She tucked her blonde, ashy lock of hair away from her face before she took a breath and stepped into her favorite old, but quaint music shop located in the dusty outskirts of early 1940's west New York.
A tinkling bell alerted the shop owner of her arrival as she quickly closed the door to prevent any gailing gusts of the cold air outside from entering. The young lady wiped the dirt off her rain boots on the provided welcome mat from the pouring rain as she tucked her yellow umbrella onto a hook. She peered around for a clock that would tell her the time. Finding one on a mantelpiece and seeing that it read incorrect, she shrugged the thought away and remarked, "Lovely afternoon, is it not?"
The shop owner snorted and looked up from his task of polishing a violin to peer at her incredulously. "Daisy Fay, I'd hardly call a lightning storm a pleasantry of sorts. I don't understand your stubborn desire to arrive at my doorstep everyday, rain or shine." He smirked. "Or perhaps, you're here to declare your undying love for me, and decided the task of telling me simply couldn't wait for the sun to peak?"
Daisy scoffed as she generously placed an abundant amount of spare change into the tip jar on the counter beside her left. "Please, James. The sun is like a detached mother toward New York civilians in the winter, and I'd age an entire lifetime before I came here specifically for you. Aside from that pretty face, I'd never be interested in fancying someone whose suffocating ego would choke me. I'm afraid. Air is needed to sustain my needy lungs."
Their short banter ceased as James unsteadily eyed the newly relocated currency that left the girl's purse. "Darling, I know I don't come cheap, but my love is one of something simply you can't afford. The Great Gatsby is not bought through pity," he said haughtily.
She airily waved his comment away. Initially, there were larger arguments that took place about her constant donations, but the scathing remarks and apathetic waves of carelessness as the transfers of wealth continued, eroding into weak protests and denial. "Nonsense, I've practically edged my fingerprints into that piano of yours. Any requests this time?"
Deep dimples etched onto his cheeks as his eyes crinkled. "Let's here some of that great 'swing music' I've heard are growing fanciful on the public streets."
Daisy walked toward the old, frail looking brown grand piano placed strategically in the center of the shop. It seemed fitting, James mused, that the piano emphasized grace and elegance one had to be born with. He found himself in true, situational irony that Daisy did her name justice; she vividly enhanced actions of a fairy, or fay, when she moved about, and a flowering beauty she truly was.
James found his eyes following every surreal detail as Daisy dusted imaginary specks of dirt off of her impeccable golden dress as she smoothed it and sat on the piano bench. She started her finger warm ups with a relaxed ease and remarked, "Cycle through that music genre until your ears bleed from repetition, why don't you?"
Silence filled the room as James anticipated the first key of the song to be hit, significantly the start of a simple beauty that would reach his ears. Customers who'd dared to ride out the storm would curiously make their way toward the location that had drawn the attention of their hearing, and eventually their sight. James admittedly thought that Daisy was most captivating behind the piano, where she and music were one. Those guests were the same. With his charismatic wit, and her allusive beauty, they became great business partners as they charmed people to buy useless things unnecessary in households that would collect dust in a time setting where dark thoughts clouded minds more than the weather greyed the sky. It was during a prolonged period of days like these James found himself falling in love with her despite everything else.
Everything else being trivial matters such as the obvious gap in social status, or his inability to possibly offer her much more than love in time where there was talk of war. Everything else being there wasn't much opportunity to gain wealth where people still were picking up the broken pieces where the aftermath of the Roaring Twenties had left. The euphoric high people had back then had left them deranged as it all well, and only those with the Old Money (such as Daisy's family) - traditional wealth had made it out relatively unscathed.
Smirks became more of smiles, and those greetings were eventually replaced by kisses. They encountered one another's presence at places other than just inside a tiny work place. One was at a wedding chapel. They lived a blissful life, and promises of forever seemed to be true.
Forever suddenly seemed on a mapped time period as the war hit England. A quaint music shop wasn't spared as the British government hunted all young men eligible for war. James left. Pen pals were an eventual change as she started to label her letters for "James", instead to "Tom". Daisy bitterly fixed the broken clock that James was once so fond of.
Now there's green light in my eyes
And my lover on my mind
She loved the color of eyes. In a world of grey over grey, she'd see varying shades of green in his eyes. His essence soothed her from the very beginning that she met him, a petty rich girl and an ambitious shop boy.
And I sing from the piano
Tear my yellow dress
Yellow was still Daisy's favorite color. It represented the wealth she once had before she was disowned for marrying a poor boy, but such wealthy was replaced by an abundance of love. She still liked playing the piano, but she found herself going through the motions of honoring both. It felt mechanical to put on her once favorite, youthful dresses. It was now hard to tell from passers-by if the dresses she wore were once a vivid yellow that had paled significantly, or white dresses that had yellowed. It felt odd to pluck the first key for a jazz melody that no one was there to smile at behind a ducked head that didn't want to admit the effect it had on him. She aged.
Cry and cry and cry
Over the love of you.
Time passed. The proud American country was unyielding and won the war. James never came back. Daisy's last name changed to be Buchanan. Such a victory for her country felt hollow as she longed to be a beautiful little fool once more.
Disclaimer: I don't own The Great Gatsby nor the song Over the Love by Florence and the Machine.
AN: If you got this far, thank you for actually reading this piece that spouted out of my mind and onto a document. If the characters seem OC, they probably are. I thought about the song and the characters were nameless before I tried to cram them into the bodies of James Gatz and Daisy Buchanan. This is my first story, so sorry for making your eyes bleed xD