Chapter 22
Daisy
I called Neal from my car, sobbing into the wheel. They didn’t answer, so I tried again, and a third time, but each time, it only rang and rang. I screamed and threw my phone into the passenger seat. Starting the car, I pulled out of the parking lot, furious.
As I drove home, I fumed over Neal not answering their phone. And then I fumed over the unknown man almost seducing me. And finally, as I reached Max’s estate, I parked in the garage and sobbed over myself being so desperate for the love I’d lost so long ago that I’d take a stranger in the dark to not be alone.
I cried in my car until there were no tears left, and then I went inside and lost myself again in the shower. I scrubbed the unknown man’s sensual scent off me and then dropped to the floor and let the hot water boil my skin as I screamed and cried.
Deep down, somewhere in my soul, I’d still believed that Gatsby would one day come for me, and now reality was hitting me full force. He was never coming back. I’d be marrying Max Stanton within the year, and he’d bring Lydia back and I’d have to quit ballet to focus on raising the little girl. I could feel my freedom slipping away with each day.
“Our daughter needs a mother, Daisy.” Max’s words taunted me. I put my hands over my ears and rocked, as if he were here in the room, screaming them at me. “You promised you’d do this.”
This was not the life I’d envisioned all those years ago. I’d promised nothing.
I just didn’t want anyone to know my secret.
I stayed until the shower ran cold, and then I got up and dressed for bed, where I stared at the ceiling, begging to be released from the hell I’d gotten myself into. Running wasn’t simply an option. Max and I were too entangled. I’d be ruined if I left without explanation. He’d tell the world all of my secrets, and the world would not be forgiving.
He returned home, and for a few days, he acted as if he loved me. We shared meals together, he took interest in my dancing, and he offered to take me to a movie. Knowing the other option was to run back to the opera house, I chose to see a film with Max. However, as I stared at the large screen, all I could think about was the man I’d left behind in the dark.
Was he angry I’d teased him and then abandoned him? Or was he apologetic for using my longing for a man on death row to his advantage? I hadn’t received a text from him since, and I wasn’t sure if I was disappointed or relieved.
Disappointed.
He was my only tie to Gatsby.
I cried every night, although a little less each time. It felt like I was thrown back in time. When I would watch him on trial. He really had no chance. The woman I’d killed was one of the richest people on earth. They wanted to use him as an example, a warning to not fuck with the rich, for if you did, you’d end up like him .
Toward the end of the week, I was invited to another business dinner, this time one we’d be hosting. Afraid one of Max’s house staff would tell on me, I played the doting partner role and donned a navy cocktail dress and sat beside him at dinner, smiling and laughing.
The women who came with the rich men today weren’t as interesting as the ones from the last dinner. Despite being in their early twenties, like me, they’d already starting getting fillers and injections and other surgeries that aged them. Their skin was like leather, and all of them had the same shade of white-blonde hair. These women had little interest in conversing with me. They spoke mostly amongst themselves and their lives back in Colorado.
This was Max’s ‘Champagne Circle’, as they called themselves.
“This Saturday, what are your plans?” Max asked the men. A Korean gentleman, Yong, CEO of some medical company, spoke up.
“No can do. We are actually attending a party across the lake. All of us are.” He looked around the table. “The man throwing it, we’ve been trying to meet him, but he’s never available for meetings.”
“A party?” Max scoffed.
“I’ve heard they are pretty impressive,” Nathan, a White man with red hair and an unattractive scowl, explained. “The guy’s got money, and we can’t find out anything about him.” He was the head of a car manufacturer.
“Who is this? What’s his name?” Max demanded.
“Gatsby,” Yong said, and my head shot up from my plate.
“Gatsby?” Max repeated. “Is that a first name or last name?”
I studied the table. Did any of them recognize the literary reference? Or even the multiple films? Surely one of them was familiar. But the blank looks on all of their faces told me otherwise.
“Unsure. I assume last. Nothing has come up in any of our investigations. The man has money, but where did it come from, and what is he doing with it?” Nathan said.
“Interesting,” Max mused.
My appetite was completely gone now. I pushed my chair back and stood, bowing slightly. “I have to excuse myself. I’m not feeling well.” I pressed a polite kiss on Max’s lips for show and quickly exited the dinner party.
I went upstairs and started to undress, but decided against it. Instead, I went to my window and stared out at the night. My room faced the lake, and I could see that damn green light from across the water. It was him. I knew it in my bones. The man masquerading as Gatsby had to be the owner of the opera house. He truly was haunting me. He wanted me to know exactly what he was doing. He was stealing his identity and flaunting it in my face.
But to what end?
Did he think I’d give in so easily? That the name was what I wanted and not the man?
Gatsby was more than a name. Just like our green light.
I reached for my phone and bravely tried to call the unknown number. It went straight to voicemail.
There was a loud rumble from above, and I looked toward the sky. Dark clouds were moving fast, and a crack of lightning came down on the lake. Rain came a beat later, hard and fast. Soon, I could barely see the green light, and the need to be in its presence filled me. If he wouldn’t answer my call, I’d tell him my thoughts from the dock.
Using the back ways of the house, I crept back downstairs. The party had moved from the dining room to Max’s smoking room. That was good. They’d be drunk soon, and the music would be too loud for me to be noticed. I stepped outside and was instantly drenched to the bone. Determined to see the green light again, I wandered onto the dock, barefoot, with my cell phone in hand.
I tried Neal’s number again. I’d been struggling to get a hold of them for the last few days. Paired with Tuth taking time off to spend time with their new partner, I was feeling entirely isolated. I stared through the rain at the green light and threw my hand up, giving it the middle finger.
“You know nothing of Gatsby!” I yelled. “You know nothing of his parties, or the green light!” I screamed at the top of my lungs. The thunder and rain covered my cries. “You’re a fraud! A true criminal. I bet that’s how you ended up his cellmate, isn’t it? Were you an identity thief?”
It felt silly, screaming into the rain, but it felt good to finally use my voice. I’d been silent for so long.
A ballerina’s voice box was not needed, as only her legs had meaning.
My father’s last words echoed in my mind. After his accident left him paralyzed, he couldn’t bear to live. What a life, for a ballerina, he’d said, to not have use of their tool?
No.
I had a voice, and I had every right to be heard. I jumped into the air, landing back the rain-slicked dock. I slid but managed to steady myself, struggling to my feet and pushing my heavy, soaked hair out of my eyes.
“My future was taken from me before it even started. All I wanted was my green light, and that was ripped from me! Fuck you! You know nothing of what our love was. You’ll never be my Gatsby!” I screamed at the edge of the dock. My arms swung wildly, too close to the edge. I lost my balance, and my phone slipped from my hand, clattering to the wood. I waved my arms, trying to grab a rail, but I slipped, scraping my knees before falling into the freezing water.