check out our:
I called up Daisy half an hour after we found him, called her instinctively and without hesitation. But she and Tom had gone away early that afternoon, and taken baggage with them.
"Left no address?"
"Say when they'd be back?"
"Any idea where they are? How I could reach them?"
"I don't know. Can't say." (9.4-10)
Money can't buy you love, but it can buy you a lot—like the ability to have other people clean up your messes, whether we're talking about toilets or a string of murder/ suicides. (Personally, we'd be satisfied with someone coming to clean up our toilets.)
I decided to call to him. Miss Baker had mentioned him at dinner, and that would do for an introduction. But I didn't call to him, for he gave a sudden intimation that he was content to be alone—he stretched out his arms toward the dark water in a curious way, and, far as I was from him, I could have sworn he was trembling. Involuntarily I glanced seaward—and distinguished nothing except a single green light, minute and far away, that might have been the end of a dock. When I looked once more for Gatsby he had vanished, and I was alone again in the unquiet darkness. (1.152)
Love the one you're with, or love the one you were with? Gatsby reaches forward, but he's really reaching back into the past to a Daisy who doesn't exist anymore. Yeah, this relationship is doomed.
[Jordan's] gray, sun-strained eyes stared straight ahead, but she had deliberately shifted our relations, and for a moment I thought I loved her. But I am slow-thinking and full of interior rules that act as brakes on my desires, and I knew that first I had to get myself definitely out of that tangle back home. I'd been writing letters once a week and signing them: "Love, Nick," and all I could think of was how, when that certain girl played tennis, a faint mustache of perspiration appeared on her upper lip. Nevertheless there was a vague understanding that had to be tactfully broken off before I was free. (3.169)
Nick takes things pretty seriously: he won't even flirt with Jordan before breaking things off with his girl in Chicago. We have serious beef with this, though, because Nick's major problem seems to be that his ladyfriend is, well, real: she sweats. Pro tip: it's a lot better to fall in love with a real woman, sweat and all, than some hard golden statue. Ahem, Jordan.