“Well, I’ve been winning this week,” she said. “If that’s what you’re asking. And only four of us girls were chosen to come out and compete in this practice tournament and I was one of them.”
“That’s marvelous,” I said, having no idea what went into being chosen, and not really interested in those details either. All that really mattered was that she was here, sitting across from me. I didn’t care about how she’d gotten here. How many balls she’d gotten in the holes or whatever it was she did exactly playing golf. “So then you’re happy on the tour?” I asked.
“Sure,” she said rather brusquely. “I mean, I suppose I am? My roommate, Mary Margaret, is a doll. You’d love her, Daise. I really wanted her to get picked for this tournament, too, so you could meet her. But…” She frowned. “That didn’t happen.”
“Well, I’m glad you’ve made a friend.” My words came out terser than I’d meant them to, and I felt a little pinch of jealousy in my chest. I was glad Jordan had a friend, of course. I wanted her to be happy. But we had always been best friends, and I didn’t relish the idea of this Mary Margaret taking my place. “But clearly, she’s not nearly as talented as you.”
“Oh, stop, Daise.” Jordan waved away my compliment.
“Well, I’m certain it’s true,” I said. “Jordan Baker, you are the most talented girl on that tour.”
Jordan blushed. “The truth is, it’s all so political. There’s another girl, Jerralyn, who’s from Santa Barbara, and she practically demanded that they take her, even though Mary Margaret scored better in our round robin. But Jerralyn’s daddy’s business sponsors this tournament.” Jordan rolled her eyes. “It’s really not fair to Mary Margaret.” She sounded so pouty now, and I felt this untoward jealousy boiling up inside of me. It wasn’t that I wanted Jordan to be lonely; I just didn’t want her to have a friend she liked better than me.
“Well, political or not,” I said, “they chose you, because your talent is just that overwhelming, Jordie. I’m proud of you and I know your daddy would be proud too.”
“Thanks, Daise,” she said, with a half smile.
Out of the corner of my eye I caught the waiter staring at us, and I waved him over.
“What can I get for you, Mrs. Buchanan?” he asked. I still loved the way that sounded. Mrs. Buchanan. Crisp and delicious and erupting with power.
“Bring us one of everything,” I said casually, handing him back the menu I’d barely glanced at.
“Certainly, Mrs. Buchanan.” He took our menus and walked away.
Jordan stared at me, her gray eyes wider than I’d ever seen them. “Daise, one of everything? That’s much too much food. I couldn’t possibly. I have to play a round this afternoon.”
I had this sudden flash of Rose, her victory garden, her fretting about going out to feed the poor on the hottest day of summer. But the war was over.
One of everything. It was the way Tom had been ordering for us our whole honeymoon, and it was funny how quickly I’d forgotten that, in itself, was out of the ordinary. Two months later, here I was, a full-fledged Buchanan. I shrugged a little. But Jordan still had her eyebrows raised sky-high. “It’s what Tom likes to do,” I said apologetically, feeling my cheeks brighten further. “And he wanted me to bring him some food back anyway. We’ll eat the rest for dinner.”
Jordan laughed and shook her head. “One of everything,” she repeated, sounding more amused now than astounded. “Well, look at you, Daisy Buchanan.” She whistled lightly. “Look at you.”
* * *
JORDAN AND I only ate a few bites, and the restaurant sent all the boxed-up food back to our suite. We made plans to meet again, later in the week, at the beach, with Tom, too. But I hated saying good-bye to her, and I took a long walk by the ocean on the way back to the hotel in an attempt to soothe my nerves.
A few hours later, I found Tom in our suite, and that brightened my spirits again. I gave him an eager kiss and told him about all the food I’d sent back for dinner. “We can eat in bed.” I laughed, pulling him toward me.
“I can’t, Daisy,” Tom said brusquely. “I made plans to go meet some of the fellows for a drink and a bite to eat.” The fellows? His polo friends.
“You’re leaving me.” I pouted. “But I haven’t seen you all day. I miss you, darling.” I reached for the waistband of his pants, hoping to change his mind.
He pushed my hands away. “You met a friend for lunch, Daisy,” he said, rather petulantly. “I can go meet friends too.”
I supposed he was right, but that didn’t make me feel any less sulky. And I’d wanted him to have lunch with me and Jordan. “All right.” I sighed. “If you must.”
“I must,” he said. He leaned down, gave me a quick peck on the lips. And then, just like that, he left.
I got into my nightgown and ate some of the leftovers myself and thought about Jordan. She was staying somewhere across the city with her golf tour, but we were going to meet at the beach on Sunday, her day off, before she went back to Charleston. I thought about calling her now, telling her to come over to the Santa Barbara Hotel and help me finish off these leftovers. But this wasn’t Louisville, and no matter what Tom called us, we were no longer girls. Jordan had a whole entire life and golf career that didn’t even include me. This made me feel even more sulky.
I got into bed and flipped through the issues of all the latest magazines I’d asked the concierge to drop off in our suite. Halfway through Harper’s Bazaar, I glanced at the clock—it was almost ten. I started to worry. How many mint juleps was Tom planning on having? An hour passed, and then another. I flipped through the magazines enough times the pages started to wear, and the ink left stains on my fingers.
I finally heard his key in the door, just past midnight, and I pulled the lamp and lay in bed, silent, unmoving. I heard him stumble in, bumping into a chair, cursing softly. I could smell bourbon from across the room.
I felt his body hit the mattress next to me, and the bourbon smell was so strong, I swallowed back a swell of nausea. Then I heard the almost immediate soft sound of his snore.
But I couldn’t sleep. I tossed and turned for hours.
* * *
A WEEK LATER, I’d almost forgotten all about that sleepless night. Tom and I had settled into a new routine in Santa Barbara—time apart and time together, too. I went to watch Jordie golf, and he went to play with his ponies. We both met Jordan at the beach on Sunday, and the afternoon sun had bathed me with an overwhelming feeling of bliss. I imagined this would be the way much of our real married lives would stretch on out from here.
We’d spent all yesterday afternoon much the way we’d spent our time in the South Seas, naked and restless and clinging to each other. I’d fallen into a deep and dreamless sleep last night, and then when I’d awoken this morning I felt that glow of happiness again, even though Tom had already left for polo practice and I was in our suite all alone.