I cant complain, answered Wilson. When are you going to sell me that automobile?
Next week. My man is working on it now.
He is working pretty slow, right?
No, he isnt, said Tom coldly. And if you think so, maybe Id better sell it somewhere else after all.
I dont mean that, explained Wilson quickly. I just meant
Tom glanced impatiently around the garage. Then I heard footsteps on a stairs and saw a woman. She was in the middle thirties, and faintly stout, but she carried her surplus flesh sensuously as some women can. She smiled slowly and walking through her husband as if he were a ghost shook hands with Tom. Then she spoke to her husband in a soft, coarse voice:
Get some chairs, why dont you, so somebody can sit down.
Oh, sure, agreed Wilson hurriedly and went toward the little office.
I want to see you, said Tom intently. Get on the next train.
All right.
Ill meet you by the news-stand.
She nodded and moved away from him. George Wilson emerged with two chairs from his office door.
We waited for her down the road and out of sight.
Terrible place, isnt it? said Tom.
Awful.
It does her good to get away.
Doesnt her husband object?
Wilson? He thinks she goes to see her sister in New York.
So Tom Buchanan and his girl and I went up together to New York-or not quite together, for Mrs. Wilson sat discreetly in another car. At the news-stand she bought a copy of Town Tattle and a magazine, and in the station drug store some cold cream and a small flask of perfume. Then said, pointing at the grey old man with a basket.
I want one of those dogs, she said. I want to get one for the apartment. Theyre so nice.
In a basket the grey old man had pretty puppies.
What kind are they? asked Mrs. Wilson.
All kinds. What kind do you want, lady?
Id like to get one of those police dogs[2]; do you have that kind?
The man peered into the basket, plunged in his hand and drew one up, by the back of the neck.
Thats no police dog, said Tom.
No, its not exactly a police dog, said the man with disappointment in his voice. But look at that coat. Some coat. Thats a dog thatll never get cold!
I think its cute, said Mrs. Wilson enthusiastically. How much is it?
That dog? He looked at it admiringly. That dog will cost you ten dollars.
The puppy settled down into Mrs. Wilsons lap.
Is it a boy or a girl? she asked delicately.
That dog? That dogs a boy.
Its a bitch, said Tom decisively. Heres your money. Go and buy ten more dogs with it.
We drove over to Fifth Avenue, very warm and soft on the summer Sunday afternoon.
Hold on, I said, I have to leave you here.
No, you dont, interposed Tom quickly. Myrtlell be hurt if you dont come up to the apartment. Wont you, Myrtle?
Come on, she urged. Ill telephone my sister Catherine. They say she is very beautiful.
Well, Id like to, but
We went on. At 158
th
The apartment was on the top floor-a small living room, a small dining room, a small bedroom and a bath. Several old copies of Town Tattle lay on the table together with some of the small scandal magazines of Broadway. Mrs. Wilson was first concerned with the dog. Meanwhile Tom brought out a bottle of whiskey.
I have been drunk just twice in my life and the second time was that afternoon. Sitting on Toms lap Mrs. Wilson called up several people on the telephone; then there were no cigarettes and I went out to buy some at the drug store on the corner.
Then some people came- Myrtles sister, Catherine, Mr. McKee, a pale feminine man from the flat below, and his wife.
Catherine was a slender girl of about thirty with red hair. When she moved about there was an incessant clicking of innumerable pottery bracelets upon her arms. She came in and looked around so possessively at the furniture that I wondered if she lived here. But when I asked her she laughed, repeated my question aloud and told me she lived with a girl friend at a hotel.
Mr. McKee was most respectful in his greeting to everyone in the room. He informed me that he belonged to the world of art and I learned later that he was a photographer. His wife was shrill, languid, handsome and horrible. She told me with pride that her husband had photographed her a hundred and twenty-seven times since they had been married.
Mrs. Wilson had changed her costume and her personality had also changed. Her intense vitality that had been so remarkable in the garage was converted into impressive hauteur. Her laughter and her gestures became different.
My dear, she told her sister, most of these people will cheat you every time. All they think of is money.
I like your dress, remarked Mrs. McKee, I think its wonderful.
Mrs. Wilson rejected the compliment.
Its just a crazy old thing, she said. I put it on sometimes when I dont care what I look like.
But it looks wonderful on you, if you know what I mean, pursued Mrs. McKee. If Chester could only get you in that pose!
We all looked in silence at Mrs. Wilson who looked back at us with a brilliant smile. Mr. McKee regarded her intently.
I would change the light, he said after a moment.
I wouldnt think its reasonable, cried Mrs. McKee. I think its
Her husband said Sh! and we all looked at the subject again whereupon Tom Buchanan yawned and got to his feet.
You McKees have something to drink, he said. Get some more ice and mineral water, Myrtle.
Myrtle raised her eyebrows, then she kissed the dog and went to the kitchen.
Ive done some nice things out on Long Island, said Mr. McKee.
Tom looked at him.
Two of them we have downstairs.
Two what? demanded Tom.
Two pictures. One of them I call Montauk Point-the Gulls, and the other I call Montauk Point-the Sea.
The sister Catherine sat down beside me on the couch.
Where do you live? On Long Island, too? she inquired.
I live at West Egg.
Really? I was down there at a party about a month ago. At a man named Gatsbys. Do you know him?
I live next door to him.
Well, they say hes a nephew or a cousin of Kaiser Wilhelms. Thats where all his money comes from.
Really?
She nodded.
Im scared of him.
Mr. McKee said, Id like to do more work on Long Island. All I need is a start.
Ask Myrtle, said Tom. Shell give you a letter of introduction, wont you, Myrtle?
What? she asked, startled.
Youll give McKee a letter of introduction to your husband, so he can make some pictures of him. His lips moved silently. George B. Wilson at the Gasoline Pump, or something like that.
Catherine leaned close to me and whispered in my ear: Neither of them can stand the person theyre married to.
Cant they?
Cant STAND them. She looked at Myrtle and then at Tom. But why do they live with them if they cant stand them? I would get a divorce and get married to each other right away.
Doesnt she like Wilson either?
The answer to this was unexpected. It came from Myrtle who had heard my question and it was violent and obscene, Of course, not.
You see? cried Catherine triumphantly. She lowered her voice again. Its really his wife thats keeping them apart. Shes a Catholic and they dont believe in divorce.
Daisy was not a Catholic and I was a little shocked at this lie.
When they get married, continued Catherine, theyre going West to live for a while there.
Why not to Europe?
Oh, do you like Europe? she exclaimed surprisingly. I just got back from Monte Carlo.
Really?
Just last year. I went over there with a girl friend.
Stay long?
No, we just went to Monte Carlo and back. We had more than twelve hundred dollars when we started but we lost everything. God, how I hated that town!
I almost made a mistake, too, Mrs. McKee declared vigorously. I almost married a man who was below me. Everybody was saying to me: Lucille, that mans below you! But luckily I met Chester!
Yes, but listen, said Myrtle Wilson, nodding her head up and down, at least you didnt marry him.