A/N: This was my very first Gatsby fanfic that I wrote in the spring of 2013. It's just a fun, silly story about how Gatsby and Nick play a prank on Tom. Enjoy!
"IT'S JUST A PRANK, OLD SPORT."
It was a few weeks after meeting Gatsby at his party. I ran into him a couple of times, mostly when he stands alone on his neighbor's dock gazing out at the stretch of water to that green light. We didn't talk much, every once and a while we would catch up on the news.
One Sunday morning, I sat back in my chair trying to take my mind off of work when I heard a rapping at my door. Jumping to feet, I went to answer. "Hello?" I opened the door and met none other than Gatsby.
"Hello, old sport." He smiled. There was something behind that smile that I couldn't decipher clearly. "May I come in?"
"Of course," I swung the door out wider and invited him inside. "What brings you over here?" I left to my pathetic kitchen to grab some refreshments. His visit had caught me completely off guard and I felt slightly embarrassed about the state of my house- it was quite messy.
Gatsby followed me into the kitchen. "So, old sport, how have you been?" His gaze wandered around, looking at the array of pots and dishes from my supper the night previous.
"Everything has been swell," I responded as I handed him a glass of whisky. "I apologize for the lack of refreshments. I was not expecting a visit to-day."
"It's all right," He smiled. "I just came over because I needed to ask you a favor." Gatsby set his glass down on the table and walked over to where I was standing.
"You remember Daisy, correct?"
"How could I forget, she's a relative."
"You know how she is married to Tom Buchanan?" Gatsby pressed further. I wondered where he was going with this.
"Yes..." My voice trailed off.
He smiled widely and said excitedly, "Do you want to play a prank on Tom?"
"What?" I gasped. "Are we children?"
Gatsby laughed and he put his hand on my shoulder. "Old sport, you know how much of a pain he is. I know you feel the same as I do when it comes to Tom. It will be nothing but a simple, harmless joke."
"What is this 'joke' exactly?" I inquired.
"I had thought this over for quite some time." Gatsby began. I really do wonder how much free time this man has. "We shall place a pail over his door that is filled to the brim with water (or even mud), and when he opens the door- bam! He is soaked."
"I suppose that does sound harmless." Before I could change my mind, Gatsby grabbed my arm and dragged me forcefully out of my house. "Where are we going?" I demanded.
"My place," He answered curtly.
Gatsby nodded to a butler and went inside his mansion. He led us through some large, decorated halls until we reached a wooden door that was off to the side and out of the way.
"What is in here?" I asked him.
"Cleaning supplies," Gatsby opened the door and rummaged through the shelves. "Here we are, a good-sized pail." He tossed me a metal bucket.
"What will we fill it with?"
"Old sport, you ask too many questions. Even though Tom deserves a bucket of mud or paint dropped on him, we will be merciful and only fill it with water." Gatsby closed the door and took the bucket from my hands. He left down the hall from which we came. After some walking we reached his large swimming pool.
"We can fill it with pool water," Gatsby knelt down and dunked the pail beneath the surface of the water. "Hopefully, none will spill." He grabbed the full pail and gingerly took it to the garage.
A beautiful, yellow car greeted us when we entered the garage. Despite the dim lighting in the room, the car still had an impressive shine to it. Gatsby hopped into the driver's seat and started the engine. "Hold the pail, old sport." He ordered. I took the full pail, some water splashing over the side and onto my clothes, and sat in the passenger seat.
As we sped down the street, narrowly avoiding a fruit stand, I struggled to not spill a single drop.
"You do know my name is Nick," I mentioned.
"Yeah?"
"You keep on calling me 'old sport'. Feel free to call me by my name." I smiled awkwardly.
"Force of habit, old sport." Gatsby turned the wheel sharply and we spun out on the dirt road. With one hand I held onto the pail, and with the other I gripped the side of the car until my knuckles were white as snow.
We soon found ourselves in East Egg in no time flat, due to Gatsby's driving skills. "Now, listen up. We'll park the car down the road so we won't be detected." Gatsby drove slower and scanned the road for the perfect place to hide a bright yellow vehicle. He continued, "Then we will take the bucket of water," he glanced down at the near-empty bucket and my soaked clothing, "or lack there of, and put it over the door where Tom enters the house."
"We should refill it first," I piped up.
"Excellent idea, Nick."
"Mixing it up a little." I muttered. Gatsby ended up parking the car in some bushes behind a crumbling mansion. We jumped out of the car and bolted for the beach. I ran onto a dock and leaned over, placing the bucket underwater to fill it.
"Done, old sport? We should hurry."
"I got it," I handed Gatsby the pail of water, dribbling a little on his shirt. He didn't seem to mind the water as he turned around sharply and headed up for the Buchanan's mansion down the road.
Diving behind some large hedges, he scurried across the lawn like a mouse in a kitchen. Tom was playing polo not far off. I followed, praying that we did not get caught. Gatsby motioned for me to join him behind some trees, waving his hand wildly. I silently dashed over to his side.
"Here's what we are going to do," He whispered. I leaned in closer, the background noise of the polo game drowned out his voice. "You open the door, and I'll place the bucket on the top edge. Got it?"
I nodded.
"Excellent. The coast looks clear, let's move." He darted out from the trees and I nervously went after him. I glanced back over my shoulder to be sure there was no one following behind. Gatsby waited eagerly for me to open the wooden door that towered over us. I held onto the brass handle and heaved the heavy door open a crack.
"Problem, old sport."
"What?" I hissed.
"The door is too high. I cannot possibly reach it." Gatsby pointed up to the top of the door. I looked up and let out a sigh of annoyance.
"Well, what do we do?"
"Weave your fingers together and lift me up." Gatsby ordered.
"You cannot be serious." I said in disbelief. Gatsby looked at me with a face that meant he was dead serious. I held my hands together and he stepped up onto my palms. "Ow ow," I winced.
"Steady, old sport. I do not want to drop the pail." I looked sharply out of the corner of my eye and saw Tom on his horse galloping towards us. He was laughing with several friends of his.
"Hurry, Gatsby! Tom is coming!" I said through clenched teeth.
"Almost..." Gatsby nudged the pail until it balanced perfectly precariously on the edge. "There!" My arms gave out and we tumbled down onto the ground. I shoved Gatsby off of me and scrambled for the safety of the hedges. He hurried after me and nearly bowled me over in attempt to hide.
"I've been talking to this man named George..." Tom was too intent on the conversation between him and his polo pals.
"Here it comes!" Gatsby peered through the bushes in excitement. He leaned so far ahead that I thought he would fall forward and expose us.
"He's an interesting man-" Tom opened the door and the pail of water slipped and landed on his head. The water drenched him from head to toe and his soaked clothes clung to his body. Gatsby let out a laugh and Tom tore the pail from his head and tossed it aside. His intense glare bore right through the hedge and burned into us.
"I know you're back there!" He screamed. My heart pounded in my chest so hard I was terrified it would break through my rib cage.
"Run, old sport!" Gatsby continued his laughter as he ran for the car. Tom jumped back in surprise as he watched Gatsby and I flee.
"Gatsby?" He spat incredulously. "NICK?" He added.
We dove into the car and before I could get into my seat properly, Gatsby started up the engine and it roared to life. He slammed on the gas, and we screeched out of the East Egg neighborhood.
The landscape flew by in a blur as we rode down the dusty dirt road. "You do know that he will come after you." I shouted over the wind and engine.
"Oh, no worries." Gatsby waved a hand, dismissing the issue. "What is he going to do about it? Shoot me?" He laughed and continued driving.
We reached his place and he pulled into the garage, the engine now a soft purr. Gatsby switched off the ignition and hopped out. He patted the yellow hood of the car and told me, "This car always pulls through for me when I need it most!" He chuckled and put the keys in his pocket.
Almost immediately a servant hurried up to him with a phone. "Chicago, sir."
"I have to take this, old sport." He held the phone. Gatsby nodded good-bye to me and went inside his house. I smiled at the servant and told him good-bye as well and left the garage.
I walked slowly on the path that led to my small home. After an eventful morning such as today, I felt wiped out. The sun was still in the sky and I decided to use the rest of the day for cleaning up and organizing.
When I closed the door and sat back in my chair, the telephone rang.
I picked up the phone and answered. "Hello?"
"Thanks for day, old sport." I walked over to my window that faced the Gatsby Mansion and saw Jay waving back at me, the brightest smile on his young face. I could not help but wave back with a smile equal to his.
After we hung up, I sat back down in my chair, taking a huge breath. Before I could even breathe out a sigh, the phone rang yet again. I got out of my chair, and picked up the phone.
"Hello?"
"Nick, you have some explaining to do." Tom growled on the other end.