He sauntered to the bathtub, naked body waving loose in the wind, arms like taut Roman marble. He needed a laurel crown. He needed a sword.
“When you picture yourself in the future do you see a wife?” I asked. “Kids?”
“I don’t picture myself in the future,” he said. “Mostly, I picture myself now.”
The tub was filled, so he turned off the knob and sank into the hot water. Then he beckoned to me, bubbles and water dripping from one slick arm.
Arms folded in my robe, I drew toward the tub. “I... I’m worried.”Remember to breathe.“The heat of the water will hurt my wounds.” Everywhere was hurting, from my temples to my knees.
Jay found a quick solution by turning the cold knob. Then he lounged back, arms gracing the candlelight, waiting for my next excuse.
“Shall I join you?” I asked.
“You must.”
Every step across the tile was like one into the ocean, with the waves rising higher to slap me in the mouth. I may as well nothave had a mouth, the way I was skipping breaths.
I was very cold when I dropped the robe. I hurried into the tub as Jay turned the water off, and I sat across from him on the other side. His toe grazed the bottom of my leg and, with this sadness in his eyes, traced its way up my calf. I still felt breathy, like an iron puffing steam.
“Would you have me as you’ve had one of your girls?” I asked.
“As I have had one of my girls?” he said, as if the question was ridiculous. “In what way have I had anyone?”
“Haven’t you?”
“Haven’t I what?”
“Like... done it.”
“Nick, what does this have to do with us? You’re different from any girl I’ve been with in every way. I’d have you in the way I can have you without comparing you to anyone else.”
But Jay and someone else made more sense—even Daisy. She was perfect, like him. I understood why his father wanted her for him.
“I just feel like I am invading,” I said.
“You’re not invading,” Jay said.
“And it’s probably because lots of people have tried to destroy me in the past. I can’t bear another second of being destroyed so I want to push it away. If you regret today, don’t pretend—better to tell me on the spot so I can just leave. I’m too sensitive for that.”
“As am I,” Jay said. “We have the same perspective, but you’re endlessly stuck in the future or the past while I choose the present moment.”
“We don’t have the same perspective. Not by a long shot.”
“Fine,” he said, instantly resigning. “I won’t fool with yours if you don’t fool with mine.”
If my heart was an apple falling from a tree, Jay Gatsby was quicksand or padded leaves. I didn’t trust him all the way. Somehow, I still couldn’t trust him, however much I told myself to do just that.
But before I met him, I was used to starting sentences and being interrupted. I was used to waiting for things to happen rather than making them happen myself. At least he let my words leave my mouth. And he encouraged me to do more. If Jay was going to betray me—be it for our current scheme or for some reason in the future—I was willing to take the risk. It was better than letting the possibility of Jay, and our freedom together, die.
“Thank you for not saying mean things,” Jay said, in a soft voice. He moved closer to me in the water, and I followed. For every inch, I went a centimeter, until our fingers were grazing, and he was exploring them like the twigs of some twisted shrub.
He washed me, cleaning the open wounds the fiends left on my head, the bruises they left on my neck. I took deep breaths to remind myself it was okay for it to hurt, until my head was on his shoulder, arm resting on his leg, and we were facing the same way.
His water was soft, a water you didn’t want to step out of. I once had nowhere to bathe—after hopping off that train I thought I might die. The finer things felt so nice when you’d known struggle and poverty. I never wanted to go back to the basic way.
The minutes stretched closer to an hour, and Jay broke apartfrom me and got out of the tub. He dressed us each in silk robes, one white and one blue, but then he asked, “Can I draw you?” He went to the bookshelf in the next room and pulled down a sketchpad and pencil.
“Draw me doing what?”
