Author's Notes: This was written for a friend's 18th birthday and came about after we (big Julie/Jimmy shippers) were lamenting the loss of Jimmy from the show and decided to expand on Julie's 'trip to Europe'. Hope you like.
You don't know what it is about London that brings you an overwhelming sense of freedom.
It's nothing like Newport, the place you have come to call home.
Where everybody knows who you are, what you do and, most importantly, how wealthy you are.
You're the richest woman in Newport.
And it makes you feel sick.
It's not the weather, or the house, or the money that you hate. It's the people.
The people who smile insincerely and ask how the family are. Who laugh at your jokes and if you're going to your yogalates class next week.
They are also the same people who revel in your pain. Who will instantly become your number one enemy if it will allow them to look better, and who will stop at nothing to spread the latest gossip around the neighbourhood.
You're one of them.
To be in your position, you have to be ruthless – something that you've managed to make into an art.
And that's why you're the most powerful woman in Newport.
Only in Newport.
In London, you are not trapped anymore. There isn't the suffocating feeling that usually surrounds you. No mask you have to wear.
Nobody here knows who you are, and if they do, nobody really cares.
Maybe that's why you like London so much.
But you're not there to get away from the big fake smiles.
You're there for an entirely different reason.
There is no need for the designer dresses that you strut around in day in and day out. It is dull, cold and damp, so the dresses have been traded in for a pair of jeans, a low cut white top, a black jacket, and a pair of boots. All expensive, after all, your anonymity does not disguise your glamorous taste and your penchant for everything usually seen in the latest Vogue magazine.
You take off the DG sunglasses after catching your reflection in the hotel lobby. There is no sun outside and who do you really think you are?
Clutching your Kate Spade bag, the hotel doorman quickly summons you a black cab, which you climb inside and try to ignore the musty smell that surrounds it.
"Where are you off to, love?" he asks you in a strong British accent. You tell him the location that's just outside Notting Hill.
"Oh, you're American?" you try not to roll your eyes, especially since your sunglasses are in your bag. "What part are you from?"
"Newport,"
"Eh?" he is clearly not familiar with the name. You sigh inwardly, knowing that if he did not know Newport, he wouldn't know Orange County either.
"California" you clarify, deciding that maybe it would be best to put the sunglasses back on and hope he would get the hint.
However the driver seems to brighten and begins a long spiel about California, Hollywood and LA, though you highly suspect that the information has come from one of those holiday shows that seem to adorn British television screens.
You tune him out as you lean back and close your eyes, listening to the clicking of the meter.
And as you do, every click seems to make your heart race faster as you near your destination.
You have been standing outside the door for a full five minutes.
You don't seem to have the strength nor courage to knock on the door or ring the doorbell.
And you don't know why that is because you're never usually like this.
You ooze confidence and superiority.
In Newport.
You take a deep breath and realise that you haven't spent hours on a plane to turn back now.
So you ball your hand into a tight fist, raise it and knock three times on the door.
Within half a minute, the red door opens and you try and take in the image in front of you.
"You have a red door," is all you can say at first.
"Jules? What are you doing here?" he asks, laughing in disbelief.
"I can't believe you have a red door. What does it look like I'm doing?" you snap. He quickly apologises and lets you in.
The warmth hits you in the face and you can feel your skin tingling.
But you're not sure if that's the central heating or your nerves.
Maybe it's both.
You follow him to the living room, which is surprisingly big, and decorated in the style you'd usually see in an interior decorating magazine.
"Chrome and black leather. Didn't know you had that in you, Jimmy" you say as he helps you with your coat. His warm fingers brush against your skin and you feel a cold sensation run through you.
"I decided to upgrade from the boring blue walls and make it-"
"Better?" he laughs again. That deep throaty laugh that you've missed so much.
"Is that your way of telling me you like it?" he asks. You nod slightly, showing that you like it – but could have done a better job.
"I hired an interior decorator, considering I had the money to."
"You must still have a lot left" you observe, looking at the furnishings and the pieces of art and sculpture artistically placed around the living room.
He shrugs, "yeah, although I spent most of it on the boat, champagne and Ha-" he stops and you both leave it hanging in the air.
Once the awkward moment has passed, he offers you a drink, and you accept. He immediately makes you your favourite drink and you must look surprised by this as he tells you that he hasn't forgotten everything.
And neither have you.
You can still remember his favourite drink.
The way his hair felt when you brushed your fingers through it.
How he'd send you flowers while away on business or if he was working late.
The lazy weekends that would be spent by the pool where he'd teach the girls how to swim, and then pull you into the pool when you least expected it.
And, at Christmas, he would sneak downstairs to put the presents under the tree while you would distract your daughters with tales of Santa Claus and his elves.
Then the disastrous vacation where nothing seemed to go right. Marissa made you late for the airport, Caitlin threw up twice on the plane, and you almost lost your luggage.
To top it all off, Jimmy had forgotten to put gas in the car, so you all had to walk two miles in the rain to get to your hotel.
The funniest thing is, that was the best vacation you've ever had.
You wonder how it is that everything's changed.
You are married to the man who owns Newport, Jimmy lives on the other side of the world, Marissa doesn't even talk to you, and Caitlin is in a boarding school out of the state.
"So what are you really doing here, Julie?" he asks you, snapping you out of your thoughts.
"I'm doing research for my new magazine, Newport Living," you tell him. He looks at you, his eyes narrowing as if he can see through you.
Which you know he does.
"In London?" he questions. You nod, knowing full well that it is a poor excuse, one Marissa also questioned.
You're so detached from your new husband, that he merely nodded and allowed you to use the black card to make the arrangements.
You offer a tight smile as you peer into your near-empty drink.
"What have you been doing, Jimmy?" you ask in an attempt to turn the tables. You want to show him who has the power.
He hesitates before answering, "I've been looking at some jobs around London; financial advisor and the like. Other than that, just settling in" he tells you.
You are a little disappointed.
You wanted him to tell you that there was nothing here for him. That he made a mistake by leaving Newport and wants nothing more than to be with you.
But you know that it will never happen.
After all, he left Newport because of you.
"How are the girls?" he asks, brightening up at the subject of his… your children.
"Marissa is… avoiding me and Caitlin is still at the boarding school," you tell him.
"What happened with Marissa?" he asks, concerned about his eldest daughter.
"DJ left"
You know he knows why and can see him shake his head.
"I'm not even going to ask. How is everyone else?"
By that, he means Kirsten.
"How am I supposed to know?" you snap, touchy at the subject of his ex-girlfriend.
"Jules…" he begins.
He's the only one who you let call you that. Otherwise it's Julie, Ju-Ju or Mrs Cooper-Nichols.
You silently groan at the ridiculously long name.
At first, it seemed like the logical thing to do. Hyphenated surnames always appealed to you for some insane reason.
In hindsight, you realise that since you were divorced, you really should have been Mrs Nichols. But the Cooper remained.
Because you still love him.
You hadn't realised it until a couple of months ago when you'd had that feeling in the pit of your stomach again.
The one you had when you first met him.
The one that almost made you throw up on your first date when he leant in to kiss you.
The same one you had every single day of your marriage.
The one you hoped had gone away when you married Caleb.
You still don't know why you married him.
Because you wanted to punish him.
Make him feel the hurt and ridicule you did when you found out he'd stolen and lied to you.
You know everyone knows you married Caleb for his money.
Even you knew it had nothing to do with love.
But everyone is wrong when they think you married Jimmy for his money.
Or because you were pregnant with Marissa.
You married Jimmy because you were in love with him.
And you never seemed to stop loving him.
You know you've made a mistake by abandoning him, because now, he's the 'other man'.
And even if it's not adultery in your heart, to everybody else, it is.
And Julie Cooper-Nichols can't afford that.
You make idle chit-chat for another hour or so before you look at your watch and feign impatience.
"Somewhere you need to be?" he asks. You nod. "Then I'd better let you go"
You both rise from your seats at the same time and he helps you put on your coat.
The tingling sensation returning as his hand brushes against your skin again.
You look at each other at the front door and laugh quietly.
"Thank you for stopping by," he tells you, "it's nice to see you again"
"You too" you tell him.
"How long are you in town for?"
"A few days"
"Um… well, if you have the time, I'd love to show you around. You probably already know the best places to stop but if you want to see the sights; Big Ben, Buckingham Palace, The Millenium Wheel – maybe the Saachi museum…" he trails off.
"I'll see if I have time" you reply, knowing that your schedule is empty anyway, but you have to appear busy.
He nods and you say goodbye with a small kiss on his cheek.
You can feel his eyes on you as you walk away and around the corner from where you can call a cab.
Then you'll stay in your hotel room for a few hours before calling him and telling him that you have some free time tomorrow afternoon, if he wants to make good on his offer.
He'll agree, because you know nobody can turn you down.
And then after a few days of shopping, you'll leave and go back home.
When Caleb asks if you had a good time, you'll smile and nod, and tell him the big lie.
It's nice to be back in Newport.
Fin.