Sweet strains of jazz swelled into the street as we approached-- a staple for any Long Island party. Another staple was the state of the venue, which was so grand I had to take a few steps back in order to see it in its entirety. A carpet of ivy smothered the walls and arches stretching all the way up to the peaks of its castle-like towers.
I found out quickly that the inside was just as lavish; there were hundreds of people packed in-- from flappers twirling in flashy skirts to mingling couples-- and yet they carried no presence under the ceiling, which stretched so high it nearly put cathedrals to shame.
I found my eyes drifting to a balcony above. A single young man stood over the railing, towering over the party with eagle eyes. I scanned his crisp white suit, the kind of suit that mysterious men wear to draw attention without having to surrender any information. It was the most expensive blank canvas I’d ever seen.
Out of the corner of my eye I saw a hand on my shoulder. I knew immediately by the daintiness of her fingers that it was Zelda.
“What are you looking at, dear?” She asked in her usual trill.
I pointed to the balcony. “Who is that fellow?”
“I’m not sure. No one is, really. People have given up trying to figure him out, so I wouldn’t worry about it too much.”
Out of innocent curiosity I asked a few faces about this man (who I learned was the host of this particular party) and although no one could piece together a complete picture, I noted a few key words: “rich” was the most common, followed by “charming”, and “regal”; “suspicious”, and “bootlegger” were whispered with cautious tongues. He seemed to have emerged from the war out of nowhere with an ocean of power at his feet.
How intriguing it all was! A blank canvas filled with unknowns; a character with origins worth exploring, but what’s a character without a name? Whatever it was, it had to be mysterious, bold, great… Gatsby.
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