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ketshehadwithheronthebedandpulledoutthestringofpearls.“Take’emdownstairsandgive’embacktowhoevertheybelongto.Tell’emallDaisy’schange’hermine.Say:‘Daisy’schange’hermine!’?”
Shebegantocry—shecriedandcried.Irushedoutandfoundhermother’smaid,andwelockedthedoorandgotherintoacoldbath.Shewouldn’tletgooftheletter.Shetookitintothetubwithherandsqueezeditupinawetball,andonlyletmeleaveitinthesoap-dishwhenshesawthatitwascomingtopieceslikesnow.
Butshedidn’tsayanotherword.Wegaveherspiritsofammoniaandputiceonherforeheadandhookedherbackintoherdress,andhalfanhourlater,whenwewalkedoutoftheroom,thepearlswerearoundherneckandtheincidentwasover.Nextdayatfiveo’clockshemarriedTomBuchananwithoutsomuchasashiver,andstartedoffonathreemonths’triptotheSouthSeas.
IsawtheminSantaBarbarawhentheycameback,andIthoughtI’dneverseenagirlsomadaboutherhusband.Ifhelefttheroomforaminuteshe’dlookarounduneasily,andsay:“Where’sTomgone?”andwearthemostabstractedexpressionuntilshesawhimcominginthedoor.Sheusedtositonthesandwithhisheadinherlapbythehour,rubbingherfingersoverhiseyesandlookingathimwithunfathomabledelight.Itwastouchingtoseethemtogether—itmadeyoulaughinahushed,fascinatedway.ThatwasinAugust.AweekafterIleftSantaBarbaraTomranintoawagonontheVenturaroadonenight,andrippedafrontwheeloffhiscar.Thegirlwhowaswithhimgotintothepapers,too,becauseherarmwasbroken—shewasoneofthechambermaidsintheSantaBarbaraHotel.
ThenextAprilDaisyhadherlittlegirl,andtheywenttoFranceforayear.IsawthemonespringinCannes,andlaterinDeauville,andthentheycamebacktoChicagotosettledown.DaisywaspopularinChicago,asyouknow.Theymovedwithafastcrowd,allofthemyoungandrichandwild,butshecameoutwithanabsolutelyperfectreputation.Perhapsbecauseshedoesn’tdrink.It’sagreatadvantagenottodrinkamonghard-drinkingpeople.Youcanholdyourtongueand,moreover,youcantimeanylittleirregularityofyourownsothateverybodyelseissoblindthattheydon’tseeorcare.PerhapsDaisyneverwentinforamouratall—andyetthere’ssomethinginthatvoiceofhers…
Well,aboutsixweeksago,sheheardthenameGatsbyforthefirsttimeinyears.ItwaswhenIaskedyou—doyouremember?—ifyouknewGatsbyinWestEgg.Afteryouhadgonehomeshecameintomyroomandwokemeup,andsaid:“WhatGatsby?”andwhenIdescribedhim—Iwashalfasleep—shesaidinthestrangestvoicethatitmustbethemansheusedtoknow.Itwasn’tuntilthenthatIconnectedthisGatsbywiththeofficerinherwhitecar.
WhenJordanBakerhadfinishedtellingallthiswehadleftthePlazaforhalfanhourandweredrivinginavictoriathroughCentralPark.ThesunhadgonedownbehindthetallapartmentsofthemoviestarsintheWestFifties,andtheclearvoicesofchildren,alreadygatheredlikecricketsonthegrass,rosethroughthehottwilight:
“I’mtheSheikofAraby.
Yourlovebelongstome.
Atnightwhenyou’reasleep
IntoyourtentI’llcreep—”
“Itwasastrangecoincidence,”Isaid.
“Butitwasn’tacoincidenceatall.”
“Whynot?”
“GatsbyboughtthathousesothatDaisywouldbejustacrossthebay.”
ThenithadnotbeenmerelythestarstowhichhehadaspiredonthatJunenight.Hecamealivetome,deliveredsuddenlyfromthewombofhispurposelesssplendour.
“Hewantstoknow,”continuedJordan,“ifyou’llinviteDaisytoyourhousesomeafternoonandthenlethimcomeover.”
Themodestyofthedemandshookme.Hehadwaitedfiveyearsandboughtamansionwherehedispensedstarlighttocasualmoths—sothathecould“comeover”someafternoontoastranger’sgarden.
“DidIhavetoknowallthisbeforehecouldasksuchalittlething?”
“He’safraid,he’swaitedsolong.Hethoughtyoumightbeoffended.Yousee,he’sregulartoughunderneathitall.”
Somethingworriedme.
“Whydidn’theaskyoutoarrangeameeting?”
“Hewantshertoseehishouse,”sheexplained.“Andyourhouseisrightnextdoor.”
“Oh!”
“Ithinkhehalfexpectedhertowanderintooneofhisparties,somenight,”wentonJordan,“butsheneverdid.Thenhebeganaskingpeoplecasuallyiftheyknewher,andIwasthefirstonehefound.Itwasthatnighthesentformeathisdance,andyoushouldhaveheardtheelaboratewayheworkeduptoit.Ofcourse,IimmediatelysuggestedaluncheoninNewYork—andIthoughthe’dgomad:
“?‘Idon’twanttodoanythingoutoftheway!’hekeptsaying.‘Iwanttoseeherrightnextdoor.’
“WhenIsaidyouwereaparticularfriendofTom’s,hestartedtoabandonthewholeidea.Hedoesn’tknowverymuchaboutTom,thoughhesayshe’sreadaChicagopaperforyearsjustonthechanceofcatchingaglimpseofDaisy’sname.”
Itwasdarknow,andaswedippedunderalittlebridgeIputmyarmaroundJordan’sgoldenshoulderanddrewhertowardmeandaskedhertodinner.SuddenlyIwasn’tthinkingofDaisyandGatsbyanymore,butofthisclean,hard,limitedperson,whodealtinuniversalscepticism,andwholeanedbackjauntilyjustwithinthecircleofmyarm.Aphrasebegantobeatinmyearswithasortofheadyexcitement:“Thereareonlythepursued,thepursuing,thebusy,andthetired.”
“AndDaisyoughttohavesomethinginherlife,”murmuredJordantome.
“DoesshewanttoseeGatsby?”
“She’snottoknowaboutit.Gatsbydoesn’twanthertoknow.You’rejustsupposedtoinvitehertotea.”
Wepassedabarrierofdarktrees,andthenthefa?adeofFifty-NinthStreet,ablockofdelicatepalelight,beameddownintothepark.UnlikeGatsbyandTomBuchanan,Ihadnogirlwhosedisembodiedfacefloatedalongthedarkcornicesandblindingsigns,andsoIdrewupthegirlbesideme,tighteningmyarms.Herwan,scornfulmouthsmiled,andsoIdrewherupagaincloser,thistimetomyface.
