one from another.
(4) By seven o’clock the orchestra has arrived – no thin five-piece affair but a whole pitful
of oboes and trombones and saxophones and viols and cornets and piccolos and low and high
drums. The last swimmers have come in from the beach now and are dressing upstairs; the cars
from New York are parked five deep in the drive, and already the halls and salons and verandas
are gaudy with primary colors and hair shorn in strange new ways, and shawls beyond the
dreams of Castile. The bar is in full swing, and floating rounds of cocktails permeate the garden
outside until the air is alive with chatter and laughter and casual innuendo and introductions
forgotten on the spot and enthusiastic meetings between women who never knew each other’s
names.
(5) The lights grow brighter as the earth lurches away from the sun, and now the orchestra
is playing yellow cocktail music, and the opera of voices pitches a key higher. Laughter is easier,
minute by minute, spilled with prodigality, tipped out at a cheerful word.
(6)The groups change more swiftly, swell with new arrivals, dissolve and form in the same
breath – already there are wanderers, confident girls who weave here and there among the
stouter and more stable, become for a sharp joyous moment the center of a group and then,
excited with triumph, glide on through the sea-change of faces and voices and color under the
constantly changing light.
(7)Suddenly one of these gypsies in trembling opal, seizes a cocktail out of the air, dumps it
down for courage and, moving her hands like Frisco, dances out alone on the canvas platform. A
momentary hush; the orchestra leader varies his rhythm obligingly for her, and there is a burst of
chatter as the erroneous news goes around that she is Gilda Gray’s understudy from the Follies.
The party has begun.
(8)I believe that on the first night I went to Gatsby’s house I was one of the few guests who
had actually been invited. People were not invited – they went there. They got into automobiles
which bore them out to Long Island, and somehow they ended up at Gatsby’s door. Once there
they were introduced by somebody who knew Gatsby, and after that they conducted themselves
according to the rules of behavior associated with amusement parks. Sometimes they came and
went without having met Gatsby at all, came for the party with a simplicity of heart that was its
own ticket of admission.
(9)I had been actually invited. A chauffeur in a uniform crossed my lawn early that
Saturday morning with a surprisingly formal note from his employer – the honor would be
entirely Gatsby’s, it said, if I would attend his “little party” that night. He had seen me several
times and had intended to call on me long before but a peculiar combination of circumstances
had prevented it – signed Jay Gatsby in a majestic hand.
(10)Dressed up in white flannels I went over to his lawn a little after seven and wandered
around rather ill-at-ease among swirls and eddies of people I didn’t know – though here and
there was a face I had noticed on the commuting train. I was immediately struck by the number