I could still picture the bright red of her blood on my hands, on Tom’s hands. Soaking through the battered copy of Town Tattle and the white linens from the bathroom. The last time I’d left her, later that same evening at her apartment in Queens, her nose had been purple and twisted. George’s face turned bright red as I’d regaled him with my story of the light pole and Myrtle swooping in to save me, and I wasn’t quite sure whether he’d believed me or not.
Tonight it was a seething hot Thursday, and I had barely gotten home from work when she called. But I’d already changed out of my work dress and into my housedress and slippers. Her call left me so distraught that I ran out without grabbing Duke or changing again, and I hopped in a pink cab uptown without even thinking what I looked like.
“Cath, what are you wearing?” Myrtle asked as soon as she opened the door. She eyed my housedress and slippers and frowned. Her face was tear-streaked, but I looked her over, head to toe, and she appeared unharmed.
I gave her a fierce hug, clinging a few seconds too long. “You scared me,” I said, when she finally pulled out of my grasp. “I ran out of the apartment without changing.” I followed her inside and sat down next to her on the couch. “What’s going on, Myrtle? What’s your emergency?”
“George,” she said softly. She stretched out her fingers and nervously twisted the simple gold band she wore around her ring finger, round and round. “He found Duke’s leash on my dresser.”
I shook my head, not understanding why that rose to the level of an emergency. “So tell him Duke’s my dog,” I said. And anyway, wasn’t that more than half the truth by now?
“I did, but the leash.… Tom bought it for me—it has diamonds on it. George didn’t believe it was yours for a second. You know what he said to me, Cath?” I shook my head. It was warm inside the apartment, and I felt perspiration beading up on the back of my neck. “He said, God knows what you’ve been doing; God sees everything.”
“You don’t even believe in God,” I said. Well, I knew I didn’t. I wasn’t sure whether Myrtle did or not. But I didn’t think so the way she’d been carrying on.
“That’s not the point, Cath.” Her voice rose. “He knows about Tom.”
“How could he possibly?” George didn’t seem to have it in him to understand and connect the minutiae, that this diamond dog leash meant his wife was cheating on him with the brutish and ultrarich Tom Buchanan.
“Well, he suspects, anyway.” She sighed and her shoulders collapsed, and then she blew her nose in a handkerchief. I noticed it was embroidered with the initials T.B. and I grimaced. “I snuck out after he’d had enough whiskey to fall asleep, got the train straight out here. I’ve been telephoning Tom all night to tell him we have to go west, now. We can’t wait any longer. But he’s not answering.”
“That’s your emergency,” I said softly, reaching up to rub her shoulders. Myrtle bit her lip and tears rolled down her round cheeks. It seemed unlikely that Tom would leave Daisy and go west with Myrtle. Not now. Not ever. I felt it, deep inside of me, no matter how many diamonds he bought her or dogs or anything else. And the truth was, I was relieved about that. She didn’t need another man who hurt her whenever his fists got restless, not even a wealthy one. Especially not a wealthy one.
“Why don’t you forget about Tom and leave George and come live in the city with me?” I said gently.
She let out a laugh that turned halfway into another sob. “And tell me, where would I stay inside that shoebox you call an apartment?”
“Well, Duke has a nice spot at the end of my bed. There’s room for you there too.” Myrtle frowned. “I’m kidding… about the foot of my bed. But… you can stay on our couch. Helen won’t mind. We’ll work something out.” Helen likely would mind, but I’d worry about that later. She was already cross about the dog; she’d probably move out if I brought Myrtle into the apartment too.
“And what would I do for money and what about all my nice things?” She glanced around the room, her eyes catching on a crystal vase on the table.
I had barely enough money to get by myself, and I didn’t have any answer, other than one I knew Myrtle wouldn’t like. She could scrape by; I always did. She could find a job and we could pool our pennies. We’d be poor as dirt, but we’d have each other.
I remembered the promise Jay had made to me once, that he would help Myrtle. That he would get her away from George, give her some money to start on her own. And then, what had he gone and done instead? Gotten her mixed up with Tom, gotten her into this whole mess and made everything terribly worse. My anger for Jay burned up hot inside of me, boiling over. I couldn’t push it down any longer; I was going to have to confront him.
“Listen, Myrtle. I want you to go back home and don’t let George know you’ve been out here. I have a plan, but I need a few days to put it in motion. Can you just wait it out a little while longer?”
“What kind of plan?” She wiped her eyes and stared at me, wide-eyed with skepticism. “You’ll go see Tom?”
I bit my lip. There was no way I was going to see Tom. But I was betting I could get Jay to help once I showed him how angry I was. “Just trust me, Myrtle, please?”
She hesitated for a moment but then she finally agreed. I knew she longed for Tom; I knew if Tom telephoned right now or swept in here and carried her off into the night, westward, she would leave me—and Duke—without even looking back.
But that didn’t happen. Instead, she cleaned up her face in the bathroom. She gave me hug, and picked up her bag, and then I walked downstairs with her.
I helped her get a cab to take her back to Queens, and just before she got in the car she turned back to me, she hugged me fiercely. “Give Duke a kiss from me, will you, Cath?”
I didn’t know it then, but those were the last words she’d ever say to me. The last moment I’d ever see my sister alive.
Daisy August 1922
WEST EGG
ONE SATURDAY IN AUGUST, WHEN it was almost too hot to breathe, Jordan insisted in the middle of the afternoon that we were going out.
“Now?” I said, lying on the couch, fanning myself. “Must we really, Jordie?”
July had rolled lazily into August, almost every day a repeat of the one before. The monotony of summer broken up only by an occasional party or polo match. Tom swore to me a few weeks ago he wasn’t seeing his woman in the city any longer, and yet, last night and the night before, the phone had rung on and on and on during supper. Jordan had looked at me, sipping her gin and tonic, with worry all over her face. I supposed that’s why she was demanding something of me this afternoon. She was concerned.
“Yes,” she insisted now. “You need to get out of this house, Daise. I’m not taking no for an answer.”
I sighed and told her I’d go get ready. It was easier to go along than to argue with her, and besides, maybe she was right. Maybe getting out of here would do me some good.
I fixed my hair and my face, and then I found Pammy to say good-bye. She was eating a late lunch with her nurse. In spite of her nurse’s cries that she was a mess, I smothered Pammy’s plump, sticky cheeks with kisses as she erupted into a fit of giggles, and I wondered, for a moment, if maybe this was all I truly needed to cheer me.