Beautiful Little Fools(82)

He’d sat at the kitchen table then with a bottle of moonshine, holding a gun in his hands, like he was waiting for an intruder. But he’d been waiting for me.

“Where were you, Myrtle?” he’d slurred.

I’d eyed the gun, put my suitcase down behind me, and hoped he was too drunk to notice it. “I just went to the city to visit with Cath. What are you doing up?” I’d asked.

“You think I can sleep while my wife is out running around?”

“Running around?” My laugh came out too high. “Hardly. I was helping fix Cath some soup. She’s under the weather.”

He’d frowned and massaged the gun with his drunken fingers.

Every fiber of my being had told me to grab my suitcase then, to run, to go back to the city. Maybe Cath’s couch wouldn’t be so bad? But George would only follow me there. And I’d told Cath I’d trust her, wait it out here. Wait for Tom to come and take me westward like he’d promised. Anyway, if I turned and ran, I was pretty sure George would shoot me.

I’d forced myself to smile, to walk toward him. It took every ounce of strength I had to lean in and rub his shoulders. “Darling, it’s so late. Let’s go to bed.”

He’d stared up at me, his eyes glassy, desperate. But he’d let go of the gun, and he’d stood, wrapped his hands around my neck. At first he’d moved his fingers gently, massaging my collarbone with his thumbs. But I knew what was coming and a shiver erupted through my body. His hands began to squeeze. Tighter and tighter.

“George… I… I can’t… breathe.” I’d gasped for air, and he’d squeezed tighter still. I saw colors in flashes: purple and blue and yellow. Everything was bright and yellow.

And I’d thought: the yellow car had erupted into my colorless ashy life like a sliver of sunshine, once, leading me to Tom. All it had to do was come back, save me.



* * *



AND THEN, THERE it was again.

Just after dusk on the hottest night of the year. Darting forth from the twilight. A lightning bolt. A flutter of hope. My savior. My escape.

I ran toward it.





Daisy August 1922

NEW YORK




JAY KEPT HIS PROMISE AND didn’t say a word as I drove out of the city. I focused on the road, and it calmed me, sobered me. I rehashed all the night’s arguing in my head, and suddenly it all felt so silly. So childish and stupid. Tom and Jay blind with rage and jealous and fighting, over me. I wanted neither one of them.

“Daisy,” Jay said softly, as we approached the ash dump, “if you left him, I could give you everything you ever wanted. And I’d never hurt you the way he hurts you.”

I thought about him forcing his hand up my dress by the pool, his girl, Catherine, running blindly down the steps of his veranda, mad as hell. “Wouldn’t you, though?” I said softly. Every man, every wealthy man, was surrounded by temptation and need and burning with some sort of unquenchable desire. It occurred to me I might’ve wanted to love Jay again now if he were still poor, if I’d known there was a purity to his feelings like there had been back in Louisville. But he and Tom were cut of the same cloth. I wanted nothing to do with either one of them.

“What can I do to prove to you how much I love you?” he said, sounding desperate. “Tell me, Daisy. Tell me what to do and I’ll do it.”

I shook my head. “Jay,” I said. “You have to stop.”

“I’ll never stop, Daisy.”

His words felt like a punch, a god-awful truth settling in my stomach. And it hit me—East Egg was not going to be my permanent home. Jay would never stop gazing at my green light, across the sound. He’d never stop following me, chasing me. Tom would love it until he would hate it. He would desire me until he forgot about me. The realization overwhelmed me, and I lowered my eyes from the road for just a moment. Only a moment.

When I looked back up, we were approaching Wilson’s garage, and there was a flash, a red streak of a woman, running out from the garage and waving her arms. That voluptuous body, plump cheeks, swirl of red hair. I knew her. I’d never met her before, but here she was, running toward me. “That’s Tom’s woman,” I gasped.

She ran toward the car, like she had a death wish. And I thought, everything Tom touches wants to die.

And then what happened next seemed to happen both in slow motion, but also so fast I could barely see straight enough to try and stop it. Jay jumped across the seat, pushed my hands out of the way, and grabbed the wheel.

The car hit her with a horrifying thump, and I watched her catapult through the air, screaming, bleeding, clutching her breast.





Jordan August 1922

EAST EGG




BLOCKS BILOXI.

His name was still rattling around in my head.

I’d fallen half asleep on the hotel suite’s couch while the men got into their little row, and Blocks came to me in a semilucid dream. He reached for me, I screamed, grabbed the aluminum putter. And Daddy’s face. Oh dear, sweet Daddy’s face. And then Blocks had morphed into Jay Gatsby saying, Jordan, I’m going to tell everyone your secret. Had I dreamed that, too, or had he actually said that out loud inside the suite?

“Jordan.” Tom woke me with his brutish, drunken voice, and I jumped up. “Let’s go.”