Light filtered in through the windows of the white room.
I groaned, pushing myself up to a seated position. My eyes burned slightly. Maybe from the pool chlorine? One thing I did know for certain: I stayed up way too late last night.
The night's events began replaying in my mind. A smile crept across my face. It was all so disorientating at first, but now... It feels like I could start a life here, wherever "here" really is.
Gatsby was so... unexpected. I thought I knew the ins and outs of this character prior to yesterday. but there is a lot I still need to learn. He is familiar to the novel's Gatsby, but there are these little moments that catch me off guard. Moments that cause me to stop and question everything I held to be true about Gatsby before meeting him.
After I climbed out of the bed, I made sure to remake the bed. There was no way of knowing how much work went into getting this room ready for me last night. I wouldn't want anyone having to come in and straighten anything up when I am perfectly capable of cleaning myself.
The bathroom was very simple. It had a lovely shade of blue on the walls. There was a clawfoot tub, but no shower. Do showers exist in the twenties? That will certainly be an adjustment for me. I always loved taking a long shower. At home, I actually own a waterproof speaker specifically for my shower so I could sing.
Thankfully, Ms. Annika had left a toothbrush on the edge of the sink. a tube of Colgate rested next to it. "Huh," I said examining the tube. It looked and tasted a lot different from what I was used to, but at least it had a familiarity to it.
Brand names aren't exactly trustworthy though. Just because they exist in my timeline does not mean they were safe to use in the 1920s... I'm pretty sure Coca-Cola still has cocaine in it right now. I'll definitely need to remember that.
There was a knock at the door.
I paused brushing for a moment to answer, "come in!"
Ms. Annika's head peered through the door. "Good morning Alice, would you like to have your cereal in your room? Or downstairs?"
I spat out my toothpaste and quickly wiped my mouth. "I thought it would be nice to eat downstairs. I figured Gatsby may want company-"
"Mr. Gatsby is out," Ms. Annika said. "I can still arrange to have your breakfast in the front parlor though."
Oh. I guess it's no surprise that Gatsby would be out. He had to work hard for what he has and I'm sure it takes just as much work to maintain it all.
"Don't worry dear, he will be back soon. He's just gone out to an early lunch with a friend I think."
I unconsciously raised my eyebrows. Worried? Did I look worried?
If Gatsby was out for lunch, I have a good idea of who he'll be with. I hope Nick is prepared for Gatsby's fast-paced driving.
"The front parlor would be nice," I said. "Thank you."
Ms. Annika nodded, "I will have that set up then. Come down any time you like." As Annika went to close the door, she peered in again, "I almost forgot! Gatsby has arranged for you to have a visitor."
A visitor? "Do you know who it is?"
"Yes, I believe it is a mister... Jacques? He makes Mr. Gatsby's clothes on occasion. I believe he is here to help put some outfits together for you." Ms. Annika grinned. "You will like him, he is a very sweet man," she pauses for a moment and adds, "...though a little peculiar."
Well, do I get a say in this? It sounds like Gatsby has my morning already planned out for me... I'm not just some dress-up doll.
It was if Ms. Annika sensed my trepidation about the situation. "Mr. Gatsby just thought you'd want to wear more than a nightgown I suppose," she said, her hand still holding the edge of the door.
I looked down at the nightgown I had on. Fair enough.
Still, I don't understand why an actual designer would be needed. I'm not very picky when it comes to clothes.
.....
The front parlor was familiar. It ended up being the room I had first met Gatsby in. The sea of flowers still littered every shelf, side table, and corner in the room. Tulips and roses and carnations collided, making a smell that was a little overwhelming.
A small area of space on the tabletop was allotted for my breakfast; a box of Kelloggs, a pitcher of milk, a bowl of fruit, and some orange juice.
After two servings of cereal, Ms. Annika entered the parlor. "I hope you enjoyed your breakfast. Mr. Jacques is here to see you."
I set down my glass of orange juice. "Oh okay."
Ms. Annika stepped back out of the room, "I'll send him in."
"Wait, Annika!"
Her head peeped back into the parlor, "yes?"
"Would you mind hanging around while Mr. Jacques is here?"
She looked surprised, "hanging around? I am sorry, English is not my first language."
"Oh! I'm sorry! I meant would you be okay staying here, with me? While Mr. Jacques is here?"
Ms. Annika smiled, "Oh yes! Of course... I'll go get Mr. Jacques now."
The doors of the parlor burst open. A 5'2 man strode into the room. Though he was short in stature, he exuded confidence.
His close were unique. He wore a silk robe, embroidered with a shimmery gold on a teal fabric. He raised his arms and held them out towards me, "Ah! So you are my canvas for the day. How do you feel Mon Chéri?"
"I am doing well," I said, standing up from the table. "Thank you for coming all this way. I hope it is not too much trouble."
"Trouble? Alice, I live for Gatsby's commissions." Jacques had a faraway, dreamy look on his face. "Now that's a man who isn't afraid to be bold with styles."
Jacques walked back out of the room for a moment and came back in, pulling a bulky clothes rack littered with an entire color wheel of outfits.
Jacques panted, clearly struggling with the weight of the clothes, "I brought some dresses just to see what types of styles light your fire chéri."
I walked over to Jacques and began helping him pull the rack to the center of the room. "You certainly brought a lot to choose from. I do not really mind what I wear all that much-"
Jacques gasped, clutching his chest, "You wound me." He pulled three dresses off the rack and tossed them onto a plush loveseat, barely missing Ms. Annika. The beads cast flashes of light as they glided in the air. "Not a clothes person," he scoffed.
Jacques walked towards me. He reached out, resting both hands on my shoulder. "Today, you will find clothes you love." He turned his chin down, staring at my feet. His eyes gradually crawled back up to my face. "Well, I think I have sizes that will fit you."
He removed his hands from my shoulders and clapped his hands together. The motion was so sudden, it caused me to jump.
Ms. Annika let out a chuckle. She was enjoying this exchange, that much was obvious.
"Now, we just need to find out who you are, so we can pick the clothes that are right for you."
"Excuse me?"
Jacques turned back to the rack, pulling out a yellow ruffled dress. "I could show you every dress and every swatch of fabric I have," He said, running his hands over the rows of ruffles. He turned back to me, still holding the dress, "but that would be useless if I did not know the woman you are, chéri."
"Are you the kind of woman that is adventurous? or timid? Do you like the mountains? or the beach? Identify how you see yourself and we shall build off of that."
My eyes widened. 'Identify how I see myself?'
It was embarrassing, regurgitating all of this personal information.
My mind trailed back to home. All the times I held my tongue around classmates, my roommate, my parents... So much time wasted because I was just too afraid to stand up for myself.
"It's hard to say... I guess I am timid."
Ms. Annika scoffed at that, shifting her weight in the loveseat. "A timid girl would not have gone for a midnight swim alone last night."
My cheeks began to burn. I turned to Ms. Annika. She flashed me a knowing look.
She knows I was not alone out there last night. Gatsby was right. Word does travel fast.
Ms. Annika was right though, sneaking out for a midnight swim was not timid. If I was home, I never would have even considered sneaking out of my dorm to do something like like that. Perhaps I am adventurous. Well, here at least.
Jacques smiled, "I see. Okay chéri, what do you see yourself wearing?"
I plopped down on the couch, "Honestly? Some pants would be nice."
They both gasped. If it was possible for Jacques' smile to widen, it did in that instant. "Pants? I love it!"
Jacques pulled a small notebook out of a knapsack hanging on the back of the knapsack. He began scribbling furiously.
Ms. Annika did not seem as enthused. Her hands were fidgeting with the crisp lines of her skirt. It had not stood out to me before, but I could see that her left hand was scarred.
"I like dresses as well, but it would be nice to have some pants," I added. Ms. Annika's frown flickered slightly, forming a hint of a smile.
A young woman walked into the room. She wore an outfit very similar to Ms. Annika. It had a little bit shorter of a skirt and the fabric was slightly wrinkled. But honestly, any article of clothing would look wrinkled when compared to Ms. Annika's.
"Would you like some refreshments?"
Jacques peered up from his notebook, "Red wine. Please?" He turned to us, as if asking for approval.
It's probably 11 a.m. This will not probably end well. But still, I found myself saying,"Sure, why not?"
"We'll have one bottle and three glasses Bailey," Ms. Annika said.
As she retreated from the room, Ms. Annika suddenly leaned forward, adding "Get a bottle from the front of the cellar. Do not take one from Mr. Gatsby's personal reserves."
Bailey nodded, "Yes ma'am." She retreated back out of the room.
After an hour or so of trying on dresses and getting measurements, we had polished off two bottles of wine.
Jacques had left. He wanted to go back to his workshop to start working on the sketches he had made.
I had selected a few dresses from the rack to keep. They were all beautiful, but I couldn't stop myself from feeling guilty each time I looked over at them. Each crystal bead was an unknown dollar sign to me; a piece of a garment that someone else was paying for.
The tips of my fingers felt tingly, like champagne bubbles. My head and back rested on the floor as my feet remained propped on the loveseat.
"Can I ask you something?"
Ms. Annika lurched forward. I had not noticed, but she had fallen asleep. "Yes... what would you like to ask?"
"I just was wondering where you are from. Your accent, it's beautiful."
Ms. Annika leaned back in her chair, "They call it Latvia now, my homeland. It is very strange now, to say it out loud... It is now a nation."
I sat up and turned towards her, prepared to ask another question. The question died the instant I saw Ms. Annika's expression.
Her eyes were glassy. She still was looking at me, but it felt as if she was looking through me. "My brother fought in the Great War. He was so excited to enlist, to prove himself..."
She looked down at her hands, "He returned home after the war, but he had changed. He was not my brālis anymore...They had taken that from him."
I rose up and knelt next to Ms. Annika, clasping my hands with hers. Droplets of tears began to strike the palm of my hand.
"He had these terrors at night. Shaking, convulsing... It scared me."
I could feel her shaking.
"I don't know how it happened," she said, her voice beginning to crack. "But I came home one day and the house had caught fire. I tried desperately to put it out to no use."
"I still do not know if he set the fire or if he knocked over a lamp while he was having one of his attacks."
My heart broke for her and every other family still dealing with the fallout of World War I. So many lives had been taken over those few years.
Everyone in the wake of the war were left scrambling for the life they had before it had begun. It could never be quite the same. There would always be an empty seat at the dinner table, or bar, or factory where a loved one resided. That space could never be filled. "I am so sorry, Ms. Annika."
I wondered if Gatsby had nightmares about the war. He puts up such a polished façade. It would be nearly impossible to tell, and that worried me. No one should be left to suffer in silence.
In that moment, Ms. Annika seemed to remember herself, where she was, and who she was with. She straightened up, embarrassed. "I am so sorry Alice, I did not mean to say all of that I just... couldn't help but remember. It's the wine. I don't drink often and I-"
I squeezed her hand, "do not apologize. Thank you for sharing"
"Latvia is starting a new beginning, a rebirth," she said. "My home held a lot of pain for me, so I decided to start my rebirth here, in New York." Her mouth formed into a hint of a smile.
I smiled, "Well, I am so glad you decided to come here."
Ms. Annika squeezed my hand back, "Yes, I am too."
....
It was dark outside when Gatsby came home.
I was out by the pool. My legs dangled off the pool's edge as my toes formed ripples along the surface. It was serene out here. The pool was probably my favorite space in this labyrinth-like mansion.
"You know, I had a feeling you would be out here," Gatsby said. He sounded amused, but there was a weight to his voice as well. Perhaps it had been a long day for him.
My mind flashed back to my very "strenuous" day I had. Being showered with dresses and waited on by an entire team of maids is not exactly productive.
Sighing, I leaned back so that my head rested on the tile pavement.
Gatsby knelt down next to me. His suit was beige today. Traces of light blue were embroidered along the seams. Had Jacques designed that?
"Is everything alright Alice?"
It felt ridiculous, moping around an immaculate mansion, but I couldn't shake the feeling of being so... well, useless.
"It's hard to explain... I guess I feel like Julia Roberts."
Gatsby's brows furrowed, "Julia Roberts?" He leaned back, propping himself up on his elbows. "I am sorry, but I do not understand."
The wind blew, causing strands of Gatsby's hair to break free of the gel holding it in place. It was hard to tell, but I though I could see a hint of a curl in his hair. Would it be wavy if he left it alone?
I chuckled, "It's okay, it would be strange if you did understand. Where I am from, there is this film that Julia Roberts stars in."
"Oh! So she is an actress?"
"Yes, she is."
"In the film, she plays a prostitute and meets this wealthy guy. He kind of whisks her away. Away from the life she had before." It was hard to meet Gatsby's eyes. He was listening intently, but I felt self-conscious. Who am I to be complaining?
My eyes turned forward to look at the stars. "He has her living in this fancy apartment and he buys her all these beautiful clothes and pieces of jewelry."
"I see," Gatsby said. "And this is... bad?"
I shook my head, "It's not bad, it's kind."
"... It's the way that the gifts make her feel. That's what causes the problem?" Gatsby asked. Wow. He sure hit the nail on the head.
I rose to a seated position and pulled my legs to my chest. It felt more secure this way. "Yes... I am so grateful for everything you have done for me Gatsby, I really am. It's just being waited on like that and dressed by a designer... I didn't feel like me."
The wind had begun to pick up slightly. Nearby trees shed a handful of leaves. A few landed in the pool, creating a collage of ripples.
"I felt more like a fixture of the mansion than an actual person. Like a set of silver or something; to be polished and maintained then stowed in a drawer."
How is Gatsby taking this? Not well I imagine.
Have I just alienated one of the only friends I have made here? Will he ask me to leave?
My heart began to race. I turned to gage his expression, searching for a hint of anger or hurt.
Gatsby's expression was stern, but otherwise normal. His brows were slightly furrowed.
"I guess what I am trying to say is that I need a purpose of some kind. If there is an open position on your staff I could-"
"I think I understand," Gatsby said. He rose to his feet and walked to the edge of the pool. "it's funny, I've worked my whole life to have this life, to own these things."
He turned back to me chuckling, "But you, you've tired of it all within a day."
I could feel my cheeks burning. "N-no I didn't mean it that way! I just want to earn my keep. To be of use in some way... I want to help you, like you've helped me."
Gatsby's eyes softened. "I see." He walked back towards the house until he was standing next to me. "Tomorrow will be a better day, Alice. I'll see to it."
Gatsby continued walking, vanishing from my line of sight as he entered the home.
I sighed, perhaps he was right.
Maybe tomorrow will be a better day.