Well, I was with Daddy in the garden tanning in our underwear that afternoon when I decided to go back inside for some more of that cheap rosé I had bought earlier. Then the telephone rang. I picked up and they hung up as soon as I said hello. I had said it like Liz would. Then I marched back outside and Daddy was dead. I swear.
You fell from that careless man’s pocket that hot summer night. I took you in from off the street. Everything has been hazy ever since.
Sweetheart, come sit beside me. Don’t be like that. You know I need you. Besides, where will you go, darling? I’m all you have, dear. Come—let’s make up. I’ll be gentle. Let me breathe you in.
Everything was beautiful while I was kissing Joe. He’s moved away; I’ve grown boring. Cologne brings those nights back. Mary has helped me forget me them again. The club we danced at is gone. Joe was the only boy who’s slow kisses gave me closure.
Money, power, and glory. Those are the things heavy on Gatsby’s shoulders. Grey hair, clean eyes. Awkward hands – like tarantulas, they crawl all around. They enjoy pulling at his nostrils. Hands of a madman. Shoulders of a wacko. I watch him from the corner of the room in between loud snaps that are disappearing with the carrots.
The boy is back from Paris. A charming young thing with a tan that looks new and dicey brown eyes. They’re loud for such a quiet boy. He’s inappropriately young. They tell me he has sleepy boy syndrome with mouths hidden by cupped hands – they laugh. “What is he, eleven?” The boy whispers into Gatsby’s ear from time to time. Hot wet breathes of inaudible babble about the guests that lounge drunk about the rooftop, uninvited.
It’s getting late.
The guests don’t make to leave. A bear of a man is too busy begging to be fucked up the ass. The married couple is determined to trade partners. The dog sees his chance and runs out. The popular boy is gross up close. He’s boring when left alone. A couple of unimportant sleepy boys are scattered about. Norris, drink some more.
Former extras from Sleeping Beauty, I joke. A spiteful man has been escorted out.
It’s time to head home, Norris.
The lounge singer no longer sings at the Silhouette Lounge. What good is a lounge singer if she has no voice?
She noticed it start to go and cried bitterly after she finished her swan song.
Norris goes back to the same club over and over. Seeking approval for being a weirdo. Eccentric outfits but no one remembers Norris. I love the old Norris. Not the new Norris. Not this cool Norris. You’re more of a coward now, Norris.
I spot the back of his head from across the bar. A stomach drops because he’s here. I’m shown what it would look like if I ran up behind him and swung an ax. I bet it’ll sound like when the scary man’s dull knife beats the coconuts on the dangerous beaches of Copacabana.
Kurt blew his brains out on the living room floor up against the white leather couch.Courtney wasn’t home. She had just gone out for soft ice cream – strawberry, wasn’t it?
Humbert takes her to the beach and buys her soft ice cream after he rapes her. Don’t worry, she doesn’t know it; she’s sound asleep most of the time.