CHAPTER FIVE

A Tea Party

I came home to West Egg at two in the morning. Light from Gatsby's house was shining all over my yard. At first I thought that Gatsby was having another party, but I couldn't hear any sound. As my taxi drove away I saw Gatsby walking silently towards me across his huge yard.

"Your house looks like a dance hall," I said.

Gatsby turned his eyes towards his house. "I've been looking into some of my rooms. Let's have a bathe in the swimming pool, eh, young fellow? I still haven't used my pool all summer."

"Sorry," I said. "I have to work tomorrow. I should go to bed."

"I understand." He waited, staring at me eagerly.

"Well, I talked with Jordan Baker," I said after a moment. "I'll call up Daisy tomorrow. I'll invite her over here to tea soon."

"That's all right," he carelessly said. "I don't want to trouble you."

"What day would be best for you?"

"What day would be best for you?" he quickly corrected me.

"Is the day after tomorrow okay, at four-thirty?"

He thought for a moment, and then said, "First I want to have the grass cut."

We both looked down at the yard—there was a clear line where my untidy yard ended and his tidy yard began. I knew that he meant my grass.

"There's another matter." He paused for a second. "I thought ... young fellow, you don't make a lot of money, do you?"

"No, not very much."

"I thought you didn't. I don't want to say anything rude, but ... I have a small business, very small, you understand. And I thought maybe—if you don't make much money—you are selling bonds, aren't you, young fellow?"

"I'm trying to."

"Well, I think this would interest you. It wouldn't use too much of your time and you would earn a good bit of money."

In a different situation, this conversation could have changed my whole life. But I knew that he offered me this opportunity only to repay me for my help—so I couldn't accept it.

"Sorry, but I'm too busy," I said. "Thanks very much, but I don't have time to do any more work."

The next morning I called up Daisy, and invited her to come over for tea. I told her not to bring Tom.

The next day I waited for her to come over. It was raining heavily outside. At noon a man wearing a raincoat knocked at my door and said that Mr Gatsby had hired him to cut my grass. I remembered then that I needed to go into town to buy some lemons and flowers.

Later I saw that the flowers were not necessary, for at three o'clock one of Gatsby's servants brought over a great pile of flowers. Almost an hour later my front door was opened nervously, and Gatsby, wearing a white suit, a silver shirt, and a gold-colored tie, hurried inside. His face was pale white, and there was darkness under his eyes. I knew that he had not slept well.

"Is everything all right?" he asked me at once.

"The grass looks good, if that's what you mean."

"What grass?" he asked. "Oh, the grass in the yard, yes." He looked out of the window at it, but he was too nervous to really see anything. "Do you have everything that you need—enough tea?"

I took him into my kitchen and showed him the twelve lemon cakes I bought from the village shop.

"Is this enough?" I asked.

"Of course, of course! They're just fine!"

He sat down in the living room and stared at the window. He then began turning the pages of one of my books nervously. Every few moments he looked towards the window. Finally he stood up and told me, in a terribly sad voice, that he was going home.

"Why?" I asked him.

"It's too late! Nobody's coming to tea."

"Don't be silly; it's just now two minutes to four."

At that moment we heard the sound of a car coming towards my house. I walked out into the yard and saw the Buchanans' large car coming up. The driver stopped, and Daisy's face looked out at me with a wide smile.

"Is this really where you live, my wonderful cousin?"

Her voice sounded like music and was as exciting as ever. "Are you in love with me," she whispered softly in my ear, "why did I have to come here alone?"

"That's my secret." I said. "Tell your driver to go far away and wait an hour."

We went inside. To my surprise, the living room was now empty.

Then we heard a light knock at the back door. I went and opened it. Gatsby was standing there, pale as death. He was staring into my eyes like he was in great pain. He walked by me into the living room.

For a minute there wasn't any sound. I could feel my own heart jumping in my chest. Finally I heard Daisy's clear voice.

"I truly am glad to see you again."

I had nothing to do in the hall, so I went to join them in the living room.

Gatsby was standing next to the fireplace and Daisy was sitting on the opposite side of the room in a hard chair. Neither of them was speaking.

"We've met before," said Gatsby in a low voice.

"We haven't met for many years," said Daisy without any feeling in her voice.

"It has been more than four years since we saw each other," said Gatsby and there was a long silence.

I then poured some tea, and we all drank tea and ate lemon cakes. Daisy and I began to talk, and Gatsby looked at us with unhappy eyes. After talking for a little while I said that I had to make a phone call and stood up.

"Who are you calling?" demanded Gatsby nervously.

"I'll be back in a minute." I said.

"I need to speak to you for a moment before you go." He followed me wildly into the kitchen, quickly closed the door, and whispered "Oh God!" in a terrible way.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

"This is a terrible mistake," he said, shaking his head from side to side. "A truly terrible mistake."

"You're just embarrassed, that's all," and luckily I also said, "Daisy is embarrassed also."

"She's also embarrassed?" he repeated in shock.

"Just as much as you are."

"Don't speak so loudly." He whispered.

"You're acting like a little child," I said. "Not only that, but you're also being rude. Daisy is sitting there all alone."

He raised his hand up to stop my words, gave me a sad and afraid look, and went back into the living room.

I walked out the back door, just as Gatsby had done before. I closed the door with a loud sound so that Gatsby and Daisy would know that I had left. It was raining hard again, and I ran under a huge black tree in the yard. Its thick leaves stopped some of the rain. There was nothing to look at around the tree except Gatsby's huge house, so I stared up at it for half an hour.

Then the sun began to shine again, and I felt it was a good time to go back inside. I went in—and made every possible noise that I could in the kitchen so that they would know I was back—but I don't believe they heard a sound. When I went back in they were both sitting on the sofa, looking at each other, and all of their embarrassment from before was gone. Daisy's face was covered with soft tears, and when I came in she began to clean it with her handkerchief. The change in Gatsby was simply amazing—his happiness shone from him and filled the little room.

"Hello, young fellow," he said, as if he hadn't seen me for many years.

"It's stopped raining." I said.

"Oh, has it?" When he understood what I was talking about he smiled and repeated the good news to Daisy. "What do you think of that, Daisy? It's stopped raining."

"I'm glad, Jay."

"Would you and Daisy come over to my house?" he asked. "I'd like her to see it."

Gatsby and I waited in the garden, while Daisy went upstairs to wash her face.

"My house looks great, doesn't it?" he demanded.

I agreed that it was very fancy.

His eyes looked over it, every door and wall.

"It only took me three years to earn the money to buy it."

"I thought you got your money from your father."

"I did, young fellow, but I lost most of it during the war."

I don't think he knew what he was saying, for when I asked him what business he did he answered, "That's my private affair," before he realized that it was not a polite answer.

"I've done many things," he corrected himself. "First I was in the medicine business and then I was in the oil business."

Just then Daisy came out of the house.

"That huge place there?" she cried, pointing.

"Yes, do you like it?"

"I love it, but I don't understand how you can live there all alone."

"I always keep it full of interesting people, night and day: interesting people and famous people."

Instead of walking straight across the garden, we walked down the road and entered through the gate. Daisy admired the house standing dark against the bright sky; she admired the gardens, sweet-smelling flowers.

It was strange to go into Gatsby's house when it was so quiet. There was no movement inside. No bright dresses and no sounds but the birds in the trees. As we walked through the huge rooms, I felt that there were guests hiding behind every sofa and table, who were all ordered to be silent until we had passed through the room.

We went upstairs, through many bedrooms full of fresh flowers, through many halls and bathrooms. We went into one room where a young man was exercising on the floor. His name was Mr Klipspringer, and he was living in the house as Gatsby's guest. Finally we arrived at Gatsby's own private rooms, a large bedroom, a bathroom and a study. We sat down in the study and drank a glass of some wine he took from a cupboard.

This whole time he hadn't once stopped looking at Daisy. Once he was looking at her so closely that he almost fell down the stairs.

His bedroom was the simplest room in the house—except that on the table was a brush and comb set made of pure gold. Daisy grasped the brush with great happiness, and put it to her hair. Gatsby sat down and began to laugh happily. I had never seen him so happy.

"It's the funniest thing, young fellow," he said. "I can't—When I try to—"

Gatsby could not speak. He had moved through two kinds of emotion and was now beginning a third. The first emotion was embarrassment and the second was joy; now he was simply amazed that Daisy was real and that she was really standing so close to him. He had been dreaming of her for so many years. Now the waiting was finally over.

He then opened two large cupboards which were full of his suits and ties, and his many shirts, sitting in several high piles.

"I have a man in England who buys me clothes. He sends over what he has found at the beginning of each season."

He took out a pile of beautiful shirts and began throwing them, one by one, in front of us—some were made of fine cotton and others were thick silk. They soon covered the table with their many colors. While we admired them he pulled out more, and the pile grew higher and higher. Suddenly Daisy put her head into the shirts and began to cry wildly.

"They're all such beautiful shirts," she cried. "It makes me so sad because I've never seen shirts like these before."

After seeing the house, we were going to see the gardens and the flowers and the swimming pool and the sea-plane—but it began to rain again outside, so we stood near the window and looked at the ocean.

"If it wasn't for the thick mist we could see your house across the water," said Gatsby. "Every night you always have a green light that sits at the end of your wall."

Gatsby seemed to be thinking. Perhaps he realized that the importance of that light was now gone. Before, when he was separated from Daisy by a great distance, the light had seemed very near to her, almost next to her. It looked as close as a star was to the moon. Now it was just a common green light on a wall.

I began to walk around the room and look at Gatsby's things. A large photograph of an old man in sailing clothes interested me.

"Who is this?" I asked.

"That? Oh, that's Mr Dan Cody, young fellow. He's dead now. He used to be my best friend many years ago."

"Come here quickly!" cried Daisy at the window.

The rain was still falling, but in the west pink clouds moved slowly over the sea.

"Look at those clouds," she whispered to Gatsby. "I'd like to put you in one of those pink clouds and push you around."

When I heard them whispering like young lovers I tried to go home, but they wouldn't let me.

"I know what we can do," said Gatsby, "we'll have Mr Klipspringer play the piano."

He went out of the room and returned with the young man, who looked embarrassed.

"I don't play the piano well," he said. "I don't—hardly play at all. I haven't practiced for a long time."

"We'll go downstairs to the music room," interrupted Gatsby.

In the music room Gatsby turned on a lamp beside the piano, the rest of the room was dark and private. He lit Daisy's cigarette and sat down with her on the sofa in the darkest corner of the room.

Klipspringer played the old song "The Love Nest". After he finished he turned around unhappily.

"You see, I'm not good at playing, I told you I haven't practiced—"

"Don't talk so much, young fellow," ordered Gatsby. "Play!"

He played.

Outside the wind was blowing loud. All the lights in West Egg were going on now. It was time for me to go home.

As I said goodbye, I saw fear and doubt on Gatsby's face. It looked like he was not sure about his new happiness. For five years he had been dreaming of Daisy. During that time he had been building a dream of Daisy. Now they were in the same room together. How could any real person be as good as the dream? There must have been some moments that afternoon when Daisy had disappointed him.

As I watched him his face again became happy. His hand grasped hers, and when she whispered something quietly in his ear he turned towards her showing a deep feeling in his face. Her voice had a magic power that was better than a dream.

They had forgotten me now, but Daisy looked up and raised her hand to say goodbye; Gatsby didn't know me now at all. I left the room and walked downstairs into the rain and left them there together.

(end of section)