Jordan was very understanding when I told her about my problem. She offered to help try and cure me, though neither of us thought about my condition as a sickness. Had Tom or Daisy known, they certainly would have believed me to be diseased. I knew I could trust Jordan, though. Her generally untruthful and distrustful nature made her the perfect confidant, and she insisted that she had been suspicious ever since our first outing together. This took me by surprise, as I had only recently admitted that /perhaps/ I had a problem. Either way, I had shared my conflict with Jordan and felt marginally better than I had before.
But then she had made a suggestion I had studiously been trying to avoid.
She had suggested I actively seek a solution in the form of confrontation.
"You're mad," I told her, smiling lightly towards the open bottle of wine in the ice bucket not two feet from us. "You're speaking through the wine."
"The wine may have brought me the idea, but that does not mean it is a poor one!" she retorting, frowning lightly.
She did hate to be told she wasn't marvelously clever. I realized that she was much happier with an intelligent friend than an intelligent beau. Silly, how I once believed myself to be a potential mate to such a woman. No longer was her superior countenance fascinating, nor the stubborn tilt of her chin endearing. Instead a lonely and almost tragic young woman sat across from me in the twin of my own lawn chair.
"When am I to set up this meeting? Or am I to take him aside while he is speaking to Daisy in my sitting room, while they are reminiscing of their younger love?"
Jordan gave me a look reminiscent of a scowl, but it lacked the effort necessary to convey disapproval. Then she smiled lightly and tilted her glass for the last time, chuckling lightly.
"Of course not. You corner him at one of his parties and confess your undying love! Then you two pool your wealth, dash off to some exotic European paradise, or back to the West – I think that is where you both come from, isn't it? In a few years it will all blow over and you two can come back here and enjoy parties even more scandalous than they are now," Jordan was giving a more expressive smile than I had ever seen her give, her lips just vaguely quirked up at the corners. "Can you imagine? Even more people would show up, you might need to use both your houses to accommodate them. And it would be the perfect way to disguise your relationship. Who would protest two houses, and bars, open for their enjoyment?"
I shook my head lightly, choosing to let her reflect on her plan. No doubt Miss Baker would have some grand payoff in such a plan. Perhaps she would take credit for the organization of such grand parties, or perhaps she would simply revel in the gossip.
Either way, there was no way I could ever admit my desires for Jay Gatsby.