#sir you are nick carraway

[miroana]

the secret history was really a story of fatal flaws, hedonistic haze (charles woke up inside a plastic snail), bacchanal in the woods, glorification of the picturesque (hold up, humans landed on the moon?), an elaborate murder plot, hubris and vanity (“say, what’s wrong with this type?” “triple spaced it”), pretentious aphrodisiacs, attempts at losing oneself completely (loudly kills a bee with a bible at the funeral of a recently murdered friend), utter obsession with the aesthetic—

[ask-nick-carraway]

Hello sir. Do you have any pets? Sorry if thats been asked already.

Dear Anonymous,

Don’t worry, you are actually the first to ask this. I did have a dog, but it ended up running away.

I honestly prefer the birds that have been gathering outside my cottage more often since I set up a bird feeder. I am especially fond of the blue jays…

Sincerely,

Nick Carraway

[vessels-for-good-intent]

Not A Vessel For Your Good Intent

Daisy speaks up that hot, hot August 28th. She refuses to let Jay ruin himself over her anymore, even if it means giving him up.

Title from The Crane Wives Tongues & Teeth

Relationships: Daisy Buchanan/Jay Gatsby, Daisy Buchanan/Tom Buchanan, Nick Carraway & Jay Gatsby, Daisy Buchanan & Jordan Baker

Characters: Daisy Buchanan, Jay Gatsby, Tom Buchanan, Nick Carraway, Jordan Baker, Pamela Buchanan

Tags: Angst, POV First Person, Daisy has a fucking backbone, Writing Fitzgerald’s Women Better, the hotel scene, jay gatsby knows about cars, Unrequited Love, Mixed Jay Gatsby, it’s vaguely alluded to, barely applicable here but it does come up later, Gay Nick Carraway, POV Daisy Buchanan, vaguely aro daisy?, i don’t really like daisy but she needs to be heard, tongues and teeth is about her & jay’s relationship actually, Hurt No Comfort, (yet), Jay Gatsby is a Car Guy, yes i finally have a use for my knowledge

It was the hottest day I could remember, and we were having a party. A party, in heat like this! But Jay and Nick both agreed to come even in the immense heat.

Tom’s woman had called, and I watched Jay with cautious eyes. His hair, already a dark copper, had turned darker with perspiration, eyes drawing up in anger as he heard the increasingly loud conversation. Nick only swiped at his neck, the skin damp with sweat, his eyes flicking nervously between us.

“Very well, then. I won’t sell you the car at all…. I’m under no obligations at to you at all… and as for your bothering me about it at lunch time, I won’t stand that at all!” Tom spoke.

“Holding down the receiver,” I said, shaking my head.

“No, he’s not,” Nick said, trying to reassure me. “It’s a bona-fide deal. I happen to know about it.”

Tom flung open the door, offering his hand out for Jay to shake. “Mr. Gatsby! I’m glad to see you, sir… Nick.” The dislike was well-hidden, but I could notice it.

Wanting to end the growing tension, I urged him to make us a cold drink. As he left the room, I flew to him, pulling his face down to mine. “You know I love you,” I murmured, kissing him.

“You forget there’s a lady present,” Jordan interjected. I stared balefully at her.

“You kiss Nick too,” I said. At this, Nick blushed slightly.

“What a low, vulgar girl!” she said.

“I don’t care!” I cried, instinctively moving to clog the fireplace. Jordan grabbed my arm.

“It’s too hot for that, Daisy,” she said, leading me back to the couch. My daughter entered the room.

“Hello Pammy,” I said kindly. I always felt guilty for leaving her with a nurse, but it was demanded of high society ladies. The nurse let her go, and she ran to clutch at my dress.

“Pammy,” I murmured to her.

“Where’s Daddy?” she asked.

“He’s getting drinks for cousin Nick and Mr. Gatsby. Say how-de-do, Pammy.”

“Hello,” Pammy said, soft.

She peaked out from behind my skirts, and Jay looked surprised. Had he not known I had a daughter?

Jay and Nick both knelt slightly, reaching to take her hand in turn. “It’s very nice to meet you, Miss Buchanan,” his voice hiding the shock on his face.

“I have business to get to with Nick and Mr. Gatsby, Pammy, alright? I’ll see you tonight. I love you, sweet thing,” I say, and she reluctantly turns back to her nurse. Tom enters after she leaves, carrying four gin rickeys chock-full of ice.

“They certainly look cool,” Jay says, his fingers wiping away the condensate from his glass. We grab our drinks then, taking long swallows of the cool liquid.

“I read somewhere that the sun’s getting hotter every year,” said Tom, trying to make conversation. “It seems that the earth’s going to fall into the sun—or wait a minute—it’s the opposite—the sun’s getting colder every year.” He paused for a minute, then continued, “Come outside,” he said, gesturing towards Jay. “I’d like you to have a look at this place.”

Nick and Jay followed him out to the veranda, and Jordan and I joined them. Jay pointed to his house. “I’m right across from you.”

“So you are,” he agreed.

We had luncheon in the dining room, curtains closed against the heat, though it only served to make the room hotter, I thought. The room was tense, and we drank and ate in nervous gaiety.

I had a horrid thought. “What’ll we do with ourselves this afternoon?” I cried, “and the day after that, and the next thirty years?”

“Don’t be morbid,” Jordan chastised me. “Life starts all over again when it gets crisp in the fall.”

“It’s so hot,” I groaned, close to crying, “and everything is getting confused. Let’s all go to town!” They didn’t pay attention then, Jay wrapped up in a conversation with Tom about his conversion of our garage into a horse stable.

“Who wants to go to town?” I asked. Jay’s eyes flicked towards me, and even in his perspired state, he looked like a cool breath of air. “You look so cool,” I spoke, meeting his eyes for a single second, the thought once more flashing through my brain.

Jay was going to ruin himself in pursuit of me, and I didn’t care. He had never been meant to be forever for me, even after Tom and I’s unhappy marriage.

“Alright,” Tom broke in. “We can go to town.” I could tell he had seen something in the flick of my eyes to Jay, but didn’t know what.

“Are we just going to go?” I asked. “Just like that? Aren’t we going to let anyone smoke a cigarette?”

“Everybody smoked all through lunch,” Tom objected.

“Oh, have it your own way,” I said. “Come on, Jordan,” I said, leading her upstairs.

“What’s going on, Daisy?” she asked.

“He’s ruining himself in pursuit of me, and I don’t even love him!” I cried. “He’ll break if I leave him, and yet it’s the only way to keep him alive.”

“Tom,” she said. One short syllable that expressed everything I had missed. “He saw that you appeared to love him. That’s why he gave in so quickly.”

“I have to give him up, Jordan. I’m ruining him, and he chose that. He doesn’t realize it, but he won’t be anything without me. He’s based his entire life around me—I’m what makes him Jay Gatsby. He built his personality around me.” If only she knew how true that statement was.

She turned away. “You’d better see if Tom wants to take something to drink,” not acknowledging anything I just said. I nod, promising myself I’ll think over it on the way to town.

Calling out the window, I shout, “Shall we take anything to drink?”

Tom’s mouth moves, and he heads inside, Nick and Jay standing close together. We head downstairs, following Tom out.

“Shall we all go in my car?” Jay suggested, feeling the seat. “I should have left the car in the shade.”

“Is it standard shift?” Tom demanded.

“Yes.”

“Well, you take my coupé and let me drive your car to town,” he said. Jay’s face flashed with distaste.

“I don’t think there’s much gas,” he said.

“Plenty of gas. And if it runs out, we can stop at a drug store. You can buy anything a drugstore nowadays,” he said, and my heart sank. He knew. Or well, he thought he knew. My revelation had hit me in the face, and the shock showed on my countenance.

“Come on, Daisy,” said Tom, pressing his hand into the small of my back, his hand presenting Jay’s car. “I’ll take you in the circus wagon.”

I moved from where his hand laid. “Take Nick and Jordan. We’ll follow you in the coupé,” I said. Tom growled but consented, and Nick and Jordan followed him into the yellow car.

We clambered into the blue coupé, the familiar car seeming almost foreign with Jay in the driver’s seat. I watched Tom, Nick, and Jordan do the same, and Tom sped off, testing out each gear, Jay muttering over the waste of gas.

“He’s going to buy gas for you, you know,” I said.

“I guess,” he said, leaning over and kissing me once on the lips. I forced myself not to recoil, thoughts of his ruin via his pursuit of me still playing in my mind.

“We should go,” I said, and he laughed as he turned the car on. The car rumbled quietly as oil began pumping through the engine, and then quieted again.

“I wait until the engine quiets down after I start it,” he said, “and that’s because it helps the car last longer, if you can get the car to lubricate itself instead just taking off dry.” His words had no meaning to me, but I nodded.

“I don’t think Tom knew that,” I said. He had never waited the thirty seconds after starting the car, he just threw the car into drive and went.

“That would explain why he wants to sell this car, it’s a pile of crap now. How long have you had it?” he asked, pressing his foot to the gas and throwing the car towards the city.

“I think it was a wedding present from Tom’s parents,” I said, and he squirmed uncomfortably in the driver’s seat.

“I wish—well, you know what I wish, Daisy. You’ll tell Tom you don’t love him soon, right?”

“I—I don’t know, Jay.” The I’m going to ruin your life if we continue this pressed at my lips, but I held it back. I expected him to protest, but he apparently realized it was the best he would get.

We rode in tense silence for a few minutes before entering the ash heaps, seeing Tom making harsh gestures at the small man, who I guessed was Wilson. It was, after all, Wilson’s Garage.

“What’s he all mad about?” Jay asked.

“I’ve no clue,” I said. “Perhaps his mistress.”

His face hardened as we slowed to wait for them. “I don’t like how he treats you, Daisy. Like a play toy, abandoning you when he gets bored.”

As the coupé advanced towards Tom and the man I assumed to be Wilson, we heard the maybe-Wilson man say, “I need the money. We’re moving West soon. My wife has wanted to go west for 10 years, you know.”

“Mr. Buchanan!” Jay called.

“Gatsby,” he said. “Go on, you two. We’ll follow.”

We sped off to the highway, Jay testing each gear and the speed of the car. Tom soon followed, accelerating faster than Jay could go. Jay tried keeping up, but the engine started making angry noises, so he slowed down. Thankfully, by then Tom had glanced behind him, slowing. He glanced back every few seconds, as if afraid that he would lose me forever is he didn’t check where I was every few seconds.

When we arrived, Nick looked almost ready to fall asleep. The heat had tired us all, especially in the cars that were 20 degrees warmer than the actual temperature. I suggested we hire five bathrooms to take cold baths, but it was shot down in favor of ‘a place to have a mint julep.’ I almost felt bad for the clerk at the front desk with all of us talking over each other.

The room was stifling hot, and all five of us being there likely did not help. We opened the windows, which only blew slightly cooler air into the room. It was breathtakingly humid, and I went to fix my hair. Jordan whispered it was a swell suite, and we laughed.

“Open another window,” I said.

“There aren’t anymore,” Nick said.

“Well, we’d better telephone for an axe.”

“The thing to do is to forget about the heat,” Tom said, showing that he too was affected by the heat. “You make it ten times worse by crabbing about it.” He unrolled the bottle of whiskey and put it on the table.

“Let her alone, old sport,” Jay said. “You’re the one who wanted to come to town.” In a sentence, Jay had caused Nick to stutter, likely not wanting to point out that I had first suggested it. But in the end, no one mentioned it, because the telephone book slipped from its nail and crashed to the floor.

“I’ll pick it up,” Nick offered.

“I’ve got it,” Jay said, examining the string that held it to the nail. He tossed it on a chair. “String’s broken.”

“That’s a great expression of yours, isn’t it?” Tom remarked, and we all looked at him strangely.

“What is?” Jay asked.

“All this ‘old sport’ business. Where’d you pick that up?”

“Now see here, Tom,” I said, turning from the mirror. “If you’re going to make personal remarks I won’t stay here a minute. Call up and order some ice for the mint julep.”

As Tom picked up the receiver, we heard the first pompous chords of Mendelssohn’s Wedding March from the ballroom below us.

“Imagine marrying anyone in this heat!” Jordan cried.

“Still—I was married in the middle of June. Louisville, in June! Somebody fainted. Who was it who fainted, Tom?” I asked.

“Biloxi,” he answered.

“A man named Biloxi. ‘Blocks’ Biloxi, and he made boxes—that’s a fact—and he was from Biloxi, Tennessee,” I said.

“They carried him into my house,” added Jordan, “because we lived just two doors from the church. And he stayed three weeks, until Daddy told him he had to leave. The day after he left Daddy died.” She paused. “There wasn’t any connection.”

“I used to know a Bill Biloxi from Memphis,” Nick stated.

“That was his cousin. I knew his whole family history before he left. He gave me an aluminum putter I still use today.”

The march had ended, and cheers floated through the open window. The dancing began in a burst of jazz. “We’re getting old,” I said. “If we were young we’d rise and dance.”

“Remember Biloxi,” Jordan warned. “Where’d you know him, Tom?”

“Biloxi?” he asked, thinking. “I didn’t know him. He was a friend of Daisy’s.”

“He was not. I’d never seen him before. He came down in the private car, remember?”

“Well, he said he knew you. He said he was raised in Louisville. Asa Bird brought him around at the last minute and asked if we had room for him,” Jordan said, smiling. “He was probably bumming his way home. He told me he was president of your class at Yale.

Tom and Nick looked at each other. “Biloxi?” Nick asked.

“First place, we didn’t have any president—“ Tom said, eying Jay’s foot, which was tapping restlessly.

“By the way, Mr. Gatsby, I understand you’re an Oxford man.”

“Not exactly,” Jay replied.

“Oh, yes, I understand you went to Oxford.”

“Yes—I went there,” Jay paused. Jordan, Nick, and I start awkwardly, looking between the two men.

Tom spoke again, his voice disbelieving. “You must have gone there about the time Biloxi went to New Haven.”

A waiter knocked on the door, and we all jumped. “Come in!” I called. The waiter did so, leaving the block of ice and mint leaves on the table.

“Thank you,” the man muttered, closing the door.

“I told you I went there—to Oxford,” said Jay.

“I heard you, but I’d like to know when,” demanded Tom.

“It was in nineteen-nineteen. I only stayed five months. That’s why I can’t really call myself an Oxford man.” He paused, and Tom glanced at us to see if we mirrored his disbelief. We didn’t, and Jay continued, “It was an opportunity they gave some to some of the officers after the armistice. We could go to any of the universities in England or France.”

Nick’s hand jerked, as though he wanted to reassure Jay with a hand on his shoulder. Hoping to diffuse the tensions, I spoke, “Open the whiskey, Tom. I’ll make you a mint julep. Then you won’t seem so stupid to yourself… Look at the mint!”

“Wait a minute,” demanded Tom. “I want to ask Mr. Gatsby one more question.”

“Go ahead,” said Jay, smiling.

“What kind of a row are you trying to cause in my house anyhow?”

“He isn’t causing a row,” I interjected. “You’re causing a row, Tom, please have a little self-control.”

“Self-control!” Tom roared. “I suppose the latest thing is to sit back and let Mr. Nobody from Nowhere make love to your wife! Well, if that’s the idea you can count me out… Nowadays people begin by sneering at family life and family institutions, and next they’ll throw everything overboard and have intermarriage between black and white.”

“We’re all white here,” muttered Jordan, and I saw Jay’s cheeks flush.

“I know I’m not very popular,” Tom said. I don’t give give big parties. I suppose you’ve got to make your house into a pigsty in order to have any friends—in the modern world.”

Nick looked annoyed at Tom’s words, and I think everyone felt the same. It was too hot to not be annoyed.

“I’ve got something to tell you, old sport—“ Jay began. I guessed at his intentions, and raised my hand to silence him.

“Not now, Jay,” I said. “Let’s all go home anyways, it’s hotter than it was back home.”

“That’s a good idea,” Nick said. “Come on, Tom. Nobody wants a drink.”

“I want to know what Mr. Gatsby has to tell me,” Tom said, and my heart sank. I would have to tell Jay that I didn’t love him, that he would come to ruin if this continued, that his pursuit of me was stripping him of all it meant to be Jay Gatsby.

“Your wife doesn’t love you,” said Jay. “She’s never loved you. She loves me,” he said. I stood up, meaning to object to his claim, but Jay waved me back down.

“Listen to me, Jay!” I said, the exact same time that Tom said something.

“You must be crazy!” Tom cried.

Jay sprang to his feet then. “She never loved you, do you hear?” and well, that was true. I had married Tom out of obligation to my parents, not out of love.

Continuing, Jay said, “She only married you because I was poor and she was tired of waiting for me. It was a terrible mistake, but in her heart she never loved anyone except me!” His voice was desperate, waiting for me to confirm his words.

Nick and Jordan stood, pleading their excuses, but Tom and Jay both insisted they stay. The two of them wanted all of us to see who would win the fight over me.

At that point, I stood up. Tom blinked at me.

“Daisy, what are you doing?” Jay asked.

“Telling the truth of the matter, as I see it,” I said. They waited for me to go on.

I took a deep breath, suddenly nervous. Jordan and Nick watched me curiously. I addressed Tom first.

“Jay is right. Not about all of it, but parts of it. I don’t love you, but I don’t love him. I married you because my parents—because I felt I owed that much to my parents—they deserved to see me married. I’m sorry, Tom.” Jordan nodded at me. She had found me after I had gotten drunk the night before our wedding. I watched Tom’s face for a reaction. His face hardened, but he nodded stiffly.

“And Jay,” I said, pausing to keep my sobs in my throat. I didn’t want to break him, but he needed to hear this.

“Jay, if you keep pursuing me, you will ruin yourself. You’re already stripping yourself of everything that makes you Jay Gatsby.” Or James Gatz, I thought. “You are ruining yourself in pursuit of a woman who does not love you. I know this hurts you to hear, but I can’t let you choose to ruin yourself. Your whole personality is modeled after what you think I am. I’m not the same girl you knew in Louisville, Jay.” His head jerked up at his name, though his face was shiny with sweat and tears. He had curled into himself upon the couch.

“Daisy—“ he gasped out. I stood up.

“I’m leaving,” Tom said. “Daisy, Jordan, Nick?” he asked. Though his face was stricken, he was much more composed than Jay.

“I’m staying. Leave Gatsby’s car, please,” Nick said. “I’ll get him home.”

“Of course, Nick.”

“I’ll go home,” I said. “I really am sorry, Tom.”

“It’s alright, Daisy. We’ll talk when we’re back at home. Jordan?” he asked.

“I’ll come with you two,” she agreed.

“Goodbye,” Nick said politely, though his voice was cold in a strong contrast to the heat.

The three of us walked from the room, watching Nick slowly approach Jay.

[ton-ami-starkey]

Vintage Gays

Hello loves!! For an English assignment, I had the option to rewrite the end of Fitzgerald's "The Great Gatsby", and I thought I would share, because I made it a bit more gay. Here she is. She picks up right before he gets shot.

The Great Gatsby: Re-Concluded

“I'm going to drain the pool today, Mr. Gatsby. Leaves’ll start falling pretty soon, and then there's always trouble with the pipes.”

    “Don’t do it to-day,” Gatsby answered. He turned to me apologetically. “You know, old sport, I’ve never used that pool all summer? Let’s go for a swim. I’ll have the phone transferred to the pool...”

    I looked at my watch and stood up.

“Twelve minutes to my train. Jay, I’ve got to go. I have to work.”

“Couldn’t you stay a bit longer? I don’t expect you to swim, old sport. You can sit by the pool and, enjoy my company.”

    Jay smiled and extended his hand to me. I didn’t want to go to the city-I didn’t want to leave Gatsby.

“I’m not worth a decent stroke of work today anyway.”

We made our way to the pool after he changed into a black swimsuit, and he had a servant make a call to my place of employment to let them know that Jay Gatsby needed my service this afternoon, and I would not be coming in. I sat on a chair near the round edge of the pool and examined the marble beneath the clear water. There was a dark blue design at the bottom that I couldn’t quite make out, but then my observation was interrupted by Gatsby’s plunge into the center of the circle.

“I suppose Daisy’ll call, right old sport?” Gatsby stated as he emerged from the water.

“I suppose so.” I answered anxiously, avoiding his piercing eyes that looked darker in the light.

His inquiry was dismissed - maybe he could sense my uncertainty - and he continued to swim a few laps. I heard someone loudly approaching the gate behind me, and so did the servant stationed at the telephone.

“Excuse me sir, can I help you?” A dirty man stumbled past the servant, and I recognized his empty glare. George Wilson had come to Gatsby’s with a gun, with the intent to shoot him on his own property. The servant quickly called the police and they arrived shortly after. The servant and I struggled to remove Wilson’s grasp on the gun, and eventually handed it off to an officer that ran up to detain him. All the while, Gatsby stayed in the pool, leaning against the wall, watching as two people saved his life. He did not look surprised at what had happened so abruptly.

After they removed Wilson from the property, Gatsby spoke with an officer to explain that Wilson wrongly accused him of killing his wife. They whispered for a moment, then the officer nodded and left.

It was quiet for what seemed like an eternity after we collected ourselves and waited patiently for someone to address the incident. I watched him consider saying many things before I finally asked, “What did you tell them?”

“Not to worry, old sport, they will take Mr. Wilson away and we won’t have any trouble.” He paused and looked down. “I paid them off to dismiss any investigations they were starting, and make up some excuse to pin it all on him. Maybe he hired someone because she was having an affair. Either way, it’s...done.”

His cool tone had faded in the midst of his explanation. I could see the discomfort in what he had just told me he did, but I know he trusted me, and I trusted him. He got up to go change back into his previous attire.

“Put the phone back inside, I won’t be taking any more calls today.”

This startled me and I turned around to see what Gatsby may have been feeling, but he was already headed upstairs.

“Do you want me to leave?” I shouted up to him. He stopped midway with a hand on the bannister and let out a small, breathy laugh.

“Of course not.” He continued upstairs without looking back, and I waited at the bottom until we could return to whatever else he had planned.

Daisy never called that day, in fact she never called at all. I rang her a week later, to see if she wanted to get lunch with just me on Saturday, but the line was disconnected. I proceeded to ring Jordan Baker to get an explanation, but she was unavailable. For a moment I felt great panic and worry for my cousin. This feeling faded when I heard Jay call my name from his room.

After the incident, Gatsby and I spent the majority of our time together. He would call me every morning to see if I had plans for breakfast and what I was doing that day, I’d tell him, and we would eat in the great hall of his mansion. Once in a while, very rarely, he would knock on my door as I drank coffee watching the sun rise, and he would join me in my home.  He was still hopeful to receive a message from Daisy eventually, but it never came. It was a difficult transition for him - for he still reached out for the green light. But all he had was me.

After a long while, Daisy’s name and the whole ordeal vanished from his vocabulary, and we never spoke of it. The midnight walks to the end of the dock ceased when the new owners of the house across the bay replaced the green light with a dim, white light.

Months passed, and a conversation arose one night out of much alcohol consumption in my kitchen. We had both started drinking more - he because of the deep scar left on his life, and I because it felt like the right thing to be doing at a time when I stopped working as much and spent my days with a heartbroken man.

We were sitting at the table, and he had poured himself another glass of expensive whiskey that he brought over.

“You know what old sport, I don’t see the point of you owning this... this shack anymore.” Gatsby said in all seriousness, but we both laughed for a brief moment. He was more drunk than I was, but I was drunk enough to let my guard down and say whatever pushed its way out of my mouth.

“What do you propose, Jay? Live with you in your empty castle?” I laughed again and drank some more. I expected him to do the same.

He looked at me- no, looked through me, and said, “Why, yes. You come early and stay late anyhow, so why not?”

A long silence.

“I’m…”

“You don’t have to, old sport. Just an idea.”

“I don’t think she would like that very much.”

“I had her gather her belongings and leave yesterday.”

For a while, the both of us had short romances with expensive women that he had connections with. Mine lasted only a few days, his a few weeks. Her name was Vivien. She did not like me very much. Jay later informed me that when he asked her to leave, she threw a vase at his head with very bad aim and stormed out with the items she had brought with her when she arrived the previous day. We never saw her again.

“Are you sure? I never expected you to share anything with me, especially your home..”

“It’s become less of a home and more of.. A place where I sleep, dress, and eat. Maybe having my only companion with me will make it more home like, old sport.”

I chuckled. “Old sport… where did that come from?” I had no control of what was spewing from my mouth.

“What do you mean?”

“You call me old sport, like it’s my title. When did you start doing it? Did you forget someone’s name, use that as a cover up, and it .. stuck?”

His face melted with remembrance. I couldn’t tell if I had offended him by questioning his use of language.

“The wealthy man I told you about, the one that taught me how to be Jay Gatsby, used to say it. I decided to do it too, and after he died I used it as a way to keep up the act. Or as a tribute to his legacy that is me.”

I looked at him with awe. He became sentimental and tired at the same time, and so did I.

“I’d love to stay with you, Jay. Just help me sell my shack and I’ll be over in a jiffy.”

“Would you prefer I call you Mr. Carraway, old sport?”

I gave him the understanding smile he had given me the night that we met. “Nick is just fine, Mr. Gatsby.” The night ended with a drunken goodbye, and a bit more hope in the both of us than before. Perhaps the start of our own green light.

I had been staying with Gatsby for about six weeks before I had an opportunity to make a call without him in the room. Our days were filled with a variety of adventures - exploring different parts of the city, meeting incredible people from all over the world, and quiet days inside with intimate conversations about ourselves. It didn’t bother me that I hadn’t much privacy from him over that span of time, but I had nothing to be private about. The call I wanted to make had been an idea for the past year, but never reached the light of day until now.

A friend of an acquaintance from work had bragged to my floor about seeing golf “legend” Jordan Baker at a party in Chicago, and I informed him about my encounter with her at Gatsby’s. We discussed, and he ended up giving me her new information. I hadn’t thought about her specifically in a while, but I did have an interest in if Daisy, Tom, and she were still friendly. When I got back to Gatsby’s that afternoon, he had gone out to meet with some businessmen, I rang her. The familiar voice on the other end sparked memories that were repressed in the household - it took me a moment to recall what I needed to ask her.

Our conversation started with catching up; she informed me that someone had given her a large sum of money to lose the last tournament she was a part of, but that she redeemed her status and her name with a fantastic win later on. I told her about my current place of residence.

“That’s no surprise.”

“What do you mean?”

“It just isn’t unexpected for the two of you to be brought closer by the whole ordeal. Now, I know you didn’t contact me to brag, so what do you need, Carraway?”

“I.. have you… do you still talk to Tom and Daisy Buchanan?”

There was a pause, and she lowered her voice to deliver her next line.

“Daisy, yes. I haven’t spoken or seen Tom Buchanan in months. Why?”

“I was just concerned. How is she? How is Pamela?”

“They’re doing well for themselves. Tom is.. No longer in the picture.”

I adjusted the phone against my ear. “Did he… die?”

“Not that I know of.” Her perspective on life seemed to have changed in our time apart. She became very bitter towards me, and anything I was asking her about.

Miss Baker explained to me that after she had traveled for a few weeks and when se finally made it to Chicago, she had received a phone call from Charlotte, North Carolina - the Buchanans had moved south because Tom had connections and wanted to surround himself with men of similar taste. Tom also threatened to come back and finish what Wilson could not do.  

“But, he didn’t. Men are cowards,” she demanded. I’ll never forget the tone in her voice when she made that statement. She was referring to the man of which she was speaking, although she didn’t say it directly towards me.

Jordan advised Daisy not to do anything, that her family would not approve, but one day while Tom was out late with his “new mistress”, Daisy threw as much as she could into a taxi and left with her daughter. At first she went to her parent’s house and explained to them that her husband had been with multiple other women. They used their money and power to file for a divorce - Tom’s parents handled his side of it. The deed was done, and Daisy was free. They never spoke about it, and never saw Tom again.

That was the first, and possibly only time Daisy Buchanan, now Daisy Prescott, had done something for herself. Jordan advised me not to tell Gatsby about this. She didn’t want him to be misguided by the new information.

Daisy remarried three months after her divorce to a family friend. A lawyer in Chicago called Robert Prescott. She went to visit Jordan, and scheduled a meeting with him. They fell in love quickly, so the wedding was arranged. Jordan has been staying with them and Pammy ever since.

“A happy new family, I presume?” I joked.

“Very much so, if you care. Why did it take you so long to call?”

“Other responsibilities to uphold.”

“I guess so… Nick?”

“Oh, yes. Well, thank you for the news. I will be sure to come visit.”

“Daisy would love to see you.”

“Tell her I called.”

I went to visit them when on a business trip that spring. Although Gatsby wanted to join me, I revealed who I would be staying with and he became somewhat reserved. The topic was still sensitive, I understood. My departure consisted of a handshake with the lack of eye contact. I felt that I should apologize to him, but staying in contact with my relative is not a crime - although there was a twinge of regret as I stepped into the taxi parked in front of Gatsby’s. I called him when I landed in Chicago, we spoke briefly. I noticed the lack of response, and ended the call. I rang him again form Daisy’s, and it too was only a few moments of recognition.

Daisy’s family was pleasant. Her husband was respectful and suave. I was won over by his charm when I spoke to him at dinner; He mentioned his family, that they were fairly wealthy and supportive of his career. His way with words reminded me of some of my co-workers, the way he could persuade you to hire him in a legal situation or just to pass him a bread roll, with ease. Gatsby would have felt threatened by his wit. Robert took care of Daisy and her daughter. Although Pammy grew up without Tom, she did grow up with a father.

Jordan was not present at the dinner, she arrived after with a man that went by Charlie. I spoke to the both of them quickly before they left again for a party down the street. She invited me, but I was tired and wanted to recover from my trip. I stayed with them for three days, said my goodbyes and gave them my love, and made my way back to Gatsby. There was no mention of him or our living arrangement during my stay.

When I returned it took some adjusting before it was back to the normal routine of openness between us. I yearned for the magnificent desires once bestowed upon me by the secrecy of such a sheltered phenomenon; for the progress we had made together over the past year had diminished before my eyes. It upset me greatly, and we both recognized it’s presence but did not discuss it for two days, until he approached me when I returned from work. He smelled of alcohol strongly. It was unusual for him to start consuming mass amounts so early.

“Is everything alright?” I uttered as I entered the threshold. He stood near the end of the stairs with glassy eyes and rosy cheeks.

“Everything is just fine, old sport.” He hadn’t used the phrase since our discussion about it. I realized then that he felt very distanced from me because of my interactions during my trip. I set my briefcase on the table where we kept our frequently used out-of-the-house belongings.

“What have you been up to today?” I asked knowingly.

He glared at me, then stumbled down the remaining stairs towards where I had planted myself. He stood very close - I noticed in great detail the bead of sweat forming on his browline.

“How are all of them, Nick? You never mentioned. Why aren’t you telling me? Is there something I shouldn’t know?” He whispered as if there was someone nearby who was listening. The tone of his voice was assertive, but insecure.

“Jay, I didn’t want to bring it up because I knew something like this would happen.” I hovered my hand above his shoulder, and returned the volume he spoke to me with. I could feel his weight start to shift and he began to almost fall upon me. I held him up as he wept silently. We leaned against the wall and slid down to the floor, breaking the barrier that suppressed the inclusion of such expression and intimacy between us. I laid my head against the hard surface behind me. Jay put his own my shoulder, and I felt every breath he exhaled waver on my neck. We sat there, absorbing the emotions that had been exposed and spilled out onto the floor. I proceeded to tell him what I experienced in Chicago, in great detail. He listened attentively, not uttering a single response to my story, but I could feel him flinch when I would say Daisy’s name; he was not completely done with his image of his perfect life with Daisy. I paused, reluctant to continue, but he pressed on. He asked me about Mr. Prescott, what he looked like, how he treated Daisy… I was honest, brutally honest, so much that Gatsby’s envy of Daisy’s admiration of him transferred to my admiration of him- which wasn’t as extreme as it may have seemed.

I had a laugh when he asked me, “What, are you going to leave me for him too?”

The storm then settled, and we sustained alluring closeness with and without the proximity in the remainder of that Thursday. The later hours consisted of a type of recreation worthy to be left unsaid, followed by a conversation I don’t believe to be comparable to any I have ever experienced. We discussed the future.

Jay recalled when I had questioned his motives by pointing out that it’s impossible to repeat the past, however what I stated lingered inside him every moment he thought of and was with Daisy. He knew the end was approaching, but denied it inside and out. He knew Daisy wasn’t his - she was everyone’s. He needs someone to be only his - unconditionally.

“Well, Nick, here we are drinking and talking too much, far too late into the night. Discussing the future of all things. Inimitable to any other previous thoughts I’ve had about it.”

“Where are you focused now?” I inquired, finishing the remaining contents of my glass.

“Here.” He looked at me with that formidable grin. An even more understanding, appreciative smile than before. I mirrored it.

“With you. The only true and honest man... person”, he corrected himself, “I’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing.”

“Jay Gatsby is many things, but a poet…” I joked, and we laughed.

I enjoyed his company everyday, and he mine. We shared everything, for he even began to try and dress me - in his pink suit, once. I’ve never been so devoted to maintaining my happiness, all the while maintaining another’s simultaneously.

Gatsby believed in a new green light. The orgastic future that year by year is enthusiastically embraced by new arms. It eluded us before, but that’s no matter - tomorrow we will run faster, stretch out our arms farther…. And one fine morning -

So, together, we beat on, boats against the current, sent ceaselessly into the future, with so much to look forward to.

[repeatthepast]

"Sir Gatsby? Are you alright? Just now— no, always, I have sensed a great tempest of sadness within you." (- @shadowandsubstance , the Doll)

@shadowandsubstance

--

Usually, as Gatsby believed, he could always hide how he felt. It was undeniably true with most things, whenever it came to the mysterious Mr. Gatsby.

Lavish parties, guests dressed in the finest of clothing, dancing, singing, drinking, laughing... and Gatsby himself was never seen. A mysterious sort, he was. Like a ghost, he seemed to drift throughout the party... or was never there at all. In truth, Gatsby never exactly attended his own parties he'd throw. Especially ever since last autumn (had it been Autumn? He couldn't remember... or perhaps it was Summer?), after finding himself nearly shot dead in his own pool and only just barely surviving...

... And knowing Daisy never arrived, never returned to him, never answered his calls, his letters, how the light at the dock had gone out, how she was gone. Knowing she was gone-- his dream, it was in shambles. Daisy used him, after all he did for her, but he couldn't believe it.

Yet... what Gatsby could never understand was the Doll, how she arrived just as mysteriously as Nick Carraway in that little cottage next to his large manor. It had been a rainy day, he could recall. Pouring. Gatsby had been standing near Carraway's old home, hoping to remember old times while his dear friend, perhaps one of his only few friends, had returned to Chicago. Then, he saw the Doll, limp on the ground, as if carelessly discarded-- and he had whisked her away into his manor as quickly as he could. Cleaned off any dirt, any mud, even managed to wash her antiquated clothes by hand. Yes, by hand. All by himself, in that lonely manor. And she was spoiled, too. With the finest of dresses and gowns, the most carefully, beautifully crafted jewelry, hair always being brushed, and kept away from the parties-- didn't want her to be damaged by the rowdy partygoers, after all.

And now-- as he came to learn ages ago, she was indeed more than a Doll. She was a friend, and she was alive.

He leaned on his familiar cane, eyes drifting to her, filled with exhaustion and indeed a tinge of sadness, but he managed a light, small smile. His back-- no, his whole torso always ached now. Hard to move. Always hard to move... and sometimes, he'd still find himself tasting blood in his mouth in the morning.

" If I may be truthful with you, madame, I don't... I don't know. I suppose I, shouldn't be quiet with you about it. It's just... " A moment to pause, to stop himself. Hesitation. His eyes drifted down to his hand... and focused on that emerald ring. That familiar, familiar emerald ring...

Oh, Jay... it's so beautiful!... but you know I can't wear this-- not around Tom... wear it for me!

" ... I don't know. "

[whoisntgayforgatsby]

Secrets Aren't So Secret In A Gay Bar

Nick just wanted to spend a night by himself in the towns secret, underground, gay bar.

Summer has been flying by in such a haze. I’ve done absolutely nothing now that I look back on it. It’s all been me, setting up my cousin, Daisy, a married woman, with my next-door neighbor that I just so happened to have major feelings for, Jay Gatsby. It’s been rough.

I needed time to myself for once, therefore, I have cancelled any and all plans I had for this evening. All except for the ones that involved me going to the secret queer-bar in town. It was in the basement of ‘Sways’, another bar and it was called ‘Bang!’ . It required a password to enter the room.

The word was arbitrium, meaning ‘choice’ in Latin.

Few people knew of it.

I had ate dinner at the little diner next to the bar, not in the mood to cook for myself tonight. I still had an hour to kill before it opened at seven. I decide to browse the shops in the area to pass the time.

I first enter a nice clothing shop that I barely get to look through before I spot Daisy. I don’t want to be dragged along to whatever she’s doing, so, I leave.

Another downside to being hopelessly queer is the fact that being around others was much harder. I couldn’t exactly be out around people as I could be killed or imprisoned for it. It was the worst when I fall for the lovely men - Gatsby - in my friend-groups that are impossibly straight, or, I almost slip up and expose myself to close-minded people. I play a dangerous game by being around others.

I don’t even get to enter the next store I planned to enter, as I spot Gatsby eyeing an expensive watch through the window. I’m stressed and jumpy and end up just sitting in Sways for the next hour or so.

I wait longer than necessary until a few men and a group of ladies make their way down.

I shuffle to the door with the big, kind of scary, guard stood before it. “Hello.” I greet the man and he scowls.

“Password.” He grunts with his deep voice.

I lean in close to him, murmuring the single word into his ear. He cracks a smile and laughs a bit. “It’s not the right way to say it but, go on in.” He permits and I thank him quietly before hurrying down the stairs. It is utterly magical down here. Girls kissing girls, boys touching boys… The music is loud and the people are fancy… I’ve never felt more alive in my entire life.

I spot a handsome man at the bar quite quickly and I saunter to his side. “Well, hello there,” I grin. “Is this seat taken?” I hum lowly, motioning to the stool next to him.

“Oh, Lord. For a man as rakishly handsome as you, even if it happened to be taken, I would tell you otherwise.” His voice is deep and he has a lisp as he reaches to touch my arm.

“You are much better looking, Sir. I assure you of that.” I let my eyes wander him.

“That is very untrue… Do you have a name to fit that handsome face?”

“Nick.” I answer and he smiles.

“Lovely, fitting… I’m Eric.” He flutters his lashes at me.

“Perfect name for such a wonderful face.” I brush a strand of hair from his brown eyes.

“I’ve never seen you here before, Nick.” I notice that I don’t like the way my name sounds on his tongue and I flinch.

“Yeah, first time. Been too busy playing matchmaker all summer.” We both chuckle.

“Well, tonight, you get to be your own matchmaker, I assume?” He flicks his brows up.

“Are you trying to take me home?” I run my tongue over my lips. All I could see for us was maybe a fling or two. I didn’t have that feeling, that need or want to have him. I didn’t feel the way that Gatsby made me feel. That’s how I can tell the future.

“Maybe~.” He hums with a smirk.

So, I kiss him. It’s not as good as I’d hoped for it to be but, it was something. I bite at his lip to spice things up a bit and he shoves his tongue into my mouth, exploring it like a cave.

When I pull away, neither of us look very satisfied with it.

“Uh…” He looks about the room. “What do you do for work?” He mutters awkwardly.

“Um, stocks. I work in them.” I answer, not fully paying attention as I look about the room of new people and faces. People I could fall in love with possibly.

“Yeah… Sounds, um… Cool. I'm an accountant.” He's also far from our conversation which fell apart over a very shitty kiss.

I scan the room more and I feel all the blood drain from my body as my eyes fall upon none other than Jay Gatsby.

“Oh, God…” I gape and Eric looks to find what I'm looking at.

“What?”

“I know him,” I croak. “He's my neighbor .” I choke and suddenly I can't breathe.

“He is? Is he gay?” Eric questions but I can't answer and jump from my stool.

I give Eric a wave of my hand, either meaning ' be right back ’ or ' goodbye’ and I couldn't care less which one he took it as.

I dash through the tightly packed crowd and into the bathroom, just hoping I wasn't spotted. As soon as I get in there, I hunch over, one hand on my knee and the other on my chest as I pant and my heart pounds so hard I can feel it in my veins.

I'm panicking. I think I am at least.

Why was Gatsby here? Why had he insisted on me setting him up with Daisy? Why? What was this summer supposed to be?

Once I'm able to calm myself and not throw-up with nerves, I step back into the loud bar full of people. I look around and just as I spot Gatsby, he spots me. I feel myself crumble as we both give one another a panicked look and I duck back into the bathroom to hyperventilate.

The door swings open and in bursts Gatsby moments later. He grabs me by the shoulders and at first, I think he may kiss me. But, that's just my stupid fantasies.

“Nick, old sport! What-... What are you doing here?” The calm and cool Gatsby I knew was gone and his words were frantic as his hair dangled down in his eyes. I can see his Adam's apple bob as he swallows forcefully, his jaw shifting as his fingers tighten on my shoulders.

“I-... I think you know. I think it's obvious why I'm here… But, why are you? You have Daisy.” I stammer out. He swallows again.

“Just-... I came to-... Find you, old sport!” He exclaims. “I needed your help and I-... Saw you come in?” He doesn’t seem as confidant in this lie as he had been in the first one.

“There’s a password, Gatsby.”

“Don’t need one, I’m Jay Gatsby. I just say I have business and they let me in.” He crossed his arms, dropping his grip on me to do so.

“That is an even bigger reason not to let you in! If people like you just waltz on in here, it’ll be shut down and everybody will be arrested in minutes!” I snap in a hushed tone. Gatsby frowns deeply at me.

“What is that supposed to mean? People ‘ like me ’?” He scowls.

“Straight, white, rich men from East and West Egg that feel like they can have the world because they have money, Gatsby.” I glare. I don’t mean to be so awful to him but, I’m bitter and angry over every piece of him and myself right now.

“Wow… Okay, I get it now.” He lets out a shaking breath and turns. I hear him sniff.

“I didn’t mean you , I meant the others.”

“I’ll leave you then.”

And, Gatsby was off. I follow him, calling after him until we were in the street and he got into that bright yellow coupe of his and sped off.

I hail a cab and head to Gatsby’s, only to find he didn’t come home. I felt like a jackass for what I’d done and said. He didn’t deserve that. It’s all because I’m mad that I love him and that he loves Daisy. It just wasn’t fair . I try so hard for him because I’m in love with him and I want to never see him upset. Now, I’m the reason that he’s gone missing.

He’s probably just with Daisy.

Of course he liked her better. Anybody would. Being me was not special or spectacular like I wanted it to be. I was just Nick Carraway, the guy in the tiny bungalow behind the most wonderful and rich man’s mansion. I was just the guy who watched, who curled into himself and hid from everything. I wasn’t Gatsby, chasing down and catching whatever the hell he pleased, nor was I Daisy, a beautiful being with every man wishing to have me. I wasn’t even Tom for Heaven’s sakes. I mean, he still was popular to people compared to me.

I kick up stones as I cut through the back of Gatsby’s house to reach mine. The summer is fading away and I can just about feel the nip of fall biting at my exposed skin.

I keep my head down, ashamed of myself for being so selfish and rude to the man I cared so deeply for. I keep it down until I reach my drive, lifting it and my eyes meeting blue ones. “Nick.”

Gatsby.

He stands up from sitting on my porch step, brushing off his bum. “Nick, I’m so sorry for running off like that. It was rude and immature.”

“No! No, Gatsby, I shouldn’t have been so harsh.” I insist as I come face to face with him.

“I was lying and frantic when I should’ve just been up front with you.” He shakes his head, frowning.

“What do you mean?” I ask. “I mean, I know you were lying but, what are you talking about?”

Gatsby steps a little closer and touches my forearm lightly. “You see, old sport, I did at one time think I loved Daisy… Time changes things and when I first saw you there was an undeniable pull, this alluring yank that ripped me from my fixation on the past and it pulled me to the future. I, at first, tried to, well, hold onto Daisy, but, after I saw her again, I knew I didn’t feel for her any longer…” He pauses and looks about, avoiding my eyes. “And, well, Nick, old sport, I kept it going because it brought me closer to you.”

“Gatsby...” I gawk. “What are you saying?” My voice is but a whisper. Gatsby's warm hands now rest on my shoulders and he forces himself to look me directly in the eye.

“I'm saying , all of it, every single thing, old sport, is all for you . I did it all because I've fallen hopelessly in love with you.” His fingers get tight as he's telling me this, nervous and trembling. “I was young and stupid and never loved before… I thought that you could only feel that once in your life and I thought I had with Daisy. But, after I left to war, I realized that she was special because ladies didn't catch my fancy.”

“You love me, Gatsby?” Was the only thing I could think to say to his speech declaring his very much required feelings.

His hands slip from me and hit his sides, he looks away and when his voice finally comes, it's broken and weak. “Yes, Nick… I do… Love you, that is. I was hoping it would go away but it hasn't and I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have… Said anything.” He hangs his head and I think he may cry, so, I reach and touch his wrist, my fingers brushing the top of his hand.

“Jay, I have feelings for you too. I thought it was blatantly obvious.” I say in a hushed, soothing tone.

“You do? I was trying so hard to impress you that I guess I just thought…” He trails.

“What are you talking about? That was all for Daisy .” I say.

“Well, I couldn't have exactly put an obscene amount of flowers in your house and said ' oh, and by the way, these are for you, not Daisy because I think I'm in love with you.’ Now, could I?” He sighs, frustrated.

“Well, I thought that it was obvious that I had feelings for you when I did anything and everything asked of me,” I say. “I followed you around like a lost puppy.”

“I did that to Dan Cody and I wasn't in love with him.” Gatsby answers.

“But, you wanted his money so it's different.”

He stares at me after that, running his eyes over my body many times before looking back at our shoes, pointed toe-to-toe.

“Can-... May I kiss you?” He looks up at me through the stray hairs in his eyes.

“Please.”

And, so, he does.