This story was writing for the FGB auction. Twimom76, the winning bidder of the story, has graciously allowed me to post it here.

This story wouldn't exist in it's current state if it wasn't for the help of many betas and pre-readers who were kind enough to proofread this story for me, so that it should be relatively error free. I owe many thanks to javamomma0921, bookjunkie1975, nowforruin, DreaC – and the always-exceptional Reamhar.

The story is completely written already and I will post it fairly quickly (two updates per week).

This served as inspiration for the story:

"Then wear the gold hat, if that will move her;

If you can bounce high, bounce for her too,

Till she cry "Lover, gold-hatted, high-bouncing lover,

I must have you!"


I don't own Twilight. Or The Great Gatsby for that matter.


New Orleans

May, 1950

I jump onto a streetcar of the St. Charles Avenue line toward home, bouncing the package that this sleazy lawyer handed me on my knees. For a minute, I consider not opening it and tossing the package and envelope I just received into the next garbage bin. I've heard enough for one day, and maybe it's best not to know the rest of the story. I walk through the servant's entrance of our house, avoiding running into anybody who could question my whereabouts this morning. I stalk to my room and rip open the package first. I know what the envelope contains; no need to look at it and so I toss it aside. Inside I find a handwritten letter lying on top of several carefully wrapped items.

Dear Mr. Dubois,

I assume you received this package containing the note you are now reading from Mr. Jenks. I very much hope your meeting with Mr. Jenks went well and you are pleased with the arrangements I made on your behalf. I tried to balance the investments between riskier ventures offering the possibility of a sizable equitable return, and those more prudent choices promising more reasonable gains, but providing long term security.

I am aware that you are probably anxiously sifting through the contents of this parcel in search of an explanation. I regret to disappoint you that I myself am not able to give you the answers you are seeking. I have enclosed the notebooks – diaries, if you will – of your benefactor in the hopes that they may be able to offer you some guidance.


Jasper Whitlock,
April 3, 1950

I unfold the first item out of its' shell of thin, white wrapping paper, and find one of those five cent notebooks I used to write my homework in when I was just in elementary school. I open up the first page. There are no initials and no name indicating who the owner of this worn out book is. The pages are yellowed from time and feel brittle in my hands. I start reading.

Thx for reading & please feel free to review.