“Fine.” I spin on one glittering heel and stalk away. “I’m glad you’re better,” I throw over my shoulder.
I’m going to find Jay Gatsby, and I’m going to make him explain to me what’s going on. Either that, or I’m going to bribe one of his staff until they spill his secrets.
As I march toward the house, I look up—and the sight of the place takes my breath away. Gold streamers flutter from the windows, and confetti cannons intermittently spurt glitter from the balconies. Pink and gold lights crisscross each other, sweeping over the faceted front of the building. The doors stand wide open, allowing the party to flood in and out, sending cascades of wild music into the cool air of the evening. It’s the same live band as the other night, I think, though I can’t see them from here. They’re playing house music with a distinctive twist and a beat like an earthquake. People are everywhere, lifting bottles and glasses, toasting and joking. A low perpetual roar, woven of shouts and squeals and laughter, writhes out of windows, travels along the red carpet, and slithers into the crooked paths of the garden.
I thought the last party was peak Gatsby. I was wrong. There’s a manic exuberance in the air tonight, a violent delight that triggers a ragged heartbeat inside me.
“Daisy!” The shout comes from somewhere above—the balcony overlooking the front doors.
From Gatsby.
His brown hair is artfully tousled. He’s wearing a shirt the color of merlot and a dramatic gold jacket with a massive, curled collar. Apparently he’s outed himself as the host, because several girls and guys are clustered around him, their eyes trained on him alone. I can sense their greedy desperation from here.
I’m not the jealous type. At least I never used to be, until Tom cheated on me. I don’t want to let his betrayal ruin me, turn me into the kind of girl who’s constantly jealous and suspicious. But I have a nagging fear that’s exactly what I’m becoming, because I deeply, truly hate the colorful swirl of bodies circling Jay.
“I’m coming down,” he calls.
“Good, because I have no idea how to get up there,” I call back. It’s true—I’m still confused about the layout of this place. There seems to be a never-ending series of half-curtained doors, arches to duck through, narrow steps to climb, corners to turn.
Jay disappears from the balcony, while his entourage sags artfully against one another or against the balustrade, darting resentful glances my way.
I smooth my dress and wait, but before Gatsby appears, three other guys manifest in front of me. They’re all vaguely familiar—I think I met them briefly at the last party—so I smile. “Hey there. Wow, you guys look great! Having fun?”
My innocent question opens the floodgates.
“Dance with me, Daisy!”
“Want my drink? I haven’t touched it yet.”
“Have you checked out the gardens? There’s a hedge maze! Let’s go.”
“A hedge maze?” snorts one guy. “Really, dude? She’s the kind of girl who wants to be in the middle of the action, dancing that cute little ass off. Come on, girl, I got you.”
“This is a special party cocktail,” says the second guy quietly, as if he’s the only one speaking to me. He swirls the purple drink, and one of the strobing lights filters through it, glimmering on his bracelet—a smooth band of brushed metal. “You should taste it. It’s delicious. They call it the Hairy Style.”
“That’s ‘Harry Styles,’ you moron!” interjects the man who invited me to the garden. “Come on, honey, let’s get you away from these ignorant bastards.”
I drop my voice, letting it slide under the music. “Actually, I’m waiting for someone. You should all move on, find some other women to hang out with.”
The cocktail guy stares at me, his eyes turning oddly glassy. He cocks his head as I speak, as if he wants to savor the cadence of my voice. He turns and walks away without another word.
Odd. For a second, he looked like Jay did by the magnolia tree—dazed and entranced…and hungry.
If only the other two men were so easily dissuaded. “Aw, come on, girl,” drawls one. “Your guy might never show up. Why not kill some time with me?”
“There he is now. Excuse me.” I slip between them and head for the front doors. I haven’t actually seen Gatsby yet, but I’d rather not deal with those two anymore.
I cross the foyer, heading for the dance hall. The music is thrillingly loud, and the harmonies are so bewitching. I have to see the band that’s playing.
Standing on tiptoe, I catch a glimpse of horned heads. It’s definitely the group that was onstage at the last party.
“They’re called Klipspringer,” says Jay from behind me.
“Klipspringer?”
“The band. That’s their name.” He shrugs. “It’s also the name of some antelope in southern Africa. Cute little creatures. Lots of eyeliner.”
“Speaking of which.” I touch my fingertip to the corner of his eye, which is heavily outlined.
“Cody’s idea.” Jay’s mouth twists wryly. “Too much?”
“I actually love it.”
“And I love this.” He spreads his hands, indicating my outfit. “You’re stunning.”
“A lot different from the old T-shirts and cutoffs I used to wear.”
“I loved those, too. I remember one shirt was a really soft gray, with a skeleton angel on it.”
“One of my favorites!” I exclaim. “I still have it. It’s a sleep shirt now, though.”
“I remember it used to slide off your shoulder a lot.” Stiffly he reaches out, trails his fingertips along the sheer black gauze covering my shoulder. The touch brings back the memory of that moment almost nine years ago, when everything changed between us and we weren’t just childhood friends anymore.
Suddenly I can’t breathe. He barely touched me, and I’m asphyxiating, my skin alight, my heart swollen and pounding. It’s everything I felt for him back then, tripled. It’s familiarity blended with uncertainty, the urge to be reckless because I know, in my very soul, that I’m safe with him.
Jay is watching me, lips parted, a tender starvation in his eyes. “Can we go somewhere else? My ears are pretty sensitive, and the volume here is a bit much. Excruciating, actually.”
“Of course.”
