An Evening With Mr Maxwell-Scott Chapter 7

She left that night. I watched her slink away through the crowds, dripping in cream silk, effortlessly slipping between the masses towards the powder room. The crowd consumed her in a flurry of couples, music and gold. ‘One second darling’ were her final words. Many final words were whispered that evening though, as the Gatsby parties ended soon after. It was a tragedy, of course, but in a way it reset the equilibrium in West and East Egg.

Gatsby’s night-blue mansion sank once again into its inherent gloom that each Saturday party fought so desperately to disguise and the speakeasies of New York began to hum again with the very finest of the city. There was never a place that possessed such a magnetic pull each weekend. Instead, more diffuse meeting places became different groups’ ‘usual place at the usual time’. With this, Gatsby had left an indelible mark on all of our lives. He created memories in that mansion of his, sending out a call to all of those around him to live and love and party together. I will never forget the joy that he sparked among us all.

And yet, there are inevitable scars. She left me. She left me there. Still that to me seems the beauty of life. Gatsby lived, as we all came to find out, in the hope of finding his one true love again because he knew that the pain that would come with that pursuit was worth her. It is called heartache after all. The beauty of reaching the stars is that it is a challenge. It takes work and commitment. Ava was that glistening golden light to me too, adding an effervescence that breathed joy back into my life. Therefore, though there may be scars, it will always be worth it. All of it. I did truly love her.

Over the last few months, then, I have become rather accustomed to my quieter life, days in the city and evenings in my study. There is a new normality. The study is rather a cave-like space, not in terms of its size but in its deliberately oppressive nature. The walls that can be seen for books are painted in a deep oxblood red and accented with dark antique wood. It has become my sanctuary. Tonight however, sitting in my high-backed office chair, the sound of the telephone started to invade the silence.

“Hello?”

“Hello, Joseph” she murmured in her all too familiar lyrical tone, “darling, how do you fancy building a life together far away from East Egg? You and me, always.”

My leather-covered passport lay on top of a pile of books close by and with that, a new adventure began.