Slenderly, languidly, their hands set lightly on their hips, the two young women preceded us out onto a rose-colored porch, open toward the sunset, where four candles flickered on the table in the diminished wind.
“Why candles?” objected Daisy, frowning. She snapped them out with her fingers. ‘In two weeks it’ll be the longest day in the year.’ She looked at us all radiantly. “Do you always watch for the longest day of the year and then miss it? I always watch for the longest day in the year and then miss it.”
“We ought to plan something,” yawned Miss Baker, sitting down at the table as if she were getting into bed.
“All right,” said Daisy. “What’ll we plan?” She turned to me helplessly: “What do people plan?”
~~The Great Gatsby, F. Scott Fitzgerald
Oops—the longest day of the year was yesterday, and I didn’t quite plan anything, but I didn’t exactly miss it as I brought a copy of the book to our picnic at Wolf Trap, where Steve and I went last night to hear bluesman Buddy Guy play. We read a few passages out loud as we drank martinis and ate the roast beef-bleu cheese-horseradish wraps I had made.
So, it wasn’t planned, but now my plan is to declare this “Gatsby Week” and drop in something Gatsby-related every day this week. Seems as though that’s the type of plan Daisy and Jordan could get behind.
