It had always seemed like a dream. I had learnt in my childhood that dreams were misleading. As my father would narrate stories about spirits and the abilities of dream catchers, I would listen in awe as James, my twin brother, would roll on the floor laughing. Father simply ignored James, and in that oblivious state of mind, lost him to a fast train. That train took away my brother and father with it, mother already long gone. In these anxious and brooding years of youth, I spent my energy working towards a new dream, and I found myself at the age of twenty nine getting out of an automobile, staring at the dreary cottage that was to be my new home.
New York City. The home of the new corruption of the 1920s in America. It was the place where the newly rich came to throw their money for happiness, falling back in pillows of green. It was in this jungle that I would find myself tangled in the lives of Emma, Neal, Mary-Margaret, Regina, and most importantly Jones. It was in this city that I would submerge myself in the waters of parties and haunted minds.
My name is David Nolan. Graduating from Princeton and moving back to Minnesota, I had found myself not satisfied with the timing of events. One summer, tired of the slow life of the West, I had packed my few belongings and headed to New York City. I wanted to work with bonds, and there was no better place than New York. My second-cousin Emma Cassidy and her husband Neal Cassidy had recently moved to the city from Paris with their son Henry. I had known Neal from the war and Emma was quite fond of me. It didn't surprise me when she called me up as soon as I reached the city, begging me to visit Neal and her.
"Oh please, Davy! It has been ages since I have seen you! And Henry is dying for your stories!" I had bit my lip, knowing I had work the next day.
"Emma, I don't know." I heard her sigh on the other hand.
"Just for a few hours. We'll have a few drinks, a splendid dinner, and engage in useless conversation! Don't be such a nuisance!" I had agreed finally; it had been a while since I had seen Emma and her family.
I lived in the West Egg, a series of large homes owned by the newly rich of America. They were young and reckless, and were looking for ways to spend their money. My own home was dirty, small, and cheap, nestled in some trees next to a mansion. This was the home of Jones. I did not know the man's first name, but his reputation preceded him. The driver had told me he was the President's son. Others had told me he was a Russian spy. I didn't believe them, but staring at the looming towers of his home, I found myself pondering the question over and over again. Who was this man? Why did he never show his face to anyone? I looked for a sign of life in the home, but all I could occasionally see was the flutter of a curtain, as if he was watching me.
I made my way to Emma's home around five. She lived in the East Egg, the aristocracy of the world. The homes were bigger and brighter here. Neal had some sort of inheritance, letting Emma and him travel all over the world, moving to a new city every few months. In between the Eggs was the valley of ashes, a dark place filled with the haunted dreams of the poor, staring out at me through the thin hazes of dust. It was a blinding sort of dust that enticed me as I looked out the window, catching the eye of a small boy sitting in the ashes, petting a cat. I quickly looked away.
Neal was standing on the exquisite white steps of his mansion, his hands on his hips as he watched the car come up the drive. I got out, taking my hat off and waving at Neal. He made his way to me, slapping my back. Neal was built strong; he had been a polo player in his youth. His muscles rippled underneath his white shirt, his breeches too tight, boots strained against his feet.
"How are you doing, David?" asked Neal grinning. There was some gray in his brown hair.
"I'm fine, Neal."
"Emma's been missing you."
"I've heard." Neal led me inside the home, servants opening various doors. The windows were open, letting the warm summer air inside, white curtains fluttering in the wind. The home was impressive, filled with antique wood, paintings, and crystal chandeliers. Servants stood at every corner, their backs straight, arms behind their back. I gulped audibly.
"Something wrong, David?" asked Neal, his arm still around my shoulders. I managed a weak smile.
"Just tired." A servant opened the main door, and I was greeted by a large couch on which sat two women.
There was Emma Swan Cassidy. She refused to cut her hair in the crazy fashions of the day, and it fell to the middle of her back, long, golden, and curly. She looked frailer than before, her collarbones seen easily and the white dress she donned moved slightly in the wind. Her eyes gleamed as soon as she saw me, as if I was the most beautiful sight in the world.
Emma held a hand out, a fancy diamond shining on her left hand. "Davy," she whispered. I couldn't help but smile when I heard her voice, a trill of bells. Emma was the golden girl, living in the white castle. Neal finally let go of my shoulders, and I couldn't help but let out a breath.
Next to Emma was a petite raven-haired woman with a pixie cut. I had never seen such fair skin in my life, and her red lips shone against them. She appeared to be bored, a glass of gin in her hand. The woman wore a straight white dress. She looked over at me, an uninterested expression on her face, and back at whatever void she was staring at.
Emma stood up and gave me a large hug, bringing the scent of vanilla and jasmine with her, her hair soft against my neck. She let go of me, her green orbs shining.
"Oh, David. I have missed you so much." She seemed to be honest, and I noticed moisture in her eyes.
"I missed you too, dear cousin." Emma smiled and looked at Neal.
"Isn't this wonderful, dear? A new city, David! Things are going to be so wonderful this year!" Neal had poured himself a drink, and was now sipping it. He shrugged.
"Of course."
She motioned for me to sit down.
"Now, David. What would you like? Gin? Wine?"
"Anything, Emma."
She pondered this, biting her lower lip a little.
"Neal, make the man a drink." Neal grunted and walked out of the room to do so. Emma sat next to me, taking my hand. She was about to speak, when she noticed the other woman.
"David, meet my friend Mary-Margaret. " Finally. The woman had a name. Emma looked at Mary-Margaret.
"Mary-Margaret, I hope you know my cousin David Nolan. He's from the West." Mary-Margaret stood up, a cigarette in her hand.
"Of course I know who he is, Emma. You've been talking about him whole day." Emma laughed. Mary-Margaret lit her cigarette and looked at me, an eyebrow raised.
"David Nolan," she said quietly. I wiped my forehead.
"That's me," I answered nervously. Mary-Margaret nodded, lowering the cigarette. "Where do you live, David?" she asked.
"West Egg." Mary-Margaret sat down on the couch, stretching her legs on the table in front of her.
"West Egg, eh? You know, I was just there a few weeks ago at this amazing party." She turned to me now.
"The man's name was Jones. Do you know a man named Jones?" Her eyebrow was raised, and for a moment I forgot to breathe, lost in her dark eyes.
I could feel Emma tense next to me.
"Jones? What Jones?" she asked, her voice strained. Mary-Margaret and I turned to her. I was puzzled by Emma's face, all the color drained from it. I couldn't recognize the fact at that moment, but now when I remember it, I can; it was the face of a woman who had lost her lover.