Disclaimer ; These characters are not mine, unfortunately. They are entirely Fitzgerald's A/N This is my first ever piece here so i hope you like it and please review and tell me what you think We lay on the sofa in Daisy’s parlour, an inexpressible lassitude keeping us still like statues. Only the ticking of an antique clock broke the silence. The tea, we were supposed to be drinking like civilised married ladies, cooled peacefully in cups. I raised my hand to order my hair and the hard glistening of the new diamond, incongruous on my browned golfer’s hand, arrested my attention. I heard Daisy move and her rich voice broke the silence. “It was a very pretty wedding, wasn’t it? I never saw such a pretty wedding. You and John looked so happy. Are you happy?” I tilted my head back, slightly raising my chin. I wondered how long it would take Daisy to get to the point. She has always had a tendency to dance around the point, I prefer a good clean drive. Daisy continued wistfully, “I wrote to Nick. You remember Nick? I once thought he was in love with me. He’s grown dreadfully stiff. How is John?” I smiled jauntily - as Nick would say. “He’s a careful driver.” Daisy looked confused for a moment, then brushed over it. “You are happy? Despite how I desperately tried to make you and Nick fall in love?’ I tried to evade the subject, a moment of dizziness passing over me. “Nick did throw me over,” I said firmly. ‘And I believe he disliked it when you didn’t go to Gatsby’s funeral.” It came out rather acerbic. Daisy, uncomfortable, sprang up and went to the window, gazing out as if for something she had misplaced.

I opened my mouth to speak when Daisy cut across me. "I do regret it, you know. I did love him. But ... he wanted too much of me." Her vibrant voice was unusually high. She reached for a cigarette, tried to light it. Daisy turned to me, stamping her foot to emphasise her point. "I loved him. I did," she declared vehemently, then turned to look at me appealingly. "You remember - I tried to go to him. Before my wedding." I nodded, remembering the dissolved letter. Daisy came to the sofa, resting her head against me. I stroked her bright hair, my finger mixing in with its rich colour. "Tom looks after me," She murmured in her little girl lost voice. I sighed, irritated. Daisy looked up sharply, her expression carefully confused. Impatiently, I reiterated an old topic, "You could look after yourself a little more. I manage it. You could rely on yourself." Daisy shrugged gaily. "But you married! Jordan, you must have one of these cakes. They are delicious. They reminded me of flowers." She gestured to the table. I gave up and laughingly put up a hand. "Oh no! I'm still absolutely in training."

For a short while we chattered inconsequentially about charming dresses, evening engagements and golf. Outside, the afternoon shaded into twilight and the sky went to a cool blue. I found myself admiring the tasteful cream of the sofa and drapes. The telephone rang. Voices rose and fell. I leaned, unabashed, trying to listen. Daisy flounced back, slamming the door petulantly. "Tom's staying in Chicago," she pouted. "You'll stay for dinner?" I hesitated, "I have a game ..." Daisy seized my hand. "Oh, you have to stay! We'll have a feast." Her eyes were a little too bright. Tom must have another woman, but her enthusiasm was infectious. I laughed my acquiescence. "No drinks though!"

Daisy was almost impossibly restless. I stayed relaxed; first rule of any game, stay calm, let them get flustered, then they give it away. First cautious stroke - "Tom's been busy recently?' Daisy's smile became brittle, she waved a hand, brushing my words away. "Do you miss Nick?" I fiddled with a book, wondering whether Daisy was more artful than I thought. "Yes," I said truthfully. "I felt awfully dizzy, but he wasn't careful. And so caught up in Gatsby and the deaths." Daisy looked up, startled, almost scared, 'Lets have - have a mint julep!" I looked at her. "Daisy? Is something wrong?" She was fiddling now. 'No, of course not. Look, there's dinner. We still have the butler with the nose." I knew she was lying. Before, she'd had the fantasy of life with Gatsby. Gatsby coming to claim her followed by unadulterated bliss. Now a little layer was peeled off, leaving her flinching from the bite of the wind.

I reached out and took her hand. "Daisy ... I was so unhappy when Nick left." I watched a candle flicker. In the twilight this motion seemed to make the painted flowers come alive. "I thought he was wonderful. He kept me company and I thought we really had something. I know I moved us along sometimes but I thought it was Nick as well. He was so..." I frowned, Daisy squeezed my hand. "Awfully stiff and then nice. I loved Gatsby because he used to tell me all these stories. We'd sit on the sofa, or in my car. He'd tell me about this wonderful future we were going to have, how perfect it would be. And then we'd kiss and other things. He made me feel so safe. He always protected me and then he was gone." Her expression shifted, her voice, widely admired, was sad. "I didn't feel safe. I couldn't believe it without him and people said things. So I married Tom. I'll always be protected with Tom, he's so ..." I struggled to think what she meant of Tom. "Reliable?" She gave a slight nod." I thought Nick was. Yet I regret it, not making him stay. I.." Daisy face was intent, genuinely listening. Maybe this wasn't the time for the half truths that ruled our friendship. "I loved him." A whisper of a sentence carried on the breeze. I sighed, twisting the ring, grotesque on my hand. "It would never have worked." Daisy stroked my hand. "Nick was too remote. Gatsby was like a dream. He had such beautiful shirts. I thought it would be easy." Returning the favour I said, 'Gatsby wasn't a perfect gentleman. He killed that woman." Daisy's head snapped up. "He didn't," she whispered. "I ... was driving. He was protecting me. I let him. Tom could never know or I wouldn't be safe." She began to weep. I was repulsed, shocked to the core. I got up, turning to leave. Daisy looked up, tear-streaked. We were too alike, she and I, in the end. Telling ourselves the little lies that made it bearable, this dazzling restrictive existence. I sat down and comforted her.