Today's Reading
Nick Carraway didn't visit quite as often as the Buchanans did, which Greta considered a crying shame. Daisy liked to say Nick was taciturn, but Greta thought he must only seem that way because the rest of them were such relentless talkers.
"Gigi!" Jay turned at last, as if feeling her stare. "You're home!"
The others turned. So it was Nick Carraway. Greta smiled back at her brother.
"Home indeed."
"Darling, how splendid to see you," Daisy said brightly. "But, goodness, what have you done to your hair? And those trousers. So...bohemian!"
"Just the ticket, I say," Tom said, eyeing the trousers—and the rest of Greta's figure—in a most off-putting way.
Nick shot her one of his quick, elusive smiles as Jay crossed the lawn and wrapped her briefly in his arms.
"I'm sorry I wasn't there to greet your train. Daisy wanted to come into town with me, but then there was the delay and we were simply melting on the platform..."
Greta knew how persuadable Jay was when it came to Daisy, although she didn't believe for a moment that Daisy was as fragile as Jay seemed to think.
"Are you going to join in our bit of target practice?" Daisy waved her rifle around in a frankly unnerving manner. "It's tremendous fun."
"Despite your not having hit within ten feet of the target," Tom said in quashing tones.
"Well, you're no William Tell, you thick-fingered brute," Daisy retorted.
Tom's eyes flashed.
"Shall we put an apple on your head and find out, my dear?"
Greta caught Nick's eye. She was used to the Buchanans carping at each other—everybody was—but they might have waited until she was here five minutes before launching in.
Nick cleared his throat.
"I've another suggestion: How about we pack this in and call it cocktail hour?"
"All right." Daisy's rancor disappeared as quickly as it had arrived. It was part of her charm, the way her moods hurried along like scudding clouds, but Greta sometimes wondered if things didn't lodge there more deeply than they seemed to.
"I suppose Jordan and Edgar will be here soon anyway," Daisy added, as Nick led them up the lawn.
More guests? Greta supposed she oughtn't be surprised. Playing host was a compulsion for Jay.
"Who's Edgar?" she said. There was no need to ask about the other name—Greta was quite familiar with Jordan Baker, a semiprofessional golfer whose tournament schedule seemed remarkably conducive to a social life filled with cocktails and men. She was Daisy's best friend, and Greta knew there'd been an on-again, off-again "thing" with Nick Carraway for years... which, if she was honest, probably accounted for most of Greta's reservations about her.
"Tom's brother, Edgar," Jay supplied. "He's in New York this summer."
More Buchanans, Greta thought dismally.
"A rotten idea of yours, Jay," Tom groused. "I don't know what you want to suck up to that dry old shrub for."
"Well, he is your brother, old sport. I thought it would be nice," Jay said with one of the benign smiles he seemed to reserve for Tom's more ill-humored remarks.
"So much for a quiet night," Greta said. Behind her, Daisy gave a warm burble of laughter.
"My dear, have you met Jay Gatsby? Less than thirty people is a quiet night."
* * *
Jay had just finished pouring out the gimlets when Beecham announced Miss Baker's arrival.
"Hullo, chaps!" Jordan hardly let the butler finish before strolling onto the porch. She certainly cut a striking figure in her silver moiré tabard-cut, the square neck draped elegantly against her narrow collarbones, and showing her tall, thin frame to perfection. Anyone else in her outfit might have looked overdressed, but it was doubtful whether Jordan knew the meaning of the word. Her nails were lacquered, her chestnut hair waved tightly against her head, and she wore that cherry-red lipstick Greta had rarely seen her without.
This excerpt ends on page 14 of the hardcover edition.
Monday we begin the book The Matchmaker by Aisha Saeed.
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