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The Great Gatsby - Chapter Three | Full Audiobook · Chapter by Chapter — The Lost Library

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Welcome back to chapter by Chapter, the audio book
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experience. We're continuing The Great
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Gatsby by F Scott Fitzgerald. If this is your first time here,
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start from the beginning of this season and follow Nick
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Carraway's story from the very start.
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And if you've been with us since the beginning, welcome back.
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Things are about to get interesting.
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We've seen the world of East Egg.
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We've seen what lives in the shadows beneath it.
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Now we step inside the mansion that has been glowing across the
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water this whole time. Follow the show so you never
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miss a chapter and drop a comment with the classic you
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want us to read next. Now sit back and let's continue
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the story. Chapter 3.
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Music drifted from my neighbor's house through the warm summer
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nights in his Azure gardens. Men and women flitted like moths
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amidst the whispers, the champagne and the stars.
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When the afternoon tide was high, I watched his guests
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diving from the tower of his raft or basking on the sands of
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his beach while his two motor boats sliced through the sound,
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towing aquaplanes over cascades of foam.
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On weekends, his Rolls Royce transformed into a shuttle,
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ferrying partygoers to and from the city from 9:00 in the
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morning until well past midnight, while his station
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wagon darted about like a lively yellow insect meeting every
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train. And come Monday, 8 servants,
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including an extra gardener, labored all day with mops,
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scrubbing brushes, hammers and garden shears mending the havoc
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of the previous night. Every Friday, 5 crates of
1:46
oranges and lemons arrived from a New York fruit vendor.
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By Monday, these same fruits departed his back door in a
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pyramid of juiceless halves. In the kitchen, there was a
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machine capable of extracting the juice from 200 oranges in
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half an hour, provided a Butler pressed a button 200 times with
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his thumb. At least once every two weeks, a
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team of caterers descended with hundreds of feet of canvas and
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enough colored lights to transform Gatsby's vast garden
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into a Christmas Wonderland. Buffet tables adorned with
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glistening hors d'oeuvres were crowded with spiced baked hams
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nestled against salads of Harlequin patterns, pastry pigs
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and turkeys enchanted to a deep gold.
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In the main hall a bar with a genuine brass rail was erected,
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stocked with gins, liquors and cordials so long forgotten that
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most of his female guests were too young to distinguish one
2:49
from another. By 7:00 the orchestra had
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arrived, not a mere 5 piece ensemble, but a full pit of
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oboes, trombones, saxophones, vials, cornets, piccolos and
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both low and high drums. The last of the swimmers have
3:07
returned from the beach and are now getting dressed upstairs.
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Cars from New York are stacked 5 deep in the driveway.
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The halls, salons and verandas are already vibrant with bold
3:20
colors, hair styled in novel ways, and shawls more
3:24
extravagant than any dream of Castile.
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The bar is bustling and trays of cocktails float through the
3:31
garden outside, filling the air with chatter and laughter,
3:36
casual innuendos and introductions forgotten as soon
3:40
as they're made, alongside enthusiastic encounters between
3:44
women who never knew each other's names.
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As the earth turns away from the sun, the lights grow brighter
3:52
and the orchestra plays lively cocktail music, raising the
3:56
pitch of the voices. Laughter flows more freely with
3:59
each passing minute, spilling out with abandoned at the
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slightest cheerful word. Groups shift rapidly, swelling
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with new arrivals, dissolving and reforming in an instant.
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Already there are Wanderers, confident young women weaving
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through the crowd, momentarily becoming the center of
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attention, then exhilarated by their triumph, gliding on
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through the ever changing sea of faces, voices and colors under
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the shifting lights. Suddenly, one of these vibrant
4:33
spirits, dressed in shimmering Opal, snatches a cocktail from
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the air, downs it for courage, and with hands moving like
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Frisco, dances alone on the canvas platform.
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A brief hush falls. The orchestra leader adjusts his
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rhythm for her, and a burst of chatter follows as the mistaken
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rumor spreads that she is Gilda Gray's understudy from the
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Follies. The party is truly underway.
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I believe that on the first night I went to Gatsby's house,
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I was among the few guests who had actually been invited.
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People didn't wait for an invitation, they simply went.
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They climbed into their cars and drove out to Long Island,
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somehow finding themselves at Gatsby's doorstep.
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Once there, someone who knew Gatsby would introduce them, and
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from that point on they behaved as if they were in an amusement
5:28
park. Sometimes they came and went
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without ever meeting Gatsby, attending the party with a kind
5:35
of innocent enthusiasm that served as their ticket in.
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I, however, had actually been invited.
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Early that Saturday morning, a chauffeur in a Robin's egg blue
5:47
uniform crossed my lawn with a surprisingly formal note from
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his employer. Gatsby would be honored if I
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attended his little party that night.
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He mentioned having seen me several times and had meant to
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call on me earlier, but a peculiar set of circumstances
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had prevented it. Signed Jay Gatsby in an elegant
6:08
hand, dressed in white flannels. I headed over to his lawn a
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little after 7, feeling somewhat uneasy as I wandered through the
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swirling crowd of unfamiliar faces, though occasionally I
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spotted someone I recognized from the commuter train, I was
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immediately struck by the number of young Englishmen scattered
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about, all impeccably dressed, all looking slightly hungry, and
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all speaking in low, earnest tones to solid, prosperous
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Americans. I was convinced they were
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selling something bonds, insurance, or automobiles.
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They seemed painfully aware of the easy money around them and
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believed it could be theirs with the just right words.
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Upon arrival, I tried to locate my host, but the few people I
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asked about his whereabouts looked at me with such
7:00
astonishment and denied any knowledge of his movements so
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vehemently that I retreated to the cocktail table, the only
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spot in the garden where a solitary man could linger
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without appearing aimless and alone.
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I was on the verge of drowning my embarrassment in alcohol when
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Jordan Baker emerged from the house, poised at the top of the
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marble steps. She leaned back slightly,
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surveying the garden with a mix of disdain and curiosity.
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Whether it was welcome or not, I felt compelled to latch onto
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someone before I started making overly friendly comments to
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strangers passing by. Hello.
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I shouted, moving toward her. My voice boomed unnaturally
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across the garden. I thought you might be here.
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She said absent mindedly as I approached.
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I remembered you lived next door to.
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She held my hand with a detached air as if promising to attend to
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me shortly, while she listened to 2 girls in matching yellow
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dresses who had paused at the bottom of the steps.
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Hello. They exclaimed in unison.
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Sorry, you didn't win. They were referring to the golf
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tournament she had lost in the finals the previous week.
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You don't know who we are, said one of the girls in yellow.
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But we met you here about a month ago.
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You've dyed your hair since then, Jordan noted, and I was
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taken aback. But the girls had already moved
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on, and her comments seemed directed at the early moon,
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which appeared as if conjured from a caterer's basket, much
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like the supper. With Jordan's slender golden arm
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linked through mine, we descended the steps and strolled
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through the garden. A tray of cocktails drifted
8:43
toward us through the dimming light, and we settled at a table
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with two women dressed in yellow and three men, each introduced
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as Mr. Mumble. Do you come to these parties
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often? Jordan asked the woman next to
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her. The last one was when I met you.
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The woman replied with a bright, confident tone.
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She turned to her friend. Wasn't it the same for you,
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Lucille? It was indeed the same for
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Lucille. I enjoy coming, I never mind
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what I do, so I always have a good time.
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The last time I was here, I tore my dress on a chair and he asked
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for my name and address. Within a week, I received a
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package from Croyeres with a new evening gown inside.
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Did you keep it? Jordan asked.
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Of course I did. I planned to wear it tonight,
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but it was too large in the bust and needed alterations.
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It was a gas blue with lavender beads, $265.
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There's something odd about a guy who'd do something like
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that. The other woman said eagerly.
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He doesn't want any trouble with anyone who doesn't.
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I asked Gatsby. Someone mentioned the 2 girls
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and Jordan lead in sharing secrets.
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Someone said they thought he once killed a man.
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A shiver ran through us. The three Mr. Mumbles leaned
10:02
forward, listening intently. I doubt that's it.
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Lucille said skeptically. It's more likely he was a German
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spy during the war. One of the men nodded, agreeing.
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I heard that from someone who knew him well, grew up with him
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in Germany. He confirmed confidently.
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Oh no. The first girl countered.
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That can't be right because he was in the American army during
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the war. As our belief shifted back to
10:28
her, she leaned in with excitement.
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Watch him when he thinks no one's looking.
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I'll bet he killed a man. She narrowed her eyes and
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shivered. Lucille shivered too.
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We all turned searching for Gatsby.
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It was a testament to the romantic mystery he evoked that
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whispers surrounded him from those who rarely found anything
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worth whispering about in this world.
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The first supper there would be another after midnight was being
10:55
served, and Jordan invited me to join her group, gathered around
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a table on the other side of the garden.
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There were three married couples and Jordan's companion, a
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persistent undergraduate prone to aggressive innuendos, clearly
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under the impression that eventually Jordan would
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surrender herself to him in some capacity.
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Rather than dispersing into chaos, this group maintained A
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dignified unity, taking on the role of representing the refined
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nobility of the area. East Egg looking down on West
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Egg, vigilantly guarding against its vibrant and unpredictable
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revelry. Let's get out.
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Jordan whispered. After a somehow squandered and
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I'll suited half hour. We stood up and she explained
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that we were going to find the host.
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I had never met him, she said, and it was making me uneasy.
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The undergraduate nodded with a cynical, melancholy air.
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The bar where we first looked was crowded, but Gatsby was not
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there. She couldn't spot him from the
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top of the steps, and he wasn't on the veranda.
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On a whim, we tried an imposing door and entered a high Gothic
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library paneled with intricately carved English oak, likely
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transported in its entirety from some ancient ruin overseas.
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A stout middle-aged man with enormous owl eyed glasses sat
12:17
somewhat drunkenly on the edge of a grand table, staring with
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unsteady focus at the shelves of books.
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As we entered, he turned excitedly and scrutinized Jordan
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from head to toe. What do you think?
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He asked with sudden urgency. Think about what?
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He gestured toward the bookcases.
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About that, Actually, you don't need to check, I've already done
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it. They're real.
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The books? He nodded.
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Completely real. They have pages and everything.
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I assumed they'd be some sturdy cardboard, but no, they're
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genuinely real, pages and all. Here, let me show you.
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Assuming our disbelief. He hurried to the bookcases and
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returned with volume one of the Stoddard lectures.
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Look. He exclaimed with triumph.
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It's an authentic piece of printed work.
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It even fooled me. This guys like a real Belasco.
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It's a masterpiece. Such thoroughness, such realism.
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He knew when to stop, too. He didn't even cut the pages.
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But what do you want? What do you expect?
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He grabbed the book from my hands and quickly returned it to
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its place on the shelf, muttering something about how if
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one brick were removed, the entire library might come
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crashing down. Who brought you here?
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Or did you just show up on your own?
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I was brought. Most people were brought.
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Jordan looked at him with a bright, attentive expression,
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but didn't reply. I was brought by a woman named
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Roosevelt. Misses Claude Roosevelt.
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Do you know her? I met her somewhere last night.
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I've been drunk for about a week, and I thought sitting in a
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library might help sober me up. Has it worked?
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I think so, a little, I think. It's hard to say.
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I've only been here an hour. Did I mention the books?
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They're real. They're.
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You mentioned it. We shook hands with him solemnly
14:10
and stepped back. Outside in the garden, there was
14:13
dancing on the canvas, old men awkwardly guiding young girls in
14:18
endless graceless circles, while more refined couples held each
14:22
other in torturous, fashionable poses, sticking to the corners,
14:26
and a multitude of single girls danced alone or took over for a
14:30
moment, sparing the orchestra the effort of the banjo.
14:33
Rizzo drums. By midnight, the laughter had
14:36
reached a fever pitch. A renowned tenor had delivered
14:40
an Aria in Italian, while a famous control toe had belted
14:44
out a jazz number. Between these performances,
14:47
guests were scattered throughout the garden performing impromptu
14:51
acts, their joyous empty laughter rising into the warm
14:55
summer night. Two stage twins, who turned out
14:59
to be the girls in yellow, performed A comedic baby routine
15:03
in costume, and champagne flowed freely in glasses larger than
15:07
finger bowls. The moon climbed higher, casting
15:11
a shimmering triangle of silver on the sound, quivering slightly
15:15
to the sharp metallic strum of banjos.
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On the lawn, I remained with Jordan Baker.
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We were seated at a table with a man around my age and a lively
15:26
young woman who erupted into fits of uncontrollable laughter
15:30
at the slightest provocation. I was truly enjoying myself now.
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After two generous glasses of champagne, the scene transformed
15:39
before me into something meaningful, elemental and
15:43
profound. During a pause in the
15:46
festivities, the man turned to me with a smile.
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Your face looks familiar, He remarked politely.
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Weren't you in the First Division during the war?
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Yes, indeed. I served in the 28th Infantry.
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I was with the 16th until June of 1918.
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I knew I'd seen you somewhere before.
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We chatted briefly about some damp grey little villages in
16:09
France. It seemed he lived nearby as he
16:12
mentioned he just bought a hydroplane and planned to test
16:15
it out in the morning. Care to join me, old sport?
16:18
Just a quick trip along the shore by the Sound.
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What time? Whenever suits you best.
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I was about to ask his name when Jordan turned and smiled.
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Enjoying yourself now? She asked.
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Much better. I turned back to my new
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acquaintance. This is quite an unusual party
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for me. I haven't even met the host.
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I live over there. I gestured toward the unseen
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hedge in the distance, and this man, Gatsby, sent his chauffeur
16:45
over with an invitation. For a moment he looked at me as
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if he didn't quite understand. I'm Gatsby, he said suddenly.
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What? I exclaimed.
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Oh, I apologize, I thought you knew, old sport.
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I'm afraid I'm not the best host.
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He smiled with a depth that went beyond mere understanding.
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It was one of those rare smiles that offered a sense of eternal
17:09
reassurance, the kind you might encounter only a handful of
17:13
times in your life. For a fleeting moment, it seemed
17:17
to embrace the entire eternal world, then focused on you with
17:22
an undeniable bias in your favor.
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It grasped you just as much as you wished to be understood,
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believed in you as you wished to believe in yourself, and
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confirmed that it held exactly the impression of you that at
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your best, you hoped to project. Just then, the smile
17:40
disappeared, and I found myself looking at a refined young man,
17:44
perhaps in his early 30s, whose overly formal speech bordered on
17:49
the absurd. Even before he introduced
17:52
himself, I sensed he was choosing his words with
17:55
deliberate care. Almost as soon as Mr. Gatsby
17:59
revealed his identity, a Butler approached him with the news
18:02
that Chicago was on the line. He excused himself with a slight
18:06
bow that included each of us. If you need anything, just ask
18:10
for it, old sport. Excuse me, I'll be back shortly.
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Once he left, I turned to Jordan, compelled to express my
18:17
surprise. I had imagined Mr. Gatsby to be
18:20
a flamboyant, hefty man in his middle years.
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Who is he? I asked.
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Do you know he's just a man named Gatsby?
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Where is he from them, And what does he do now You're getting
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into it, She replied with a faint smile.
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Well, he once told me he was an Oxford man.
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A vague image began to form in my mind, but her next words
18:44
dispelled it. However, I don't believe it.
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Why not? I don't know, she insisted.
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I just don't think he went there.
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Her tone reminded me of the other girl's comment.
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I think he killed a man, Which only piqued my curiosity
18:58
further. I would have readily accepted
19:01
that Gatsby emerged from the swamps of Louisiana or the Lower
19:05
East Side of New York. That made sense.
19:08
But young men didn't, at least in my limited experience.
19:11
I believed they didn't casually appear out of nowhere and
19:15
purchase a mansion on Long Island Sound.
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Anyway, he throws big parties, Jordan said, steering the
19:22
conversation away with a sophisticated aversion to
19:25
specifics. I enjoy large parties.
19:28
They're so intimate. At smaller gatherings, there's
19:31
no privacy. A bass drum boomed, and the
19:35
orchestra leader's voice suddenly rose above the garden's
19:38
chatter. Ladies and gentlemen, at Mr.
19:41
Gatsby's request, we're going to play Mr. Vladimir Tostoff's
19:46
latest piece, which caused quite a stir at Carnegie Hall last
19:49
May. If you follow the news, you know
19:52
it was a big sensation. He smiled with a jovial air of
19:56
superiority and added some sensation, prompting laughter
20:00
from the crowd. The piece is called, he
20:03
concluded with gusto, Vladimir Tostoff's Jazz History of the
20:07
World. I couldn't grasp the essence of
20:11
Mr. Tostoff's composition because just as it began, my
20:15
gaze landed at Gatsby. He stood alone on the marble
20:19
steps, surveying the groups with approving eyes.
20:22
His tanned skin was taut and appealing, and his short hair
20:26
seemed freshly trimmed. There was nothing sinister about
20:29
him. I wondered if his abstinence
20:32
from alcohol set him apart from his guests as he appeared more
20:36
composed while the camaraderie around him grew Wilder.
20:40
When the jazz history of the world ended, girls were resting
20:43
their heads on men's shoulders in a playful, friendly manner,
20:47
swooning backward into arms, confident someone would catch
20:50
them. But no one swooned toward
20:53
Gatsby. No bobbed hair brushed his
20:55
shoulder, and no singing quartets included him as a link.
21:00
I beg your pardon? Gatsby's Butler appeared beside
21:03
us with a quiet urgency. Miss Baker?
21:06
He asked. Excuse me, but Mr. Gatsby would
21:09
like to have a word with you. Alone with me.
21:12
She responded, clearly taken aback.
21:15
Yes, Madam. She rose slowly, her eyebrows
21:18
arching in surprise as she glanced at me, then followed the
21:22
Butler toward the house. I couldn't help but notice how
21:25
she wore her evening gown with the same ease as sportswear.
21:29
There was a buoyancy in her step, as if she had learned to
21:33
walk on the fresh, manicured greens of a golf course.
21:37
Left alone, I realized it was nearly two in the morning.
21:40
From a long window lined room that overlooked the terrace, a
21:44
mix of confusing and intriguing sounds drifted in.
21:49
Dodging Jordans college aged companion who was deep in a
21:52
rather awkward conversation with two chorus girls and urging me
21:56
to join him, I made my way inside.
21:59
The room was bustling with people.
22:02
One of the girls dressed in yellow was at the piano while
22:05
next to her a tall red headed woman from a renowned chorus was
22:09
singing. She had consumed a fair amount
22:12
of champagne and mid song had come to the clumsy conclusion
22:16
that everything was profoundly sad.
22:19
Her performance was not just vocal, she was crying as well.
22:23
Each pause in the music was filled with her gasping,
22:26
fragmented sobs before she resumed singing in a trembling
22:31
soprano. Tears streamed down her face,
22:34
but not without resistance. As they met her heavily beaded
22:38
lashes, they turned inky, trailing down her cheeks in slow
22:42
dark streams. A playful suggestion was made
22:46
that she sing the expressions on her face which prompted her to
22:49
throw up her hands, collapse into a chair and drift into a
22:53
deep wine induced slumber. She had a fight with a man
22:58
claiming to be her husband. A girl beside me explained.
23:02
I glanced around. Most of the remaining women were
23:05
now embroiled in arguments with men purported to be their
23:08
husbands. Even Jordan's group, the quartet
23:11
from East Egg, was torn apart by discord.
23:14
One of the men was speaking with peculiar intensity to a young
23:18
actress, while his wife, after trying to laugh off the
23:21
situation with a facade of dignity and indifference,
23:24
completely lost her composure and resorted to sudden strategic
23:29
confrontations. She would appear abruptly at his
23:32
side, like an irate jewel, hissing.
23:34
You promised into his ear. The reluctance to leave wasn't
23:39
limited to the unruly men. The hallway was currently
23:42
occupied by two regrettably sober men and their highly
23:46
indignant wives. The wives were commiserating
23:49
with each other in slightly elevated tones.
23:51
Whenever he sees I'm enjoying myself, he wants to leave.
23:55
I've never heard anything so selfish in my life.
23:59
We're always the first ones to go.
24:01
So are we. Looks like we're nearly the last
24:04
ones here, one of the men admitted with a sheepish grin.
24:07
The orchestra packed up and left half an hour ago, despite the
24:11
wives insisting that such behavior was beyond belief.
24:15
The argument ended with a brief scuffle, and both wives were
24:18
carried off, kicking into the night.
24:21
As I waited for my hat in the hallway, the library door swung
24:24
open and Jordan Baker emerged with Gatsby.
24:28
He was murmuring a final word to her, but his eager demeanor
24:31
shifted to a more formal air as several guests approached him to
24:35
bid him farewell. Jordan's group was calling to
24:38
her impatiently from the porch, but she paused for a moment to
24:42
shake my hand. I just heard the most incredible
24:45
thing. How long were we in there?
24:48
About an hour, I think. It was simply incredible.
24:53
She repeated, lost in thought. But I promised I wouldn't tell.
24:57
And here I am teasing you. She yawned elegantly in my face.
25:02
Please come visit me. Look in the phone book under
25:05
Mrs. Sigourney Howard, my aunt. She was already moving away as
25:09
she spoke. Her brown hand gave a jaunty
25:12
wave as she blended back into her group at the door.
25:16
Feeling a bit embarrassed for staying so late on my first
25:19
visit, I joined the remaining guests gathered around Gatsby.
25:23
I wanted to explain that I had been searching for him earlier
25:26
in the evening and to apologize for not recognizing him in the
25:30
garden. Don't worry about it, he
25:32
insisted eagerly. Forget it, old sport.
25:35
The familiar phrase felt as foreign as the hand that
25:38
reassuringly touched my shoulder.
25:41
And remember, we're taking the hydroplane out tomorrow morning
25:44
at 9:00. Then the Butler just behind him
25:48
announced. Philadelphia's on the line for
25:50
you, Sir. OK, in a minute.
25:52
Tell them I'll be right there. Good night, good night, good
25:56
night. He smiled, and suddenly it felt
25:58
significant to be among the last to leave, as if he had wanted it
26:02
that way all along. Good night, old sport, good
26:05
night. But as I descended the steps, I
26:08
realized the night wasn't quite over. 50 feet from the door, a
26:13
dozen headlights illuminated a strange and chaotic scene.
26:17
In the ditch beside the road, upright but missing a wheel, sat
26:21
a new coupe that had left Gatsby's drive just moments
26:25
before. The sharp edge of a wall had
26:27
caused the wheel to detach, now drawing the attention of half a
26:31
dozen curious chauffeurs. Since they had left their cars
26:35
blocking the road, a harsh, discordant noise from those
26:38
stuck behind had been echoing for some time, adding to the
26:42
already chaotic scene. A man in a long coat had climbed
26:46
out of the wreck and now stood in the middle of the road,
26:49
glancing from the car to the tire and then to the onlookers
26:53
with a pleasant puzzled expression.
26:56
Look. He exclaimed.
26:57
It ended up in the ditch. The situation seemed endlessly
27:01
surprising to him, and I first noticed his unusual sense of
27:05
wonder, then recognized the man. It was the former admirer of
27:09
Gatsby's library. How did it happen?
27:12
He shrugged. I don't know anything about
27:15
mechanics. He stated firmly.
27:17
But how did it happen? Did you hit the wall?
27:20
Don't ask me. He distanced himself from the
27:23
whole situation. I know very little about
27:25
driving. Almost nothing.
27:27
It happened, and that's all I know.
27:30
Well, if you're not a good driver, you shouldn't be driving
27:33
at night. But I wasn't even trying.
27:35
He protested indignantly. I wasn't even trying.
27:40
An odd silence fell above the bystanders.
27:43
Are you trying to get yourself killed?
27:45
You're lucky it was just a wheel, a bad driver and not even
27:49
trying. You don't get it, the accused
27:52
said. I wasn't the one driving.
27:55
There was another guy in the car.
27:57
This revelation sent a ripple of shock through the crowd, now
28:01
gathered around as a collective Ah escaped them.
28:05
The coupe's door creaked open slowly, prompting everyone to
28:09
step back instinctively. As the door swung fully open, an
28:14
eerie silence settled over the scene.
28:16
Then, piece by piece, a pale, disheveled figure emerged from
28:21
the wreckage, gingerly feeling the ground with an oversized,
28:24
awkward dancing shoe. Momentarily blinded by the harsh
28:28
glare of the headlights and disoriented by the relentless
28:31
blaring of horns, the figures swayed unsteadily before
28:35
noticing the man in the duster coat.
28:38
What's the problem? He asked with surprising calm.
28:41
Did we run out of gas? Look.
28:44
Several fingers pointed toward the detached wheel.
28:47
He gazed at it briefly, then glanced upward as if it had
28:51
fallen from the sky. It came off.
28:53
Someone clarified. He nodded in acknowledgement.
28:57
At first I didn't even realize we'd stopped.
29:00
A pause followed. Taking a deep breath and
29:03
squaring his shoulders, he spoke with resolve.
29:06
Could you tell me where I might find a gas station?
29:10
A dozen men, some slightly better off than he, informed him
29:14
that the wheel and car were no longer physically connected.
29:18
Try backing out, he suggested after a pause.
29:21
Put it in reverse, but the wheels off.
29:24
He hesitated. There's no harm in trying.
29:28
The blaring horns reached a fever pitch and I turned away,
29:32
cutting across the lawn towards home.
29:34
I glanced back once, A sliver of moon hungover Gatsby's house,
29:39
casting the night in its familiar elegance, outlasting
29:42
the laughter and the sounds from his still vibrant garden.
29:46
A sudden emptiness seemed to emanate from the windows and
29:49
grand doors, isolating the host, who stood on the porch with his
29:53
hand raised in a formal farewell.
29:56
Reflecting on what I've written so far, I realize I may have
30:00
given the impression that the events of three nights spaced
30:03
weeks apart were my sole focus. In truth, they were just
30:07
incidental moments in a bustling summer, and until much later
30:12
they occupied my thoughts far less than my personal concerns.
30:16
Most of the time I was working in the early morning, the sun
30:20
cast my shadow westward as I hurried through the white
30:22
canyons of lower New York to the Probity Trust.
30:26
I knew the other clerks and young bond salesman by their
30:29
first names, and we often lunch together in din bustling
30:33
restaurants over plates of little pig sausages, mashed
30:36
potatoes, and coffee. I even had a brief romance with
30:40
a girl from Jersey City who worked through me and the
30:42
department, but her brothers started giving me hostile looks,
30:46
so when she went on vacation in July, I let the relationship
30:50
quietly fade. I usually had dinner at the Yale
30:53
Club, though for some reason it was the most dismal part of my
30:57
day. And then I would head upstairs
30:59
to the library to diligently study investments and securities
31:03
for an hour. There were often a few rowdy
31:06
types around, but they never ventured into the library,
31:09
making it an ideal place to focus.
31:12
Afterward, if the night was pleasant, I would stroll down
31:16
Madison Ave., past the old Murray Hill Hotel and over 30
31:20
3rd St. to Pennsylvania Station. I began to develop a fondness
31:25
for New York, with its vibrant, adventurous energy at night and
31:29
the satisfaction that the ceaseless movement of people and
31:33
machines provided to my restless eyes.
31:36
I enjoyed walking up 5th Ave., picking out intriguing women
31:40
from the crowd and imagining that in a few moments I would
31:44
step into their lives unnoticed and without judgement in my
31:48
mind. I sometimes followed them to
31:51
their apartments on secluded St. corners, where they would turn
31:54
and smile at me before disappearing through a door into
31:58
a warm, inviting darkness. During the magical twilight of
32:02
the city, I occasionally felt a haunting loneliness, sensing it
32:07
in others too. Young clerks lingering in front
32:10
of shop windows, waiting for the time to pass until their
32:13
solitary dinner in a restaurant. Young clerks in the dusk,
32:18
squandering the most poignant moments of night and life.
32:22
Again at 8:00, when the dark streets of the 40s were lined 5
32:27
deep with pulsing taxi cabs headed for the theater district,
32:31
I felt a heaviness in my heart. Shapes huddled together in the
32:35
taxis as they waited, voices rising and song, laughter
32:39
spilling from jokes unheard while glowing cigarettes traced
32:44
indecipherable patterns in the air.
32:46
Imagining myself rushing towards their joy, sharing in their
32:50
intimate thrill, I silently wished them well.
32:54
For a time, Jordan Baker slipped from my view, but by Midsummer I
32:59
found her again. Initially, I was flattered to be
33:02
seen with her. She was a golf champion, her
33:04
name widely recognized. But soon it became more than
33:08
that. I wasn't truly in love, but I
33:11
felt a gentle curiosity, The bored, aloof expression she
33:15
showed the world hid something deeper.
33:17
Most pretenses do eventually, even if they don't at first.
33:22
And one day I discovered what it was during a house party in
33:26
Warwick. She left a borrowed car out in
33:28
the rain with the top down, then lied about it.
33:31
And suddenly I recalled the elusive story from that night at
33:35
Daisy's. At her first major golf
33:37
tournament. There had been a commotion that
33:39
nearly made the papers, a hint that she had moved her ball from
33:43
a bad spot during the semi final round.
33:46
It nearly became a scandal but then faded away.
33:50
A caddy withdrew his statement and the only other witness
33:53
conceded he might have been mistaken.
33:56
The incident and her name had stayed LinkedIn my mind.
34:00
Jordan Baker instinctively steered clear of clever,
34:03
perceptive men, and now I understood why she felt safer.
34:08
In a world where any deviation from the norm seemed
34:11
unthinkable, She was irredeemably dishonest.
34:15
She couldn't stand being at a disadvantage, and because of
34:18
this aversion, I suspect she started weaving little deceits
34:22
from a young age to maintain that cool, defiant smile she
34:26
showed the world while meeting the demands of her bold, lively
34:29
presence. It didn't bother me much.
34:32
Dishonesty in a woman is something you never hold against
34:35
her too deeply. I felt a fleeting regret, and
34:38
then it slipped my mind. During that same house party, we
34:42
had an odd conversation about driving.
34:45
It began when she drove so close to some workmen that our car's
34:49
Fender brushed a button on one man's coat.
34:52
You're a terrible driver. You should either be more
34:55
careful or not drive at all. I am careful.
34:59
No, you're not. Well, other people are.
35:01
She replied with a lightness. What does that have to do with
35:04
anything? They'll stay out of my way.
35:07
It takes 2 to cause an accident. What if you meet someone just as
35:11
careless as you? I hope I never do, she
35:14
responded. I despise careless people.
35:17
That's why I like you. Her eyes, Gray and weary from
35:21
the sun, looked straight ahead. Yet she had intentionally
35:24
altered the dynamics between us. For a fleeting moment, I thought
35:29
I loved her. But I am deliberate in my
35:31
thoughts, governed by internal rules that restrain my impulses.
35:35
I knew I needed to extricate myself from the complicated
35:38
situation back home first. I had been sending letters
35:42
weekly, signing them with Love Nick, and all I could picture
35:46
was how when that particular girl played tennis, a faint
35:49
Sheen of sweat would form on her upper lip.
35:52
Still, there was an unspoken agreement that needed to be
35:55
gently dissolved before I could be truly free.
35:59
Everyone believes they possess at least one of the cardinal
36:02
virtues, and mine is this. I am one of the few honest
36:06
people I have ever known. And that brings us to the close
36:11
of Chapter 3 of The Great Gatsby by F Scott Fitzgerald.
36:17
In this chapter, we finally stepped inside the mansion.
36:21
The parties are enormous, the champagne flows freely, and the
36:26
guests arrive uninvited and leave in wrecked cars.
36:31
And yet at the center of all of it stands Gatsby himself,
36:36
composed, sober, watching from the marble steps, never quite
36:41
part of the world he created. We finally meet him face to
36:46
face, and he is nothing like what we imagined.
36:49
Charming, deliberate, almost too polished.
36:53
A man who calls everyone old sport and smiles like he's known
36:58
you his whole life. We also learn a little more
37:02
about Jordan Baker, Beautiful, careless, and not quite as
37:07
honest as she appears and neck watching.
37:11
All of it is starting to get pulled in deeper than he
37:14
planned. The mystery of Gatsby is just
37:18
beginning to unravel. Thank you for listening to
37:22
chapter by chapter the audio book experience.
37:25
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37:29
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