But she swerved the car now down the main throughway in West Egg Village, finally sputtering past the turn for Nick’s driveway. And then it hit me, where she was taking me. Not Nick’s. Jay’s. She was taking me to Jay Gatsby’s.
* * *
LAST WEEK, WE had all gone to a party at Jay’s. He’d sent over a personal invitation for me and Tom, addressed quite formally to The Buchanans—and Tom, curiously, had insisted we go. Or maybe not so curiously at all as Jordan had let it slip upon viewing the invitation that we had both known Jay back in Louisville, once.
Knew him how? Tom had asked, blowing a ring of smoke from his cigarette.
Daisy knew him very, very well, Jordan said with a little giggle, and I had to kick her under the table. But it was delightful to see the deep crease of the frown on Tom’s face at that moment. Tom’s jealousy was somehow both his best and worst quality.
We went to that party, Tom and I. And I danced a foxtrot with Jay when he asked me to, all the while keeping my eyes on Tom, on the bright red spread across his cheeks, the fire burning up his gray-blue eyes. Jay was whispering to me while we were dancing, but I couldn’t make sense of what he was saying. I was so busy reveling in Tom’s beautiful, reckless jealousy.
On the drive back to East Egg that night, Tom had reached across the seat for my leg in the back of the limousine, ran his fingers up under my dress, high up my thigh, reaching up inside my undergarments. “Tom, stop.” I’d pulled away, but my skin felt like fire, and the truth was, I wasn’t sure I’d wanted him to stop at all.
“I’m done with her,” he’d whispered in my ear then. “I promise you, Daisy. It’s only you I want. Only you.”
And for a minute, I’d believed him. His fingers crawled back up my thigh, under my undergarment, stroking me until I couldn’t help myself, I let out a moan. Tom’s face softened, and he looked like that man I married again.
* * *
JORDAN TURNED OFF the car in front of Jay’s house now, and I pushed away the memory of that other night, the last time I was here. Tom’s jealousy, his sudden craving for me. But all that was superseded by his need for this woman in the city, I supposed. Or else why had she called so many times last night during supper? He’d lied to me. He wasn’t done with her at all.
“What are we doing here, Jordie?” I sighed as I stared at Jay’s sprawling estate in front of us.
“It’ll make Tom awfully jealous. And serves him right after all those telephone calls through supper last night.”
“But Tom doesn’t even know we’re here,” I said.
Her face twisted a little, somewhere between a frown and a smirk, an expression I couldn’t quite place. “Well, I left a note on his desk to let him know exactly where I’ve taken you.”
“You’re positively wicked, Jordie.” But it warmed me a little to picture the look on Tom’s face when he walked into his study and read Jordan’s words.
Seeing Jay again was the last thing I felt like doing, and I wished Jordan and I could’ve simply taken a drive and then lied about it. I was about to suggest such a thing when Jay walked outside, came right up to the car. “Daisy!” he exclaimed, opening up my car door and tugging gently on my arm to pull me upright. “Come on in.”
“I’ll drive around and come back in an hour,” Jordan said. And then she sped off into the heat of the afternoon, abandoning me, before I could protest.
“I’m sorry to just drop in on you like this uninvited,” I said to Jay, suddenly feeling nervous to be here with just him. The last time we’d been all alone, at Nick’s house, I’d felt so powerless that it had sent me spinning in Tom’s study later that night. “I don’t know what Jordan was thinking. I could walk next door to visit Nick.”
“I won’t hear of it.” He grabbed my arm, as if to say that now that I was here, he would never let me go again. I shifted back, out of his grasp, uncomfortable. “I have your favorite tea,” he spoke quickly. “The kind you used to like back in Louisville.”
“Chamomile?” I asked. He nodded. It was really Rose’s favorite tea, not mine; she used to make it all the time for both of us, and the truth was I hadn’t drunk it in years. It tasted and smelled and reminded me entirely too much of her. “I’m really not… in the mood for tea,” I said. I eyed the path to Nick’s and fought the urge to break into a run. I wasn’t at all wearing the shoes for it.