Part III: Where the Wind Blows
"...I just want to have a good time
Can't I have fun for the rest of my life
Just go where the wind blows
Here he comes, yeah he caught my eye
And we made love to the moonlight
Just go where the wind blows..."
"Where The Wind Blows" - Coco O.
Monday
June 30, 1922
Rebecca sat still on the plush stool in front of her vanity the next morning as she read the letter from a local priest where Mary had lived. It was the second message from the man. The first letter that had come had informed her that Mary had hung herself just before New Year's Eve. Rebecca could remember that day well. The letter had come on a Friday and she'd walked around the party that evening feeling numb.
Mary's death had been long coming, but it was still a shock. The few letters that Mary had written to her over the years was laced with self-hatred, depression and humiliation. The tragedy was that despite everything, Mary still claimed to love Tom Buchanan. Rebecca had never found the words to put to paper revealing the truth to Mary that Tom had married. Shortly after the beginning of last fall, Mary had discovered from a friend in the city that she still kept in contact with that Tom had married and he had a daughter. The news had been devastating to her and ate away at her will to live.
Finally, Mary had ended her pain and had hung herself from the rafters of the attic in the house that she rented from the local priest. Father John Douglas had taken her young son under his wing and had written to Rebecca citing that he'd discovered her address among Mary's too little possession.
The news had been devastating.
The only two persons Rebecca had confided the information in had been her father and sister. Both of them had broken down. Mary's money had been divided between both her and Elizabeth. A private conversation between the two sisters had resulted in a trust fund being set up for the nephew that they'd never met. The idea that little Thomas Harper was both motherless and fatherless broke her heart.
Scanning back through the letter, Rebecca wrote down the name of the family that would be taking Thomas on as ward. The Duncan family of Cleveland weren't as wealthy as many families in New York, but they were a prominent family in the Midwest. Setting the letter down, Rebecca suspected that her father was instrumental in getting the Duncan family to take Thomas on. After learning of Mary's death, he'd been devastated. He'd vowed to do anything to help his grandson. The only condition was that Katherine Harper was never to know of his involvement. A promise both Elizabeth and Rebecca could easily keep.
A surge of anger went through her body and Rebecca pushed the contents of her vanity to the floor. The satisfying sound of glass breaking did little to curb her anger though. Hugging herself, Rebecca looked outside to see Buchanan Manor standing proudly across the bay. It felt like the house was mocking her in a way. The house should belong to Thomas. He was the only son of Tom Buchanan that Rebecca had knowledge of and she'd done plenty of research into Tom Buchanan's background in the first few weeks after Mary had admitted that she was pregnant with Tom's child.
Her anger flared even more in her chest as she thought about the nephew she'd been robbed of and she angrily wished that Mary had never met Buchanan.
Tom Buchanan was like the kiss of death to women everywhere. Everything he touched died a miserable death and she couldn't help but to hope that Tom met a horribly painful death that was drawn out for months, even years. It was nothing less than he deserved. Staring at the house, Rebecca clenched her fist and angrily blew out a breath. She could only imagine the life Thomas would have as a ward compared to the life he should have had as the heir to the Buchanan fortune. The house, the horses, the cars…everything should have been that little boy's. But because of his father's false promises, Thomas would never see a penny.
On his twenty-fifth birthday, Thomas would have access to the trust fund that Rebecca and Elizabeth had set aside. The money would sit in a safe where nothing would happen to it. Stocks could go down, the market could crash and yet, her nephew's money would remain safe and untouched. It would, however, never been the same as the actual Buchanan fortune.
"Mrs. Gatsby?"
Rebecca turned around to see a timid looking Tilly staring at her nervously.
"Yes?"
"Your bath is ready, ma'am," the maid said quickly. "If you're ready."
Rebecca nodded and turned to face Tilly, "Could you do me a favor?"
"Ma'am?"
"Find out if Meyer Wolfsheim will be attending the performance tonight," Rebecca said quietly as an idea quickly formed in her mind. "Keep this between you and me though."
Later in the morning, Crawley stood holding Gatsby's walking stick and hat. Rebecca let Tilly help her slip on a pair of soft gloves and frowned. Jay came to Crawley quickly as he issued orders to a young man that was following him. Crawley moved to open the large double doors of the main entry way. Gatsby strode past her without a glace as he continued talking to the nervous looking man who was scribbling on his notepad he had like a mad man.
Rolling her eyes, Rebecca followed both men out the doors. Both her car and Gatsby's was parked in the circle turnabout. The large fountain in the center of the drive was running and water shot up and out to create a beautiful arc. The sunlight made it stand out with hundreds of little fractures of light making the water appear to have thousands of tiny rainbows. It was beautiful and something that Mary would have admired
Rebecca hadn't been paying very much attention to what was in front of her. The next moment the young man that had been following Gatsby turned around and slammed into her. It felt like the air had been knocked out of her body as she nearly fell over. Brighton had rushed to her side and caught her before she fell down into the marble steps.
The young man wasn't so lucky and she looked down to see him sprawled on the gravel drive. The roar of Gatsby's engine sounded and Rebecca watched as he sped out without even a nod or a look of concern.
"Does he always leave like he's in a hurry?" the young man asked as he stood up.
"He tends to do that," she said quietly as Tilly came racing down the steps to make sure she was alright. "You get used to it. Who are you?"
"Madison. Chip Madison," the young man replied quickly. "I'm so sorry for knocking you over, Mrs. Gatsby. I'm Mr. Gatsby's new assistant and I didn't even see you. My apologies,ma'am."
"You'll get used to it, Mr. Madison," Rebecca said again as Brighton opened the door for her. Tilly quickly finished her exam and nodded. Grateful, Rebecca walked towards the car.
"Mrs. Gatsby," Brighton said tipping his hat at her. She could already tell that Chip Madison was going to be annoying and she didn't want to spend another moment in the man's company.
"To Saks Fifth Avenue, please," she told him as she sat back in the seat. Brighton nodded and closed the door. Within minutes they were moving towards the city and Rebecca couldn't help but feel the anticipation at seeing Elizabeth. She was also curious to know what her sister would think of her plan.
It was hours later when they were looking through the designer evening dresses that she was able to bring up the idea. The excitement had died down a little and any major conversation between the two of them had ended. Elizabeth stood in front of a three way mirror looking at herself in a black evening gown that hit the floor perfectly and the thick straps that went over her shoulders glittered.
"What do you think?"
Rebecca looked up from where she'd been sitting to see Elizabeth staring at her expectantly.
"It looks very nice one you," she said slowly. "I like how it sits on your figure."
Elizabeth smiled and looked at the shopping attendant that was with them, "I agree. Add this to our purchases."
The young woman nodded and Rebecca stood up. Coming to stand beside Elizabeth, she looked at herself in the mirror as well.
"I need to speak with you about Mary," she started off softly before Elizabeth's eyes met hers in the mirror.
"What about Mary?" the younger sister whispered sadly.
"I received a letter today for the priest who had been taking care of Thomas. Apparently, a family in Cleveland will be taking the boy on as ward until he comes of age."
"Cleveland?" Elizabeth exclaimed. "Why can't he come back to New York?"
"Mary's scandal hasn't died just because she died," Rebecca said sharply. "That little boy comes here and the gossip will kill us all. Right now, he has a family looking after him in a city where they're highly respected. Thomas couldn't ask for more, but I can."
Elizabeth's eyebrow arched, "What do you mean you can?
"I have this idea, Elizabeth. I want Thomas to have everything that a Buchanan and a Harper should have."
"I agree with you in theory. How on earth are you going to give him that?" Elizabeth asked in a confused tone. "It's not possible."
"Yes, it is. There is someone who could help us," Rebecca suggested quietly. "We could do it."
"Who could possibly help us?" Elizabeth shot back angrily. "There isn't anything we can do for Thomas. We can give him money, but beyond that? Nothing!"
Rebecca moved and sat back down on one of the many ottomans that littered the store floor. She suddenly felt so exhausted. Looking up at Elizabeth, she sighed. Elizabeth was so sheltered from the world and Rebecca often had to remind herself that her darling sister didn't know about Jay's real occupation. Like the rest of New York, Elizabeth was under the dazzling spell that Jay had spun. Even she had fallen for it. His smile and charm were like a sweet candy that was laced with cyanide.
"There is a friend of Mr. Gatsby," Rebecca started again slowly. "He's a professional Gambler."
"A professional gambler?" Elizabeth questioned as she sat down next to her. "How can a professional gambler help Thomas?"
"Do you ever look at the Buchanan Manor and think that Mary should live there with Thomas? Do you ever just look at it and think of Thomas' whole future? Elizabeth that house and everything in it should be Thomas' someday. Buchanan lied and manipulated Mary into believing that he'd marry her. He even gave her a ring for God's sake," Rebecca whispered passionately. "He wrote to her that he intended to marry her and she stupidly anticipated her wedding night in his bed! The moment Buchanan found out she was pregnant he went running for the hills. He abandoned her! How does that not make you angry?"
Elizabeth stood up quickly with a hard look on her face, "I'm angry. I'm just as angry as you. I just don't see how everything fits together."
"We can't bring Mary back, but we can give Thomas everything else in the world including the house that should be his. That's what I want. I want Thomas to have everything that should rightfully be his. Mr. Wolfsheim is professional gambler who can help us."
"Wolfsheim? How can he help?"
"He could fix a game for us," Rebecca said slowly. "A game in which Tom Buchanan gambles everything away."
Elizabeth sat back down next to Rebecca, "That's a very…horrible thing to do."
"What Buchanan did to our family was a horrible thing to do! All we're doing is ensuring that our nephew has the future he should have had. Everything will be his. Think about it, Elizabeth. We're helping Mary's son in ways that she could only dream about. I know you think it may be horrible, but does it matter at this point? Tom Buchanan doesn't deserve to keep getting away with his affairs and breaking women's hearts. He is a man who thinks he is God and deserves to be knocked down as many pegs as possible."
Elizabeth looked at her for a moment before she nodded, "Has Wolfsheim agreed to help us?"
"I haven't spoken to him yet," Rebecca said quietly. "I wanted to know if you were…agreeable with my idea."
A hard look grew over Elizabeth's face as the minutes silently trickled by. Rebecca could see the same anger on Elizabeth's face that was inside her own heart. Their parents never spoke a word about Mary or her son, but both she and Elizabeth had privately spoken. Always wondering at Mary's short, cryptic letters that came once in blue moon and in four years they'd only managed to accumulate a few short letters. Brief little letters that were hardly anything special, but showed how truly unhappy with her life Mary had become.
"Speak with him soon," Elizabeth said finally."He'd better be as good as you believe, Rebecca. It will take a lot to con Tom Buchanan. He's smart."
"But Wolfsheim is smarter," Rebecca smiled. "Don't worry. Everything will work out."
"I hope," Elizabeth smiled back. "Now, let's pick out a dress for this evening. I want to see Mr. Gatsby's jaw fall to the floor when he sees you tonight."
Rebecca could only offer Elizabeth a half smile. Jay wouldn't care about what she wore or how she looked. He never did. She'd long ago given up on trying. All she could do was humor Elizabeth.
Rebecca stared at the reflection in the mirror. The dress she wore was white and black. The black lace over the white dress was striking and it made her smile. She'd picked it out with Elizabeth earlier in the day.
Elizabeth's excitement had proven to be infectious and Rebecca had even become excited about going out with Gatsby. Rebecca had even secretly wanted to make sure that she looked perfect. Elizabeth's excitement had only triggered hers in the end and had resulted in her buying the current dress she was wearing. It felt strange to try and think about what Jay would think she'd look pretty in, but with Elizabeth's help she'd managed. She'd long ago given up on pleasing him when she dressed, but tonight she wanted to look pretty and perfect on his arm.
Thick straps went over her shoulder and created a deep 'v' down her back. The white silk skirt of the dress was slimming along with the black lace over lay around her tiny waist. Pearl earrings dangled from her ear lobes and the pearl and diamond necklace she wore rested against her breast bone. Capped sleeves hugged her shoulders and reminded her how soft the material was against her smooth skin.
Her hair was pulled back in sweeping twist like concoction that was soft. It looked like Tilly had taken her hair and braided it while leaving it loose. The headband of diamond and pearls that went across her hair only made it look all the more stunning. The ribbon that tied at the base of her neck tickled her skin while teasing Rebecca's senses.
She hoped that Gatsby would say something about her appearance. If he told her she was beautiful and they died in a car crash minutes later, Rebecca was sure she'd die a happy woman.
Applying perfume to her neck and wrists, Rebecca stood up and walked away from the vanity. Her dress made a 'swish' sound across the floor and she truly hoped that she impressed him. Tilly held open the door for her, but she stopped.
"Thank you so much Tilly for all your hard work," Rebecca smiled as Tilly flushed red from the praise. It was rare that anyone praised the staff, but tonight Tilly truly deserved it. Stepping out into the hallway, Rebecca smiled seeing Crawley.
"If I may pay a compliment, ma'am," Crawley said. "You look lovely."
"Thank you," Rebecca smiled. "Where is Mr. Gatsby? It's almost time to leave."
A look briefly crossed Crawley's face and Rebecca wished she hadn't seen it. It was the same look he had when Gatsby was on the wire. It shouldn't have surprised her, but it did.
"Where is he at?" she demanded of Crawley.
The man gave her a sad look and turned. He held out his arm as if gesturing for her to lead the way.
"The library, ma'am," he answered quietly.
Rebecca's jaw felt tight as she walked down the hallway. The heels of her shoes clicking on the marble floor as Crawley and Tilly followed her. She followed the hallway until she reached the stairs and walked quickly up them to the third floor of the manor. In the library, she spotted Gatsby standing at the desk with the wire. He was speaking quietly on it when she pushed the half closed door opened. He wasn't dressed at all for a night out.
She felt the anger that had been inside of her earlier that morning simmering to the surface as she watched Gatsby pick up a piece of paper and offer it out to her. He didn't say a word as he listened to the man on the other end of the line. He didn't even spare her a glance.
Yanking the paper out of his extended hand, Rebecca quickly scanned the note. It was simple. He stated that a business matter had come up, but he'd arranged for Elizabeth to take his place at the performance that evening. Gatsby also stated that he'd already made the arrangements and Elizabeth would be arriving any moment.
There was nothing in the letter about making different arrangements so that they could attend some sort of function together. No apologies about ruining the evening or what she should tell Nick when asked where Gatsby had gone.
Nothing.
He hadn't even written to her one line about how pretty she looked in her new dress. Staring at him, Rebecca folded the letter and waited. It seemed that the moment Gatsby had handed her the letter, she became invisible to him. He'd sat down in one of the plush, comfortable armchair that were scattered throughout the library. His back was to her and Rebecca felt the urge to throw something at the back of his head. One of the books on his desk looked heavy enough, but the voice of her mother screamed in her ear that good wives and ladies did send volleys at their husbands.
She disagreed, but years of discipline controlled her.
Leaving the note on his desk, Rebecca turned and left the library without a single word to Tilly or Crawley. All she wanted to do was leave the wretched house that felt more like a prison and never return. Squaring her shoulders, Rebecca continued down the steps. She refused to cry. Gatsby had stolen enough of her tears. Crying wasn't going to solve anything. She'd learn that long ago. Gatsby was immune to tears, begging and pleading. He honestly just didn't care about her or anything beyond himself. Tilly met her at the front door with three tickets and her beaded clutch. The night was warm enough that a coat wasn't needed.
"Miss Harper's driver just pulled up," Crawley said as Tilly helped her into snow white glove that ended at her wrist bone. "I let her know you'd both be taking the Rolls Royce to Mr. Carraway's house."
Checking her appearance in the large hallway mirror one last time, Rebecca nodded at Crawley.
"Have a lovely evening, Mrs. Gatsby," Tilly squeaked and Rebecca tried to smile. It came out as more of a grimace, but Tilly smiled back brightly none the less.
"Thank you."
A foot man held open the door for her and Crawley followed her down the front steps to the waiting Rolls Royce. Brighton stood holding open the door for her. He tipped his hat as Crawley helped her into the waiting car. Elizabeth was inside the car already and the both shared a look. Elizabeth's look was one of pity and Rebecca's glance was a fierce glare that steadily warned her sister not to ask any questions.
The door was closed and within seconds Brighton was in the driver's seat. The car pulled away from Gatsby Manor and Rebecca looked out the window of the car. Pushing away everything that had happened was a challenge, but she managed. The drive to Nick's little cottage was quick, but it was just enough time for Rebecca to give herself a talk of sorts. She managed to pull herself together just as Brighton opened the door for Nick. She gracefully slid over in the comfortably large backseat.
"Nick! How lovely it is to see you," she smiled.
"You as well, Rebecca," Nick smiled back. "Will Gatsby be joining us at the performance in a separate car?"
Rebecca managed to keep the smile on her face as she patted the leather seat next to her with a gloved hand.
"Mr. Gatsby sends his regards," she told Nick. "Something came up that couldn't be avoided. I do apologize. In Mr. Gatsby's place my sister came. Nick Carraway, this is my younger sister, Elizabeth Harper."
Elizabeth leaned over and offered her hand to Nick, "A pleasure to meet you."
"You as well," Nick smiled as Rebecca rested her back against the leather seat. She was already exhausted from the evening and it had barely begun.
Intermission came and after the final notes of the piece ended. The music had been wonderful and Rebecca had managed to let herself be taken away by it. The melodies and each piece were so different. She'd enjoyed listening to each one and letting it overtake her mind and senses. As the lighting in the theater changed and brightened a little, Rebecca looked around.
People below on the floor were greeting each other and some boxes around them were empty as other one's filled quickly with people anxious to meet friends and business relations. Her blood froze when she spotted Tom Buchanan with some woman who clearly wasn't his wife. Quickly looking away, Rebecca stared at the box directly across from their seats. It had but one person in it and it was someone who Rebecca saw often at Gatsby Manor.
Meyer Wolfsheim.
Rebecca's spine stiffened as she laid eyes on Meyer Wolfsheim across the theater. He tipped his head at her and gave her a smile that would make any woman's skin crawl. Ignoring the feeling, Rebecca stood up quickly and looked down at Nick and Elizabeth who were in deep conversation.
"Excuse me," she murmured and left the box without saying another word. One of Gatsby's men followed her at a quick pace as Rebecca quickly crossed the theater to the other side and climbed the stairs to the hallway that housed the entrances to the box seats. Wolfsheim must have expected her to come because his box door was open. One of his men was standing in the door way.
"Ma'am," he said as he tilled his bowler hat at her and stepped out of the way. Rebecca entered the box and walked slowly to the first row of chairs where Meyer sat alone.
"I thought I saw you over there," Meyer said as she sat down leaving a chair between them. "Enjoying the show?"
"I didn't know you were a lover of music," Rebecca told him. "Has someone finally taught you about appreciating it?"
Meyer turned and looked at her with a smile, "Where is your husband?"
"Home. Something came up. Don't ask me, I have no idea."
Meyer chuckled, "Ah, aren't you a feisty woman?"
"I didn't come here to speak with you about Jay or the business," Rebecca continued ignoring his bait. "I came to you because I think I may have something that could benefit us both."
Meyer turned his whole body and looked at her, "So, it is business."
"Not the kind of business you deal with. I know you fixed the 1919 World Series. Which is why I need you to help me with something," she told him. "There's something I need and you'll benefit from it greatly."
"Sounds like a woman is out for revenge," Meyer smiled as his gold tooth glimmered in the soft lighting of the theater.
"Something I'm sure you know very well."
Meyer leaned back in the seat and ran his index finger over his chin, "I'm listening."
"There's a man," she started out quietly. "His name is Tom Buchanan."
"The man who supposedly was your sister's lover," Meyer stated bluntly. "Delicious."
"My sister killed herself over half a year ago. Her son in now motherless and fatherless because of that retched man," Rebecca snapped. "Don't laugh at what happened."
"My condolences," Meyer said quietly and the smile left his face completely.
"I know that the same thing happened to your sister with a man. You never did figure out who he was, did you? She never even told you on her death bed."
"What is your point, Mrs. Gatsby?"
"My point is that I need your help to get revenge," Rebecca told him passionately. "That little boy should have everything in the world and yet, he was placed with a family in Cleveland. I want that little boy to have everything that Tom Buchanan denied him. The fortune, the damn house across the bay and everything in that house, Mr. Wolfsheim."
Wolfsheim looked at her for a moment before his grin returned, "How do you plan on keeping that house in one piece. It won't be a financial burden on you?"
"When Mary died, her money…all of it was divided between me and Elizabeth. Mary had almost twenty million dollars that was supposed to be hers after her twentieth birthday. Elizabeth and I have already taken the money that was added to our inheritance and placed in a trust fund that can only be touched by that little boy. The money can be used for maintained of the house, education and if he wants to invest in something he can use that money. It is the fortune that he should have been heir to when he was born. I refuse to live with the knowledge that my nephew is out in the world without knowing the truth," Rebecca said quickly. "What I need Mr. Wolfsheim is that damn house in East Egg. That house should rightfully be his and when Tom Buchanan dies it will got to that bratty little wife of his. I'm asking your help to get Buchanan to gamble away the deed to that house and the contents within. Whatever money you make off the game is yours to keep. I just want the deed to the house and the land. That's all."
"Are you sure that Buchanan will even bet the deed?"
Rebecca looked across the theater to see Buchanan whispering something in the latest ear of his nightly conquest. She'd seen him earlier in the theater and she knew recognized the tall, brown haired woman as some Vogue model she'd seen before in the magazines.
"Look at him, Mr. Wolfsheim," she said softly. "He's arrogant, snobbish and he's a hypocrite. Getting him to gamble the house away won't be exactly easy, but if you get him winning enough hands and cards. It can be done. You just have to…get him going."
Wolfsheim looked towards Buchanan and was silent for several moments before he spoke again.
"A brilliant plan, Mrs. Gatsby," Wolfsheim spoke. "You're a very smart woman. I'll give you twenty percent of the earnings from the money made. I'll make sure my lawyer has everything legal. I'll have another one of my men start...encouraging Buchanan to play. Make him feel like he's a God and can't lose a hand. All you'll have to do is wait for my phone call."
He stood but Rebecca grabbed his arm, "What aren't telling me? I get the feeling that you're being far too generous with me. What are you hiding Meyer?"
Wolfsheim looked at Buchanan and back at Rebecca sadly, "I've seen Buchanan's face before."
He pulled out a picture of pretty young woman and a man. Rebecca's heart nearly stopped in her chest when she saw the face of a younger Tom Buchanan staring back at her.
"Don't think you're the only person who has been affected by Buchanan's ways. My sister and her son died in child bed. I've wanted revenge on the man responsible for a very long time. I've searched high and low, but I didn't know who the man was until you pointed him out to me tonight, Mrs. Gatsby. So, by my estimations, you are the woman who won the bounty I've quietly had out on his head for a very long time. Hence, the twenty percent you'll receive in the game. House, grounds and all the contents of both will be yours, of course," Meyer said, "I just want Buchanan to suffer like Rachel did."
The look on Meyer's face would have made her blood run cold, but Rebecca didn't care. Tom Buchanan was a man that used good women and tossed them away without any care in the world. He made them believed that they were in love with him and at the last second he pulled away and left them in the ruins of their own broken hearts.
"I'm all for destroying Buchanan," Rebecca said quietly. "I want justice for your sister and Mary."
"And justice we'll get them," Wolfsheim said quietly. "You'd better return to your seat, Mrs. Gatsby. The show will be starting soon again."
Rebecca nodded and quickly stood up. She left Wolfsheim in his lonely box with mixed feelings. She was gleeful on one hand that Meyer had agreed, but she also pitied him. She couldn't imagine what it must have been like to look for a nameless man. It didn't surprise her that Tom Buchanan was responsible for the child Rachel Wolfsheim had died birthing. God only knew how many bastard children Buchanan had out in the world.
Rebecca had been so engrossed in her thoughts that her heart nearly stopped when someone called her name. Standing on the deserted grand stair case that led to the second floor and the boxes, Rebecca turned and her breath was caught in her lungs.
Walking up the steps was a face she hadn't expected to see ever again.
"Matthew?" she said in shock.
"In the flesh, my darling little Becca," replied the man. He came to stand with her and she smiled. Lord Matthew Spring was exactly as she remembered him. Tall with broad shoulders and a boyish charm that led many ladies to swoon, his light blue eyes twinkled and his smile was bright.
"I'm not so little anymore," Rebecca smiled. "Neither are you."
"Ah, to be young again," Matthew mused. "Only in New York one night and I already have heard rumors about the lovely, Mrs. Gatsby. You married and didn't invite me. I'm insulted."
Rebecca's head fell back and she laughed, "You were in England! By the time, that you'd have received my letter, replied to it, returned to New York...well, I would have been married already! It didn't make any sense!"
"Yes well, I'm still sorry I didn't get to see it," he teased. "Were you a beautiful bride?"
"The prettiest," she whispered quietly as the bell rang once singling that the show would resume in five minute.
"I'll take you back to your box," Matthew smiled. "You must introduce me to the man who stole you away."
Rebecca didn't have the heart to tell Matthew that she'd been abandoned by her husband for the evening. When they reached the box, Elizabeth was the first to greet them and she flew into Matthew's arms. Sneaking a glance at Nick, Rebecca felt her cheeks warm under steady gaze as he watched her.
Elizabeth Harper had proven to be very popular and Nick wasn't surprised. She was a chatty little thing and amusing. Her outward appearance was deceiving to many it seemed. She was an intellectual being and not the bumbling, dumb, bimbo he'd been expecting.
Nick chastised himself internally. Both Harper sisters were beautiful and both were smart. To believe that one was idiotic and the other intellectual was unfair.
The performance had been wonderful and Nick had been looking forward to questioning Rebecca more about Gatsby's absence from the evening. He'd been extremely surprised when she'd gotten up and hastily left their box. When he'd questioned where she was going, Elizabeth had simply waved her hand and told him not to worry. Nick, however, had watched her from across the theater. He'd seen her stroll into some unknown man's box and sit down. She'd stared at the box Tom was occupying with some unknown woman and anger had been written all over her face.
It had made Nick wonder as he watched the conversation she'd conducted with the man in the box. The conversation hadn't looked like a conversation between lovers. No, it had looked like a conversation between two business people and it had looked tense and volatile at times.
Nick had speculated at one point if he should have gone back over and retrieved Rebecca. He was uncomfortable watching her speak with the man while she was under his care for the evening. Nick had wondered what Gatsby would have done if he'd been there with them. After pondering the question for a few minutes, Nick realized that Gatsby probably would have done nothing.
It was clear to him that both Rebecca and Jay weren't exactly happily married. It was more Gatsby tolerated his wife and his wife tried her hardest to ignore her husband in return.
Having asked around about the Gatsby's, the only thing he'd found out from Jordan was that Rebecca Harper's marriage to Jay Gatsby had been the talk of the town when it happened and many women envied her wealth, status, and husband. It only made Nick even more curious to know Gatsby and Rebecca more. It was like the beliefs and ideas the public had about them were so far off that it didn't make sense.
Nick was surprised when Rebecca returned with a man that he'd never seen or met before. He was tall and dressed handsomely in a suit. His blond hair was combed back and his hand rested on the small of her back. Elizabeth seemed to know the man well if her behavior was anything to go by. She launched herself into the man's arms and he caught her with what appeared to be practiced ease.
"Little Bess," the man grinned and Nick was surprised to hear an English accent. "Look at you! How you've gotten tall. Soon you'll be as tall as me!"
Elizabeth laughed, "You came back. You must tell us how London was."
"After the performance," the man promised with a smile.
"Before I'm seen as being rude," Rebecca said with a smile. "Matthew, this is our dear friend Nick Carraway. Nick, this is a dear childhood friend of ours, Matthew Spring, Earl of Kettlemore."
"Here I thought you were the man that had married our darling Becca," Matthew said with a smile as he and Nick shook hands. "I was just getting ready to offer you my congratulations."
Nick smiled, "No, I'm not that man. It is a pleasure to meet you, Lord Kettlemore."
"No need to call me 'Lord', Kettlemore is perfectly fine. We're not in London, after all."
The two minute warning bell rang and Matthew smiled, "I'll see you two darlings later. It was a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Carraway."
Matthew left them just as the lights began to dim for the second part of the performance.
"How do you know Lord Kettlemore?" Nick asked Rebecca as he settled into his seat between Rebecca and Elizabeth again.
"He'd come from in England in the summers to spend time with his grandmother here in New York," Rebecca whispered. "His mother is Victoria Ashby. The Ashby's are my parent's next door neighbors. We used to play with each other during the summers. He's a few years older than us, but he was like the darling older brother we never had. You'll like him."
Nick nodded as the curtains opened again and applause began as the conductor walked out onto stage effectively ending the conversation.
Tuesday
July 15, 1922
Rumbling startled Nick as he sat at his kitchen table trying to eat breakfast. A flash of yellow startled hum as he quickly ran to a second window to look. He could see Gatsby making another pass around the house. Quickly going to the front door and stepping out onto the porch, Nick wrapped his robe around himself as Gatsby opened the driver's side door.
"It's pretty isn't, old sport?" Gatsby said. "Haven't you ever seen it before? It's all a custom job."
Nick watched as Gatsby walked around the car and patted a head light, "Supercharged engine."
Having been to two more of Gatsby's parties and having spent plenty of time with Rebecca. Nick had come to realize that he knew nothing about Gatsby. Whenever he asked after Gatsby to Rebecca, sadness would cross her eyes briefly. She'd offer up some kind of reason as to why she and Gatsby weren't together and then she'd change the subject. It only made Nick all the more aware of how unhappy Rebecca was. He knew she thought that she hid it well but he could tell. He could see it in her eyes and he could see it when she watched Gatsby walk away.
It only made Nick all more curious about both Gatsby and Rebecca. They made a striking couple when they stood next to each other, but in reality they were strangers. It was like they went through the motions of pretending to be married when in truth, they didn't care and weren't happy. Either way, it was obvious that something was amiss between the two of them.
"It's a beautiful car," Nick finally managed to say.
"Get dress," Gatsby said with a smile as he opened the passenger door. "We're going to lunch."
Within Twenty minutes, Nick was dressed and sitting next to Gatsby in the custom yellow car. One thing was certain so far, Gatsby's driving was unpredictable. He drove fast and went around whatever was in his way. Holding onto the door, Nick was surprised when Gatsby spoke.
"Oh, well," Gatsby began taking off his circular sunglasses, "Look here, old spot. What's your opinion of me?"
"My opinion?" Nick asked confused.
"Yes! You're opinion. I don't want you to get the wrong impression of me with all these wild accusations you must hear about me. A pack of lies, I guarantee. You've heard the stories?" Gatsby said as someone honked and he hit the break. They avoided an accident as Gatsby correctly moved back over to his side of the lane. Nick could feel his heart racing as Gatsby drove faster.
Nick quickly went to defend that he didn't believe the stories, but Gatsby jumped in and immediately began telling him the truth about himself. The way he spoke made Nick understand why people believed Gatsby was lying. The story became more and more extravagant with each sentence. They passed a truck full of workers who cheered for Gatsby. The man removed his hat at waved it in the air as a sign of appreciation and Nick was amazed even more by Gatsby.