Jack had found the house in the spring of 1922, long before he had really contemplated buying it. He had had some sales in West Egg that spring, and had been working overtime to drum up a little more business so that they were saving and not just spending everything he made. Rose had given birth in December of 1921 to their third child, a girl that they named Eleanor, and he had promised when their first son had been born that they would never be as poor as they had been after disembarking from the Carpathia. So far, he had kept his promise. And his hard work had paid off in the form of a promotion and raise that had finally put them in a place where they could buy a nice new bigger house to take the children to.
She had been a vision the day that they had bought it in June, climbing the front porch steps in some white heels and a beautiful violet dress. Ellie was wrapped in a nice blanket in her arms as she inspected the place, smiling while the boys ran inside past her to look around. Jack had found it difficult to take his eyes off of her as she looked around at the woodwork and the fixtures, and when she had smiled over at him and proclaimed that this was it, this was their home, he had sworn his heart had stopped and restarted again. Rose had that effect on him. It was difficult not to feel twenty years old again when she smiled at him like that.
But he wasn't twenty, and they weren't fresh off the ship, running about New York making money here and there. Their eldest, James, was nearly eight. Jim, as they called him, did not resemble either parent any more than the other, really. In fact, he looked a bit different from them, with dark brown hair and a slick smile. Rose told Jack he looked like her father, and he accepted that. He saw a bit of his own father in Jim, from the sparkle in his eyes to the way he would sit in his window and stare out into the rain, fascinated by the way the world melted down around him.
Alexander had just turned five. He was quite a picture of Jack, blond hair and blue eyes and a smile that lit up the room. Even Jim was crazy about his infectious little personality, and all of them, parents and brother, encouraged him to smile and goof around. He reminded Jack of Rose in that way. He often told her that Alexander was all that life and fire that Rose had had to hide in her earlier years, borne out of their love for one another. The kids were the world and Jack and Rose had worked hard to give them everything. Ten years was both a long and very short time. Long gone was their youth, but in that time, these three beautiful people had come into their lives and changed everything. They wouldn't have had it any other way.
It was April sixth, eight days short of the tenth anniversary of the best and worst day of their lives. The boys were upstairs now, choosing a bedroom to share, and Rose had gone to the car to nurse Eleanor. Best case, Jack could use the neighbor's telephone to get the realtor over, and he would sign the papers on the spot. He didn't want to consider any other case. The walk across the grass was brief and serene. After living in the city for ten years, it was a refreshing change, and it was exactly what Jack had wanted for them the entire time, the kind of small town that he had grown up in.
The neighbor's home was a story shorter than theirs, and Jack could tell by the clean yard and weedy garden that the occupant was single, without any children. That was just as well. The boys made good playmates for themselves. Climbing the steps of the porch, Jack strolled to the door and straightened his tie before he knocked firmly, but not too roughly, on the wood. He could hear footsteps from across the house and he took a deep breath before the door swung open and a young man with dark hair and a kind smile greeted him with a nod. Jack removed his hat to return it.
"Hi. Sorry to bother you. My name's Jack Dawson. My wife and I were just looking at the house next door and I was hoping to get my realtor on the phone."
"Oh, sure! Come on in!" The door opened wider and he allowed Jack to slide in past him before he shut it. "You going to buy it?"
"I think so," Jack said, glancing briefly around. "If they'll sell it. The sign says for rent." He followed Nick into the sitting room where his phone was. "How's the neighborhood?"
"Uh…well, it's fine," he confessed, nodding out the window. "The sound is nice and there's nothing terrible about it. My other neighbor does tend to throw some pretty big parties, though." He grimaced a little, realizing he might have just changed the other young man's mind, but the blond shrugged.
"Hell, my kids slept through the noise in New York for eight years. I'm sure it would just remind them of home." Before picking up the receiver, he offered his hand. "Sorry. Didn't catch your name."
"Oh, Nick." Shaking hands, they exchanged pleasant smiles. "Nick Carraway."
"Pleasure to meet you, Nick." Jack went about his business with the phone and shook Nick's hand one more time. "Looks as though we're going to be neighbors, so don't be a stranger, all right?"
Jack was around his age and very polite. Nick figured he liked him already. He knew he could chip that in when Jordan realized there was a new occupant to the house in West Egg and brought it up at Tom and Daisy's during a dinner that was entirely too tense.
"I'll be sure of that, Jack."
One Week Later
Rose grimaced as she shoved a box onto a bookshelf, and as soon as there was no danger of it falling off, she let out a heavy sigh and leaned back against the wall. "Wow. Who knew we'd accumulated so much junk in the last ten years?"
The Philadelphia lilt to her voice had faded some over the years, but when she said things like that, Jack pictured her in a wine-colored dress, sitting at a dinner table with Cal. He grimaced slightly at the memory and shot her a playful little glare.
"This is not junk. This is our lifetime so far, wrapped up in newspaper."
She smiled at that, her heels clicking as she walked across the room to put a photograph of them on the Santa Monica pier on the mantle. Wiping the dust from her hands onto her apron, she sighed and walked to look out the window, leaning against the wall.
"It looks as though Nick doesn't have much company," she mused, tilting her head as if the added angle could give her a better glimpse.
Jack came up behind her and slipped his arms around her waist, earning a smile and getting her to lean back into his arms.
"I suppose not." Nuzzling her neck, he smiled at her. "He's nice enough, though."
"Mmm." They both started when a knock sounded at the door. He gave her arm a reassuring squeeze before he walked to go open it, smiling at the stranger standing there.
"Hello, sir. Are you Mr. Dawson?" He was dressed in a dark suit and had a soft smile and his hands folded politely in front of him. It struck Jack as strange, but he didn't pursue his questions.
"Yes, I am. How d'you do?"
"Mr. Dawson, my employer, Mr. Gatsby, would like to invite you and your wife to his little party tonight, as a way to say welcome to the neighborhood."
"Uh…sure. Thanks." The man bowed and left without a question or another word. Somewhat perplexed, but also flattered, Jack looked back at his wife, who was nervously fumbling with the beads on her necklace. "Well, that was something, huh?" He sat on the edge of a crate. "Did you want to go?" Jack had long since accepted that there were parts of his wife that had been instilled in her at birth and through her lifestyle for seventeen years, and this social side was one of them. He could indulge that, since she indulged his dirt poor side for the first couple of years.
"I think it might be polite to say hello, and it would be nice to meet everyone around here." She was cautious in her response and looked at him to gauge his reaction, smiling when he didn't look upset. "Do you mind terribly?"
"I don't mind at all. I think you're right." As he walked across the floor, he pulled a half-empty pack of cigarettes from his shirt pocket and slipped one out, patting the pack back into his shirt. Rose was there just a moment later with a match. She struck it with a mischievous little smile. "Now, none of that," Jack purred, a cloud of smoke framing her beautiful face. "I have to call someone to watch the kids and you need to start getting ready for this great big shindig."
Jack had a cousin, Helena, that they had connected with about five years after arriving in New York. She was usually their go-to babysitter, and agreed to watch the kids that night. Jack slipped into a dark tux, one that reminded him of the one that Molly had let him borrow on the Titanic, and Rose donned a beautiful dress that was white and silver with purple beading and sequins that accented the rest of the shimmering silver. Once it was paired with tights and heels, she carefully clipped silver roses into her hair.
Jack watched from the bedroom doorway, smiling at her beauty, but silently lamenting her hair, as well. She had chopped it with the wave of bobs that had surrounded them, and it was now a short mass of wavy red. Still ever so beautiful, but it made him sad to see her familiar long strands go. He forgot about it when she turned to him with a soft smile, her face made up and flawless.
"Do I look all right, darling?"
"You look amazing."
He plucked a pale hand to kiss the back, and offered the same smile he had after kissing her hand on the grand staircase. Rose was struck by the memory. She stared at him for a moment, her breath caught between red lips. Just when Jack might have become concerned, she broke into a smile and slipped her hand into his.
"Shall we?"
They said good-bye to Helena and the boys and disappeared out into the summer night. No sooner had they started to cross the lawn toward Gatsby's house around the side of Nick's than the bond salesman next door stepped out onto his porch, dressed in his best, as well. He smiled when he saw them coming across the grass and hurried down his steps to greet them.
"Well, it looks like we've all been invited to tonight's festivities." He reached them and offered his hand to Jack first. "Jack." They shook and then he offered it to Rose. "Rose, you look lovely."
She smiled at that. Jack saw her spirit puff up proudly. "Well, thank you, Nick. You look very handsome tonight yourself."
"That's a high compliment coming from you." He offered her his arm with a handsome smile. "Care for a second escort?"
"The more the merrier!" she chimed, smiling at Jack, who was watching her with a tender expression.
The trio strolled across the lawn and alongside Nick's house to the waiting festivities next door. Gatsby had a tent set up to shield the band that he had hired. It was striped red and white. There were people dressed up and drinking all over the lawn and sitting at tables that had been set up. Girls were dancing along with men they had just met, and everyone had a glass in their hand.
No sooner had they stepped onto the property than they, too, were offered champagne. They accepted gladly. Strolling through the crowds, they searched in vain for a familiar face among the people, and Nick perked up suddenly at the sight of a pretty brunette across the way. She noticed him, too, and they met in the middle of the crowd, shaking hands before he said something to her and she looked at the married couple that had accompanied him. Walking over, the pair smiled.
"Jordan, these are my new neighbors on the other side, Jack and Rose Dawson. Jack, Rose, this is…my friend, Jordan Baker."
"The golf champion?" Jack asked incredulously, staring at her as he shook her hand.
"The one and only," she mused, nodding a hello before fixing her cool gaze on Rose. "I know who you are. I've seen some of your films."
Rose blushed instantly and shrugged. "There haven't been all that many, I'm afraid…"
"That'll change," Jordan mused, smirking. "You've got something." She took a sip of her martini. "Nick, you never told me you had interesting friends. What is it that you do, Mr. Dawson?" Her eyes were pointed with interest, but not hard in the least. She was intrigued, but neutral.
"I was a soldier in the Great War. I divide my time between selling bonds and selling art."
"You sell bonds?"
"What sort of art?"
Rose laughed at the combined questions from Nick and Jordan. Jack smiled softly, amused, but somewhat startled. "Uh…yeah. It brings in regular income," he noted to Nick first. "But the art I sell is my own, when I can make a sale. Afraid it's more of a hobby than a job."
Jordan led them through the crowd to a table. They sat and listened to the group gossip about the party's host, Gatsby. Some said he was a criminal. Some said he was a hero. Most, if not all, had never personally met him. Jordan was an exception, but a quiet one. She didn't have much to add to the gossip. Nick added with a casual shrug, "I saw him, once, standing outside looking at the Sound. But we didn't speak. He seemed…"
"…menacing?"
"No." Nick shook his head. "Lonely."
They enjoyed the music and the champagne, and a firework show that seemed to be made just for them. And then a butler or a bodyguard or something came up behind Nick and Jack while they talked about the war and business, startling them from their thoughts. "I beg pardon, Mr. Carraway, Mr. Dawson, but I need for you to come with me. You and Mrs. Dawson."
"I'm sorry." Nick offered a charming smile. "But we were invited. We didn't just…show up."
"If you'll come with me this way." Nick attempted to resist more and the man was sterner. "This way, please."
He led them inside and through the house, and Jack felt like they were heading to their execution. He clasped Rose's hand tightly and wondered if the others were right. Perhaps Gatsby was a German, or a recently escaped mental institution patient…
He found that the more he thought about it, the sweatier his palms got. They were taken in an elevator up to the second story, and Jack, Rose, and Nick exchanged nervous glances through what felt like an hour long journey. When the elevator finally reached the upper floor, the man let them into a room and then left them. Nick and Jack pushed on ahead of Rose and stopped when they saw the back of a man looking out a window ahead of them. He had a cigarette in his hand, but otherwise, they couldn't tell anything about him.
Then he turned, and Jack nearly fainted on the spot. He looked startlingly similar to Jack Dawson, with blond hair that was slightly shorter than his and blue eyes. Rose gasped when she saw him. Jack looked back at her like she might have arranged a joke of some sort before he swallowed heavily. Gatsby however, seemed unfazed and smiled as he lifted the cigarette to his lips. "How d'you do, old sports? I'm Gatsby."
"Nick Carraway."
They shook hands. "You live in the cottage across the lawn. I tried to buy it once."
"I've been trying to find you…"
"I'm afraid I'm not a very good host," Gatsby admitted with a smile, and he nodded politely to Jack. "And you're the Dawsons from two doors down. Welcome to the neighborhood." The chattering from the party outside went on and Gatsby went to shut the window. "The truth of the matter is, I don't much like parties. I thought, since we're all neighbors, that we should get acquainted." He crossed the room, his hands in his pockets. "I hope you're enjoying yourselves."
"Oh, yes," they all murmured in agreement, too star struck to really think of anything better to say. Gatsby was concerned.
"If any of you want or need anything…"
"Oh, it's fine," Jack chirped, not quite past the shock of looking so much like their wealthy neighbor. "Was there anything else?"
"No." Gatsby circled his chair to sit. "I just thought that since we were neighbors we should meet."
The telephone on his desk rang and Nick motioned to the door. "Should we…?"
Gatsby shook his head no and pointed to a set of chairs. "Excuse me," he said politely, lifting the phone to his head and mouth to speak to whoever was on the other line. Something about Philadelphia that made Rose frown and tilt her head, and so Jack clasped one of her hands between both of his. She smiled at him in response, a smile meant to calm his nerves, and they were quiet. The conversation grew more serious and Gatsby moved the phone. "Sorry, old sports. This is important."
"That's fine. We'll just…" Jack pointed to the door, but Gatsby wasn't quite done when they got up.
"Are there any of my guests that you'd like to meet?" They declined, and so he pursued, "Well, Mr. Dawson, Mr. Carraway, perhaps we could have lunch sometime? Tomorrow?"
"Fine," they both agreed, glancing nervously at one another before looking at Gatsby.
"Good," he said, nodding his thanks as they all left to go back to his phone call.
Stepping out into the hall, they ran into his bodyguard again, and Jack shot him an annoyed glance before leading his wife and Nick to the elevator. The doors closed behind them and they went back down to the main story, catching site of a clock on the way through the foyer. "Well, we’d better get back to the kids," Jack said softly, smiling at Rose, who nodded in agreement.
"I suppose I'll see you tomorrow, then?" Nick asked, watching the party continue from a window and smiling back at them.
"Count on it."