Beautiful Little Fools(64)

She turned her cheek a little, nuzzling it into my shoulder. And then I heard her breathing even, felt the weight of her body sigh against the bed. She was sound asleep.





Catherine July 1922

NEW YORK CITY




MY SISTER HAD BECOME A new woman this summer. MYRTLE the turtle cast off her shell, and she had suddenly, at the age of thirty-six, blossomed into someone else altogether, someone rosy-cheeked, well-dressed, and a little bold. Even the tone of her voice changed, became higher pitched, aggressively louder.

She came into the city with a new regularity. Nearly every weekend. And she would telephone me when she was finished with Tom, invite me up to her apartment, pour me a glass of whiskey from a seemingly endless stash Tom kept in a locked drawer.

We’d lie on her couch there and drink a little and tell stories about our weeks. It was the way I’d always imagined city life with my sister before I’d ever moved to New York, and I was glad to finally have it, and her, nearby. Even if it meant that she was being unfaithful to George.

I was no saint, of course, no matter what Myrtle thought. It didn’t bother me about the cheating, as much as it did the excuses Myrtle made for Tom. I didn’t relish her being anyone’s mistress. Daisy’s Catholic, she said, so she won’t give Tom a divorce without a fight. But it’ll happen, in time.

Catholic. So maybe Daisy was the one who was the saint then? Part of me wanted to telephone Jay up in West Egg and ask him what was really going on, but whenever I thought of Jay now, it was only with disgust. I wanted nothing to do with him. Maybe out in East Egg he was carrying on his own affair with Daisy, and part of me almost hoped he was. Because then, perhaps that would mean Tom truly would leave her, that he would do right by my sister.



* * *



I DIDN’T ACTUALLY meet Tom until one Sunday afternoon in early July. Myrtle telephoned me just after lunch, told me to get a taxicab up to 158th right away. “Tom’s here and we’re having a party,” she exclaimed, her voice effusive with a lustful sort of joy. “Oh, and Cath,” she said. “Tom just bought me a dog!”

She hung up before I could ask her anything practical about the dog. Where on earth would she keep it, and who would take care of it during the week, and what would George say if she dared bring it back home? I supposed she would expect me to take care of the dog. And who kept a dog in a small city apartment?

I pushed that thought away for the time being, put on a nice dress, drew in my eyebrows and my lips, and slipped on my dressiest pair of heels.

“Are you going to church?” Helen asked me from her spot on the couch when I walked out of my bedroom. She had her hair in rollers and was wearing her housedress and flipping through a copy of Town Tattle—Myrtle had stacks of them in her apartment, and I brought her read ones back for us each weekend. Helen lowered the magazine, caught my eyes, and laughed. We both knew she was joking, about church. Neither one of us was a practicing anything.

“The church of ill repute,” I shot back easily.

“Your sister’s back in town?” Helen raised her eyebrows. I hadn’t told her everything, but she knew Myrtle had a sweetie who’d gotten her an apartment in the city. That I was worried about how the situation might end up for her.

“Yes,” I said now. “They’re having a party, and I’ll finally get to meet the Tom Buchanan. Do you want to come?”

Helen shook her head and nodded to the stack of magazines on the coffee table. “I’m good here. I’ve already got a roaring headache from last night.”

I nodded. I did too. Last night Helen and I had downed one too many gin rickeys at the Monte Carlo, and we’d stumbled home after midnight. I could feel the ache just above my brows now. But the idea of finally meeting this Tom Buchanan was something I just couldn’t pass up, and I was going to Myrtle’s purely for the company.



* * *



A LITTLE PARTY was already brewing inside Myrtle’s apartment when I let myself in. I recognized the older couple who lived in the building and cast them a smile, and then, my eyes caught on two unfamiliar men. I assumed the one whose lap Myrtle was perched upon was Tom; the other introduced himself to me as Nick Carraway. Myrtle clarified he was Tom’s friend, though Nick made a strange face, like he wasn’t so sure.

Before I could ask him, Myrtle jumped off Tom’s lap, threw her arms around me, and gave me a sloppy kiss on the cheek. I could smell the whiskey on her already. She offered me some, but I declined. “I’m already up without it,” I said, massaging my aching temples a little with my fingers.

“Nick’s cute,” Myrtle whispered too loudly in my ear, so I was certain he’d heard every word. “Don’t you think, Cath?”

My face reddened and I shushed her. I had not formed any opinion on Nick, who now sat quietly in a chair carefully sipping his whiskey. I supposed he was somewhat handsome, in a rather ordinary, quiet kind of way. “Was this a setup, Myrtle?” I sighed. Nick might be all right, but I had no interest in getting together with one of Tom’s friends.

“No, of course not, no. Not at all. Come meet Tom, Cath.”

Myrtle grabbed my hand and yanked me toward the couch, making quick introductions. Tom stood, and he was shockingly tall, a hulking, muscular man who seemed to almost seethe arrogance from his pores by the brutish way he held himself. So this was the kind of man who brazenly cheated on his wife, who bought his mistress diamond hairpins, an apartment in the city, and… a dog? This was the kind of man who’d taken Daisy away from Jay, once, years ago. I wouldn’t dare say any of that out loud, of course. Instead I forced a smile and said: “I hear you play polo, Tom.”