The last party I attended at Gatsby' mansion started with a bang, but I knew that that meant that it could only end one way: with an even bigger bang. As Gatsby began to introduce us to every odd and end he could find, I turned and saw Daisy gazing around in awe. "These things excite me so," she whispered. "If you want to kiss me any time during the evening, Nick, just let me know and I'll be happy to arrange it for you. Just mention my name. Or present a green card, I'm giving out green-"
"Look around," suggested Gatsby.
"I'm looking around. I'm having a marvellous-"
"You must see the faces of many people you've heard about."
Tom glanced around with a sneer on his face. "No, I'm afraid we don't make it a habit of associating ourselves with these sorts," sparing a look towards a particularly strange looking couple as they brushed by in suit of the cocktail waiter.
"Well you must know someone, old sport." We continued on for several minutes until Gatsby came across a tall and slender figure standing in a small group of other women. "Ah, well, Daisy, you must know my dear friend Edith Neide."
The woman turned, and Daisy's face turned into a grin as large as I had ever seen one on her face. "Edith dear," she nearly shrieked in Tom's ear. "Oh my Lord, I haven't seen you since you left Louisville, what was that, five years ago."
She turned to look at Tom, only to find him staring into the distance, I watched her turn then, to Gatsby, hopeful that he would be there to share in her excitement. A large gong was rung, signalling the start of the first dinner, and Daisy nearly jumped out of her skin upon hearing it.
"Why don't you all sit with me at dinner so that we can have the chance to catch up?" the woman asked. Once again, Daisy looked back to Tom.
"I don't much think that Tom would like to join us." she said, with a sharp edge to her voice. "Go ahead," answered Daisy genially, "and if you want to take down any addresses here's my little golden pencil."
We made our way over to a relatively empty table filled only with passed out drinkers and quiet mopers. Once we reached the table, Daisy gestured towards me with a white gloved hand.
"Edith, I don't believe you have had the opportunity to become acquainted with my cousin, Nick Carroway."
"A pleasure Nick."
I took a moment to glance over at Edith, just as her eyes glimpsed in my direction. Her figure was tall and slender like Jordan's, and her skin was very pale like Daisy's. However, Edith's skin seemed marred by villages of dark brown freckles, effectively creating a patchwork of curiosity across her skin.
"Oh, some days I wish I were a fool." said Daisy, breaking me from my thoughts and dragging my attention to the other side of the table. She was glimpsing at Tom's figure, even as she secretly wound her fingers through Gatsby's beneath the white tablecloth. Edith and I glanced in the direction of Daisy's gaze to notice Tom surrounded by hordes of young women, the golden pencil flashing in the lights of the party.
"I disagree with you Daisy," Edith starts, taking a moment to shoot a knowing look in Gatsby's direction. "If only you had been smart enough to marry the war hero without a penny to his name, but who would have loved you endlessly and wholly."
"Oh Edith, I won't have this argument with you again. I lost you to it five years ago, and now that my life finally seems like it may work out again I will not lose you to it again." A single tear rolled down Daisy's cheek and Gatsby excused himself and Daisy to the garden to discuss odds and ends.
"Keep an eye on Tom for me, would you old sport?"
"Of course," I said, shooting another glimpse at Tom's unknowing back. I turned to Edith then, hoping to keep some sort of conversation alive. "So, what do you think of all of this? The party, the estate, what's your opinion on it all."
"It seems a bit gaudy to me, don't you think?"
"How do you mean?"
"Well, Jay used to be quite a cheery character back in the war days; he never failed to brighten up a room. But nowadays, he seems different, almost like his silly dream has been weighing down on him for too many years." she peeked through her lashes towards my face. "Do you believe in the afterlife Nick?" she asked me with a furtive glance towards the break in the trees that lead to my house.
"I suppose I do."
"When the soul leaves the body all that is left of us on Earth is an empty corpse and a story." she started, glancing shyly towards the large fountain in the center of Gatsby's courtyard. "Men like Mr. Gatsby strive for a great story, they want that story to impact lots of people,"
"Yes, Gatsby sure has managed that." I added, looking to my left where piles of people were joined together on the dance floor.
"But that's just the thing." she followed my gaze towards the throngs of dancing couples, "Everyone remembers him now, but I have a feeling that long before he dies he will be nothing more than a ghost."
"So you're saying that the whole thing is pointless?"
"No," she said, taking a moment to glance up at the bright lights pouring out from the house, "I'm saying that the only way to be truly remembered is to have a greater impact on a smaller number of people."
"Well, I dare say the man has made a great impact on me."
"And for that I'm sure he is grateful." We sat in silence for a moment, just as the band started up another lively tune.
"Would you care to dance?" I asked, turning and stretching out my hand towards her. She took it, and folded her arm through mine.
"I'll join you," she said, "but I will not be joining the conga line."
We continued towards the edge of the modified dance floor, walking in companionable silence as we went. As we reached the floor, my curiosity got the better of me. "What about you?" I asked. She quirked an eyebrow at me, flashing a sly smile.
"What about me, Mr. Carroway?" I glanced for a moment at Tom standing in the middle of the floor.
"Who are you hoping to be remembered by?"
"My family I suppose. I never wanted to live in a big mansion or to attend extravagant parties. My dream was always to find someone I love more than anyone else and spend the rest f my days living in whatever way they choose."
"That sounds quite interesting,"
"Why," she said, her eyes locking with mine, "I might even live in the slums if that's what it takes."
"You're very different from Daisy." I said, taking her body and soul in as one now that I know both.
"Trust me," she said, "that is not the first time I have heard that."