Liza's ~

Imagine that you are Nick Carraway.

Write your thoughts after the meal with Gatsby.

The days pass quickly in here, as I’m involving myself in all the affairs of life on the East. It is amusing, how all the people live with a sense of eternal levity, recklessness and irresponsibility: they never care about what awaits them in the future, neither they remember their past. Surviving through the war, I forgot completely how is it to relax, and life in West Egg brings me a true relief; though it’s still hard for me to get used to amorality, dirtiness of Eastern society. Well, I’m not trying to judge those people, but their lifestyle stuns me: alcohol flows here like normal water, and drunken billionaires laugh in the mist here over things that only they can understand.

So yes, days flow faster and faster, and I cannot remember most of what was happening – the whirlpool of business world trapped me in itself, and as I am became a part of all the different events they gained less and less importance for me. A while ago I was amazed by a small party at my neighbour’s house, and now I’m walking along the streets of New York talking freely to Jordan Baker – a superstar of modern sports in this part of America – and people stare at me, like I am a celebrity. I became a celebrity.

And Jordan Baker… That woman is the only creature that still surprises me – her and Gatsby. No, I understand her character completely now, all her thoughts, right from the beginning until the end. And it is just unbelievable, how all the things I despise may combine in one woman being, how disrespect, irresponsibility, dishonesty absorb one single human completely. I worship that woman, and I despise everything about her. She is and incredible, glorious representative of this age; and I admire her.

Going out to the city with her is like walking on a promenade in an aureole of yours greatness, and flashes of cameras, which are meant to capture the famous are all pointing at you, and you are the centre of people’s attention. I like walking with Jordan. I could never imagine that a soldier like me, shy and honest soldier, could appear on the mass media – but unexpected comes true.

I wanted to have dinner with her today as well – my only constant companion; she is an interesting person to talk to and a miracle to look at. However, no. There came Gatsby.

The Great… People call him the Great – and that is true. He is a sparkling Emperor of a remote region of West Egg; Trimalchio, I shall say – arrogant, ignorant fool, proud of his money and wealth. And yet there’s something about him… Why would I forgive him for ruining my nice dinner with Ms Baker? I can’t understand – it’s just… If it was someone else except from Gatsby, I would definitely tell him to go away, but I couldn’t say that to Mr Gatsby. There was something in him today I did not see, something that attracted me to him for a moment, and next second I found myself sitting in his car and talking.

He’s a strange man. He is lying, I can see it, but Lord, by all heart I want to believe him. He told me something about his family, something about his career, but the way he acted… he was uncomfortable. He was bad at lying, and that was what made his lies more intriguing. Gatsby, representing all I scorn, is the most interesting man in West Egg, and I should definitely reveal his secrets.

We went to that café, where I met his friend. Friend… I wish he wasn’t that close to Gatsby, I know Gatsby is much better than all those… rotten speculators. Damn, he is a Jew! His nose, flattering nose was disgusting: every time he spoke his nose moved, and all I could look at was that incredible facial feature. It was dirty, and all the hair moved as he breathed as well. Why, in a God’s sake, can’t he pay at least a little bit of attention towards his appearance?

He was disgusting by all means. Treacherous, sly, he was engaged into some criminal businesses – I could see it from his eyes, from his speech. And he wasn’t even hiding it! Arrogantly bragging about Rosy Rosenthal and Old Metropole, he revealed his identity instantly.

I despise him with the deepness of my heart, and at the same time – I cannot resist looking at that man. Fixed the 1919 World Series, him? It’s… incredible, unbelievable: the whole basics of things I trusted crushed to pieces after I’ve heard that. Is it actually possible for a single man to fix something like the World Series? Fix and stay alive, never being caught? He’s surely clever, Wolfsheim – disgusting, inaccurate and spoiled, dangerous to know and yet clever. I can’t respect him – he doesn’t deserve respect, the only thing I feel towards him is admiration. It’s nor for me to judge whether he was right or not, but this is… just inhuman, just superb.

Though it worries me that Wolfsheim considers Gatsby as his friend. Does that mean that Gatsby, my neighbour, someone I have belief in has something in common with that… Jew? A shared business? Shared ideals? Can I believe Gatsby after meeting with Wolfsheim, after seeing the company he prefers?

Probably, not. But something hidden, mysterious in him still attracts me: I feel myself like a moth, flying towards a candle. It may be that it’s dangerous; it may be that Gatsby is not the one who he seems to be. There’s no way I believe him completely… But I will try to see through his lies, sure I will. After all, Gatsby didn’t seem very sad about Wolfsheim leaving, and neither did I.

To finish it, I’m still hoping to meet with Ms Baker without anyone’s annoying interference, so now I have to leave.

_{[Somehow I still thouht that Jordan will take a huge part of Nick's thoughts, as he "likes" her in a way and it was supposed to be dinner with Ms Baker, not Gatsby. Moreover, at the moment Nick wan't that quite obsessed with Gatsby, and still doubted him, as he didn't know anything about Gatsby's dreams...
so yeah, I might be wrong, but I felt that way ^^""]}