never leaves Tom? Will he ever give up hope, or will he simply continue to follow her around the country with a heavy heart, full of a love that is far too complicated and problematic for Daisy to handle?

“This situation isn’t good, Jay,” Nick finally says, burying his face in his hands and shaking his head. “Honest to God, if I’d had any idea what I was setting into motion when I had Daisy over that afternoon…”

Jay looks both confused and hurt by this confession, leaning up against Nick’s cluttered counter with a frown.

“What are you getting at, old sport? You...you don’t think-”

“No, Jay, I don’t. I don’t think she’s going to leave Tom. And it’s not you, it’s not her, it’s….it’s just life. She has a life, an established existence, that doesn’t involve you. She has the big, fancy house, and the pandering wait staff, and the daughter she’s always wanted. She has it all set up, and it's comfortable, relatively safe, and familiar."

“She has a daughter?” Jay asks in a small voice, eyes widening to the size of dinner plates and blood draining from his face.

“Yes, two years old. She never-”

“No,” Jay mumbles, still looking thoroughly shocked.

Nick feels like quite the bringer of bad news, so much so that he once again wishes that he'd never agreed to have Daisy over that fateful afternoon. He wishes that could have avoided this mess and simply stayed out of it, simply prevented Jay from getting sucked into it...

“I’m sorry, I….I thought you knew.”

Jay shakes his head, watching the kettle so intently that one would think it capable of doing tricks.

“I don’t know her, Nick, not really. Not the way I thought I did. I’ve been...meeting Daisy lately, getting to know her, and she’s not the woman I remember from Louisville, not really. I can’t help but wonder if I ever knew her at all.”

Nick rubs at his temple again, wincing. He’s not calm or well enough himself to be a comforting presence tonight, and he has no idea what he should say.

He’s known from the beginning of this mess that Jay is in love with a figment of his imagination that just happened to embody itself in Daisy Fay. Perhaps Jay has woken up from the lovely reverie, perhaps he’s just beginning to stir, but either way, Nick knows that Jay has to give up on the dream himself.

There’s nothing Nick can possibly say to dissuade him, not unless Jay chooses to be dissuaded.

“She doesn’t know you either, Jay,” Nick mumbles with a shake of his head, moving the kettle from over the flame when it begins to scream. “She doesn’t even know herself, she’s...she’s whoever she wants to be and whoever other people want her to be. Some days I don’t even think I know her."

Jay is quiet, taking the cup of tea being offered to him with shaking hands. A contemplative look lingers in his eyes, but a complete look of shock clouds his face like a muddled fog.

“At this time last night, you and I were in my study, Nick. You and I picked up my study,” Jay whispers, sounding awed, like he’s just had an earth shattering epiphany.

“Yes, I remember,” Nick mumbles with a nod. “You had newspaper everywhere and I was drunk.”

Jay cracks a shaky half smile and nods. “Yes….and there was a party. Down below us, there was a party, a loud, splendid, beautiful party that I threw for a ghost. But you and I were in the study, and we were real.”

As vague and bewildering as this statement is, Nick understands it with burning, painful clarity. If he weren’t so tired and dehydrated, he might fall to his knees and weep, but instead he smiles.

“We were,” he replies, sipping his tea. “We still are, I think.”

“I want to be real when I’m with you, Nick,” Jay whispers into his cup, eyes dangerously glassy. “I...I have so much I need to tell you, I just don’t know how.”

Nick smiles again, weakly motioning to the living room. “We’ll figure it out like we did last night, and we can go as slow as we damn well please.”

Jay nods, but he doesn’t move to enter the living room right away. He stays propped up against the counter for a moment longer, eyeing up the cooling kettle in the sink, the steam coming off of it making the room humid and hazy.

“My mother had a metal tea kettle like that,” he says absently, fingers drumming off of the countertop anxiously. “She used it to heat up the wash water and to disinfect the well water.”

Nick nods, feeling as if the orphaned Oxford graduate from San Francisco who all but conquered France has begun to wither away, stripping Jay Gatsby of his usual armour.

He is, in a sense, naked.

Chapter 4

Chapter Text

Nick is fast to understand that Jay Gatsby isn’t a man, but a warm bodied phantom.

Aside from his current presence in Nick’s living room, there is no evidence to prove that Jay Gatsby actually exists. There are no public records in his name, not even so much as a birth certificate, which means that Jay seemingly washed up onto New York’s shores with no more than a pressed suit and a name to his face.

This ambiguity surrounding the elusive and notorious Jay Gatsby is well earned, Nick learns, as Jay has a nasty habit of fanning the fires of gossip that surround him.

“I was flattered when I learned there were people who thought I was someone brilliant,” Jay admits shamelessly, a nervous smile playing on his lips. “I adored that there were folks who thought I was capable of setting up fraudulent business endeavours and then cashing out. I’m not clever enough to do that, old sport, not really…”

Nick isn’t the least bit surprised by this confession, as he’s observed this poorly masked side of Jay’s before, the side that craves the attention and admiration of others.

However, Nick is admittedly a little stunned when it slowly but surely dawns on him that the entire elaborate creation of Jay Gatsby is due to this destitute, obsessive side of Jay’s.

Or, more precisely, the destitute, obsessive side of a young, impoverished farm boy from North Dakota with dreams too big for his body.

“I’m not a blueblood or even the son of a property owner,” Jay says softly, staring down at his lap. “My parents were dirt farmers, I was brought up in the heart of North Dakotan farm country…. My old man would still be in deep debt if I hadn’t stepped in and paid for everything once I had all of my ducks in a row.”

“You bought your parents’ farmland?” Nick asks in awe, his admiration evident.

“Not exactly,” Jay mumbles, still refusing to make eye contact. “I paid off my father’s debt and bought him a proper house out in Fargo. I still send him money every month so that he can live comfortably without having to break his back like he used to...”

Nick can’t help but smile, as it would appear that the rambleshack farm in North Dakota, despite being a world away from Jay’s New York palace, is still a very vivid memory and not at all dream-like for the great Gatsby.

Nick fiercely admires this.

However, despite Nick’s reverence, Jay still looks deeply uncomfortable. Nick isn’t certain whether or not Jay is ashamed of his less than affluent upbringing or of his intricate web of lies, but one thing Nick is certain of is that Jay’s life story, the true one devoid of rich kaisers and Oxford degrees, is much more emotionally charged than Nick had originally thought.

So many unanswered questions hang in the air, but Nick restrains himself from asking. He knows it’s best to let Jay lead the conversation and decide for himself what is and what isn’t too tender of a subject to brush over.

After all, it is Jay’s story, and Nick would hate to tell someone else’s story without being adequately informed. He hardly thinks that there’s a worse personal offense outside of physical harm and slander.

“I was young when I ran away,” Jay says hesitantly after a beat of silence. “I was sixteen. That’s fairly young, isn’t it, Nick?”

“Yes, it’s very young, Jay.”

Jay nods to himself, his usually sharp eyes dull and foggy as a gypsy’s crystal ball. He seems to be very far away at the moment, his mind back at the farm and well beyond Nick’s grasp.

“I considered going back….I thought….I thought I should turn back only a few days after leaving,” Jay whispers, seemingly talking more to himself than to his host. “But I didn’t go back.”

“What stopped you?”

Jay lapses back into an uneasy silence, sitting still and stiff as a statue for a moment or two before finally letting out a soft hum and finding his tongue again.

“I saw other small farms during the early leagues of my journey, farms a lot like the one I had run away from. One afternoon, I cut through one of these farms’ properties, walking straight into a corn field….it was a hot day, Nick, much more hot than this one. I was drenched in sweat, and it was harder to breathe once I was in the middle of the field.”

“What happened in the field?” Nick asks softly, unconsciously breaking his self-imposed rule of refraining from asking questions.

“There was a woman working in the corn field, I could hear the rustle of her moving along beside me, and I caught glimpses of her floral skirt through the stalks, but I couldn’t see her face. The two of us moved through the field together, and as we went I noticed that her breathing was becoming raspier and raspier. The deeper we went into the field, the harsher and quicker her breaths became, until it sounded like she was drowning, drowning above water….”

“Sun stroke. I’ve seen it out on the green before, people get overheated and drop like flies,” Jordan’s voice echoes in Nick’s ears.

“Eventually she was gasping for air,” Jay continues, his own breathing becoming ragged and laboured as his heartbeat quickens. “She wasn’t able to breathe, and….and I was about to cut through the stalks to check on her, but I was too late...she came falling through the stocks; her face was bright red, the same shade as the blood in my veins, and her eyes had rolled back into her head, she looked-”

Jay suddenly cuts himself off, wide eyes fixed on the floor as he covers his mouth with a shaking hand. He’s suddenly pale and ghost-like, nearly transparent.

Nick reaches out to gently grasp Jay’s knee and anchor him before he fades away into nothing.

“Was she dead?” Nick asks gently. “Is-is that what happened, Jay?”

“She was dead before her back hit the ground,” Jay chokes out as he squeezes his eyes shut, as if he looks he’ll see the woman splayed out on Nick’s living room floor, her lifeless face pointed toward the ceiling.

“You ran away from her,” Nick says quietly, watching as Jay’s stiff posture gives way to anxious leg bouncing and hand wringing. “You ran away as fast as you could.”

“I did,” Jay replies, voice a barely audible murmur. “I did, I did….my heart ran away over the horizon before my legs had even begun to move. The woman….I should’ve yelled for help, I should’ve searched the property for her family…..but I ran away from her.”

“You were frightened-” Nick attempts to console, only to have Jay brusquely cut him off with a jerky shake of his head.

“I was a coward,” Jay interrupts, wincing as if Nick’s pitiful tone causes him physical discomfort. “I should’ve….but I--I ran. I didn’t want to look, I didn’t want to see her and think of my mother.”

Nick is silent for a moment, unsure what he should say, or even if he should dare say anything at all. A moment like this seems too complex and fragile for a system of communication as simplistic and careless as speaking.

So Nick decides not to speak. Instead, he takes the empty tea cup from Jay’s quaking hands and sets it down on the coffee table before it ends up in shambles on the floor, mindful of keeping a soothing hand pressed gently against Jay’s forearm.

“Do you have any cigars, old sport?” Jay asks weakly, foot still thumping off of the floor and hands twitching restlessly in his lap. “I could really use a smoke.”
-------------------------------

As the sun peaks over the horizon, Jay and Nick sit in a sleepy silence on Nick’s front porch, cigars in hand.

Jay has been rather quiet since he told Nick about the woman in the corn field, and despite the curiosity gnawing at Nick’s sleep addled mind, he doesn’t have the heart to push Jay to share more.

“You must think I’m someone awful,” Jay mumbles softly, smoke drifting out from between his lips. “I wouldn’t blame you.”

“I most certainly do not think you’re someone awful, Jay,” Nick replies sternly. “If anything I think you’re someone….generous and...a tad mysterious.”

Jay smiles, glancing over at his companion. “Mysterious, eh? You know, old sport, when I was growing up, that’s exactly what I wanted to be. A mysterious enigma of a man, someone people talked about, someone they couldn’t quite decipher.”

“Everyone talks about you, you’re a completely different man depending on who I ask.”

“I’ve heard all the stories before, all whispers through the grapevine. I’m a kaiser’s nephew, I’m a mafia man, I’m a political pawn, I’m not even real according to some folks.”

“No, some people say that your property is a government run facility, a party house for New York’s elite,” Nick says with a nod. “I’ve heard that one before.”

Jay nods, a look of nostalgia washing over his features. “It’s strange, Nick, you dream of certain things as a child, but when those things become a reality, suddenly...suddenly you realize how blind you really were.”

“That’s how my father used to tell me the world worked,” Nick replies, finding himself in a rather nostalgic mood as well after mentioning his father. “If anyone knew the inner functionings of life it would be him.”

“I used to think my old man knew everything, too,” Jay mumbles. “He taught me the basics, you know? Taught me to read and write the best he could, I was too dumb to pick up on any of it particularly fast, but he was more than patient with me.”

“Have you ever invited him out to New York to see your property?” Nick asks as he takes a drag from his cigar.

“No,” Jay answers with a wince of shame. “I should, I just...it’s complicated, ever since I took off we’ve had a fair share of problems.”

“He’d be speechless, just at the front gates he’d be lost for words,” Nick muses as he glances over at Jay’s mansion, the rising sun casting a fiery glow onto each of the window panes.

Nick grew up in an upper-middle class family, meaning he’s been acquainted with a handful of the finer things in life, such as large charity banquets, pricy foreign liquors, and boarding schools. Yet despite the wealth Nick is familiar with, Jay’s lifestyle, the sheer amount of wealth he possesses and all of the luxuries that come along with it, are breathtaking to Nick.

Surely a dirt farmer accustomed to spending money on nothing but the necessities to survive would faint at the mere sight of Jay’s mansion.

“He would be impressed, he knows that I’ve made a name for myself, he knows I’ve got money, he just doesn’t know…” Jay trails off, slumping back in his lawn chair and staring out at the empty road ahead of him in silence.

“How much?”

“No, he has no idea.”

“I’m sure he’d be proud to see what you’ve made of yourself,” Nick assures his friend with a soft smile.

“I don’t think so. He’d have questions about where the money came from, Nick, and, well, I’m ashamed to admit it, but I lied to him.”

Nick raises a curious eyebrow. “What did you tell him?”

“I told him I had opened a chain of drug stores with a friend of mine, a business partner,” Jay explains nervously. “Which, I did do, but...you don’t make the money I have running a clean, honest business like that.”

Nick isn’t terribly surprised by this revelation. He’d figured at least some of Jay’s money was unclean, very few people become quite as wealthy as the Great Gatsby without help from bootleggers, the mafia, or certain crooked men in political office.

“So, I assume you’re laundering money then,” Nick says as delicately as he can, trying not to sound accusatory or judgemental.

Jay nods. “It wasn’t my idea, Nick, it was my business partner’s. I’ve been in over my head for a few months now, but I’m too invested, I can’t pull out at this point.”

“How in over your head are you, Jay?” Nick asks lowly, concern evident.

Jay sucks in a deep breath and shrugs passively. “Couldn’t really tell you, old sport, just know things have started spiraling out of hand. It’s not just me, though, the whole business is...well, once mafia men decide they want a cut, things get ugly for everyone. Bootlegging was risky when I first got involved, but not nearly this bad.”

“Bootlegging,” Nick mumbles, feeling slightly dull for not having had figured it out on his own.

“Well, all these big fish have decided they want bigger cuts, want more involvement, and my partner has...made some questionable deals as of late,” Jay admits, trying to sound casual despite the entire subject matter making his skin itch and burn like it’s aflame.

“How so?” Nick asks, only growing more and more worried as the conversation progresses.

“Well, liquor still makes good money, but he’s been making deals with some Chinese businessmen and he’s developed an interest in selling opium.”

“Opium,” Nick repeats quietly, letting this heavy piece of information sink in. “I thought importing opium was outlawed several years ago, when the addiction crisis started-”

“It was, but opium makes bookoo bucks, old sport,” Jay explains anxiously as he starts to bounce his left leg, a nervous tick Nick has come to recognize. “There are poor opium addicts, sure, but most of the opium market consists of a very peculiar buyer: rich women.”

“Oh,” Nick mumbles dumbly, a very unpleasant memory from his childhood threatening to re-emerge. “Yes, a second cousin of mine had...issues with opium. It was prescribed to her for menstrual cramps.”

Jay nods. “Women in upper class families were prescribed opium for practically everything back in the day is what I was told. Menstrual cramps, morning sickness, depression, you name it. When doctors offices stopped handing it out left and right because the government was getting a little antsy about the high demand for the stuff...well, people were left to find back door dealers.”

“I see,” Nick says slowly. “And the opium market-”

“It’s a riskier business. Not that booze was a walk in the park, but opium, well, I’ll just admit that the kitchen is getting a little too hot for me these days, Nick,” Jay explains quietly, still staring straight ahead at the road, refusing to make eye contact.

“What are you going to do?” Nick asks worriedly. “You said you can’t pull out?”

Jay shakes his head, looking morbid as a corpse. “I can’t, I have too much tied up in all of this. I told you the other night, old sport, my world is crumbling down around me, and I don’t believe there’s a damn thing I can do about any of it.”

Nick swallows the nervous knot that has been building up in his throat. “sh*t.”

“sh*t indeed,” Jay agrees glumly. “It’s all too much these days, really; my business is becoming a lion I can’t tame, I’m unbearably lonely when I’m not bothering you, and Daisy...well, I don’t know what else to say.”

“You don’t bother me, Jay, I mean it,” Nick insists with a concerned frown, rubbing at his temple as it begins to throb, the first warning sign of an oncoming tension headache. “If I help alleviate the weight on your chest, even just a little bit, well, I’m happy to help.”

Jay smiles sadly to himself, blinking back tears. “You know, I think you’re the only person who really sees me, Nick, and that’s honestly a little frightening.”

“I can only see what you show me,” Nick reminds Jay gently, trying to give his friend some sense of control when everything else in the world is so far beyond his grasp.
-------------------------------

“Hello, Mr. Carraway,” the maid greets through a strained smile, the sweat and vaseline on her lips glistening in the late summer sun. “Your cousin is still getting herself ready and requests that I seat you in the sun room with Mr. Buchanan.”

“Okay, thank you,” Nick mumbles, following the maid back through the hallway.

For almost a week Daisy has been badgering Nick to come pay her and Tom a visit.

Naturally, Nick held off joining them and their dysfunctional marriage for an awkward lunch date for as long as possible.

Nick is especially dreading having to spend time with Tom again, given that their last encounter was particularly unpleasant.

“Ah, look who it is,” Tom greets with a smile, cordial as ever. It would seem he has either forgotten (or chosen to ignore) the words between Nick and himself at the Buchanan’s last dinner party. “How are you, Nick?”

“Oh, same as usual,” Nick replies, managing to shake Tom’s hand without a dramatic recoil.

Nick is not nearly as good at feigning politeness and glossing over unresolved squabbles as his host.

“How’s the daily grind treating you?” Tom continues almost mechanically, as if he’s going through a list of necessary pleasantries.

“Also the same as usual, nothing new or special,” Nick says as he seats himself. “The office is a sweltering hell hole these days.”

“It has been hot indeed, although I do believe it’s starting to cool down, with summer winding down and all,” Tom mumbles, glancing toward the doorway as the click clacking of heels echoes down the hallway.

Nick is more than relieved by Daisy’s arrival.

“Oh, Nicky!” She gushes as if she hasn’t seen him in years. She rushes over to him so quickly she nearly trips and plants a kiss on his sweaty temple. “Thank you for coming! Can I have Maggie fetch you something to drink?”

“Water would be nice.”

“Of course, Mr. Carraway,” The maid says before scurrying away, leaving Nick, Tom, and Daisy to themselves.

Daisy sits herself in Nick’s lap and clings to him tightly. It’s almost as Nick is the only raft for her to grasp onto in a vast, dark ocean of marital woes, and Tom is a sneaky great white threatening to swallow her whole.

“Oh, I did say next time we got to spend time together we would discuss the fine lady who has captured your wandering eye,” Daisy teases gleefully, despite her death grip on her cousin’s shoulders.

“We did indeed,” Nick hums. He has prepared for this, as he knew Daisy would hound him about his fictitious love interest. It was almost a fun distraction for Nick to flesh out this character, just like writing a story.

“Well, what does she look like?” Daisy asks through a giggle. “What’s she like to be around? Is she good fun?”

“Of course she is, she’s wonderful fun to be around. A witty, clever conversationalist and a vivid story teller,” Nick replies easily. “Her name is Dorothy Gable, and as I believe I told you, I met her at the office.”

“A secretary, no doubt,” Tom drawls. “Is she a looker, Nick?”

“Of course she is, Tom!” Daisy gasps as if deeply offended. “I’m sure she’s stunning!”

“She’s as tall as Jordan, with longer legs and longer, darker hair. Her hair is a shade shy of black, as are her eyes,” Nick says, envisioning one of the many damsels in distress that bumbled through the pages of his childhood story books.

“She sounds lovely,” Daisy coes. “I’m so happy for you, Nicky, have you called or wrote home about her yet?”

“No, not yet. I’ve only taken her out a handful of times,” Nick replies cautiously.

He has no intention of ever writing home about Miss Dorothy Gable, as he plans to end this make-believe romance within the next week or so when Dorothy’s equally fictitious old flame shows up in New York.

A tragic ending that will buy Nick a few more years as a bachelor without question.

“It is wise to test drive the car before purchasing it,” Tom mumbles into his cigar. “Make sure it purrs the way you want it to.”

Daisy frowns, a hint of discomfort present in her tight smile, but this time she refrains from scolding her husband.

An awkward silence settles over the room, and Nick can’t help but wonder what exactly has transpired between Tom and Daisy since the dinner party.

Did Tom confront Daisy about her infidelity? Did Daisy confront Tom about his in return?

Oddly enough, as Nick ponders this, the phone begins to ring. Tom hums to himself before shuffling out of the room and down the hall to answer it.

“That’s his whor*,” Daisy mumbles, the strained smile falling from her lips, all the childish glee in her demeanor vanishing. “He’s been out and about with her much more lately...despite choking up on my leash, Nicky.”

“What’s he done to you?” Nick asks worriedly. “Do you need to stay with me awhile?”

Daisy shakes her head. “No, no, I’m fine here. Content as can be whenever he’s not around. You know, Nicky, I don’t even mind all that much that he sees that other girl. As long as he lets me run loose when I want, I don’t give a damn, but now he’s always calling the house when he’s out, asking the maids where I am, asking the chauffeur where he’s been driving me.”

“That’s not fair in the slightest.”

“Exactly,” Daisy mumbles sullenly. “Gatsby has been a drag, too, lately. I haven’t heard from him in a week now. You’re the only fun man in my life these days.”

“I’m sorry, Daisy.”

“Have you heard from Gatsby? Or at least seen him on his property?”

“I’ve seen him, but haven’t heard from him,” Nick lies, suddenly finding his cousin’s weight on his thigh to be uncomfortable. “He’s probably just occupied with work.”

“Work? His father was an Austrian billionaire, Nicky, what the hell would he need to work for?” Daisy asks bitterly.
-------------------------------

It’s a rainy and dreary Tuesday evening when Nick first witnesses the opium inspired violence Jay had feared.

As Nick boards the train to head home, two polished young men dressed to the nines push ahead of him, clearly in a hurry. Nick thinks nothing of it at first, as rude New York commuters aren’t an endangered species.The evening commute is particularly bad, as it's jam packed with people eager to get away from the office and head out to for food and entertainment.

However, as Nick takes a seat he notices the two men are still pushing through the crowd of people, heading toward the front of the car, passing by an entire row of empty seats.

These men don’t seem to be scouting out an empty seat, they seem to have tunnel vision on something else.

Two seconds later a deafeningly loud popping noise echoes throughout the train car, causing Nick’s ears to ring.

A nauseating chorus of horrified screams follow shortly afterward.

Nick blinks, confused and disoriented as several people within the car start to panic, some bolting toward the doors, others toward the source of panic in the front of the car.

“A doctor! A doctor! Is anyone here a doctor?!” A man near the front of the car yells frantically. “We need a doctor, he’s bleeding out!”

Nick slowly stands, unsure what to do with himself. The logical flight response embedded within his human instincts urges him to flee the train car, but the morbid curiosity also embedded deeply within him ever so gently pushes him toward the front of the car.

The crowd of remaining spectators huddles together, whispering and murmuring anxiously amongst themselves. Nick pushes gently through them until he reaches the front of the crowd, and the sight that greets him makes his blood run cold.

A young man lays sprawled on his back, glassy eyes fixed on the ceiling, unmoving. What looks like a rose in the center of his chest continues to blossom, blood seeping through his starched dress shirt and pooling around him on the floor.

Another man, presumably a doctor, kneels beside the dying man. The doctor hurriedly unbuttons his shirt, balls it up, and holds it down onto the wound. He presses two fingers to the young man’s neck, feeling for a pulse.

“Did you see what happened?” The man to Nick’s right asks meekly. “Was he shot?”

“Of course he was shot,” Another man answers tersely. “Two bastards shoved their way up here. One of ‘em pulled a gun, that was it.”

“I...I think that poor man knew who shot him,” A woman behind Nick whispers to her friend. “He looked scared when he saw those two mobsters pushing their way onto the car…he was trying to make his way to the doors up ahead.”

“I’ll say, all these big cities belong to the devil,” Another woman behind Nick mumbles grimly. “May God have mercy on us.”

The doctor shakes his head solemnly, removing his shirt from the young man’s wound and instead laying it gently over his still face.

“Someone needs to call the police,” the doctor mutters, staring down at his blood coated hands. “Has-has anyone gone to find a phone booth and ring up the station?”

Everyone in the car takes a moment to respond, the shock of the situation still novel and surreal.

Not everyone is able to quickly come to terms with the fact that they have just witnessed a homicide.

“I’ll go phone the police,” Nick offers quietly, his lips almost moving on their own accord.

His legs move mechanically as well, carrying him out of the car and down the bustling sidewalk, all the while Nick’s head thrums with radio static.

Nick manages his first coherent thought after he calls the police and what pops into his head disturbs Nick almost as much as the sight of the dead man on the train.

Nick can’t help but picture Jay laying in a pool of his own blood on the train floor, riddled with bullet holes, dark eyes fixated on the sky.
-------------------------------

“I need to talk to you, Jay.”

Nick doesn’t mean to sound so terminally serious, but the thought of Jay being publicly assassinated has his heart in his stomach and his stomach in his throat.

“Of course, old sport, come on over,” Jay replies, his usual gregarious tone ever so slightly dampened by the worry in Nick’s voice. “You sound like you need a cigar, I’ll have ‘em and some scotch ready for you.”

Nick rushes over to Jay’s vast gardens after hanging up, almost too upset and preoccupied with thoughts of doom to take notice of how many weeds have accumulated among the dahlias and carnations.

He’s almost too upset to be surprised when Jay greets him at the door instead of a butler.

“You look all out of sorts, Nick,” Jay says with concern, gently grabbing Nick by the arm and leading him inside. “What’s weighing you down tonight?”

“Jay, I...well, I’m very worried about you, I have been ever since you told me about the sort of business you're in, but tonight on my way home I saw this man get shot. No scuffle, no fight, these two men just hopped on the train and shot him dead, Jay. It was clearly a hit of some sort, and-”

“Shot in front of everyone on the train?” Jay asks, looking terribly shocked, voice barely above a whisper. “They just shot him in front of everyone?”

“Yes, just shot the poor man in the middle of the train car!”

Jay pales, biting down on the inside of his cheek. His foot begins tap-tap-tapping away on the dusty marble floor and Nick knows that the great Gatsby is terrified.

“I need to make a few calls, Nick, it’ll only take an hour or so,” Jay finally says after a few beats of silence. “C-can I seat you somewhere for a while? I’ll leave you with some cigars and scotch and cheese and I’ll join you when I’m done, alright?”

“Alright, Jay,” Nick agrees, allowing Jay to escort him down the vast hallway, his legs moving mechanically yet again.
-------------------------------

Nick spends what feels like a millennium alone in Jay’s library.

He makes himself at home at one of the many cherry wood desks nestled up against the wall, sipping his way slowly but surely through the entire bottle of scotch and flipping through an immaculately kept copy of Romeo and Juliet.

Jay has always seemed like a competent fellow, someone who knows his stuff or, at the very least, fakes it until he makes it. Nick hopes that, perhaps, this situation won’t touch the witty Jay Gatsby, who always seems one step ahead of everyone.

Nick also entertains the even more delusional fantasy that perhaps the incident on the train had nothing to do with the underground world of alcohol and drugs.

Maybe it was a hit on a man having an affair with a very important (and very dangerous) man’s wife.

Maybe it was a random act of violence, and the two perpetrators picked out the victim at random and followed him onto the train.

Maybe the man was a predator of sorts, and the victim’s family took the law into their own hands.

Maybe Jay is safe, maybe this shooting happened outside of his little empire.

Nick dearly hopes so, anxiously downing his fourth glass of scotch, the burn in his throat and chest momentarily providing him with some relief.

Nick’s always been prone to anxiety, prone to bouts of doubt and moodiness. The world and existing in it properly has always been a conundrum to him. Fascinated yet scared, eager to belong yet appalled by the masses, Nick has never been comfortable, but he’s always been quite the keen observer and very talented at analyzing a situation from all angles.

And this situation should be no different, yet Nick finds himself nauseated at the mere notion that Jay could possibly be in harm’s way. Nick is usually able to compartmentalize fairly well, is able to separate logic from emotion, but this time he’s struggling.

This time Nick finds himself overly emotional and shaken, and no matter how much he attempts to smother this anxiety with alcohol, he still finds himself distraught.

The creaking of the heavy library door from the opposite side of the room startles Nick.

“Hey, old sport,” Jay greets, false enthusiasm falling short. “I just got off the phone, and….well, if you don’t mind me talking I would really appreciate having someone here to listen.”

“Of course,” Nick says with a nod, finding it hard in his drunken stupor to focus his eyes on Jay as he seats himself on the desktop.

Jay smiles weakly, left leg bouncing and hands wringing in his lap. “Well, my business partner...he ordered that hit actually. Small world, huh?”

Nick narrows his eyes, finding it incredibly awkward and difficult to imagine Jay brushing elbows with hitmen and murderous mob bosses. “Ooo-kay, so….what does that mean for you?”

“Well, ‘spose nothing, Nick, at least...not yet. The guy they shot, um, well, I was acquainted with him. Younger fellow like me, just got his foot in the door of the business, just started making money. My partner didn’t really...he didn’t exactly tell me why he got rid of this guy, but apparently he did something he wasn’t supposed to do. And...he wasn’t the only guy who was killed tonight.”

“What?” Nick asks, bewildered. Someone else? Someone else had their life taken by Jay’s business partner? “Jay, what kind of man-”

“Listen, Nick, he’s not...he’s a business man, nothing else. He’s always been that way. He thinks about what’s best for the business, what’ll rake in more dough, that’s it. As far as a moral compass, well, he’s never showed any particular symptom of possessing one.”

“Doesn’t that scare the living sh*t out of you, Jay? Knowing he could just turn around and-”

“That’s what I signed up for,” Jay interrupts solemnly, eyes downcast, cheeks flushed in shame. “That’s how bootlegging works, Nick. The mob says that they’re your family, but if you cross the patriarch, or mouth off to the wrong favorite son, your head rolls. It’s always been that way.”

“What the hell, Jay?!”

Nick can’t help himself, this whole situation is just too overwhelming, too upsetting. Why would Jay risk his own life like this? Surely almost all of his wealth has been accumulated through bootlegging, but at what cost?

Jay must spend most of his nights looking over his shoulder given what sort of people he associates himself with, and what does this all say about Jay’s character? What does it take to turn a blind eye to murder? It’s one thing to profit off an illegal substance, that doesn’t bother Nick, but the assassinations?

“Nick, please just listen to me,” Jay pleads, sliding off the desktop and onto his knees. “Please, please just listen, you’re the only person who listens to me, please? I need you to listen to me. I know how awful this looks, I know that I must look like some sort of villain, but please-”

“Jay, I have to ask,” Nick feels stomach bile rising in his throat, the question burning up his esophagus. “Have you...have you killed anyone?”

Jay’s face goes blank momentarily, as if this question has either deeply shocked or deeply confused him.

“Killed anyone?” He whispers, already shaking his head. “No, no, no. I haven’t, never, Nick. Professional hitmen do the dirty work. Occasionally the guys up top test people though, tell them to take someone disposable out. I was never asked to do that, and...had they asked me I’d probably be dead, laying at the bottom of the ocean, because I could never do that, Nick, I just couldn’t.”

Jay looks like he’s on the verge of tears, and Nick almost feels guilty for asking, but he had to know. He finds Jay lovely, admirable, and he had to know for sure that this creature he so admires wasn’t a cold blooded killer.

“I’m sorry, Jay, I just-”

“I know, I know, you had to know,” Jay mumbles, still on his knees, eyes downcast yet again. “I haven’t, I never will, I could never.”

“I believe you, Jay,” Nick mumbles, finding himself on the verge of tears as well. “I’m sorry, I just had to know. I should have known, though, I really ought to have known, and I’m so sorry, Jay.”

“No, no, I’m not upset, please just listen to me, Nick, please?”

“Of course, Jay?”

“The man on the train, my business partner wouldn’t tell me why he was killed, which makes me think it was a test. Those two men who hunted him down, they were probably newer to the scene and my boss wanted their loyalty and their grits tested.”

Nick shudders, finding it hard to believe someone found that young man on the train disposable as tissue paper, garbage ready to be tossed.

“The other man who died tonight, you’ll probably see that in the paper, too...when they find the body. He was someone who’d been around longer, and I guess he wanted out. The opium scared him off, and….no one leaves, Nick. My business partner, his name is Meyer Wolfsheim, and he runs one of the most efficient and bloody rings in New York, but he’s got footholds in Chicago, Miami, and Philadelphia, too. He’s even got some money coming in from France, Japan, and Brazil.”

“How did he-”

“I have no idea, he’s been around much longer than almost anyone else in the business. I don’t even know where he’s from, Nick, some people think he’s European, I’m not sure. He has no accent besides a New York one.”

Nick takes a minute to digest everything Jay has just presented him with, finding that the alcohol has severely slowed his train of thought to a pleasant crawl.

“We-ell,” He finally slurs after a moment, blinking heavily. “How do you feel about all of this, Jay? Because, frankly, it terrifies me.”

“It terrifies me, too,” Jay admits quietly. “I’ve never liked the killing, Nick. I’m no fool, I knew this business was full of some risky characters, but….I still remember when I first saw it with my own eyes….I was only twenty and had just arrived in New York. Wolfsheim impressed me as a young man, he was wealthy, and he beat all the odds, Nick. So many people have this thing against Jews, I’ll never understand it, but so many people hate them, and Wolfsheim didn’t care. He climbed through the ranks and was on top of the New York empire.”

“You admire the underdogs,” Nick observes aloud. “You can empathize with them.”

“Of course I can,” Jay agrees, smiling sadly as tears spring into his eyes again. “I know what it’s like, I really do, Nick. He came from nothing, he said he came from nothing, parents who were scorned by a prejudiced society, and he still made it. I knew I wanted to work for him right after meeting him, a part of my insecure twenty year old self wanted to be him, Nick.”

“When did that change?”

“Well….not long after he took me with him to a business meeting with some other bosses in the area. It was very secretive, Nick, he made me wear a blindfold in his car and I wasn’t allowed to take it off until we were inside. Anyway, I remember being anxious sitting at a table with so many powerful men, all who I knew were capable of terrible things. But, being young and horribly naive, I assumed Wolfsheim was different.”

“What happened?”

“Well, the dinner seemed to go alright, nothing horrible happened. They were all acting like politicians, gerrymandering up the state into sections so no one was stepping on anyone else’s toes. I thought it went fine, although Wolfsheim had been dead set on getting ownership of Rhode Island, and another fellow, one who lived there, argued the entire island should be his since it’s its own state.”

“I assume Wolfsheim isn’t a man who gracefully lets go,” Nick mumbles, growing anxious as he already begins to grasp how this story will end.

“No, he’s not. A few days later, Wolfsheim took me along to a second dinner in the same place. This time I was allowed to see where were going, and, oddly enough, the diner we frequented was beneath a rundown barber shop. This time around the only people there were me, Wolfsheim, the boss who laid claim to Rhode Island, and one of his men. Wolfsheim tried bargaining with him, but this guy wouldn’t budge. He wanted Rhode Island all to himself, no matter how much of a cut Wolfsheim promised him. I thought that was it, and that Wolfsheim would give up, but after one last offer of something around thirty percent of profits, Wolfsheim drew a knife out of his boot and slashed this guy’s throat.”

Jay pauses, face white as a ghost as he begins to bounce on his heels, hands wringing themselves raw.

“It happened so fast, Nick, and there was no warning. He didn’t seem particularly angry, he didn’t even seem upset. The whole dinner, even while bargaining, he was laughing and smiling and joking around….then he just slashed open his throat.”

Nick sits in a stunned and drunken silence for a few moments. “What happened next?” He asks quietly, assuming that this man couldn’t simply kill someone in the middle of a restaurant (even a seedy one) and get away with it.

“It’s odd, Nick, I don’t really remember,” Jay mumbles, tears starting to roll down his cheeks, lips trembling. “All the patrons and staff sort of just turned a blind eye. They just....didn’t do anything. I assume that the diner saw lots of that sort of thing. The other guy’s man took off, and Wolfsheim finished his wine before we left.”

Nick once again finds himself at a loss for words, simply trying to comprehend how an entire room full of people could ignore a man having his throat slit as well as how the murderer could contently finish his dinner after the act.

“He’s going to f*cking kill you, Jay,” Nick whispers as his vision blurs with tears of frustration and grief. “He’s going-”

“He will if I leave, Nick, that’s why one of those men was killed tonight!” Jay hisses as tears continue to pour down his face. “I can’t back out, I’m in too deep. If I just keep my mouth shut and do what he tells me to-”

“How long before he challenges your loyalty and asks you to f*cking kill a man, Jay?! He’ll eventually put you in that position, he will, I know it, he’ll tell you to kill one of the new guys, on of the young and disposable ones, and if you don’t put up-”

“Oh, don’t say that, I can’t, I couldn’t, I could never, you don’t understand, I just couldn’t-” Jay begins to babble, burying his face in his hands, his shoulders quivering. “He’s had me scared for years, Nick, ever since that night! He gets rid of anyone who stands in his way or challenges him, he-”

“We need to find you a way out of this, Jay!” Nick insists, anger melting away to despair. “We need to get you away from him, away from New York!”

“He’s everywhere, Nick! He’s in almost every major city in the country, and I’m not someone that could just slip away from him, Nick. He’s used me, I’ve been a great asset to him. I’ve laundered money for him through drug stores, multiple chains of them! I can’t just disappear, he wouldn’t let me!”

“Oh Jay, how could you have tangled yourself up in all of this?!”

“I was a young man, a foolish young man, only twenty years old, I wasn’t thinking about the dangers of it all then. I was only thinking about my mother, and money, and getting her and my father off that god forbidden little plot of dry dirt in the middle of nowhere! I was only thinking about making a name for myself, about...about proving society wrong-”

“-so short-sighted! How the hell could you have let this escalate so dramatically?! Was all of this for money, for-”

“Oh Nick, please, please listen to me! I was a young man, barely older than a child! I-”

Jay abruptly cuts himself off, taking in a deep breath and attempting to compose himself. Embarrassed and ashamed by both his emotional outburst and past decisions, he keeps his eyes focused on his feet as he collects himself and stands.

“I...I’m sorry, old sport, I...I’m having some problems lately and I don’t know what to do anymore. I know you don’t have the answers, I know you don’t, it’s just...talking to you always feels nice. You listen and I enjoy being around you. I like talking to you, I like listening to you tell me about the stories you’ve drafted and your childhood back in Minnesota. I like having you around, even if we’re just sitting together, I...I feel better when you’re here with me.”

Nick winces as Jay’s raw voice cracks and breaks, wishing more than anything he hadn’t drank so much. He, like most men, finds it harder to control his emotions when he’s inebriated, and Jay deserved someone gentler tonight.

“I’m sorry, Jay….you just scare me, you scare me so much. I worry about you, and I just want you to be alright.”

“I know, Nick, and I really appreciate it,” Jay replies quietly, running a hand through his hair and keeping his eyes trained on the floor..

“Jay,” Nick starts hesitantly only to pause. He’s unsure what to say, unsure whether or not he should simply offer comfort or try and convince Jay to flee New York.

“Nick,” Jay replies softly, still refusing to make eye contact. “Do you want...can I get you anything to eat?”

“You should eat too Jay, something light,” Nick mutters, finding the task of standing to be difficult, his body swaying to and fro.

“Sandwiches then, I’ll make us some sandwiches,” Jay replies, wrapping an arm around Nick to help steady him before leading him out into the hall. “I think I still have some ham and maybe some turkey lurking around the kitchen somewhere.”

“Haven’t you sent anyone to the store lately?” Nick asks blearily in confusion. “Now...now that I think about it, Jay, the library was a little dusty, haven’t you had anyone in there to clean lately either?”

“Well, no, I...I told the staff to take a few weeks off, Nick,” Jay says as he helps Nick down the staircase. “I just needed some time to myself, I ‘spose.”

“It’s awfully quiet,” Nick observes through a sudden fit of hiccups. “Doesn’t that bother you after all the noise those parties of yours used to make?”

Jay hums thoughtfully before saying, “No. not particularly. A quiet house can be good sometimes, and I never really socialized at those parties much anyway, Nick, I was mostly just hoping to attract Daisy over here with the allure of champagne and jazz. I don’t even know if I cared much for those parties myself, although having so many living, breathing people around was nice. But now I have you, and I much prefer that if I’m being honest.”

Nick smiles and laughs as he and Jay limp into the kitchen. “That’s very kind of you to say, Jay.”

“I mean it, Nick, every word of it,” Jay replies sincerely as he plops Nick down into one of the many leather bar stools along the counter.

“Well, I enjoy your company, too, Jay, more than anyone’s. Really, you’re one of the few people in New York who I feel like I know. I...I feel like I really know you inside and out, beyond what you tell me.”

“Is that so?” Jay asks, looking both delighted and nervous as he makes his way behind the counter.

“I believe so. I think I know your character and I think at times, when you let me, I get a glimpse of your soul.”

Nick knows how melodramatic such a sentiment sounds, how men like his father would never utter such a saccharine thing, but Nick means it wholeheartedly.

“I feel the same way,” Jay admits, keeping his back to Nick so that his guest can’t see how red his cheeks are. “And I’m awfully glad you told me that.”

Chapter 5

Chapter Text

As the summer heat begins to dissipate and give way to gradually cooler breezes, New York’s blood bath intensifies.

Gun shots ring out throughout train terminals, hotel lobbies, movie theater boxes, and outdoor dining areas on a semi-regular basis.

Journalists looking to spin a sensationalized headline have a hayday.

Police officers attempt to increase their ranks through radio advertisem*nts and flyers.

Gun salesmen find themselves out of stock.

A blanket of fear and paranoia falls over the city like a heavy layer of sleet as gangs fight for territory, the worth of opium reigniting many old territorial disputes.

To most of the city’s residents the violence is confusing, allowing a bushel of gossip and conspiracy theories to blossom and flourish. People are indicated as being mules and drug lords, politicians are accused of being complicit, and some rumours even suggest that the violence is a means of population control.

Thanks to Jay’s insights, Nick is more knowledgeable about the ongoing turf wars and ingroup fighting than most. He and Jay spend many a tense night huddled together in Jay’s study, anxiously discussing the various rises and falls of different mob bosses and gangs over cigars.

However, this knowledge of Nick’s is usually dismissed by others for more exciting and novel theories.

“This entire thing is a political scheme,” Tom declares knowingly with a curt nod. “The hooligans would all be full of lead and in the ground already if the mayor and governor weren’t protecting them.”

“Why on earth would the mayor and governor let these gangs run wild like this?” Jordan asks, eyebrow quirked in disbelief. “This violence makes both of them look like pretty poor leaders. I read in several magazines that both are expected to lose in upcoming elections due to the spike in shootings.”

“That’s so odd, I read the exact opposite,” Daisy says with a merry laugh, as if she’s discussing the latest in fall fashion. “I read they’re both expected to be reelected due to the steep penalties associated with drug trafficking and gun violence.”

“I’ve seen both of those headlines,” Tom replies. “I don’t trust anything I read anymore.”

Nick stays silent, gazing out the Buchanan’s dining room window and watching the dark, choppy bay waves violently jostle the buoys.

Earlier in the conversation he had attempted to point out several gaping holes within Tom’s conspiracy theory, only to be ignored. He later attempted to explain to Jordan why the police and mayor were struggling to stem the violence only to once again be called a sheep. He figures that pointing out that the legitimacy of the sources Daisy and Jordan are getting their information from is questionable at best would simply fall on deaf ears.

“They’re all making a grand profit off this opium, all of them! I bet all the local judges are in on it, too,” Tom declares, face flushing with anger. “All these politicians are just interested in making a quick buck, the American values espoused back in the day are gone. No one gives a damn about hard work or the American dream these days-”

Nick feels his skin prickle in irritation but he pretends his jaw is wired shut and stays silent.

He had no desire to attend this lunch party in the first place, but after weeks of living in a constant cloud of despair and anxiety, he realized he’d done his fair share of ignoring his cousin and her constant badgering to come over for the afternoon.

Nick figures these little get-togethers are how Tom and Daisy are attempting to keep up appearances and keep their marriage socially viable. Almost every other day the two of them host a meal for their friends and fill their house with enough people that they can avoid one another for a few hours.

Today, however, it's a smaller crowd, just the Buchanans, Nick, and Jordan.

Nick almost wishes he’d chosen to attend a bigger lunch party as the feeling of intimacy the small group setting evokes makes him deeply uncomfortable.

“All of this talk is dreadfully boring,” Daisy sighs, drumming her fingertips off of the tabletop. “Really, Tom, can’t you let us all discuss something else?”

Tom scoffs in disapproval. “Daisy, what else is there to talk about that’s at all important? This is one of the finest cities in world, a hub of...of innovation and class, and now all of these immigrants, all of these dagos, are running around-”

“Italians,” Nick corrects, his temper rising sharply as the mercury in a thermometer that’s been dunked into a pot of boiling water. “They’re Italians, Tom, and not all of these hooligans are recent immigrants.”

Tom scoffs yet again and side eyes Nick in disbelief. “We sure as hell didn’t have these problems before all these people started making their way over here. These are not American problems, Nick, these are European problems.”

“How are they not American problems if they’re happening in America?” Nick replies tersely, his temper flaring sharply again.

“Because all of the perpetrators are immigrants!” Tom retorts hotly, face flushing a deep and angry shade of magenta. “These aren’t good ol’ boys, Nick, these are boat hoppers, and they’ve come here and done nothing but shoot at each other and sell dirty commodities! They contribute nothing to American society, if they really wanted to ingratiate themselves into our culture they would pull themselves up from their bootstraps like the rest of us!”

Nick feels his eyes bug out of his skull and nearly spits out the water in his mouth in shock.

“Oh, Tom, this is such a drab conversation!” Daisy nervously prattles as she watches her cousin visibly recoil. “Let’s talk about something else, anything else! There’s so much more going on in the world, what about Lucille’s marriage to that Lebanese oil baron, oh, it-”

“You pulled yourself up by your bootstraps?!” Nick shouts, glaring daggers across the dining room table. “You, Tom Buchanan, pulled yourself up by your bootstraps?!”

“My great grandfather did!” Tom shouts back with just as much venom. “My great grandfather came over here from Scotland with nothing more than the clothes on his back and-”

“You’re still living off his money, Tom! You haven’t worked a day in your life! All you do-”

“I have a birthright to this money! My great grandfather made a fortune through honest hard work! He built a farming empire all by himself! He was a productive member of American society, unlike these violent-”

“-you never have to do anything you don’t want to! All these people who are just coming over are in the position your great grandfather was in, you are not!”

“Tom, please!” Daisy begs, grasping her husband by the forearm and attempting to keep him seated. “Please, Nicky, just stop!”

Jordan remains silent, feigning shock as she watches on, an amused smile stealthily hidden behind her hand.

“You support letting these scoundrels run around, blowing each other’s heads off and taking down innocent citizens with them, Nick?! You want more of these people running around New York and Chicago?!”

“I never said I support senseless violence! I-”

Nick abruptly cuts himself off, a stark realization washing over him like a cold incoming tide and quelling the angry flame burning through his chest.

“You know, you’re not listening to me, Tom, it really doesn’t matter what I say,” Nick says, barely audible over the tail end of Tom’s passionate rant about the evils that exist across the pond. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“That’s interesting of you to say, Nick,” Jordan pipes up with a small smirk. “I’ve heard your neighbor’s name being tossed around every now and then. What do you know about that?”

“Gatsby?” Daisy gasps in shock, eyes going wide.

“Yes, lots of people seem to believe Mr. Gatsby is very involved in the sale and distribution of liquor and opium.”

“A bootlegger!” Tom exclaims with a cynical chuckle. “Of course! That’s how that schmooze makes all of his money.”

“No, no, no, not Gatsby!” Daisy replies with a shake of her head. “Gatsby comes from Austrian wealth, he inherited his money just like us, Tom.”

“You believe anything that booze hound tells you,” Tom says dismissively, tensing up as his tempers flare yet again. “Really, Daisy, you were born with the same fatal flaw that every woman has been cursed with since the fall of Eve. You’re gullible. All women will believe anything a man says as long as he’s good looking enough or has enough money, it's what makes you all so vulnerable.”

“That is not true!” Jordan retorts coolly, a smirk still plastered on her lips. “It’s men who are gullible, any woman with charm and beauty can get whatever she wants from a man.”

Tom snorts dismissively. “Many men are easily distracted and don't look for the right values in a woman, I’ll give you that much, but women are devoid of reason when it comes to matters outside of the home. Gatsby is nothing but a conman. I remember when he built up that little castle across the bay. I wondered how I had never heard of his family, had never heard his name tossed around amongst other wealthy people. Very rarely does someone attain that level of success and not know the most prominent people on Wall Street or any of the political families.”

“Oh, that doesn’t mean anything. Gatsby is just a more private person, he doesn’t care to associate with many people,” Daisy insists with yet another shake of her head.

“No private person throws extravagant parties for half the damn city!” Tom replies heatedly, indignantly. “He’s a cheat! A conman! And the reason no one’s gotten to know him better is because he has too many damn skeletons in the closet! He can’t-”

“I know him!” Daisy snaps back heatedly, her sudden passion startling Nick and Jordan up against the backs of their chairs. “I know him, Tom, and he is a lovely man, an intelligent, charming, and lovely man! I knew him as a young woman, back in Kentucky, he was in the military during the war-”

“I know you know him well,” Tom cuts her off, voice dropping low as a snake’s hiss and eyes narrowing into lethal slits. “Oh, I know you have a long, sordid history with him!”

“What are you implying, Tom?” Daisy demands stubbornly while feigning confusion. “He was a good friend of mine while he was stationed in Kentucky. We got to know each other very well during his time there and I’m very happy to have him back in my life.”

“I know you’ve f*cked him!” Tom shouts, banging his fist off the table hard enough to cause all the plates and water glasses to tremble nervously.

Daisy crosses her arms over her chest and firmly fixes her eyes on the china cabinet across the room.

“So?” She asks breezily, hints of malice bleeding through the childish facade. “You run around f*cking that mechanic’s wife. I should be allowed to do what I want. I get bored, too, you know.”

Nick knows he should excuse himself before this escalates any further, but he finds he can’t muster up the will to move. It’s like watching a train veer off the tracks or a burning building blaze away, and Nick finds he can’t look away.

Jordan looks unabashedly invested in the unraveling of her friends’ relationship, eyes darting back and forth between Tom and Daisy, jaw slack.

“You’re...you’re a-a filthy whor*!” Tom splutters, tripping over his tongue and stuttering. He’s clearly infuriated, both by his wife’s casual confession as well as being openly outed as an adulterer himself, and is unsure what to say.

So, naturally, the bullheaded man simply allows his red hot anger to lead him blindly.

“You disgusting, filthy tramp! Y-you ungrateful l-little whor*, loose l-little-”

“Oh, stop it!” Daisy snaps bitterly as she crosses her arms defensively over her chest. “Really, you have no right to judge me, Tom! None! You’re a filthy, disgusting whor*, too, how about that? Look at us! Two miserable whor*s!”

Tom continues to angrily splutter and shake apart before his guests, face an unsettling shade of scarlet and bright blue veins popping out of his neck and forehead as he rants and raves incoherently.

Daisy simply keeps her eyes fixated on the china cabinet. A small, satisfied smirk tugs at her rouge smudged lips as her husband blows a gasket beside her, smoke all but pouring out of his ears as he babbles furiously.

“If it wouldn’t absolutely kill my mother, I’d divorce you,” Daisy says simply before excusing herself from the table.

The second the sharp snapping echo of her heels against the polished wooden floors can no longer be heard, Nick all but bolts for the door.
-------------------------------

“Do you suppose they’ll actually do it?” Jay asks curiously, shifting around anxiously in Nick’s questionably stable fold-out chair, foot tapping away at the warm sand underfoot with a sound thud.

Despite having had earlier within this conversation mentioned yet again feeling as if Daisy were almost a stranger, it is evident Jay would very much like for Daisy to formally uncouple from Tom.

Nick raises an eyebrow, glancing over at Jay with a deep set frown.

“No, they won’t get divorced, Jay. You know how difficult it is to actually get a divorce finalized, you need proof of adultery or impotence. Besides….her parents would be irate. She’d have to move back in with them and her father would have to scramble to find her another suitor so she wouldn’t end up a spinster.”

“Nothing wrong with being a spinster as long as you’re a wealthy one,” Jay mumbles thoughtfully after a beat of silence. “Really, I think a lot of women wouldn’t bother with us if they were allowed to make any money for themselves.”

Despite his depressive, cynical mood, Nick can’t help but crack a smile and chuckle. “Maybe,” he agrees through another soft laugh. “Although I think some women do genuinely fall in love with their husbands.”

“Of course they do, and that’s well and fine, but I do think the process ought to be reversed, you know? Fall in love, then get hitched.”

A sudden sadness washes over Nick like one of the violent incoming tides from the bay. He frowns again, shielding his eyes from the orange and magenta glow of the setting sun reflecting off of the water. “Daisy used to say the same thing when she was younger.”

“Really?”

Nick nods solemnly, thinking back to the fresh faced debutante, hanging politely off her father’s suit clad arm and flashing a smile bright enough to match the glowing, white pearls strung around her slender neck.

“She had plenty of suitors once she was of marrying age and she never turned down any young man willing to take her out dancing. She was a romantic, always hoping for Prince Charming to show up on her family’s front stoop. She wanted to fall in love for the longest time, which is why despite the numerous dates that filled her calendar she didn’t marry particularly young. She was waiting to be swept off her feet. That’s why she liked you so much.”

“I was no Prince Charming, old sport. Back then I didn’t have a dime to my name; no horse and carriage, no grand palace, nothing.”

“She seems to be under the impression you’re from a long line of wealthy Austrian dukes.”

“I’m no fool, Nick. Maybe I seem like one sometimes, but I’ve always known my place in the world. Girls like Daisy didn’t let boys like me take them dancing or out to pictures. I had to be someone else, not just a poor boy on the brink of being trench fodder in Europe,”Jay replies softly, eyes downcast shamefully.

“The son of a mysterious, foriegn billionaire appealed to her, I won’t lie, but you were...what did she always used to say...you were charismatic and….enchanting, that was it. She used to go on and on about how she felt like she was waltzing through a dream when she was with you.”

“She fell in love with an idea, Nick,” Jay mumbles quietly, digging around in his pocket for a cigar. “I created someone else for her to be with.”

“Maybe the details were fantasy but weren’t you ever yourself with her, Jay? Genuinely I have to say that, well…” Nick trails off awkwardly, face flushing uncomfortably as he stares out at the tumultuous, incoming waves.

Jay glances over at Nick, curiosity and nerves getting the best of him. “You have to say what?” He presses gently, a glimmer of hope glowing faintly like the soft orange sparkle of his cigar butt.

Nick bites his lip nervously, wondering if he’s about to thoroughly embarrass himself or worse, make himself look...funny.

“Well,” he says slowly as he rubs his palms down the fronts of his pants. “I was going to say that I think that the way to present yourself to others is nothing short of enamoring but….as I’ve gotten to know you I’ve come to find that as a person, a real person, you’re just as if not more captivating.”

Jay is fast to stuff his cigar in his mouth to conceal the shaky, emotional smile threatening to break out across his face like a bad case of hives. He takes a purposeful, deep inhale, deep enough to cause him to cough.

“Well, thank you, old sport,” Jay manages to choke out through his coughing, wet eyes fixed on his sand covered toes. “I don’t...I don’t agree but I can be grateful you want to be around me and all.”

“Why would I not want to be around you?” Nick asks quietly, genuinely a tad surprised. He is painfully aware just how fixated Jay is on his elaborate game of smoke and mirrors, how much Jay relies on an air of mystery and power to feel competent, but this statement seems particularly cagey, even for the elusive Gatsby.

“I...well, lots of folks would argue that I don’t belong around folks like you or Daisy, you know, that I should be back on the dirt farm, and...well, forget it, Nick,” Jay abruptly shakes his head and slides his cigar back between his lips. “I don’t know what I’m trying to say, really. I’m just blowing hot air.”

A gnawing feeling in the pit of Nick’s stomach tells him Jay isn’t being completely honest. Nick feels as if a few crucial pieces of the puzzle have not been presented to him yet, keeping the big picture obscured.

“I think the notion that anyone doesn’t belong in New York is ridiculous,” Nick says as he glimpses over at his companion with worry. “In theory it’s supposed to be the birthing ground for new life. A fresh start for everyone, regardless of where they come from or how much money they have in their pockets. But….I don’t know how true that is anymore.”

“You don’t like it here,” Jay states simply.

Nick shakes his head. “It’s not what I dreamed about. I suppose I gave a city too much power, assumed moving out here would make me into someone I’m not. I haven’t changed, just gotten a few months older and grown increasingly cynical, really.”

“Well, a city is really just a chunk of dirt in reality, huh?” Jay muses sadly as he offers Nick a cigar. “My old man always says that all land is soil, whether it’s a big, flashy city or a rural farm land. We inhabit it with God’s good grace and build it into something else. So...my God would my father smack me up the head for just now admitting this, especially after all I’ve put him through, but people come here because they like the concept of New York. It’s not the actual city, it’s the ideas that pop into their heads when they think about Lady Liberty and the towering skyscrapers.”

Nick inhales on his cigar sharply, causing plumes of gray smoke to drift out of his mouth and nose as he gags. “It’s just a story,” he agrees through a cough. “And we all bought into it, a lot of people still do.”

“You can always move,” Jay practically whispers, as if he’s nervous that suggesting such a thing too loudly will cause Nick to run back home and start packing right away. “Find another chunk of dirt to live on and make what you want of it.”

“I’ve considered it, but I haven’t a clue where I’d go,” Nick admits with a shrug. “I could go back home, but everyone back home still wants me to get married and then there’s Eliza and her family….”

“There’s lots of states, Nick, I hear there’s forty eight of ‘em,” Jay teases with a nervous smile. “Minnisota and New York are only two.”

“This is true, and maybe I’m acting like a scared child for feeling this way, but I don’t want to be alone. Sure, I felt lonely back home, but in theory I wasn’t. I had my mother and all my aunts and uncles and cousins. And out here I’m lonesome much of the time, but once again, in theory….I have Daisy and you and, well, no one should feel alone in New York.”

“You can feel alone anywhere, Nick. It doesn’t matter how many people are moving around you,” Jay reasons with a shake of his head. “Since the day I got here, I’ve never felt at home. I tried my damned best, too, built myself the house I dreamt about as a boy, filled it with eager guests, searched for a woman I’d always pictured as mine...it’s been a lot of hard work only to end up back where I started.”

“I’m sorry.”

Jay shrugs with yet another shake of his head, dark eyes still locked on his sandy feet. “It’s alright, I’ve come a long way. I know where I am now, and I would dare say I’ve found a close confidant...the closest I’ve ever had.”

“You have,” Nick reassures him, trying to catch Jay’s eyes to cement this statement. “I have, too.”

-------------------------------

“I think they should just fire her. It’s too distracting.”

“Aw, you know Murrow won’t fire her, he’s got a soft spot for women.”

“Pfft, yeah, a real soft spot. I wouldn’t be shocked if the bastard is his.”

Nick tries his best to ignore the petty hissing of his coworkers and focus on mind numbing phone call after mind numbing phone call, but the longer he sits there, the louder the hissing grows.

“She’s at least four months along by now, too late for him to pay for her to have a scrape.”

“He’s a Catholic, wouldn’t happen.”

“You never know, that’s what happened with that one actress from over in Brooklyn. She’s always got a crucifix around her neck and she let her boss pay for one.”

“Murrow ain’t like that, trust me. I’ve been here for a decade, I know the man. He’ll do the right thing and let her keep her job and have the baby. He’ll stand in the background and pay for the kid’s schooling and Christmas gifts, but he’s not going to dirty his hands and tear apart his marriage.”

Nick refrains from pointing out the gaping hole in his coworkers’ conversation: they don’t know who the father of Belinda Hatcher’s baby is. It could be their boss, Mr. Randall Murrow, but they don’t know that, because they haven’t even been cast as side characters within this highly private play.

The situation doesn’t involve them at all, yet here they sit, dissecting both Mr. Murrow’s and Ms. Hatcher’s characters, trying to stitch together a solid conclusion from all the scraps of gossip they’ve collected.

“If I were him, I’d still fire her. Everyone’s talking about it, and everyone thinks it’s his kid. His wife is sure to hear about it from one of the secretaries. Hell, if Belinda wants him for herself bad enough she may tell Mrs. Murrow herself.”

“You never know, but you’d hope she’d feel enough shame for having slept with a married man to accept what’s handed to her. She’s one of the lucky ones, most of these poor women who end up with child get the boot and have to pay their own way….”

“I have no sympathy for them, really. I know you do, but really they need to keep their legs closed.”

Nick drums his fingers off of the tabletop to try and help drown out the hum of his coworkers’ voices. The entire conversation makes him feel feverish and sick; he wants to leave.

His own father had not been a grand supporter of the womens’ suffrage movement by any means (something that caused much tension between Nick’s mother and father), but Nick vividly remembers his father’s sectarian view of women being vastly different from his coworkers’.

“Women are beautiful and fragile creatures, like ceramic figurines,” his father always used to tell him with a firm nod. “You must be gentle when handling them, you must take care of them.”

Anytime Nick would inquire further, his father would start into a lengthy speech. Nick was given this speech so frequently that he can still recall the opening lines:

“God created men to be strong and durable, to do the fighting and the hunting. We’re built to take a beating, to be roughed up, but women aren’t. Women were built to create, Nick. They make homes, make babies, make meals, and many other wonderful things. This gift of theirs comes with a high price, they’re vulnerable, and many cowardly men take advantage of this weakness. Men are meant to protect women, to fend for them and protect them whilst they create...”

Nick does not completely agree with his father’s strict, doctrinaire views on women and men (thanks to his mother’s domineering influence), but finds his father’s viewpoint much easier to stomach than some of the more womanizing employees’ views that frankly seem contradictory to Nick.

“I heard Henry is petitioning to get her sacked. He agrees that it’s too distracting having an unmarried pregnant woman around. So far most of the fifth floor has signed it.”

“Where do I sign?”

“I really don’t think he should fire her…”

“I know you don’t, but a lot of us think he ought to. She slept with the boss!”

“You don’t know that,” Nick snaps, finally having had enough. “You have no idea, because this has absolutely nothing to do with you!”

“He’s always sleeping with the secretaries,” one of Nick’s coworkers retorts with an arrogant snort and roll of his eyes. “Belinda Hatcher is just the first to get knocked up.”

“Then maybe Mr. Murrow should get f*cking fired,” Nick mumbles as her turns back around, glaring down at his paperwork as his forehead starts to throb, warning of an oncoming tension headache.

“This is exactly why women shouldn’t be working with us, it’s too distracting and this is what ends up happening,” the one man continues adamantly. “He can hardly be blamed, surrounded by young, pretty girls all day. This one just happened to be easy and-”

Nick props open his window, despite the ensuing rain to successfully drown out his coworkers’ rambling, the violent splatting of the raindrops hitting the concrete below making Nick’s headache worse.

-------------------------------

As Nick leaves the office building he’s bombarded with anxious talk of a major shooting at a movie theater.

The number of casualties fluctuates during his commute home from four dead and three injured to ten dead and six injured.

The moment he arrives home, Nick calls Jay, and Jay all too quickly invites Nick over to discuss what happened.

The two of them lock themselves inside of Jay’s grand library, settling underneath the cobweb covered chandelier and speaking softly, as if someone nosy is pressing an ear to the door.

Nick drinks the vodka Jay offers him far too liberally as he explains what he heard, fingers shaking around his glass from both nerves and intoxication. Jay, morbid as a widower, ushers Nick into another room down the hallway and has him sit beside him as he frantically calls Wolfsheim.

These anxious, paranoia filled meet-ups between Nick and Jay have steadily increased in number over the weeks, the increase correlating directly to the increase in mob violence.

Nick downs another shot of vodka as Jay tries to keep his head, tries to sound unbothered and cool on the phone with the man who created him but could just as easily end him.

Nick can barely hear Wolfsheim and relies solely on what he hears Jay say in response. From the sounds of it, there was a shooting, one of Wolfsheim’s men was the target and was killed, but three civilians were also killed in the gun fire and two more were injured.

“Can’t you try and strike some sort of deal with him?” Jay asks, his distress slowly bleeding into his voice, giving him away. “Every other damn day someone is getting their head blown off…”

Nick strains to hear, and his blood runs cold when Wolfsheim responds with a sneer. “I swear, Jay, you’re getting frail and soft as a woman. Have you checked to see if you’ve grown tit*?”

“It’s never been this bloody,” Jay replies anxiously, voice cracking. “I know it’s not a clean business, but it’s never been so morbid.”

Nick watches as Jay’s eyes progressively become glassier, his foot bouncing off the floor as he rocks slowly from side to side like a rabbit trapped in a snare.

When he puts the phone down he’s visibly paled, beads of sweat sparkling against his hairline. He opens his mouth to speak, but quickly closes it again, the cogs in his head clearly whirring fast as lightning, desperately working to try and string together something.

After a solid block of silence, Nick decides to speak first.

“You need to get out of New York.”

“Doesn’t matter. He needs something from me, he said. He needs me to do something. If I disappear now, he’ll hunt me down before I can get beyond Pennsylvania.”

“What does he want from you?” Nick dares to ask, fearing the very worst. Surely after degrading Jay in such a way it’s going to be a monumental favor, one to prove Jay has the stomach to keep up with the current swing of things.

Most likely Jay has been asked to commit an act similar to what transgressed at the theater earlier, and the thought of Jay with a smoking gun and blood stained hands makes Nick nauseous.

“He didn’t specify, but he owes someone else a favor and I’m being dragged into it. I’m hosting some sort of event here in a few weeks.”

Nick exhales sharply in relief, nearly dropping his glass as he slouches forward. “Alright,” he breathes with a self soothing nod. “You-you need to clean this sh*t up then, Jay. Since you let everyone go it’s started looking deserted.”

“It has,” Jay agrees quietly, glancing around the room, taking note of all the dust that has accumulated anxiously. “I suppose I have neglected to clean like I ought to...I got too comfortable having other folks around to do it for me, it would seem.”

“It would appear that way. You have an awful lot of house to scrub, not to mention the gardens-”

“Oh God, I’d forgotten the back gardens altogether,” Jay moans quietly into his cupped hands, eyes darting around the dusty room again in panic. “I...I started going to town in the front garden since I spend so much time out front, but I had completely forgotten the ones out back. All those poor orchids, I’ve probably killed them….God damn it…”

“We’ll see what we can salvage,” Nick offers comfortingly. “I’m sure some have survived, and if not we can give them a lovely resting place, decorated with new, living flowers.”

Jay nods, face flushing a bright pink at Nick’s slip, the use of the word ‘we’ throwing a wrench into the speeding cogs in his head, giving him pause.

“This is my mess, old sport, I really appreciate your willingness to help, but you don’t have to.”

“I want to help, Jay, that’s what close confidants are for.”

“I know, I just...I feel like I’ve been dragging you through the mud with me lately. I was thinking about what you said about New York the other day, and, well, I couldn’t help but wonder if I haven’t had a hand in ruining this whole experience for you.”

“Jay-”

“No, I’m serious, Nick. Maybe if you hadn’t been exposed to all the grim underneath the flashing lights, if you hadn’t had to help me muddle through it, you’d be happier here. No one’s...no one’s ever had to spend time with me when I wasn’t doing something nice for them besides my old folks and, well, I figure I’m not quite a treat once you realize all that I am.”

“You’re being ridiculous,” Nick chastises with a stern shake of his head. “I’d be even more miserable here without you, Jay, I mean it. Yes, you make me worry more than I’d like to admit, but you’re the only...real person I know here. You’re the only reason I’m even considering staying in this godforsaken city.”

Jay doesn’t reply right away. His face flushes more, pink burning away to a deep scarlet. His foot continues to thump away anxiously as he wrings his hands in his lap.

He looks like a lobster being boiled alive, and Nick has never seen him look this deeply uncomfortable.

“I...you wouldn’t be so fond of me if you knew exactly who I am,” Jay admits sheepishly, a wide, nervous smile spreading across his lips. “Really. Maybe on it’s own it wouldn’t be so hard for you to swallow, but with everything else-”

“I highly doubt that.”

Jay shakes his head again. “I’m someone you wouldn’t associate with,” he says quietly.

“I could probably say the same thing about myself,” Nick admits, the alcohol flowing through his system loosening his lips.

Jay chuckles quietly and shakes his head. “Now that I seriously doubt.”

“I’m serious, Jay, I can say the same thing. If you knew exactly who I am you probably would never speak to me again,” Nick insists stupidly through the vodka induced haze, shaking his head defiantly.

Jay seems to accept this challenge, sitting back in his chair and crossing his arms over his chest. His nervous smile further widens as he shrugs. “Alright, try me, old sport. Go ahead. Are you a eugenics supporter? You don’t seem the type at all.”

“Well, no-”

“Are you a cold blooded killer or a predator of some sort?” Jay challenges with a tilt of his head. “Because, once again, I would be horribly shocked if you were.”

“No, not at all, but-”

“Well, those are the only reasons I can think to suddenly decide I’ve misjudged you and should no longer associate myself with you,” Jay declares with a firm nod. “So what is it that’s so horrible about you, Nick? Because, I will openly admit that I’m quite fond of you and see no fault in you besides a cynical side that over analyzes things....and perhaps a slight pretentious streak.”

Despite Jay’s teasing demeanor Nick still winces, feeling nervous. Were he sober he would quickly back away from the cliff’s edge (hell, he would have never approached it in the first place) but at the moment, with his inhibitions severely loosened, he dares take that crucial, final step.

“I’m a hom*osexual, Jay.”

Jay blinks dumbly for a moment, and Nick feels a sickening sinking feeling in his stomach as Jay processes this revelation.

Various horrific scenarios pop into Nick’s head in a messy jumble, many involving Jay becoming irate and throwing Nick out of both his house and his life permanently. A few twist Jay’s usual laid back demeanor into a violent monster, and even though Nick realizes how implausible these scenarios are, he still finds himself feeling ill.

“Well, I didn’t know,” Jay says slowly, carefully. “But, in my defense, I’ve never been good at knowing when someone is queer. Back home there were a few hom*osexuals, the closest farm to us actually belonged to two women who were together like that. I thought they were sisters for the longest time and my mother had to explain to me that they weren’t….”

Jay pauses, chuckling softly. “Boy, did I feel like a dumb bunny.”

Nick, still cautious and uneasy, presses. “You aren’t upset?”

Jay raises an eyebrow, a genuine look of confusion washing over his face. “Of course not. I just didn’t know.”

Nick finds that he can breathe again, an immensely heavy weight he hadn’t been aware of lifting off his chest.

“I understand why you didn’t tell me,” Jay admits gently. “I’m sorry if I came off as...flippant, but where I grew up hom*osexuality wasn’t seen as a problem, really, but I know other places people get all bent out of shape about it. I was a little stunned when I learned other places hom*osexuals are treated so horribly.”

“People are scared of what they don’t understand,” Nick offers weakly, recalling his mother’s hysterical reaction after she demanded to know before he left for New York.

“I should have known!” She’d yelled through sobs. “Oh God, I should have known! My only child! My only child! If your father were still alive this would kill him!”

“See, I don’t understand that, either,” Jay says thoughtfully. “I think men and women are different, you know? Neither is superior, in my opinion, but they’re different on some very basic levels. So it’s really kind of interesting and beautiful that most men are attracted to women and most women are attracted to men, because they’re so different. But, logically, men can relate better to other men and women can relate better to other women. So I don’t think it’s at all unusual that some men are attracted to other men and some women to other women.”

Nick feels as if he’s dreaming, feels as if this conversation must be some fever dream induced by the vodka and all the stress he’s under.

He’s never had a real discussion about his attraction to other men, not one so casual yet inquisitive, anyway. Jay doesn’t seem at all upset or disturbed. He doesn’t seem to just be simply tolerating this aspect of Nick’s life in a quiet, begrudging sort of way.

Jay genuinely seems to be comfortable; comfortable enough to have an open, honest discussion about it.

“I suppose that makes sense, I’ve never really thought about it that way,” Nick says quietly, struggling to remember if he’s ever really given it much thought beyond how uncomfortable it makes him.

He’s spent most of his life simply ignoring it, trying to blend in with society and look as inconspicuous as possible. He courted girls in high school and college casually, although few and far between. He kept any affair of his as tightly under wraps as possible, and those were even fewer and farther between to avoid detection.

“You say there were open hom*osexuals where you grew up?” Nick asks Jay dubiously, finding it hard to imagine himself feeling comfortable enough anywhere to live such a lifestyle.

Jay nods. “There were all kinds of people who lived differently out there, Nick. Everyone sort of just focused on getting by and left everyone else alone. There were some hom*osexuals, a handful of retired circus freaks, lots of immigrants, lots of people with different religious ideas, colored folks...you name it.”

“Colored folks in North Dakota?”

“Yes, I guess most people don’t know this but a lot of the cowboys were colored. So now that the era of open ranching is coming to a close a lot of cowboys have settled up North on farms,” Jay explains with yet another nod. “Like I said, everyone sort of just leaves everyone else the hell alone out there unless they need help. No one’s got any damn money, so there’s really nothing to fight over.”

“Did your parents grow up there?”

Jay suddenly looks nervous again. He shifts against his chair as his nervous ticks begin again, almost as if on cue.

“Well, my father did. His grandfather came over from Wales...his bloodline is fairly easy to trace. His family has been scattered across the Dakotas and Montana since they came to the states. My mother was actually brought up in Georgia.”

“Georgia?” Nick muses. “How the hell did she ever meet your father?”

“My father worked with a farming company for awhile when he was young, they sent him down south for a few months to peddle all sorts of farming tools and manure. Trying to spread the product around.”

“And he convinced your mother to leave her life in Georgia and run away up north with him?”

Jay bites his lip and leans forward to rest his forearms on his knees. “Something like that. You have to understand, Nick, there weren’t a lot of places for my parents to live being...the way they were.”

Nick tries not to press, seeing how uncomfortable Jay is, but he’s helplessly curious and just intoxicated enough to forget his usual rigid politeness.

There’s another piece of Jay that Nick is tantalizingly close to uncovering, a mystery he’s on the brink of having revealed to him, and it’s making Nick squirm just as much as Jay.

“What do you mean?”

Jay doesn’t respond for a moment, shifting yet again to sit straight up against the back of his chair, eyes darting around the room to avoid making eye contact.

“My mother’s father was a wealthy plantation owner in Georgia. An aristocrat, if you will. It was a large plantation, although not as big as it had been before the war, according to my mother, but she wouldn’t really know since she was born years later…”

Jay pauses, the silence in the room dragging Nick to the edge of his seat, a place he usually finds himself during Jay’s various tales.

“I miss my mother,” Jay mumbles, voice suddenly very heavy. “She died a few years ago...she wasn’t that old, really, but she ended up with an infection. Her appendix burst and she died very suddenly. She was the sweetest woman, the most generous, giving woman...I went back home for her funeral and the sight of her laid up in the pine box...she looked so small, Nick, and she hadn’t been a small woman, but in the box she looked so tiny…”

“I’m sorry...”

Jay shrugs, sniffling quietly as he averts his glassy, red rimmed eyes to the floor. “We all die, but I thought I’d have more time with her, more time to make up for running off on her the way I did...she died angry at me. She’d seen me since I ran off but she never really forgave me, and I know she died cross with me.”

Jay falls silent again, rubbing his palms together in an attempt to self-soothe as he tries to collect himself before speaking again.

“My mother was a strong woman, she had to be. She never felt like she was accepted anywhere, she never felt like she belonged. She always told me that being with my father was like walking into the home she’d always yearned for. But even being with my father just made things more difficult for both of them…”

“Did her father not approve of him?”

Jay laughs and shakes his head, a few stray tears dribbling down his cheeks.

“No, my mother’s father didn’t give a damn about her, Nick. She was just a piece of property to him. Her mother was a slave, so my mother was nothing more than a giant contradiction for him.”

Nick is admittedly floored, slowly sitting back into his seat and trying to fully understand the implications of what Jay just said.

“Your mother was-”

“Biracial,” Jay mumbles lowly, eyes fixed evasively on the floor. “She wasn’t treated like her father’s other children. They were doted upon and welcomed gifts. My mother was a dirty secret, a shameful secret who was never fully welcomed anywhere. Of course the whites wouldn’t have her, but there’s strange politics with mixed race people, Nick. In the old south they’re seen as superior to blacks but inferior to whites, a subclass. And my mother isn’t the only one, not at all, they have entire communities since they aren’t welcomed in other places. My mother always saw herself as black more than anything, that’s how she would describe herself, but she said I was lucky.”

Jay pauses and laughs darkly as he shakes his head, more tears freely streaking down his cheeks in thick rivers.

“She said I was lucky because I can be seen as white. My daddy’s got blue eyes and had blond hair before age caught up with him, you’d think he was a German if you saw him back in the day. My mother told me no one would be able to tell if I kept my hair cut and didn’t say anything...she said if anyone asked to claim I had Austrian and Italian heritage and no one would be the wiser.”

Nick elects to stay silent, allowing all of the pieces he’s been handed to sink in before even attempting to speak. Jay is clearly upset and embarrassed, tears openly falling as he shakes his head and smiles sadly down into his lap, and Nick isn’t sure how to approach this properly.

“It always made me so sad that she was treated like sh*t because of the color of her skin. I never understood any of it, I still don’t. I thought it would get better for people like my mother, I thought maybe folks would slowly start to move beyond these ideas about the master race and supremacy since owning other people like cattle has been outlawed. But all I hear on the radio anymore is all of this garbage about immigrants being filthy low lives and people getting scared over the wrong things...”

Nick thinks back to the conversation he had with Tom earlier in the week and grimaces, once again feeling physically ill as he recalls Tom’s open display of contempt, the same contempt that’s dragging Jay to tears.

“It just keeps getting worse. Now there’s all this eugenics sh*t, all these horrible ideas about blacks and Jews and it makes me so sad sometimes… It really challenges any faith you have in people,” Jay admits, burying his face in his hands and shaking his head. “I don’t understand how anyone can hate someone else that they don’t even know over something so...so inconsequential. Something that should be inconsequential.”

Nick decides in this moment that there’s frankly nothing he can say to comfort Jay. He’s painfully aware about many of the pervading ideas surrounding people of different ethnic and religious groups. He’s had several of these ideas disgustingly paraded in front of him through Tom’s paranoid rants, he knows what has Jay so distraught.

And Nick knows he can’t fix the underlying affliction.

He can’t promise Jay that these ideas will slowly ebb away. He can’t try and undermine the issue by assuring Jay many people don’t agree with such ideas. And he knows damn well he can’t fully understand the co*cktail of uncomfortable and painful emotions Jay is cycling through.

“Is this what you meant the other day?” Nick asks gently, voice barely above a hushed whisper. “When you said you didn’t belong around me? Around Daisy?”

“Nick, do you think she would have ever spoken to me if she knew I was poor, not to mention that my mother was colored? Do you think they would have even let me be in the regiment if they knew?”

“How didn’t they know?”

“I was travelling with an esteemed business man at the time named Dan Cody. I said he was my father and that my mother was an Italian prostitute. Like my mother promised, no one was the wiser,” Jay says quietly, a bitter flare rising up into his tone. “If I hadn’t lied...I don’t know what they would have done with me. I’m too white to be put in the segregated troops, I assume.”

The final piece clicks into place fully, and the previous weight that had been lifted off Nick’s shoulders is abruptly dumped back on top of him like an anvil.

Jay, like his mother, feels hopelessly like an outsider.

He feels as if he’s been locked out in the cold, forced to reinvent himself in order to find any space to wriggle into and get warm.

Jay has gone above and beyond to conjure up fantastical stories that catalogue the misadventures and wild successes of a mysterious figure who sheds its skin to evolve every few weeks.

There’s the orphan from San Francisco who grew up to be an esteemed war hero and successful businessman. The type of man everyone respects, the type of man everyone wants to be around. The military would not dare question his heritage, the general public would not dare scoff at him.

Then there’s the Austrian playboy, the nephew of a billionaire. This man was born into his money. Foreign, well educated, mysterious, and born with the coveted pedigree, no wealthy woman would turn her nose up at him, no one would question how he managed to accumulate his vast empire of wealth.

There’s also the son of an infamous mob boss theory Nick has recently heard being tossed around. This man is one you fear but respect. The one you recognize as wielding power, one who is not at all in a vulnerable, disadvantaged position.

There’s others, so many more Nick has been briefly introduced to in passing around New York. The secretive and brilliant novelist who writes under a myriad of household pseudonyms, the son of a Texan oil tycoon, the bastard child of various political figures from both the states and Europe. The cast of characters is endless.

But all these variations of Jay have a few key traits in common; they’re respectable, they’re accepted, and they’re admired.

Jay has always wanted nothing more than to prove society wrong, to prove he was not to be overlooked and scorned because of his upbringing or because of his roots.

He’s wanted to belong.

Nick knows there’s nothing he can say, so he simply reaches out and lays a hand on Jay’s knees, soothingly rubbing in small circles as Jay curls further into himself.

-------------------------------

Nick’s never seen Jay drink, but it would seem that discussing his mother has caused a highly strung cord within Jay to snap, and before Nick can somewhat hypocritically warn him against it, Jay is downing anything he can get his hands on.

“You’re going to make yourself sick, Jay,” Nick warns as he leans up against the kitchen island, watching Jay frantically dig through the pantry. “You practically finished off that bottle of vodka by yourself.”

“Don’t underestimate how much you helped me, old sport,” Jay teases through a weak smile, teetering precariously as he continues to hurriedly search for booze. “You did some damage to your liver tonight, too.”

“Jay,” Nick murmurs worriedly, blanching as Jay proudly presents his guest with an unopened bottle of whiskey. “At least eat something, will you?”

“Maybe later,” Jay mumbles as he pours two glasses full to the brim, splashing some of the whiskey onto the countertop. “I...I think I’m too upset to eat, Nick. I haven’t ever discussed any of that with anyone ever except my old man...and, well….I figure once you sober up this is it.”

“What do you-”

“You don’t have to pretend, Nick, I’ve said too much. You know, I started getting nervous when we began down this path. I’ve never been fully honest with anyone, not even myself, but now that I’ve told you all these things about myself, now that I’ve said any of this out loud...I tend to just stuff all these things in the back of my mind and distract myself, but now I’ve gone and opened Pandora’s box-”

“Jay,” Nick tries to cut in gently, feeling as if Jay is ranting nervously more to himself than anything. “I’m not going anywhere, I don’t think any less of you, I don’t-”

“I know you’re the kind of man who tries to reserve your judgements, Nick, I know you’re not narrow minded, but there’s no way-”

“Jay, please, I’m not going anywhere! You’re upset and incredibly drunk and not thinking clearly!” Nick tries to reason with him, grasping Jay’s wrist to try prevent him from ingesting anymore alcohol. “Jay, you’re going to make yourself sick, especially since you don't drink very often. Let me make you something to eat.”

Jay shakes his head, tears springing in his eyes as he nervously gnaws away at his bottom lip, shaking like a leaf in a strong gust of autumn breeze.

Jay feels as if he’s on the brink of being abandoned, of being left alone again. Usually he can manage to recover from being left on his own, but this time he knows he’ll be licking his wounds for months, trying to coop with the fact that he had, indeed, managed to let another human being see who he is beneath the elaborate stories and schemes and they chose to leave.

They didn’t leave the Austrian billionaire or the bastard child of John Haylan, they left him.

Nick is going to walk away from him.

“I can’t be abandoned,” Jay mumbles despondently. “I c-can’t, I...I...you don’t see it, but this is the closest I’ve ever been to someone...this is the only time I’ve ever...you don’t get it, Nick. And you’re...you’re the kind of person I’ve always wanted to…”

Jay cuts himself off, biting down on his lip again to prevent himself from sobbing, clearly overwhelmed by a myriad of conflicting and messy emotions.

“For f*ck’s sake, Jay, I’m not going anywhere,” Nick says, trying to be stern but finding his voice to be as shaky and unstable as Jay’s hands.

He’s never seen Jay like this. The Greats Gatsby is almost always calm and collected, he always manages to keep his head about him no matter how chaotic the world around him becomes.

The quivering, drunken, pale man shaking apart as he fights tooth and nail to keep himself from bursting into tears is a stark contrast that makes Nick’s heart ache.

“You don’t get it,” Jay murmurs, chuckling to himself. “I love you, I really love you. I don’t quite understand it, but I love you.”

“You’re drunk,” Nick mumbles softly, managing to pry the glass of whiskey from Jay’s hands. He quickly leads the other man to one of the stools up against the island and clumsily helps him situate himself.

“I’m going to make you pancakes and then you’re going to go to bed, alright?”

Jay sobs quietly into his hands, continuing to whisper raggedly about his dead mother, his fear of abandonment, and making claims of adoration.

“Oh, I love you and you don’t understand, I don’t understand it,” he whimpers through choked sobs. “And my mother, my poor mother, she was so small in that box…”

Chapter 6

Chapter Text

After all but vivisecting himself (and subjecting Nick to this gruesome act), Jay is clearly ashamed and embarrassed. The day after his drinking binge, when Nick tries to call, Jay doesn’t answer.

At first Nick placates himself with the assumption that Jay is simply too occupied with a hangover to chat. He waits another day before attempting to reach out, but is more irked and worried when, the next day, Jay once again declines to answer or return his call.

This worry festers into a gut wrenching fear when Nick knocks on Jay’s front door and is left standing in the breezy mid-morning fog alone.

Nick tries to reach out to the other man for days, tries to connect, but all of his attempts are met with an eerie silence. His phone calls go unanswered and his knocks on Jay’s front door result in nothing more than a resounding silence and a gnawing feeling of anxiety in the pit of Nick’s stomach.

Like a mouse scurrying into the dark, Jay all but vanishes from Nick’s life without a trace.

For a short time Nick worries that Jay has attempted an escape from New York, an escape Jay himself grimly predicted would end in his demise, but on the eve of the fourth day of silence Nick spies a glimmer of hope.

As the last glow of the sun disappears over the bay and a heavy blanket of darkness settles snugly over West Egg, Nick spots a soft bloom of light shining faintly through the curtains of a window on the second floor of Jay’s mansion.

Nick stares at this small gleam of light, his heart rate quickening as he slowly creeps toward his bedroom window to get a better look. He needs to be certain that such a small, soft glow is real and not simply a hopeful trick of his sleepy and anxious mind.

The light flickers softly and moves slowly from the first window to the one parallel. Nick watches the light’s slow journey with keen interest.

The light is far too small and weak to be cast by an electric lamp or a fireplace, so Nick reasons it must be cast from a lit candle wick.

Nick’s eyes float after the shimmer of light through the darkness, watching intently as it moves from window pane to window pane.

“So you’re still here…” Nick whispers to himself, feeling as if a rotten piece of fruit has just been dislodged from his throat, allowing him to breathe for the first time in days. “What are you doing, Jay?”

An impulsivity born of Nick’s anxiety desires nothing more than to pick up the phone and barrage Jay with phone calls. However, Nick knows from past episodes in which he attempted to ring Jay’s phone off the hook that this would be an act in vain.

He’ll fall asleep before Jay gives in and picks up.

There’s a strange pain radiating from Nick’s chest as he stares at the faint flickering light. He wonders idly if the longing making him sore all over is similar to the pangs that Jay felt when staring at the green light of the Buchanans’ dock on those dark summer nights.

Seeing the light makes Nick feel closer to Jay than he has since the Great Gatsby’s disappearance, but the expanse of brick, wood, and greenery between Jay and himself makes Nick feel beyond hopeless and depressed.

The faint light disappears down a staircase and doesn’t reemerge.

Nick stays hovering in front of the window for an hour, waiting helplessly, tired eyes searching through the dark for the tiny flame behind the curtains.

--------------------------------

During his Tuesday evening commute home Nick overhears a peculiar conversation on the train; two women’s hushed, lowly voices vibrating against the quivering metal walls of the train behind him.

“She says they’re flat broke,” one woman whispers, the sadness in her voice not pronounced enough for Nick to be able to tell if it’s genuine or not. “She’s been selling all of her evening gowns and jewelry to pawn shops and resale stores to make ends meet.”

“What a pity,” the second woman murmurs. “Poor woman...how much is she asking for her gowns? Those are all tailored and designer, so she should be making a pretty penny for them.”

“Everyone haggles, Maggie. She’s worn most of them, too. I bought one to try and help her but I couldn’t afford full price. I could only give her a little under half what she paid for it.”

“She didn’t pay for it, that blue blood did,” the second woman reminds her companion pointedly. There’s a spark of stinging heat behind this statement, most likely provoked by a well hidden but ever lurking green eyed monster.

“I know, but still, she and Wilson are facing eviction.”

“How did it get so dire? Last time I spoke to her she and Wilson were doing just fine money wise. I know he couldn’t buy her the trinkets the blueblood could, but she never said anything about foreclosure…”

“It’s all this mob violence. The valley has become a shooting gallery so people avoid stopping there at all costs. Anyone residing there with a nickel or two to their name has abandoned ship and moved to the slums further inland. I visited them last week, all that’s left is colored people and crackers.”

“She’ll really resent you calling her that…”

“It’s what we all are!” The first woman exclaims in exasperation. “I have no shame in saying it. I have no money. And neither does she now that the blue blood doesn’t come sniffing around for her like some hound dog.”

“Why doesn’t he?” The second woman asks coyly and with an audible lack of empathy, the green eyed monster rearing its ugly head yet again. “She used to gush about how he was going to leave his wife for her, how they were going to start a quaint little New York dream together.”

“He never left his wife,” the first woman whispers lowly. “He gave no explanation, she says Tom just quit returning her calls and dropping by to visit about a month ago.”

Nick can’t help but feel morbidly curious. He knows damn well that there are more than a handful of men named Tom and Wilson in New York, but wouldn’t it be such a small world if they were discussing his Tom and the poor mechanic down in the Valley of Ashes…

“Bet you the wife found out,” the second woman says smugly. “They never leave the wife.”

“I don’t know, Maggie, I just feel bad for Myrtle. Now she thinks she’s with child and they have nothing...she says she’s going to try to get Tom back. She needs the money something awful and she says she’s not sure who the father is.”

Nick feels his heart sink into the deepest, darkest pit of his stomach.

“What?” The second woman hisses excitedly.

“She says it could be either of them...and she needs the money to keep her and Wilson off the streets. Tom’ll toss some money her way...enough for them to get out of New York.”

Nick slowly turns around to get a glimpse of the two women behind him. The first is tall and thin as a rail, her long, curly dark hair tied back with a floral scarf. The other is smaller and curvier with a bob of bright blond hair and a baby face. Both are pale as ghosts.

Nick doesn’t recognize either of them, they’re simply two passing strangers who happen to be taking the same train out of the city, but he can’t help but feel like he knows the people they’re murmuring about.

“So much for New York, huh?” The second woman mumbles through a guffaw.

“So much for New York,” the first woman agrees solemnly, her voice nearly drowned out by the shrill scream of the conductor’s whistle.

--------------------------------

Nick tries to process the gossip he overheard on the train, finding himself more and more worked up as he replays the conversation over and over again like a record stuck on an infinite loop.

Myrtle is possibly pregnant, broke, and desperate to claw her way out of the thick of it.

Tom is brooding, angry, and has never exactly been the type of man to bend over backwards to help others.

Daisy is childish, delicate, and on the verge of collapse now that Jay isn’t available to sweep her off of her feet whenever Tom proves to be an adulterous worm or simply a bore.

Surely this spells nothing but certain turmoil for everyone involved.

Nick is so mired in the swamp of yet another potential catastrophe that is far beyond his grasp of control that he doesn’t notice a frazzled and seemingly disoriented Jay Gatsby crouched in front of his front door until he’s nearly tripped over him.

When he does process his out of sorts friend mere inches in front of him, Nick nearly jumps out of his skin as if he’s just stumbled across a spirit.

“Jay?!”

Jay bolts up right and spins around, looking stunned as a deer caught in headlights.

He’s clearly just as caught off guard by this encounter as Nick is, as he isn’t at all dressed up in the polished, pristine way he always is whenever conducting himself within any public sphere. Instead of a flamboyant suit, thoroughly shined shoes, and impeccably gelled hair Jay’s sporting slacks, a simple undershirt, no shoes and dark bags under his eyes.

Nick and Jay eye one another up for a moment, an excruciatingly heavy silence hanging between them.

Jay attempts to play his first move in a newly established game of tensions. He opens his mouth to say something, a strained smile spreading across his lips as if he plans to tell an off color joke, but nothing spills out. No apology, no confession, just an unbearable silence.

“I’ve been worried about you, you jackass,” Nick chastises softly as he eyes Jay suspiciously. He can hardly believe his eyes and wonders if he’s dreaming.

Surely after over a week of dead silence between them Jay wouldn’t have the gull to simply waltz over and wait for Nick on his front porch.

“I’m sorry, old sport,” Jay whispers. The smile slips off of his lips and the air of charisma Jay seems to oh-so effortlessly generate dissipates around him. His eyes drift down and stay hovered over Nick’s shoes and his shoulders hunch forwards.

Jay looks ashamed and small as a boy who’s been caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

“What are you doing here?” Nick asks, noticing that Jay has his hands clasped awkwardly behind his back and seems to be fiddling with something.

“Oh, well, I just...I was going to drop something off for you is all,” Jay explains quickly, adding in a breezy shrug to try and play this entire little episode off as nothing more than a neighborly act of kindness. “I thought I had a little more time before you came home.”

“I always get home at six,” Nick replies slowly as he approaches Jay with caution, creeping up onto the porch like he’s trying to corner a scared stray dog. “What have you got for me?”

“Ah, yes, the thing,” Jay mumbles to himself. He fidgets awkwardly in place, as if he’s seriously debating whether or not he should actually give Nick whatever it is that’s behind his back. “Just, uh, promise me you won’t read it until I’m back inside my own home, alright, old sport?”

Nick raises an eyebrow as Jay awkwardly hands him a crumpled up envelope.

“I was just going to slip it under your door and let you find it but, uh, you kind of snuck up on me,” Jay explains awkwardly, forcing himself to chuckle and smile in a way that is so horribly unnatural that it seems painful.

“Why can’t I read it now?” Nick asks, pressing more than he’s ever dared to with anyone. He advances again, leaving Jay with very little space between himself and the front door.

Jay fishes a handkerchief out of his pocket and dabs at his hairline. He shrugs, clearly at a loss for words.

“What’s in here, Jay?” Nick asks as he peels open the heavily creased and sweat damp envelope. A neatly folded piece of paper is inside, some ink tantalizingly peeking through the crease.

“Well, I just wrote down my feelings about all of the things we’ve been through and...well...you’ll see when you read it, Nick,” Jay mumbles anxiously through another shrug. He twists in place and tries to navigate an exit route, eyes darting down the side of Nick’s yard.

“Jay...I haven’t seen you in days! I’ve called you countless times, I’ve knocked on your front door, and now you just show up out of the blue with-”

“I know, I know,” Jay exclaims softly with a defeated sigh, slumping back against Nick’s front door. “I really wish I had a good reason for my behavior, Nick, I really do. I-I wanted to answer your calls and let you in but I...well, I couldn’t do it. You have to believe me, Nick, I wanted you there but...I just couldn’t.”

“I thought you’d tried to leave New York, Jay. I honest to God thought you’d made some moronic escape and were laying dead in a ditch or gutter somewhere,” Nick hisses, shocked at how harsh his words sound. Anger gives them a special sting that neither Nick or Jay is accustomed to.

This is evident in how Jay winces in response.

“Look, Nick, I’m sorry. I really am. I was just...embarrassed and ashamed, I needed time to come to grips with all the things I’d said. I’ve….I’ve never told anyone about most of the information I’ve divulged to you. I just needed time to think.”

Nick sighs, anger sizzling out in a puff of smoke as it's doused thoroughly with pity and empathy.

“I understand, but I also need time to forgive you. You scared the sh*t out of me, Jay, you really did.”

Jay nods and visibly perks up, seemingly more than happy to be back within Nick’s good graces...even if he’s only on the outskirts of friendly territory at the moment.

“Do you want me to read this, Jay?” Nick asks, holding the envelope up and giving it a little shake.

Jay bites his lip and stares at the envelope for a moment. He wrings his hands and taps his left foot against the creaky, aged cedar of Nick’s front porch.

“Well...it’s almost funny, Nick, before I ran this letter over here I was positive I wanted you to read it. I really had to think about what I wanted to write down, had to make sure I was getting the point across…”

“Why don’t you hold on to it,” Nick offers gently. “If you’re ever positive you want me to read it again, you can just give it to me then.”

Jay hesitates to take the letter back, hand stopping halfway through the aborted motion. He shakes his head, tucking his trembling hand behind his back.

“I want you to read it, Nick,” he decides with a firm nod.

“You’re sure?” Nick asks dubiously.

“Positive,” Jay replies with yet another firm nod. “Go ahead and read it. And to make it up to you, if you aren’t too angry with me...maybe you can pop over for dinner tomorrow.”

“Maybe I can.”

Jay nods, shooting Nick a lopsided, nervous smile before awkwardly sidestepping him and hurrying back home to his vast garden of dead, wilted flowers.

--------------------------------

Nick lays awake in bed, pouring over the lengthy letter over and over again by the faint, flickering light of an oil lamp.

All and all it’s nothing more than a rambling apology laden with both spelling errors and mysterious chunks that are heavily inked out and cannot be read.

It still melts Nick’s heart regardless.

Certain lines plaster themselves to Nick’s brain, scrawling across the backs of his eyelids when he closes his eyes in a vain attempt to fall asleep.

I’m sorry for the errors. I can read and write, but I’m slow as hell. My daddy taught me to do both, and he could barely do either himself.

I picked up that book you told me about. The Scarlet Letter. It’s a good read but I must admit the way they all treat Hester upsets me greatly. ‘Spose it just hits a little close to home.

You’re the best person I’ve ever met. I know that sounds soppy and like it can’t possibly be true, but it is. I’ve never been this close to someone else, and it’s scary.

I wanted to let you in, I would just sit there and listen to the phone ring or the knocking at the door and wish I could be brave enough to let you in.

Shame has always been a big part of my life and an integral part of my existence.

I felt like I’d made such an ass out of myself. Everything I thought I wanted is suddenly nothing of interest to me anymore, because I’ve woken up from the dream.

It has dawned upon me that Daisy doesn’t love me, or Tom, or anyone. At least not in the way that I love people and dream about being loved in return.

Thank you for everything you’ve done for me. Getting to know you was a real treat.

It’s the closing line that has Nick hopelessly confused and exhilarated at the same time though. It’s just two two silly little words scrawled together at the bottom of the paper, yet they keep him up for most of the night.

Love, Jay.

--------------------------------

“Well, good evening, old sport!” Jay greets excitedly. He looks mildly shocked to see Nick at his front door that evening, as he believed the other man would need more time to find it in his heart to forgive him.

But alas, Nick is at his dusty front stoop, and Jay seemingly couldn’t be more excited to host him. Jay ushers Nick into his dust and cobweb cluttered house, daring to place his hand on the small of Nick’s back as he leads him into the unkempt kitchen.

“I’m awfully sorry about the mess...I need to start cleaning around here but I just haven’t had it in me to start these past few days. I figure I’ll start in the entranceway tomorrow and work my way inward from there,” Jay chatters away nervously as he putters around at the stove.

“I’ll help you,” Nick offers. “I can take a day off from work.”

Even with Jay’s back to him, Nick knows this offer makes him flush, as Jay stiffens up immediately and pauses in tending to whatever it is that’s sizzling away in the frying pan in front of him.

“You don’t have to do that, Nick. I’d hate to burden you like that and cause you to miss a day at the office because I can’t straighten out my own affairs…”

“Honestly, Jay, I’d much rather spend all day scrubbing floors and dusting than going to work. Besides, you need help getting this place spic and span again,” Nick replies as he wipes a filmy layer dust off of the island top with a nearby napkin.

“Well...if you insist. I certainly won’t refuse your help and your company if you feel that way,” Jay admits slowly as he dumps the sauteed mushrooms and peppers out of the frying pan and into a neat pile on a nearby tray. “Well, that’s the last of it. Everything else is already set up in the library.”

“The library?” Nick asks as he blinks dumbly. He’d fully expected to just sit with Jay at the island and eat a casual diner style meal.

But apparently Jay has something else planned for their evening. He smiles shyly and nods his head toward the doorway.

“It’s not much, I just figured I should set up something a little nicer. You know, I am trying to apologize properly after all,” Jay explains awkwardly with an equally uncomfortable chuckle as he picks up the tray and leads Nick out of the kitchen.

Nick is admittedly flattered, smiling to himself at the thought of Jay setting up a table in the back of the library with him in mind. However, upon entering the library Nick feels downright lauded.

The library is spotless, a jarring contrast to every other crud encased inch of the mansion. The many bookshelves are clear of dust, the carpet is freshly vacuumed, the window’s are clear as crystal, and the entire room smells faintly of a well tended rose garden.

“How long did it take for you to get this room so clean?” Nick asks quietly, clearly in awe as he impulsively wipes a hand over a nearby shelf to check for any lingering dust.

“I spent all morning in here,” Jay admits nervously.

“You did a wonderful job.”

“Thank you,” Jay replies quietly, nerves fraying to the bit as they approach the small table in the back of the room.

Always a man dying to impress, Jay spent hours scrubbing the library from top to bottom and fixing up a half decent dinner. The hardest part for him was setting the table, as even after years of dining with filthy rich mob bosses in high end restaurants Jay still doesn’t quite understand the placement and distinct job of each little spoon and fork.

He took a gamble and put all the utensils in descending order from largest to smallest. Jay also attempted to fold up the napkins into the intricate little cloth boats his maids used to leave upon his dining room table and ended up with messy lumps instead. But these two blunders pale in Jay’s eyes in comparison to the half wilted bouquet in the center of the table.

After weeks of neglect nearly all of the flowers in Jay’s many gardens have succumbed to dehydration and been replaced by thick bushels of thorny weeds. Jay picked the most decent of the survivors to use as a centerpiece, but now, looking at the half-wilted, dry lilies and knowing that Nick is looking at them too...Jay finds himself feeling insecure and inadequate.

“You really didn’t have to do all of this,” Nick tells him as he seats himself at one end of the table. “I know you feel like you’ve got to make it up to me but you really didn’t have to do all of this.”

Jay shrugs as his cheeks burn. He clumsily handles the serving spoons to fix his guest and himself a plate, nearly knocking over a glass of wine with his elbow in his haste.

This uncanny and uncharacteristic nervousness isn’t at all lost on Nick. He stands back up to try and help Jay serve but quickly finds that the two of them reaching across the small, cramped table merely makes matters worse.

Very quickly the bottle of wine as well as the salad bowl find their way onto the floor.

“sh*t!” Jay mumbles as he bends over to tend to the mess. “Sorry about that, old sport. Figure you’ve gotten better service at any local diner than what I’m providing you with, huh?”

“Never been to a diner with such a charismatic and attentive waiter-slash-chef,” Nick retorts quickly as he steps over Jay’s back and begins to jog towards the door. “We’re going to need some vinegar to get that wine stain off your wooden floor. Have you got any in your kitchen?”

Jay, slow to respond as he fusses with what remains of their dinner, nods. “Um...yes, there should be some down in the kitchen...maybe.”

“I’ll see what I can find then.”

“Oh, no, no, you take a seat, Nick. You’re my guest! I’ll go dig around down there and see what I can find,” Jay insists hurriedly, scrambling over to the doorway. “Come on, old sport, just go take a seat and I’ll be right back!”

“It’s not a bother, Jay, let me help you.”

“Oh, no, no let me do it!”

Both men nearly trample each other in the doorway, struggling to rush over one another to get into the kitchen first. Like two young boys hurrying to catch up with their beloved runaway hound, Nick and Jay run down the mansion’s narrow, winding hallways, bumping into both the walls and each other.

“Just let me get it, Jay, it’s no problem!” Nick gasps out as they round the corner, elbow and shoulder rubbing against Jay’s.

“I’m the host!” Jay yelps indignantly. Between his own nauseating nervousness and the heat of such a sudden, childish competition, Jay dares to give Nick a shove backwards, allowing himself to get ahead.

Nick stumbles back, stunned. He recovers his footing quickly and the ruddy faced, runny nosed thirteen year old boy within him springs to life almost instantaneously. Such an intense reincarnation causes a juvenile giggle to break free from Nick’s lips as he reaches back to grasp onto one of Jay’s elbows and yank him back.

“Hey!” Jay shouts out in shock as he begins to fall backward. Just before his ass meets with the carpeted hardwood behind him, Jay manages to reach out and grab Nick by the back of his shirt, ensuring both of them go down together.

Jay’s back and Nick’s shoulders meet the floor with a resounding thud that echoes throughout the hallway. Both men gasp out as the air is forced from his lungs upon impact, their hurried, scared breaths ringing out almost immediately afterwards as their lungs rush to refill.

“sh*t,” Nick chokes out as he shakily struggles to sit up, a boisterous laugh fighting to find its way out of his stomach. “I would’ve beat you if you hadn’t-”

“Shush!” Jay hisses playfully from a prone position on his back. His cheeks are the same color as the wine stained hardwood in the library, his giggles being strangled by his industrious lungs refusal to slow down after their scare of oxygen starvation moments ago.

“No, I would have beat you!” Nick gasps out with a raspy laugh. “I would’ve-”

“No!” Jay insists stubbornly through a choked fit of giggles. “Not at all! I’m...I’m a farm boy. I’ve been...I’ve been running since I was born!”

Nick rolls his eyes as he leans back against the wall. “Baby Jay ran around the farm...herding cattle like a shepherd!”

Jay’s lips split into a lopsided grin, all of his pre-dinner jitters seemingly leaving him with his breath moments ago. “Damn straight.”

Nick chuckles as he lets his head loll back. It feels more natural now that Jay isn’t fussing and agonizing over their dinner like a brand new mother hovering over her infant’s bassinet. It’s more comfortable now, despite Nick’s intense, conflicting feelings of joy over being reunited with Jay and lingering anger over Jay’s initial disappearance.

“I missed you,” Nick allows himself to admit, any residual anger retreating deeper within himself as a flood of uncomfortably warm affection clouds his head like cigar smoke. “I was so scared for you and I’m just...happy to have you back.”

Jay takes a moment to respond. He sits up onto his elbows and glances over at his companion, his face now dusted with guilt.

“It’s been..” Jay begins sheepishly as his face begins to contort painfully. He pauses before letting out a small, soft sigh. “I missed you, too, Nick. I really did.”

Despite having had intuitively known this, Nick feels his face heat up, the cigar smoke of affection, shame, and confused feelings in his head thickening. He almost feels intoxicated, like he’s just had two large brandies despite being completely sober.

He wishes he was at least mildly drunk, because suddenly, sitting on the floor with Jay like this makes his skin crawl and his heart race.

Nick opens his mouth to speak but can’t find the words in his internal haze. He wants to play this game properly, wants to say the right thing to ensure Jay knows where they stand after his disappearance.

He wants Jay to feel guilty for leaving him confused and worried, scared out of his mind that Jay’s head was on display above some tycoon’s fireplace mantel.

He wants Jay to feel better now that they’re together again and can work together to work through the terrifying stew of sh*t he’s mired in.

He wants Jay to trust him, to feel close like they were before despite Jay’s nearly impulsive lies.

He wants Jay to feel close, so close because he-

Nick, suddenly scared out of his wits, forces this train of thought to a jarring, screeching stop. He can’t think that way, he can’t make this situation more complicated than it already is. Jay doesn't need his life to be any more complicated and messy either, not in the fix he's stuck in, with one foot already practically in the grave.

Jay is staring at him, doe eyed and so painfully open. He looks guilt stricken and sad. There’s a vulnerability expressed so openly on his face that it makes Nick queasy.

“I…” Jay cuts himself off, chewing on his bottom lip as his eyes dart away and fixate on one of the many busts adorning a nearby shelving unit.

There’s a pause, and Nick feels his stomach roll uneasily like a turbulent ocean wave. An eternally naive and innocent part of him believes he knows what’s coming. A part of him wants so badly to believe he knows what’s coming, wants so badly for these confusing feelings to be reciprocated genuinely.

They’ve been so close, so vulnerable and raw with each other over the last few months. Nick feels as if he’s seen Jay striped to his barest, most simplistic forms. There’s an unspeakable intimacy there and it makes Nick’s heart shriek joyously to think maybe, just maybe…

But Nick has been in a similar spot before, has let himself naively believe that he’d loved and been loved and has tried so hard to form his life into something simpler, something easier.

Jay inhales deeply and holds his breath for a moment, his heart pounding harder and faster than Nicks. All the foolish giggling has disappeared and been replaced with a deep nervousness and unease that makes Jay’s lungs struggle yet again.

“Do you remember when we last spoke? I know I was a mess, but do you remember?” Jay asks quickly, speaking so fast it takes Nick a moment to decipher what exactly is being asked.

“Yes,” Nick replies with a nod, sounding equally breathless and nervous.

“I...I meant what I said,” Jay admits, now talking slowly, sounding out each word like he’s speaking a language he barely has a grip on to a native speaker and is desperately trying to be understood. “What I said...I meant it. And if we're going to be honest with each other, if we're going to be completely open...”

Nick wants to be puzzled for a moment by what Jay means, if nothing else just to make the moment more novel. Apparently this desire is expressed genuinely enough, because Jay dares to elaborate after a pregnant moment of silence between them.

“I want...I want to be with you in a way...I want to be with you.”

Nick isn’t sure exactly how to respond appropriately. He knows how he feels, knows all too well what he wants, but he knows better. He knows how vulnerable Jay is, knows this is more than vital as to how Jay’s emotions may be playing nasty little tricks on him.

“Jay-”

“Look, I...I don’t know how this happened. I don’t know what this means for either of us but...I mean it. I haven’t had anything to drink, Nick, and god I wish I had, but I know I love you,” Jay explains nervously, his voice quaking violently. "This has been eating me alive for awhile now, I haven't even been able to be honest with myself about it until now, now that I'm trying to be open with you. And this is the truth of it all."

Nick hesitates to respond, his mind racing away from him faster than a tornado. “Jay,” he manages to splutter out awkwardly, hands running through his hair.

“I’ve never...I mean, not with a man, I’ve noticed men before the same way I notice women, but I’ve never acted on it. But this is...this is so heavier than that, Nick, it’s crushing me alive,” Jay rambles, sounding more and more frightened as he goes, hints of a northern accent bleeding into his voice as he begins to lose control. “I don’t understand really, because this is different than anything else I’ve ever...I’ve never been so close I just...I want to be close with you, I want so badly to be with you and...I’m sorry if I’m scaring you. I’m sorry if you never want to see me again after this but I need to be honest with you, if we're going to be genuine, if we're going to be...to be real-”

“Jay, I...can you come here?” Nick asks softly as his eyes close and hands finally find their way out of his hair and onto the top of his knees. He's lost, utterly lost and unsure how to act or what to do. To know that it hasn't just been him feeling this closeness, that it maybe both of them have been denying something to scrape by...have they both lost their minds? Nick can only assume hat they've both succumbed to the horrors of their lives and are finally breaking apart after so many months of misery.

“I...are you sure?” Jay asks despite already tripping over himself to hurriedly sit up. “I...I’m sorry, I just, I can’t-”

“As sure as you are, Jay,” Nick whispers hoarsely. His heart feels like it’s stopped dead in his chest, it feels paralyzed, like a ball of frozen, pink meat resting against his ribs as Jay hastily crawls over to him.

They’re so close now. Jay stares at Nick with wide, scared eyes and bites his lip again. Were he standing Nick knows he’d hear the telltale nervous tapping of Jay’s foot against the floor.

Nick opens his eyes and emboldens himself to lock eyes with his companion. He feels like time has stopped, like the bustling, crazy city that never sleeps a few miles away with all of its bright, flashing signs, screaming car horns, and horrifying gunshots has disappeared and dumped him into the deep, dark wells of Jay’s eyes.

He’s never noticed just how dark they were until now.

He should say something. Nick isn’t sure what he’s supposed to say, but he knows he should say something, anything.

All that comes out is a weak, “You’ve been scaring me to death lately.”

“I know.”

After a beat of silence their lips find one another.
-------------------------------

“Did your mother ever read to you before bed?”

It’s an odd question, seemingly asked at random out of the blue. There had been a a fairly comfortable blanket of silence over the dark bedroom for nearly an hour before Jay voiced said inquiry.

Nick furrows his brows and smiles softly, wondering where this opening question will lead him.

“Sometimes. Did yours?”

“Course not, she couldn’t read,” Jay mumbles, eyes downcast as he runs a hand over Nick’s bare shoulder. “She’d tell me stories though. Every night. Her or my daddy, sometimes they’d do it together.”

“Do it together?” NIck asks curiously as he sits up onto his elbows. It’s far too dark for him to make out Jay’s face, but Nick knows by the other man’s tone that he’s sporting a small, bittersweet smile on his lips.

“Yeah. You know, my mother would start, she’d come up with the main character and set them up on a journey, and then my daddy would chime in and continue the journey for a while before handing it off to my mother again. They’d go back and forth like that until they finished the story or I fell asleep.”

“Which one happened more?”

“I always fought to stay awake until the end of the story, no matter how tired I was. I always wanted to know how it ended.”

Nick’s smile widens. “Your parents must’ve weaved some very fascinating stories.”

“Oh, incredibly, my mother especially was a master storyteller. She was always so….vivid in her descriptions of the places and people in her stories. My daddy did a good job, too, but my mother was the best storyteller I’ve ever known. She effortlessly created such intense worlds and people off of the top of her head.”

“You’re pretty good at it yourself,” Nick quips gently as he leans into Jay’s touch. “You’ve got all of New York baffled, Mr. Gatsby.”

Jay chuckles softly. “Maybe. Still don’t hold a candle to my mother, though. She’d have the whole East Coast under her spell.”

They lapse into another easy silence, Jay running his hands up and down Nick’s arms slowly. In the safe concealment of the dark, Jay’s eyes are still wide in astoundment as he feels Nick’s warm skin against his palms.

Everything that has happened over the course of the night still feels like a strange dream to both of them. It feels like a lovely dream, one that draws a man deeper and deeper into it’s warm embrace before suddenly casting him out into the cold morning light like a cruel lover.

Jay, being more prone to anxious paranoia, worries any moment he’s about to wake up alone in bed, everything he feels he just has been blessed with being nothing more than a mere fantasy. He can’t keep his hands to himself, scared that if he stops touching Nick will vanish into thin air and leave him all alone.

Nick, more calm and sleepy after a rushed org*sm, simply lies with the events of the night like a sleeping dog. He’s fully aware he has much to sort through come the morning, and that he and Jay have a large array of subjects to discuss. Among such subjects are the favor Wolfsheim is currently holding over Jay's head like an anvil, Myrtle’s potential pregnancy, and, of course, that dreadfully uncomfortable conversation in which the two of them try to figure out what exactly the they are to each other now.

But for now, Nick basks in the darkness like a moon flower. He allows himself to enjoy Jay’s soft, nervous caresses and occasionally leans down to press light, open mouthed kisses to Jay’s collarbone and neck.

“You said your mother read to you sometimes?” Jay asks suddenly, once again breaking the easy silence hanging over the room.

Nick nods. “Yes, sometimes. I had a governess and I spent much more time with her than my mother. She read to me most nights.”

“Oh.”

Another beat of silence passes before Jay speaks again.

“You read a lot as an adult.”

“I do,” Nick replies with audible amusem*nt, unable to bite back a smile. He can’t help but feel Jay is talking purely out of anxiety, speaking just to hear his own voice aloud and feel comforted when he hears Nick’s voice respond.

“What’s your favorite book?”

“I have too many to pick just one. I like all sorts of different stories; memoirs, science fiction, thrillers, romances, Greek tragedies, plays, poems...you name it. But...a favorite of mine is the Scarlet Letter.”

“I liked it, too...it made me sad, though.”

“You mentioned that in your letter. You know, the best stories resonate with us like that and spark...something in us. Sadness, inspiration, joy, grief, anything that makes us think about our own lives.”

“This is probably horrible, but I must admit it takes me a while to get through a book due to my...lack of refined reading skills. Before you suggested that book to me I hadn’t read anything in years,” Jay admits quietly, so quietly its as if he’s frightened Nick will laugh at him.

“You enjoyed it?”

“I did. It sucked me in, I felt like I knew Hester, like she was a dear friend of mine by the last page. Just her struggle with being cast from her community and trying to be a good mother and support herself and her daughter….and this painfully persistent, tragic love she wouldn’t let go of for the man who ruined her life but wouldn’t risk his own standing in the church to do what he ought to do as the girl’s father…” Jay trails off and shrugs. “It got me good, I must admit.”

Nick chuckles and leans down to press a kiss to the corner of Jay’s mouth. “Glad you enjoyed it.”

“As much as you read...do you write?”

“I used to, I would write short stories for fun,” Nick admits as he lays back down on his side and presses his face into the cover of Jay’s neck. “Why do you ask?”

“You seem like a writer. I was shocked when I first met you and you said you were in bonds….didn’t seem like you to be in bonds.”

Nick can’t help but chuckle. “What, do I not seem sensible enough to be in finance?”

“No, not a lack of sensibility, not at all. It wasn’t a lack of anything but this...abundance of creativity and heart you have. I couldn’t picture you wilting away in an office somewhere. There’s no brain food there, you need that, I reckon.”

“Finance is actually pretty interesting, it fascinated me, it still does, but…” Nick pauses, unsure how exactly to voice his displeasure with his job, his displeasure with New York, and his immense overall dissatisfaction with his life.

He can’t quite find the words for the second time that night and once again allows himself to be far less than articulate.

“I want to feel something. Life is short and I always want to feel something, no matter what. At work...I feel nothing but empty most days.”

Jay rolls over so that their faces are a breath apart, the tips of their noses touching. “Then quit. I’ll take care of you.”

Nick snorts before he can help himself and gives Jay a soft, playful shove. “I don’t want to not work. I just don’t want to work in bonds anymore, but thank you, Mr. Gatsby, for your generous offer.”

“But you can work, you can write!” Jay insists gently as he rubs their noses together, eyes fluttering closed. “I’ll buy you the finest pens, the finest typewriters, anything you need. And you can sit up on one of the balconies and overlook the beautiful waves of the bay that reflect the sunrise and sunset for inspiration. Or you can stroll through the gardens, I’ll fix them up and you’ll have an amazing collection of gorgeous plants to draw creativity from. We can even go on rides to wherever you want, get you in whatever headspace you need to be in to flesh your settings and characters out. Whatever you’d want, whatever you’d need.”

Nick chuckles softly, relieved if nothing else to see glimpses of the usual confident and assured Jay peak through the quiet, anxious shell Nick’s been laying with for the last hour.

It’s understandable, the position they’re both in is incredibly vulnerable. Jay admitted beforehand multiple times (at least six that Nick can remember throughout) that he’d never been with a man, and it had been longer than Nick would like to admit since the last time he’d been intimate with anyone.

It had been awkward. It had been pleasurable and warm, but it had felt like a virgin experience to both men.

The two had done a clumsy dance around the dark bedroom in a flurry of sloppy, hurried kisses and awkward missteps that sent a pile of books and a particularly unfortunate desk lamp onto the floor. They had stripped during this dizzying, desperate waltz, awkwardly trying to communicate throughout with various grunts and mumbled insecurities from Jay (“I don’t know what I’m doing, oh God.”) and reassurances from Nick (“You’re doing great, just relax, this isn’t exactly...complex.”).

It had been quick, neither lasting particularly long as they moved against one another in an uneven rhythm. Between the breakneck pace and awkward position, Nick couldn’t help but be reminded of his first few times in college when he was young, clumsy, and beyond insecure.

If nothing else, it left both of them satisfied and worn out, like two fat, old bears about to settle in for hibernation after a large lunch. However that sheepish, awkward air around Jay has yet to be lifted fully.

Suffice to say, Nick is relieved to see the old Jay rounding the corner and returning to him.

“I’ll consider your offer,” Nick says complacently as he runs a hand through Jay’s hair. “We have quite a bit to figure out.”

Jay hums as he leans in to bury his head in the feather down and up against Nick’s chest. “Maybe,” he mumbles softly through a yawn. “I must admit though...a part of me is convinced I’m going to wake up in this bed alone.”

“You might. I get up fairly early to take a morning piss,” Nick whispers teasingly into Jay’s thick curls.

“But you’ll come back?”

It’s a question completely driven by anxiety, by a deep fear of abandonment.

Jay is so far in over his head with deranged mob bosses and elaborate money laundering schemes that the last thing he should be wasting his time worrying about his whether or not Nick will crawl back into bed with him the next morning.

But regardless it’s the unknown element that is making him squirm the most at the moment.

“I’ll come back,” Nick assures him without hesitation as he begins to run his fingers through the thick spirals of Jay’s hair.

“Good, that’s good,” Jay mutters more to himself than to Nick as he winds his arms around the other man’s torso. “I love you.”

It’s a statement, a plain statement, that slips out unintentionally without much thought.

Jay’s said it before. He’d said it many times as a young boy to his parents before drifting off into sleep. He’d said it to people he thought were his friends after a few drinks while his spirits and cheeks were more than pleasantly warm. He’s said it to many women before, including Daisy, and had meant it sincerely and stubbornly as death, regardless of their reaction.

But despite having used this phrase, this simple string of three words, so many times before, he’s never meant it exactly how he means it now as he murmurs it against Nick’s chest.

The pessimist in Jay, firmly implanted after many a tragic hardship, hisses that this is moving far too quickly. That such intense emotions are sure to be his ruin and get him burned. That he’s going to be laughed at or have his heart handed back to him with a scoff.

This little voice urges Jay to be cautious, to pull back and construct some elaborate mask to hide behind to protect himself. To hide the way he’s been doing to try since he left home to win over others' respect and affection.

“I love you, too.”

This response for Nick is also a simple statement. It’s offered so freely that Jay finds himself growing paranoid further that it's insincere, a response tossed his way in a very similar way that he sees people ask one another ‘how are you doing’ as part of an uninterested but polite greeting.

This paranoia subsides the next morning when he’s woken up by Nick wiggling his way back under the sheets, the morning sun just beginning to slip through the curtains and bathe the room in light.

Chapter 7

Chapter Text

Summer departs abruptly with a wicked, scornful storm.

Groups of dark clouds, heavy with rain, congregate over New York like crowds of mourners at a funeral, threatening to spill their flood of tears at any given moment.

Harsh winds rip through the city, clawing at rooftops and rattling window panes as they screech out into the evening like hordes of banshees.

The bay is raised in aggressive white caps as it lashes out angrily at the beach, sending any late evening beach goers retreating for the mainland.

The air is suffocatingly heavy with the impending thunderstorm. The occasional bolt of lightning streaks across the dreary, ominous sky, but no thunder accompanies it.

“What a way to end the summer,” Jay muses quietly as he watches the murky, tumultuous waves of the bay tumble into and away from the beach. His foot taps restlessly against the deck boards. “This is gonna be a hell of a storm.”

Nick hums absently in agreement as he anxiously fiddles with the half-burnt, completely unsmoked cigar in his hands.

Given the potentially lethal precipice he and Jay are currently dangling from, Nick really finds it hard to worry about the incoming storm. After all, Nick figures any damage done to Jay’s property by mother nature’s wrath won’t really matter if the two of them end the night with a bullet to the brain.

It’s almost comical in a morbid way, how over the course of a mere week the stakes in Nick’s life have skyrocketed and the consequences have morphed from mere social ostracization to having a permanent spot six feet under the soil.

The last week of Nick’s life has felt like a twisted waking dream.

His old life is tantalisingly close, within arm’s reach. Nick’s home lies within sixty feet of Jay’s garden gates, eerily silent as its only current tenants are a mischief of mice.

His desk and phone receiver sit downtown collecting dust as his co-workers weave an intricate web of rumours to try and explain his sudden disappearance.

The train continues along its preordained route, punctual as ever despite Nick’s absence.

The rest of the world continues to toil away at its natural pace, seemingly unaware of or completely unbothered by Nick’s jarring misplacement.

But for Nick, his old life feels oceans away. He feels as if overnight he was plucked from his bed by God and placed into a foreign country to start his life anew yet again.

Long gone are Nick’s days of rotting away behind a desk and lamenting what could have been back home in Minnesota. He endures no more early morning train commutes or draining lunches in the insufferable company of his exhausting colleagues.

Instead, Nick stands on the edge of a new strange, half-life that involves a strict regime of hiding in the shadows, listening obediently to orders given by mob bosses, and keeping his head down lest it get sent rolling down an alleyway.

Anyone sound of mind (or who had a real choice in the matter) would quickly step away from such a dark, slippery slope into the inferno, but Nick is willingly falling head first into the flames. His motivation for such an act of blatant self destruction? A fickle emotion that’s led many a man to his demise over the eons.

Tonight comes Nick's official final step of initiation into Jay's world. Tonight, in an act of baptism by fire, Nick takes the final step over the edge and completely immerses himself into New York's underbelly and brands himself an accomplice to organized crime.

Over an elegant, candle lit dinner, Nick knows he will come face to face with the puppeteer behind much of New York’s escalating violence.

He’s had all week to practice and prepare himself for this meeting with the devil, but now, only an hour or so away from this fateful dinner, Nick finally finds himself feeling nervous and ill.

He knows what to expect more or less, as Jay has walked Nick through how most of these meetings go and given Nick plenty of helpful tidbits that, hopefully, should keep Nick's head firmly attached to his shoulders.

Nick knows not to speak unless spoken to. He knows not to fuss when the chauffeur blindfolds him and ties his hands behind his back. He knows only to offer information that is asked for directly and not to say more than he needs to. He knows not to give his actual name to anyone and, in general, to hold his tongue as tightly as possible.

He knows to keep his gun hidden in his sock and only to use it if a dire situation of life or death crops up.

“I’m just glad they aren’t coming here,” Nick admits quietly as he casts a glance behind him, stomach sinking at the state of Jay’s dusty, decrepit ballroom.

Even after a week of doing nothing in their waking hours besides scrubbing down floors and mirrors and dusting mantels and bannisters, half of the mansion is still caked in grime from neglect.

It’s a mighty undertaking for just two people. On average they manage to completely clean two or so small rooms or one large room a day. They work from dawn till dusk, at which point they throw in their towels and clean themselves up before all but collapsing into bed.

At sunrise they force themselves to get up and start the routine again.

They live like maids and worry like escaped convicts.

“It’s starting to rain,” Jay mumbles thoughtfully as he begins to pace across the deck, a train of purple smoke lazily drifting after him.

Nick watches as the raindrops ripple across the bay’s dark waves, the black waters swallowing up the fat, crystalline droplets into itself.

--------------------------------
“Just remember not to say anything unless they directly say something to you,” Jay reminds Nick softly, anxiety freely bleeding through his voice and his eyes. He lights up yet another cigar, what must be his fourth this evening. “And I know you’re nervous, but try and eat at least a little. He’ll take it personally if you don't, you know. He'l think you’re snubbing his joint.”

Nick nods solemnly, eyes glued to the black sedan currently pulling through Jay’s garden gates. His heart is racing, his palms are sweating profusely.

He feels like that shiny little sedan may as well be a lumbering, morbid hearse coming to drag he and Jay away to the grave.

“You’re sure you want to do this with me?”

It’s upward of the twentieth time Jay has freely offered Nick an exit route. Even now, as any opportunity of safely extracting himself from this situation frantically slips away, Jay is honestly offering Nick a shameless way out.

For upward of the twentieth time Nick shakes his head in stubborn refusal.

“We’re doing this together.”

Jay smiles anxiously, looking torn between pure delight and downtrodden despair at Nick's blind willingness to offer up his head alongside Jay's on a silver platter.

"Okay, old sport," he murmurs with a hasty nod. "Together it is then."

The sedan pulls up to the front porch and parks, nestled between two patches of wilted flowers and weeds. The passenger side door swings open to reveal a short, stout man with graying hair and a well kept, trimmed beard.

"Alright, gents, are we ready?" He asks in a thick Nordic accent that takes Nick by surprise.

Jay nods, all the color drained from his face as he stuffs his cigar between his lips and obediently places his hands behind his back.

Nick fumbles to quickly mimic Jay, figuring that someone as seasoned as him must know all the steps to this terrifying tango by heart.

"Alright, c'mon, Ling, let's get them settled."

A long, lanky Chinese boy who Nick estimates can't be older than seventeen pops out of the back seat, brandishing two ropes and two pieces of black velvet in his hands.

"Stand still," Jay grits out of the corner of his mouth around his cigar. "And don't say anything."

Nick doesn't move a muscle as the boy quickly binds his hands behind his back, the rope cruelly cutting into his skin and leaving his fingers feeling numb and light as balloons.

His heart beat hammers away, reverberating in Nick's ears. Right before the blindfold goes over his eyes in a knee jerk move of dumb desperation, he whips his head to the right to get a final glance of Jay.

Hell, for all Nick knows this is the last time he could lay eyes on him.

Jay is already bound and blindfolded, the Nord clearly more experienced and faster at his craft. Jay stumbles over to the car, his only source of guidance being the Nord's hand on his shoulder.

"Don't move!" Ling hisses in Nick's ear, sounding more anxious than angered or annoyed as he hurriedly yanks the blindfold over Nick's eyes and begins to tie.

Now robbed of his sight, Nick finds an even more intense panic flaring through his body like a wildfire.

He and Jay are helpless as newborn kittens, at the complete mercy of their chauffeur and chaperones.

If they so well pleased they could easily kill them both and dispose of their bodies along the side of the road or in the bay.

He and Jay could be a headline in next Sunday's paper, or even worse, could completely decay in a field, undiscovered for months or even years.

They could be just two sets of bones along a hiking trail, picked apart by ravenous animals and scattered across a hillside. No one would ever know what had become of them. They would simply vanish, two more people to fade away silently into New York's gutter.

Ling places a steady hand on Nick's shoulder and leads him down the porch stairs and to the car, the rain kissing Nick's cheeks and forehead as Ling gently pushes him into the car.

"Alright, Johnny, everyone's settled in."

The engine buzzes to life and Nick finds the motion of the car overwhelming as they pull out of the garden.

He figures it must be the rest of his senses compensating for his lack of sight, but between the movement of the car and the overpowering scents of cigar smoke, Italian cologne, and rain Nick finds himself feeling queasy and overwhelmed.

The car ride is nearly silent, no one uttering a word. All Nick can hear is the soft pitter pattering of the rain against the windshield and windows along with the occasional sloshing of the tires cutting through a puddle.

The harsh clicking of a lighter interrupts the soft symphony of the oncoming storm.

"I f*cking hate when you all smoke in here," the driver mutters in disgust. "I can never get that smell outta the leather."

"You need to relax, Johnny," the Nord chastises playfully. "C'mon, you want a cig?"

The driver gags to which the Nord chuckles.

"Suit yourself."

Nick's stomach lurches as the car veers right, the delicate thrumming of violins from a nearby concert, play or funeral filling the car briefly before just as fleetingly petering out.

The rich smells of freshly turned soil from a garden, the stench of horse droppings and gasoline, and the sweet aroma of freshly made bread all filter in and out of the car. The shrill shriek of car horns, the soft rumbling of thunder, the exuberant gabbing of pedestrians, and the cracking of horse whips all take their turns adding to the ominous ambiance before quickly exiting the stage.

Nick can tell that they're on the mainland and are downtown, but he's well and truly lost beyond that. As much as he tries to create a map in his mind based on their various twists and turns he finds the pieces are too difficult to piece together and he simply ends up giving himself a dull headache.

The only source of solace Nick finds in the cramped back of the sedan is knowing that even as they enter the devil’s den, Jay is by his side.

Even robbed of his sight and ability to freely move, Nick can sense Jay’s presence next to him. The tapping off his foot reverberates against the car floor and sends a mild jolt of motion up Nick’s left leg. He can feel the nervous warmth radiating off Jay’s body and smell the sickly sweet smoke of his cigar.

Nick would sell his soul to be able to reach out and feel him.

The car slows to a halt, enveloped in a fog of faint jazz music, a garble of casual banter, and the distinctive stench of urine.

"Ling, get that cigar butt out from between our guest's lips. We're here," The Nord announces as he swings open the car door, allowing a wet, blustery wind to blow through the back seat.

Nick reflexively flinches when he feels a stern hand grasp his shoulder, impatiently coaxing him out of the car and into the miserable evening.

“Alright, watch out for the stairs,” Ling warns as he tugs Nick along down what feels like a bumpy cobblestone sidewalk.

If Nick thought he was nervous earlier, he’s half scared to death now. He feels like he’s stuck in an ever escalating nightmare that he can’t quite shake himself awake from, like he should suddenly startle awake and find himself cozied up in his bed.

“f*cking miserable night,” the Nord says casually, like the foursome are a group of friends going on a late evening stroll. “Makes my bones ache. That’s how I know it’s going to be getting cold soon. I can’t wait for the insufferable heat to pass. It’s been a horrible summer, yeah?”

Ling simply hums in response, seemingly uninterested in any inane chit chat.

“Alright, up the stairs we go!” The Nord singsongs. Nick can hear the scuffle of shoe soles against wood and what sounds like the creak of a door being opened. With the opening of the door comes a strong gust of cold air that carries many boisterous voices fighting to be heard over the clamour of a choir of saxophones and a drum.

Without seeing the room he’s being ushered into, Nick can tell it’s terribly crowded. He feels beyond overstimulated, like he’s just been dunked into a pool of ice cold water and is having his head held underneath the surface.

Shoulders and tabletops rub against Nick’s elbows, breath and sweat run down his neck.

A group to his left screams and shouts at each other drunkenly about someone’s debt over a poker game.

Two women to his right are yelling at each other passionately about something in French.

A man behind the bar keeps demanding everyone help him find his brother.

Another door opens with an even heavier sound and just as quickly as the chaos enveloped Nick, it vanishes.

In the blink of an eye it's like the bar and all its patrons have sunk into the earth and fallen away as the door closes behind the group with a resounding thud.

“Careful,” Ling mumbles, his already tight grip on Nick’s arm tightening further as he leads him down what feels like a harrowingly narrow set of creaky wooden stairs.

“Smells like they’re whipping up some grade-A raviolis tonight,” the Nord chirps. “I hope it's the egg yolk ones, those are the best of the best. Or those f*cking canneloni. Yum.”

Nick feels like his stomach has balled itself into a useless lump of spasming muscle and cannot even fathom eating at the moment.

“Alright gents, take a seat.”

And with that Nick is suddenly spun around and awkwardly shoved down into a chair. He lets out an involuntary hiss as Ling yanks his arms into a painful twist and begins to undo the bindings around Nick’s hands.

“Are we all settled in here?” A woman calls from across the room.

“Just about, ma-daaam,” the Nord drawls out playfully. “What kind of magic have you and Larry made for us all tonight?”

“You’ll see in a minute, you jackass, stay out of the damn kitchen! Hey!”

The velvet blindfold falls away from Nick’s face and for a moment, out of nothing more than childish fear, Nick keeps his eyes firmly shut.

Opening his eyes and acknowledging his surroundings solidifies the reality of his and Jay’s dire situation. Just a moment longer of blindness gives him the smallest of temporary rabbit holes to crawl into and hide.

The ominous echoing of a fleet footsteps down the stairwell effectively smokes Nick out into reality.

He sees that he and Jay are seated at an intricately carved mahogany table in the middle of a small, elegant saloon.

The wooden floors are polished to such pristine perfection that Nick can make out his smudged reflection staring back up at him. The deep burgundy walls are decorated with various paintings of naked angels lounging about by lakes and engaging in acts of highly unrighteous behavior.

To the left is an unmanned bar, its cabinets and bartop stock full of liquor bottles and carefully cleaned crystal glasses.

To the right is a barren stage along with two rows of completely desolate tables.

At the back of the room is the winding staircase from which Nick and Jay were blindly led down and from which someone else is currently making their way down.

Nick dares a glance at Jay and sees that he’s paler and clammier than most corpses, his dark eyes fixed unmoving on the landing of the staircase.

Down the winding staircase limps an older man, hobbling along on a marbleized cane, followed by two large, bulky walls of men.

The older man still possesses a head full of thick, curly hair, although all of it has turned gray as ash. His face and body are both long and thin, his delicate features are framed by thick rimmed glasses and his bony limbs are cloaked in a finely tailored and immaculately pressed black suit.

“Well, well, well,” the old man drawls in a thick Brooklyn accent as he slowly but surely wobbles over to the table, his cane cracking harshly against the floor. “I see you’ve brought a friend with you tonight, Jay. Go on, it’s rude not to introduce the two of us.”

Jay seems to be lost in a sort of nearly syncope trance of terror. He stumbles to his feet as if drunker than the bar patrons upstairs, the chair gratingly squeaking against the floor as he staggers upright.His eyes remain locked firmly on the old man standing before him, as if Jay fears blinking will give the other a chance to pull a nasty trick.

“Uh, old sport, this is the man at the top of the food chain that I’ve told you so much about. My boss and mentor, Meyer Wolfsheim.”

Nick reaches out to shake the man’s hand without thinking, his brain struggling to identify the man in front of him as the volatile and violent mob boss Jay has told him so much about.

The man in front of him looks like someone’s ageing father, like someone Nick would expect to find loitering around a fishing dock or half asleep on a park bench with a newspaper in his lap.

He surely does not look like someone Nick would need to fear driving a dagger into his back, like someone who’s ordered countless senseless murders and has more blood on his hands than a butcher.

“Nice to meet you, young man,” Wolfsheim says with a toothy smile as he exuberantly pumps Nick’s hand. “I’m assuming you're an important guy if you’ve been dragged out here to dine with us tonight. Say, do you care for some wine? We have this wonderful stuff from France-hey, Ling, come pour us all a glass of the Mouton Rothschild on the second shelf!”

Wolfsheim seats himself as his two lackeys make themselves comfortable at the next table over, busying themselves with a card game until their brawn is called upon to deter a mutiny or break up a squabble.

“It’s been awhile since you and I have sat down and had a talk face-to-face, hasn’t it?” Wolfsheim muses absently as Ling skirts around the table, three glasses and a bottle of wine in hand. “So, tell me Jay, what’ve you–hey, Ling, help yourself and the guys to a glass, huh? What’ve you been up to, Jay?”

Jay does not untense in the slightest, despite Wolfsheim’s seemingly nonchalant approach to their business meeting. He forces his lips into a painful smile and shrugs.

“Oh, you know, nothing special. Just keeping the drug stores fully staffed, moving money from here to there, keeping things afloat. Just typical business.”

“Good, good,” Wolfsheim says with a curt nod as he takes a sip of his wine. “I was a little worried about you, Jay. When you scrapped all those maids and chefs I gave you I thought you might be in trouble.”

Jay blanches further and runs a hand through his hair. “Ah, well, I just wanted a little bit of privacy. It doesn’t feel like home when you always have strangers over, you know.”

“Sure,” Wolfsheim concedes with a shrug. “But I can’t imagine much upkeep goes into keeping that castle of yours spick and span by yourself, huh?”

Jay lets out an abrupt howl of a hollow laugh that makes Nick’s skin crawl and causes Wolfsheim to immediately raise an eyebrow.

“Well, yes, I do suppose that it is, eh, quite a bit of work, but I just couldn’t stand having all those people there all the time anymore. Too many eyes and ears everywhere, too hard to have a moment completely to yourself, it was unbearable some days. I’d rather have a little more dust laying around than have all those folks in my business again,” Jay rambles awkwardly, his discomfort painfully clear.

Wolfsheim takes a moment to respond, only letting a thoughtful hum slip past his lips as he digs around in his suit jacket for his lighter and his pack of cigars.

“Well, whatever your reasoning is, it was alarming to me,” he says breezily before plopping his cigar between his lips. “I was worried about you, Jay. At first I started keeping closer tabs on your drug stores to ensure nothing was going awry, but after a few weeks of smoothing sailing I assumed whatever your neurosis was must be completely personal and unrelated to business since the books all balanced and things were going swimmingly.”

Jay elects not to respond, staring intently at his glass of wine as he swirls the blood red liquid around in the bulbous glass.

“Regardless of whatever personal afflictions you’ve suffered as of late, I’ve decided to keep my nose out of your sh*t,” Wolfsheim continues through an inhale of his cigar. “Besides, if its nothing concerning the stores, the sales or your ability to keep up than I figure it’s really none of my business, is it?”

Jay continues to stay silent, gaze drifting from his glass to a nearby painting of an angel fondling her pert breasts with one hand whilst inserting a finger into herself with the other.

Wolfsheim seems undeterred by Jay’s sudden withdrawal.

“Look, I don’t care what you need to do to get by these days. That’s your life, not mine. But we are going to have a problem if you keep insisting on keeping your beautiful palace all to yourself from now on. You’re well aware those fabulous parties of yours were major marketing opportunities for me, and without them, well, I can still get around but it’s a much bigger pain in the behind than it needs to be,” Wolfsheim explains casually before taking a swig of his wine. “Besides, we have a huge business deal on the horizon, kid.”

Nick keeps his eyes trained on Jay, searching his face desperately for some flicker of emotion. Surely he’s still frightened, still anxious and pondering his mere mortality, but Nick finds himself further unravelling and struggling to remain calm with Jay’s sudden onset catatonia.

After all, Nick has never before witnessed someone able to so effectively silence the ever talkative Jay with such ease and finesse. It would appear that Wolfsheim is skilled at bringing Jay to his knees and keeping him muzzled.

“In two weeks I’m hosting two very important potential business partners. I have opium dealers from China and Spain visiting for the weekend and was hoping to set up shop in your mansion. Problem is, I’m sure your once glorious abode is quite the pigpen since you’ve decided to up and fire everyone. I don’t care if you want to live in filth but I’m not hosting a party with my name on it in a landfill.”

Jay’s face remains hard as stone as he simply nods along, seemingly agreeing to any and all terms and conditions about to be laid out bare for him.

Wolfsheim opens his mouth to continue but is cut off as the kitchen door opens and a line of three women in matching white jackets and blue aprons pour out of the kitchen, carrying trays of freshly made ravioli, spinach salad, toasted garlic bread, and veal.

“That smells divine, thank you, ladies,” Wolfsheim says with a smile as he folds his napkin in his lap and watches the women carefully set down porcelain plates in front of everyone. “What do you say guys, tell the girls thank you.”

“Thank you, ladies,” Wolfsheim’s lackeys drone thoughtlessly before digging in like half starved vultures.

Jay still seems frozen in his chair, his unblinking, frozen stare now fixated on the plates of steaming hot veal in front of him.

Nick figures it’s best to try to follow Jay’s instructions from earlier as closely as possible, so he piles his plate with food despite the mere notion of eating making him feel sick as a woman with child.

“Anyway, I’ll be sending some girls over to start cleaning the place up tomorrow,” Wolfsheim continues around a mouthful of salad. “They won’t be in your way, they’ll just get everything nice and spotless again and stick around just enough to ensure it stays that way.”

Jay finally breaks his fast from speech and expression with a shaky smile and a simple, “Alright.”

It’s not lost on Nick that Jay’s posture has completely changed within the blink of an eye; he's now slouching back in his seat, sporting a half natural looking grin and has begun to help himself to the bread, seemingly much more at ease.

Nick takes this as a que that perhaps things are unfolding nicely and he can relax, if even just a tad.

Wolfsheim smiles curtly and nods, pleased with the willingness to participate. “You should be honoured Jay, you have such a lovely home. Your gardens have always been my favorite, they’re downright magical come springtime when they’re in full bloom.”

“I do have wonderful gardens. I get the most diverse plants to flourish in it,” Jay begins to babble, seemingly back to himself, or as much as he can be whilst dining across from such an unpredictable predator. “You know, this last season I had these gorgeous orchids imported in from the west coast that just-”

Jay’s easily launches into a ramble about West coast soils and flowers, seemingly stepping back into his own self and allowing himself to take center stage of this entirely uncomfortable dinner.

Nick, finally feeling the tension in the saloon starting to lessen, finds himself prematurely exhausted and on the verge of falling asleep. To distract himself he begins to half heartedly fiddle with his antler-carved utensils, cutting his slab of veal into several tiny pieces he has no intention of eating.

During this debauched butchery, much to Nick’s chagrin, he happens to drop his knife on the floor with a deafening thud.

Scared out of his skin that he’s broken some reverently held cultural custom of the saloon, he casts a wary glance over at Wolfsheim and is mortified to see the older man seems to be watching him like a hawk.

Cataract clouded eyes are trained on Nick intently from behind thick glass lenses, watching him squirm in his seat. Wolfsheim shows little to no interest in Jay, who is in the middle of weaving some ridiculous story about growing cannabis and using the buds to fertilize his tomatoes, but instead seems very fascinated by Nick’s predicament.

Swallowing the heavy lump that's slowly but surely building up in his throat, Nick feels like a deer caught in the headlights, unsure which way to bolt but knowing that he’s in deep trouble.

He averts his gaze to the knife on the floor and awkwardly stoops down to retrieve it, using his napkin to blot up any blood that spattered off his knife and onto the pristine floor.

Nick fumbles as he sits up, nearly dropping the damned utensil yet again in his haste. A part of him wonders anxiously if it was disrespectful to use his napkin to clean up his mess, another part of him worries with a deeper sense of dread if he was wrong in picking up the knife himself instead of waiting for Wolfsheim to have one of his stewards grab it and properly clean it.

“Are you enjoying your veal, son?”

Jay abruptly cuts his story short and gives Nick a look of concern, trying to piece together what’s happened that has Wolfsheim so enthralled.

Nick nods without hesitation, casting his gaze down to his plate to try and distance himself as much as possible from Wolfsheim’s blazing gaze.

“My girls are some of the best cooks around, I find the best of the best from around the city and, furthermore, around the world to cater my events,” Wolfsheim continues pridefully. “Tonight you had the talents and passions of three lovely ladies with American hearts but Tuscan stomachs toil away on this meal.”

“And it is wonderful,” Jay butts in, trying to take the lead and successfully see Nick to the other side of this rapidly collapsing tunnel.

“I rarely have the pleasure of dining with new faces when it’s not about wheeling and dealing matters,” Wolfsheim continues, gently pushing Jay into his place without so much as raising his voice. “I’d hate to disappoint.”

Nick, realizing he’s about to blindly stumble into a trap, begins to rapidly shake his head, tripping over his tongue as he tries to think of his next words carefully.

“Oh, no, not at all! It’s all very good, I haven’t had veal or fresh pasta in ages,” Nick says hurriedly, feeling as if the older man at the head of the table is sizing him up to serve him on a platter. “It’s delicious.”

Wolfsheim pulls back his lips to reveal two rows of immaculately straight teeth; flashing the closest imitation to a smile Nick has witnessed in ages.

“Glad to hear it, son, go on, dig in.”

Without thinking Nick hastily plunges his dirtied knife into his veal to continue hacking away at it. He’s momentarily horrified, but when he glances up and sees Wolfshiem’s insistent eyes drilling holes through him, he begins to eat the contaminated calf without question.

Wolfsheim beams yet again.

--------------------------------
The following morning a small armada of women between the ripe ages of sixteen and thirty-six flood Jay’s mansion at daybreak, armed with many a mop and bucket and armoured up in heavy gray smocks and aprons.

These women waste no time setting up shop and hopping into the thick of it, as moments after arriving they split up into smaller teams and begin to vigorously clean like their lives depend on it.

“They’re much more efficient than we were,” Jay whispers sheepishly in Nick’s ear as they watch three girls gracefully swirl around the ballroom in a tizzy of mopping, dusting, and waxing prowess.

Nick nods in agreement, estimating to himself that even one of these women would have gotten twice as much done in his and Jay’s combined place.

“Look at them, they’re absolute machines,” Jay muses quietly. “Really, I ought to learn a thing or two from these girls about keeping house because I’m a disaster.”

The girls stay on until sunset, at which point they stop whatever task they’re in the middle of, grab their supplies, and obediently march outside to the many cars waiting along Jay’s driveway to pick them up.

They return at daybreak the following morning to rinse and repeat with the same iron fisted efficiency. This habitual coming and going never wavers even by a few moments. They come and go with the sun and work tirelessly the entire time save for the occasional restroom break and a thirty minute lunch break at noon.

By the end of the first week both Nick and Jay have learned that the women aren’t very fond of small talk or chewing fat along the way. Their platoon is strict as they come, but Nick can’t fathom anything under Wolfsheim’s watchful gaze falls short of perfection.

All of the women offer both of their hosts a cheerful ‘good morning’ as they file inside and a pleasant ‘goodnight’ on their way out the door each day out of custom but beyond that they decline to speak unless spoken to.

And, even then, they hold their tongues as closely as they clutch their pay stubs.

“I am quite busy, Mr. Gatsby,” A girl with flaming auburn hair says with a practiced patient politeness, not looking up from the kitchen tile she’s tirelessly scrubbing away at. “I do appreciate your interest but I am a married woman, you see.”

“Well, I didn’t mean for my badgering to come across in that particular way,” Jay replies smoothly, seemingly unperturbed by the girl’s clear lack of interest. “I was simply curious in how you came to be employed by one Mr. Meyer Wolfsheim is all.”

The girl simply shakes her head and continues to scrub. “We all have our stories, don’t we, Mr. Gatsby?”

“Oh, but it’s yours I’m interested in, miss. Not to pry, I just find this entire situation quite uncanny and was morbidly curious about what lies beneath. I just wanted to strip back the layers a tad.”

“I’m a married woman, but I’m flattered, Mr. Gatsby.”

Nick, finding himself internally cringing as he watches this tedious and entirely unproductive interaction from across the room, beckons Jay over.

“None of them are going to talk to you,” he whispers in Jay’s ear as he leads the other man upstairs, carefully sidestepping two girls who are busy vacuuming the carpeted steps. “You might as well leave them be, I think you may be annoying them.”

Jay sighs and nods in shy agreement, his cheeks flushing ever so slightly.

“This whole thing just gives me the creeps,” he admits as they start to peek inside various doorways, hunting for a room devoid of any silent maids. “I’m really not a fan of this whole thing. Not that I have any leverage that gives me the right to refuse to host but….I can’t help but feel like I’m trapped amongst a petite army of spies with all these girls here.”

“You probably are,” Nick concedes quietly as he and Jay finally strike gold and slip into a small but gloriously empty guest room. “But that doesn’t mean you should heckle them so mercilessly.”

“I was still being polite and attempting to be charismatic.”

“I doubt any of them would agree,” Nick teases lightly as he bolts the door behind him to ensure their sanctity stays private. “You and I just need to abide by the same game they do.”

“And what would that be?” Jay asks as he seats himself at the desk in the corner and absently begins sifting through the drawers.

“We need to keep our mouths shut and keep to ourselves,” Nick replies with a shrug.

“This is just a never ending nightmare. I feel even though they say nothing that they are watching my every move, Nick. I just know Wolfsheim told them to do some snooping or spying,” Jay mumbles as he absently drums his fingertips off the desktop. “I swear there are two that seem to gravitate towards whichever room I’ve decided to lock myself in. That redhead has most definitely been on my trail and so has the African girl with the braided hair. I notice them following me, Nick, and it’s driving me crazy.”

“You’re just going to have to try and ignore it,” Nick mumbles sympathetically. “You said it yourself, we haven’t got any leverage here, Jay. If they want to follow you around and listen to us talk there isn’t much we can do besides try and lock ourselves away as often as possible and let them be.”

Jay sighs and shakes his head, hopping up from the desk to begin anxiously pacing around the room. “This is a nightmare,” he mumbles to himself, running a hand through his ungelled hair. “He has me by the scruff of my neck and-”

“It’s two parties, Jay,” Nick interrupts pointedly as he gently grasps Jay by the shoulder. “We just have to keep quiet and out of the way for another two weeks.”

Jay exhales heavily through his nose and bites his lip. “Two weeks.”

“Two damned weeks,” Nick insists softly. “Come on, let’s go on a drive or walk along the beach. Being cramped up like this isn’t doing you any good.”

Jay nods slowly, his shoulders untensing under Nick’s touch. “Alright. I could go for a drive through the city, grab a bite to eat while we’re at it. Maybe being here isn’t doing my head any favors these days…”

“Exactly,” Nick encourages gently, daring to wrap an arm around Jay’s waist and pull him close, burying his nose in the crook of Jay’s neck and up against the sweat damp curls that have tumbled too low after months of neglect. “Let’s just get out of this house for awhile, alright?”

Jay nods, leaning back into the man behind him. “Alright, let’s take a drive. Where do we go?”

Nick has learned that as much as Jay loves creating colorful stories with imagery so vivid that it pulls seductively at all six senses he equally enjoys being presented with these stories woven of the same intricate ilk.

And Nick has always fancied himself a writer.

“Well, it’s a lovely afternoon outside. It’s that usual early fall weather, so it’s nice and cool with just a slight breeze that’s carrying the smell of the ocean and the leaves that are just starting to change color. The sand at the beach must be cold at this point in the season, and the water must be even chillier. We could walk along the beach without shoes, letting our heels sink into the frigid shoals and allow the water to nip at our ankles…I doubt anyone else would be there at this point in the day during fall so we would have the bayside to ourselves.”

“What else?” Jay asks quietly, requesting Nick paint a more detailed picture.

“We could drive down to the mainland with the windows down so that the breeze brings the ocean and the leaves with us as the flora turns into cement and iron. Drive around through the different districts, surround ourselves in the flashing lights of headlights and advertisem*nts on skyscrapers. Just disappear into the smog of exhaust and the lines upon lines of shiny cars speeding off into the evening. Stop and eat somewhere elevated so we can see the wretched city in all of its glory and feel like we are a thousand miles away from anyone or anything we know, even if only for a few hours.”

Quick as a whip Jay spins around in Nick’s arms and throws himself at Nick like he's a courtesan who owes rent the next day and has struggled to find a single gentleman friend all night.

Nick stumbles back, taken completely off guard as he tries to keep them both upright. Jay fervently tries to kiss Nick’s lips, his cheeks, his neck, seemingly trying to find a point of attachment to suckle on.

Nick simply allows it as he clumsily manages to lean up against the wall, wrapping his arms across Jay’s shoulders and holding him close.

There are no preplanned moments of intimacy, whether chaste or filthy, nor are these acts ever discussed afterwards. Thus far there has not been as much as a singular word uttered by either man about their relationship's change in direction, but Nick has chopped it up to them both being rather distracted by the Grim Reaper lurking within their peripheral vision.

Besides, whatever this thing between them is doesn’t feel flimsy or delicate to Nick. Despite its enigmatic and secretive quality, Nick feels that whatever he and Jay have brewed together is binded well and strong with a kick.

Hell, Nick’s given up his entire life for Jay and Jay has flayed himself open and offered Nick his everything.

Surely this sort of a bond, forged in such an unbearably anxiety provoking inferno, is meant to last, regardless of whether or not it's given a proper name and introduced.

Jay nips at Nick’s collarbone, snaking his hands underneath Nick’s shirt to lay his palms flat against his stomach.

“I’m unfamiliar with this particular route to the beach,” Nick jokes with a wry smirk, giving Jay’s overgrown mop of curls a gentle, joking pull. “Next time I insist on driving so that we arrive on time.”

Jay beams into a liplock before tugging Nick’s shirt up and over his head. “The beach isn’t going anywhere, but you…you can run away from me whenever you want,” he breathes against Nick’s neck before pressing another firm kiss to the other man’s jugular.

“I’m not going anywhere and you know that, there’s no one else I’d rather be walking through hell with,” Nick wheezes out, his pulse thrumming wildly underneath Jay’s chapped lips. He tries to pull the other man back up for a proper kiss on the mouth to solidify his word’s saccharine truth only for Jay to drop to his knees.

Nick shifts against the wall, the peeling wallpaper scratching at the tender flesh between his shoulders. Jay makes fast work of his belt, but Nick can’t bring himself to watch the undressing process as the mere sight of Jay looking back up at him, mouth stretched into a breath bated smile is far too much for him to tolerate.

He feels the air hit his newly exposed skin as Jay pushes his trousers down to his knees.

“I think it’s safe to say this excites you more than the beach,” Jay says in a voice that Nick thinks is an attempt to sound sensual but is smothered by nerves of both anxiety and excitement. He purposely lets out a heavy sigh that sends an electric current up Nick’s spine.

“If anything, everything with you excites me too much. You’ll give me a heart attack before I reach my forties.”

Jay chuckles softly, as he grasps Nick’s fully erect member in his hand and starts to pump languidly, drawing a half frustrated groan out of Nick.

“Impatient,” Jay teases in the same faux seductive tone, seemingly trying to surmount his own anxiety and crawl back into his skin as a world class performer. “Patience is a virtue.”

Nick chuckles and runs a hand through Jay’s hair, massaging at his scalp. He tries to keep his hips still, tries to be as passive as possible to make Jay feel completely and entirely centred in this act so that he can feel more at ease.

This strategy seems to do the trick because Jay picks up the pace and leans forward, the shifting of his weight making the floorboards creak in soft protest.

A breathy groan escapes Nick’s throat as he feels Jay’s lips press a warm kiss to the head of his co*ck.

“Please,” he whispers hoarsly, still keeping his hips as still as possible despite wanting nothing more than to be properly touched. “Please…”

“Please what?” Jay teases quietly, pressing another ungodly kiss to the now weeping head of Nick’s co*ck.

Nick can’t help but chuckle to himself because once upon a time, even behind bolted dorm room doors, he was far too prim and proper to vocalize such a lewd thing aloud. However, now, after everything he’s walked away from, he figures any last ounce of shame he carried from his past life has been effectively fried out of him.

“Please put my co*ck in your mouth.”

Jay, ever eager to please, doesn’t hesitate to oblige him.

Nick groans and tilts his head back against the wall, his grip on Jay’s hair unintentionally tightening as he squirms ever so slightly at the semi familiar sensation of pleasant warmth and ecstasy inducing pressure.

This orally induced euphoria doesn’t last more than a moment, as a loud crash followed by the soft tinkle of glass from the next guestroom interrupts.

“What was that?” Nick asks nervously as he gently pushes Jay back and awkwardly fumbles to retrieve his pants from around his ankles.

“Not sure,” Jay replies, already clambering to his feet and shamelessly wiping any spittle away from his lips with the back of his hand. “Sounded like some sort of glass shattering.”

Now decent, Nick follows Jay into the hall and next door to investigate. As they exit their guestroom an African girl with a spiral of braids gathered at her neck hurries out of the adjacent room, face pale and upper lip quivering. She glances at Nick and Jay with wide, nervous eyes.

“I accidentally dropped something while cleaning and I have to go fetch a dustpan…excuse me,” she explains hurriedly before taking off down the hallway like she’s being chased by a ghost.

“She’s one of the ones I see sniffing around all the time,” Jay mumbles, not hesitating to enter the room once the maid is safely out of sight. “I find it hard to believe she just had to be cleaning this particular room with us next door.”

“It doesn’t look like it’s been cleaned yet at all,” Nick muses as he and Jay admire the colony of dust bunnies scattered across the carpet and the coating of dust cloaking the dresser and vanity.

In the corner, up against the wall, lay the shimmering glass shambles of what used to be a glass.

“See, she was spying!” Jay hisses as he jabs an accusatory finger at the pile of glass. “She was cooped up in here with a glass to the wall, trying to listen to us!”

“She got an earful,” Nick mutters, feeling a slight blush creep up his neck and cheeks. “I don’t think she heard anything of value that could be used against you.”

“It’s the principle of the thing!” Jay insists, anger adding a touch of heat to his words as he points at the mess of glass again like it ought to be ashamed of itself. “They’re spying on me! Hell, they probably all are and these two are just the worst at it and keep drawing attention to themselves!”

“We don’t know that,” Nick consoles softly. “All we’re privy to is that we’re hosting two hugely important parties for your boss and are having the mansion scrubbed from top to bottom first. For all we know that girl and the redhead just eavesdrop and sneak around for the thrill of it.”

“Doubtful,” Jay mutters bitterly, glaring iratley at the glass in the corner one last time before storming out of the room, surely heading back to his study to retrieve his cigars.

Nick sighs and follows Jay down the hallway.

He keeps his mouth shut even though he, too, thinks it’s highly doubtful that this spying is a simple fluke. If his meeting with Wolfsheim taught him anything it’s that there are no flukes with Wolfsheim.

Chapter 8

Chapter Text

After two long weeks of living amongst a pack of ever-lurking and ever-silent cleaning girls the mansion is spotless and sterile as an art museum.

There’s not a single speck of dust or jarring scuff mark to be found on the marble floors. The windows practically glow as the moonlight or sunlight grazes them and the gardens have been properly revitalized, overflowing with a biome of beautiful flowers in full bloom.

“I think it’s cleaner now than it’s ever been. I’m actually afraid to touch anything,” Jay admits quietly as he and Nick walk the perimeter of the impeccably clean ballroom. “It feels like I’m a guest in someone else’s home.”

“It’s almost over,” Nick replies softly, although being surrounded by so many prying eyes for two weeks has started to wear him down as well. While the situation doesn’t irk him as deeply as it does Jay, Nick has started to feel more and more on edge the longer the ordeal has dragged on.

He, like Jay, feels like an unwanted visitor amongst the myriad of maids, all of whom still do not speak unless spoken to and waltz around Jay and him as if they’re pieces of furniture.

Today, along with the maids came a squadron of chefs and a militia of florists to help prepare for Wolfsheim’s impending parties.

As the cleaning girls ensured that the mansion still looked as if no one resided within its walls, the chefs toiled away tirelessly in the kitchen while the florists beautified the ballroom with bunches upon bunches of white lilies in the forms of flower wreaths, extravagant bouquets, and delicate chains hung around the walls.

“I like the lilies,” Jay muses as he gently touches the soft white petals from a nearby bouquet between his fingers. “I have to say though, I think I prefer them in orange and red. I’ve only seen white ones like these at weddings and funerals.”

Nick can’t help but grimace at the introduction of morbidity into their conversation, even as innocent and vague as it had been.

Jay, however, seems more focused on the less morbid of the two occasions he’d mentioned.

“You know, the last wedding I went to was for this big shot bootlegger’s daughter a few years ago. It was held in this massive ballroom, you might’ve heard of it; Waldridge Corner?”

“I’ve heard of it but never been.”

Jay nods. “Ah, well, it’s massive. I mean just huge. There’s seven different ballrooms all connected by the lobby. It’s a gorgeous building, all decked out with crystal chandeliers and velvet upholstery. Just gorgeous but very, very red. Most of the furniture, the carpeting in the lobby, and all of the walls are red. So, I was curious to see what color the couple would choose to decorate with since very few colors go well with red…really only black and white, right?”

Nick nods in agreement. “Which of the two did they go with?”

“They went with white because apparently this girl staunchly believed that black at a wedding was bad luck and her favorite flowers were white lilies, which, inversely, are good luck at a wedding because they symbolize purity and fidelity.”

“So did they live happily ever after since she got her white lilies?” Nick asks with a wry smirk.

Jay laughs softly and shrugs. “Depends what you consider happily ever after. The guy she hitched herself to turned out to be a philandering womanizer who slept around on her for a few months. She got sick of him and buried a bullet between his eyes and had her father dump him in the ocean.”

Nick is taken aback by the story’s abrupt and bloody conclusion, and it makes something deep within the pit of his stomach twitch uncomfortably.

Despite being completely and totally surrounded by the slimier aspects of Jay’s life on a daily basis now he occasionally forgets himself and does not take into consideration that this freakshow and all of its ghoulish clowns are not new to Jay in the slightest.

He’s been running the same dangerous circuits for years now. He’s been shaking hands with gangsters and murderers since he was just safely out of boyhood.

And all of those aforementioned undesirables will be filing into the mansion tomorrow night, engulfing them like a chilling tidal wave.

“White just seems like an odd color for a party,” Jay muses softly as he gently slips one of the lilies out of its vase.

Nick nods, taking in the entirety of the vast ballroom once again. The marble floors sparkle, the overpowering scent of fresh flowers fills the still air, and the aristocrats depicted in the paintings that line the walls smile on serenely as they drink their wine and dance with their lovers.

It feels as if Nick and Jay are either standing in the middle of something celestial and divine or morbid and horrific.

Like they’re standing in a funeral parlor before the service begins or at the gates of Heaven, waiting for Saint Peter to beckon them forward.

Jay smiles awkwardly and turns to silently offer Nick the lily, cheeks aflame at the simplicity and naivety of the gesture.

Nick accepts the meager gift regardless, an enamored smile lighting up his face as bright as the stars on a clear night.
—--------------------------------

The next morning Nick is awoken by the unsettling clamoring of herds upon herds of people being ushered into the mansion through the front door.

He rolls over and is none too surprised to see that the left side of the bed is abandoned, the sheets already cool to the touch.

Nick sighs and forces himself out of bed. He has the basic decency to comb his hair and slip on an undershirt before he makes his way downstairs in search of Jay.

The lower level of the mansion is swarmed with its own populace as abuzz and lively as the streets of New York.

Chefs hurry around the kitchen as they prepare the various hors d’oeuvres, desserts, and courses for tonight's big feast.

The maids tirelessly scrub at every imaginable surface they come across with the ferocity of panthers.

Several shadier figures carry several crates of liquor into the bar area and begin to set up shop, polishing their serving glasses and sorting their wares out behind them.

Musicians begin to set up their instruments and music stands upon the stage in the rear of the ballroom, several of them loudly arguing about the set order apparently agreed upon earlier in the week.

It’s too much movement and too much noise first thing in the morning for Nick. After blearily stumbling his way through several rooms packed full of elbows and anxiety he decides he needs to find respite.

He makes his way out to the gardens and cuts through a throng of gardeners who are snipping and pruning like their lives depend on it before finally finding both things he was desperately searching for.

The beach is desolate, the expanse of shimmering sand still cool underneath Nick’s feet from the chill of the night before. He pads along, toes sinking into the sand as the incoming tide lazily licks at his ankles as it drifts in and out.

Jay sits half submerged in the tide with his eyes closed and face turned to the half risen sun, the splotches of orange and pink that paint the sky reflecting in the clear water and streaking across Jay’s cheeks.

Nick slowly lowers himself into the frigid waters beside Jay. A soft groan escapes his lips before he can bite it back as the coolness envelopes his legs and hips.

“They came earlier than I would have thought,” Nick says after a few beats of silence. “I suppose they have quite the workload to get through before this evening.”

Jay nods as his eyes flutter open. “Wolfsheim called me late last night and told me to expect them around sunrise.”

“Why didn’t you wake me up?”

Jay shrugs and grins fondly over at his companion. “You looked peaceful and I thought maybe if you were having a good enough dream you’d sleep through the commotion.”

“Is that how that works?” Nick teases softly with a tone of faux confusion. “I didn’t know that.”

“I suppose it could be. If you’re having a good enough dream you fight tooth and nail to stay immersed in it, regardless of what ruckus is brewing downstairs,” Jay replies smoothly as he reaches over to lay a wet hand atop of Nick’s knee, giving it an affectionate squeeze.

“And, pray tell, what’s the best dream you’ve ever had?”

Jay chuckles softly and closes his eyes again, tilting his chin up towards the sun as it begins to caress the beach, slowly adding warmth to the waves and sand ounce by ounce.

“The best?” He asks slowly, playfully. “I’d say this is but you keep insisting that it’s real.”

Nick smiles and closes his eyes as the sun’s rays begin to brush against his face. He reaches over to brush his cold, wet fingers up into the curls at the nape of Jay’s neck.

His heart flutters when he feels Jay shudder beneath his fingertips.

“Why wouldn’t this be real?” Nick presses gently as the tide rolls back in, the chilly water soaking through their shirts.

Jay scoffs teasingly, nose scrunching up. “Well, it feels a bit like one, doesn’t it? A stranger moves in next door to me with the summer, and is easily rolled into my bed as the summer departs. Feels a little surreal sometimes is all I’m saying, old sport.”

“You’re being a sap,” Nick jokes dryly as he bumps their knees together. “And your use of the word easy is a bit baffling. Nothing about this summer has been particularly easy for either of us.”

A languid smile finds its way onto Jay’s lips. “Mmm, this is relatively painless, isn’t it?”

Nick throws back his head and lets out a side splitting laugh that rattles his skeleton. “Yes, this is the most painless part,” he agrees through subsiding giggles as his ribs begin to ache. “This is relatively painless.”

Jay’s smile widens as he reaches over to gently cup Nick’s face, pulling him in as the tide soaks them to the bone yet again.
—-----------------------------

As the sun drifts lazily through the crystalline sky Nick and Jay do all they can to stay out of the way of the hoard of people preparing for the night’s festivities.

They sequester themselves in a guest room with a bookshelf and a balcony overlooking the bay and spend the rest of their daylight trying to pretend that they aren’t about to house a party to network the sale of opium.

Nick half heartedly flips through several melodramatic novels depicting pointless family feuds and violence prone mistresses, finding himself unfocused and disinterested given his surmounting anxiety.

Jay paces around the room, taking numerous smoke breaks on the porch before circling back into the bedroom and enthusiastically engaging Nick in conversation before seemingly burning himself out and returning to the balcony for another cigar.

“Did the parties you used to throw make you this anxious?” Nick asks idly as he thumbs through a dreadfully predictable story centered around a man having an affair with the family’s governess.

Jay turns around from his perch on the balcony, seemingly caught off guard by such a question, plumes of cigar smoke drifting out of his flared nostrils.

The parties in question feel to both men like they happened a lifetime ago and as if they were hosted by a completely different man in a different city. They feel like a memory barely formed during a drunken stupor, like something seen through a foggy bathroom mirror after a particularly scorching shower.

“No,” Jay admits quietly as he takes another drag from his cigar. “I was never nervous during those parties. They were….foolish shindigs thrown with the sole purpose of seducing your cousin.”

Jay practically whispers the last part as if he’s afraid the mere mention of his previous affair with Daisy will send Nick into a furor of rage.

Nick simply shrugs, unbothered. “Did you use those to network at all?”

Jay shakes his head. “No. Wolfsheim probably did and informed bootleggers about the get togethers so that he could…he doesn’t let a single opportunity slip through his fingers. But I was oblivious and simply used them to…try and lure Daisy.”

Once again the last part is a barely audible murmur as if it’s something utterly taboo to say aloud.

Nick is still seemingly indifferent by the admission, his face staying calm and still as he flips another page in his soppy novel. “So this is the first time you’ve been involved in a party for the sole purpose of trying to make deals and shake hands with the devil?”

Jay nods and stares out at the bay. “Technically, yes. However, I think it’s a bit of a stretch to say that it’s my party. It’s just a party in my home.”

“This is true,” Nick concedes quietly. “Should I be anxious?”

“I don’t think so…” Jay drawls, uncertainty tainting his words like an airborne sickness. “The only thing to keep in mind is that most of the esteemed guests at this party are not good men. They’re charming and avid listeners, but they’re a bunch of business men with blood on their hands…they don’t particularly care about you unless they can use you somehow. I think it’s best you and I stay together and keep low profiles, although I doubt many of the attendees will have much interest in us. Wolfsheim is sure to be the bell of the ball.”

Nick can’t help but let out a nervous chuckle that hangs stiff in the air between them. “So everyone’s coming for him?”

“I think so. I’ve been to a handful of these parties that are solely for networking and it’s really just the big fish trying to cut deals with each other over the music while the lackeys dance and the potential buyers get drunk. Wolfsheim is a very big fish in this pond. These men from China and Brazil will be very interested in making his acquaintance and trying to win over his hand, so to speak.”

“So do we dance or get drunk?”

Jay laughs quietly to himself and shrugs. “I’m not entirely sure, but you can do whatever it is you want to do, old sport. If you can manage to enjoy yourself, do it. Just don’t stray too far from me, alright?”

Nick nods. “Alright.”

“Alright,” Jay repeats faintly as he stubs his cigar out on the balcony railing with a sharp hiss. “We should start getting ready soon…”

“I still don’t quite understand why we have to attend,” Nick admits as he tosses the novel over onto the nightstand. “I understand that you have to host, but why do we have to attend?”

Jay hesitates to respond, features sharpening with anxiety as he closes the balcony doors with a soft thud. He bites his lip and inhales deeply, as if about to deliver earth shattering news to someone delicate as china.

“I’m afraid that if we don’t show up and make the rounds that Wolfsheim will think I’m trying to make a break for it,” he admits. “I’m afraid he’ll think I’m trying to estrange myself from the ring and squirm away. I…I’m afraid, Nick. In these circles you’re either in or out. There’s no fence sitting or playing both sides. You’re in or out, and in this case we need to be in or…something very bad could happen.”

Nick swallows the lump of nerves forming in his throat and nods along. “Alright, so you and I need to be in.”

“Yes. We need to be in,” Jay murmurs morbidly, running a hand through his unruly hair. “If Wolfhseim didn’t know you existed, if you hadn’t gone with me that night, I’d cut you loose and tell you to spend the night in the city. I’d rent you a hotel room and tell you to stay away, but he’s seen you and he’s seen you with me-”

“I understand,” Nick cuts him off as he watches Jay progressively grow paler and shakier, deciding to euthanize the anxiety riddled rant before Jay unravels himself completely before the party has even begun. “So we stay together, try to keep to ourselves as much as possible without being rude, make sure to give your boss a warm welcome, and spend the night drinking and dancing.”

Jay manages an apprehensive smile. “Yes. That’s the plan, old sport.”
—-------------------

As darkness sweeps over the city like a blanket of snow a procession of sleek cars begin to pull through the drive of the mansion, their headlights burning through the darkness like blazing irons.

The cleaning girls have all powdered their faces and abandoned their heavy, gray smocks in favor of silky, black dresses and are now circling the mansion armed with silver serving trays that shimmer like the moon and hold an array of pre-made co*cktails and finger foods.

The musicians fill the stage and begin to play scales to warm up, filling every corner of the ballroom with sultry notes of jazz.

The largest balcony in the entirety of the mansion has been reworked into a dining area. A large oak table with a flawlessly ironed white table cloth spread across it hosts a myriad of dishes from around the globe. The jumble of exquisite smells permeate the night air and creates a bubble of ravenous lust.

Guests stream in through the front doors and quickly shed their inhibitions as they indulge in food and drink.

Nick and Jay huddle together awkwardly in a landing, standing shoulder to shoulder, and watch as the party begins to soar off into the night.

“There’s easily over a hundred people here,” Nick whispers into Jay’s ear as he watches face after face pass them by. “Are these people all opium dealers?”

Jay shakes his head and turns his head to whisper in return. “No, a lot of these people are buyers. Only a handful are dealers. All the dealers are going to stand out like sore thumbs; they’ll be flanked by an entourage of toadies and groupies and be wearing the most outlandishly expensive clothing. You’ll know them when you see them.”

Nick peers into the thick crowd of party-goers in hopes of spying the particular breed described by Jay within the vivacious and rowdy animal kingdom they stand in the midst of.

There’s an abundance of movement around them from all angles.

The musicians in the ballroom have completed their warmup and begin to play a lively, upbeat tune with a heavy emphasis on the tenor saxophone that draws many of the guests into the ballroom.

A clamored jumble of English, Spanish, Mandarin and French swirl together in a cacophony of sound that is a symphony unto itself, albeit barely audible over the band.

Prostitutes congregate together in a protective huddle in the ballroom entrance, scouting out suitable dates for one another and chasing off what they deem lowlife scum with threats of violence and thrown glasses of champagne.

A handful of Chinese businessmen amble by, seemingly in a deep discussion as they sip on their drinks and puff on their cigarettes, easily sidestepping the bustle of maids and their cumbersome platters

An arms dealer with the waxy smile of an embalmed body approaches several groups of party-goers, eagerly showcasing his polished wares that he carries around in a heavy leather suitcase, gingerly handling the tiny death machines as he explains how easy they are to clean and aim.

An assembly of already intoxicated flappers stumbles by, clinging to each other as they rambunctiously debate whether or not to try and find an opium dealer in the garden or out by the beach. One his shoeless, her glittery heels are forgotten somewhere behind her as her stocking clad feet slip across the marble floor as if she’s ice skating with the grace of a professional.

A priest awkwardly makes his way through the crowds, a glass of brandy clutched in his hand with a silver crucifix pressed against it, a woman of the night on his arm asking him about his personal philosophy as she runs her pale fingertips against his black collar.

“Where do we go?” Nick asks, unsure where they should anchor themselves but feeling incredibly claustrophobic in the enclave of the staircase landing.

Jay scans the crowd in search of a place amongst the swell of humanity for them and nods toward a small clearing by the entrance. “There are chairs over there, let’s grab some liquor and make ourselves at home there for now.”

Nick follows obediently and shuffles through the crushing waves of people until he and Jay manage to wiggle into the clearing and plop down in the leather padded chairs, each now armed with a glass of bubbly champagne.

“We have a view of the entire hallway from here,” Jay begins to explain as he tilts back his glass and takes a hearty swig. “This makes it easy for us to keep out of trouble’s way and it makes it easy for anyone who feels the need to talk to us to find us.”

Nick nods and settles into his own glass of champagne, reveling in the burn in his throat and the bloom of warmth in his chest as the liquor settles itself in his stomach.

Never in his life did he think he would find himself in this situation. Never in his life as he traversed private school and its mean spirited cliques or as he stumbled into adulthood and learned to be fluent in economics and pleasantries did he think he’d be seated in the middle of a mob party, clutching to a glass of champagne seated next to a man he loved to the brink of death and back.

“Keep an eye out for Wolfsheim or any of his lackeys,” Jay continues easily as a well traveled salesman. “They’ll converse with us and ask us about the party and its guests. We’ll need to be pleasant and talkative and at ease. This is an occasion that we need to be well versed in….do you want another glass of something, old sport? I’m think we follow our champagne with whiskey, personally.”

Nick glances down at his glass and is astounded to find it empty. He’d feel self conscious and embarrassed if Jay’s own glass wasn’t drained.

“Whiskey is good,” He replies affirmatively.

Jay nods and beckons over a nearby maid, her moon of a serving platter filled to the brim with glasses overflowing with liquid courage.
—----------------------

The party becomes easier to tolerate after a few glasses of varying alcoholic drinks.

Nick feels like he’s pleasantly floating above the mayhem, overseeing it like a god as he and Jay stay stationary at their perch in the entryway.

They’ve been left to their own devices for nearly an hour, drinking away the night and chatting about asinine things such as the weather and their favorite seasons.

“Winter makes me depressed,” Jay declares solemnly with a shake of his head. “I love the snow and how it blankets the city and makes everything sparkle like it’s encased in diamonds but everything’s dead. There’s no life. It makes the world feel like a painting.”

“But painting’s are gorgeous,” Nick argues gently. “And winter’s gorgeous, too.”

“Winter is gorgeous, but it’s devoid of life and movement. My favorite has always been spring. Everything bounces back in the spring. The trees and flowers all come back to life and explode with color and pheromones. The whole earth warms up like it’s finally embracing the sun again and everyone goes out again. Besides, didn’t Jesus rise again in the spring?”

Nick laughs heartily, as if he’s just been told the best joke imaginable, and nods. “Yes, he rose on the third day. That’s what Easter is all about, although I didn’t take you for the religious type.”

“I’m not,” Jay admits, almost sheepishly with a slight blush painting his cheeks. “My parents always said it was a load of sh*t and that I should just be decent to people. Regardless, spring is my favorite. What about you?”

“Fall,” Nick replies without any thought. “I’ve always loved the fall. It’s cool but not cold and all of the leaves turn the most lovely shades of auburn and yellow. I love the Jack-o-lanterns that begin to pop up in late October, I like the smell of the leaves and the pumpkin pies in everyone’s windows…”

“Everything starts dying in the fall,” Jay says wistfully with an audible sigh. “It is pretty but everything is dying.”

“It's still beautiful,” Nick mumbles with a shrug, the brandy in his glass sloshing dangerously close to the rim as he shifts in his seat. “It’s decaying, but it's not a permanent death. It’s part of the cycle of death and rebirth. It’s a graceful, peaceful passing too, if nothing else. And it’s beautiful.”

Jay smiles softly and gazes into the shifting crowd of drunkards, stumbling over themselves as they spill into the ballroom and out to the balcony.

“Peaceful and beautiful, huh?”

Before Nick can even formulate a proper response a man claps him on the back, spilling the last of his brandy into his lap.

“Hey, gents! Good seeing you both!”

It’s the Nord, rosy cheeked and grinning ear to ear from a few glasses of wine. He reaches across Nick’s brandy-soaked lap to shake Jay’s hand.

“How’s the evening treating you both?”

“Just fine, but you better replace my friend’s glass of brandy,” Jay replies smoothly, eyeing up Nick’s lap with displeasure.

The Nord lets out another mighty laugh and nods as he motions to a nearby maid.

“Is a glass of gin and tonic alright with you, son?” He asks Nick, who simply nods dumbly as the Nord shoves a glass into his hands. “Sorry about that. Anyway, have you two been to the feast out on the balcony yet? The pitzels, the dumplings, and the paella all are to die for. I have to say though, I am disappointed, not a single dish from Denmark yet again…”

“Should bring your own food next time, Rasmussen,” Jay jokes dryly, seemingly unhappy with the Nord’s prolonged presence. “I’m sure you can make your own fried pork.”

Rasmussen grins ear to ear and nods. “I can cook, believe it or not, Gatsby. I’m pretty good in the kitchen, but the boss won’t let me back there with the women. Says I’m a distraction.”

“Oh, I believe it.”

Rasmussen chuckles and leans up against the wall, seemingly inserting himself into Jay and Nick’s corner of serenity. “Have you spoken to our fearless leader yet tonight?”

“I haven’t even seen him,” Jay replies. “Why do you ask?”

Rasmussen glances around the packed hallway, as if afraid Wolfsheim is lurking around the corner and eavesdropping in on their quiet conversation.

“Apparently this is a pretty huge business deal tonight,” he continues lowly, his rumble of a voice barely audible over the squabble of a nearby fist fight. “There’s an old cat in from Spain, one Alejandro Sanchez. You’ve probably heard of him, Gatsby, he’s been involved with Wolfsheim via money laundering and exporting liquor and guns for years. They’re practically an old married couple. However, I guess there’s some young blood vying for business in Madrid, this boy named Daniel Perez. He’s here tonight, too.”

“I’ve never heard of him,” Jay mumbles with a shake of his head.

“No one has. He’s brand new to the scene and is more than willing to help with the transfer of opium from Asia. He has a pretty big ring of other boys for someone so young, it’s quite impressive actually. But he’s trying to stick his foot in the door and trample Sanchez. He’s offering to move the drugs, move the money and be Wolfsheim’s new right hand man in the European Theatre.”

“That’s bold,” Nick thinks aloud before he can stop himself, his tongue loosened from the liquor in his veins.

“It’s incredibly bold,” Rasmussen agrees with a nod. “But he’s not punching too high above his weight. Like I said, he’s got a pretty big ring back home in Spain and apparently was explaining to some other folks that he has connections in varying European countries to help move money and opium along the continent.”

“Have you met him?” Jay asks.

“Once; I was the one sent to meet him and his boys at the docks and get them set up in the Algonquin. He’s no hothead despite being so ambitious at such a young age. He was downright polite, I’d say, he cracked a few jokes and said his ‘please’ and ‘thank you’s.”

“So do you think he’s going to drop Sanchez for this new kid or try to hang on to both of them? Sanchez has been around since I was wet behind the ears,” Jay mumbles as he runs a hand over the sheen of his gelled back hair, unaccustomed to its sleek texture after so many weeks of wearing it naturally.

Rasmussen shrugs. “Wolfsheim has always had his pick of the litter, at least as long as I’ve been in his service. Sanchez is reliable and has never let us down. He’s voiced a willingness to dip his toes into the opium pool and move it along if need be, but he’s better versed in guns and laundering. This kid is beyond inexperienced in comparison but he’s vital, ambitious and full of energy. It’s a tough call. Like I said, they’re both guests at this little party, I’m sure you’ll bump into them before the night is over.”

It’s a classic scenario, Nick thinks with a shred of amusem*nt; a twisted love triangle of sorts. An established relationship that’s been tested throughout the years but has seen both parties stay faithful regardless suddenly plunged into peril by the arrival of a younger, fresher model.

It’s such a childish, simple situation that has devolved into a dark, twisted worst case scenario.

If the whole thing didn’t reek of blood lust and ammonia it would almost be absurdly humorous.
—----------------------------------------

As the night drags onward Nick and Jay receive several visitors who dare to tread into their little corner of drunken tranquility.

The charismatic arms dealer makes his way over to them and is visibly disappointed when Jay hurriedly denies him a sale, releasing him back into the embrace of the ensuing mayhem of their surroundings.

The maids swivel to and fro and continuously pass them by; each time their orbit hovers close enough to their corner their trays are depleted of two glasses of liquor.

A few gang members from various legions of affiliation swing in to speak to Gatsby about Wolfsheim, inquiring about the famous mobster’s preferred form of food, drink and women to imbibe in. Jay humors them all and replies sarcastically, his tongue sharp as a blade after a few drinks too many.

A handful of their guests are opium seekers, hoping one of them is a buyer. Most are drunk as skunks, slurring their words as they ask them both as vaguely as they can about the plant that blooms rich as a stack of freshly printed hundred dollar bills in the soil of Asia.

“Have you ever heard of opium being sold in the states?” One woman asks Nick in a pathetic mimic of a whisper, her dark bangs dragging over his shoulder as she slumps against him, some of her drink piddling on the floor at their feet. “I’ve heard a few whispers of the magical plant being brought back over here…I have the most awful menstrual cramps, you know.”

“She does!” Her friend pipes in solemnly, holding a hand to her chest in a ghost of a scout’s promise. “She really does, and my depression won’t be at bay without it.”

Despite Jay’s stern stare of disapproval Nick nods along like a dummy.

“I understand. My aunt needed it for awhile… I don’t sell the blasted powder but I’m sure plenty of other men here do.”

The girl leaning against Nick’s shoulder giggles, as if the whole affair is terribly amusing. She presses her chapped lips to Nick’s temple before slumping further forward to send her lips to the shell of Nick’s ear.

“I’ll find it. In the meantime, do you know how to dance, Mr. Carraway?”

Nick cannot remember where in the conversation he revealed his name, but he believes fully that he must’ve introduced himself somewhere along their inebriated path of pleasantries. Most likely sometimes before these lovely ladies solicited him for drugs.

“I can move well enough,” he replies before he can stop himself, watching as Jay’s expression grows more and more morbid. “Why do you ask?”

“Well, you’re quite a bit of fun, and the two of us don’t dare traverse the ballroom without a man in tow in fear of being carried off to the gardens to be taken advantage of,” the girl slurs softly into his ear, her breath hot with liquor. “Do you care to join us?”

“Yes, Mr. Carraway, please join us!” Her friend urges as she reaches out to grasp Nick;s unoccupied shoulder. “We’d make a merry trio!”

Nick glances at Jay for permission and watches as the other man’s face softens.

They’ve sat stationary for hours awaiting Wolfsheim’s much anticipated arrival and have dealt with a myriad of drunkards asking for opium. This is the first invite to dance and enjoy himself Nick or Jay has received all night.

“Go on,” Jay mumbles as he takes a swig of his half empty glass of champagne. “Just don’t go too far away from me.”

“He said yes!” The girls cry in unison as they drag Nick to his feet in a hurry.

“We’re going to have so much fun!” One of the girls hisses excitedly as they begin to tug Nick away, giggling all the while. “The music tonight is marvelous!”

As they approach the ballroom the intoxicating swell of jazz shakes the floors and walls, overtaking Nick completely. He lets out a wild laugh of excitement, finding himself the most free he’s ever felt in his entire life.

The marble floor thrums from the music, vibrating up through the soles of Nick’s shoes.

The musician’s on stage all shine with a thin sheen of sweat as they play their souls out. They blow through their reeds and strum at the strings of their instruments with a passion more intense than most people exert into intercourse.

Nick sways along to the melancholy song, allowing the girls to circle him and grab onto his waist and hands.

It’s a blur of motion as they move across the decadent ballroom. Their body’s respond instinctively to the desperate call of the clarinets and bass, shifting and pulsating along naturally.

They dance along into the heat of the night. The one girl quickly drifts away, finding a more suitable dance partner amongst the crushing crowd of the ballroom floor, but the girl with the jet black hair clings to Nick like he’s the only man in the room, her nose burrowing into the collar of his suit.

“You smell like roses,” she tells him with a wide, tipsy smile. Her black eyes crinkle along with her crooked nose.

“Thank you.”

Despite her clear intoxication she dances with easy grace and poise. Her face glows like a lantern in the moonlight and despite her heavy smattering of makeup Nick can tell that she’s fairly young.

“I feel like such a drunk fool, but I don’t recall your name,” he admits with evident embarrassment as they sway around a group of discombobulated drunkards. “I do apologize.”

The woman giggles and shakes her head. “I never told you my name,” she replies coyly with a dramatic flutter of her eyelashes. “And you never told me yours, Mr. Carraway.”

Nick is thoroughly thrown for a loop, far beyond being sober enough to properly process the situation as it unfolds. He gapes at her like a fish out of water, eyes going wide.

She laughs yet again, harder this time, and gives Nick’s shoulders a playful squeeze. “I wasn’t supposed to come to this party, you know. My brother’s a big worry wart and thinks I can’t properly take care of myself. He’s wrong, I’m more than capable of keeping myself out of harm’s way, but he said that if I needed a safe man to spend some time with tonight I should come and find you.”

Nick blinks slowly and tries to work through the jumble of half-baked information being offered up. He stares at the girl in his arms yet again, eyes intently tracing over the faded, pink scar that crawls down the left side of her forehead.

There’s at least a dozen questions beginning to coherently form in the back of Nick’s throat but the first one to slip past his lips is; “Are you not safe right now?”

The woman smiles sadly to herself and nods. “I am now. There was a man tailing me before but I’m alright now, Mr. Carraway.”

Nick simply nods and stares into the neverending midnight abyss of her eyes. “What’s your name?”

“My name is Min. Ling Min.”

“I met your brother,” Nick says dumbly despite Min having had already divulged this information to him. “He works for Wolfsheim.”

Min nods along. “He does.”

“Do you?”

Min snorts bitterly and shakes her head. “I’d never work for any man, much less a hellhound like that. I’m a self-employed woman. Always have been and always will be.”

“What exactly does that entail?”

Min smiles mischievously and winks. “I’m a seller of exotic wares, Mr. Carraway. I sell only the finest grown marijuana and the cleanest cocaine you’ll find in the city. I have friends all around the world.”

“So everyone here and their mother is in the world of illegal wares,” Nick deadpans unenthusiastically as he spins Min around a puddle of vomit, a nearby maid scurrying to clean it away quickly before anyone can notice its taboo presence.

“Everyone except for you,” Min replies, not missing a beat as she easily continues their lazy waltz. “My brother says no one knows much about you. No one quite understands your presence here or what you’re all about.”

“I’m no one special,” Nick mumbles softly. “I’m really not.”

“Well, you’re the talk of the town,” Min presses further. “My brother says no one has the faintest clue why you’re here or what you’re doing with Jay Gatsby. But my brother says you're safe and said you would rescue me if I needed you. And you did.”

Nick is stunned into silence once again, unsure what the appropriate response is. As baffled by Min and her mystique as he is she apparently is just as intrigued by him.

“You’re my hero, Mr. Carraway,” she whispers into his ear with a faint giggle. “You really are. I owe a certain gentleman here money and you whisked me away into the night. Show me the gardens, will you?”

Nick obliges, escorting his newfound companion away into the dusky canopy of the gardens.
—---------------

A warm and urgent mouthful of liquor and stomach bile finds its way into Nick’s mouth as he and Min traverse the myriad of flowers and fruitful trees in the garden.

Warm tears well in his eyes as he violently pukes into a nearby bush, his stomach twirling fast and clumsily as the drunken dancers littering the ballroom floor.

Min rubs his quivering lower back with sweaty palms.

“You’ll be okay,” She assures him. “You just have to get it all out.”

Nick simply pukes again in response, his nose burning as strongly as vinegar as his mouth waters with a vengeance.

When he’s able to begin recomposing himself he finds that he’s as thirsty as a castaway, his mouth drier than a desert.

“I’ll go fetch you a glass of water,” Min offers, seemingly reading his mind.

Before Nick can argue she’s gone, and he finds himself alone amongst the hydrangeas and cherry trees.

He makes himself as comfortable as he can on a nearby bench and closes his eyes, steadying his breathing to match the tune of the music streaming out of the ballroom in a muffled riot.

He’s rather embarrassed, rather sure he’s made an ass of himself in front of a vulnerable young woman, and he tries to think of how to salvage his character.

He considers taking her into the library for reprieve, as he can groggily remember her mentioning being a fan of English plays and Chinese poetry. Surely she would appreciate a chance to browse Jay’s sea of books in hopes of finding something that piqued her interest.

Nick is distracted from his flustered inner monologue by a rustle off to his left.

Off to his left Nick can hear someone moving along the path behind him, dragging their hands through the soft leaves of the blueberry bushes and whistling an easy tune.

A set of hurried footsteps follows them.

“Papa!” Someone hisses anxiously. “Why are you here?!”

“Ah! Datter! There you are! Tell me, how is the Gatsby residence treating you!” Rasmussen rumbles pleasantly, his speech notably slurred from his ongoing consumption of wine.

“Papa, you said you wouldn’t come!”

“I need to be here tonight, Nora. Things are going to go sideways very shortly….you should find yourself something to do away from the ballroom.”

Nick knows that the conversation going on behind him is none of his business. He knows he has no place eavesdropping on the Nord but he can’t help himself, and he finds that his impulsive need to know what the hell he’s mired in the middle of is at the forthright of his mind after too many drinks.

He quietly slides off of his perch on the bench and crawls into the bushes behind him with a gentle rustle, holding his breath as he pokes his head through an enclave of branches.

The Nord stands in a starry clearing, the redhead Jay swore had been spying on him standing a few feet behind him, a look of deep concern etched onto her ashen face.

“I don’t care what Wolfsheim has planned for tonight, I’m simply fulfilling my duties,” she says softly as she reaches out to lay a hand on her father’s chest. “But you said you wouldn’t be here.”

“I wasn’t supposed to be, my dear,” Rasmussen replies solemnly, his cheerful demeanor falling away in the blink of an eye. “But I know that things are going to become quite morbid here very soon. Please, keep yourself tucked away upstairs somewhere. I’d hate to see your dress stained with blood.”

Nick watches as Nora’s porcelain pale face hardens.

“I’m a grown woman, papa, nearly thirty. I can take care of myself and I don’t need you meddling in my affairs again.”

“I know, my dear, I just don’t wish for you to be any more jaded than you already are. Please, make yourself scarce, for your old man?”

Nora sighs out heavily through her nose with simmering frustration but she turns obediently on her heel nonetheless, skulking back into the light of the kitchen, her shoulders drawn high and defensively around her ears.

“Ooh! What are you doing down there?”

Nick nearly jumps out of his skin, whirling around to see Min as rejoined him, a glass of water in her right hand, two glasses of wine in her left hand.

“Shh!” Nick hisses urgently as he crawls back up onto the bench, not bothering to brush away the dirt collected on his knees.

Min quirks a plucked eyebrow as she offers Nick a glass of wine along with his glass of water.

“What were you doing?”

“Spying.”

“Intriguing,” Min replies complacently as she seats herself beside Nick, crossing her legs at the knee. “However, it is hardly a professional approach.”

Nick rolls his eyes. “Look, I’m just trying to piece everything together here. I hardly know a thing about this world I’ve just stumbled into. I don’t know a thing about anyone here. I don’t know a thing about opium. I don’t know a thing about bootlegging. I’m here by a mere fluke, really. It’s hysterical to me that your brother is under the impression that I’m anybody.”

Min smirks and shrugs, eyeing up Nick suspiciously. “You’re a new face in the ring, Mr. Carraway. I don’t know what you expect.”

“Please call me Nick. When you call me by my last name you make me feel like a client of yours,” Nick pleads breathlessly as he gulps down both his wine and water in a single breath.

Min’s expression softens as she tilts back the bottom of her own glass. “Alright, Nick,” she acquiesces easily enough, seemingly unperturbed but just as much unmoved. “I don’t know much about Wolfsheim or opium myself, other than that those little white pills take you to heaven and back, but I do know that for whatever reason my brother thinks I ought to be able to rely on you. So I do. You’re my ally.”

Nick is beyond confused when Min reaches out her hand, dumbfounded by her silent request for a handshake, but he fulfills her silent demand nonetheless.

“Allies confide in one another,” Min continues eloquently despite her intoxication. “So I’ll tell you all that I know about this little fix you claim you’ve stumbled into. Wolfsheim is not a good man to be in business with if he turns his back on you. And right now he’s got plenty of men willing to do his bidding for him. Thing is he only needs so many lackeys, so someone’s got to go.”

“Are you talking about the Spaniards?” Nick asks, remembering what Rasmussen and Jay had been discussing earlier. “Are you talking about Perez and Sanchez?”

Min nods. “That’s part of it. I don’t care how that shakes out, quite frankly. I’m fine either way, but neither of them is willing to compromise or back down so someone’s got to go.”

“That sounds morbid,” Nick murmurs quietly. “You make it sound like someone has to die here tonight.”

“Someone’s going to,” Min replies easily. “Have you met either of the two contenders yourself?”

Nick shakes his head.

Min beams and reaches out a hand, this time in an offer to lead Nick off onto a new goose chase alongside her.

“Well, aren’t you in for a treat!” She exclaims with a lithe giggle as she hauls Nick to his feet. “Let’s go out to the upper balcony and meet the two bulls, shall we?”
—--------------------

The highest balcony in Jay’s mansion sits outside of the library, overlooking the front drive and offering a voyeuristic view out across the bay and into the illuminated city streets, all aflutter with the headlights of taxi cabs and cars, the commotion carrying across the wild waves of the black bay.

Tonight the balcony is arranged into a dining area only accessible to the upper echelon of the party’s guests.

Velvet padded chairs surround tables full of steaming hot food and ice cold co*cktails.

Cigar and cigarette smoke form an unholy union in the still night air.

Bouquets of white lilies line the balcony railings and sit in elegant vases in the corners.

Nick feels out of place, even with Min on his arm leading him into the scene. He clings to her desperately like a phantom of Christmas past come to teach a hoard of disgruntled old men of their past sins.

“Are you selling?” A young Latin American man asks Min in a harsh whisper, rubbing at his bloody nose with his burnt out cigarette. “I could use some reefer.”

“I’m just here to socialize tonight,” Min responds simply, innocently. “If you go see one of the girls in the lobby I’m sure you can find what you’re looking for.”

Nick closes his eyes, trying to envision himself in his family’s parlor chalk-full of nosy bluebloods dying for the scent of vulnerability just to feel more at home.

He pictures his father seated regally in his armchair, prattling on and on about Keynesian economics and the ongoing conflict in Armenia.

He can practically smell his mother’s floral perfume as he thinks about her hovering in the corner, hissing to her friends about the ideal state of womanhood overtaking the patriarchy, shoving men complacently into their corners as they dominate the political domain.

Nick is nudged gently back into reality as Min pushes him into an empty seat, the wine in his glass sloshing dangerously close to the crystalline rim.

“Okay, so here’s who’s who in this little zoo,” Min begins, unphased as she tilts her head subtly to the left. “That big brooding man over there? That’s Sanchez.”

Nick follows the elegant tilt of his Min’s neck and spies a weathered, leathery older man leaned casually against the railing, a cigarette dangling from his split lips.

He looks bored, beyond unamused, as he stares off into the crowd with dead, deep brown eyes. A clamor of people approach him and attempt to enthusiastically engage with him, but he seems completely disinterested.

He gazes off into space and sucks on his cigarette, seemingly staring into an endless void even as women bare their breasts to him and young men vouch their lives and loyalties to him.

“Is he always this anti-social?” Nick asks as he watches a prostitute skulk away dejectedly from Sanchez’s presence, pulling her dress back up and over her sharp collarbone.

Min shrugs. “Never met him before but I’ve heard he keeps to himself. He has a company of his own established in Spain and I think he prefers not to toy with Americans other than Wolfsheim. He follows the money. Perez is more of a social butterfly, though.”

Nick instinctively looks to the center of the balcony and sees a hoard of people all encircling a young man like he’s a demigod.

The young man is talking a mile a minute, eyelashes batting along at light speed as jokes and hyperboles spill from his lips as freely as wine.

He’s baby-faced with rounded cheeks and bright eyes. His teeth are two rows of white as straight as picket fences as he opens his impossibly big mouth to laugh at one of his companions’ stories.

He’s the life of his little circle of the party, drawing people to him like moths to a flame. His laugh is boyish and joyful, nearly hypnotic, his European accented voice is addictive as opium.

He’s a cult of personality, and from what Nick can observe, Sanchez should be very worried.

“They’re both here for Wolfsheim, as I’m sure you already know,” Min whispers into Nick’s ear. “Everyone says they’re going to duel each other on the beach at sunrise. The winner gets Wolfsheim and his business dealings all to himself.”

Nick looks up to the moon, hanging high and elegantly in the sky, acting as the keeper of peace for the time being.

“Who do you think is going to win?”

Min shrugs and takes a sip from her glass. “Not a clue. But it should be a doozy. From what I’ve heard they’re both excellent with a pistol.”

“Care if I join you two?”

Nick startles and glances over his shoulder to see Jay skulking behind them, placing his hands heavily down on Nick’s shoulders as if to keep him from running away.

He looks deeply unhappy despite the fake smile plastered over his face. His eyes burn with something akin to anger and his back is straight and tight as a mast.

“Why, of course, Mr. Gatsby!” Min beams warmly as she beckons to an empty seat to her left.

Jay opts to slide into the seat beside Nick instead and places a heavy hand down on his knee.

“What brought the two of you up here of all places?” Jay asks, his anxious displeasure barely concealed by his shaky smile.

“I was just showing your friend the two contenders for Wolfsheim’s hand,” Min explains quickly. “He was asking who I thought was going to win the duel. Who do you think is the faster draw, Gatsby?”

Jay lets out a hollow chuckle devoid of mirth and shrugs. “That’s anyone’s guess, miss. I haven’t the slightest clue but if I were you I’d be gone by sunrise.”

“Well, I don’t want to miss out on the action,” Min counters with a sullen scowl. “What do you say, Mr. Carraway, do you want to stay up with me until the sun rises and see who’s blood stains the sand?”

Nick hesitates to respond, Jay’s anxiety and displeasure with him making him squirm in his seat. “I don’t know if I can make it til morning,” he says carefully, treading these new waters with delicate precision. “Besides, I reckon it doesn’t really affect me either way who wins.”

“It doesn’t,” Jay assures him, giving his knee a firm squeeze. “It doesn’t affect either of you who wins this barbaric display of gore. Now, the band is playing some real good tunes downstairs if you’d both care to join me. The breeze up here is making me cold.”

“How could I refuse a chance to dance with Mr. Gatsby?” Min all but squeals delightfully, eagerly clamoring to her feet and pulling Nick up with her. “Come on then, let’s return to the ballroom!”
—-----------------------

The three of them make their way back down to the ballroom in a tipsy hurry.

As they saunter across the marble floor Nick and Jay share Min as a dance partner, taking turns twirling her around between the two of them.

Nick cautiously looks up to meet Jay’s eyes, knowing that he must have done something to upset the other man as Jay would not have gone looking for him if Nick hadn’t accidentally stumbled into something nasty he wasn’t supposed to.

This feeling is validated when they lock eyes, Jay’s face pulled back into a tight frown.

“I told you not to go too far away from me!” Jay hisses harshly against the crooning of the clarinets.

“I didn’t go that far!” Nick argues stubbornly, his liquid courage turning sour and strong in the back of his burning throat. “I’m not a child! If I want to go to the balconies or to the gardens I’m allowed to. I don’t need your stamp of approval!”

Jay deflates slightly, looking wounded as he grabs Min’s wrists and twists her around him and all but tosses her back into Nick’s arms.

“You have no idea what’s going on here tonight,” he warns sharply, angrily. “I only asked that you not wander off and I find you out on the biggest balcony sitting around the worst people imaginable!”

“How was I supposed to know that?!”

“Because you weren’t supposed to drift that far away from me!”

Nick bargains that Jay is far drunker than he should be if he’s carrying on this conversation with Min sandwiched between them. They aren’t exactly being discreet or quiet and Nick is certain she can hear most of what they’re saying to one another.

This theory is proved correct when Min interjects herself into their squabble.

“I would have kept him safe!” She argues defiantly as she hangs off of Nick’s shoulders and slumps back to toss a glare over her shoulder at Jay. “He’s right, we aren’t children. I know the men up there and we aren’t of any interest to them!”

Jay returns her icy glare with one of his own. “I wasn’t talking to you.”

“Well, I feel I ought to be a part of this conversation since I’m literally in the middle of it!” Min declares tenaciously. “He’s allowed to do what he wants! And he and I weren’t in any danger!”

“You don’t know that!”

“Why would any of the big fish up there have any interest in a small-time dealer and your friend?” Min challenges heatedly, daring to take this argument much further than Nick would ever attempt to. “We’re nothing to them!”

“He might be something to some of them!” Jay shouts over the commotion surrounding them. “He might be and I don’t want him near any of them without me there to make sure nothing goes south!”

“Jay,” Nick cuts in, gently spinning Min around in his arms and all but jumping out of the way of a runaway group of wild young men who seem to be chasing one another around the ballroom in a flurry of drunken anger. “Please.”

Jay scowls like a child who’s been scolded but relents, putting his hands up in surrender. “I don’t want you at the beach at sunrise,” he mumbles softly, all of his anger seemingly curdling away into helplessness. “Please just stay away from the beach at sunrise.”

“I will,” Nick replies with a nod. He tries to regain eye contact with Jay to reassure him but Jay refuses to look up from his polished dress shoes.

“Promise?” Jay whispers horsley, desperately.

“Promise.”

“Are you two done arguing yet?” Min asks as she spins herself back around in Nick’s arms to face Jay, a drunken smile stretching across her gaunt cheeks. “It’s no fun if you two are fighting.”

“We aren’t fighting,” Jay retorts hotly, annoyance and something that Nick thinks may be jealousy flashing over Jay's sunken features. “We’re talking.”

Min shrugs and reaches out to grip Jay’s wrist and pull him in to sway her along to the upbeat tune rattling the floor beneath them. “Whatever it is, you ought to be nicer to your friend here. We were just snooping around.”

“Curiosity killed the cat,” Jay replies morbidly as he rocks Min along to the beat.

This time he does shyly look up to meet Jay's eyes, and Nick is startled into submission by the cold fear he’s met with glowing back at him like knives glinting in the cool moonlight.
—-------------

As the night drags on people begin to leave in a drunken tizzy, stumbling out to the front drive and crawling into cabs.

Nick resumes his vigil with Jay in a secluded corner of the ballroom, a groggy Min draped over Nick’s shoulder.

They watch the stragglers continue to dance their way into the morning light, seemingly unburdened by a night full of drinking and merrymaking.

“I’m so tired,” Min murmurs into Nick’s shoulder blades. “But I…I’m scared to leave.”

She’s too tired to elaborate, barely keeping her heavily lidded eyes open. Nick doesn’t question the source of said fear and instead looks to Jay for permission to settle her in to sleep somewhere.

“Make her comfortable in one of the unoccupied guest rooms,” He says with a nod. “We’ll check on her when all of this is over with and we’ve washed our hands of the rest of our company.”

“Alright,” Nick agrees as he gently manipulates Min’s slight limbs to pick her up like a wilted bride and carry her upstairs and away from the early morning chaos.

“You’re my hero, Nick,” She slurs out sleepily as Nick nudges open a guest bedroom door and slowly settles her down into the crisp linens beneath her. “I have something to tell you. I really do.”

“You can tell me tomorrow,” Nick mumbles softly as he presses a damp towel to her flushes cheeks and wipes away her smudged makeup. “Jay or I will come check on you when the party’s over. I promise.”

Min hums and rolls onto her side, eyes sliding shut. “You call him Jay?” She asks teasingly with a faint giggle. “First name basis….I see.”

“Well, you and I are on a first name basis now,” Nick argues gently as he brushes her sweat soaked bangs out of her face. “Aren’t we?”

“Yes, we are allies now,” Min replies stubbornly as she reaches out to give Nick’s wrist a squeeze. “They were right about you. My brother, Nora, and Ada were all right about you. I was supposed to die tonight, you know.”

“No you weren’t.”

Min giggles again, softer this time. “Yes I was. But I found you and it all panned out. My brother will have to thank you…I’m not always quite as tactful as I think I am…I try, though, I really do.”

“I’m sure you do.”

Min yawns again and burrows her face into her pillow, seemingly drifting off into a drunken slumber. Thinking she’s passed out Nick leaves her bedside and returns to the ballroom, his head swimming yet again with hundreds upon hundred of unanswered questions burning at his temples.

When he rejoins Jay he sees that Wolfsheim and the two Spainards have made their way to the stage of the ballroom.

The band, sensing a more urgent performance on the horizon, finishes their last song and makes themselves scarce in a flurry of motion as they pack up their sheet music and instruments in a hurry.

“What’s going on?” Nick asks worriedly as he watches Wolfsheim edge his way to center stage, the Spaniards trailing behind him.

Jay shrugs, his foot thumping incessantly against the marble floor as he lights a cigar with trembling hands. “I don’t know for certain. That duel everyone’s been gossiping about all night might be starting sooner than I thought. He may be announcing the event and urging every blood thirsty hooligan to go to the bay to watch…this is sickening, old sport, I’m not going to watch.”

“I’m not either,” Nick agrees solemnly. “It won’t affect us either way, right?”

“Right,” Jay reassures him quietly, reaching out to grasp onto Nick’s hand like it’s his only tie to sanity remaining. “We’ll be fine either way.”

Nick nods and leans back along the wall with Jay, watching in disgust as the crowd congregates closer to the stage, waiting with bated breath for Wolfsheim to announce the bloodsport’s eagerly anticipated beginning.

“Hello, friends!” Wolfsheim yells out into the room with a warm smile, like a grandfather welcoming all of his beloved grandchildren to a Christmas party. “I’m so glad so many of you took the time to join us here tonight! It was quite a party we’ve hosted here tonight, wasn’t it?”

The crowd cheers excitedly, whooping and howling into the early morning like a pack of deranged wolves.

“Yes, yes, but the festivities aren’t over quite yet! The band has promised to stick around until high noon for however many guests wish to stay on until the bitter end! And there’s still plenty of delicious morsels available on the balconies! So, please, stay as long as you wish to! We are here to please!”

The crowd deteriorates into applause and wild adulations yet again, the remaining guests beyond intoxicated and eager to dance and drink until they drop unconscious onto the floor.

“You see, as much fun as we’ve all had thus far there is a matter of serious business being conducted here tonight,” Wolfsheim continues as the crowd settles. “Behind me are two dear friends of mine who have traveled to the states all the way from Spain in order to make deals with me. I appreciate and honor all contracts that bear my signature, as I’m sure you all know. I only agree to things I truly believe in and that benefit the rings under my terf to the highest degree. The issue we have encountered here tonight is that both of these fine men are unable to come to a compromise…their offers cannot peacefully coexist as all the way back in Europe as I speak they are fighting a savage terf war with one another over winning the heart of New York.”

“Bring them out to the bay!” One man shouts eagerly. “Let them handle it like real men!”

“Draw your pistols!” Another man yells over the ensuing uproar. “Ready, aim, fire! Ten paces!”

“Let’s have a duel!” A woman shrieks, nearing hysterics as she lets out a wild scream.

Wolfsheim smiles patiently, sagely and raises his hands, quietly demanding silence and receiving it almost instantaneously.

“Well, I hate to disappoint everyone here but there will be no duel!” Wolfsheim announces. “You see, I have heard both of these gentlemen’s offers and have analyzed both of their characters and have made up my mind. In order to benefit my own men and to continue holding the standards expected of this much venerated ring that I have the honor of calling my own, I have decided to call Mr. Perez forward!”

The crowd erupts with the violence of a volcano, screaming and cheering so loudly that Nick thinks for a moment that his eardrums are about to burst from the chaos engulfing him.

Mr. Perez beams bright as the rising sun and eagerly steps forward, extending a hand to Wolfsheim.

Sanchez frowns tightly but makes no move to advance, instead staying rooted in his spot like a stubborn, weathered oak tree prepared to defiantly stay rooted in its native soil despite the development of the forrest surrounding it.

Mr. Perez opens his mouth to speak, flashing the entire ballroom with his impeccable teeth, but before he can so much as utter a word Wolfsheim takes flight.

It happens so quickly that Nick is unsure whether he’s dreaming or not, whether or not the gruesome display playing out before his eyes is real or not.

Perez tries to gulp down breath, wheezing as air rushes out of his lungs and blood gushes out of his gaping mouth in waves.

Wolfsheim stands beside him with the calmness of a seasoned military sergeant, placing a sturdy hand on Perez’s quaking shoulder as the young man sinks to his knees, trembling hands grasping at the gash in his throat in a vain attempt to hold in his own blood and breath.

The knife used so deftly and flawlessly to cut the young man’s throat is hoisted in the air by Wolfsheim, for all to see. The burgundy blood staining the tip glints mischievously in the early sunlight as it begins to run down the rest of the blade and soak Wolfsheim’s bruised knuckles.

The crowd is silent, watching with bated breath as Perez finally collapses and curls into himself, his blood soaking into the stage beneath him as he wheezes out his last breaths into the ballroom like an unheard prayer.

“You see, ladies and gentlemen,” Wolfsheim continues evenly, unphased and unbothered, “Mr. Sanchez has been an irreplaceable asset to our merrymaking here tonight. He has stood loyally by my side for over a decade, helping me and my men out in some of our most vital exploits across Europe. Regardless of any new offers, seniority and loyalty ought to be respected and shown the proper appreciation. So, if I may, I offer a toast to my dear friend, Mr. Alejandro Sanchez!”

Nick is too stunned to speak, too stunned to move. He feels frozen in place as the armada of maids swiftly moves across the ballroom, offering everyone a glass of sparkling champagne.

“To Mr. Alejandro Sanchez!” Wolfsheim declares enthusiastically as he raises a glass over his head, beckoning the surviving Spaniard over with his free hand.

Sanchez smiles coyly and saunters to the front of the stage, accepting a glass as the crowd breaks into a chorus of cheers and screams yet again.

“Thank you, New York!” Sanchez shouts out over the commotion, a snaggle tooth slipping over his chapped bottom lip as he smiles wide and relaxed as a cat that’s already caught and devoured the canary.

Nick stares unmoving at the corpse still on the stage for all to gawk at, laying limp as soggy trash left in the gutter. The band retakes the stage as Wolfsheim and Sanchez disappear out into the crowd, picking up on their setlist where they left off with ease.

Perez is not moved, adorning the stage like a prized trophy as the party carries on as if no blood has been spilt in the name of a good time.
—---------------------

They end up back in the ocean, sitting side by side as the cold waves roll in and the sun glows red and angry amongst the wispy clouds.

“I don’t understand,” Nick manages to choke out through the disgust and horror welling up in his chest and throat like a nasty case of pneumonia. “Why-”

“That’s how this works,” Jay replies simply. He sounds distant, as if he’s sitting several miles away on a foreign beach, being drenched by a different ocean’s waves and staring at a cosmically adjacent sunrise altogether.

Nick has never been at such a loss for words, has never found his mind so foggy and devoid of reason as he feel’s hot tears of unknown emotion spring into his bloodshot eyes.

“That’s why I said I would have sent you away,” Jay says softly as he moves his knuckles across an incoming wave, the ripples floating up to the surface in a mass of white foam. “If he hadn’t seen you, if he didn’t know you meant anything to you, I would've sent you away from all of this. You shouldn’t have been here for that murder.”

The last word out of Jay’s mouth hangs in the air between them with the weight of a crushing boulder, pressing both of their chests concave.

“That’s what it was,” Nick whispers as he feels his throat clench up in disgust. “It was a pointless display of bravado and-and-”

“It was a senseless murder,” Jay finishes grimly as he runs his pruney hands over his ashen face. “That’s what these people do. They kill one another over printed paper and addictive plants. And the sun will rise regardless and people will wake up in their beds and get up and go to work and no one will care.”

A particularly strong wave rushes at them, spitting in their faces and making the hairs on the back of their necks stand up straight against the morning breeze.

“How old was he?” Nick asks softly, unsure whether or not he even wants to know the answer. “He looked young.”

“I think I heard someone say he was twenty-three.”

Nick tries to remember what his circle of life looked like at that age. He must have been fresh out of college and preparing to be drafted and sent over to Europe to die because someone he’d never met had been shot by people who didn’t even know his name.

He remembers his mother weeping and begging him to fake an ailment.

“That’s what the Lewis’ boy did,” She’d explain through snivels into her hand-stitched handkerchief. “He claimed he’d had bone spurs and struggled to run. Please, Nick, tell the officers you have bone spurs! Tell them you had tuberculosis as a boy and can’t catch your breath! Tell them something, anything!”

He hadn’t and he’d gone and spent three miserable years laying in various trenches in France and Spain, wondering why he was even there as canon shots and gunfire rang out like wild animals in the air.

“No one should die at twenty three.”

Jay laughs quietly and shakes his head. “That’s not really how the world works, old sport. People die every day at all stages of life. Whoever’s up there doesn’t seem to mind our business and lets us run wild. And we are horrible, vile creatures, I must say.”

Nick feels his tears finally slide down his cheeks in streams of warm slickness, bleeding into the ocean’s waves and disappearing.

No matter how hard he tries to forget the sight of Perez silently shrieking into the air, blood staining his suit collar, he can’t. It lingers in the forefront of his mind like a head cold, cruel and unrelenting.

“That’s not how I thought that was going to happen,” Jay admits quietly. “I really did think they’d shot one another out here at daybreak. I thought it would be a mutual death wish that took one of them to the other side of the soil. I didn’t think….that’s not how I thought that was going to happen.”

The sun continues its strenuous crawl into the sky. The wispy clouds are stained pink and orange as it pushes past them with ease.

The birds begin to chirp out their morning songs as the sharp screams of the train rumbling along its rickety tracks and impatient car horns begin to drift across the bay.

The world has moved on, welcoming a new day and starting up again as if nothing horrendous and ghastly had happened during the moon’s tenure.

All Nick can think of is that somewhere over in Spain, a woman has just lost her son without even knowing of his sudden, gruesome passing at the hand’s of a money hungry sad*st.

Somewhere across the ocean a woman has woken up and started her day not knowing that her son’s corpse litters a ballroom stage in New York, his throat cut to ribbons as people dance around the stench of his blood without batting an eye.

“We need to sleep,” Jay says quietly as another harsh wave crushes them. “There’s another party tonight and we need to be there.”

Nick feels his stomach churn violently and buries his face in his hands.

“We’ll make a point to say hello and spend the night out here by the ocean,” Jay says softly. “We’ll be as far removed from the chaos as we can be. I promise.”

Nick nods and tries to relax but finds that every nerve in his body is electrified and burning through his skin. He finds that his hands won’t stop shaking and that no matter how hard he tries that he cannot forget the horrible, sullen gurgle that escaped Perez’s parted lips as he crumpled to the floor.

“We need to sleep,” Jay says again as he reaches out to grasp Nick’s shoulder. “I know it’s hard, I know, I….there’s gotta be a bottle of whiskey in there somewhere. We can both take a few shots and pass out somewhere for a few hours. C’mon, Nick.”

Nick allows Jay to tug him to his feet and stumbles behind him back to the mansion and mentally prepares himself to surrender to a few winks of drunken slumber.

Chapter 9

Chapter Text

The paisley wallpaper of the bedroom swims nauseatingly across Nick’s eyes as he lays still and stiff as a proper corpse on his back.

He groans weakly and squeezes his eyes shut, trying to will away the pounding behind his temples and violent churning of his stomach.

“Well, hello there. I wasn’t sure you would come to before the sun set,” Jay greets quietly from his perch on the worn wingback in the corner, a cigar hanging limply from his lips. “I was just going to let you sleep through the party if you were capable of it.”

Nick winces as he rubs at his forehead, sitting up as slowly as he can manage to in an attempt to not further upset his already unsettled stomach.

He’s hungover as a booze hound, weak in the knees and the gut and feels as if he’s just been raked over a bed of blazing coals.

If he didn’t have yet another blood-stained, opium spattered party to attend he’d simply try to sleep through the worst of the alcohol induced illness.

“Do you want me to go fetch you something to eat? You might feel a little better with something solid in your stomach,” Jay offers gently as he moves to stand, eyeing Nick up with evident worry.

“I could use some water,” Nick manages to choke out despite his throat feeling dry and constricted.

Jay nods in agreement as he shuffles over to the bed and seats himself on the edge of the cool, sweat-drenched sheets. “I’ll go get you a glass. It’s the early evening, so folks will start showing up within the hour. We’re going to have to go and get ourselves ready soon.”

Nick feels the blood begin to rapidly drain from his face as unshakable memories of the unfathomable and senseless violence that had unfolded the previous night begin to claw away at the forefront of his mind.

He can still vividly see the body of Perez draped across the stage like a particularly prized and expensive imported fur rug.

He can still smell the musky scent of blood freshly spilt and hear the desperate, breathless wheezing rushing from Perez’s slack jaw and split neck.

It’s nearly enough to make Nick properly sick.

“I can’t watch someone else die,” he manages to mumble as he buries his face into his shaking hands. “I really can’t, Jay, I can’t watch more blood be spilt.”

Jay hesitates to respond, tired eyes roving over Nick’s crouched form with great delicacy.

“I’m not under the impression that there will be any death tonight,” he says carefully, slowly. “I think this shindig is only being hosted for established partners of Wolfsheim. There’s no competition, just hands to be shaken.”

Nick swallows the rising stomach bile beginning to pool in the dry cavern of his mouth. “I’m in no mood to shake hands and make small talk.”

“We can spend most of the evening in the library or out on the beach if you’d like,” Jay offers gently as he hesitantly reaches out to rub at Nick’s shoulder. “We can make a quiet space for ourselves.”

Nick nods as he brushes his unkempt, sweat slick hair out of his eyes. “I can’t drink tonight…the mere thought of gin is enough to make me sick.”

“I’ll keep the scent of liquor as far away from us as I can,” Jay promises with a soft smile. “I’ll chase away any of the maids with trays of co*cktails before they’re within arm’s reach.”

Nick manages a weak smile, letting his tired eyes flutter shut with a content sigh as Jay drapes the sheets back around his quaking shoulders.

He’s about to drift back into a restless slumber when his hazy mind reels once more, memories of a fair woman’s makeup smudged face and bright laugh filtering through his thrumming head.

“Is Min still here?” Nick asks through a ragged yawn. “Have you seen her today?”

“She left this morning right after you fell asleep,” Jay answers curtly, almost a tad heatedly, as he pulls himself to his feet. “She asked to see you, but I told her you were tired. She said she’d like to come and visit you within the next week or so.”

“She said some strange things last night when I put her to bed,” Nick mutters, trying to focus his hazy memory enough to recall exactly what his newfound friend has told him. “I can’t quite remember…”

“It was most likely nothing of importance, old sport,” Jay replies with a nonchalant shrug despite what Nick thinks may be a spike of envy seeping into his voice and sharpening his features. “You can ask her when you see her next.”

“She was ecstatic to make your acquaintance,” Nick says pointedly in an attempt to chase this sharpness away. “You’re quite popular, Mr. Gatsby.”

Jay doesn’t seem thoroughly consoled or even particularly flattered, as he simply shrugs once more and turns soft eyes toward his companion.

“You’re the only one I want to be liked by these days, old sport. The rest of them aren’t worth a hill of beans to me.”
—-------------------------------------

The beach is cold with early autumn winds that whisk up unattended co*cktail napkins and loose grains of sand away into the night.

Several yards away the mansion’s windows glow and tremble from the vivacious, drunken life housed within its walls.

The lively keening of saxophones and clarinets along with a myriad of slurred conversations carry out into the stillness of the beach, faint and muffled by the wind and the lapping of the tide against the sand.

Nick tries to make himself comfortable upon the pile of blankets Jay has spread out along the sands for them to sit on together.

It’s a more elaborate set-up for a night on the beach than Nick had anticipated, but Nick figures anything Jay lays his hands on is as polished and refined as Jay can manage to make it out to be.

Whilst Nick had been in the powder room, alternating between emptying his stomach’s contents into the toilet bowl and trying to properly slick back his sweaty hair, Jay had gathered together oodles upon oodles of lanterns and blankets and arranged them underneath a tarp on the beach front.

They sit side by side amongst the fickle, flickering light cast by the lanterns, a picnic basket filled with sandwiches and fruit nestled between them.

“This almost feels like a traditional date,” Nick teases gently as he thumbs through yet another poorly constructed, overly dramatic novel about lost love and womens’ rightful vengeance. “I’m almost under the impression that you’re trying to properly court me, Jay.”

Jay takes this in stride, beaming over at his companion with fondness and a hint of pride.

“Whatever would give you that idea?” He asks casually, teasingly as he leans back onto his elbows. “Certainly it can’t be the lighting.”

“Oh, I’m not sure,” Nick replies with a passive shrug, voice lilting patronizingly. “I suppose I’m just a lovesick fool who doesn’t know any better.”

Jay hums playfully as he rolls onto his side, watching Nick intently through his lashes and drumming his fingers atop of the blankets underneath him.

“You’re many things, but not a fool. I’d daresay you’re one of the few folks I know with a head firmly attached to their shoulders.”

Nick smiles despite himself, the nerves still stubbornly burning at the edges of his mind nearly forgotten when Jay reaches over to idly run a hand along his knee.

Nick glances up from the drivel in his lap to watch the light play along Jay’s face, dancing across the crooked slope of his nose and the curves of his flushed cheeks.

“It feels amateurly romantic,” Nick mumbles with a half-smile, shifting ever so slightly so that Jay can lean in closer, his warm hands splaying themselves easily along Nick’s thighs. “It feels like a date a college boy might think up to try and win over a classmate.”

“A college boy?” Jay challenges softly, smile widening and eyes narrowing playfully. “I’m no ruddy-faced college boy who thinks with the wrong head.”

“That’s not one of your many personas?” Nick asks as innocently as he can manage. “No one thinks you're a Harvard graduate with a masters in business who uses the refined teachings you garnered in a stuffy classroom to launder money and move booze?”

Jay’s smile flickers as he quickly looks away. “Well, perhaps I’ve told a soul or two that I had some sort of overly formal education…I’m not certain it was Harvard, though…”

Nick lets out a gust of laughter and shakes his head. He reaches down to run his fingertips through the pile of greased back, dark hair laying next to his knee.

“My mistake, Jay. I should have known it was Princeton.”

Jay’s lips twist up into a shy, embarrassed grin as he sits up slowly, hiding his face in the crook of Nick’s neck.

It’s a chaste touch, innocent and devoid of any intention whatsoever. Regardless, it makes the dull novel in Nick’s lap all the less interesting, so Nick dogears his page before sliding it off of his lap and turning his full attention to his companion.

Jay revels in this, cupping Nick’s cheeks without hesitation and drawing him in close. Jay’s lips are gentle and move slowly, as if he’s whispering some sort of a reverent omen fervently into Nick’s mouth.

It’s enough that for a fleeting moment Nick forgets about the ensuing party, forgets about the drug dealers and cold-blooded sycophants waltzing throughout the mansion mere yards away.

It feels as if Jay has carved out a wonderfully secluded island solely for the two of them.

It feels as if they’re worlds away from anything or anyone, safely tucked away from the pistols and ricocheting bullets of New York’s finest hit men.

“Tell me about the novel you’re reading,” Jay insists with a soft smile before ducking his head to press a trail of feather-light kisses from Nick’s jaw down to the collar of his suit.

“I feel it’s really nothing of interest to you,” Nick murmurs coyly as he tilts his head to the side, giving Jay’s lips more terrain to traverse. “Sometimes I think you just like hearing my voice almost as much as you enjoy listening to the sound of your own.”

“I have great interest in the classics you enjoy so much,” Jay replies smugly as he presses the cold crook of his nose against the underside of Nick’s jawbone. “But, yes, I will admit that I enjoy listening to your voice, even more so than my own.”

“That’s quite the compliment,” Nick answers easily, being more than well versed in these small verbal games they so effortlessly play with one another. “Because you’re quite the conversationalist.”

Jay draws back to beam as exuberantly and brightly as a child on Christmas morning. He opens his mouth to speak, something Nick is certain is unfairly clever and tantalizing on the tip of his tongue, when their seclusion is interrupted.

“Gatsby? Is that you’re lovely little tarp out here all on it’s lonesome?”

It’s the Nord, his cheery, drunken voice carrying over the sands with vibrant, punctuated ease.

Jay draws back, folding his hands properly over his knees as he quirks an eyebrow in evident annoyance and confusion.

“Yes, it is, Rasmussen, have you come to join us or simply to badger me for gossip on this fine evening?” Jay replies as the Nord staggers into the tarp’s enclosure, his face tinted from wine and his breath rank from dehydration.

“Unfortunately, gentlemen, I’m here on business,” Rasmussen answers, his tired smile shaking in a way that makes Nick incredibly nervous. “Our much revered and feared leader wishes to speak with you, Gatsby. Duty calls.”

Nick feels his palms begin to sweat as the blood drains from Jay’s face, leaving the other man ashen and frail looking.

“Do you have any idea why he’s requesting my counsel?” Jay asks quietly, eyes narrowing in concern when Rasmussen looks off into the distance at the bay, his weathered features losing their typical merry glow.

“There’s a matter of business about attempting to recruit some local competition,” the Nord replies softly as his tired eyes fixate on the lapping waves ahead. “You see…I was told that Wolfsheim is of the opinion that any sort of substance folks can imbibe in should be regulated carefully by him. There’s been a sudden interest in reefer.”

“Reefer?” Jay presses anxiously, chewing absently on his nails. “We don’t deal in that sort of thing…there’s not as much money to be made there.”

“There’s not,” Rasmussen agrees with a nod. “But I suppose a certain girl has caught Wolfsheim’s eye; a small-time reefer dealer and a talented pickpocket. The problem is…well, you see Gatsby, she’s already got some ties to us and our folks.”

“How so?”

Nick watches as Rasmussen swallows heavily, his Adam's apple bobbing discontentedly as he still refuses to make eye contact.

“Lin has a sister,” he finally croaks, his voice barely louder than a traitorous whisper at a wake. “Wolfsheim wants to employ her or to…see that she’s dealt with accordingly.”

Nick feels his heart skip a beat as he realizes, with no uncertain amount of horror, that the Nord is discussing his recently acquired friend.

“Min?” He dares to whisper, his face going numb with absolute mortification when the Nord slowly nods.

“But you all don’t even deal with cannabis,” Nick argues despite himself, despite having no room to speak and having absolutely no standing within this dangerous clique. “Why would he care about some young woman who’s of no threat to his business?”

“Big fish get greedy after awhile,” Rasmussen mutters with a wry smirk and troubled eyes. “I feel most days that Wolfsheim is of the opinion that New York belongs to him, that it’s his little Garden of Eden built by his own blood, sweat and tears. Anyone who is making money has to do it through him these days.”

“I don’t understand what any of this has to do with me,” Jay whispers anxiously, eyes boring into the Nord’s head. “What has any of that got to do with me?”

Rasmussen shrugs and dusts the stubborn sand off of his knees. “I’m not sure, Gatsby. But he requested to have a chat with you in your library…he made it clear that he wants to speak with you privately.”

Jay glances worriedly at Nick but doesn’t protest. “Alright. I suppose I can go give him a few minutes of my time.”

Rasmussen nods and co*cks his head towards the mansion. “He’ll be waiting for you. I’ll keep your friend company in the meantime.”

Jay’s features sour momentarily as his dark eyes flit between Nick and Rasmussen. He clearly finds the idea of the two of them being alone together questionable and unnerving.

However, Nick feels Rasmussen is mostly harmless, and is nothing more than a small cog in the ghastly deathmachine Jay has welded himself into.

“Go on,” Nick tells Jay with a soft, nervous smile and a nod.

Jay hesitates a moment longer before nodding and pulling himself upright. His hands visibly quake as he preens himself, dusting away sand from his slacks and anxiously slicking back his hair.

He shoots Nick one last terrified look before shuffling away into the night.

Nick watches him go with great anxiety, also wondering why any of this morbid business has to involve Jay.

If anything, Nick figures Lin should be tasked with convincing his sister to join him underneath Wolfsheim’s heel. Surely he would have more luck in such an endeavor, surely he would be far more motivated to succeed in order to keep his sister on the same side of the soil.

“You’re not a stupid man, Mr. Carraway,” Rasmussen murmurs, eyeing Nick up carefully as he rubs a palm over his stubbly chin. “You must know what’s about to happen.”

Deep down, Nick does know what’s about to happen. He has a sinking, hopeless feeling that Jay is about to be tasked with the impossible.

If Wolfsheim is bypassing Lin to request someone else’s involvement, Nick knows that murder is unquestionably on the table, perhaps even being served as the main course.

He knows that Lin’s also most likely standing precariously on the chopping block, right behind his sister.

“I do,” he admits quietly. “He won’t be able to do it.”

“I wouldn’t be able to,” Rasmussen admits shamelessly, a humorless chuckle rumbling in his chest. “I practically raised that boy, you know. I told him when he first started running with us that these matters are morbid, that people in this line of work rarely live to see their golden years. He never did listen to me. And now…it’s not just him in the line of fire, but his sister. All over money. Neither of them is older than twenty-two.”

Nick finds his mouth is slowly filling with stomach bile as his throat constricts, robbing him of the ability to speak. He closes his eyes, trying his damndest not to be sick.

“I was sick when I heard,” Rasmussen mumbles sympathetically. “It’s appalling. I’ve seen plenty of people come and go, but this…this is one of the most disgustingly pointless hits I’ve ever heard of.”

“Does Lin know?” Nick manages to choke out through his fingers.

Rasmussen shakes his head, his eyes growing watery. “Wolfsheim figures it’s best for the boy to be left in the dark until the matter is resolved. If my daughter weren’t just as foolish as me, if she weren’t also working for this man…I’d do something. I’d say something. But you have to understand, Mr. Carraway, if I stick my neck out, her’s will get crushed.”

Nick shudders with a shake of his head, not wishing to so much as consider how tragic of a massacre this situation could evolve into.

“If Gatsby can’t convince the girl to join, he’ll be tasked with sinking both of those kids’ bodies into the Atlantic,” Rasmussen whispers, voice cracking like static. “If Gatsby can’t pull the trigger, I’m afraid he’ll join them.”

“This is f*cking pointless,” Nick mumbles around a mouthful of stomach bile, a spark of anger flaring through his veins like a volt of electricity. “This is a pointless waste.”

“Money and the power that comes with it is what keeps the thrum of life going on this little rock,” Rasmussen replies quietly. “I’m afraid it’s always been that way.”

Nick finds he can’t bring himself to reply.

His senses are flooded with such an overwhelming and nauseating mixture of grief and helplessness that he’s violently ill, the Nord watching him with wary, empathetic eyes.
—----------------------------------------------------

“Did he give you a timetable?”

Jay says nothing, smoke pluming out through his nose and contorting in the harsh winds as he stares blankly out into the seemingly endless, black void of a sky overhead.

He hasn’t uttered a peep since returning to the tarp.

The Nord had seen himself out upon Jay’s return, sniffling to himself bitterly as if on the verge of tears as he pulled himself to his feet and skulked off into the night.

Nick hadn’t spoken for several minutes that dragged on like decades, feeling so lost and uncertain that he hadn’t known what he was supposed to say or even if he should dare to speak and break the delicate silence encapsulating them.

“He says by Christmas Eve she’s under his employment or under the ground,” Jay finally mutters evasively, his voice so soft and tentative that he sounds as if he’s speaking from underneath the bay’s turbulent waves.

Nick nods slowly, feeling simultaneously relieved to know they have some time to work with and sick at the confirmation that Jay has indeed been asked to spill blood.

“What do we do?” He asks quietly, wincing at the sound of his own voice, feeling as if he should remain silent as a long forgotten and half-rotted gravesite.

Jay barks out a stifled, awkward laugh and shrugs. “What can we do? What would any man do if he were in my shoes?”

“It would depend on the nature of the man,” Nick answers after a moment of thoughtful silence. “Some would simply do what is asked of them in a cold, diplomatic matter-”

“I’m not the kind of man,” Jay chokes out, tears springing to his eyes as he shakes his head in what Nick dreads is shame. “I’m not a goddamn animal in a three-piece suit, and I would hope that you know that.”

“I do know that,” Nick replies gently, feeling as if his heart is crawling up into his throat and preventing him from breathing properly. “I know what you are.”

Jay buries his face in his hands, shoulders drawing tightly and defensively around his flushed ears. “The way he asked me to do it, Nick….he was so casual about it, it was almost like he was asking me to run out to the grocer and pick him up some bread and milk…”

Nick blanches but steadies himself by sternly reminding himself that he should expect nothing less of the godfather of New York. How else would Wolfsheim view what is nothing more than a business transaction, what is nothing more than standard paperwork that simply needs his signature?

“He talked about these two kids like they were nothing more than livestock,” Jay continues, voice pitching into near hysterics. “Like I was to put down two rabid dogs if I couldn’t cure them.”

“We could try and warn her to leave,” Nick suggests quietly, mulling over what the potential grisly consequences would be were Min to safely and suddenly vanish. “We could give her some cash and-”

“What about her brother?” Jay interjects with a shake of his head. “What about us? How far do you reckon she’d make it, realistically? You don’t think Wolfsheim won’t try and hunt her down like some sort of fox mired in a hound hunt?!”

“It’s just an idea,” Nick bites with yet another pained wince, feeling like he’s trying to fruitlessly reason his way out of an entirely unreasonable situation. “We need to think this through.”

“What’s there to think through?” Jay mumbles as he drags a hand across his damp, ashen face. “There’s no logic you can use with people like this, Nick, they don’t listen to anyone who isn’t lining their wallets. I…I should have seen this coming, I should have known at some point they’d hand the goddamn pistol to me and demand I use it.”

“Maybe she’ll join up without issue,” Nick replies hastily, even though he knows for certain that Min has absolutely no interest in shaking hands with Wolfsheim. “Maybe she’ll welcome the opportunity to make more money.”

“He told me she speaks poorly of him and the bootlegging trade as a whole,” Jay retorts heatedly, hands running hurriedly through his hair and sending the poorly gelled strands into disarray. “How the hell do you think she’ll feel about the opium and all the cans of worms that door has opened?”

Nick feels that he’s cornered, back flat against the wall and a blade held to his jugular.

His well of patient, logical solutions and probabilities has been run dry, the foundation cracked and splintered.

Despair begins to set in like a cancer, making his bones ache and his palms sweat.

“You need to be the one to sit down and talk with her,” Jay mutters helplessly, deashing his cigar into the sand. “She likes you, she might listen to you.”

“I can’t do this on my own, Jay,” Nick replies anxiously, not wishing for the burden of responsibility to be settled over onto his shoulders. “You can’t leave me to try and fumble my way through this alone.”

Jay shakes his head, features going sharp with affronted conviction. “I won’t, but you have to try and reason with her first. You’re…you’re better with your words than I am, and I don’t think any brand of charm I’m accustomed to is worth sh*t under these circ*mstances.”

Nick sighs heavily, feeling as if his lungs are deflating into mere mush in his chest. “I can try.”

Jay nods quickly, already digging around in his slack pockets for another cigar. “That’s all either of us can do, Nick, that’s really all we can do.”

Nick watches as Jay fumbles with his cigar, hands shaking so badly that he nearly drops it into the sand.

Nick thinks he might be ill once more when he dares to try and envision a pistol in the cigar’s place.
—-----------------------------

The old, shabby gardner’s house next to Jay’s mansion has sat unoccupied and silent for weeks on end.

Nick hasn’t bothered to return to fetch the rest of his things, figuring he’s left nothing of importance behind. On occasion he strolls into the front lawn to collect his mail, but has yet to find any letter of importance awaiting him.

However, today, as he thumbs through various advertisem*nts from local theaters and restaurants, he notices a pale, pink envelope addressed to him in a waltz of wavy cursive.

It’s a letter from Daisy, sent to him over a week ago. A pang of guilt echoes in Nick’s chest as he opens the letter hastily and begins to read it, thinking with some shame that he hasn’t been in contact with his cousin in quite some time now.

Dear Nicky,

I hope you are well. I have grown rather worried about you, as you haven’t answered any of my calls as of late and Miss Baker says she hasn’t been able to reach you either.

I’m hoping your absence is due to something delightful like a sudden vacation to somewhere lovely like California or maybe even Europe. If so, I do look forward to hearing about your travels when you arrive home!

I have been doing rather poorly these last few weeks. I happened to hear some nasty gossip about Tom being passed around my book club, and I have made the very difficult and painful decision to begin the hunt for a new husband.

There aren’t many viable suitors floating about that I think I’d really have any interest in. Most of the men I’ve come across at co*cktail parties and galas have either been ancient ruins of people old enough to be my grandfather or have nothing more than a dime or two to their name to support my daughter and I with.

However, the venture must go on! My mother always said it paid off to be picky, and I’m hoping the second time around that little pearl of wisdom sees me through!

Please call or write to me as soon as you can. I’ve missed you something terrible and am just dying to see you again!

All of my love,

Daisy

Nick finds he has to read the letter a second time, his head swimming as he processes that his cousin seems to be in a terrible little fix herself.

“She’s going to try and get divorced,” he informs Jay, handing him the letter to read for himself. “I’m assuming she finally found out that Myrtle Wilson might be pregnant with Tom’s child.”

Jay quirks an eyebrow, interest clearly piqued, as his eyes dart across the page.

“Well,” he mumbles thoughtfully, slowly. “I think you ought to give her a call sometime soon. Sounds like she’s going through the wringer, albeit a much less gruesome one than us. Honestly, it might be good for you to get out, Nick. Imbibe in some harmless dramatics.”

Nick snorts before he can stop himself.

The last few days he and Jay have hunkered down like recluse hermits, never straying beyond the bedroom and library.

They haven’t spoken much, both too distracted with the all-consuming, potentially lethal task at hand to have the energy to make idle small talk or do much more than murmur anxiously to one another.

The thought of leaving not just Jay’s side but the bubble of Jay’s property makes Nick feel strange for reasons he can’t quite articulate.

“I suppose I should call her,” he mutters passively as he slips the letter into an empty desk drawer. “She must be worried about me, I haven’t spoken to her in awhile.”

“Take her out to dinner,” Jay suggests with a shrug. “Maybe she’ll even invite your friend Miss Baker along for the ride.”

“Maybe,” Nick mumbles, mildly horrified by how anxious he is at the prospect of properly socializing with people he used to know but no longer feels at all connected to.
—------------------------------------------------------

Daisy is more than ecstatic to see her cousin again, all but throwing herself into his arms with a giddy giggle.

Her hands bury themselves in Nick’s hair as she makes such a commotion that one would think that Nick has been raised from the grave.

“Oh, Nicky, I’m so happy you’re here!” She cries into his shoulder. “It’s been ages, hasn’t it been?!”

“It has been awhile,” Nick admits sheepishly as he gives his cousin a squeeze, taking note that her waist feels slimmer and her shoulder blades bonier underneath his palms.

“Oh, come in, Nicky!” She implores him as she firmly grasps his wrist and begins to all but yank him up the balcony stairs in a fumbled hurry. “I was thinking we could have some tea before going out and finding someplace nice to eat dinner.”

Nick doesn’t object to these plans and allows his cousin to drag him through the house, the heels of their shoes squeaking improperly against the pristinley waxed floors.

Daisy is in a nearly manic flourish as she seats Nick in the parlor, chatting away hurriedly and passionately about her recent book club meetings and the inane chit chat and companionship these get-togethers offer her, her newest set of diamond earrings, and the satin black Rolls Royce she’s had her eye on.

Nick doesn’t interrupt.

He allows Daisy to work herself into a frenzy of sorts and simply sits back and observes what he can only assume is some type of nervous breakdown polished up with rouge and a gaudy silk dress.

She talks a mile a minute, flitting from inane topic to inane topic. She flicks her wrists and waves her hands to exaggerate her finer points. On one occasion she rather abruptly stomps the heel of her shoe into the floor to emphasize the flawlessness of the Rolls Royce’s braking system.

“So, as you can see, Nicky, I’ve been a very busy girl these past few weeks,” she explains before pausing to inhale a deep breath of much needed air. She blinks slowly, smile wavering as she glances over to him.

Nick isn’t quite sure what he’s supposed to say.

In his cousin’s rambling, even in its entirety, she never once brought up Tom, never once brought up her looming divorce, and has yet to so much as ask Nick what he’s been so preoccupied with that he couldn’t bother to telephone her.

“Did you go to Europe?” Daisy finally asks him, her voice lower and more sluggish with what Nick dreads may be exhaustion. “I’ve been curious as to where you’ve been.”

“I traveled out West for a little while,” Nick lies easily, thoughtlessly. “It wasn’t anything of extravagance or interest, really.”

Daisy nods slowly and glances impatiently over Nick’s shoulder at the grandfather clock, her pupils dilating with extreme, almost feline focus as she watches the shorter, slower hand crawl across the clock’s face.

“It’s nearly three,” she whispers more to herself than to her guest. “When the clock strikes three you and I are going to have a ball, Nicky.”

Nick raises an inquisitive eyebrow, but before he can ask, the clock begins to chime chidingly, and seemingly on command, Nick can hear heavy footsteps begin to descend the stairs from the overhead dressing quarters.

Tom appears briefly in the doorway, glancing at Nick with evident surprise as he pulls a watch along his wrist and slides a primly pressed jacket over his shoulders.

“Nick,” he greets with a curt nod. “It’s been awhile, hasn’t it? What in the world have you been up to that keeps you on such a short leash?”

“He was traveling,” Daisy replies hurriedly, a strained, shaky smile spreading across her lips. “Tell him, Nicky, you went out West, didn’t you?”

“I did,” Nick mutters, watching his cousin curiously, watching as her hands twitch nervously and impatiently in her lap.

“Well, I was just about to head out for an early dinner with some of my old school friends, if you’d like to come along and fill me in on all of the details,” Tom offers, gesturing for Nick to join him in the doorway. “How far out West did you go? I’ve personally heard that besides California there’s really nothing out that way besides barren pastures and farmland.”

“I’m afraid he can’t join you tonight, darling,” Daisy explains, tongue quick as a whip and interjecting itself before Nick can even begin to scrape together an excuse. “Nicky and I were going to have some tea and catch up. Maybe next time, right, Nicky?”

Tom frowns, eyebrows creasing in obvious agitation as he stares at his wife in a mixture of disapproval and annoyance. “I wasn’t talking to you, now was I?”

“It’s alright,” Nick says quickly, stepping in before Daisy can open her mouth once more and further prod at her husband’s everpresent temper. “Next time, Tom. We can find some time and talk.”

Tom still looks rather incensed, but he nods regardless, wishes Nick a good evening, and departs from the doorway.

Daisy springs to her feet, nearly tripping over Nick’s ankles as she scurries over to the window. She pulls back the curtains and watches as Tom’s car pulls away from the driveway with nothing short of overwhelming excitement and glee.

“Sarah!” She cries over her shoulder, lips already split into an impossibly wide and eager smile. “Is he gone?”

A young maid steps into the parlor and nods, eyes downcast and sharp with what Nick thinks may be uncomfortable disapproval. “Yes, ma’am. Did you want me to fetch your driver?”

“Oh, yes, please, Sarah!” Daisy gushes as she clasps her hands over her chest. She turns her eyes to Nick and winks. “Wait here, Nicky, I’m just going to freshen up before we head out!”

“Where are we going?” Nick asks, feeling horribly confused and unsure of what he’s been unwittingly roped into. “Daisy, what exactly is going on here?”

“We’re going out to a party, silly!” Daisy exclaims with a boisterous laugh. “You’re going to be my faithful chaperone for the evening and help me sniff out a proper suitor!”

Nick blanches but is unable to ask any further questions, as his cousin has already darted out of the room and up the staircase as she babbles to herself about which necklace she should wear.

“She’s been going out quite a bit these last few weeks,” The maid murmurs softly, cautiously, as she stares at the now empty doorway. “I do believe she’s in search of a new husband, but hasn’t had any real luck thus far. She says it’s slim pickings at best anymore.”

Nick swallows thickly, discomfort welling up in his chest.

He feels his cousin is engaging in a very risky game with few potential rewards involved.

From Nick’s now rather bitter and jaded standpoint, most men aren’t worth bothering with.

Most people aren’t worth any more than a civil greeting and quiet, dismissive avoidance.

Nick can’t even fathom the rage Tom will be filled with if he catches wind of his wife’s social endeavors of late. It would be a deeply hypocritical anger, one that Nick would find amusing were he not the least bit involved.

But Nick knows to be wary of Tom, knows the man has a deep well of darkness buried underneath the pressed suits and shined dress shoes that makes him a potential threat to any and all who cross him.

“Alright, Nicky, be brutally frank with me,” Daisy all but sings as she reenters the room, holding up two silky co*cktail dresses for her cousin to admire. “Which one do you think I ought to wear tonight?”

Nick stares at the two contenders before him. Both are equally extravagant, woven from fine craftsmen and adorned with lace and beadwork that was undoubtedly time consuming and resulted in sore, arthritic fingers.

They’re almost identical, aside from their coloring.

The one in his cousin’s left hand is as pale as freshly poured champagne. The one in her right hand is black as the night sky, and Nick can’t help but feel it looks more appropriate for it to be worn by someone being lowered into a casket.

“The one on the left,” he mutters, a shiver running up his spine when Daisy clutches the black dress closer, the contours meshing against her newly acquired frail frame.
—-----------------------------------

Daisy has her driver take them to the mainland and spends the drive anxiously fussing with her hair and her jewelry.

“I’ve always thought diamonds brought out the best of my features,” she prattles contently as she eyes herself in the rearview mirror, fingers fidgeting incessantly with her necklace. “Don’t you agree with me, Nicky? They make my eyes pop just like Louise Brooks.”

Nick absently agrees with her, feeling as if he’s simply going through the motions as the car bumps along the dusky evening streets.

The co*cktail party is being hosted in the party room of an upscale hotel in the heart of the city.

Nick isn’t certain how his cousin caught wind of this gettogether, isn’t sure how she managed to secure herself an invitation, but Nick feels that his presence or that of another man was necessary for Daisy to be welcomed inside.

It’s a prim and proper sort of party that reminds Nick of the dinners he’d be invited to during his college days.

The guests are all lavish and snobby blue-bloods with expensive diplomas, aristocratic parents, and too much money for their own good.

“That man over there is a lawyer for a very well respected firm,” Daisy whispers excitedly in Nick’s ear as she drags him along the spotless, immaculately waxed lobby floor, her arm twined with his like a shaking vice. “I think I’d like to be a lawyer’s wife.”

Nick is at a loss for words, unsure what the appropriate response to such a blase statement is.

“Have you begun divorce proceedings?” He finally asks her warily as they seat themselves on a velvet sofa in the corner. “Does Tom know-”

“Tom knows nothing, and I feel he doesn’t need to know anything,” Daisy replies flippantly as she waves over a waiter brandishing a heavy tray stacked with champagne glasses. “It’s not like he’s an innocent party in any of this mess, Nicky.”

“I know he’s not,” Nick says quietly as he watches with concern as Daisy polishes off the entire flute of champagne in one hearty swig. “But the implications of what you’re doing have consequences. You could get next to nothing in the divorce settlement, you could even lose most of your jewelry and your car.”

Daisy seems unphased, completely stoic as she shrugs and lets out a lithe little giggle. “Well, that’s why I need to hunt down a new husband to replace anything I could lose.”

Nick blanches and watches as his cousin scans the room with hungry, desperate eyes akin to those of a half-starved vagrant.

“He’s handsome, isn’t he?” She mutters, gesturing towards a younger blond man lounging by an open window, smoking a cigarette. “I wonder what he does for a living. If he’s here he must make some decent money, I suppose.”

Daisy continues to eye her potential suitor with keen interest, watching him closely like a lioness stalking her prey.

“He has blue eyes. I’m a sucker for blue eyes,” she rambles under her breath. “He’s a little short, but otherwise I don’t see anything that’s not easy on the eyes. I think I’d like to go talk to him. Come on, Nicky.”

Before Nick can protest Daisy has pulled him to his feet and is marching him back across the lobby.

She strikes up a conversation with the man easily enough by asking him for a cigarette and introducing herself and her chaperone.

The man seems interested, Nick thinks. He lights Daisy’s cigarette for her without hesitation and begins to ask her about her thoughts on the Rockefellers.

He’s arrogant, only granting Daisy enough time to answer all of his questions and inquiries in the most basic regards before cutting back in, but Nick can’t imagine anyone at this party is particularly good at listening or showing a genuine interest in someone other than themselves.

“You’re a doctor?” Daisy muses, batting her eyelashes and flashing a smitten smile. “Well, I feel like any man who’s a doctor must be kind at heart and steady with his hands!”

Nick leans back against the wall and finds himself to be prematurely exhausted and beyond disinterested.

He can hear the man talking at length about his job as a general physician in a local hospital, seemingly treating this conversation as some sort of interview, but Nick has stopped truly processing the conversation buzzing alongside him.

He stares out at the lobby and watches as many other women, much like Daisy, make their rounds with a brother or cousin anchored at their side.

The women all smile vivaciously, reply to any and all comments tossed their way with immaculate wit, and make a point to reach out and touch their suitors in a way that perfectly balances tasteful with flirtatious.

It feels like an incredibly dull circus, and Nick wants to go home.

“Well, he’s certainly a strong contender,” Daisy whispers eagerly as the man departs to go greet some of his colleagues. “I like him a good bit. What did you think, Nicky?”

“He seems fine,” Nick answers simply. “He’s a doctor.”

Daisy giggles into her cupped hands and nods exuberantly. “Yes, he is! I could marry a doctor!”

Nick feels something in his chest ache when she says this. He’s not entirely sure what the cause of his sudden, silent grief is, but he knows that until now, he’d never truly processed just how small the box his cousin must exist within is.

“Wouldn’t it be something if you could be a doctor?” He asks with a soft, sad smile. “Or if you could be a lawyer?”

Daisy’s lips twist in a rather unpleasant way before she manages to steal her face back into a courteous smile.

“I’ve never heard of any sort of women doctors or lawyers, Nicky. You’re being silly. Besides, I think I’d find slaving away in an office or a clinic to be dreadfully boring.”

Nick decides not to argue with her or press the matter, and allows himself to be dragged across the room yet again as his cousin continues her zealous search for a proper man and provider.
—----------------------------------------------

“You were out late,” Jay mutters passively as he watches Nick enter the kitchen and shuck off his suit jacket. “How’s your cousin doing these days?”

Nick hesitates to answer, running a hand through his hair as he shakes his head.

“I fear she’s unwell,” he replies quietly, his chest still aching discontentedly and making his throat constrict. “She took me to a co*cktail party as her chaperone…the way she talks about men, the way she talks about any potential divorce…I don’t know if she truly understands what she’s getting herself into.”

Jay’s interest seems piqued by this statement. He leans back in his seat and looks at Nick with heavy eyes full of empathy.

“Why do you think she doesn’t understand? Do you think maybe you just don’t understand her?”

Nick pauses, finding this challenge completely unexpected and baffling. “What do you mean by that?”

Jay shrugs and lets out a soft sigh through his nose. “Well, don’t you think maybe she sees men the way she does because of how she’s expected to operate as an upper-class, old money debutante? I mean, it’s not like she’s really ever been given many chances to make decisions.”

Nick feels an embarrassed flush crawl across his face and finds he has to look away. “I hadn’t really considered that, I must admit.”

“She’s confined to a very small world, just like the rest of us,” Jay mumbles softly. “She’s really more of a doll than a person, if you think about it.”

Nick feels his mouth go dry with what he fears is shame beginning to pool in the pit of his stomach.

“I just don’t want her to lose everything at Tom’s feet,” he finally replies quietly, voice cracking as he feels his eyes grow damp. “I don’t want her to jump head first into something without really mulling it over and thinking of the potential consequences.”

“Maybe she has thought of the potential consequences, and she feels they’re more bearable than staying hitched,” Jay murmurs gently, gesturing for Nick to join him at the small kitchen table in the corner. “Come sit with me.”

Nick complies and seats himself across from Jay, still finding he’s unable to bring himself to look his partner in the eye.

“I wasn’t going to tell you this tonight,” Jay begins uncertainly, nerves edging their way rather unwelcomingly into his voice. “I figured if you had a good time with Daisy I’d let you have the night to feel unburdened, but since you’re already upset-....your friend called today.”

Nick sighs and finds his fingers beginning to anxiously twitch against the tabletop.

He and Jay have been waiting on pins and needles for Min to reach out, whether it be through a letter, a phone call, or even just showing up on their front stoop unannounced.

They’d been keeping their fingers crossed, hoping that she’d reach out of her own accord rather than force Nick and Jay to pursue her down dark alleyways and across the underground tavern scene of New York’s grimier establishments.

“And?” Nick asks, almost fearful of the answer.

Jay now also averts his gaze, staring over Nick’s shoulder with such a morbid look etched into his features that one would think he was witnessing a fatal car wreck.

“The maid who answered the phone made a point to tell me that Min spoke very fondly of you. Apparently she was thinking about perhaps dropping by this upcoming Friday.”

Nick nods, wiping his palms off on his slacks as they begin to sweat profusely.

He and Jay have talked at length over the last few days as to how they should handle this potentially grisly situation.

They’ve spent entire nights awake, pacing around the library as they debated how to approach Min and whether or not they should go behind Wolfsheim’s back and inform Lin of the rather deadly game unfolding around him.

They’ve drafted entire conversations, trying to think of how a phantom of a girl they barely know would respond to several different inquisitions and propositions.

They’ve had passionate arguments, some of which devolved into nothing more than mere yelling and caused hopeless tears to be shed.

Thus far, they’ve failed to scrape together a comprehensive plan of action.

Nick is at a loss for what to say to the girl with an omen of death hanging over her head to try and save her skin.

Nick isn’t sure what to do to save Jay’s life, as he knows, if nothing else, that Jay won’t be able to pull the trigger.

“I was thinking we could offer to take her to the beach for the day,” Jay continues quietly, sounding so painfully unsure of himself that it makes Nick’s eyes grow damp again. “Maybe just keep it casual and lure her into a sense of security.”

“You’re talking like we’re trying to abduct her,” Nick bites out before he can stop himself, wincing at how harsh this form of desperation is making his words.

Jay doesn’t seem affronted, as he, too, is painfully aware of just how out of their depth he and Nick are.

He knows they’re both up to their neck in quicksand with very little hope of escaping.

“She needs to trust us,” Jay mutters, eyes still adrift. “She needs to believe us and know that we’re coming from a place of honesty.”

“Didn’t Wolfsheim give you any instructions at all?” Nick asks with a bitter, completely humorless chuckle. “I mean, really, did he tell you how to attempt to recruit her or did he just crack the whip and tell you to jump?”

Jay bristles with wounded pride and what Nick knows is barely concealed annoyance.

Nick has asked him this before, more times than Nick can even recall or cares to try and recount.

Almost anytime they’ve broken down into a stubborn argument, Nick asks again, sometimes just to make Jay recoil.

Regardless, Jay always replies, his answer a verbatim, passionless retelling of events.

“He said to try and sell her on working for him. He said to emphasize how much more money she could be making, how much bigger of a market he could introduce her to. If she was reluctant, he said to make it clear that if she’s not Wolfsheim’s employee, she’s his competition, and that competition is dealt with accordingly.”

“I’m not selling her on anything,” Nick mutters angrily before he can help himself. “This is the goddamn mafia, not a household appliance.”

Jay bites his lip and sighs heavily. “I agree with you, but if we’re too honest we run the risk of her trying to take off. I think we ought to establish some more trust first and actually get to know each other properly. I know you spent a drunken night with her, but honestly, old sport, how well do you know this girl?”

“Not well enough to know exactly how she’s going to react,” Nick admits quietly, eyes fixated on his trembling hands.

“So we just have her over and entertain like she’s any other guest,” Jay concludes softly with a firm nod despite his less than stable state of mine. “We get to know her, let her get a good sniff of us, and take it from there.”

Nick feels that this is all far easier said than done. He feels like several lives are hanging in purgatory, their fate dependent on how this delicate situation unfolds.

And knowing that how he plays his hand is an integral part of the outcome makes Nick feel like he’s being forced at gunpoint to play God.

“I can’t think about this anymore tonight, I’m going to bed,” Nick mumbles abruptly with a shake of his head. “I’m tired of talking about this.”

Jay doesn’t argue with him, doesn’t try and get Nick to sit back down and continue beating the slew of muscles and fat that once was a horse to death with him.

He watches Nick go in a contemplative, depressed silence.
—---------------------------------------------

It's the dead of night when Nick wakes up with a startled groan, glancing toward the source of commotion in the doorway that has so violently pulled him out of his dreamless slumber.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you,” Jay mumbles sloppily as he stumbles across the dark bedroom, bumping clumsily into the nightstand with a soft, slurred curse.

Nick sits up and rubs at his eyes, hands flying across the top of the nightstand in search of the lamp. As his fingers scrabble across the brassy lamp’s neck he hears yet another thud, followed by another tipsily uttered profanity.

Blinding light fills the room, dragging an uncomfortable, discontent hiss out of Jay as he buries his face into the crook of his arm.

“What time is it?” Nick asks worriedly through a yawn, watching as Jay staggers closer to the bed frame, his eyes glassy and glazed over like a patient on a high dosage of morphine. “How much have you had to drink?”

“More than I ought to have,” Jay replies honestly as a self-deprecating smile graces his face.

He trips over himself once more before he all but tumbles into bed, his hair still gelled and both of his shoes still on his feet.

Nick isn’t entirely surprised given the current morbid circ*mstances that are the foundation of his and Jay’s life, but he still always feels anxious and on edge on the rare occasions that Jay does imbibe in his own bootlegged wares.

From Nick’s experience, Jay only drinks when he’s in the midst of either an existential crisis of sorts or an outright nervous breakdown.

And when Jay drinks, Nick has noticed with quite a bit of worry, he tends to keep drinking until he’s ill or beyond coherency.

“Drinking isn’t going to fix anything,” he finally whispers, trying his hardest not to sound like a chastising mother hen or a nagging, bored housewife. “You’re just going to make yourself sick as a dog.”

Jay hums quietly, what sounds like a barely choked back chuckle reverberating in his chest. “It makes it all a little easier for awhile,” he replies softly, turning to look up at his companion with a shaky smile. “You know, I was digging around in my old office…I found my pistol.”

Nick feels the blood drain from his face as he side eyes the man sprawled out next to him.

“It was buried in the bottom drawer of the desk,” Jay continues quietly, eyes sharp with something that makes Nick’s skin crawl. “I couldn’t bring myself to touch it.”

Nick sighs heavily as emotions he feels far too exhausted to deal with begin to accumulate like a stone in his chest, weighing down on his lungs.

He feels like one of the women crushed to death during the Salem witch trials, sentenced to die without any proper defense.

“Then don’t touch it,” he mutters quietly, already sitting up and grabbing for the robe strewn over the wingback in the corner. “Where did you say it was? In your old office?”

Jay stares at Nick with dumb, half-lidded eyes and slowly nods.

Nick departs without another word, walking briskly down the silent hallways and stairwells with the unbothered, emotionless air of an executioner approaching the gallows.

He’s slightly taken aback when he enters Jay’s office, taking note warily of the discombobulated mess of scattered papers that lay across the floor and cover the desktop like a fresh dusting of snow.

Nick steps around the minefield of documents and approaches the desk, hands moving mechanically and firmly as he opens the bottom drawer.

The pistol glints in the lamplight, almost as if it’s winking teasingly at him. Nick doesn’t hesitate to retrieve it, despite the anxious rush of blood he can hear roaring in his ears as the ice cold carbon steel makes contact with the inside of his palm.

Nick has held a firearm before. During his time in the army he spent most days trudging through marshy, blood spattered woods in France with a rifle slung heavily off his back.

However, this much smaller, much more indiscreet gun feels like it’s far heavier in his hands as he begins to resolutely march down towards the back gardens.

The pistol feels like it's alight, scorching some sort of insidious branding into the delicate skin of Nick’s sweaty palm.

The bay is in a certain sort of fall temperament, angrily spitting its waves at the sands with great disdain. The water feels like icy knives as Nick wades in, trying his damndest to repress the shivering and shuddering threatening to overtake him.

He stares blankly out at the violent waters for a moment, inhaling deeply before chucking the pistol as hard and as far as he can.

The firearm hits the water with a resounding cluck, disappearing into the dark, rushing waves and sinking to the bottom of the bay.

“What are you doing?” Jay calls nervously from the beach, peering out at Nick with drunken anxiety and concern. “You’re going to catch a nasty cold going for a swim this late.”

Nick shakes his head as he begins to wade back to shore. “You need to go to bed, you’re too drunk-”

“I just wanted to see what you were doing,” Jay cuts in gently as he sways in place, his knees looking as if they’re on the verge of buckling beneath him. “You’re the sober one, and you’re trying to drown yourself in the bay in the middle of the night.”

Nick grasps Jay by the arm and tries to steady him. “I’m not drowning myself.”

They make the arduous, uncoordinated journey back upstairs. Nick moves as slowly as he can in a vain attempt to keep Jay upright, but finds that any obstacle in their vicinity seems to draw Jay in like a moth to a flame.

By the time Nick is spilling Jay back into bed he notices that Jay has almost effortlessly acquired a handful of new bruises along his wrists and arms.

Nick kneels to take Jay’s shoes off, and is contemplating whether or not it’s worth the effort and Jay’s discomfort to try and drag the other man into the bathroom to wash his face and hair when Jay begins to hum contemplatively.

“What’re you thinking about?” Nick asks curiously as he sits back and strips off his soaking wet robe, looking up at the bed curiously.

“Well,” Jay begins slowly, voice only becoming thicker and more clumsy as his liver hits the grindstone to finish metabolizing the last of the whiskey in his veins. “You said earlier that you’re sick of talking to me-”

“I’m sick of talking about death,” Nick corrects gently, quietly. “I’m not sick of talking to you.”

Jay pauses, and Nick truly feels he can hear the slow, tepid smile creeping across the other man’s tired face.

“Alright, you said you’re sick of talking about death,” Jay continues, almost sounding bashful. “So, what would you like to talk about instead?”

“Now?” Nick asks as he moves to lay next to Jay in bed. “It’s nearly sunrise.”

“I like to believe folks are the most honest and the most inspired right before sunrise,” Jay says with a firm nod, as if this is a commonly held belief by many. “So, if you’ll indulge me, what do you want to talk about?”

Nick sighs out heavily through his nose as his mind begins to reel, trying to think of something, anything to discuss at length that doesn’t fill his entire being with a poignant dread.

“Well,” he mumbles slowly through a yawn. “I suppose we could discuss what will become of the gardens now that it’s autumn. I’m not sure what you wanted to try and have planted, if anything.”

Jay bites his lip. “Hmm, I don’t know what I always have the gardeners do out there in the fall. I mean, surely there’s lots of things that can flourish in the chillier weather, I’m just not certain what those things are…”

“Asters,” Nick answers simply. “My mother is quite fond of those flowers. They bloom in the fall and can survive the winter months. They’re very resilient, and in my opinion, very pretty.”

Jay snaps his fingers, as if Nick has just provided a prompt answer to all of his problems, and chuckles merrily. “Alright, then! Asters, huh? I’m sure we can get the girls to plant plenty of those. You’re just a fountain of untouched wisdom, aren’t you, old sport?”

Nick quirks a dubious eyebrow. “I wouldn’t go so far as to say that…plenty of people would have been able to give you the same solution.”

“Do you fancy gardening?” Jay asks curiously as he rolls over to face his companion. “You spend quite a bit of time out by the gardens.”

“I used to garden with my governess when I was a boy,” Nick replies with a soft smile, thinking fondly how he would play rambunctiously in the dirt whilst his governess accomplished most of the planting and pruning on her own. “I’ve never delved into it as an adult. I may enjoy it. I like it enough in theory.”

“Then you can tend to the gardens from now on,” Jay decides excitedly, seemingly ecstatic at the prospect of getting the opportunity to gift Nick with something else, something that’s more than mere materialistic riffraff. “We can both tend to them; spend the afternoons up to our elbows in the dirt out in the fresh air.”

Nick can’t help but smile as Jay twines their fingers together and continues to run with the seed of an idea Nick passively planted in his brain.

He rattles off an impressive list of bushes and flowers for them to consider planting during the various seasons, suggests refurbishing the old benches, and goes so far as to begin drafting an idea to install a pond.

“I love those koi fish I’ve seen in other garden ponds,” Jay slurs happily, eyes alight with something akin to childish wonder. “Have you ever seen one of those, Nick? They can be big, some as big as a cat, and they’ve all got unique patterns on their scales.”

“I’ve heard of them,” Nick mutters with a soft smile. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen one.”

“They’re beautiful,” Jay exclaims eagerly with a nod, giving Nick’s hand a squeeze. “But, of course, we could invest in other aquatic critters to keep out there. What would strike your fancy, old sport? We could build a rabbit hutch or build birdhouses. Hell, I bet we could keep turtles out by a pond. What do you think?”

Nick closes his eyes as he mulls it over, any and all morbid thoughts sinking down to the bottom of the bay and laying themselves down for a temporary hibernation next Jay’s pistol.