Disclaimer: I don't own The Great Gatsby or its characters, though I wish I did. It was created by the great F. Scott Fitzgerald.
SPOILER ALERTS FOR ANYONE WHO HAS NOT READ THE GREAT GATSBY!
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Tears soaked the thin but firm material of Jay Gatsby's pink suit as he struggled to drive the car from the passenger's seat. Leaning over towards the wheel was uncomfortable, and made it difficult to maintain a fast speed. What made things worse was the fact that the front of the vehicle was covered in thick red blood and guts. Gatsby could hide his history of poverty and criminal activity behind his good looks, fashionable clothing, charm, and imperial diction, but he could not hide what had just occurred from the outside world. No one would see Daisy Buchanan with him in the yellow car, for she was sprawled in his lap, crying hysterically.
"Don't cry, Daisy, darling," Gatsby begged her in an anxious voice that he tried to make as loving as he could. "You're almost home…. We're almost in East Egg… you're almost home. You have tonight to think things through, before you call me in the morning."
Gatsby sighed with relief when he approached the red-and-white Georgian Colonial mansion, all lit up by the line of French windows in front. The thirty-two-year-old billionaire said loving words to the twenty-three-year-old love of his life before they both got up and out of the car. The Buchanan's French butler Henri took one look at the horrific vehicle, and then scowled at Gatsby. An expression of anger was returned on Gatsby's boyish face, and he tried to remain civilized when he said to Henri, "Please don't ask any questions, old sport. Just take my car to the garage for now, and then to West Egg. Mrs. Buchanan's been through a lot tonight."
Daisy had stopped crying. Now she wore an indifferent expression on her face, and it pained Gatsby to see that all of its light had dimmed. His beloved Daisy was miserable, and it pained Gatsby to see her look this way. He wrapped his arms around her and embraced her.
"Go to your room, and lock herself in," Gatsby whispered in her ear. "If Tom tries any brutality on you, you have to turn the light out and on again. Then I will be required to take action. Do you hear me, Daisy? Please let me know you'll do this."
The fragile blonde mustered a subtle nod. Gatsby pulled Daisy close, kissed her cheek, and said, "Give me a call in the morning, but tonight you should try to get some sleep."
Daisy did not respond. This killed Gatsby. He hated it when Daisy closed herself off from him. He wanted to know what she was thinking at all times. He needed her to let him in. But he was at least halfway satisfied, because she nodded when he told her to lock herself in her room from Tom. However, he wished she could have promised she would call him in the morning. Gatsby gave her a fake smile, turned around, twitched nervously, and started away.
Daisy stared at her feet while one of her servants held the front door for her. She entered the large house and felt a chill come over her. It was peaceful in the house, but too peaceful, like a graveyard. And Daisy couldn't bring herself to think of a graveyard – not after she killed a woman. She took a deep breath after arriving in her bedroom, and turned on the light so Gatsby would know she was there. She knew Gatsby was watching from the dark bushes outside the fence. Daisy locked her door and reluctantly removed her white dress. Exposing herself, even with no one there, was uncomfortable for Daisy tonight, almost as if she was worried that when she exposed herself, she was revealing herself for who she really was. It was as though she was anxious that when she took off her expensive dress, the furniture in her room would be able to see the indecisive, unstable murderer that she was, like the eyes on the advertisement had seen.
Of course it wasn't Daisy's fault that the woman had died. That was what Gatsby told her, at least. Daisy was nervous, and she'd swerved to avoid a head-on collision with another car. The woman had run into the road, right in front of the car, and Daisy didn't have enough control to stop in time. Daisy's fingers trembled as she opened the closet and reached for her nightgown and robe. She thought about what would happen tomorrow. She would call Jay, and tell him she was ready to leave. She would be his forever, and finally escape the man who did nothing but cheat on her since the day they were married. Then she and Jay would be married, and they would start over. And if Daisy could convince him, they would run away from here. She knew that Jay wanted to remain in his fairytale castle, but Daisy wanted to leave Long Island. Then they would live happily ever after. Everything that had happened today, tonight, and during the last five years would vanish into thin air like none of the events had ever happened. Daisy liked this plan. She wanted to leave with Jay.
Daisy did not allow herself to cry anymore. She sat at her vanity mirror and stared into her reflection, hardening her gaze as if to threaten herself. You have to forget about tonight, her eyes seemed to say. You have to know that woman never existed.
The pink glow from Daisy's room was challenged by a glow outside. She turned to her window and saw a familiar dark blue car arrive at the front of the house. Daisy's newly implanted expression of indifference shielded the fear that she felt course through her body. Tom was home. And Tom was not happy. Daisy shuddered as she thought of the afternoon they'd all shared at the Plaza Hotel, and remembered that the only thing that kept her from being afraid then was the fact that she'd had Jay with her, to protect her from Tom's anger. And Tom wouldn't likely try and confront Gatsby to his face after Gatsby had terrified the daylights out of him in that suite – however… Tom wasn't the only one who'd been startled by Jay's tantrum. A spark of doubt flickered in Daisy's mind, when it came to her plans for the future.
A few minutes later Daisy heard voices downstairs. One of them belonged to her friend Jordan. "It was careless of me to ever give a damn about him!" Jordan said miserably, and Daisy assumed that she was referring to Nick Carraway, Daisy's cousin, who'd been with them all day.
"He is a strange one, isn't he?" Tom's voice gruffly agreed, scoffing afterwards.
Footsteps started up the stairs, and Daisy wanted them to be Jordan's, but they were unmistakably Tom's. They were noisy and angry, and seemed to shake things that were nearby, like his abrupt speaking voice and braying laughter. A rap on the door that startled Daisy and hastened her heartbeat was followed by Tom's voice asking, "Daisy, are you in there? Daisy?"
Daisy struggled to soften her breathing so that her husband would not hear it. Tom groped at the knob to get the door open, and found that it was locked. He knocked on the door again. "Daisy. Daisy, will you open the door? I want to talk to you." Daisy froze, and Tom went on, after softening his tone, "Daisy, please let me talk to you. We'll… we'll go downstairs and talk. Jordan's here. Why don't we sit in the kitchen? Daisy, everything's alright. Please talk to me."
Daisy fought to resist Tom's pleas, but the gentle smoothness of her husband's voice beckoned her to the door. Tom had a way with women. He possessed a unique gift that allowed him to hurt them, and afterwards make the pain go away with a tone that contained no evidence of wrongdoing. And right now, his offer to sit together in the kitchen was a lot more inviting than Jay's outburst in the Plaza Hotel. And who was Daisy planning on being married to for the rest of her life? Daisy mentally kicked herself, for she was smarter than this. Tom had deceived her far too many times in the past for her to allow herself to possibly forgive him.
Daisy stood up and went over to the door, grabbing the knob and pulling it open, but wore an expression on her face that sent Tom the message that she wouldn't be easily persuaded into forgiving his actions. "Hello, Daisy," Tom said, looking back at his wife. Daisy thought she could identify all of Tom's expressions and the motives behind them, but this one was foreign to her. The beastly, former football star conveyed only one emotion to the world, and that was arrogance. However, tonight Daisy could see something other than superiority in her husband's icy, judgmental blue eyes, and it was evidence of tears. The epitome of masculinity had cried earlier that evening, and Daisy was fairly certain it was because Tom thought he might have lost his wife. Little did she know, she hadn't entered Tom's mind until he arrived home. Rather than throw her arms around her husband and comfort him, Daisy merely uncrossed her arms.
"Hello, Tom," she replied coldly, and she followed him down the staircase. They walked by a looming portrait of themselves and their daughter Pammy hanging above the fireplace and Jordan laying on the white couch, and found the kitchen. Daisy hadn't turned off her light because she didn't want Jay to think that anything was wrong. She sat down at the table, and her husband sat down beside her, but the chairs weren't very close to each other. One servant brought a plate of cold fried chicken to the table, and another brought two bottles of ale.
Tom didn't thank them, but the servants in the Buchanan household never expected a thank you from him. Neither Buchanan was aware that Nick Carraway was peering at them through the window.
Tom talked to Daisy about that day and their future – how their marriage was going to be better. He said things like, "You have nothing to worry about. Let me take care of things. Let me take care of you," and scooted his chair closer to hers, gently rubbing her back and taking her hand in his from time to time. Daisy found herself nodding at him every so often, but she was only half-listening to his words. By nodding she was agreeing that the two of them would have a future together, and that she was willing to break her promise to Jay. Tom brought his lips towards the top of Daisy's blonde hair the way he always did and kissed her. Daisy felt bad for possibly deceiving her husband, but if she didn't deceive him, she would be deceiving Jay. And Daisy knew that Jay cared more about her than Tom did, no matter how many roses, kisses, and teddy bears Mr. Buchanan showered her with.
Tom enveloped Daisy in his muscular arms and held her for a good ten minutes, and Daisy had no idea whether she should feel secure or uncomfortable in his firm grasp. Tom actually thought that Daisy knew what she was doing, and that she was going to choose him. But Tom Buchanan had no control over Daisy's decisions, and unfortunately for Jay, neither did he. Well, Daisy liked to think that Tom had no control over her decisions. When four o'clock came, Daisy returned to her bedroom and stood by the window, staring out and searching for Jay. She wanted to find him so she could wave or blow a kiss, but he was nowhere in sight. Jay was concealed by darkness, so Daisy merely turned out the light to let him know she was going to bed, concealing herself in darkness as well, and her decision to leave her room and go into the master bedroom where she would sleep in the same bed with her husband Tom.
She climbed into bed beside Tom, pulled the covers over herself, and allowed herself to be pulled tightly to his bare chest with his arm draped possessively over her small waist. Daisy basked in the head radiating from Tom's body, and thought of the fact that the two of them were rarely intimate. Most nights they slept in different beds, in different rooms. Daisy suspected all of Tom's affairs and felt undesirable to him. She reminded herself that things would be different after tomorrow – most likely. Finally, she would belong to someone who wanted her desperately.
But then she thought of Gatsby's money, versus Tom's money. Gatsby made his money through criminal activity. This meant that he could lose it as easily as he earned it, and Daisy had money all her life, but she knew that her wealthy parents would cut her off if she ran away with a man who lost his money. Tom was born wealthy. His wealth was stable. With Tom, Daisy would never have to worry about being thrown out on the street.
That next morning Tom left the house. He told Daisy he was going to the Yale Club, but in reality he was going to his apartment in New York to recover all of Myrtle Wilson's things that were left there – Myrtle was the woman who had been killed. Daisy sat at a table for hours, staring at a telephone. She wanted to call Jay, but for some reason, she couldn't move. She realized that what held her back was Tom last night. His kind words, gestures, and willingness to sleep in bed beside her, kept her in her chair like chains.
She could not bring herself to lean towards the phone and pick it up. But Daisy knew that she was about to make either the best or worst decision, and the less time she wasted, the better.
She mustered all of her strength and leaned forward in her chair, reaching towards the phone. She was going to call Jay….. but how could she do this to her husband? Why did it matter? If Tom was given the choice of being faithful to his wife or leaving with an old girlfriend, he might have picked to leave with the old girlfriend, but Daisy wasn't like Tom. She knew that Tom didn't love her, but she loved him. She hated to admit it, but she loved Tom very much. Daisy thought of the flimsiness of Jay's money versus the stability of Tom's money, the unpredictability of Jay's anger versus the patterns of Tom's anger, and her scandalous relationship with the bootlegger Gatsby versus her celebrated marriage with Tom Buchanan.
Surprisingly, none of this convinced her to remain with Tom rather than leave with Jay. After taking all of these factors into consideration, Daisy would have still decided to leave with Gatsby. Forget Tom! Forget the money! Daisy wanted Gatsby because Gatsby wanted her. And if she weighed her love for Gatsby on the same scale with her love for Tom, her love for Gatsby would be heavier. She preferred Gatsby. She adored his perfect, irresistible imagination and ceaselessly romantic heart, whether he owned a million enchanted objects or not.
It wasn't until Daisy felt a sharp, burning pain in her chest that the telephone fell from her delicate hand, and her crying head leaned into her lap. Something was wrong. Somewhere, something was wrong. The ache was so severe that Daisy decided to lift her head and turn around just to make sure that no one was standing behind her, pointing a gun at her back. She needed to make sure that no one had just shot her through her heart. No one was there. It was Daisy's imagination. So why didn't she pick up the phone and try again to call Jay? Daisy had a horrifying, nightmarish feeling that there was no use. If she called, Jay wouldn't hear her. Why did she feel this way? Daisy had a supernatural indication that Jay needed her, and she hadn't been there for him. It was as though, this time, Jay was the one who couldn't be reached.
"I'm sorry, Jay," Daisy sniffed back her tears, and she stood up and crossed the room to the staircase. She went upstairs to her bedroom and cried into her pillow for several more hours. She'd had her chance to leave with Jay, and she hadn't taken it. Daisy felt silly for feeling so defeated. She could still call Jay. She would. Tonight. It was dark outside when Daisy finally came back down the stairs to give the phone another try. This was when the front door opened, and she found herself standing face to face with her husband Tom. The look on his face frightened her. It wasn't angry, but it was dark… and slightly….. triumphant.
"Where are you going, Daisy?" Tom asked, the way he asked often. Tom was very paranoid about his wife's every move, and this had gotten worse since she'd begun her affair with Gatsby. If Daisy shifted her position in her chair during dinner, Tom would demand to know why she decided to do that. To say that Tom was a controlling husband was an understatement. He used his hulking physicality and commanding voice to remind her every day that he was in charge of the household, and every decision she made would have to be run by him. But tonight when he asked this, his voice was lacking that familiar quality of accusation it typically possessed.
"Oh, just to the porch to admire the trees –" Daisy began nervously.
"No, no, no, come here," Tom argued, gesturing for her to come to him. So Daisy went over to him like an obedient puppy, and allowed herself to stand in his arms. "Actually, we'll go to the porch together," Tom decided, and so they went together like he said. After they sat down, Tom cleared his throat and gravely explained, "Daisy, there's something I need to tell you. And this might come as a shock to you, but I'm certainly not shocked. I think it makes sense to be honest, and I hate to say it, but I think he deserved it –"
"What are you talking about, Tom?" Daisy snapped, becoming more and more worried with every word her husband said. She prayed that he wasn't talking about Gatsby.
"Daisy….. Gatsby's dead," Tom informed her, but it took a moment for Daisy to comprehend his words. "His body was found this afternoon in his pool. He was killed by a man who was married to the woman he ran down last night." Daisy didn't allow herself to cry, because if she let herself cry she would scream. Tom continued with a contemptuous air that verged on hysteria, "Serves him right – he ran her over like she was nothing and kept on driving!" The way Tom rambled about the woman frightened and confused Daisy.
What did Tom care if a woman was run down? Since when did Tom Buchanan care about anything other than himself? Tom seemed to care so much about this nameless woman that Daisy worried if she showed any evidence that she was the one who killed her, Tom would beat her to death right now. Daisy held her tongue between her teeth to prevent any whimper from escaping her mouth. She remained absolutely silent even after Tom insisted, "We're getting out of here, Daisy, for a little while. We'll go to Europe until this all blows over. Reporters are gonna come to us with questions, and we don't have answers for them. And your cousin – I'll be damned if he comes within a mile of us at this point."
Daisy was right about today last night. She was right that she was going to run away soon, except she was wrong to think she was running away with Gatsby. Gatsby was dead. Daisy was going to leave with Tom. No wonder she'd felt a sharp pain in her chest earlier that afternoon. Perhaps she'd felt it in the moment that Jay was killed, like they had been soul mates. Her soul mate was gone. Daisy cried into her pillow for the innocent man who had died for her, and also for the life she could have had. Daisy wanted to be at Jay's funeral, but she knew that wouldn't be wise.
If she was seen at the funeral, someone could make a connection and somehow figure out that she was the one driving the yellow car. She didn't want anyone to know she was involved in the accident. It was better to disassociate herself from the entire tragedy. That was why Tom kept insisting they leave soon. Daisy couldn't tell anyone the truth, and she hated to think it, but she was kind of lucky that Jay died because the truth died with him. No one would ever know it was her behind the wheel. Daisy felt terrible to be feeling this way, but she could not help it.
The next afternoon Daisy's white-haired daughter Pammy entered the room wailing. Daisy went over to her daughter and grabbed her. "Oh, what is it, pre-cious? Why are you crying?" she inquired of the three-year-old.
"Mommy, Mommy, Mommy, I hate this dress!" Pammy insisted, pulling at the ends of her beautiful white dress. "I hate this color! Waaaaaaaaggggggghhhhh, Mommy!"
Rather than laugh at the ridiculousness of her daughter's petty concern, Daisy burst into tears herself. The delicate socialite effortlessly lifted the toddler into the air, showing that she was stronger than she looked. She sobbed into Pammy's white hair, and begged, "Don't cry, Pammy! Beautiful little fools can wear whatever color they want!"
So the Buchanans were gone for about a month. They had no reason to miss New York while they were away, now that both Tom's and Daisy's lovers were dead. However, Tom had gotten over Myrtle. One of his goals during this vacation was to find someone new, and possibly leave her brokenhearted too, like he'd done with Myrtle. Daisy, on the other hand, often thought about Gatsby. Some nights she thought about the October night when they'd met, in 1917. She thought about the twenty-seven-year-old soldier who stole her heart, and wished she could return to that night. That night money didn't matter. For all Daisy knew at the time, she could have married Jay. Growing up, Daisy had dreamed of love, and Jay Gatsby was her first love.
But most of all, Daisy thought about – wondered – what her life would have been like, had she just left the damn Plaza Hotel with Jay to be with him forever. One night while Tom's arms were wrapped around her, Daisy had a dream where they were back in the hotel suite…..
"You're not going to take care of her anymore," Jay said with a neurotic smile that put him on the brink of revealing the immensity of his anger. "She's leaving you –"
"NONSENSE!" Tom roared.
"I am, though!" Daisy attempted to compete with her husband's volume.
"No, no, no, she is not leaving me," Tom argued, shaking his head. "And certainly not for a common swindler like you."
"Jay, let's go," Daisy decided, but only in her dream. She wanted to say this in real life, but could not bring herself to. She and Gatsby started to the door.
"Daisy, get back here!" Tom called after her. "Fine! Leave with him! Do it! But mark my words: you're gonna come crawling back to me, the way you always do!"
Tom's words meant nothing now while Jay was slamming the door shut behind him. Daisy was close to hyperventilating as the two of them practically jogged down the hall to the elevator. When Daisy looked up at Jay's face through her own tears, she saw a smile of genuine happiness and triumph. To Daisy this ordeal was painful, but to Jay it was just a game that he'd won. Daisy grabbed Jay's hand, and said with hysterical certainty, "I'm never going home."
"I don't want you to," Jay assured her in a satisfied tone. Slowly his red face returned to its normal color, and so did Daisy's. "Daisy, I'll drive us home." And in that moment, the definition of "home" transformed into Jay's castle. It was no longer Tom's mansion in East Egg. Jay had enough control over the vehicle to get them to West Egg without getting in an accident. No one was killed that evening. Or the next day. Daisy slept with Jay in his bed, and remained inside this sanctuary where she was protected from the disapproval of her husband and parents.
Every day brought a new adventure. Jay took her wherever she wanted to go and bought her whatever she wanted. They had children and grew old together. They died of old age, peacefully, leaving behind dozens of grandchildren named "Gatsby" to carry on the family line. Daisy was Jay's queen, and Jay was Daisy's king.
In the moment that Daisy died in her dream, she woke up in reality. Tom's arms were a prison, trapping her, the way he tried to do on the afternoon when they went to the Plaza. Daisy remembered telling Gatsby that she didn't want to go home one night when she'd slept with him in his home. Well, the same went for now. She didn't want to return home after the trip she'd taken with her husband and daughter, but she had to reenter the mansion on a day in October. Tom left the house again for mysterious reasons, and Daisy had nowhere to go, so she encouraged herself to stand outside. There was something there she wanted to see.
"If it wasn't for the mist, we could see the green light," she remembered Jay's voice telling her the first day she'd seen him in five years –
To which Daisy had replied, "What green light?"
"The one that burns all night at the end of your dock," Gatsby explained.
Daisy never really noticed that green light before Jay pointed it out to her. Daisy had so many things that it didn't matter if there was a green light on her dock. Now it mattered, because it had mattered to Jay. Anything that mattered to Jay mattered now to Daisy. Daisy wished she could find a way to relive her relationship with him, whether it be to go back in time, or meet someone new who reminded her of him. The sun went down on East Egg, and its glow was replaced by the green glow in front of Daisy. From now on Daisy stood on her dock every night staring into the luminous emerald beam, taking comfort in its company as though it was Gatsby himself.
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Author's Note: This is based on the movie The Great Gatsby that premiered in 2013, starring Leonardo DiCaprio and Carey Mulligan, but the scene where Pammy cried about her dress was from the 1975 version starring Robert Redford and Mia Farrow. I actually wrote this scene five months ago in October, but haven't gotten a chance to post it until now. The reason I'm posting it is that I haven't written anything on fanfiction in two years, and am hoping to write more on fanfiction after my long hiatus. I like to think that Daisy cared about Gatsby, so that's why I wrote this scene.