(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. Thank you so much for the favorites and follows, I will try to update this at least once every couple of weeks. I didn't want to go too in depth as far as the scene between Nick and Chester- I wanted to show how hollow Nick was throughout it. Please, let me know what you think, and thanks for reading!)
The first thing Nick learned about Tom Buchanan that day was that he was a liar. There was no Yale Club meeting.
Tom stopped in the Valley of Ashes.
The Valley had a certain level of despair- perhaps it was the grime that coated everything that came into its air space. The people working had grimaces plastered on their soot covered faces. Their hands moved numbly to do the physical labor forced upon them, and the ground below them seemed to whine at the persistence of their weight.
It was all watched by the ever-looming eyes of Dr. T.J. Eckleberg- a forgotten illusionist who once had paid to have a sign put up in the area. It had since decayed, and now merely the eyes stood out in clarity. They were as prevalent as the eyes of God.
Tom pulled into the parking lot of a gas station, and let some poorly paid worker fill up his tank. He launched out of the seat and beckoned for Nick to follow, which he did reluctantly, into the building of the car shop.
The garage and car shop was owned by none other than a too thin and too poor George Wilson. The man seemed to be starvation walking- there was something about him that just screamed, "unsatisfied."
His wife however, who rounded the staircase as Tom made idle chatter with Wilson, was voluptuous. She had curves, and her breasts were forced into the eyes of all around her. It made Nick slightly uncomfortable.
Why were they here? It made no sense to Nick. This wasn't the Yale Club.
"Wilson, would you mind checking out the breaks on my girl out there? She's been a tad squirrely lately." Tom tossed some bills into Wilson's hands, and he looked up at Tom with a dumbfounded smile. Wilson, checking breaks? Yeah right. Tom just wanted some alone time with the woman who was ever so patiently waiting.
"Myrtle." Tom looked up at her as Wilson was walking away. His eyes were filled with a sense of longing, and watching this transaction- whatever it was- transpire made Nick feel like an intruder. He looked down at his shoes as this woman- Myrtle- walked towards Tom.
She swayed her hips way too much.
Her body danced around his in a form of teasing, and he whispered things to her in an eager tone. Nick tried not to hear, but he knew this would not be the end of the encounter.
Tom once again was pushing bills into someone's hands. "Take the next train into town. Take what's left and get a little something for yourself."
Myrtle's eyes showed something uncertain, and something exciting, but Nick just felt like some awkward passerby in the most awkward of exchanges.
"Wilson- I'm going out to town!" Myrtle shoved the money into her purse, swung herself around the pole stationed in the room to keep the ceiling up, and bolted out without looking back at Nick or Tom. Nick stood in half amazement, half amusement.
It became very clear that they were going to anything but the Yale club. Tom stopped and pulled the car down an alley street, and the first thing Nick thought was that it was much filthier than the streets he had to use for the time he came to the city for work.
"You know Nick, Myrtle's sister, Katherine- we are calling her over- I think you two would play quite nicely." Tom smiled at Nick; in the way men often smile at each other when they share bedroom secrets. Nick began to feel queasy- an anticipation that was making his abdomen constrict and flop.
This was an unlucky situation, indeed. If Katherine was anything like Myrtle, Nick was afraid he would have literally no idea what to do with her.
When they arrived at the dainty and yet somehow also gaudy apartment, Myrtle and Tom waltzed into the bedroom. Nick sat awkwardly while the two let out moans and pounding noises from the other room- that is, until Katherine walked in.
Or stormed, rather.
The door flung open, and Katherine bounded in. "Hey, I'm Katherine. Ain't we having a party?" She was not quite as voluptuous as the red clad Myrtle, but still a certain sexual prowess loomed in her eyes that made Nick shiver.
"Oh Chester- isn't this the cutest little apartment?" Another woman bounded in, with an effeminate man in tow. Nick straightened his posture slightly as he backed into a corner… and suddenly the door to the bedroom where Tom and Myrtle had previously been occupied flew open, and a slightly sweaty and disheveled top bolted out as Myrtle ran to hug Katherine in the mist of girly squealing.
Tom let out this full-bellied laugh and patted Nick on the back, shaking his frame. "Aren't these ladies something?" He asked. Nick's eyes scanned the room for a spot of escape. This situation was quickly escalating into something he was most certainly not prepared for. Here he thought he was just going to enjoy lunch at the Yale Club!
"I think, I really best be going now…" Nick mumbled and looked at his feet. The background noise of the other parties chatting made him sway slightly. He began to feel lightheaded and nauseous.
"Oh come on Nick, don't you want to talk to Katherine? Don't embarrass her." Tom leaned in closer to Nick, and whispered. "I know all the stories about you from school… I know you like to watch more than you like to play"-Nick couldn't meet Tom's eyes as he was afraid he was about to be accused of some horrible deed-"but aren't you tired of watching Nick?" Tom glared down at him. There was suddenly certain anger, as though Nick needed to live up to this expectation to be appreciated by this group.
"I don't know Tom…. Daisy is my cousin and I just feel a little" Nick was cut off by another slap to the shoulder.
"Nick, do you want to sit back and watch…" Tom's head bucked towards the three women in the room, ignoring Chester who stood in the opposite corner with a camera in his hands, "or play ball?" Tom laughed heartily once again, and Myrtle walked closer to the two swaying her hips.
"Oh come on Nick, play ball!" Her high pitched whine was too much for Nick to take…When in Rome, do as the Romans do, right? Nick supposed he had no choice.
"Aren't I good enough for ya? Come on!" Katherine walked over, and kind of pushed Nick into a chair. "Come on, and stay a while." She sat down next to him, and soon the whole party was seated in a semi circle as Tom began rifling around for liquors.
"This is Chester." Myrtle's introduction felt sort of short lived… and quickly Katherine mentioned, "He's a photographer- a real artist!" Chester looked down at his camera. He was clearly as uncomfortable as Nick.
"Nick's an artist too!" Tom bellowed, turned away from the group.
"Oh really? How…artsy!" Katherine giggled, and Nick felt his stomach clench. "Do you live on Long Island too?"
Nick smiled, a very forced smile, and grunted out "oh, I actually live in West Egg- just in a little old shack there, nothing too fancy."
Katherine leaned in and placed her hand on Nick's leg. Nick wanted to invert upon himself and escape the situation, but her hand glued him to the chair. "Oh- I was there at a party not too long ago… thrown by a man named Gatsby. Do you know him?" Her stare was intense, and Nick couldn't bring himself to play with her eye contact.
"I live right next store to him…." Nick's thoughts pondered about the mysterious neighbor for longer than his words flowed, and soon he was thrust back into reality where Katherine was talking a mile a second.
"I heard he was the son of the great German terrorist, or the imperial king of Singapore." She acted as though this information could possibly be correct, and being the educated man that he was, Nick simply stared at her because he wasn't sure how to respond to such a statement of stupidity. Imperial king of Singapore? What did that even mean?
All of these rumors about Gatsby circulated throughout all of New York, and Nick was trying his best to follow his father's words. "Always see the best in people." Nick hated to judge others, and he would not judge Mr. Gatsby until he had come face to face with the man himself.
Suddenly, Tom broke the awkward silence by grabbing Myrtle's rump, and exclaiming "Chester, take a picture of that!"
Chester, startled by the sudden inclusion, stared at the two, and then fumbled with his camera awkwardly as Myrtle giggled and squealed. In her arms was the yappy dog she had clearly bought that morning, which barked as Tom spanked her once again.
Nick never understood this treatment of women. Were they not people too? But he didn't say anything.
While he was staring around, Katherine climbed onto his lap. Nick sunk back into the chair as her wait pressed down onto his abdomen and thighs. "You know, I've heard that Myrtle hates her husband."
Nick looked at her, unsure of what to say, and mumbled, "You mean she doesn't like Wilson?"
Myrtle giggled from across the room and exclaimed, "He is a scumbag!" In a flash Tom was pushing drinks into Nick's hands, and Katherine waved hers away. "No thanks, I feel just as good on nothing at all!" Nick looked around, once again for escape, but instead clanked his glass against Tom's.
The yellow liquid was not something Nick was used to. He had only been drunk once before in his life, and the second time was that afternoon.
Katherine popped a pill and kissed Nick, forcing the pill into his mouth. He soon felt his heart rate accelerate.
The scene degenerated into a drunken dancing mess. No music played but that of the street performers from outside. The music seemed to create a symphony and Nick soon found himself pressed up against Katherine in an erotic gyration of movements and kisses. Tom groped Myrtle as the two-passed whiskey from mouth to mouth.
Chester drenched himself in alcohol, and was taking pictures while spinning in circles.
The women soon began stripping their clothes, and even dancing on each other. Day turned to night, and a sort of chemical madness burst thunderously upon all in the small apartment.
Nick thought to himself that maybe he could like New York. He burst open more bottles, downed his worries in a toxic madness. He gazed out of the window once he was separated from the women around him. He thought that this yellow window much share in the collage of hidden secrets, which could be observed from men walking by on the streets.
At the same time, Nick was that passerby. Within and without. Enchanted, and repelled. He looked amongst the other windows, dazzling with their secrets, and knew that in that moment he had been taken by the city.
When he turned back from the window, the buzz of alcohol made him woozy. He stumbled slightly, and unaware of what was happening, felt an arm wrench him up.
Chester, who had also become inebriated, helped Nick to his feet, and tried to steady him. Chester had lost his first layer of clothing, and was dressed in only an undershirt and a pair of boxers. Nick looked back at Katherine, who had started kissing Myrtle, as Tom watched in utter ecstasy.
Nick had spent so much time in his life hiding, but the buzz between his ears seem to tell him to follow Chester as he led him out of the apartment and into the hallway.
Nick gazed upon the man's frame. Chester was dainty, and not the most attractive of men. He had an awkwardly styled mustache that made his face appear square like, but Nick was finally taking this man in completely.
Beneath the clothes were the outlines of a lithe frame and body, gawky but also toned somehow. The alcohol was taking its affect on Nick's body, and his thoughts turned to mushy trails. Chester didn't quite tell Nick where they were going, he just continued on.
"I had a feeling about you." Chester whispered into Nick's ear once they were in the elevator of the apartment complex. His hands found their way to Nick's thighs, rubbing slightly and leaving a burning sensation on Nick's skin. The booze was making Nick feel like every touch was scorching, and his mind began to swim in erotic fantasies he tried so hard to keep at bay.
Chester's face neared his, and before Nick even knew what was happened, a set of lips and a tongue were forced into his mouth. His eyes rammed shut, and he let out a loud sigh as Chester pushed him up against the wall of the elevator. Nick didn't want to take control. He wanted to let someone else work him over, take away his thoughts.
Make him feel within, without being without.
"Hey, don't do that!" An older woman was in the elevator. The two men hadn't even noticed her. Chester's hands were grazing Nick's crotch, and as the elevator hit the last floor, the woman breathed out an obscenity before running out.
Nick didn't seem to mind.
Chester's apartment was about a block away. The two men stumbled there way down the street, trying not too walk to close. However, perhaps it was their appearance, or Chester's feminity, the calls on the streets echoed behind them. Nick forced them out.
He had only had sex twice before, both times with men. He could never find himself riled up over a woman, no matter how hard he tried. And while Chester was a stranger, Nick found himself wanted to dip into the channel of wildness he so often forbade himself from.
Nick wasn't even aware of where he was. The bills and the liquids churning inside of him made him feel like he didn't know which way was up, and before he knew it he was being pushed through a door into a dark room, and soon onto a bed.
The other man loomed over top of him. The two did not speak. This was no exchange of romance, rather an exchange of lust and carnal desire.
Clothes were ripped off, and soon another mouth was pressed against Nicks. His body seemed to move on its own to find the warmth of the one above him, and he drank in all of the sweat, musty scent, and presence of being with this other man.
The next thing Nick remembered was waking up in the morning, in only a pair of boxers, with Chester sitting on the edge of the bed. The room was sparsely decorated, and smelled of paint. As well as sweat and other scents, which Nick only thought could have been produced during the activities of last night.
He rolled over, trying to free himself from the set of scratchy sheets, which were wrapped around his legs. Chester looked at him, and didn't smile or say a word. He handed Nick the morning newspaper, in silence.
While last night left Nick with momentary satisfaction, he didn't remember another moment where he had ever felt so lonely in his life. He looked around for his clothes, not seeing them anywhere. Still, no words were spoken, Chester simply handed Nick a pair trousers, and then left.
Nick sat on the bed, feeling only the without, no longer the within, as he pulled on the pants, and began to figure out how he was to get home. The massive hangover didn't help, but somehow he found himself on his way back to West Egg.
As he arrived home, via the taxi he somehow managed to begrudgingly pull over, he had the unsettling feeling that Gatsby watching. The man no one knew, the one who threw all the parties, the one who seemed to know the secrets no one dared speak of.
Nick felt dirty and disgusting, and the idea of this mystery man's eyes on him made him shiver. Would Gatsby know his secrets? Could he look at a man and see past his face and into his soul? What did Gatsby know?
Nick knew nothing of Gatsby, but in that moment, he was sure, the man was paying some level of attention to his neighbor who lived in the little shack. Nick's shame hung on his shoulders, the one night stand seemed to stain his ego, and in that moment he thought not of Tom, or how he got home, or Myrtle, or Katherine, or even the sweaty and heated night he spent with Chester. Nick thought of the man behind the curtains, the man who he imagined looked out his window, and like Nick, somehow, remained within and without.