I hoped he was right.
I walked from the window, steeling myself, and left the safety of my office.
I’d never actually attended one of my parties.
There’s no party like a Gatsby party, I’d heard somewhere.
I chuckled at my own joke, and when the elevator doors opened, I greeted the guests with a smile. They were dancing and laughing and barely noticed me. I was just another attendee. It was one of the perks of having a hundred-year-old playbook to work with.
I made my way through the dance floor. Picking up a champagne flute from a tray, I sipped as I mingled. The very act felt foreign and fake, but I needed to blend in. I was here to be noticed by only one person. Letting the rest of the party know my face would ruin everything. I kept up the ruse of the average party-goer until I took a break, using a secret hall to go upstairs for a moment.
I checked myself in a hallway mirror, straightening my jacket and brushing my hair into place. I checked the time. I still hadn’t seen Neal, but the night was still young. Most people didn’t even begin to leave until sunrise.
How was the real party going?
I opted to sneak across the mansion, up two flights, and past several layers of locked doors to check in on things. Locking the doors behind me every step of the way, I reached the most secret room of the house and unlocked it.
Screams of torture reached my ears the moment I began to pull the door open. I beamed as I stepped inside and locked the door again.
“How is dinner going?” I shouted over the screaming man, scanning the table before stepping forward. “Ooh, is that fresh bread?”
I left in the middle of the feast, the guest of honor still screaming and pleading for his life. Locking the doorsbehind me, I returned to the bustling party as if I’d seen nothing, walking with renewed vigor. I think I’d needed to see my work in action to calm me.
This was all part of a much larger plan.
I came through the door that led right into the ballroom and as I turned around, key in hand, I was greeted by someone in a plum-colored suit.
“The elusive Gatsby.” They stepped out of the shadows.
“And you are?” I eyed the androgenous-looking person cautiously. How did they know my name?
“Tuth, they/them. Care to join me for a drink? Don’t worry, I won’t tell your secret.” They winked at me.
“What secret?” I straightened, my gaze narrowing.
“Daisy Lovelace.”
I swallowed the lump in my throat and nodded, waving my arm toward the bar on the far side of the room. “A drink sounds lovely.”
Tuth ordered for us at the bar. We took our drinks, and I offered to take them up to another level to talk more privately.
“We won’t have to scream!” I yelled over the party. They offered me their arm, and together, we went upstairs to a lounge only I and my staff had access to.
“So, tell me, Tuth, why are you here?” I asked once the door was shut.
They laughed. “For the party, naturally. I’ve been a few times. This one is by far one of the best. Those little desserts being passed around? Fucking amazing.”
I sipped my drink.
“But no, I should confess I have been coming to these to look for you.”
“For me? Why is that?”
“Because I’ve read the fucking book.” They smirked. “The parallels are elementary shit. Daisy, Gatsby, the greenlights on both of your piers. Her tattoo, your parties.” They plopped down on a chair, tossing their legs up on the arm. “I will admit though, it wasn’t until I saw Neal’s personal invite that I was sure of what you were doing.”
I nodded thoughtfully. “Who are you exactly?”
They swung their legs onto the floor and sat up. “I’m your Jordan.”
