Gatsby's Little Party

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. The only place in the garden where a single man could linger without looking purposeless and alone was at the cocktail table. Jordan Baker came out of the house and stood at the head of the marble steps. She held my hand impersonally. As a promise that she'd take care of me in a minute.