Several times Tom turned his head back and looked for the car, his car, the car that Gatsby and Daisy were riding in. If the traffic delayed them, he slowed up until they came into sight. I think he was afraid they would dart down a side street and out of his life forever.
But they didn't. They simply stayed there, always just behind us, always just barely visible, until Tom could take it take no more, and he stopped his car in front of the central park.
"There's no sense driving in circles in this heat," he shouted, when the other car pulled up alongside him.
"It's better than sitting on the side of the road in the heat," Daisy said, from where she was sitting next to Gatsby.
Tom killed the engine. "Whatever we're doing here, we may as well hurry and do it."
"What's the rush, old sport?"
Tom didn't answer. He simply stared at Gatsby with a trembling gaze that could not entirely conceal his feelings.
"Oh I know!" Daisy exclaimed, laughing innocently. "Let's get five rooms in that plaza there. Then we'll have five bathtubs and we can all take ice baths."
"Five seems a bit excessive, doesn't it?"
Gatsby chuckled at that, but he was the only one.
Jordan lifted my arm with her hand and wrapped it around her shoulders. She held onto it, with both hands, as if it could defend her from the cold silence.
"Well then perhaps we should get one room and sip mint juleps?"
"One room, five rooms. I don't care how many rooms we rent," Tom spat, "so long as we rent them and be done with it."
"Well said, old sport."
Tom didn't reply. He rose from the car, slammed the door behind him, and walked across the street toward the Plaza Hotel, not bothering to avoid the path of oncoming cars, and forcing them to stop or swerve to avoid hitting him. Daisy and Gatsby parked his car, then followed his lead, stepping carelessly in front of a ruby Victorian and laughing at the chaos which ensued. Finally, Jordan and I made our way away from the yellow car. We crossed the street slowly and then entered through the revolving doors.
A doorman greeted us with five "g'days" and five stiff nods which were acknowledged by no one in our party. On another day, I may have thanked him, but I was too interested in watching Jordan, who was watching Daisy, who was watching no one. So, as a herd, we pressed our way toward the counter.
"What can I git for you today, Sir?" the clerk asked cheerfully.
"Five rooms," Tom answered.
"Oh, don't be ridiculous!" Daisy said from behind him.
"You wanted five rooms!" Tom snapped. "Five rooms is what you said."
"We were having a laugh," she explained to the clerk. "We only need one room."
"If he wants to pay for five rooms," Jordan said mostly to herself, "I see no reason to stop him. I could stand for a little privacy." She reached for my hand as she said the words.
"Just get one room, old sport," Gatsby insisted.
The clerk didn't seem to know who he ought to listen to. He just sat there, behind the dark oak of the front desk, looking from one face to another, trying to determine whether he ought to give us five keys or one.
"We thought we'd come to town for a relaxing afternoon—" Daisy said.
"And it certainly has been relaxing," Jordan added.
"We just need our rooms," Tom insisted, seething.
The clerk wilted away before us.
But then Daisy stepped forward and revived him with her smile. "Forgive us," she cooed, in that same voice she would have used to say pre-cious bles-sed to her clinging child. Her words made the clerk smile, and he handed over one key into her outstretched palm.
Tom tried to finish paying for the room, but Gatsby held out the bills before he had even fetched his wallet. "Allow me," he insisted.
"Fine," Tom said. "May as well." He stomped off while Gatsby finished paying, and Daisy followed behind him, slowly, as if stretching herself out between the two men.
Eventually, Jordan and I headed toward the stairs as well. We had reached the second floor, and nearly reached our room, before Daisy realized she'd forgotten to buy a bag of ice for the mint juleps.
"We forgot the ice," she said to Tom.
"We'll ring for it," he said.
"Won't you just go get some?" she asked, with the same sort of plea that had sent him to fetch the drinks earlier, when she'd kissed Gatsby in their living room.
The sounds didn't move him a second time, though. If anything they reminded her of the way he'd seen her use her eyes to tell Gatsby she loved him. His jaw clenched and I thought he was going to hit her. It made me think of Wilson's wife, and her bruises, and her dull brown eyes.
Jordan broke the silence. "Nick and I will go get the ice," she said.
She led me by the hand, back the way we'd come.
"She's awful," Jordan said gleefully, once we had rounded a corner.
"They don't seem to think so," I said, jerking my head back at Tom and Gatsby.
"They would," she said, smiling at me. "If they knew her."
"And you do know her, I suppose?"
"Of course," she laughed, and for the first time, her voice reminded me of Daisy's. It had that same slight warmth, that same melodious pitch, that same sweetness. It wasn't as rich as Daisy's voice was, but it contained the same promise.
As I was still thinking about Jordan's voice, I felt a jerk on my hand. She was leading me into an empty hotel room, one that was propped open by a maid's tools. Without bothering to call for or look for or even spare a thought for the cleaning person, Jordan guided me into the room's small bathroom. She shut the door behind her. I didn't see her turn the golden lock, but I was certain that she had, just as I was certain that she would turn toward me with that smile in her eyes and that hint of a promise on her lips.
4