The apparent buzz in our fellow diner's was lacking in our own minds and persona. Jordan, who had never been a stranger to a drink, had spent the night with out the companionship of alcohol. Her walk along the path was typical; her nimble body behaved as if she was balancing an object yet the object in question did not limit her grace.

Again, I felt as if my speaking would disrupt her. Nonetheless, I cleared my throat, "You never told me about your meeting with Gatsby."

She paused, turning towards me so her white dress flowed around her. Her head tilted, the object falling to the floor, "Which meeting?"

"The one where he said he went to Oxford."

"Oh!" her musical voice, second to only Daisy's rang through the night. She spun back, fluidly sitting on a bench and looking back at me. "It was at the first time I went to one of his parties. The garden was set up as it usually is, perhaps a bit smaller but even then I knew I liked his parties better than the smaller ones. Daisy had wanted me to stay with her for the evening but then Tom came home and she stopped moping. Most people don't think she mopes when Tom is with his mistress but she does, you just have to know her. Anyway, I was talking to a rather handsome gentleman about the latest tournament when Gatsby walked over. He introduced himself and asked if I was the same Jordan Baker that used to live in Louisville and made bandages for the Red Cross in nineteen-seventeen and I told him I was. He then asked if I continued to keep in touch with Daisy and I told him I did. He took me to one of his rooms, the one with all the books. That's when he started telling me about Oxford. He was rather quick to tell the story about his treasure hunts. He didn't like me asking questions either which makes me think something went on there."

She looked back at me, a small smile on her face, "I think something went on that he doesn't like very much, something that would be very scandalous if it came out."

I watched her for a brief moment before speaking up again, "And then what?"

"Well, he asked me if I could invite Daisy to one of his parties. I told him she would be very unlikely to ever go, she wouldn't like it. He seemed rather distressed when I told him that and kept persisting I at least try. I told him I would." She gave me a wry smile, "I never did, of course, I know Daisy."

Her behavior didn't surprise me yet it tired me. I sighed, still being compelled to Jordan above all the others and drew her close. She tilted her head at me but obliged to my advancements.

"A solider proposed to me, once. It was right after the war when the men were coming home. He asked me on my balcony but I knew I didn't want a silly man and this one was very silly. He's not at all like you, Nick."

I looked at her, pulling back, "And would you oblige to me proposing?"

Her smile was back, "Oh I don't suppose so but you could become silly like all the others. You would have to keep your wits about you."

I nodded, drawing my face close to hers. At that moment I knew I would not propose to Jordan. The thought itself had never entered my head so I had not reached a decision one way or the other. But now I knew, if I were to spend the rest of my life with any woman it would not be this woman. Jordan was far too careless and shallow for my taste. She would remind me too much of the summer months, too much of our ordeal with Gatsby.

"I think I shall die an old maid," she announced, drawing away from me.

I glanced at her, "And why is that?"

"Because men are either too idealistic or too realistic, even you Nick. If I were to marry those spinster women would all say the same thing: 'There goes Jordan Baker, finally in her place with a man and a baby. I knew it was only a matter of time before her independent golf phase wore off.' I don't want it to wear off, I like my place just where it is."

I nodded, "Then, perhaps, you shall die an old maid."

She nodded as well, standing up and allowing me to take her arm after I had caught up. "I shall and I will never be hurt in the way Daisy has. You hurt my feelings before, Nick, I suppose then I wouldn't marry you."

If she was being sarcastic, I could not tell. She seemed to be completely sincere yet the glint in her eyes told me she was up to something. I knew I would be leaving West Egg for good yet I apologized and drove her home, after driving her home once I swore to never do it again.

When we stopped at her home I kissed her as if it were the last time I would ever get the chance to touch her. She opened her door, smiling again at me and waved, "Good bye Nick, I shall see you at the funeral."

She never came and I never expected her to.