The Great Gatsby, characters, and original concept belong to F. Scott Fitzgerald.

Chapter 3

The following week, Nick invited us out to a party at his neighbor's venue in the city. While I would normally be averse to spending time in the company of gaudy West Eggers- excluding my cousin, of course-, words of a famous Gatsby reached my social circle and garnered sufficient curiosity to give the party a chance. At first I had been distrustful of Nick, until I remembered how unhappy he had looked in the photos, and comforted myself with the thought that maybe he had wanted to tell me but was too conflicted. I pinned the reason to be his quiet, wallflower nature and instead focused on enjoying my first night out as an uncommitted woman.

I pulled out an old cocktail dress that Jordan had convinced me not to put into storage. Standing in front of the mirror years older than when I had last worn it, it came as little surprise when Jordan walked in and bluntly remarked, "Try another one."

She tossed me one of own: a navy shift with a thick black stripe on each side. I regarded it doubtfully, but when I slipped it on, it fit quite well. Without waiting for a thanks, Jordan disappeared into the bathroom to wash her face. The best part about Jordan was that most of the time, things could go unspoken and still be understood. Turning back towards the mess of unpacked shoes, I gingerly slipped on some open-toed pink heels. I had my share of parties with Tom, but they tended to be with our work colleagues. Everyone had to act professionally. Now, I was single and about to attend the crazy, publicly intoxicated social scene of Manhattan once again.

Nick picked us up and was our ride to the train station. During the train ride, my anxiety worsened. We found ourselves in front of the Blue Jay Bar, one of the many in the boroughs, and with our names skipped the line of obnoxious college kids. As Nick spoke to the bouncer, I noticed the occasional individual walking out from the alley in between the bar and the neighboring building. With the loud music and spinning neon lights, I couldn't blame them for wanting a breath of fresh air, and I hadn't even stepped foot into the establishment yet. It all seemed so overwhelming.

The interior was high-class, but like most of West Egg, gaudy and overbearing. Mahogany was the chosen wood, graced by too many gilded trimmings and intricate details. The stools against the bar all had black leather seats, different from the various circles of lounge-style armchairs. There were numerous statues, although placed too far out of reach for any drunken miscreants to commit any acts of vandalism. I eyed the many pieces of modern art that attempted to look hip but instead made the walls cramped and noisy. Countless lights lit up the ceiling and lounge areas. It was clearly an expensive venue, but this Gatsby was perhaps a bit too showy with his money.

Regardless of my opinion, the bar-goers loved it. They clustered in small groups, mingling only in a mob of sweaty bodies on the dance floor. Surrounded by the thrum of music and alcohol, I felt out of place, but entranced by the liveliness of it all. Jordan led us to the bar; Nick, new to the wilder city scene, followed her closely. While I nursed my martini and Nick left briefly, Jordan pulled me aside.

"Look, I'm telling you now because if I told you before you might not have wanted to come. Anyway, this Gatsby- he's James. Jimmy Gatz, from back home. Do you remember him?" Jordan's words cut me sharply, weakened only by what alcohol was running through my system.

I swallowed, averting my gaze, and continued drinking. "Of course I remember him." Of course James would name his own bar franchise after himself. "What else?"

"He wants to meet you. That's why Nick and I invited you along. I know that you're hurting right now but I think it'd be good for you to hang out with more people. You know, be out and about." Grabbing my hand, she told me, "What do you say?"

I stared past her, at the DJ working the music. Then, I downed my martini and gently set the glass down. "Okay," I said.

Jordan, who clearly had been to the bar before, led us down a small hallway that brought us past the kitchen and a few offices. There were a number of what I assumed to be bouncers and guards- intimidating people of that nature- that watched us critically as we passed. We climbed green carpeted stairs with an overly elegant banister. It was as if Jimmy- Jay- wanted to scream out his newfound wealth to the entire city. Although, I admitted, he probably flaunted it in each of the five boroughs if all of his venues were as extravagant.

Clearly he had been anticipating our arrival, because Jordan had just stepped in front of the door when it flung open. Jay Gatsby was remarkably different from the small-town country boy named James Gatz. Donning what I guessed to be a Canali suit, Gatsby's clean-cut appearance spoke of a man proud of how far he had come. He was certainly classier than his bars. When I met his gaze, I was stunned by how intensely he stared at me.

"Daisy," He said softly, my name spoken so emotionally I turned to stare at him as we walked in. He turned to my friends, "Hey Nick, Jordan. Why don't we all take a seat?"

I declined his offer for more drinks, wanting my head to be as clear as possible. "Nice to see you, Jimmy," Playing with the hem of my dress, I tried to maintain eye contact- tried to stay strong even though I wanted to turn away in shame. Here was a man who had done something with his life, and I had thrown him away for the reckless joys of college and the other prime husband-material men who actually would get their degrees.

Seventeen years young and ready for the world, I fell in love with James Gatz. Fresh out of high school, all my experiences with men had resulted in fumbling around and escalating immaturity ending with a dramatic, tear-inducing breakup. James Gatz was firmer, a steady presence that was ready to catch me at every fall. He played his role in the chase well. There would be no real reason for him to show up at my door with flowers, but he did, only because he loved me. While I valued him, the thought of losing him was easier to stomach than the thought of being in a long-distance relationship during college. The thrill of living away from home while simultaneously educating myself in my chosen field was a decision that he had made and abandoned long ago, but I would not.

He had been so hurt when I left. It was shameful to be sitting there. For so many years I had felt above him in wealth and in priorities- after all, he was the one who dropped out of college- and yet, he had won the game. He was wealthier, more influential. He wasn't going through a divorce. Jay seemed a much more fitting name than Jimmy now. In its brevity, it spoke of power and maturity.

Our conversation was awkward. Only Jordan and Nick's small-talk kept it from lapsing into an uncomfortable silence. I sensed Jay's increasing agitation; perhaps he had expected this reunion to go much more smoothly. After all, he'd always been an optimist. I avoided his eyes by analyzing every painting behind him. Each one was as loud and attention-grabbing as the ones out front.

"Like the paintings?" Jay prodded eagerly, latching onto whatever he could to contribute to the conversation. "I bought them while I was in London. Well, I met the man who made them in London, but I ordered them later, when I acquired this office that just demanded the presence of such pieces."

"Yes," I replied, and again, the exchange slowed to a halt.

Suddenly Jordan stood up, setting her glass down as she gathered her belongings. "Nick and I are going to grab some more drinks and take a breather outside." In less than a minute, she was gone, my cousin trailing behind her. I momentarily cursed her for leaving me, but calmed myself: Jordan knew what she was doing.

I was alone with Jay. This fact seemed to register in his mind as well, as his entire posture seemed to slacken and relax. We both were going to need drinks if this façade of chumminess went on. As if he read my mind, Jay stood up and walked over to a polished cabinet beneath one of the paintings. He bent over to open it and came up holding a clearly expensive bottle of champagne vintage. I smiled weakly, and he grinned back at me before producing two glasses that he set on artfully carved wooden coasters. I briefly entertained myself with the thought of Jordan raging over being left out of such fancy alcohol.

He stood close to me, pouring the wine slowly as to not spill a drop. "You don't have to feel bad," he murmured softly, so gently that I almost couldn't hear him.

I felt my face beginning to flush and resolved the issue by turning away, fixating my eyes on another ugly painting. "It was a long time ago." Like that was any consolation for breaking a guy's heart.

"Indeed it was. This is a new start here, Daisy. The city's provided many opportunities for me, despite the recession. It's a whole lot better than North Dakota." He set aside the bottle and began to drink, peering over the glass rim at me with a smile. "Wouldn't you agree?"

I could talk about the city. "Yeah. I landed a pretty good job out of college- estimating the chances of success for upcoming businesses. Statistics, you know. Did you end up going back to school?"

"No, college wasn't for me." The shortness of his words made him all the more convincing. "I chanced the market. The bar was a hit; it's clearly a high-end bar, but the menu options allow anyone to enjoy their time here. I made enough after a year to open up another one in Queens. Now I've got at least two in each borough."

"It's a nice place."

Jay moved his seat around the desk so he was closer to me. "I try my best. How's life been treating you otherwise?"

Even though I was in the middle of a divorce, it felt wrong to be idly chatting with a man that stirred up old feelings. His closeness wasn't helping my increased heart rate. However, it wasn't as if the sanctity of marriage existed anymore, so perhaps I was crazy. Tom clearly didn't mind seeing other women during our marriage, so I shouldn't have been worried about seeing other men during our divorce. It was the part of my conscience that still loved my husband that was had a problem with Jay.

Reaching for the bottle, I poured myself another glass of champagne. "I'm in the middle of a divorce now. Been married for almost six years. I also have a daughter, Pammy. She's turning two next May."

"Oh?" Jay's demeanor changed; he seemed smaller, as if the thought of me having a child with another man was one of the worst things to hear. "Well. I'm sorry to hear that." He recovered and was back to his smiling self. There was a slight damper to his confidence though, evident in his slower movements and third glass of wine.

"It's okay," I mumbled, regretting for having said anything. No one liked a girl who spoke too quickly about her exes. We moved past that topic and turned to discussing where old faces had ended up.

Slowly, though, with Nick and Jordan gone, Jay seemed to open up more. I was a familiar face, and there was a certain excitement in our meeting alone. It was almost refreshing. Every word he spoke had a sense of purpose; it sought to engage me and capture my attention, and by my third glass of wine, it was especially effective. The initial awkwardness had faded away to something else.

"I'll admit, Nick and I weren't the kind of neighbors to go knocking on one another's doors introducing one another. I left him a letter instead," He professed, and then added, "He's a nice guy though. Stopped by on numerous occasions. I even got him to try out my Xbox."

The thought of my stoic cousin getting agitated over a videogame with Jay was near impossible to conjure up in my mind. I was, however, able to imagine a fully suited Gatsby sitting in an entertainment room decked out in ugly paintings. "Really? That's unexpected. How long have you lived in West Egg?"

Jay bought his mansion just a few years ago, having found quick success with his franchise. It was infuriating: I had struggled through college trying to balance my social and academic circles. Somehow, Jay had skipped out on those four years and, even though he hadn't made much money at first, landed more money and fame. He had exploited the Manhattan city scene and beat the off-chances of making it without a college degree. People like that were special; they were the kinds to run gigantic companies and revolutionize technology- the Steve Jobs type.

We were laughing over a shared memory from years long gone when Jay reached forward and grabbed my hands in his- hands that, despite being clean, bore callouses from a rougher era. "Daisy, my feelings for you haven't changed over the years. I have always wanted to tell you that I was worth another chance, but I never felt the moment was right. I had to become a man worthy of you." He was leaning in closely, so that I could not avoid his searching gaze.

As cliché as his words were, they somehow elicited a certain thrill. I didn't pull my hands away, and tried to focus on the distant sound of the DJ. Like the seventeen year old girl who used to say goodbye to her boyfriend by kissing beneath the streetlamp, I was enamored. It felt wrong, to have been loyal to Tom just two weeks ago, but at the same time, I felt like I deserved it. I deserved to love someone just as much as I deserved to be loved.

I looked at Jay, at the man who stared at me with the same intensity as all those years ago. I could love him again.

"You are," I said.

Jay Gatsby closed the distance between us.