Chapter 7
Gatsby
“Are you sure about this, sir? As your financial advisor appointed by Mr. Wolfsheim before his passing?—”
I waved the man’s concerns away, not looking up from the contract I was reading. “Yes, I’m sure.”
“The moment you try to open those doors, it’s going to be condemned.”
“I won’t let that happen. Tomorrow, we are starting construction.” I was bored already with his constant complaints.
“Tomorrow? Emi?—”
“Gatsby,” I corrected.
“Gatsby.” He sighed. “This money?—”
I slammed my hands on the desk, stood, and met the middle-aged man’s eyes. He flinched. “Park, I was handed 150 billion dollars. Even if I spent a million a day, it would take me...” I leaned forward expectantly.
“410 years.” He swallowed.
“410 years.” I nodded. “So, with all due respect, shut the fuck up. It’s done.” I bent over, grabbed the pen on my desk, and signed the paperwork.
“Wonderful!” The realtor in the corner clapped and walked over. “Pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Gatsby. You are now the proud owner of the Tennant Opera House. Or whatever you decide to call it.” He offered his hand, and I shook it with little enthusiasm. Pulling away, he scooped up the papers on my desk and shoved them in his worn suitcase. “Here are the keys. I’ll be in touch.” He nodded to me and Park, and then left quickly.
He waited until the realtor had left the room to turn to me. “What are your plans for this building, sir?”
“What do you mean?” I walked around the desk, straightening my suit jacket. I went to the bar and prepared myself a drink. “I plan to open it again.”
“The opera house?”
“Yes, Park. Do you doubt my abilities?”
“Well, it’s a bit difficult to imagine you having the experience to do such a feat. This is something that people with years of experience do, not?—”
“A former death row inmate?” I raised an eyebrow.
Park swore loudly in Korean. “Sir, I mean no disrespect. This is my job.”
I grinned, and he relaxed. “I know, I know. Don’t worry. I’ll be hiring help to assist the process, but I fully intend on opening the opera house again. I want it restored to its former glory.”
“Did you attend the theater as a child?” he asked. “It is just strange that you would insist on moving across the country like this.”
He’d expressed his displeasure in my move to Michigan several times since I’d been released. He lived in California, where Dennis had resided, and until now had done his work for me remote. When he heard about my interest in the opera house, he chose to fly here to discuss it, continuing to complain about it every chance he got. And, as I stared at his scowl and deeply furrowed brow, I made the decision to let him go after he was home safely, in Cali.
“No, a friend did though. It was all she spoke about. I don’t know, something about how much she loved it…it spoke to me.” I walked to the window with my glass of whiskey in hand. I took a slow sip, savoring the burn in my throat. “Something about it stuck with me.”
“I see. Well, I am excited to see what you do with it. This isn’t the first time you’ve surprised me; I’m sure it won’t be the last.” He gave me a fake laugh.
He was right. He’d sure be surprised when he received his pink slip soon.
“I should check on my staff.” I turned quickly, setting my drink on my desk, and leaving without telling Park goodbye.
I started away from my office and took the elevator from the third story to the ground level of my mansion. The doors opened with a chime, and an explosion of sound, colors, and smells hit my senses.
“Mr. Gatsby!” Jules, my head chef paused in his stride. “Just the man I was hoping to catch.”
He came over, and, tossing his arm over my shoulder, directed me to the kitchen.
“What’s the menu look like this weekend?”
He let me go, and I shoved my hands in my suit pocket.
“Only the best for a Gatsby party.” He beamed, taking me to a counter where a printed menu lay. “Hors d’oeuvres will be Oysters Rockefeller, Deviled Eggs with Truffle and Prosciutto, and Mini Croque Monsieurs.”
I nodded with faint interest. Jules was a five-star chef who had spent many years in France. I gave him full reign over the menu for the parties, and most items were things I’d never heard of before.
“Drinks? ”
“Ah yes. I was just speaking to Nathaniel. Our drink maestro has some exciting things planned for this weekend.” Jules raised his eyebrows.
“Yes, I can’t wait to hear about them. And, Jules, have we decided on who our special guest will be for dinner?”
His expression darkened in an instant. I had spent many hours scouring the world for a chef for my plans. He wasn’t just my star chef but a business partner. I needed someone with just as dark a soul as mine, and despite his bright personality, Jules had demons.
He cleared his throat. “Yes, ah, I have, it’s—” He was cut off by a slew of waiters coming in, chatting excitedly.
I patted him on the back and we shared a knowing look.
“I can’t wait to see it all come together.”
He beamed again, seeming to forget the dark nature of what we’d been discussing. “Oh yes. I have haricots verts, pommes sarladaises, and as always, fresh bread!”
“I’m sure our dinner guests will be just as enthused as you are about your selections.”
I exited quickly and checked my Rolex. I needed to get out of this suit. As I walked through the main floor, people bustled past, waving and offering polite greetings. Remmy, my entertainment manager, stopped me.
“Mr. Gatsby, sir, there is a change in entertainment. The lead singer of the band you selected fell sick and had to cancel. I have reached out to the ballet company we had for next week and asked if they could switch dates, and perform this weekend instead.”
His brow was deeply furrowed in worry. I pat him on the shoulder.
“Thank you for letting me know. It sounds like you have everything handled. Just make sure they are given everything they requested in their contracts, with proper security.”
He relaxed instantly .
“Yes, sir. It’s nice to see a good host, even when there are deviations from the original plans.”
I smiled tightly. “My entire life has been one big deviation from original plans. We can wait to see the band another time. I’ve waited much longer for more important things.”
I took the elevator up to the fourth floor, where only I was allowed. I locked every door behind me as I went. Despite having my home open to the public three days a week and a full staff every day, I valued my privacy. Only I had keys to the elevator, which was the only way to get to the fourth floor. I’d made sure of it during the renovations.
I showered and changed from my business suit into jeans and a black t-shirt. I admired myself in the full-length wall mirror beside my bed. Even my casual clothes were designer. It was a far cry from the orange jumpsuit I’d donned for far too long. Glancing out the window, I watched the sun set on another lonely day, longing for what was just out of reach.
I went back downstairs, taking back halls and doors so as to not disrupt my staff working on our next party. Exiting my house, I inhaled the crisp, summer air. Checking around me to make sure I wasn’t being watched, I stepped off the cement of the stairs and walked down to the pier. I reached the very edge, letting the tips of my shoes hang off the wooden planks and looked up toward the moon.
I was so close to her now. Finally, my dreams were taking shape.
Was she looking at the same moon? Or was she safe in her mansion across the way, fast asleep?
I’d wanted to run to her the day I was released from prison. I’d been given an apology from the State of California, and the clothes I’d been arrested in, still covered in blood. Park was there on the other side with clean clothes and orders to help me figure everything out. He took me to the nearest bank to get my money, and I set off on the next part of the plan to get my Daisy back. I bought the house directly across from hers, renovated it to my liking, and then?—
I chickened out. I had a letter in my hands, ready to mail her, but I couldn’t go through with it. I tossed it in my fireplace and sobbed over my cowardice. Despite being proved innocent for the heinous crimes I’d been put on death row for, that wouldn’t change public opinion. I couldn’t show my name anywhere without strangers giving me looks of disgust and morbid curiosity. The questions were plain on their faces when they looked at me.
Did he really do it?
And that was when I realized I couldn’t go back to the life I’d thought I would. I’d have to become?—
“Gatsby!”
I spun around, away from the lake, to see Jules, out of his kitchen. “It’s time to greet our guest of honor.”
I nodded, shoving down my heartache and constant yearning for what I once had.
“He’s here already? Can’t I just see him tomorrow?” I’d never greeted a guest this late. Typically, our introductions were done once the drugs had worn off in the morning.
“I think this particular guest is one you’ll want to speak to. It’s not a him. It’s a her.”
I turned from the dock and joined him in returning to the house.
“Who is it?” I cocked an eyebrow in curiosity. While anyone could be served at my table, it was often times someone masc. So far, the only femme presenting people to have been selected had been my…
“Donna Verger.”
Rapist .
I paused, blinking rapidly. An array of emotions was hitting me hard and fast.
“Are you sure?”
Jules reached for my hands, squeezing them.
“Absolutely, it’s her.”