Gatsby, The Great & Powerful

Chapter Three

"Mr. Buchanan, what did you mean when you said Gatsby is a 'criminal'?" I asked.

The convertible Rolls-Royce sped down the winding road, a streak of canary yellow. I was seated in the front, next to Daisy's husband, while the girls occupied the backseat.

"Call me Tom, Nick," he said. "After all, we're all friends here. Right, Daisy?"

Daisy glared at Tom and said nothing.

Tom smirked at his wife in the rearview mirror. "Gatsby's new money, Nick," he told me, as though this were a perfectly reasonable explanation for assumed crimes committed. "He showed up in West Egg one day, seemingly out of nowhere, causing a ruckus with his parties and other flamboyant shows of wealth. So, I asked myself: where does the money come from? Seemed suspicious to me. So, I had him investigated."

"Oh, Tom, you didn't!" Daisy cried.

"I sure as hell did!" Tom retorted.

"And?" Jordan prompted. "How does he make his money?"

"Poppies," Tom replied.

"Poppies?" I asked. "So, he's a florist?"

"No, no!" Tom barked a laugh. "Gatsby uses the poppies to manufacture a new type of opium. Cheap to mass produce, and highly addictive."

"Opium?" I gaped at Tom in disbelief.

"Opium?!" Daisy exclaimed.

"Opium," Tom confirmed.

"Where would he find the work force for a production of that size?" Jordan scoffed.

"The Valley of Ashes," Tom replied.

I felt suddenly lightheaded. "What's the 'Valley of Ashes'?" I asked.

"You'll see," Tom said. "We'll be passing through in just a minute."

"Well, this is just ridiculous!" Daisy declared. "Opium! Of all things!" She crossed her arms in indignation, but I could see the seeds of doubt beginning to blossom in her eyes.

I put a hand to my mouth and coughed. The air was changing.

The lush green landscape transformed before my eyes, and we entered a desolate area of gray. Gone were the sunshine and foliage. Instead, there was the rot and grime of a withered field in which ashes grew like wheat and took the form of buildings, and chimneys, and rising smoke.

Dots of red littered the opaque air, and I reached out my hand to catch the floating rubies as we sped through the solemn dumping ground. Poppy petals. Half decayed. They crumbled to dust in my fingers.

"Behold the Valley of Ashes," Tom announced with a scornful drawl. "A poppy field of dissolution, if ever there was one."

My eyes stung. I coughed again.

"Is anyone else finding it difficult to breathe?" I inquired.

"Yes, and it's making me dreadfully sleepy," Daisy answered. "I doubt I'll be able to stay awake for another minute."

She rested her head on Jordan's shoulder and closed her eyes. Jordan covered her mouth to stifle a yawn.

I yawned as well. My eyelids suddenly felt impossibly heavy.

"That's the poppy dust in the air," Tom explained. He blinked rapidly and jerked his head from side to side. "It's more potent than usual today. We're breathing in opium."

"Pull the car over before you fall asleep at the wheel," Jordan instructed. Her voice, usually so assertive, sounded like she was slipping into some kind of trance.

"Not the worst idea," Tom agreed, his diction muffled. I could just make him out through the darkening slit that was my vision. "A crash...would be bad..."

* * *

The next thing I knew, cold droplets of water were spritzing my face.

I gasped and startled awake, my stinging eyes catching sight of a streak of color and a watering can.

"Take it easy there, honey," said a woman's voice. "You're safe. Here, put this on."

The woman slipped a cloth surgical mask over my nose and mouth. I blinked at her. She was pretty in a gaudy sort of way, with glaring red hair and lipstick, and a thick figure that she carried with sensuous posture.

"Thank...you..." I murmured.

She studied me with shrewd eyes, and her plump mouth curled into a coy smile. "Don't mention it. The lot of you shouldn't be passing through here with the top down on your car. You're not used to the poppy dust. Not like us."

I pivoted in my seat. Daisy and Jordan were both soundly asleep, their faces sporting cloth masks like mine.

"They're fine," the redheaded woman said with a dismissive wave. "Just napping. And how're you feeling, Tom?"

My head snapped to the side and I stared at Tom in surprise. How did this woman know his name?

"Fine, Myrtle," Tom groaned. He, too, wore a white mask. "Fit as a fiddle. Thanks to you."

Myrtle smirked. "You scratch my back, I scratch yours," she said. "Where ya off to in such a hurry?"

"Gatsby's," Tom replied.

"Gatsby's, huh?" Myrtle twisted her long beaded necklace around her stout fingers. "Sounds like a gas. Go on, then. But leave the masks on until you're out of the Valley of Ashes. Don't wanna crash, do ya? 'Course, if ya did, that would supply more work for my husband."

Behind his mask, Tom sniffed a laugh. "He'd like that, wouldn't he? Maybe next time. Take care, Myrtle. And thanks."

Mrytle's red lips curved in a parting smile, and Tom put his foot to the gas pedal.

"How are you acquainted with Myrtle?" I asked, unable to conceal my surprise. The pairing was certainly curious.

"Her husband's a mechanic," Tom told me. "Great with cars, bad with women. So, we..." He fixed me with a pointed stare.

"So, you...know each other," I supplied. I glanced over my shoulder at Daisy's sleeping face. "Does Daisy know?"

"Probably," Tom admitted. "My wife is far wiser than she lets on."

~ * ~