Nick sits beside Jordan as she speeds him back home from a party. She pulls over by the kerb when he yells in alarm at her recklessness.

Nick: You're a rotten driver. Either learn to be more careful, or don't drive at all.

Jordan: I am careful.

Nick: No, you're not.

Jordan: Alright, I'm not careful. But at least everyone else is.

Nick: What's that got to do with it?

Jordan: It takes two people to start an accident. A careful person would just stay out of my way.

Nick: But what if you met someone just as careless as yourself? What would you do then?

Jordan: Please, as if that would ever happen...

Nick: No, you don't understand. How about we say that you happen to be speeding along like you normally do, and someone runs in front of you without warning. Would you have time to stop?

Jordan: You're cute when you worry like that, but relax, no one would be crazy enough to cross the road without looking both ways.

The following morning at nine, Nick is interrupted from his work by the sound of an engine revving outside. He hurries outside to see a shiny, cream-colored car driving up to his front door. The car comes to a stop and none other than Mr. Gatsby steps out of it.

Gatsby: Good morning, old sport. I thought I'd invite you to lunch, and you could sit next to me while we ride to New York.

Nick: Sounds good to me. That's a pretty nice car you have there.

Gatsby: I'm glad you like it. Shall we hop in now, old sport?

Nick: Sure.

Gatsby turns to look at Nick with a rare expression of uncertainty, as they pass through West Egg.

Gatsby: Look, old sport, I'd like to know just what you think of me. Are you wondering why I, a complete stranger, am so eager to build a business relationship with you?

Nick: Uh...because you've taken a liking to me?

Gatsby: I guess I should tell you something about my life first. People are always spreading rumors about who I am, but I'm here to tell you the truth. I'm the son of two wealthy Midwest folk who are both dead now, God bless their souls. I grew up here in America, but I was educated at Oxford, just like my ancestors before me. Think of it as a family tradition.

Nick: Interesting. What part of the Midwest are you from?

Gatsby: San Francisco. When my parents died, I naturally inherited all of their money and became filthy rich, simple as that. I traveled around Europe for a few years after that, until the War began, and I was enlisted. I tried so hard to die but it turned out fate was against it, for I ended up saving a whole infantry and was promoted to a major.

Gatsby reaches into his pocket and produces a shiny medal. He hands it to Nick, as if eager to prove that his story is true.

Nick: Major Jay Gatsby, For Valour Extraordinary.

Gatsby: Oh, and here's something else I always carry. A souvenir from my Oxford days, in case anyone ever doubts that I actually went there.

Gatsby hands a photograph to Nick, who soon recognizes a younger Gatsby among the men in blazers.

Gatsby: Convinced yet, old sport?

Nick: I sure am. If this isn't real, then I don't know what is.

Gatsby: Well, I have a big request to ask of you, old sport. You'll hear about it this afternoon.

Nick: At lunch?

Gatsby: No, this afternoon, when you take Miss Baker out for tea.

Nick: How do you know I have plans with her? Do you two have a secret relationship or something?

Gatsby: No, old sport. Don't you remember when I requested to speak with her in private? It's about that.

Nick: Oh, right. How could I have forgotten to ask her about what she found out?

Gatsby: Fret not, old sport. You'll have a chance to do that when you meet her in the afternoon.

A police officer rides by on his motorcycle and looks disapprovingly at Gatsby. Gatsby doesn't seem bothered by the law enforcer's presence and simply produces a card from his wallet.

Policeman: I'm awfully sorry, Mr. Gatsby. I should have known that it was you. I promise I won't make the same mistake next time.

Nick: How did you do that?

Gatsby: Ever since I did the commissioner a favor once, he's sent me a Christmas card each year and made sure all of his officers treat me with leniency. Not a bad deal, right, old sport?

Nick: Not bad at all. If only I was that privileged...

As they cross the Queensboro Bridge, Nick notices such unusual things as a fancy hearse, a group of Southern Europeans, and black people partying in a limousine being driven by a white chauffeur. At noon, he and Gatsby arrive at the cellar on Forty-second street where they meet Meyer Wolfsheim.

Gatsby: Nick, this is my friend Mr. Wolfsheim. He's an important friend of mine and I do a lot of business with him.

Nick: Pleased to meet you, Mr. Wolfsheim.

Gatsby: Old sport, I'm afraid I might have made you a little upset this morning in the car. I assure you that there is nothing going on between Miss Baker and me.

Nick: That's not it. I just don't know why you're using her when you could simply tell me the secret yourself.

Gatsby: It's nothing to worry about. Miss Baker is a good sportswoman who would never do anything if it wasn't right or fair.

Nick: You don't know her, do you?

Gatsby checks his watch and suddenly becomes tense. He hurries from the room and leaves Nick alone with Meyer Wolfsheim.

Meyer Wolfsheim: Fine fellow, isn't he? Handsome and a gentleman, a rare combination.

Nick: Rare, indeed...

Meyer Wolfsheim: I've known him for several years, since the end of the War. I could tell he was special the moment I first laid eyes on him. He's definitely the kind of man you'd take home to meet your mother and sister.

Nick: That's good to hear.

Meyer Wolfsheim: He's very careful around women and he would never run off with a friend's wife. Would you like to know about my cufflinks? They're made of actual human teeth.

Nick: No, I don't want to know the details. I'm just here for Mr. Gatsby.

Meyer Wolfsheim: Well, forgive me for imposing myself on you. I shan't bother you any longer.

Meyer Wolfsheim leaves the room just as Gatsby returns from the telephone. Nick looks relieved to be back in the latter's presence.

Nick: Who is he exactly?

Gatsby: Wolfsheim? He's a gambler. He fixed the 1919 World Series, a feat to which I still owe him money for till this day.

Nick: How did he do it?

Gatsby: I don't know either, old sport. He's just a smart man.

After offering to pay for the meal, Nick encounters Tom while waiting for his change to be returned.

Tom: Where have you been?! Daisy's upset because you haven't called at all this past month.

Nick: I can explain. I've been doing business with a Mr. Gatsby, which has really consumed my time...

Tom: It's no big deal, I was just playing! Anyway, how'd you come up this far to have lunch?

Nick: Well, Mr. Gatsby invited me. He was with me just a minute ago, but now he's...

Nick looks behind him to find that Gatsby has disappeared. He turns back to Tom sheepishly and tries his best to explain the situation away while growing frustrated again.