A Night Without Gatsby

Chapter 6- Party Fiasco

Myrtle, sitting in Tom's lap, had finished calling the guests. She sighed softly and cuddled up into Tom. "What would be a good name for him?" She asked quietly, looking at the small pup in my lap. "....." I kept gently stroking its fur, the wee thing still asleep. "I don't care. It's your dog." "Our dog, love." She kept looking at it, pondering on what to name it. "...... Bradley." I whispered quietly. Myrtles eyes lit up at my suggestion. "Yes!! What a perfect name!!" Tom just looked at me. I kept my gaze down.

Suddenly, the door bell rang. Myrtle quickly got up and dashed to the door. Tom got up and checked for something on the table. "Damn." I looked at him confused. "We're out of cigarettes. Nick, come with me to the store." "May I just stay here? Please? I wouldn't--" "Who cares about the damn dog. Just come on. It's right downstairs and to the left."

'So you should have big enough balls to go on your own.' I sighed softly and obliged, gently setting Bradley down on my 'spot' that I had claimed. I went after Tom as he walked down to the elevator.

"Well?" ".... Well what?" "What do you think. About my life." "..." I really could care less. I went to the cigarette rack and grabbed two packs. Tom huffed, annoyed by my lack of action. I went back upstairs to the apartment, Tom close behind me.

Music blared from the apartment when we arrived at the front door. Tom growled in annoyance. When was he ever happy?

Catherine, Myrtle's sister, was a slender, worldly girl of about thirty, with a solid sticky bob of red hair, and a complexion powdered milky white. Her eyebrows had been plucked and then drawn on again at an awkward angle. When she moved about, there was an incessant clicking as innumerable pottery bracelets jingled up and down upon her arms. She looked around possessively, as if she owned the apartment herself.

'This is the woman I'm supposed to be with?'

Mr. McKee was a feminine looking man, and very pale. He had just shaven. I know this because he had a smudge of shaving cream on his chin leftover. He was the most polite on his introduction in my opinion. He informed me that he was in the artistic business, performing as a photographer.

Mrs. McKee was shrill, languid, handsome, and horrible. She told me, with uttermost pride, that her husband had photographed her millions of times since they had married. (It was actually 127, but who cares.)

Myrtle had changed her outfit again, for God knows what reason. She was now attired in an elaborate afternoon dress of cream-colored chiffon, which gave out a continual rustle every time she took a step. When she changed, her personality also changed.

Her gesture, her laughter, her assertions were more violent, movement by movement she seemed to grow larger as the room shrinked.

"My dear." She talked to her sister in shouts amongst the mist of smoke. "Most of these fellas would cheat you out. All they think of is money. I had a woman up here last week to look at my feet, and when she gave me the bill it was like she had performed all surgeries on me."

"What was the woman's name?" Mrs. McKee asked. "Can't recall. But that's what she does for a living, is just inspect people's feet in their own homes."

"I adore your dress, Myrtle, darling." Mrs. McKee commented. "I think it's adorable." Myrtle rejected the compliment with a raise of her eyebrow. "Oh, this is just some old rag." She took a long drag from her cigarette. "This is just something I put on for whenever, when I don't carw for what I look like." Yeah. And we lost the war with Europe.

"And yet it looks absolutely gorgeous on you. If only Chester could get you in that pose I bet he could make something of it..." Soon, she was lost in her own mind.

We all looked at Myrtle in silence. Mr. McKee said and did nothing, not really getting any creative flows or radiation from Myrtle. Who would?

Tom yawned audibly, obviously irritated. "You McKee's have something to drink. Myrtle, get more ice and mineral water, before everyone goes to sleep." "I told that boy about the ice!!" Myrtle raised her eyebrows in despair. "Ugh! These people! You have to keep after them all the time." She gently kissed Bradley (the dog's) forehead and skipped off to the kitchen, as if she had a dozen chefs awaiting her orders. Poor Bradley was practically suffocating with all the second hand smoke. I gently picked him up and took him out to the balcony. His mewls quieted as we went out. He gave out pathetic yawns and coughs. I sighed softly. "I know. It's a disgusting world out there." Catherine came out and stood next to me. "... Where do you live?" She tried to make conversation. "West Egg." "Ah. I was down there at a party about a month ago. At a man named Gatsby's. Heard of him?" "I live next to him." "Well, I heard that he's a nephew or cousin of Kaiser Wilhelm's. That's how he has aqcuired all his money." She nodded to herself. Some muffled conversation came from the other side of the walls. "..." I gently pet Bradley. He mewled and whimpered happily. Catherine leaned in closer to whisper to me.

"Neither one of them can stand the person they're married to."

"Can't they?"

"No." She looked inside to see them laugh drunkenly. "What I say is, why go on living with them if they can't stand them? If I was them, I'd get a divorce and get married right away." I just nodded, not having listened to a word she had said. Thank God for selective hearing.

"It's because of his wife." Myrtle suddenly came into the conversation, making me flinch in surprise. "She's Catholic. They don't believe in divorce." My mouth hung slightly open in shock. Daisy had never been Catholic on her life. The elaborateness of the lie had me shocked. "When they do get married, however, they're going to live West for a while until it all blows over." "It'd be more discreet to go to Europe..." "Oh! You like Europe?" The two went on with their conversation and went back inside.

After a few minutes, I went back inside, knowing the smoke had left. Mr. McKee had passed out on a chair.

At about midnight, Tom and Myrtle stood face to face, discussing in impassioned voices, whether she had the right or not to say Daisy's name.

"DAISY! DAISY! I CAN SHOUT IT ALL I WANT TO!! DAISY! DAI--"

Making a short deft movement, Tom broke her nose with his open hand.

There were so many windows out there, I noticed as I was out on the balcony. So many open windows, so many stories, each holding their painful, yet glorious lives. I stumbled outside and down to the elevator, ready to go home. I hadn't drunk anything so I hailed a cab to take me home. I was exhausted, so I just took a short nap.

After about 30 or so minutes, I woke back up, only to see Bradley in my lap. My eyes went wide. Had he literally just followed me out and into the cab? It didn't matter. I had no car to take him back. It had gotten towed due to me not paying it off. I sighed softly and payed the cab, then gently picked up Bradley and went inside my home. I set down a small teacup full of warm milk for Bradley. He lapped it up as I flopped on my bed and groaned. I smelled of leftover cigarette stench. I passed out, not caring anymore.

Author's Note: HAAAAAAAAI! PART SIX! WHOOP! Hope you enjoy! All credit to F. Scott Fitzgerald! I know I know, it's mostly not Scott's writing, but I just wanted to put my own twist to it. So yeah!