“The church of ill repute,” I shot back easily.
“Your sister’s back in town?” Helen raised her eyebrows. I hadn’t told her everything, but she knew Myrtle had a sweetie who’d gotten her an apartment in the city. That I was worried about how the situation might end up for her.
“Yes,” I said now. “They’re having a party, and I’ll finally get to meet the Tom Buchanan. Do you want to come?”
Helen shook her head and nodded to the stack of magazines on the coffee table. “I’m good here. I’ve already got a roaring headache from last night.”
I nodded. I did too. Last night Helen and I had downed one too many gin rickeys at the Monte Carlo, and we’d stumbled home after midnight. I could feel the ache just above my brows now. But the idea of finally meeting this Tom Buchanan was something I just couldn’t pass up, and I was going to Myrtle’s purely for the company.
* * *
A LITTLE PARTY was already brewing inside Myrtle’s apartment when I let myself in. I recognized the older couple who lived in the building and cast them a smile, and then, my eyes caught on two unfamiliar men. I assumed the one whose lap Myrtle was perched upon was Tom; the other introduced himself to me as Nick Carraway. Myrtle clarified he was Tom’s friend, though Nick made a strange face, like he wasn’t so sure.
Before I could ask him, Myrtle jumped off Tom’s lap, threw her arms around me, and gave me a sloppy kiss on the cheek. I could smell the whiskey on her already. She offered me some, but I declined. “I’m already up without it,” I said, massaging my aching temples a little with my fingers.
“Nick’s cute,” Myrtle whispered too loudly in my ear, so I was certain he’d heard every word. “Don’t you think, Cath?”
My face reddened and I shushed her. I had not formed any opinion on Nick, who now sat quietly in a chair carefully sipping his whiskey. I supposed he was somewhat handsome, in a rather ordinary, quiet kind of way. “Was this a setup, Myrtle?” I sighed. Nick might be all right, but I had no interest in getting together with one of Tom’s friends.
“No, of course not, no. Not at all. Come meet Tom, Cath.”
Myrtle grabbed my hand and yanked me toward the couch, making quick introductions. Tom stood, and he was shockingly tall, a hulking, muscular man who seemed to almost seethe arrogance from his pores by the brutish way he held himself. So this was the kind of man who brazenly cheated on his wife, who bought his mistress diamond hairpins, an apartment in the city, and… a dog? This was the kind of man who’d taken Daisy away from Jay, once, years ago. I wouldn’t dare say any of that out loud, of course. Instead I forced a smile and said: “I hear you play polo, Tom.”
“You know a lot about it?” His voice took on an edge of excitement. His arrogance faded, and he leaned closer, remarkably eager, like a little boy. I wished I did know something about it. I had a feeling I might like him more if we discussed polo. But I shook my head, and he frowned and sat back down.
“The dog! Cath, you have to meet him. He’s a little doll,” Myrtle exclaimed and rushed back into the bedroom. She returned with a wiry-haired gray-and-black puppy with white paws. He might have made a good farm dog, except the bright red bow tied around his neck made him look small-headed, gauche, and ridiculous.
“What’s his name?” I asked, because it seemed a more pleasant question than the obvious, How will you possibly take care of him?
“I don’t know yet. Tom? What do you think a good name for him is? I like Duke, maybe. It sounds regal.”
Tom shrugged, uncaring. Myrtle sighed happily, settled herself back onto Tom’s lap, with Duke, maybe on her own lap. “Yes,” Myrtle murmured, stroking the dog’s head, softly scratching his chin. “Duke is a very nice name for you, isn’t it, puppy?”
Tom suddenly reached around, grabbed her hard, and kissed her so boldly on the mouth that it occurred to me he was jealous of the dog. I tried to suppress a giggle at that thought. But then their kiss went on and on, and on. I began to feel like a voyeur, and I turned my head away.
“Are you sure you wouldn’t like a drink?” Nick asked quietly. He’d moved closer and now sat just a few inches away from me. His face revealed the sort of bold distaste for Tom and Myrtle’s display that I was feeling inwardly. I tried to put my finger on what bothered me about it exactly, because nothing would make me happier than if Myrtle left George. But Tom was holding her now too tightly, like a possession. And worse, one he may not ever admit to having, outside this room. “Whiskey?” Nick offered again.