Finally, we stopped in a room that looked like a kitchen—or a science lab. There were several counters, with liquid flowing through glass jars and tubing.
A big woman in a black tailored suit was sitting in a throne-like chair at the far end of the room. Her face was round and assertive, and a cigar smoked from between her fingertips. Her hair was long, half natural and half braided down. Another woman stood by her side braiding the rest of her hair. They both looked at us.
“Who’s this?” the sitting woman asked, raising an eyebrow.
I swallowed as I took in her commanding presence. My eyes surveyed the room until I saw someone familiar pouring liquor into a bottle. I had to squint some, but I knew that face. “Daisy!”
Daisy looked up and her eyes widened. “Nick?” She dropped the bottle.
“Jordan!” the sitting woman shouted as the bottle exploded, spilling glass and pungent fluid all over the floor.
Daisy jumped away from the spill. “Oh, goodness.”
The throne woman sighed and dragged a hand over her face. “Daisy—I love you, but that’ssix dollars.”
“I’m sorry,” Daisy said, seeming flustered. “I’ll clean it up. This is my cousin, Nick. Nick... Jordan.”
“Ahhh,” Jordan purred. “Li’l cousin. How’s your melancholia doing?”
“Hello,” I offered with a wave, but the scene before me was unsettling. I did not know this person who clearly knew some of me.
“Sorry,” Daisy said, hurrying toward me. “Could I have a moment?”
Daisy pulled me off to a small hallway, and through a door that led to a bathroom. The tub was full of clear liquid and the toilet was surrounded by a chaos of wires. “Are you following me again?” she asked.
“Huh? I wasn’t!” I protested.
“You weren’t?” She squinted at me.“Really?”
“No! It was Vivian. She was fighting with some guy in an alleyway, and I had to step in. She was the one who brought us here.”
Daisy put both hands on her forehead in annoyance. “I told her I didn’t want to get you in trouble.”
“Funny, Vivian said the same thing. But whattroubleare we talking about, Daisy?”
She looked at me. “First things first—what you see here can’t leave here. You can’t tell my parents.”
“I would have to know thewhatof it all first!”
“Keep your voice down and I’ll tell you,” Daisy whispered to me, though it was clear she would scream if she could. Once it was clear that I was holding my tongue, she continued somberly, “You know how the mob just up and killed your people? Well, in New York, their mindsets are no better, but they’re craftier in their attacks. They do it while pretending to be our friends. Jordan learned that the hard way.
“She was a housekeeper to a wealthy man—lonely, kind at first. When he passed away, she thought she’d earned his trust and a share in his business, but one of his associates, a bootlegger, betrayed her, and stole her money, framing her for his crimes. That left her to fend for herself. From then on, she swore she’d never trust another man with her livelihood.”
So that’s why the man was accosting Vivian—for the liquor in her bag.
I almost wanted to laugh in disbelief. “You’re not serious?” Auntie Lorraine and Uncle Beet would be beside themselves if they knew!
“Keep your lips sealed,” Daisy said, grabbing my arms in an appeal for trust, her eyes desperately searching mine. “Tom Buchanan is trying to take over the Wash ’N’ Fold. He keeps making the rent more expensive in the area, hoping everyone will give up and leave. And with school tuition already paid, and no refunds, I can’t just drop out, even if I want to. Our family’sbarely holding on. If I don’t bring in money for us, we might be next to pack up and run.”
“I... won’t tell a soul,” I said. “I don’t talk to anyone anyway. I’m only surprised! I’d never believe you were running liquor in your free time.”
Daisy didn’t look too proud of it. “It’s the only way to make enough money to support the family. Seems like you’ve been surrounding yourself with the wrong crowd too, because the Gatsbys? They’re also bootleggers.” Daisy laughed without any joy and waved a languid hand. “They sell their liquor to clients in Harlem who have no money and drink to kill the pain.”
“So, the rumors of Gatsby Sr. being a criminal are true?” I asked, stunned.
“Of course they’re true! That’s the only reason I talk to Jay. Jordan knows the right people to bring his father more business in this part of New York. Gatsby’s got connections, but mostly with rich men who get their liquor elsewhere—so he’s looking for a new deal.”
So, Gatsby made a school that helped people succeed in life but also played a role in flooding Harlem with liquor? No wonder Jay treated drinking like it was nothing at The Green Light.
