A train waits at a drawbridge spanning a small, foul creek, where a vast dumping ground comprised of massive mounds of smoldering ash. The train tracks cut through its heart and the gleaming towers of the city shimmer in the distance. Both Jesse and Nick look out at the awful wasteland in front of them, and from where they were sitting they could see a gigantic paint peeling billboard that reads: "Dr. T.J. Eckleberg." Tom, flushed with booze and heat, glances covertly around the halted carriage, while Nick and Jesse sit on the opposite side of the man.
"You don't look so good." Jesse says.
"Tell me something I don't know!" the man fires back. As the carriage moves, Tom suddenly pulls both Nick and Jesse to their feet, then drags them both from the moving train..
"Come on, both of you! On your feet!" Jesse nearly trips, but manages to catch himself, and at the same time, winces in pain from the shrapnel. As the train pulls off, Nick, exasperates, chases Tom, followed by Jesse, who was bringing up the rear.
"What are we doing out here?" Nick asked.
"Trust me!"
"Wait a second would you!?"
"Dominate Nick! Dominate!" Tom, Nick and Jesse arrive to a small garage. A sign reads: "GEORGE B. WILSON. Cars Bought and Sold." As the trio enter the dim garage, a nervous, spiritless man, appears from the back office.
"Hello Wilson! How's business?"
"I can't complain. When are you going to sell me that car?" Wilson asked, in an impatient tone. To Jesse, he felt like he was in his shop once more, and people have been asking if he was willing to sell a car that sat behind his shop for years. Even his own employees have been nagging him to sell that car.
"I've got my man working on it." The words echoed in Jesse's mind. He's heard this line one too many times.
"Works pretty slow, don't he?" And this one.
"Maybe I'd better sell it somewhere else? Or better yet, I can sell it to this fine gentleman right here. He's a fine mechanic, even though he may not look like one." Tom says, pointing to Jesse. "He can work on it faster, if he'd like."
"I don't mean that, I just..." Wilson's grovelling is terminated by the sound of chunky red heels corkscrewing down stairs from above. All turn to see. Buxom. Smoldering. Elementally sensual.
"If its business you're talking, you should be talking to me..." the woman turns to her husband. "Get some chairs why don't you; so somebody can sit down." Myrtle smiles slowly and, walking through her husband as if he were a ghost, shakes hands with Tom. "Hurry up!" she snapped at Wilson.
"Oh, sure... Sure..." Wilson hurries out back.
"Mrs. Wilson... Nick Carraway. And Jesse Williams."
"A pleasure..."
"Nick's a writer..." Tom began, but Myrtle is completely uninterested.
"I'm in bonds, actually..." Nick says feebly.
"Get on the next train." Tom says with intention.
"Now...? Are we gettin' that dog?" Myrtle says, as if trying to play hard to get.
"Whatever you want. And you can call up your sister..." Tom says, glancing to Nick. "She'll like him."
"Oh no, that's alright, I'm busy. But Jesse here is free." Nick says, thumbing Jesse.
"No. I'm taken. Sorry."
"Catherine's said to be very good looking, by people who oughta know." Myrtle says, intentionally looking at both Nick and Jesse.
"Really I can't..."
"Do you want to embarrass Myrtle? That's rude." Tom whispered to Nick.
...
Later, they arrived to an apartment complex, where Jesse is kneeled over a puppy mouthing a soggy dog biscuit that dissolves into a saucer of milk. Nick, horrified, perches on a couch in a small room stuffed with tacky, pretentious objects; that were obviously bought by Tom. Soon, Nick springs to his feet and yanks open the front door, nearly hitting Jesse who was still watching the puppy trying to eat its soggy biscuit, only to be startled by a slender, louche girl in her twenties, with a sticky bob of red hair. The woman sweeps into the room, pivots, and extends her hand.
"I'm Catherine; ain't we havin' a party?" Catherine says, leaning close to Nick now.
"Oh, I'm... I'm not sure now's a good time- I was just going..." But Nick's exit is blocked.
"Hello...!" Mrs. Mckee, a shrill woman in her 30s, enters with her husband, Mr. Mckee, a feminine man with a bit of shaving cream on his cheek.
"Chester McKee, pleasure to meet you. And who is this gorgeous young man here?" he turns to Jesse, who was getting up from watching the puppy. He looked up at Jesse. "So tall."
"Nick Carraway. And that is Jesse." Chester began to study closely at Jesse's face, which appeared more feminine than his was.
"Jesse. What a beautiful name. So beautiful..." Chester raised his hand to feel Jesse's soft face, and to get a good look at his jawline. "Just like a beautiful work of art from God himself." he says, running his fingers along Jesse's pronounced jawline, and sees his stud earring. The whole apartment began to fall into chaos.
"Where're the kids?" Mrs. Mckee asked, while Nick is still trying to leave, but Catherine has him cornered...
"What's the matter? Don't ya like me?" Catherine says to Nick. Suddenly, the bedroom door whooshes open and Myrtle appears wearing an astounding, red jersey sheath dress.
"Myrtle Turtle...! Oh, that dress is adorable!" Mrs. Mckee says shrilly.
"It's just a crazy old thing. I slip it on when I don't care what I look like!" Myrtle says, while Tom appears behind her, arrogantly buttoning his shirt.
"Get some ice Myrtle, before everyone goes to sleep." Myrtle sweeps into the kitchen; Tom opens the liquor cabinet.
"Tom, I really should be going..." Nick says, trying to make for the door, while Jesse was in an equally sticky situation with Chester as well, who was smelling him now. He was starting to have flashbacks of that time back at that bar in Philadelphia again. Chester put his hands on Jesse's shoulders now, rubbing them, while still smelling Jesse. Soon, Chester begins to unbutton Jesse's blazer buttons from behind.
"Nonsense..." Tom says, grabbing Nick's arm.
"Tom; I don't think- Daisy's my-" Tom pulls Nick back toward the "party".
"Listen Nick, you like to watch; I remember that from college. And that's OK, I make no judgment; but we've got a whole summer-do you want to sit on the sideline and watch, or do you want to play ball?"
"Yeah. Ain't we good enough for ya?" Catherine winks, then pushes Nick into his chair, and fearlessly lands herself in his lap. "Take off yer hat and stay awhile..."
"Hey Nick! McKee's in the artistic game."
"Photography." Mckee says, then turns to Jesse. "I wish you could model for me. You look so good." He runs his hand alongside Jesse's slender neck.
"M-m-model?" Jesse stammered, then swallowed. He had been asked to model since his arrival back to New York.
"Nick's artistic." Tom says.
"No..."
"Really?" Mckee momentarily looks away from Jesse.
"Ah, no, well, I write a little..." Tom clunks the gramophone needle onto a record and Catherine raises her voice above the music.
"Do you live on Long Island, too?"
"I live at West Egg." Nick says, uneasily.
"Really? I was there at a party about a month ago. At a man named Gatsby's. Do you know him?"
"Jesse and I live right next door to him..." Nick says, trying to look for his new-found friend.
"He's a cousin of Kaiser Wilhelm's..." Catherine leans close and whispers in Nick's ear. "Neither of them can stand who they're married to."
"Doesn't she like Wilson either?" Myrtle overhears what Nick and Catherine were talking about
"He's a greasy little scumbag!" Tom grins arrogantly and offers a drink to Catherine.
"No thanks; I feel just as good on nothing at all..." With a suggestive glimpse of tongue, Catherine pops a pill. "Nerve pills, I get them from a doctor in Queens. You want one?"
"My nerves are fine thanks..." Catherine smiles mischievously, puts a pill on her tongue and suddenly kisses Nick... He splutters, but Catherine tips the scotch to his mouth, washing the pill down. Blurry freakish images of time passing... The whiskey is in demand by all; Catherine dances a solo. The music is sexy, dirty, deafening. The images become wilder, nauseatingly violent... As Catherine undresses Nick...the puppy sits on the table groaning faintly through the smoke, Myrtle suddenly springs to her feet!
"I've got to get a massage, and a wave, and a collar for the dog, and one of those cute little ash-trays where you touch a spring, and a wreath with a black silk bow for mother's grave!"
...
Later that night, Nick, very drunk, finds himself at the bathroom window, observing the infinite life of the city...
High over the city
our yellow windows
must have contributed
their share of human secrets
to the casual watcher in the street...
Meanwhile, Jesse was in a deep sleep along with Chester, his arm wrapped around Jesse's body, to prevent him from escaping, and his shirt was half buttoned. Chester had his face very close to Jesse's, while he had his small mouth open, and for the first time, he was snoring.
...
Nick is still asleep, while the harsh morning light soon awashes him. His eyelids slowly flutter awake. He realizes he's been sleeping on the porch in his underwear...His pants lie next to him, his shirt is on the railing, his jacket is in a tree, and his car is parked in the bushes... Jesse was waking up inside the house, equally feeling nauseated from the night before, and just like Nick, he had no idea how he got back to the house. Jesse got up, but stumbles over before falling to the floor with a loud thud!
...
Later that evening, an immaculate chauffeur, in uniform of robin's egg blue, stands on Nick's doorstep, holding a silver tray on which rests an invitation... The words written on the invitation "Dear Mr. Carraway, the honor would be entirely mine, if you would attend my little party..."
This was the exact same invitation Jesse had received.