(Disclaimer- I do not own any part of the "The Great Gatsby" or any of the characters- that genius belongs to only F. Scott Fitzgerald. Enjoy the first real chapter!)
Nick had been drawn to the hussle and bussle of New York the way many young brokers were. The litany of activity- from the strip clubs to the debate rooms- from the newspapers thrown onto the streets to the Broadway Shows booming with vocal electricity.
The quaint rented apartment was like a pimple on the face of West Egg. The feeling of opportunity flowing from the homes of the newly rich was almost intoxicating, and for whatever reason, Nick was finding himself in the center of it all.
The house next door was of the grandest and of the greatest he had ever seen; the walls looked hand sculpted by the tips of angel wings; the grass looked hand cut; the flowers across the lawn bloomed in a form of ecstasy Nick couldn't help but wonder if they were poppies.
This of course was all hidden behind the cast iron gate, which kept out the world during the day, and invited it in during the night. The gate, which had swirls and circles all across the iron, seemed to be watching Nick every time he passed by. The mansion had that feeling of distrust; of being watched. It seemed that there was force there not yet to be discovered, and that in itself was interesting to Nick.
He would watch from afar as crowds rushed in to the great Gatsby's parties. A man only known by name and reference- a man hidden in the shadows.
No one had ever seen Gatsby, and Nick knew this. Every now and then he would see the coming and going of various staff persons from the mansion- and once he even called out to a butler to pass along the request to meet the man. Nick simply wanted to be a good neighbor, but at the same time there was something keeping him from walking up and knocking on the door.
It wasn't that Nick was poor- he grew up in money. He just seemed poor at the moment- a young man always has to get his feet on the ground first. There was something deeper than social class that weighed on this tension.
Still, he breathed by the days and stared on in the nights- much like the cast iron gates.
Meanwhile, his books on stocks and Wall Street sat untouched- despite his eagerness to study all summer previously.
It had been about a month since he moved in. Boxes still sat unpacked and chairs weren't quite square to the table. Despite how anal he was, Nick just couldn't feel motivated to "belong" to this home, to live on this land.
He was within, and without New York. And that would be the way he would live for the next six months.
The little phone that he had wired into the wall was ringing for the third time. Nick knew who it was- Tom Buchanan, the husband of his cousin Daisy. He and Tom had met in Yale- and Tom was the athlete many girls died for. The Polo King- the horse riding champion. He was the definition of old money- born into a world fostered in everything extravagant. It was no wonder Daisy had chosen to marry him.
Daisy was considered, by many, a duchess or a queen in her beauty. Some men had even equated her to an angel- her blonde hair was silky and her eyes had a warmth that welcomed you in.
Nick however, had never seen that.
Maybe it was because she was blood, maybe it was because she was kind of whiny, but she just never beckoned him the way she did other men.
He knew he couldn't put off seeing her much longer. Since he had moved in, she had been dying for him to stop by and share some tea. By "share some tea" she really meant gossip- she wanted to know all about the alleged "marriage" he had gotten into back home.
Marriage. Ha. That was not the case at all. His parents simply wanted to preserve the little normalcy of his life that still existed by pairing him up with a beautiful woman- Catherine Delton.
The Delton's were much like the Buchanan's- old money. It would be a step up for Nick to wed into that family, however, neither he nor Catherine seemed to like that idea. The two of them, though close friends, had never seemed romantically inclined toward one another. However, for a short period of time, they pondered the idea.
Life was going to be difficult for people like them. Together, they could put up the façade everyone expected. Perhaps they could even (painfully) create a family. Children were never what either of them wanted, but it was expected. And Nick would never forget that image is everything.
His father had once told him to see the best in people- however; those words themselves were loaded with a history of constant bickering. Constant familial lies, constant parties to uphold status, and constant fights with Nick over the way he walked, talked, and how he crossed his legs.
So Nick had spent years learning to "fix" his behaviors, and perhaps his marriage to Catherine would be the final cherry on top. Until it all crumbled.
Catherine had been off for a few weeks, but it was on one day that she decided to tell her parents there was no way she would ever change. She confirmed their suspicions, and rather than hide it, they wanted her to vanish. It was no longer that factor that mattered; it was all of her being that must be gone from their lives.
And the wedding was off. And Nick was alone.
He sometimes thought that being alone was preferable. Which was why he did not want to answer the phone, which was why he did not want to invite Daisy in. He did not want her poking and prodding, her questions and judgments.
Though, reluctantly, he answered the phone of the fourth call on the fifth ring. Sure enough, Daisy's high-pitched voice on the other end asked once again for his presence at tea. The following afternoon.
With a sigh, Nick agreed, and promised to bring some cookies. He had always liked baking. It took his mind off of other things.
It was noon on the dot when Nick arrived. He was checking his watch nervously as he walked up to the gaudily decorated doors of the Buchanan home. It was laden with silver and gold- a fancy display of wealth for wealth's sake.
Green would have been a better color, but the light cast off from the beacon on the end of the dock added that tone quite nicely.
Green for greed.
Tea made his head hurt. Tom Buchanan had changed physically since Yale- he was burlier. His boots were stretched at the lacing by the thick muscles in his calves- his chest was large and his veins were defined on his neck. His jaw was chiseled- and Nick remembered thinking that he seemed overall larger since the last time he saw him.
This made it painful when Tom clapped Nick on the shoulder and drew him into a tight embrace- the kind of embrace that men at Yale thought nothing of… but men elsewhere would "tsk" at if Nick were a part of the equation. Tom had never seen Nick in the way the rest of the world could.
Daisy had been lounging lazily- as usual- on a white sofa in the sunroom. Her dress was loosely fitting to her slender but still busty figure. She had never bound down her breasts as some other women had found to be a trend.
Jordan Baker, on the other hand, had a very slender frame. That was the first thing Nick noticed when he walked in. This was an almost masculine woman- with a tight chest, prominent jaw, and short, short hair. He was drawn to her figure- it was intriguing and confusing- it defied the norms he had grown up around.
Daisy smiled at Nick the second he entered the room, and began chirping away. But Nick's eyes did not move from Jordan, who smiled back at him with certain intensity.
"Nicki! Answer me. Do they miss me in Chicago?" Daisy's shriller and shriller voice brought Nick back to the present.
"Oh- oh yes. At least a dozen people send their love." He plastered on his fake smile- not too cheery- just masculine enough- with just the right amount of teeth.
The day drug on. The highlights were Jordan finally being formally introduced to Nick- with a firm yet still too sweet handshake. Still, Nick's eyes loomed on her frame- and devoured her small chest. It was so strange- it seemed she hadn't even bound them down! They were just naturally small.
In-between gazing at Jordan and listening to Tom ramble on about the Yale Club, or Daisy complain about the constant phone calls, Nick began to wonder if these individuals surrounding him knew anything about the strange neighbor who threw those parties every weekend. It seemed that just as he had that thought, the phone rang once more.
This time, the butler walked in, and called for Tom. "Mr. Buchanan, they say it is urgent."
Tom sighed and nodded at Nick as a form of apology. He scuffled off into the room.
The presence of this fifth entity weighed heavily on the room, and Jordan tried to break it by suddenly directing the conversation at the state of Nick's home.
"How much is your property?" "What? That is so small! Who does the gardening?" "Ohhh, you do? How interesting! Do you feel tiny compared to the estates?" "Aw, you don't know any of your neighbors?"
Nick couldn't find a way to successfully take the attention off of himself, but suddenly, a new topic popped up.
"Well, surely you must have heard of Gatsby, how could you not have? He throws those huge parties every weekend- I've been to one or two." Jordan's lips left an intensity in the air that she did not expect- Nick felt glued in place for some reason.
It was broken by Daisy's words: "Gatsby? What Gatsby?"
The doors flung open from the other room, and Tom walked back in. He looked across the dismal room and wasn't quite sure what to do, so he plundered on in highly lit conversation about the Yale Club and apologizing for his colleagues constantly calling him.
Jordan and Daisy looked upon each other for a moment, as though a common thought had been suddenly interrupted. Nick simply observed, until the conversation was once again pointed back to him.
"Well, you've been to one of his parties, have you not?" Jordan swayed a wine glass in her hand and looked at him borderline seductively.
Nick hated looks like that from women- as though their sexuality should have some kind of hold over him he did not have himself. But he smiled back, the right kind of smile for the situation, and answered, "no, I have not, but I hear them. You bet, I hear them, every single Saturday night."
Daisy had a look of wonder fixed on her face; her eyes were bulging slightly as though she was not able to control her emotions. Tom shifted in his seat, and jumped up to answer the phone when once again, it appeared someone was calling and it was urgent.
This sent Daisy out of her fixated stared onwards, and brought her to the present. She rose and stormed quickly into the other room, breathing so loudly Nick wanted to breathe in beat with her.
"Did you receive an invitation, or did you simp-" Nick's attempt at buttered conversation was cut short by a "shhh" of Jordan's lips. "I want to hear." She whispered.
Nick careened his head closer to the door Daisy had just shut, and he could hear her shrill voice raging.
"Everyone around here knows that Tom has a woman in New York." Jordan seemed pleased with supplying this information to Nick, as though she was providing him food or money. Nick kind of gawked at her, not sure how to respond. For Christ's sake, this was his cousin! How could he take this news?
Before his mind had time to contemplate the situation, he was brought back to the present by Daisy rushing into the room, over to his chair, taking his hands quickly into hers, and pulling him upward while gasping "it is far to hot Nicki, let's go outside!"
And with that, they went outside.
Evening in the Buchanan household was nothing short of beautiful- the way the plants were lit had a certain stunning effect on the eye that it made you believe you were truly in the place of angels. Or at least, that is what Nick was sure other people thought. He would much rather be at his quaint little home by now, pondering the secrets of the man next door.
Nick left the Buchanan mansion with little further information, and no real feeling. The only thing he left with was a reluctant promise to Tom to travel with him to the Yale club the following afternoon. Two days spent with Tom was two days spent self-loathing, as the man was everything Nick wanted to be. Strong, confident, well liked and loved, but alas, Nick could do nothing but watch.
He would always remain within and without.