The next morning Nicole woke to a telephone call from Chicago. A friend of a friend of one of the journalists had seen her art in the paper, and he had taken a job in Queens. He had been asking about Nicky to see if she'd work up painting. With delight she bounced around in her kitchen, happy to start her first real job. It was a job between New York and West Egg.
*****
The Valley of Ashes was a grotesque place.
It was Wednesday when she ventured out, taking the train to the desolate valley. Nicky quickly understood the purpose behind her job.
They, The Journal, wanted a painting to depict the cruel, unfiltered lives in the valley of dirt. It broke her heart. She jumped off the train with uncertainty, clutching her bag to her side.
Walking across the dirt road Nicole treaded lightly, watching as kids jumped across the railroad tracks. The workers toiled away in the dirt and grime, and the mental photograph would be forever engraved in her head. Nicky didn't want to paint their troubles.
"Oh Nicky, what have you gotten yourself into?" She asked herself, stopping as she noticed an older gentleman struggling with two crates in his arms. The colored gentleman went unnoticed by others walking by, and it looked as though the crates could topple over at a moment's notice. Her thoughts went back to the night before and how Tom had talked so highly of the book The Rise of the Colored Empire. Nicole groaned. She changed her direction like the wind.
"Can I offer you a hand?" She asked lightly, but she was clutching her hands together tight. The man stopped for a moment and turned her way, but quickly ducked his head down.
"No ma'am." He was embarrassed.
"Please." She implored, making him look back up to her. His eyes were dark but muddled, foggy in the light. "I mean you no harm."
"It's not appropriate, miss." He replied without missing a beat.
Nicole had forgotten her place.
Without another peep she pushed up her sleeves and took a step towards him, taking the top crate from his grasp. No wonder why the boxes were so taking to carry; they were filled with automobile parts. He pleaded with her to give him the box back, but her mind was made up, and she held her head high.
"These are far too heavy to carry alone. Please let me help you. Where are we going with these boxes?" She insisted.
There was a run down gas station, Wilson's.
As they walked through the street Nicky noticed the stares they were receiving. They looked at her like she was the main attraction at Coney Island. She didn't bother to pay them any mind.
*****
Wilson's was a messy place; dirt covered everything.
"It's a pleasure to meet you, Miss." The man's eyes went wide as he came up to introduce himself, and he grabbed for the rag in his back pocket to wipe off his hands. Realizing the rag was too dirty to clean them off he huffed out an embarrassed laugh, wiping them on his pants.
"I'm so sorry, I wasn't expecting anyone but Lenny." he gargled out.
He was absolutely tongue tied looking at Nicole, and she couldn't help but smile back at him. What was a woman like her doing here?
"I'm going to take a wild guess," she started. "Are you Wilson?"
One cheeky grin later he nodded.
"Yes, ma'am. It's George Wilson." He announced proudly. "Can I offer you a soda for your troubles?"
He watched as the hems of her clothes tracked in dirt and muck, but the more he looked around the less confident he felt. His shop was a mess, and it was the only auto parts shop in the Valley. His ears flared red with embarrassment.
"I'd love one." She smiled, and he excused himself quickly.
Not a moment passed before she heard the whirring of another vehicle driving down the road, and it was much louder than the train. A bright red spitfire of a jalopy sprang to life through the crowd, heading straight towards Wilsons.
With a small frown Nicky thought - who would come all the way out here in a car like that?
It was almost clockwork that she saw Tom Buchanan open the car door with his bold, strong demeanor. He looked quite sharp, his glasses and hat working to his advantage. Tom walked with a spring in his step, stopping short when he noticed her.
"Nicole, is that you?" His voice was excited, almost jumping off the page.
She nodded quickly.
"And Tom dear, is that you?" She mimicked his excitement, and she was honestly relieved to see a familiar face in a place like this.
"What are you doing here?" Tom was in shock. "Are you here alone? In the Valley of Ashes?"
"Yes!" She laughed, glancing back out to the street. "I'm working a painting job down here, believe it or not."
"Here you go."
Another voice chimed in, and Nicole spun around to see Mr. Wilson carrying a couple of Cokes. He stuttered quickly as he noticed Tom beside her.
"Hey there, Mr. Buchanon. I-I didn't expect to see you here! Can I get you a drink?" He offered his second soda over, but Tom shook his head.
"No no, I'm quite fine thanks." He answered, but Tom was distracted, looking over to the stairs to the side of the shop. Watching on, Nicky spoke up curiously.
"How generous, Mr. Wilson. I'm Nicole Carraway." She reached out, accepting the glass bottle.
"Thanks for your help Miss. It must have been a real favor for you to come out and help. Do you know Lenny?" George questioned patting the condensation from the bottle on his forehead.
His eyes were soft and warm, but sunken in from long and hard years of work.
"No no," Nicky started quickly, "but it looked like he could have used an extra hand."
"It seems as if everyone needs an extra hand these days." Tom grumbled, looking back to his wife's cousin. "Really Nicole, what are you doing down here? Do you need a ride back home?"
She appreciated his compassion, but it was mistaken.
Nicole wasn't in any trouble, and she didn't want to be making a fuss. With the amount of grime and sweat she had seen, she could remember enough to paint four or five different pictures for the Journal. She smiled, reaching to touch his arm.
"Really Tom, that's not necessary -"
"What's with all the commotion down here?" A fourth shrill voice chimed, and they all turned to look at the top of the stairs. The fiery red head was chomping down on gum, leaning against the railing. "It sounds like business, and if it means business you best be talking to me."
The woman stomped down the stairs in her heels as if she owned the place, swaying her hips with intention. Nicole noticed the way she looked at Tom, a longing overtaking her. It gave her enough time to snap them out of it, clearing her throat.
"I'm Nicole." She introduced herself, and she outstretched her arm.
The woman looked from her hand and back up to her, her eyes wrinkling in the corners. Her lips formed a tight line as she looked from Nicky to Tom, and she huffed out with a nod.
"Myrtle." She spoke, but her voice was clipped. "It's a pleasure I'm sure." Nicky pulled her hand back to her side with dejection.
"Now, back to business." Mr. Wilson started. "Did you need anything, Miss?"
She shook her head, looking back to him. "I just came to lend a hand."
"And how about you, Mr. Buchanon?" Myrtle asked, batting her eyes slowly back over to him.
Nicole didn't miss the interaction and took a step back. She looked over her shoulder to Tom's car, and it must have been in great shape. Why would he need to come here?
"I -" He cleared his throat, pushing a hand through the side of his hair. "I have another car that's been in the shop. Once my guy is done with it, can you take a look at it George? Make sure it's in tip top shape?" Thomas asked, flashing a fleeting look at Mr. Wilson's wife.
George hardly noticed - his gaze was still locked onto Nicky.
"Yeah yeah, sure thing Tom." Wilson agreed, clapping his hands together.
"Well then," Mrytle started, "If that's all, then we better get on with our day." She cleared her throat, looking to George. "Hon, I've got to run to town for groceries and have a hair appointment at three o'clock. I've got to get on the next train or I'll be late." She spoke quickly, pushing her purse up over her shoulder.
George waved it off and turned around with a nod - he honestly couldn't care less about her hair, but he knew not to mess with a women's beauty routine. The less details the better.
Myrtle took the opportunity to scoot past the group, brushing her hand up against Tom's as she departed. Nicole looked on as if she had noticed a scandal unfolding before her eyes. This must have been the mystery woman at dinner.
Tom's eyes snapped up to her and Nicole looked on as innocently as she could muster. It wasn't her place to start a kerfuffle.
"Nicole," Tom started. "If you need anything, let me know. Do you need a ride back?" he asked carefully.
Did he know that he was found out?
"No, I'll be quite well thank you." She generously declined, and not long after Tom was also gone, soaring away in his hot rod.
Maybe he also had a hair appointment at three o'clock.
"Is there anything else I can get you?" George asked sweetly.
He was a real kind man, and Nicky still had work to be done. "Actually," She started with a grin, I think there is something you can help me with."
*****
Dr. TJ Eckleburg watched over the afternoon in the Valley of Ashes, and everything was almost as it should be. Mr. Wilson had managed to get the barber and the cigar salesman and one of the paperboys to come and help with Nicole's wild plan.
She wanted to make a painting for the paper, but she needed it to be a damn good one. She would need everyone's help to make it a success. After an afternoon of planning she waved her goodbyes, heading back to West Egg.
It was going to be a huge success.