log: gatsby, bruce/selina
She wasn't actually expecting him to show up.
Her patron was gone for the night, and she was considering going out. It was the kind of consideration that wouldn't amount to anything, but she liked pretending she might follow through. There would be music at the Cotton Club still; it was early enough. There was probably a party in West Egg. Or, as had been her preference lately, she was sure she could find a rooftop that felt stone and old and home. So, she was considering, a tumbler of very prohibited gin between her fingers as she looked out the balcony window.
She was dressed in yellow, a gift from the man who had just left. The color wasn't one she normally chose, no association with some rich jewel she could possibly steal. But she liked the fashions in the 1920s, and the silk felt soft against her skin. This place? It made her feel like she could be comfortable among Gotham's very wealthiest members of society. It was a lie, of course. But the people here? They couldn't find her tells, not like those people could.
She was lost in musings when the knock to the door came, and she crossed the white-on-black apartment. The apartment was in a building made of taboo, a place on Park Avenue, and married women crossed the street before walking in front of it, as if the sin of adultery might contaminate them without sufficient distance. The halls were riddled with moans and the type of bright laughter that wasn't associated with wives.
Bessie Smith played on the phonograph, and the apartment smelled of smoke and sex, and Selina opened the door not really expecting him to be on the other side.
"Someone decided to dress down." As if she'd fully expected him to come. Of course. She moved aside, and she motioned into the apartment with her uninjured arm.