Let Me Occupy Your Mind [Natsby Fanfiction]

3.

     Two women entered, both Jordan and Daisy.

"Oh, Nicky! Look at you!" Daisy greeted me with a kiss on the cheek, "You're plain lovely in that suit."

     I swallowed my sheepish demeanor; only to pull a smile from my eyes and mouth. Daisy cupped my face with her dainty hands.

"You look lovely as well, Daisy."

      Jordan stepped beside my cousin, arms crossed.

"Did Gatsby buy you that suit?"

Gatsby interjected, "It was once mine, now it's his— I gifted him the suit."

"Awe, how sweet." she cooed.

     I could tell Jordan tagged along just to tease Gatsby and I. Her gray eyes saw through me. With slight furrowed brows, I silently remarked that I knew what she meant.

"That's so sweet of you, Jay." Daisy mentioned, before turning her attention to me once more, "I just adore this color on you."

     Daisy examined the suit; fidgeting the lapel, then running her hand down my right sleeve. I'd had enough with the awkward shift from me and Gatsby getting along, to Gatsby and Daisy admiring each other from a distance.

Daisy spoke, "We should get going, right Gatsby?"

"Yes! We should."

     He made his way to the elevator, the rest of us following along.

"My plan: we go to L'Aiglon, we can take my car."

     Raising a brow, Jordan inquired:

"Isn't that car of yours too compact for the four of us?"

I added with, "The drive to L'Aiglon is all too far, no?"

"No. We're taking my other car—no worries." Gatsby turned to me, "not if I'm driving, old sport."

     He winked at me. While innocent, I couldn't not help but lean against the wall, a hint of a grin shined through my stare.

After a long while of Gatsby's careless driving. The four of us were finally seated in L'Aiglon.

"My, this place is brimming with energy." Daisy singingly spoke, the tinge of her voice perked us to look up from our menus.

L'Aiglon was cherry red, all of it—or, at least, the predominant color had been. Glossy, crimson chairs were placed in a orderly fashion. The scent, dreamlike tones of roasted mutton, mince pie, and cherry pastries, the whole ordeal filled my senses. A colorful collection of dialects from all across New York congregated in one, single room. Discussions were coming out of one space and into another, the gaudy interior was certainly eye-catching, but never enough to outweigh the spectacle before me.

Daisy was passionately loving on Gatsby, their long kissing were smoldering to the eye— at least, my eyes. In this very moment, I sank into my seat, the sight made me internally cringe.

Jordan interrupted, "You ought to get a room. Can't you two let each other breath for a second, or spare the decency for Nick and I?"

  My instinct was pleading for me to eject out of a 3 foot tall building for any relieve. Just a few hours ago, Gatsby was feeling the shape of my face, the texture of my skin, running his hands through my hair. Far beforehand, we shared a martini, Gatsby was batting eye lashes at me. Now, I had been wearing his clothes and watching him be swallowed by Daisy's, dare I say, intensive kissing (not that I witnessed it entirely either— I could just tell by the noises and facial expressions around me).

But, in that moment, I asked myself: "Who am I to judge?" Perhaps, like Gatsby, I had been the one to "misread." From the beginning, I provoked the affair of both Daisy and him, and while admiring the man from afar. Now, after a party, I divulged into the notion that him and I had some sort of intimacy. Unfortunately, that notion may have been fictitious and became a sole offender of our personal withdraw.

With that epiphany, it sunk me further into emotional turmoil. That is, before Jordan's voice broke in:

"Nick, nick..! Are you even listening?"

I looked over to her, Jordan had a urgency in her eyes. The woman sighed.

"God, you are ruined, aren't you?"

"Huh? Oh, no, no. It's not that."

"I'm for certain it is, you didn't even take into account that they left."

"They did?"

She leaned back and rolled her eyes, afterwards giving me a side-eye. A discontent arose from her lips, before she hesitated and laid her hands on her lap.

"Look, I've grown aware of you and Gatsby's... acquaintance."

"Not much acquaint if it's reciprocated to only one than the other..."

"Hm? Why, I ought to know what you mean."

Her head titled up, prompting me to continue. I elaborated on every detail, unlike with Daisy, she let me go on uninterrupted. At this point, it was certain that Gatsby and Daisy were not to back for a while. For we met our conversations' end by the time we cleaned our plates.

The stare Jordan gave me was unlike anything. Her sad, worried eyes were echoing emotion into my heart. I returned the same expression.

"You should tell Mr. Gatsby how you feel. Communicate, don't be reckless—like me—you can use your words carefully, like he does. After that, I think you'll have a gay, favorable outcome."

"Thank you Jord—"

"Jordan! Nick!"

"Oh! I'm greatly sorry, old sport!"

They scurried back into the restaurant like schoolchildren. Jordan and I looked over at one another. Gatsby planted his hands on the table, pulling out his wallet and handing the pay to the waiter. It was obvious what the two were doing, a smear of lipstick printed on Gatsby's collar. Daisy's lips were a hue of rose in contrast to her vibrant, rouge colored lips. The two were tipsy, it was clear, and Jordan despised it. To me, it was jarring; what happened?

Frankly, the urge to confront Gatsby fell apart. We left the restaurant, and I had the role of driving all of them back home. While Gatsby had been playful the entire ride, I struggled to be perked up by his demeanor. Discomfort washed over me, and I arrived home, drained.

Night dawned the sky, and the tulips were shrouded in thorns entirely, red tulips outgrew the amount of pinks and violets in my garden. The memory of that day faded into my sleep.

"Brrring! Brrring!"

I rose up, in the dead of night, only to discover the shrilling, metallic ringing down the hall. Answering the telephone, I wondered who had the gaul to call this late.

"Ni-ck..."

"Hello? Who is this?"

A hiccup interjected the indiscernible voice's speech:

"Nick, I've... had my eye on you for a long time— I miss you."