Part VIII: No Light, No Light
"...You want a revelation
You wanna get it right
But it's a conversation
I just can't have tonight
You want a revelation
Some kind of resolution
You want a revelation..."
~ "No Light, No Light" - Florence + the Machine
Wednesday
February 18, 1923
Rebecca had known what to do the moment Wolfsheim had called just after breakfast. The chess board had been set and all they needed to do was move a few last pieces before they could call check mate on Buchanan. Apparently, Wolfsheim already had a man in with Buchanan who was quickly becoming one of the most trusted friends that Tom had left in his dwindling circle.
The poker game had been set and rigged so that everything would go off perfectly without a hitch. All the players knew their exact plays by heart and the deck had been loaded so that Buchanan wouldn't be able to cheat. The players at the table would be able to play their cards correctly so that everything worked out and Buchanan would gamble away the deed to his East Egg estate and so much more. What was even better was that he had no way of ever proving that Wolfsheim or any of his associates had been a part of fixed game.
The man that Wolfsheim had found to help them pull off the con of a life time was a professional gambler, but a wealthy gentleman from Atlanta whose own half-sister had come under the prey of Tom Buchanan. Tom had no idea that Julia Colette and Reginald 'Reggie' Nord were even related and it played to their strengths well to have a man like Reggie in Buchanan's ear. According to Wolfsheim, every man at the table knew his role and what was required of him down to every last play. Every single man sitting at the table including the dealer had lost a sister or female relative to Tom Buchanan's charms and it made each man there all the more dangerous and focused to make sure that everything happened exactly as it was supposed to. Of course, Wolfsheim had some of his own people in the house of George Napier where the game would take place.
Napier's sister Jane had also been taken advantage of by Buchanan. The girl had been only eighteen when Tom had seduced her and she'd fallen pregnant. It had happened a few weeks before Tom had married Daisy and the encounter had left the young woman with child. Like Wolfsheim's sister, Jane Napier and her son had died in childbed leaving George Napier alone in the world. Jane had been his last living family member after their parent's death. Like Wolfsheim too, Napier had loved his sister dearly and had been with her at the very end where he'd vowed revenge against Buchanan. Each man had a story that was somehow parallel with Tom's wrong doings to Mary.
Benedict Macy, who was also sitting in at the table, had a younger sister who had been fifteen when Tom had seduced her. She'd fallen with child but in the fifth month of her pregnancy, a miscarriage happened and her daughter had been still born. Luckily, the Macy family had managed to keep the scandal hidden. Clara Macy hadn't been the same since was likely never to be the same ever again. The once carefree and laughing girl had become a shy and quiet woman. In the end, she'd married into an aristocratic family in England that Rebecca had been surprised to learn was a family friend of Matthew's. When she'd asked him about James D'Arcy, Duke of Warrington, Matthew had only sung the praises of the man. Rebecca had been left with the distinct impression that Matthew and James were similar in personality. It was a relief to hear that at least one girl who fallen under Buchanan's spell had gotten out alive and was thriving as well as anyone possibly could. James D'Arcy had known about Buchanan and yet, he'd married Clara anyways. When Rebecca had introduced Benedict and Matthew, she'd seen relief on Macy's face when he heard Matthew talk about how lovely Clara was and how she was a Duchess that would make any man proud.
The fifth and final man sitting at the table with Napier, Nord, Macy and Buchanan would be Charlie Shepard, a wealthy man who sister was the only woman at the table who hadn't fallen pregnant. The man was silent and his stony expression made Rebecca even more afraid of him then she'd ever been of Wolfsheim or Gatsby. According to Wolfsheim, Charlie was a good man who loved his sister dearly. Ever since her breakdown, he'd been cold and withdrawn from the world. Like Mary, Georgiana Shepard had been promised marriage, but once she'd come to Buchanan's bed the rules had changed and she had been abandoned. The experience had been so traumatic for the young girl that she hadn't spoken since the incident and it had left Charlie Shepard angry and determined to do anything to see the man who'd hurt his sister taken care of.
"Park here," Rebecca told Brighton as he pulled the car in front of a car garage in the valley of ashes. It matched the description that Wolfsheim had enclosed in his note for her. When she'd received the note before breaking her fast, Rebecca knew instantly what had to be done and the information that Wolfsheim had received on George Wilson had helped her formulate her plan of attack.
Her job was to create enough doubt in Wilson's mind that she could get him in the car with her to go to New York so that he could see the truth for himself. The minute that Wolfsheim had seen Myrtle and Tom enter the building, he'd sent his note. It was very likely that Tom and Myrtle would be in the secret flat all day and it would be a matter of hours until George Wilson knew the truth.
Seizing the moment, Rebecca let a mask of cold indifference slide over her face as Brighton stopped the car. Quickly, the driver opened the back door and Rebecca stepped out into the crisp, cool air of February. An exhausted looking man walked out from his garage as he used a cloth to wipe grease off his hands.
"Can I help you, ma'am?" he asked looking haggard. For a brief moment, she almost pitied him but her resolve returned like waves hitting a dam and moment later.
"Are you Mr. Wilson?" Rebecca asked as she clutched the envelope that contained Wolfsheim's faked letter to her in hand. Everything had to go perfectly and Rebecca felt like getting George Wilson to doubt his wife's fidelity would be easier than she thought it would.
"I am Mr. Wilson," Wilson said slowly as he slipped the grease cloth into his pocket, "Who are you?"
"A worried woman," Rebecca replied as she looked around the dirty show with thinly veiled disgust. "Is there a private place we could speak?"
"I h-h-have an office," Wilson told her looking concerned. "Would your driver like a drink?"
Brighton looked to Rebecca and she nodded, "I'm sure he'd love one while he's waiting for us."
George quickly led her into the garage office and got Brighton a soda as she looked around. There was nothing impressive about the building or the office. It was dark and dull with a desk in the center of the room that was overflowing with papers. An old desk chair was behind the desk and a second chair was on the opposite side of the desk that looked like it was used for customers to sit in. The chair looked so old and dangerously close to falling apart that Rebecca was sure that if she sat, the chair would snap in two. Looking through the open door way, Rebecca watched as Brighton accepted the bottle soda from Wilson. Her driver looked over Wilson's shoulder at her and she nodded as if to tell him not to worry. Turning back around, Rebecca looked at the desk as Wilson walked back into the office.
"What is it that I can help you with, ma'am?" Wilson asked with a tired smile. "Something wrong with your car?"
"No," Rebecca said quietly as she walked slowly back towards the door of the office and closed it, "I'm here about your wife, Myrtle Wilson. She is your wife, am I correct?"
"Myrtle?" Wilson asked looking confused. "Is everything alright? She's in New York for the day. If you want to speak with her, you'll have to come back another time. I do apologize-"
"Mr. Wilson, do you know where in New York your wife is?" Rebecca interrupted coldly. "Because I have a letter here of the most serious nature as well as a key to the place she is currently at."
"What are you talking about?" Wilson said with the shake of his head, "Myrtle is in New York visiting her sister. They're very close."
Rebecca sighed and held up the envelope, "A letter arrived this morning for me. It talks about you. Did you know that? It also talks about your wife and one Mr. Tom Buchanan."
"Tom Buchanan?"
"Surely you know Mr. Buchanan?" Rebecca laughed a little, "Everyone is afraid to let their wives and daughters anywhere near him. He's a womanizer of the first order."
"Mr. Buchanan is a business associate."
"Business associate…are you sure?" she challenged.
"Well, we will be soon. He is always telling me he'll have his man bring his car over for me to fix," Wilson replied with the shake of his head. "What are you talking about him being a womanizer? He's a good man, ma'am. Don't disrespect him."
"Oh," Rebecca said as a frown crossed her face. "You don't know about what's been going on, do you?"
"My patience is thinning, ma'am. What should I know about that I apparently don't know about?" Wilson sighed.
"Myrtle and Tom…they're the talk of New York City. Apparently, they've been seeing each other and they have a flat in the city. That's where she's at now with him."
"That's a lie!" Wilson snapped angrily.
"Is it?" Rebecca snapped back as she held out the letter for him to see. "They've been the talk of New York for weeks now. Only recently was it discovered that your wife is his mistress. Don't think I wouldn't come here without hard evidence, Mr. Wilson. I wouldn't set foot anywhere near this dump if I absolutely didn't have to."
"A letter? That's you evidence?"
"A key and an address. That's my evidence, Mr. Wilson," she told him quietly as she took out the key that Wolfsheim had procured for her. It was the master key to the apartment building Myrtle was at and it would unlock any door including the secret flat.
"Prove me wrong," Rebecca continued as she challenged him. "I have a car. I can take you to New York and the exact address where your wife is at. We can find out together if what my friend has written is really the truth or a simple lie."
"Where did you get the key?" Wilson asked her as he stared at the letter in her out stretched hands.
"My friend procured it. She's been doing a small investigation into Mr. Buchanan and his women. Her private investigator procured the key and she sent it to me. She's a very devout woman and wanted to make sure that you knew the truth about your wife so that you could bring her back to God," Rebecca said using the information that Wolfsheim had proved about Mr. Wilson's deep religious beliefs. "What can you lose, Mr. Wilson? You claim that your wife is so very faithful. Prove me wrong."
She held the key out to him too and Wilson stared at both the letter and the key.
"Myrtle isn't having an affair," Wilson said again but he didn't sound so sure of himself. At the moment, Rebecca knew that she'd drawn him in and he was hooked on line she'd dangled in front of him.
"Then what do we have to lose?" she smiled as she slipped the letter and the key back into her clutch. "It's just a drive to the city."
Wilson reached out a greasy hand hesitantly, "She's not having an affair."
He picked up his coat from the hook near the office door and Rebecca smiled inwardly with glee.
Everything was working.
The back door to her car swung open and Rebecca nearly jumped from where she'd been watching the entrance to the building where Tom kept his secret flat all morning. The chilly air filled the car as Wolfsheim slipped into the seat next to her wearing a heavy winter coat and leather gloves. His hat in hand, he nodded at Brighton in acknowledgement before he turned to look at her.
"I figured I'd find you here, Mrs. Gatsby," he said as Rebecca adjust the fur blanket that covered her legs.
"I want to make sure that Wilson sees his wife and Tom together," she admitted as she watched the entryway with anticipation.
"My man said that Wilson is at the door. He's just trying to come up with the guts to open the damn thing," Wolfsheim sighed. "Hopeful, we won't have to wait too damn long."
"We might as well be here all day if we're waiting on George Wilson," Rebecca sighed as she leaned back. "Is everything else ready?"
"Yes, everything will be ready for tomorrow night when you go to the Sloane's party. Plant these letters near the biggest gossips in New York City," Wolfsheim told her as he took out a stack of letters. "My cousin forged them just like the letter you showed to Wilson today. Once those gossiping hens get their hands on these letters, well, Buchanan will have no choice but to flee New York in ruin. Most of his fortune will be gone, his estate will be gone, and he'll be the humiliation on his family once again. Lord, I pray and hope that his father does something like disinherit that bastard. I'd like to see him rot without his daddy's cash to keep him warm at night."
Rebecca quickly accepted the letter and looked through them. They were detailed accounts of the many different women Tom had slept with and even some hinted that he had dozens of love children in Chicago and around the country. Each letter was more scandalous then the next and each letter would do considerable damage in the hands of New York's worst gossips.
These letters would destroy any lasting shred of Buchanan's reputation and status in society. He and Daisy would become the laughing stock of New York and doors would be closed to them. After Wolfsheim won Buchanan's money, he would leak word of Buchanan's lost fortune and it would be the final nail in the Buchanan family coffin. By the time Buchanan knew what had happened, there would be nothing left for him to do and it filled Rebecca with glee even more if it was possible. There would be no time for damage control and the humiliation he'd subjected everyone around him to would come back around and haunt him for many years to come.
"I'm sure that everyone would like to see Tom Buchanan rot and we will see it happen," Rebecca told Wolfsheim as she slipped the letters into her clutch. "I assure you of that, Mr. Wolfsheim."
Just as Wolfsheim was about to reply, they both leaned forward at the first sight of movement at the front door of the apartment building and they both watched as a raging Wilson pushed Myrtle through the front door. She was barely dressed and it looked like her husband had yanked her from bed with Tom. Wilson continued to yell at her as he hailed a cab. He alternated between shaking her and yelling in her face as she cried. It didn't surprise Rebecca when Myrtle tried to say something to Wilson, he smacked her. Wilson's blow quickly silenced Myrtle as a cabby pulled up in front of them.
Without waiting another second, Myrtle quickly slipped into the cab as a half-dressed Tom clamored out into the street. Words were passed between the men angrily and ended with a few bystanders holding Wilson back from attack Tom. George Wilson spat something at Tom before climbing into the cab that Myrtle had gotten into. Tom stood outside for only a moment before returning back indoors to his secret flat.
"What a pity," Rebecca drawled as she leaned back. "I think I would have liked to see George Wilson give Tom Buchanan a proper beating."
"Yes," Wolfsheim agreed as he took out his fob watch from his vest pocket. "What a pity indeed. It's nearly one o'clock feel like lunch, Mrs. Gatsby? I happen to know of a quiet, out of the way place we could go, very discrete and secluded."
Wolfsheim gave her a teasing look that Rebecca could only smile at. She'd come to know Meyer more and more since they'd begun working together. He'd revealed a wicked sense of humor that always brought a smile to her face.
"What will my husband say, Mr. Wolfsheim?" she dared with a saucy grin.
"It's the Plaza Hotel woman!" Wolfsheim barked with a laugh. "Where did you think I was talking you? A Speak Easy? Your husband would shoot me."
He didn't give her a chance to respond as he delivered orders to Brighton quickly. Within minutes, the car was moving and a second car followed behind. Rebecca looked out the window into the snowy streets of New York and couldn't help but to think about what Mary would say about their whole scheme. Rebecca couldn't help but to think that despite all the evidence laid before her, Mary would continue to believe that Tom Buchanan was innocent and still loved her.
Thursday
February 20, 1923
Sloane House, New York City
Tom Buchanan wasn't a nervous man.
It took a lot to make him feel anything really, but when word broke out about his affairs in Chicago, it had made him feel anxious. He would be the first to admit he liked women, although perhaps a little more than he should. The society of Chicago had driven him out of the city. They were horrified at his womanizing ways and it had been his father's idea that they go to New York.
John Buchanan was one of the few people who truly could instill fear in Tom Buchanan's heart as an adult. The old man had threatened to disinherit him if another scandal like Chicago came about. Tom could still remember Daisy screaming and crying at him as she'd flung objects at him left and right. When news had broken about the fact that he'd had over a dozen mistresses all over the city, the press had eaten up like cherry pie. They'd loved it and the society of Chicago locked their doors to any Buchanan. People could understand having one mistress, but even Tom knew he'd crossed a line in having twelve women at his fingertips.
When John Buchanan had arranged the move to New York, the old man had told him that he didn't care who his mistress was as long as he only had one and that one woman never showed up in any papers, or became pregnant with any bastard child of his. Coming back to New York had been bitter sweet in the end though. The sky line reminded Tom of Mary Harper and her love of the city. Truly, his heart had ached for a few weeks when he'd left her. Mary Harper was bright and wild, but she wasn't the Mrs. Buchanan he was looking for. No, Mary Harper was silly and a stupid little chit. She had only one person to blame for her child and it was herself. She called him crying that she was pregnant and misheard his words or something. She'd thought he'd offer her marriage, but the words had never passed his lips. He had been certain that her family would clean up the mess she'd made and they had, but Rebecca and Elizabeth Harper knew the truth of what had happened. Those two women knowing the truth about what had happened was why Tom Buchanan was a nervous man.
Besides his father, Rebecca and Elizabeth Harper were the only two people who scared him simply because they held the Pandora's Box of truths in their hands about him. Marrying into the Gatsby name had only tightened the Harper's status in New York society and the marriage had healed their reputation. In New York society, Katherine Harper was a force of nature especially when she teamed up with the Vanderbilt or Rockefeller family. Tom would bet his fortune that Katherine Harper had been furious when Mary Harper had fallen pregnant. Rumors had been circulating for a while that the Harper family had been arranging a marriage between Mary Harper and John Hubert Vanderbilt, the heir to the Vanderbilt family fortune.
From Daisy and her friends, Tom knew also that the Harper's had recovered and built their social standing even more once Rebecca married Jay Gatsby. Their hopes were now set on Elizabeth to make a match with either the Rockefellers or Vanderbilt's. When Elizabeth married into either family, the Harper's would no longer be near the top of the society food chain, they would be the top of the food chain. The Harper's would become practical royalty and with that status they would gain more power than ever.
Tom didn't like it, but he knew that the Harper sisters could crush Daisy and himself if they so desired. The world could believe whatever they wanted to about sweet, darling Rebecca Gatsby. Tom knew the truth. Rebecca was like a viper and she'd learned from the best. She could sit on information for months, years even and when she decided to strike, she went for the jugular. Her attack was swift and one barely knew what was happening until it was over.
Fear was something Tom Buchanan rarely felt, but just one look from her and he could feel the noose tightening around his neck. Whispers had started again all over the city that Tom had a new mistress and even more so, whispers had started again about Mary Harper dying and leaving a son who had been fathered by him. Chicago hadn't been mentioned yet, but it was only a matter of days until word broke and once again society would be horrified by his womanizing ways.
The Harper sisters would make it unable for anyone to trace the leaks back to them, but Tom knew it was a part of their game. They were like lioness playing with their food and he was in the next one in line to be their meal. It was a game he'd lose very quickly because New York had firmly sided with the Harper's and the sympathy was pouring out like a wine glass overflowing. Everyone spoke about how sweet Mary had been and how much of a scoundrel the man was who'd wronged her. Rebecca and Elizabeth Harper never used his name directly, but it was implied in all the rumors he'd heard.
Tom Buchanan had every reason to be afraid. He could have sworn he'd seen Rebecca Gatsby in a car across the street for the secret flat he kept with Myrtle the day before. He wasn't sure if he'd imagined it or not but when he'd come back down stairs completely dressed, the car had been gone. The feeling of fear had settled into his gut. Coupled with the fact that Myrtle hadn't been returning any of his phone calls, he knew something wasn't right. Tom had been so lost in his thoughts that he nearly jumped when he felt a hand clasp him on the shoulder.
"Relax, Tommy boy," Reginald Nord smiled. "It's just me."
Tom smiled seeing a familiar face. Reggie Nord was a professional gambler and a gentleman by name. Originally from Atlanta, Reggie was a tall man with strongly built frame and green eyes that looked like emeralds. His midnight black hair was combed back perfectly and the black tux he was cut just right. What made him and Tom good friends though was their mutual love for women. Reggie was probably worse in the womanizing department than he was.
Unmarried, Reggie lived his life through gambling, sex and drinking. The man had a fortune that rivaled many, but he didn't touch. No, Reggie made his living by gambling and had started showing Tom around the tables. At first, Tom had been distrusting but Reggie had become quickly a valued friend and was currently teaching him everything he knew about poker.
The one thing that he and Reggie firmly agreed on was that the scum of the world like Wolfsheim and Gatsby could kiss their asses. Men like them were nothing but filthy bootleggers who didn't belong in the company of decent, respectable men like themselves. It was refreshing to Tom to find someone whose views and values matched his own so well.
"I didn't know you'd be here," Tom said as they shook hands. "What brings you to this kinda party? Please tell me it isn't some woman Reggie. God, I hope she's not married. I'll have to tell you about George Wilson and his wife Myrtle yesterday. It was a goddamned mess."
"Not just any woman, my sister," Reggie said as he pointed over his shoulder with his thumb. "Marianne apparently wanted to take in a few parties before she returned back to Atlanta. You know how girls are. A few dresses, pearls and parties and they're happy for the rest of their lives."
Tom laughed, "Don't we all know that is the truth."
Reggie let go of Tom's hand, but the smile never left his face, "I found a game if you're interested. Stakes are real high, but I know you, Tommy boy. I ain't ever seen someone with your kinda skills and I think you could really win this baby. The buy in ain't cheap, but the pot is worth probably half our combined fortunes. So what do you say, Tommy boy? Feel like a game?"
Rebecca watched from across the room as she danced with Nick. Reggie Nord led Tom Buchanan away and a satisfying smirk crossed her face as she felt delight fill her. Everything was falling into place just the way it was supposed to and if things kept going the way they were supposed to go, the plan would work out perfectly. Wolfsheim had sent her a note before she'd left Gatsby House earlier in the day and it only made the smirk on her face larger when she thought about it.
George Wilson had sold his shop to a man of Wolfsheim's earlier in the morning and planned to move west with Myrtle. According to the buyer, Myrtle Wilson had gotten the beating of her life from her husband. She didn't look good and whenever the wire rang during their brief business transaction, George Wilson glared at her as if daring her to answer it. Soon, Buchanan would have nothing and the thought excited her to no end.
"What are you smiling about?" Nick teased as he spun her around in the waltz.
"What?" Rebecca asked feeling startled as she looked up at him. Nick had been kind enough to escort her to the Sloane Party and he'd provided a steady stream of delightful conversation that she hadn't been quite as attentive to as she usually was. Rebecca knew that he thought she was distracted by the thought of Gatsby and Daisy being together while they were at the party. The truth was that Rebecca hadn't even thought about Daisy being with her husband. Her mind was focused on Buchanan. She wasn't even think about Gatsby and Daisy.
"You have this smile on your face like you just won a million dollars," Nick told her as he smiled back. "Aren't you going to tell me why you're smiling so?"
She quickly covered and gave Nick a softer smile, "I feel that way, Nick, like I've won a million dollars. I can't explain it, but for once in my life I feel genuine happiness, Mr. Carraway. Just incandescent happiness that makes me smile so much. Are you jealous of me?"
"I don't agree with you seeing Lord Kettlemore, Rebecca. You must know that, but I am happy for you that you're finding joy in this life," Nick said quietly. "Your happiness matters to many people above anything else. So yes, I am jealous that you're so happy."
"I know that you don't approve, Nick. No one has ever made me the way I've been feeling in a very long time. I haven't felt this way since…"
"Since Gatsby," Nick finished wearing an astonished expression.
"Yes," Rebecca agreed quietly. "Matthew and Jay, they're two very different men, but I do care for them both in very different ways."
"So, you do love Gatsby?"
"I loved him," she corrected. "I loved him a long time ago. When I believe in a fairy tales world where the princes always saved the princesses and slayed the many dragons. Do you know what happened? I grew up, Nick. I learned that the world doesn't work that way. Fairy tales are just that, tales. Fables and bedtime stories made up so little girls will go to sleep like they're told. The time I spent with Gatsby? It was nothing more than a dream, Nick."
"What about Matthew Spring?" Nick asked. "Do you love him?"
Rebecca halted her feet and looked at him sadly, "I don't think I am capable of love, Nick. Do I care for Matthew a great deal? Yes, I would gladly go to the ends of the world with him. Do I love him? I don't know what love is anymore."
"How can you think you're not capable of love, if you don't know what love is?" he reasoned.
"Have you ever burnt yourself so badly that it left a scar?" Rebecca asked. "I have been burned. It's not the kind of burn you can see, but it's there. Gatsby left it. I'm not sure it will heal, Nick. That's why I don't think I'm capable of love. I'm just too damaged, please, excuse me."
She turned swiftly on her heal and walked off into the crowd trying not to cry. For so long she pretended that she was alright. That nothing was wrong, but Nick had the impossible ability to know when she was lying. He could see through her like glass and he always asked hard questions that hurt to answer. The truth was that for so long she'd thought she'd loved Gatsby and now Matthew was stirring different kinds of feelings inside her. The long nights that she spent in his bed warmed more than just her body. He was slowly warming her heart and the emotions that for so long she tried to keep hidden away.
She didn't want to confront her emotions for Gatsby or Matthew. Rebecca wanted things to stay the way they were. Everything was so simple now and to rock the boat would be devastating to her. It registered in the back of her mind that eventually Matthew would leave and go back to England. He had to go back simply because he had other responsibilities there that he could turn away from. He had a life there and she didn't want to be the reason that he was kept away from that. The ending of their affair was enviable.
Eventually, someone would find out or something would take Matthew back to England. He would leave and she'd return back to her own cold, miserable, and lonely bed at Gatsby Manor where the memories of her time with him would warm her at night. The more Rebecca thought about it, the more she wanted to cry. Walking towards a maid and requesting that the woman fetch her clutch, Rebecca stood on the balcony above the Sloane's ballroom and watched as the hordes of people below laughed and chatted.
The same feeling of disconnect passed over her as she watched. Standing there reminded Rebecca of all the glamorous parties that Jay had thrown. He hadn't had one in months, not since he'd found Daisy. The moment Daisy set foot in the manor, the parties had ended. Gatsby had left her to deal with the many buzzing questions about why the parties were done. It wasn't a position Rebecca had enjoyed being in, but she was convinced that the outside world would realize something was amiss if she didn't play the dutiful wife and demurely answer the many questions.
"Are we ready?"
Elizabeth's voice snapped Rebecca out of her thoughts. Turning to look at her sister, Rebecca could see the maid returning with her clutch over Elizabeth's shoulder.
"Yes," she told Elizabeth as the maid bobbed a curtsy.
"Here's your clutch, ma'am," the young girl said as she handed the small beaded bag over.
"You may go," Rebecca told the maid. The young maid bobbed another curtsy before walking off. Grabbing Elizabeth's wrist, Rebecca walked quickly away from the balcony to a secluded hallway where she opened the bag and took out the stack of letters only after she was sure no one would see them.
"You know what to do," she said to Elizabeth as she handed her younger sister half the stack. "Put them in places you know people will find them."
Elizabeth nodded and left Rebecca standing in the empty hallway. Looking around, Rebecca spotted a clock and looked at the time. It was nearly ten o'clock and the game would begin any moment. Her chest felt tight as she thought about what was going to happen in the next two hours. Tom Buchanan would soon find his world rocked in ways he could never imagine. Only for a moment did she pity him, but that pity quickly disappeared when she thought of the many people he'd hurt.
Revenge might not lessen the ache and hurt of what had happened to Mary, but Rebecca was sure it was a damn good place to start. She'd always resent Buchanan and forgiving him was out of the question. If losing his wealth even slightly compared to what losing Mary felt like, Rebecca was sure it still wasn't enough of a punishment.
The clock chimed ten and Rebecca squared her shoulders. Nothing Tom Buchanan could ever do would ease the hurt of losing Mary. Not even his money could fill the hole that had begun to form inside her since Mary's death. Nothing every could fix what happened, but Rebecca would have the satisfaction of revenge and being able to provide her sister's son with the future and inheritance that was rightfully his by birth. Walking down the hallway, Rebecca slipped back into the crowds and set about her task that would bring about the fall of the Buchanan family.
Tuesday
February 25, 1923
New York City was in uproar. Nick couldn't ever remember a time when he'd seen the city in such chaos. Everyone was talking about the 'Sloane Letters' and the contents of them. Rumors had already been circulating about Tom and Chicago, but the letters were by many believed to be concrete evidence of the truth. Tom had been managed to lie to Daisy so far about the rumors. When Nick had gone to see Tom earlier in the day, Tom had been anxious. Never had Nick seen the usually cool and confident Tom so disheveled. The man had been on his last nerve and Daisy had been trying to comfort him. It had been an almost sickening sight to watch. His cousin comforting a man she planned on leaving in a few days.
Nick followed Crawley up the steps of the manor towards the library where Gatsby was. It was nearly one o'clock in the afternoon and he hadn't seen Rebecca since she'd excused herself during their dance nearly a week before. He regretted that he'd made her uncomfortable and upset. Nick half hoped that they'd run into her at some point on the quick walk to the library so he could apologize to her. Upsetting her had not been his goal. Nick had only wanted to tell her that he was happy that she was smiling again. Instead, it had come out wrong. Reaching the double doors to the library, Crawley knocked. They waited until they heard Gatsby's calm voice bidding them to enter the room.
"Mr. Carraway is here to see you, Mr. Gatsby, sir," Crawley said in his gravelly voice.
Gatsby smiled as he stood looked at Nick, "Old sport, good to see you."
"You as well," Nick smiled as Crawley gave a small bow and exited the room. The door softly clicked shut behind them as Gatsby stuffed his hands in his pockets. He was quiet for a moment as he looked at his friend before taking a hand out of his pocket and picking up the decanter that was on a smaller circular table near the chair he'd been sitting in.
"Would you like some, old sport?"
Nick shook his head no as he walked towards the twin chair that Gatsby had been sitting in. Sitting down across from Gatsby who had also resumed his seat, Nick wasn't sure how to tell Gatsby of the rumors that were swirling around town. He didn't want to fan an open flame if Gatsby knew what they were saying about the Buchanan's. However, before Nick could say anything, Gatsby spoke up.
"I know you promised to be there for Rebecca when Daisy and I tell both Tom and her about our affair," Gatsby began. "Daisy is finally ready to tell Tom the truth and we've decided that we're going to do it on the first of March. That's this Saturday, old sport. Will you be there?"
"Jay," Nick began, but he stopped. The cold, hard reality was that Daisy was never going to leave Tom. She was a shallow, vain woman and Tom had everything that she needed. Gatsby was simply a toy to her, nothing more. Nick knew that the odds of Daisy leaving Tom were slim to none and instead of telling Jay that, Nick kept quiet.
In a twisted way, he hoped that if Daisy broke Gatsby's heart and showed him who she really was, the spell that she'd cast over Jay Gatsby would be broken. Nick hoped that somehow something would bring Gatsby back down to reality and earth.
"I'll be there," Nick finally said quietly. "What time?"
A smile came across Gatsby's face as he leaned back in the winged chair.
"Thank you, old sport. I appreciate it. Daisy will be calling Friday and we'll set up a time for Saturday. I've already made sure that Rebecca is free that day and Daisy has done the same with Tom. Everything is going to work out perfectly, old sport. I promise."
All Nick could do was nod and stare at the carpet. He didn't have the heart to tell Gatsby the truth of what he'd seen at his cousin's house nor did he have the heart to tell him the truth about Daisy. Both things Gatsby would have to learn on his own after he wrecked his marriage to the woman who had once desperately loved him.
Friday
February 28, 1923
Rebecca stood staring out the window of Matthew's library. The cool air caressed her skin the early morning light. Her feet were bare under the cold wood floors. Her loose robe barely covered up her lacy nightgown, but she barely registered the chill in the room as the snow below on the grounds glittered like millions of diamonds. They entranced her as she thought about how everything had worked out perfect.
She did feel some satisfaction, but it wasn't the feelings that she was expecting she'd be feeling. Wolfsheim had drained Buchanan's coffers and he'd seized the deed to Buchanan Manor in East Egg. Sources from the Buchanan staff had told Wolfsheim's men that Tom Buchanan was fleeing the states and going to Europe. He was whisking away Daisy and Pammy on some exotic trip to cover up the fact that he'd nearly lost three fourths of the Buchanan fortune and the family seat to a gangster. Rebecca would also bet that Tom was desperate to get out of the country before his father found out what had happened. John Buchanan was a fierce man and instilled fear in the hearts of everyone he met.
The only bright shining diamond in the events that had happened was that Wolfsheim had gifted her nephew with nearly half the fortune he'd won from Buchanan. While Rebecca was grateful, the money did nothing to ease the ache inside as she thought about Thomas and Mary. Destroying Buchanan had given her fleeting pleasure, but the realization was creeping up on her that nothing she did would ease the aching void that Mary had left behind. She had used her anger as a powerful motivator. In the end, she still felt the grief of losing a beloved sister. A single tear slipped down her cheek as she looked at the frozen glass and the sunlight breaking through the heavy, dark clouds. It was the first time Rebecca had let herself cry over Mary. The feelings that she forced down into a bottle and stuffed away were threatening to erupt in her chest.
More tears fell in rapid succession down her cheeks as she hopelessly tried to force herself to stop crying. Rebecca only noticed someone else was in the room with her when she felt a handkerchief dab her damp cheeks. Turning, she stared into Matthew's blue eyes as he stood looking at her with concern. Dropping the handkerchief down onto the table that was in front of the window, he pulled her into his arms. The warmth of his embrace was comforting and with his strong arms wrapped around her, Rebecca felt so safe and secure. He chin rested on the top of her head and his hand rubbed a soothing circle across her back. Blinking as fast as she could, Rebecca tried to stop the tears that seemed to be endless.
"Tell me what is wrong, my darling," he whispered softly. "Tell me what I can do to fix whatever is troubling you."
His words only brought more tears to her eyes as Rebecca buried her face in his chest and cried. She didn't care that she ruined his suit coat or shirt. Nothing mattered in that moment. There was one thing she wanted but could never have. Never had Rebecca so desperately wanted her sister back. In all the time that Mary had been gone, never had Rebecca felt such a longing for her.
"I want Mary," she sobbed to Matthew as she turned her head to hear his beating heart. "All I want is Mary back. She won't come back, will she? She's gone and it hurts so much. I can't stop the hurting."
Matthew's arms tightened around her. He said nothing but kissed the top of her head and cupped the back of her head.
"Will the pain ever stop?" Rebecca cried harder feeling his tender touch. "Will the ache just ever go away?"
"No," Matthew whispered. "Losing a loved one stays with you forever. It doesn't mean we love them any less. It only means that they've journey to a place we cannot go, my love."
Closing her eyes, Rebecca held onto Matthew tightly and hoped that he too would never leave her, but in her heart of hearts she knew that the day would come that Matthew too would leave her.
The ache inside her nearly doubled.
It was the day before Gatsby and Daisy were supposed to tell Rebecca and Buchanan about their affair. It was nearly too late to pay a social call, but Nick wanted to know if Daisy had called Gatsby with details. From the condition of Buchanan Manor, Nick doubted Gatsby was even on Daisy's mind. The house had been in complete chaos as trunks were packed left and right with entire wardrobes and valued possessions. Daisy had been going on and on about Europe and how Tom planned to take his two favorite girls to his favorite cities in the world. Jordan had been noticeably missing and Daisy had shrugged it off as her friend simply being jealous.
Nick knew that Jordan wasn't jealous. She was keeping her distance like everyone else in New York was doing. The society pages were having a field day with the letters from the Sloane Party and the intimate knowledge of everything that had happened in Chicago. There had even been whispers that Tom had gambled away the family fortune in a card game the same night as the Sloane Party, but there weren't any conformations yet that the money was gone. If anyone knew the truth, no one was saying a word.
The rumor shocked Nick but the more he thought about it, the more it fit in with Tom's behavior. The man had been jumpy, nervous, and erratic. Women, Tom could handle with ease.
A thrashing from John Buchanan about losing the family fortune?
That would have any man ruining their pants. It also made sense as to why Tom wanted an ocean between himself and his father as quick as possible.
Making his way up the wide stone steps to the front door of Gatsby Manor, Nick knocked and was greeted by Crawley. The old butler quickly confirmed that Gatsby was in the library like he usual was. Thanking the aging man, Nick made his way up the stairs and to the room he'd become familiar with the many months he'd been friends with Gatsby. Knocking once on the door, Nick turned the door knob and stepped into the dimly lit room. Gatsby was sitting in his usual chair in front of a roaring fire. His decanter was next to him on the small circular table and a half drunken glass of scotch was in his hand. The room which was composed of dark wood with burgundy and golden hues along with dark earthy tones looked comfortable, but the tension in the air was thick.
Gatsby whole body was tense and Nick was sure that his coming into the room hadn't even been noticed. Walking towards the twin chair that was on the other side of the circular table, Nick slowly sat down and relaxed back into the comfortable chair. Minutes of silence passed between them as Gatsby said nothing. After nearly fifteen minutes, Nick sighed and leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees.
"Has Daisy called yet?" he asked as Jay continued to stare at the flames. Nick wasn't even sure if his friend had heard him, but he felt relieved when a tense Gatsby gave one decisive nod indicating what Nick knew to be true.
Daisy hadn't called.
"Is Rebecca home?" Nick asked again trying to bring some words from Gatsby's lips.
"She's with Elizabeth, I think," Gatsby said finally after a few moments of silence before standing up and placing his hands on his hips. "They've been spending all their spare minutes together. God only knows what sisters do when they're together. Frankly, I don't give a damn."
Nick wanted to tell Gatsby that Rebecca probably wasn't with Elizabeth. At that moment, she was probably in bed with Matthew Spring in East Egg. The words nearly passed his lips, but Nick stopped himself. He didn't know for sure if Rebecca was having sexual relations with Matthew. Speculation would only make Gatsby more anxious than he already was.
Just looking at the man, Nick wondered if Gatsby had relaxed any muscles in his body recent. The tension was clear in his shoulders and posture. Before Nick could tell his friend to relax, Gatsby moved and began pacing. For nearly an hour, Nick watched Gatsby pace the length of the library back and forth. They were waiting for a call that wasn't bound to come. A part of Nick wished he'd never introduced Gatsby to Daisy. The other part hoped that by introducing them, some healing came out of this experience for Gatsby. Maybe the man would finally see reason and understand that the characterization he had made out for Daisy was so far off. No one but Gatsby was under an allusion as to what kind of woman she was.
It was late when Nick finally stood up and stretched. His own body was sore for sitting for the past few hours. Rolling his neck, Nick was keenly aware of the stabbing hunger pains in his stomach.
"I'm headed home, Jay," Nick said as he watched Gatsby come to a halt and drop back down into the chair he'd been sitting before. Gatsby didn't say anything, but stared into the fire like the answer to all the problems in life were written in the flames. Not expecting an answer, Nick began to walk towards the door. Just as his hand touched the door knob, Gatsby spoke up.
"Wait with me," he said shakily as his voice cracked towards the end.
Nick stopped in the doorway and closed his eyes. Just from the tone of his voice, Nick knew Gatsby wasn't as sure of himself as he'd been earlier in the day. Daisy had yet to call and knowing the reason why, Nick turned around planning to tell Gatsby the truth once and for all. The look of hope in Gatsby's eyes made him freeze. He couldn't bring himself to crush the hope that Gatsby clung to like a child's blanket. Walking back to the chair he'd been sitting in, Nick lowered himself down and like Gatsby, stared at into the fire while waiting for the telephone to ring.
"She'll call, old sport," Gatsby whispered. "I know she will."
Nick didn't say anything as he turned his head to look out at the purple and orange colors striking against the skyline. Daisy was probably long gone by now. On some boat going across the ocean or she lying down to sleep one last time in New York.
She wasn't going to call.
Saturday
March 1, 1923
Nick wasn't sure what time he'd fallen asleep, but he awoke with a sharp pain in his neck. Sitting up, he looked out of the nearest windows to see the grey clouds of winter hanging over the horizon. Snowflakes fell slowly and gathered around the frozen glass of the window. The fire that had been roaring earlier in the evening was nearly dead. Looking up at the clock over the mantle, Nick's eyes widened when he saw that it was nearly eleven o'clock in the morning. He must have fallen asleep in the early hours of the morning. It was the only logical explanation that Nick could come up with as to why he'd slept so late.
Looking around the room, Nick easily spotted Gatsby as the man sat at his desk still staring at the telephone. Gatsby looked like he hadn't slept at all during the night. He looked tired and dark shadows were forming under his eyes as he blinked tiredly. Slipping his hands into his pocket, Nick slowly walked over to desk and stood in front of it. He waited patiently for Gatsby to say something, but no words came. Turning and going to the doors, Nick opened the door and was nearly hit in the face by a delicate little fist.
"Oh, sir! Please, forgive me!"
Having dodged the knock that had been intended for the door, Nick looked down to see a maid dressed in a black dress with a white apron. Her hair was covered by a cap and she looked familiar. It took a few moments for everything to click but Nick quickly realized that he was staring at Tilly, Rebecca's maid.
"Can I help you?" he finally asked after a few moments of staring at the nervous young girl.
"Delivering tea and some breakfast, sir," Tilly said quickly. "I know it'll be lunch soon, but Mr. Gatsby never came down for dinner nor did he order a tray. We all thought that he might be hungry down in the kitchens. Is it alright if I come in and tend to you and Mr. Gatsby?"
Nick nodded and stepped aside so that the petite girl could walk in. The girl moved quickly and set the silver tray of food down on an empty circular table. She set the table and quickly took out the paper that had been freshly ironed and folded. Nick picked it up and flipped through. He glanced at the different headlines but stopped seeing that the infamous gossip pages was missing.
"The gossip pages are missing," he told her as he looked at the page numbers.
"Pardon me, sir," Tilly said quickly. "Mrs. Gatsby usually likes to read them. Mr. Gatsby doesn't care for those pages. He prefers the business and the news sections. Mr. Crawley always makes sure to divide the paper correctly."
"And did Mrs. Gatsby get her pages this morning?" Nick asked as he went fishing for information on Rebecca's whereabouts.
A look passed over Tilly's face, but the maid expertly hid her surprise at his question. She answered him that Mrs. Gatsby had indeed come home like she always did, but Nick could tell that the woman wasn't a very good liar. She quickly changed the subject. It amused Nick to watch the girl become flustered.
"Do you read the gossip pages, Mr. Carraway?" she asked and it brought a smile to Nick's lips.
"No," he told her. "I don't read that rubbish."
"Oh, but you should!" Tilly exclaimed. "If you did you'd know all about what's happened. It's so shocking! Poor Mary Harper! God rest her soul."
A frown crossed Nick's face as the maid put the finishing touches on the breakfast tray. Tilly moved quickly around the library fixing books and chairs that were out of place and Nick watched curiously as she added more logs to the fire.
"What about Mary Harper?" he asked.
"Why she was seduced by Tom Buchanan," Tilly sighed dramatically. "It's so tragic really. Tom Buchanan promised to marry her, but left her instead. She died from a broken heart in the end. She's not the only one who's had a broken heart thanks to that man."
"I would imagine not," Nick said as he put his hands back in his pockets. "Would you please pour the tea? Mary Harper won't be the last girl that gets her heart broken."
Tilly quickly did as he asked and stirred in some sugar before continuing their conversation on.
