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She's got enough, she's got too much.
Sep. 2nd, 2014 11:10 amHow many times had Jordan, as a girl, marveled at what it must be like to be a man? The very idea of it had fairly made her head swim, a seeming endless parade of raucous freedoms that were always just out of her grasp for having the audacity to be born female. It had chafed, and eventually she had learned well enough how to turn that friction into a more creative means for grasping freedom, but never was she foolish enough to think it would ever be the same. There was nothing about her gentle or sweet, and yet still she was the gentler sex, placed neatly within a box from which a lifelong battle would never extract her.
Or so she had believed. The hotel, apparently, had other ideas about these things.
Weeks she had gone now almost entirely as a man, and she was finding it suited her rather well. Not enough to remain as such forever, as there were certain aspects of being female which suited her even better, but the alternate version of her was still as sleek and tall and aloof as the other, but with a different assortment of accessories.
All these weeks, and she'd not run across Gatsby until now, a good deal of her time spend gadding about with Erik. For once, she'd nearly–Not entirely, but nearly–forgotten about Daisy's wayward lover and all of the burdensome weight which accompanied his mere presence.
Cutting an elegant figure on the lawn in her neatly tailored suit, she gazed over at Gatsby from behind the wavering smoke of her cigarette, and wondered for the first conscious time whether Nick might have showed her a scrap more loyalty had she looked like this when they'd made love. The thought was bitter, and she quickly swallowed it down with a scowl.
Or so she had believed. The hotel, apparently, had other ideas about these things.
Weeks she had gone now almost entirely as a man, and she was finding it suited her rather well. Not enough to remain as such forever, as there were certain aspects of being female which suited her even better, but the alternate version of her was still as sleek and tall and aloof as the other, but with a different assortment of accessories.
All these weeks, and she'd not run across Gatsby until now, a good deal of her time spend gadding about with Erik. For once, she'd nearly–Not entirely, but nearly–forgotten about Daisy's wayward lover and all of the burdensome weight which accompanied his mere presence.
Cutting an elegant figure on the lawn in her neatly tailored suit, she gazed over at Gatsby from behind the wavering smoke of her cigarette, and wondered for the first conscious time whether Nick might have showed her a scrap more loyalty had she looked like this when they'd made love. The thought was bitter, and she quickly swallowed it down with a scowl.
