Title: Old Man
Author: self proclaimed genius
Rating: PG-13 for language
Disclaimer: Don't own Gilmore Girls. The title comes from a Neil Young song.
Summary: "If his memory served him correctly, he was just a year and a half off his father's pace for wives. If he could marry and divorce the next one within a year, then he'd have caught up."
He sat in the brown leather chair in his study, nursing a glass of whiskey as he listened to her make a production about gathering her things. He didn't know whom it was for though. The wait staff had gone home hours before, and there were no children in the house. Another failed relationship. His third marriage, or third divorce, as he was now looking at it. He was accumulating quite of collection of them, even for someone of society. He was a 39-year-old man, slightly grey, but overall not unattractive. Especially considering the size of his bank account. He wasn't even the dreaded workaholic who cared more about making the next million than about being home with his wife. Then again, after rising to CEO of the company at the tender age of 25 after his father's fatal heart attack, he didn't really have to look far to find someone to take care of the hard stuff.
And wouldn't Daddy be proud. If his memory served him correctly, he was just a year and a half off his father's pace for wives. If he could marry and divorce the next one within a year, then he'd have caught up.
He heard something shatter on the floor above and again wondered why she was making such a big to do about packing. He realized that maybe her age of just 22 carried with it the naiveté that maybe he would try to stop her or at least call her a bitch for cheating on him, in his own house no less. In all honesty he couldn't blame her. Since she wasn't getting it from him, he fully expected her to find other outlets. He had hoped she would be more discreet about it, but he was not in the least bit surprised.
He mentally started preparing the list of things he had to do in the morning. The lawyers would have to be called, although he had a prenup that had pissed of his first two exes once they realized just how airtight it was. He'd also have to have someone do damage control to make sure page six didn't have too much of a field day with this one. He also needed to call Whitney to tell her that he couldn't take Jeffery after all. That would have to be accompanied by some sort of gift couriered over for his son, but his secretary could sort out those details. She could also go about getting him out of whatever social obligations he was committed to for the next few weeks.
There was a final clunk upstairs, accompanied by the hollow sound of her footsteps on the wooden staircase. He mentally hoped her heels didn't scratch the refinish he had just had done to the 80-year-old staircase in his ancestral home, which had been inhabited by his family for the last four generations. The sound stopped for a minute, followed by the sigh and a scuffling of feet, which again made him cringe for the floors. The hollow sound picked up, though slower, but steadily gaining louder until it stopped. He didn't turn to look at her. There was really no point in facing her. If she wanted to address him, it wouldn't matter if he were facing her. She was like that. He braced himself for her to yell.
"Everyone was right, you know."
That was not exactly the opening he expected. He decided to humor her and speak for the first time since he caught her in bed with her lover hours before. "Right about what?"
"You. Us. Everyone said it could never work. You're practically old enough to be my father. I didn't even register their arguments. All you need is love and all that, right? And I know it's my own fault screwing this up. I was the cheater after all. I don't even know what I was trying to accomplish by it. I obviously wanted you to catch us. I suppose I expected you to at least get angry. Yell, scream. At least put up some sort of a fight for our marriage. For Christ's sake, all you did was ask me to change the sheets after we were done." By now she had come around the chair to face him and looked at him expectantly for a reply.
"I'm…sorry?"
"I wasn't looking for an apology. I just came in here to say goodbye. And to wish you some sort of semblance to happiness. Goodbye Colin."
She returned the way she came, the shoes clopping on the floor once more. The door opened with what he thought was her departure until he heard the whispers of a conversation echo through the foyer. It opened again as he again heard footsteps approach the open door of his study, this time carrying a distinct air about them that he recognized within moments.
"What perfect timing Stephanie."
"Well it was the least I could do when I heard your marriage was on the brink. I figured you would need someone so you're not drinking alone while you pretend to drown your nonexistent sorrows." She crossed the room to the leather couch adjacent to him.
"Much appreciated. Now I have someone to share my 400 dollar bottle of whiskey with."
"Is that the cheap stuff you save for when your wife is leaving you?"
"Yes. I keep it hidden in the cabinet behind to expensive stuff so my friends won't make fun of me. By the way, how exactly did you come to hear of my impending divorce so soon after the fact?"
"Oh, she didn't tell you? She called Logan to come over and make sure you weren't alone after she left. Apparently she didn't want you doing something to yourself."
Colin snorted at the thought. "So she thought I would be so heart broken after her leaving. It seems they get dumber as time goes on. But if she called Logan, then what are you doing here?"
"Logan was a 'bit tied' up I think was his phrasing, so he called me to cover. What will you tell the press about this one?"
"The truth. She was cheating."
"Did you care?"
"No. Honestly I don't see what the big deal was. She could've nailed whoever she wanted as long it was at least a little discreet. I swear, if I could get away with it I would marry the old cynical women who've been married six times. At least then they wouldn't come into the whole thing looking for so much. Besides, her taste was atrocious. At least now I can take down these awful curtains. I should start having them interview with a decorator before I propose. And an organizer, come to think of it. What an utter slob."
"Yes they are rather…interesting," she replied, gesturing to the curtains. "And as much as I disliked this last one especially, I can't help but feel at least a little sympathy."
"Well you can't blame them for falling for me without knowing what they're getting into I suppose. I am gorgeous after all."
"Remember when we dated?" she changed subjects. "When was it, almost twenty years ago?"
"Oh God, don't remind me of how old we are. And yes, of course I remember. I had actually planned to marry you until you broke up with me right before graduation."
"I actually knew about it. Logan let it slip to me that you had gotten the family ring. I decided that I didn't want to live my entire life in the arrangement our relationship had become. I thought I would hold out real love…little did I know love was waiting around the corner to bite me in the ass."
"I'm really sorry I couldn't give you what you needed."
"Its not your fault. You were willing to take it all the way. I just couldn't bare the thought of marrying you without seeing what else was out there. Looking back now, I probably made the wrong choice. Our arrangement would have at least been comfortable and friendly, as opposed to the bitter men I've dealt with since then. I guess I just thought breaking up with you might force you go out and find love."
"And for a while I considered it. Fucking this life, and going off on my own. But after my father died…"
"I know. You had a duty to your family and to the business." The both sat in silence for a moment.
"So how 'bout it?" He suddenly broke through.
"How about what?"
"You said you should have chosen the life with me instead of what you did chose. Here's your chance for redemption."
"Are you proposing to me? You know you're still married, right?"
"Ah, but within a few hours the papers will be signed. I think my lawyers have started preparing the divorce along with the prenup. And don't think of it as a proposal. Think of it as a convenient arrangement between old friends."
"How romantic." She stood up and walked to look out the window. "You know I adore you Colin, I really do. I'd just never be able to consciously marry a gay man."
There was a long silence during which he poured himself another glass of whiskey and rose from his chair to walk around the room.
"So there it is. Out on the table."
"I'm right though, aren't I?" His silence answered her question. "You've done a good job hiding it though. I probably would've never known for sure if I hadn't seen you leave Jeremy Scott's apartment at 3am during senior year."
"That was the only time I considered cheating on you. I didn't actually do it, in case you were wondering."
"I wish you had. Maybe then you wouldn't be sitting here as a 39-year-old man still trying to fool himself about it."
"Well, I guess the jig is up then. I suppose it is about time for me to come out with it. How do you think everyone will react?"
"Your friends will be relieved that you finally gave up on the whole act. The papers will make a big deal about it until they realize that in this day and age no one gives a shit. And instead of being a notorious womanizer, you'll just be another rich fag. Believe me, they're a dime a dozen. I only wonder what type of gay you'll be."
"What type?"
"Of course," she began. "There are several ways to go about being gay. You can be the body obsessed gay, but then you'd have to start working out religiously and frankly, I don't like the thought of you in spandex."
"You've been thinking about me in spandex?"
She ignored him and continued, "then there's the completely flamboyant flamer. Listen to Cher, and Britney, and Madonna non-stop, become a hair dresser, and move to South Beach."
"Pass."
"I guess you'll just be a boring old high society gay then. You're lucky though. Most society gays either get left out of the wills or leave on there own accord. There's hardly any—at least not in our circles. You'll get to define the lifestyle."
"How lucky of me. They'll think we all sit alone late at night, drinking, wearing clothes that our ex wives purchased for us, and hanging out with our college girlfriends."
"And believe me, they're all jealous of you."
They sat in silence for a few minutes before he spoke. "I guess I should start watching old Will and Grace reruns for tips on how to be gay."
"Only if you promise me you will not become anything like Jack. And here's a tip from me on how to be gay. Get rid of every sweater vest you own."
