“You knew her for—”
I had suspected he was fast and strong. I didn’t realize how much so until he had taken me by the shoulders and dragged me up to my feet. I had been hauled around enough to know that I didn’t like it, but staring up into his eyes, I forgot all about how I had been taught to strip shins and break foot bones. I could barely feel any strain in his hands or his body, and my feet still touched the ground, but it was a close thing.
I knew that there was something empty in him before, but now I could see that it wasn’t empty all the time. Now there was a monstrous want there, remorseless and relentless, and it made my stomach turn that it thought itself love.
“I love her, Miss Baker,” he said, his face close to mine. “I have never loved anyone else. And I know that she loves me. She has since we first met.”
Unwillingly I remembered a cry that sounded as if it had been dug up from Daisy’s body, as if she had stretched out on the ground and someone had driven a spade deep into her. I remembered the smell of crème de menthe and how I still couldn’t bear to drink it after that evening.
The night before her wedding, Daisy taught me that after the world ended, you still had to get up in the morning, and the things that you ruined would still be there, needing to be fixed. When I looked at famous Jay Gatsby, soul gone and some terrible engine he called love driving him now, I could see that for him, the world was always ending. For him, it was all a wreck and a ruin, and he had no idea why the rest of us weren’t screaming.
I didn’t look away, and I didn’t fight him, because I had some idea how terribly stupid such a thing might be. The only way to deal with a thing that terrifying was to not be afraid, or at least, to make sure that it didn’t think you were.
“I remember,” I said, which was only the truth. I remembered a lot of things. “Now put me down.”
He blinked and let go of me. He was either surprised at himself or he thought he was. All that mattered to me was that he pulled back.
“Miss Baker, I do not like to repeat myself, but I think I will have to ask again.”
“Yes, I’ll sing your praises the next time I see Nick.”
“It might not be enough. I want him to bring her to West Egg.”
“You’re … asking Nick to bring his own cousin to you like some pretty baby off of Broadway?”
“No!” He looked genuinely shocked at that, looking at me as if unsure what kind of serpent he had brought to his bosom. This was a look I actually got a lot.
“Then what?”
“I want him to bring Daisy to his house in West Egg. I can be there. I can meet her, talk to her. Remind her.”
I gave him a long look.
“It actually made more sense when I thought you wanted her served up like a bit of cold lapin.”
“Don’t be disgusting.”
“Oh really? Whose cock were you sucking before you spotted me and Miriam Howe?”
“Some expensive boy from Amherst, what does that matter?”
And I could see that to him, it didn’t. I marveled at that a little, and he took my hand. This time he was careful about it, holding it like something too fragile.
“Look, Miss Baker. Jordan. I need your help. Have him bring her to West Egg.”
I didn’t tell him I could do it, because I wasn’t sure I wanted to. Gatsby was like a storm blowing up far out to sea, and soon enough he would crash to the land. Whether he struck marshland or a coastal city was still uncertain but I was beginning to realize how little control I had over all of this.
“What if I say no?”
His eyes darkened, and his mouth firmed at that. This was something that he had considered, and he was angry with me for even bringing it up.