Beautiful Little Fools(3)

Jay got back in the car, put his hands on the steering wheel, and suddenly I was close enough to him that I felt the length of his leg against my own. I didn’t move away, toward Rose. Instead I touched his arm gently and thanked him again for the ride. “We were so lucky to run into you,” I said.

“Daisy Fay,” he said softly. “I think I was the lucky one.”



* * *



“MR. GATSBY, ARE you following me?” I’d spotted him across the crowded room at Marcy Hillet’s party—he was walking toward the door, and I’d run to catch up with him before he disappeared from me again. Now, I stood before him, out of breath.

Exactly one week had passed since he’d driven me and Rose to the almshouse, then insisted on waiting and driving us back home. And tonight I saw those bright green eyes across the dance floor, stunning and hypnotic from afar, as I knew they’d be. I’d been looking for them, for him, ever since I got out of his car a week ago. I had not been able to stop thinking about him, the easy sound of his voice, the solid weight of his body, and the green pools of his eyes. The truth was, if I’d known exactly where to find him, I might’ve been the one following him.

“Daisy Fay,” he said now. A smile erupted across his face, and he leaned down and kissed my hand. His lips lingered for a thrilling moment. And then he clasped my fingers. “I’ve been hoping to run into you again.” Hoping? Not exactly following me, or, even making an effort to find me.

“Funny,” I said. “I’ve been hoping you’d stop by all week to say hello.” When he’d dropped me and Rose off at our house last week, that was how he’d left things. Maybe I’ll stop by and say hello sometime. But then days had passed, he hadn’t stopped by, and I’d wondered if I’d imagined that moment of connection I’d felt between the two of us in his car.

“I did stop by!” he said now, shouting to be heard above the din of the crowd and the loud swell of the dance music. “I asked your father to let you know. Didn’t he tell you?”

I shook my head. Daddy had just returned on Tuesday from Chicago, and leave it to him to wreak havoc on my social life the moment he got back. Daddy didn’t much care for me hanging around with soldiers; as Daddy said, they were unrefined men, hiding behind their uniforms. If I was going to hang around with a man, let it be a Louisville society man, from a good family, at least. Daddy didn’t care that I found those men dreadfully boring. I had no interest in hearing about their hunting trips or their whiskey, which seemed to be all the finest young men in Louisville had to talk about.

“Would you like to take a walk?” Jay asked, interrupting my thoughts. It was nearly September and the air had finally cooled tonight. But the sounds of gaiety and laughter from the party had been interspersed with distant claps of thunder all night.

“Now?” I laughed. “But it’s going to storm.”

He pulled me toward the front door anyway, and I let him lead me outside. It was loud and stifling hot inside the party and my best friend, Jordan, had gotten a headache and had already gone home early. I was happy to get out of there, with Jay. The night air was damp, thick with the impending storm, and I shivered, imagining being caught in the rain, holding on to him for warmth. That thought was tempered only briefly by the thought of the look on Daddy’s face if I were to come home a soaking wet mess. But right now, it was still dry and cool, and Jay took my arm, and we walked.

“Can I tell you a secret?” Jay said, breaking our silence after a little while. I nodded. “I actually was following you.” I leaned in closer to him, held tighter to his arm, waiting for him to explain. “I asked around at camp about you, asked if anyone knew where you might be tonight.”

“My social schedule is that transparent, I suppose,” I said. “All of Camp Taylor knows my comings and goings, hmm?”

“This was the best party in town tonight, I heard,” he said. “And where else would Daisy Fay be?” He spoke matter-of-factly, not teasing.

“Where else indeed?” I murmured. “The best party in town, and yet we’ve left it, you and I.”

“I like it out here alone with you better.” He squeezed my hand lightly. A warmth coursed my entire arm, and I squeezed his hand back.

We crossed the street, holding hands as we walked, heading in the opposite direction of my house, toward the river. Thunder rumbled closer; it shook the ground, but neither of us made a move to turn back.

There had been other soldiers this summer, ones I’d danced with, flirted with, two I’d even kissed whose full names escaped me now. But there was something about Jay Gatsby that felt different. It might have been the way he’d looked at me at the crowded party, the way he had looked at me the other day in his car. As if he could see past my blue silk dress and perfectly coiffed hair, see beyond all that. See me.

Deep down, the truth was I wanted to be more than a pretty girl. I wanted to be someone who mattered, but I hadn’t quite figured out how yet. I wanted to be someone who didn’t have to go to the best party in town, because maybe there were other, more interesting things I wanted to do. But how could Jay see this in me, when no one else ever had?

“Tell me about yourself, Jay Gatsby. I want to know you,” I said now.

“There’s not much to tell,” he said, shrugging.