The Great Gatsby | A Winrina Story

Tour

[A/N. Contains a reference to sexual violence.]

A more beautiful summer night was never created. It was hard to hear the crickets or see the stars because of the lights and the music but the warm air and light breeze made me feel young, vibrant, and... alive, to put it dramatically.

Gatsby's regular Friday night party was in full swing. Normally I prefer to stay apart from madness like this, but I got caught up in the magical energy of hundreds of young people my age celebrating. Celebrating life, excess, sex, it didn't matter. There was joy at the center of it, and I wanted part.

Within an hour I was drunk. I could still walk, and fake my way through conversations, but my face was flushed and I had a dumb grin I couldn't shake. Gatsby, of course, was nowhere to be found. I kept looking up at the window in which she usually stood, but she didn't appear. Suddenly I felt a tap on my shoulder and turned around. It was Gatsby.

"Hello, old sport," she said. "Old sport" wasn't a common expression, in fact, I'd never heard it used before. With others it would be mere affectation, but with Gatsby it was welcoming, familiar. You are my friend.

"Hello! This is another great party. Thanks for letting your neighbor come."

"It's nothing, really. The truth is that I really don't like parties."

"Then why are you throwing the most famous parties in New York?"

She put her hands in her pants pockets. "I like watching others have fun, and anyway, you never know who might come by." Right there, I should've caught it. "What do you say I show you the house?" she asked, slapping me on the shoulder.

We wove our way through the crowds of frantic dancers until we made it to the veranda and then inside.

"Ms Gatsby, I'm afraid that I might be a little drunk," I announced, grinning at the parquet floor and red velvet floor-to-ceiling curtains. In the corner was a massive piano waxed and shined so perfectly that it looked like it was wet.

Gatsby laughed. "It's ok, RJ, we're just going to see the house. Can you walk ok?"

I lifted one foot, and then the other. "We may proceed," I said seriously.

For the next hour I toured one of the most amazing residences in the US. Not a penny had been spared. Every finish was gold, the doorknobs were covered in small crystal stones. Gatsby's bedroom could have held 8 full-size automobiles. She had electric air cooling installed, and the bed fabrics were handmade and imported from all over the world. I had the fleeting impression that Gatsby was trying to spend her millions and millions as fast as humanly possible, as if she knew when and where fate would meet her.

As Gatsby explained how the air cooling worked, my mind drifted away to thoughts of her. She was still such a riddle. Gatsby wouldn't go to parties, but threw the best; she had so much money, but couldn't buy what she most wanted. I was so fascinated by her. The rest of us were getting drunk and partying and sleeping around and wasting money we didn't have.

But Gatsby wanted something pure. She was out of place in 1923, maybe out of place everywhere at every time. Dreams -- one dream in particular -- was her real currency. I both wanted to hop on the ride and see where Gatsby would take me, but I also desperately wanted to protect her. The people at the parties, the people like me, were cynical and damaged and that let us be so reckless and frivolous. Expecting the worst keeps you alive. Expecting a dream leaves you vulnerable and blind, and the world has a way of skinning dreamers alive.

What was it about Karina? It was hard to tell. Like all women, she'd been raised to be an accessory for a man. She had been schooled in good manners, fashion, staying thin, and how to treat the help without ever making eye contact, lest they start to think that they are human. Her good luck had helped her along the way, as did her natural charm and charisma. But there was one tragic flaw: Karina needed to have money to live, and lots of it, and if Tom were part of the cost, she'd live with it. For Karina, being rich meant more than simply access to money. It meant being special, glittering, witty, and oh so beautiful...

It broke my heart when I heard she was marrying Tom. We both liked women. But Karina liked the glittery life above all, and was willing to make the most painful sacrifices to have it. Like Tom and his barbaric "cure." I can only imagine what he put her through. Men like him usually think violence and sex not only fix anything, but they can be a lot of fun, especially when used together, on a broken woman made to feel ashamed and disgusted about her sexuality. I loathed Tom, but if I wanted to spend time with Karina, I'd have to learn to keep my mouth shut around him.

"Do you need to sit down?" Gatsby asked, snapping me back into the room. I could tell I was still grinning.

"I'm quite alright, Ms Gatsby," I answered.

"You don't have to call me Gatsby. You can call me by my first name, Jaye."

"Ok, Jaye. You can call me Ryujin. Oh, wait, you already do," I smiled affectionately.

"You have a face that makes people feel welcome, old sport. It's a gift."

"Unfortunately, I sell bonds over the phone, and my face can't --"

"Look, I have some business opportunities and could use someone like --"

"Jaye, you are my friend. I could never take any kind of payment for helping you. I do it because you are my neighbor and you have been kind to me."

Gatsby seemed stunned. For a moment she looked at the ceiling, trying to think of what to say.

"I'm your friend, too," she said in a low voice, and I could scarcely believe it but she had tears in her eyes.

I stood up, ready for bed. We were in the massive wood-paneled dining room. Versailles could not have competed with that much gold and silver. And in the middle of the room stood Gatsby, her hands in her suit pockets.

"Well, I have something to do," she said, looking out the window toward the dock and the pulsing green light.

"I understand completely. I'll see you at tea the day after tomorrow."

"I'll stop by," Gatsby said, "I want to make sure everything is perfect. I mean, of course I trust you, RJ, but I've just picked up some tea things over the years and I've never used them."

"I can't wait to see what my place will look like!"

Gatsby was already out of the door towards her pilgrimage spot at the end of the dock. Tears ran down my face. I didn't know where or when, but Gatsby was racing toward a chasm she couldn't see.