Chapter 42
Daisy
I woke before him, and, not wanting to disturb his arm around me, I lay awake, staring at the wall for a long time. My mind went through the last twenty-four hours.
He gave me flowers.
He gave me an orchestra.
I snuggled deeper into him, clenching my thighs together.
He gave me Emile.
A light tear slid down my cheek, thinking about him. While his hands and words were rough and dirty, it was the most vulnerable he'd ever been around me. He hadn't said much, but he finally let me in. Or at least opened the door a crack. I had a feeling that I'd only just seen a sliver of the light behind the door that was the man formerly known as Emile Dumas.
While it seemed the Dumas was gone for good, I hoped that someday I'd be allowed to meet Emile in full.
Gatsby rolled over, his warm, strong arm leaving my body. I waited and then silently slid out of bed. I went to the closet and carefully opened drawers until I found panties, a nightgown, and a white silk robe that went to the floor. I dressed, then tiptoed out of his bedroom suite, leaving him to rest.
I could explore now.
I took my time wandering through the impressive mansion. It was so much bigger than the one Max had bought for us across the lake. I had a feeling that was intentional, Gatsby buying this house specifically. Of course, I wasn't surprised he managed to get something directly across from me, but he'd purposely made sure it was the largest property on the lake. I recalled the renovations, and how I hadn’t given it a second thought about who was doing them then.
If only I'd known it was him.
I sighed as I walked down the halls, opening doors and peering inside. I found members of his staff in some rooms, dusting, organizing little things. They nodded politely and smiled at me as I continued my exploration of the Gatsby Estate. Everything felt so welcoming, so warm, so hopeful, until I came across two double-sided doors that were locked. I tried them harder, but they didn't budge. How odd.
I made a mental note to ask Gatsby when he woke up why everything else was open but this one.
"Hello, Daisy."
I turned to see a young, handsome Black man with a kind smile staring at me from the end of the hall. He wore a black suit, like all the other male-presenting members of Gatsby's staff.
"Hello," I said hesitantly.
"You look a little lost. I'm Dewayne, Mr. Gatsby's assistant. Can I take you down to get some breakfast? Jules is a fantastic chef."
I looked back toward the locked door one more time, frowned, but then stepped away to join Dewayne .
"I am a little hungry," I admitted.
"Perfect. Let's get you downstairs."
We left the mysterious hall and headed down to the kitchen.
"Have you worked for Gatsby long?" I asked him.
"Since he brought in staff about eight months ago," Dewayne answered.
"I see. Are you from around here?"
"I grew up in Detroit, so not too far from here," he said, pushing the doors open to the large kitchen. I stared around the giant blue and silver room. It looked like a restaurant kitchen.
Steam rose from a large pot on the stove, and various pieces of metal clanged together somewhere I couldn't see.
"Jules, Daisy is here for breakfast," Dewayne called over the noise.
"Daisy?" a deep voice with a French accent replied. A moment later, a smiling White man with mousy brown hair and a muscular frame came around a corner. "The Daisy?" He hurried over and pulled me in for a large hug.
"Yes," Dewayne interrupted Jules's greeting. "Let's get her fed, hmm?"
Jules put me down and smiled even wider. I looked from Dewayne to Jules and back again. They made me feel so welcome already. I wondered what Gatsby had told them about me.
"Yes, yes.” Jules took my hand, dragging me to one of the many kitchen islands. He pulled out a stool and directed me to sit.
"What do you like to eat in the morning? Eggs, oatmeal? I can make anything."
I considered my options. Neither Eggs nor oatmeal sounded even slightly good.
"What is that face? Do you not like eggs?" He frowned .
"No, it's not that. I just..." Back home, Max spoke to the kitchen staff. I didn't have a say in the menu. The only time I was allowed to choose what I ate was at a restaurant, and even then, Max would often speak over me. Jules waved a playful finger at me and chuckled.
"You want something sweet, don't you? Let Jules create something special for you, then."
I was offered coffee, with a flat of mini pitchers of various creamers. I tried them all but ultimately poured the 'spiced caramel' creamer into my hot drink, and watched as Jules prepared me breakfast.
He seemed like a happy cook. Turning on music, we listened to piano melodies while he chatted, asking about me.
"I hear you are a dancer, yes?"
I nodded.
"I used to attend ballet back home in France. It is a beautiful art. I must see you perform soon." He mixed something into a bowl and turned the stove on.
"Yes! My company will be performing at the Tennant Theater later this year. Gatsby owns it; I'll make sure he gives you tickets."
He shook his head and waved his spatula playfully at me. "Oh, no, no, no. I want tickets from the Prima Ballerina herself! I need people to know that I am friends with the star of the show!"
I laughed and relaxed further into my seat. Everything about this place felt... right. I sat and watched Jules work his magic, and after a few short minutes, he slid a warm plate of perfectly cooked pancakes with strawberry compote and a dollop of whip cream on top. He offered me a knife and fork and I took them eagerly, my stomach suddenly beginning to rumble.
"This is delicious, Jules!" I complimented. The man beamed proudly as he sat down across from me to watch me eat. I scooped up another bite and shook my head, incredulous. "I don't think I've ever had homemade whipped cream."
"Only the best for Gatsby's Daisy."
I smiled and returned to my breakfast. It was gone entirely too soon. Once my plate was empty, Jules took it from me and set it in the large washing basin. He returned to me quickly and sat back down.
"Now, the rest of today's menu. What do you like?"
I was once again taken aback. What did I like? I laughed.
"I don't know. What do you like?"
The words seemed to trigger something in Jules. He quickly pulled a notepad from a drawer on his side of the island. He began to make a list of all of his favorite things to make and eat, then slid the list over and described it all to me in detail.
"This all sounds so good. I can't decide. Maybe you should see what Gatsby wants."
"Oh, he only wants what you want. He told me very specifically this morning, that I, and the rest of the staff, are at your beck and call."
I blinked.
"This morning?" I was up before him. I'd left him in bed, fast asleep.
He nodded. "Mister Gatsby sleeps on and off throughout the night. He came down around five, when I was just coming into the kitchen, to give the new orders. You tell me to make it, and I make it."
"You're too kind, Jules. Won't you get busy though?"
"Busy?" His dark, ocean-colored eyes bulged as he scoffed. "Ha! I have nothing to do now that the parties have all been canceled. I have so many ingredients that I need to use before they go bad, in fact. I may talk to him about donating them to something later..." He began to mumble to himself, but something he'd said caught my attention.
"There are no more parties?" I asked.
He looked up from the notepad and frowned. "No more parties. Not for the next two months, he said. He wants to spend time with you."
He stared at me for a very long moment as his words sunk in.
"All of this, you know, all of this is for you."
I smiled softly. "I know. Thank you for being here, Jules. Gatsby needs to be surrounded by kind people like you."
The tender moment was crashed by Jules slapping the countertop excitedly.
"Yes! And I need hungry people like you. So pick something for dinner!"
I sighed.
"A salad, a side, and a meat of Gatsby's choice, and ooh, okay. What about a warm chocolate chip cookie, with ice cream for dessert?"
Quickly, he wrote down my request.
"Chocolate chip cookie, got it." He looked up and pointed at me. "We only have one problem with your selection."
"What's that?" I sighed again.
"Mister Gatsby is a vegetarian."