Chapter 15
Gatsby
My thumb ran across the photo on my desk. Daisy, splayed out on the floor, her face in total ecstasy as her fingers touched what I’d dreamed of since the day I got arrested, all those years ago. She was so beautiful as she came.
A knock on my office door sent me scrambling to shove the photos I’d printed from my phone into my desk.
“Come in,” I clipped out, annoyed.
“Afternoon, Mr. Gatsby,” Jules, bowed slightly as he entered the room. I drummed my fingers on my desk.
“Yes, Jules? Is everything okay in the kitchen?”
“Yes, of course. I just wanted to run through the menu for the next party. You’ve been noticeably absent downstairs this last week. I thought I’d better come to you.” He chuckled.
I forced a smile, but he could see my annoyance and quickly stepped forward, menus in hand. He set one on my desk and began to rattle off the list.
“Hors d’oeuvres will be smoked salmon rosettes. Our guest of honor is a prosecutor from Florida, Martin Holmes. I’ve chosen pommes Anna and truffle creamed spinach to lie beside him, along with my fresh bread. For dessert, I know you wanted a Yubari King Melon Parfait, but the melon was not attainable on this short of notice, so I pivoted to a?—”
“No.”
Jules blinked. “Excuse me?”
I stood. “We agreed on the Yubari, and I want it. I need my guests to be impressed and they won’t be impressed by—” I lifted the menu and scanned. “Pear Pavlova.” I threw the paper at him. “Figure it out.”
“Monsieur,” Jules began. “It is impossible. I can do a cantaloupe with honey, but I tried.” He shook his head in defeat. “I am sorry.”
“Bullshit!” I screamed and stormed out of the office. Since I’d been released, I’d yet to be told something was impossible, and it was a fruit, of all things. A fucking piece of fruit. Neal was attending my party this week. I couldn’t fuck this up. Stomping downstairs without speaking to anyone, I grabbed my car keys and peeled my white Mustang out of the garage. Honking to alert security, I sped toward the exit. They made it just in time as I zoomed through the gates.
I needed to get some air. I was too wound up. As I drove, I began to feel apologetic over how I spoke to Jules. He meant no harm, and we’d substituted things in the past. He was just doing his job, and his job was a rough one. It wasn’t until I was parked in front of the opera house that I’d realized how far I’d driven. I put the car in reverse, drove to the private parking in the back, and went inside, flicking on the lights.
What was I doing? All of this was insane. I wasn’t supposed to be playing Phantom of the fucking Opera. I was Gatsby, her Gatsby. I’d had every intention of revealing myself to her the day she came to the theater. I’d planned a grand speech, but when push came to shove, when she stepped into the auditorium, I panicked. I couldn’t do it. I wasn’t ready. I needed to know more about the Daisy that I’d missed. I only knew isolated, lonely, teenage Daisy. This Daisy had achieved everything she’d ever wanted. She was Prima Ballerina in a very reputable company, engaged to a billionaire, and was still living a decently private life. I couldn’t just disrupt that if...
She wasn’t happy. She couldn’t be. Not without me.
I was her green light.
I found myself on the balcony. The sketchbook I’d left before was still sitting in the chair. I reached for it and sat, picking up where I’d left off. I’d been drawing Daisy as she danced, but now I had a new image in my head I needed to draw. I flipped the page and started to sketch the image of her at the peak of orgasm from memory. I was focused on her full, perfect lips when I heard a call from below that startled me.
“Hello? Unknown?”
I ducked like the coward I was and went back to grab the microphone. I used my phone for the voice distortion and then returned to my shadows on the balcony.
“Daisy, you’ve returned.”
I found it easier to speak to her this way. I almost felt like The Wizard from The Wizard of OZ , but it was the only way I could speak. I couldn’t expose myself until I knew it was safe. Until I knew she still loved me.
“I have. Are you still hiding your face? It feels silly, doesn’t it?” She walked confidently down the ramp, through the orchestra pit and launching herself over the wall to get up on stage. She plopped down and crossed her legs. “Considering I’ve seen a lot more.”
I smirked. She was referring to the unsolicited dick pic I sent her. The anonymity had made me brave. And I’d spent a lot of time on my body in prison. I was a little proud of it. I could have given up and let myself get soft and pale and sad, but I knew one day we’d meet again, and I had to be tight and hard and amazing for her.
“It didn’t seem to deter you, not seeing my face. You can wait a little longer. Why are you here, Daisy?”
“I… I don’t know. I just... you seemed to know a lot about me. About Max.” Her tone was strained.
“What, that you’re engaged to a billionaire? That’s an easy internet search. That he’s cheating on you? The only person who doesn’t know is her husband.”
I cringed at how cruel I was being but hearing his name from her lips switched something in me.
“What does it matter? You’re still planning on marrying him,” I accused.
“What makes you say that?”
I knew she couldn’t see me, but she was looking directly at where I stood. I glanced at the notebook I’d abandoned on the chair once more.
“You would have left already if you weren’t going to. Why do you stay, Daisy, if not for love?”
“I’ve never said I loved him.”
Her fists clenched as she stood.
“You don’t know me at all, do you? You just want me to think you do. You know why I came here? I came to tell you that even if you allow my company to perform here, I will be absent. You will not hold my embarrassment over my head to get your way.”
“You said you never loved Max, but you’ve loved before. Is that why you don’t love your fiancé?” It came out as a statement, but it was a plea, a question I’d spent years asking my lonely cell. I’d ignored her ranting and went straight for what I needed.
Daisy froze and turned slowly .
“What are you talking about?” Her eyes turned to slits.
“Daisy is not the name you were given at birth.”
“It’s a stage name. Many people have them.”
“Yes, but I know why you chose the name you did. Does he?”
“Does who?” she asked, but I didn’t need to elaborate. She knew exactly who I was talking about. She threw her hands up and shook her head. “Max knowing where I pulled inspiration from is useless. It serves no purpose in my life anymore.”
“Then why keep it? Especially after hearing of his crimes?”
Silence.
I flew too close to the sun. I knew it. She was done. I waited for her to walk off the stage, but she stayed.
“How do you know about that?” Her voice was shaky.
“You all but abandoned him, and now you want to ask questions?”
“I never abandoned him!” she cried out!
“You wear a ring promising yourself to another man, do you not? Daisy, you can lie to a lot of people, but I know the truth. You never loved him, did you? You used him to get out, to escape. You didn’t look twice after that night.”
“Ha!” She laughed. “You say you know the truth, but if that was true, you’d know how much bullshit you’re spilling from your mouth right now. How do I even know we are talking about the same person?”
“Which name should I give you, the name you gave him, or the one the state did? Daisy Lovelace, the man I speak of is Emile ‘make-a-meal-out-of-you’ Dumas, otherwise known to you as Gatsby.” The words came out singular, punctuated with spit and malice. “Just say it. Say you never loved him. That you are happy he’s gone, and that you will live out your life with the man you plan to call husband.” Sometime during this, I’d started to cry. I blinked, trying to stop. I wasn’t holding myself together. I thought I could, but I couldn’t. Not when I was in her orbit.
“No amount of demands could ever get me to say such vile things. I loved Gatsby then, and I’ll love him ’til the day I die, and because of that, I’ll never be happy again.”
“Because of what? Because he’s a murderer, a cannibal, a true monster in disguise?”
I looked then, needing to see her face. I needed to know what she thought of me. This was it. Would I be saying goodbye forever, or was I going to fight for her?
She shook her head and sighed deeply.
“Gatsby is none of those things. He didn’t kill that woman. I did.”