Gatsby and I

Invited

I woke up in the afternoon the following day. Red linen curtains were blocking out the sunlight in my room and purpur cashmere drapes were hanging over the windows as well, making it seem like it was the break of the glorious Dawn at any hour when they were drawn.

It was lovely until the silence was broken by the sound of the phone ringing in the room across the hall. Darcy must have been sound asleep or downstairs to not hear it.

Thus I didn't hesitate going, still in my nightgown, and answering. At the other end, the all-too-familiar voice of Jay was saying these words:

"Darcy Barnes? Milady, I haven't called in quite a while."

" No. It's I, Clara Willows. But is she just a friend or..."

"Just a friend and nearly five years my senior. But boy, am I glad to hear you again, Clara! How'd you get here?'

"Celestine left me here because she went downtown for three days or so."

"Listen, I barely ever do this, yet I want you to invite Darcy to the party I'm throwing tonight. Tell her I called and invited her."

"But why?"

"I want to see you again. Really, I do. And Darcy?" Well, she's just our milieu. A premise. Just a figure on a chess board, a sort of pawn acting for the king and queen, if you will."

"Nice metaphors you got there, lord Byron! But see you tonight after I tell Darcy she's invited. Goodbye!"

"Goodbye, darlin'!"

So I went back into my room, "all my soul within me burning" like Poe's did in his "Raven" and changed lightning fast. My familiar chest of dresses was at the foot of the bed and that made my job a thousand times easier. I put on a dress of the purple-red silk ones I had and put the glittering gold one on my bed so that it'd be easier for me. Then I went downstairs, apparently in the middle of lunch because four people beside Walter and Darcy Barnes themselves who were looking at me. Oh, how awkward I was feeling! That is, until Darcy introduced me to the others:

"And this is miss Clara Willows, apprentice to the well-known Celestine Carraway-Warwick."

"Why bless my soul!", exclaimed a woman in a periwinkle dress and who had a simple headband across her forehead that was cut in half by a straight fringe to match her light blonde bob. "Poor Celestine has to be devastated about her demented brother."

Then she fixed her pale blue eyes on me and told me:

"Sit down, young lady! There's room for the lucky seventh at our table."

I sat down opposite her and told her:

"Yes, Celestine is truly devastated by the dementia of her brother. But she makes a good master."

"Glad she does. Pardon me, manners! I'm Helga Borroughs. The woman in the green dress id Fortuna Smythe."

A ginger, curly-haired woman turned her head towards me. Need I mention the bob that looked more like an afro on her?

"Fortuna," she said in an almost lifeless voice. "Nice to meet you."

"Now if you'll excuse me," I told the whole room at once, "I would like s few words with miss Darcy in private."

"Yes," Darcy Barnes left her seat, "What is it?"

We went away into the living room and I spoke as quietly as I could, so that they wouldn't hear me:

'Someone called."

"Who?"

"You know, the man across the bay... Um... Celestine's neighbor."

"I know who you mean. And what'd he say?"

"That there's a party tonight. And you're invited. Um... Can I come along?"

"Is that even a question? Of course you can come! But I should have told the whole table about it!"

"It's not nice to come if you're not invited though...."

"Honey, that's for anyone else. But Gatsby, he's an exception."

As soon as she finished saying these words, Fortuna walked in with a really curious look on her livid face.

"I heard 'Gatsby'. What about him?", she stared at Darcy.

"There's a party across the pond," Darcy explained to her, "and miss Willows here was invited along with me."

"You don't say," Fortuna surprisedly exclaimed. "So can I count the others in on this?"

"Can?", I said, "More like you should! The more, the merrier."

Then I marched into the dining room and I had Fortuna behind me with Darcy at my side:

"Excellent news, everybody - there's a party across the pond tonight!"

You should have seen the looks on their faces - they were as happy as if I had told them the greatest news ever told. And just like this, a discussion sparked up. It was a discussion revolving around the party. With the occasion of this discussion, I got to know the names of the two other young men at the table.

One was Jason Miller, a rather charming lad with the looks of a nobleman and the accent of an Irishman. Jason was the brother of Fortuna, who now was married Smythe. He was awfully talkative, as an opposite to his nearly indifferent sister to whom he paid an uncanny physical resemblance.

The other was Helga's husband, James Borroughs. James seemed like he was the kind of man who did business. He had slick, raven hair and dark blue eyes. A stern yet friendly look was perpetually on his face. He seemed like a man in a painting. He had an enchanting fashion of smiling like the famous "Mona Lisa", a posture reminiscent to Hans Holbein the Younger's "Ambassadors" and the facials of a young Rembrandt. Yes, he was handsome. But he wasn't ideal. All the same, he was the ideal match for Helga and when you saw them together, you thought you were looking at the ideal couple.

And I realized just how talkative a man could be only that night, in the night when the Deal was Sealed.