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Soon guests began to arrive . Myrtle’s sister Catherine was a thin , fashionable girl of about thirty , with red hair and a face powdered milky white . A pale photographer , Mr McKee , came up from the flat below with his loud wife . Myrtle had changed into an elaborate cream - coloured dress , and with the dress her whole manner had changed too : she laughed loudly , complained about servants , and talked as if a dozen cooks were waiting for her orders . When Catherine heard that I lived next door to Gatsby , she told me that he was said to be a cousin of the German Kaiser . Then she leaned close to me and whispered , “ Neither of them can stand the person they’re married to . If I was them , I’d get a divorce and get married to each other right away . It’s really his wife that’s keeping them apart . She’s a Catholic , and they don’t believe in divorce . ” Daisy was not a Catholic , and I was a little shocked by the lie . Later Myrtle told me how she had first met Tom on a train . “ When I got into a taxi with him , ” she said , “ all I kept thinking about , over and over , was ‘ You can’t live for ever , you can’t live for ever . ’ ” The afternoon turned into evening , and the evening into night . I wanted to go out and walk towards the park through the soft twilight . But each time I tried to leave , some wild argument pulled me back into my chair . I was inside and outside at the same time , both enchanted and disgusted by the endless variety of life . Some time towards midnight Tom and Mrs Wilson stood face to face . They were arguing loudly about whether she had any right to say Daisy’s name . “ Daisy ! Daisy ! Daisy ! ” shouted Mrs Wilson . “ I’ll say it whenever I want to ! Daisy ! Dai … ” With a short , quick movement , Tom broke her nose with his open hand . Then there were bloody towels on the bathroom floor , women’s voices scolding , and a long , broken cry of pain . Mr McKee woke up from his sleep in a chair and walked towards the door , and I took my hat and followed him . Later I was lying half asleep in the cold lower level of Pennsylvania Station , looking at the morning paper and waiting for the four o’clock train . IV . A Party in West Egg There was music from my neighbour’s house through the summer nights . In his blue gardens men and girls came and went like moths among the whispers and the champagne and the stars . At weekends his Rolls - Royce became a bus , which carried parties to and from the city until long after midnight , and on Mondays eight servants worked all day to repair the damage of the night before .
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