A.N.: Thank you to Dark-n-Twisty for the review, and I appreciate people adding this story to their favourites, but please review. Let me know why you like this story!
The Lorelai Paradox
02
Thirty dollars, a list of new phone-numbers and a camera full of memories was what Lydia woke up with the next morning; a pint and a half of Guinness, slowly drunk, had gotten her through the night while the boys got slowly more and more drunk, exchanging summer stories, while Lydia had danced with the girls and flirted with Finn when he had stumbled back to the Pub with his shirt on inside-out, at peace but desiring to rehydrate. It had taken the strength of two men, one woman and a bartender to stop him playing Darts in his inebriation.
From laughing her way home, dropped off by Juliet and Rosemarie on their way back to their shared off-campus apartment, to waking up early and walking into a common-room draped in funereal shades and stacks of Professor Fleming's last novel, the sunny atmosphere issuing through the windows onto the courtyard fell slightly flat as Paris bustled around the common-room, stricken and upset. After uploading the photographs from the previous night onto Facebook—the only reason she used it, to share pictures—and tagging the boys she had just recently added as Friends, she showered and dressed, unpacked another good chunk of her belongings, and, used to avoiding Paris when she got into her multitude of moods, Lydia picked up her purse and met Juliet and Rosemarie for coffee and shopping.
The benefit of being one of the event-planners for the big Life and Death Brigade blowouts—those that didn't include sky-diving or white-water rapids—was that they had first dibs on costume ideas, and, weeks before the event, Lydia had learned to put together her outfit with vintage pieces or customised salvage finds, or just making things up herself. She was the go-to guru on campus for alterations, with her little sewing-machine, the big present from Lorelai for her twelfth birthday when she had first shown an interest in helping her mother with the costumes for school and town productions.
"Okay, why do you not look at all like you're sharing this monster hangover?" Rosemarie asked, behind her huge sunglasses.
"I had a pint and a half," Lydia smirked. "You know I can make my drinks last."
"Smart," Juliet sighed.
"Okay, so can we please do five minutes on the boys?" Rosemarie asked, going through a rack of pretty vintage tops.
"Where to begin?" Lydia chuckled softly, shooting Rosemarie a look.
"They are looking really good this year," Juliet smiled.
"They say absence makes the heart grow fonder," Lydia said thoughtfully.
"Yeah. Sex does that also," Rosemarie added, making Lydia laugh.
"Finn was totally vibing on you," she smirked.
"Oh. That," Rosemarie sighed, rolling her eyes. "We had a thing when I was a freshman. Nothing came of it; Finn just likes to flirt."
"Plus, she likes the attention," Juliet smirked.
"I'm sorry, but how to you sink a million-dollar yacht?" Lydia blurted, going through a rack of dresses.
"I have no idea," Rosemarie laughed.
"It's always best not to underestimate those boys," Juliet said, nodding. "So, you met them before?"
"Logan was always invited to my grandparents' Christmas party," Lydia said. "It was the only draw. Logan, and the apple-tarts. And I met up with them by chance in Santorini at the end of July."
"End of July," Rosemarie frowned thoughtfully. "That would've been around Finn's birthday, right?"
"Yep. Finn's birthday-week. Logan conned my grandmother into letting me go and spend a few days with them. I think he intended for me to be Finn's birthday-present," Lydia smirked.
"I'll bet Finn would have loved that," Rosemarie smirked.
"So how was it?" Juliet smiled. "Finn's birthday-week?"
"Eventful," Lydia laughed, examining the array of vintage purses and clutches. "Sun-burn, Ouzo, skinny-dipping, incarceration… Snuggling."
"You and Finn?"
"Finn and Colin," Lydia smirked. "Okay, and me and Finn, too, but the photos of Finn and Colin are far more hilarious."
"You'll give us copies?" Rosemarie grinned.
"Absolutely," Lydia beamed.
"So?" Rosemarie smiled, and Juliet grinned as she tiptoed over to her best-friend. Lydia glanced from face to face, wary over their expressions.
"What?"
"So, did anything happen?" Juliet grinned excitedly. Lydia shivered; she knew when the girls got to this state, there was no stopping the inquisition.
"No, nothing happened in Santorini," she blushed, smiling, looking over a mini carved-wood tote that she had instantly fallen in love with.
"Nothing? Knowing what we do about those boys—"
"And you—"
"Hey!"
"You expect us to believe nothing happened?"
"Just some…topless seafood feasts…making out while we went skinny-dipping… There might've been a marriage-proposal," Lydia said, cheeks warming as she giggled softly; Rosemarie and Juliet looked like they were about to explode from excitement. "Ask."
"Did you—?"
"No, I didn't sleep with Finn," Lydia said, rolling her eyes, smiling.
"He seemed to like you," Juliet said, smiling prettily.
"Well, he's seen me naked," Lydia shrugged, and Rosemarie laughed.
"I find that's the best pick-up line," she smirked. "So, do you want to draft him?"
"Who?"
"Finn!"
"Oh," Lydia blinked, glancing up from the array of vintage bracelets and watches.
"Because Logan will be snapped up by whoever gets first-choice," Juliet nodded.
"We should start rigging the draft-order now," Rosemarie frowned.
"Colin, I'm not sure about; he and Robert are always on a par," Juliet said. "So unless you want Robert again…"
"I don't know," Lydia said thoughtfully. "Even before the draft, we enjoyed spending time together, and if he wants to be drafted by someone else, I won't stop her—but I do enjoy planning to take over the world during our steak-dinner nights. And if he's drafted by someone else, I might not be able to set him up on more dates."
"Depends who gets him," Juliet said.
"If Tinsley or Chantal nab him, I'm sure he'll be absolutely fine not having you set him up with other girls," Rosemarie smirked.
"True," Lydia scoffed. "So, have you girls been on the hunt?"
"For?"
"The new generation?" Lydia smiled.
"Slim pickings this year," Juliet sighed.
"We'll dominate," Rosemarie smiled happily. "So, do you want Finn?"
"And we're back," Lydia chuckled softly, as Juliet zoomed to a beaded clutch. She glanced over at Rosemarie. "Do you want Finn?" Juliet grinned at her as Rosemarie spluttered indignantly.
"No!"
"Well, you keep asking me whether I want Finn, I can only come to the conclusion that you're harping on the same subject because you're warm for Finn's form," Lydia said, and Juliet giggled as she handed Lydia a floaty periwinkle top to try on.
"I am not warm for Finn's form!" Rosemarie gasped, looking horrified.
"Deny, deny, deny, those flushed cheeks will always tell the truth," Juliet smirked.
"Come on! You know I haven't felt anything for Finn since the hangover the first week we were here," Rosemarie protested.
"It lasted three days," Juliet grimaced, and Lydia laughed as she tried on the top in the back changing-closet.
"I've been there," she chuckled, pushing the curtain aside to let Juliet look, as Juliet appeared in a floral-hemmed Sixties shift-dress. "Pretty!"
"God, I wish I had your eyes!" Juliet grinned. "That top really makes them pop."
"Like a punch in the face," Lydia grinned. "I'm getting it. You?"
"Not sure," Juliet said thoughtfully, crinkling her forehead sweetly. "I might come back for it if I still want it."
"Hey, we've been thinking, we should do the Marie Antoinette meadow party soon," Rosemarie called gently. "We found the most amazing costume-seamstress in Manhattan, we showed her some screen-caps from the movie, got us…how many dresses did she make up for us?"
"Four," Juliet said. "We can give the extra to Stephanie."
"You had someone make eighteenth-century muslin gowns?" Lydia chuckled, smiling.
"Yours is so gorgeous; the sash is this really pretty watered silk, it's like…the colour of cornflowers," Juliet beamed.
"And we figured out a way to do our hair," Rosemarie called.
"I was going through my old Wildfox look-books; totally found one with Marie Antoinette hair and makeup," Juliet grinned. "And we found a great way to keep the invitations incognito when we deliver them around the dorms."
"Oh?"
"Recycled-card chocolate boxes," Juliet said. "We found a vendor. We can stamp them with the gorilla so people know who they're from; inside, we can put a printed invitation and a little keepsake to hint at the theme."
"How're you gonna get the guys to wear breeches and wigs?" Lydia asked, smiling, as she carried the periwinkle top and carved wood clutch out of the changing-area.
"We have our methods," Rosemarie smirked.
"They all involve alcohol," Juliet grinned.
"Sly," Lydia laughed.
"I wouldn't worry too much about getting Finn to play along," Juliet chuckled. "He's never met a theme he hasn't loved."
"The best was the Cowboys-and-Indians party," Rosemarie laughed.
"Let me guess. Finn showed up wearing a Stetson and nothing else," Lydia smirked.
"You already have him pegged!" Rosemarie laughed. Lydia shrugged, smiling; she didn't think Finn took much getting to know, he played everything pretty much out in the open. The girls paid for their purchases, picking up fresh iced coffees as they meandered back towards campus, chatting and planning.
"What if we do a double-whammy; a fortnight dedicated to Drafting, with the first week overlapping with initiation week?" Lydia suggested, while Rosemarie and Juliet argued good-naturedly over scheduling. "After initiation, the Freshman girls can have their own draft week with the Freshman guys, that way the tradition will stick."
"We've got all the quotes and plans ready to put in place for any of the themes," Juliet said thoughtfully, smiling at Lydia (a master planner, taking after Lorelai, who was known for her blowouts). "We could bring in the recruits on a really high note, the meadow casino; and we'll have the stat-books ready for this weekend."
"Marie-Antoinette party this weekend?" Rosemarie beamed. "We'll have to get the word out."
"Easy, I've got everyone's contacts," Juliet said, indicating her iPhone.
"Folding fans for the girls; tri-corn hats for the boys," Rosemarie said. "We can ship them overnight. I am totally wearing an ostrich-plume in my hair. It's the one and only chance I can do it and get away with it."
"Isn't that a fire-hazard, with all the candles?" Lydia asked, reminded of the scare during their murder-mystery house-party.
"Rats," Rosemarie sighed.
"You could wear little feathers," Lydia suggested.
"Little feathers, low necklines and diamonds," Juliet beamed. "I like it."
"What about stockings?" Rosemarie grinned.
"Ribbon garters; love them," Lydia laughed. "And heels."
"We should do a major shoe session," Juliet beamed, as Lydia turned her thoughts to customising a pair of heels a la the custom Manolo Blahnik heels in Marie Antoinette.
"We have to get together to sort out the draft order," Rosemarie said, "and put dibs on our first choices."
"I love seniority," Lydia sighed, smiling.
"Start thinking about who you want," Juliet smirked. "I do not want to see two fine, educated, gorgeous girls like you devolve into a catfight over Finn."
Possessed of a new purse, top, studded t-bar flats, a bag of goodies from Sephora, a fuchsia 'Cherry Coke, Enjoy the Taste of the 80s' t-shirt and two books, Lydia returned to her dorm in high spirits, spirits not even Paris' funereal attitude could break as she organised her CDs, shoes, stacks of books and tucked her bags in the bottom of her closet with several plastic tubs filled with books. She had already set up her little-but-powerful stereo and had Sparks playing as she got her posters up on her wall where she wanted them, eyeing up the walls to put nails up for her corkboard, shadowboxes and photo-frames, as well as her collages.
Tugging her Lorelai'd work helmet on (the pink helmet had a faux-fur trim, pompoms, a nail-polish mural and rhinestones), she grabbed her hammer, the mini toolkit Luke had put together for her, and frowned at the contents of her suitcase, the one she kept her costumes in, including the made-over work-helmet. Inside was her handmade Snow White dress, cape and bow; cavewoman bikini a la Loana the Fair One; Wonder Woman; 1940s nurse; her toga and handmade gold chiffon laurels; Maid Marion by way of Sibylla from Kingdom of Heaven; a top-hat-wearing Alice extra from Wits End in Underland; kitty-kat ears and tail; an array of pieces for Rocky Horror, a tiara, bumblebee wings, a halo, a bowler-hat, a Tinkerbelle skirt and several pairs of gloves. But there were things missing, one very conspicuous.
She was missing her candy-striper outfit—remnant of her charity volunteer days—her French maid's costume (for Rocky Horror), and her Life and Death Brigade gorilla mask. She was sure she had packed it; it might be in amongst Rory's stuff.
"Paris?" she shouted, flinging her door open, bounding out of her bedroom into the common-area, where Paris was straightening up piles of Professor Fleming's latest novel pedantically. "Is Rory here?"
"She just left to put up some posters," Paris said, dark eyes scanning the room: Lydia's bedroom-door was opposite Rory's, across the suite and as far-removed from Paris' room as possible; she had the smallest room, but the sunniest, and had the prettiest view out into the courtyard, with a flowerbed beneath and shade from a young tree. Approaching the door, Lydia could actually hear Rory's voice, and another, less-familiar but still memorable, saying, "Sorry, it's just…you're putting a poster of him up in your hallway, you can see where I get the impression he was a little bit more than a teacher."
"Well, he was more than a teacher," Rory replied tersely. "He was a great writer and an inspiration, and many other things that you couldn't possibly understand."
"You don't like me," the male voice said wonderingly. "You don't know me, but you don't like me."
"I know you," Rory said tersely. The second, male voice registered, and, realising who it was, Lydia whipped the door open.
"Rory!" she called, peering around, and saw Rory, flush-faced and irritated, frowning at Logan Huntzburger. "I'm glad you didn't run off. Even over Sparks, your girlish tones hit me like the lash of a riding-crop."
"Lydia!" Logan smiled, surprised, when he glanced over his shoulder. Ever his wingmen, Colin and Finn turned to stare at her, Finn's face inexplicably lighting up, lowering the Post It pad and pen he had been scribbling with.
"Hello," Lydia smiled, winking. "Colin, hi."
"Lydia, darling, you're the only one who can help me," Finn said, his expression earnest and enchantingly sweet, his pretty eyes glowing warmly.
Lydia grimaced. "How bad is the rash?" Colin chuckled.
"Lydi, why do you have that?" Rory asked, eyeing the hammer warily.
"Picture-hanging," Lydia smiled, raising the hammer. "I just need to find my tool-belt. With you in a Stetson and lasso, you can be the cowboy—ah, volunteers!" she beamed at the boys. "You can be the last three members of the Village People. We can take our show on the road, college campus to college campus, performing for pie and tequila."
"Lydia," Rory sighed, still pink-cheeked.
"Okay, Rory, you can be the cop," Lydia said, raising her hand defensively.
"Lydia, you are not doing construction-work in here," Rory said beseechingly.
"Why not? Bob Vila's my bitch," Lydia said, blinking.
"Do I have to remind you about the Rebuilding Together incident?" Rory asked; Lydia frowned, trying to remember what went wrong the day she had helped Rory build a house. "You threw a hammer at someone!"
"Jump back!" Lydia gasped indignantly. "I did no such thing! There was no Seven Brides for Seven Brothers brawl-in-the-barn moment! It slipped from my hand, and he wasn't wearing a helmet."
"Darwin's theory," Colin remarked.
"The meek get pinched," Finn grinned. "Only the bold survive."
"That's a hammer?" Colin frowned, perplexed, at the hammer Lydia was still waving around. Lydia blinked, glanced at the hammer, and looked back up at Colin.
"Yes."
"It has gold sequins, pink pompoms and feathers," Colin smirked. Lydia blinked.
"You're forgetting the gold swirly pipe-cleaner," she said, waving the hammer in front of his face. "My mother made it. Elegant and understated. One time, Mom made little outfits for Rory's liquid-paper bottles. A clown, a cowboy…a newscaster." She glanced from Finn to Colin and back. "She's not nuts, she just sounds it."
"It's the Lorelai effect," Logan smiled, amused, at the hammer, and the hard-hat. "Take something ugly and make it pretty."
"You remember!" Lydia laughed.
"Your mother's unforgettable for many reasons. She used to sneak me gummy-bears during my mother's no-sugar phase," Logan shrugged, hands in his pockets.
"Your mother had a lot of phases. You asked Lorelai to adopt you, very Matilda to her Miss Honey," Lydia smiled.
"Except my father's Miss Trunchbull. By the way, I'm still hoping we can catch up on those lost childhood memories," Logan said, smirking in amusement. "Bathing together, for example."
"You mean besides Christmas '93?" Lydia asked. Logan's eyes burst wide. "And my tenth birthday."
"I'd been repressing that," Logan gasped, looking horrified. Lydia laughed.
"I've been searching for the pictures," she grinned mischievously.
"I will be buying those off you for a very high price," Logan chuckled. "Do you still accept Mallomars and nail-polish as currency?"
"Throw in some Louboutins, Van Cleef & Arpels, a Kelly bag, the weight of Rory's private library in bouillon and George Clooney with the Nespresso machine he advertises, you've got a deal," Lydia said, smirking playfully.
"Here I was hoping a bag of Sour Patch Watermelons could placate you," Logan smiled.
"Well, I'm all grown-up now," Lydia chuckled at the irony. "Couple packs of Bazooka and a bottle of Bombay Sapphire, now that's a different story…"
"You know, the last bag of Sour Patch candy your mom slipped me lasted a year," Logan grinned softly.
"Ew!" Lydia grimaced. She eyed pink-cheeked Rory. "I hope you're not being gross to my sister."
"Your…" Logan glanced at Rory; in an identical movement, Colin and Finn turned to stare at Rory too.
"My twin-sister," Lydia said, smiling at her sister. "You might not remember her; she was quiet like a mouse, sat in the corner reading Nabokov and Tolstoy. This is Logan Huntzburger."
"Your sister doesn't like me," Logan whispered conspiratorially.
"You were being gross to her," Lydia scowled, approaching Logan with her hammer raised.
"Put that hammer down!" Logan laughed. "We were not being gross to her."
"Hey, why don't you come in?" Lydia asked.
"Lydi, I need you," Finn pouted, eyes widening.
"Oh. She's upstairs. Room G03. Pay close attention to the numbers on her white-erase board," Lydia said, and Finn dashed off. Rory's eyes widened as she approached Lydia.
"Is that who I think it is? Her boyfriend's just gone up," she whispered, glancing at the top of the stairs, where Finn had just disappeared.
"Oh dear," Colin grinned.
"Tonic-water, Colin?" Lydia asked, indicating the door. "Maybe a little Ouzo?"
"No, no Ouzo, no Ouzo," Colin moaned, going a little ashen. Lydia led the boys into their shared suite; Paris had, luckily, barricaded herself up in her room, listening to what sounded like Strauss, leaving the common-room empty.
"Nice room," Logan remarked. "Emily pick the furniture out?"
"Is it that obvious?" Lydia asked drily, chuckling.
"My sister had similar when she was here," Logan smiled. "The girls in the DAR all get their furniture in the same place."
"You didn't mention Honour was a Yale grad," Lydia said, straightening up as she pulled the selection of soda-cans from the refrigerator.
"Yeah, a few years ago," Logan said.
"So, what did you do or say that was so terrible you got Bambi to dislike you?" Lydia asked Logan, as she handed Colin the Redbull he had indicated for as he examined the numerous glossy reproduction art-prints Blu Tacked to the walls—Hugo Simberg, Marilyn Minter, Samantha Hahn, Gustav Klimt, Botticelli, Edmund Dulac, Vincent van Gogh, Velazquez, Herbert James Draper, all postcards and prints collected by Lydia on both her 'Grand Tour' with Grandma and her post-graduation backpacking trip with Lorelai. Rory frowned at her; Lydia shrugged.
"I would sincerely like to know myself," Logan smiled charmingly at Rory.
"We met yesterday," Rory sighed impatiently, arms crossed over her chest defensively. "With Marty."
"Marty?" Logan frowned, as Colin gave Rory a slight eye-roll.
"Marty, my friend Marty, he bartended for you—"
"Yes!" Logan exclaimed. "Marty, I'm sorry, it slipped my mind, of course I met you yesterday with Marty, nice to see you again…?" Guiltily, Logan chanced a half-glance at Lydia for introductions; Lydia sipped her soda, smiling over at Logan.
"Rory!" Rory blurted, annoyed.
"Nice to see you again, Rory, you're looking well," Logan smiled, as he accepted a Diet Coke from Lydia. "Angry works for you."
"I'm not angry. I'm just irritated," Rory frowned.
"By me?"
"Yes."
"Because I forgot for a moment who you were?" Logan asked.
"No, because you speak to people as if they're below you," Rory retorted.
"People?"
"Marty!"
"Ah, your friend Marty," Logan nodded.
"Yes, my friend Marty, you talked to him as if he was dirt, and that's why I'm looking at you like this," Rory fumed; Lydia indicated for Colin to take a seat, as she snapped open a soda and grabbed a bag of marshmallows.
"I'm sorry, what'd I say that was so bad, I said hello, and I think I said he made a kick-ass margarita," Logan said, wide-eyed.
"It's not what you said, it's how you said it," Rory said tersely.
"And how'd I say it?"
"Like Judi Dench," Rory snapped.
"Ouch," Logan grimaced. Lydia offered Colin the bag of marshmallows, frowning at Logan.
"You were mean to Marty?" she asked.
"I was not mean to Marty!"
"Just because somebody doesn't have money or a fancy family doesn't mean they're inferior to you," Rory blurted angrily.
"I agree," Logan said, eyes widening earnestly.
"And just because somebody is a bartender at a party for you and your friends, it doesn't mean that you can talk to them like a servant," Rory declared, cheeks warm with anger and irritation.
"Well…" Logan started, and Lydia raised her eyebrows at the boy as Rory turned on him.
"What?" she blurted indignantly.
"I hired him, I paid him, he served; that's what a servant does!" Logan protested.
"Are you serious?"
"For the sake of argument," Logan said.
"He was doing a job!"
"A job he took willingly."
"Some people have to work," Rory scowled.
"And I'll bet if you asked him, he made excellent tips that night, 'cause my friends, they enjoy the refills," Logan said, indicating Colin, who raised his soda in acknowledgement as he flipped through the back blurb on Professor Fleming's last novel.
"Not the point," Rory scowled.
"To a bartender, tips are very much the point," Logan argued earnestly.
"Just because you pay somebody, it doesn't mean that you can speak to them as if they're beneath you," Rory scowled.
"Actually, the fact that this is a free country means that I can speak to anyone in any manner which I choose, however, the rules of a civilised society may frown upon a certain obvious show of snobbery, so if that's your argument—"
"I do not have an argument!" Watching Rory and Logan banter was like watching a tennis-match, only a hundred-times more entertaining, and Lydia was thrown back to sophomore year at Chilton, watching her sister get flustered and irritated by a certain privileged, handsome blonde boy with a pretty smile and an answer for everything.
"Well, I can give you a moment to formulate one if you want to continue," Logan said genially.
"I'm busy!"
"You concede." Rory sighed, scowling at Logan.
"I don't like it when people hurt my friends," she said coolly.
"And you react when goaded," Logan noted.
"I am not goaded. I'm so far from goaded, get out your compass and I will show you how far from goaded I am."
"I think we've got a serious debater in our midst," Logan said, glancing at Colin with a grin.
"It's a Gilmore girl family-trait," Lydia spoke up, offering a tub of Redvines to Colin. "Watching you two in this pre-coital battle of wits is almost as fun as spaghetti-and-meatball night at Grandma's!"
"Lydia!" Rory scowled, annoyed, as Colin laughed. A tanned blur whirled into the common-room, slamming the door, and Finn panted as he grimaced, bracing himself against the door. "Uh…what're you doing?"
Panting, Finn glanced at Lydia. "You didn't mention her boyfriend was up there." Lydia grimaced.
"Oopsie," she winced.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"Because I'm…mischievous?" Lydia said, flashing Finn a very charming grin. "What happened to your eye?"
"Nothing; just some big scary angry athletic-type put his fist in it," Finn grimaced, trying to open his eye wide, wincing in pain. "Thank you for the warning, love."
"I didn't know her boyfriend would be there!"
"But you knew she had a boyfriend."
"They have an open relationship. He just doesn't know it," Lydia said, loping over to the little refrigerator, tugging the door open and opening the tiny freezer door. Pulling out a mini bag of frozen peas that had never been opened, she handed it to Finn. "Put that on your eye, it'll stop inflammation. So, what were the numbers?"
"Numbers?"
"On her whiteboard," Lydia said, offering Finn a soda.
"Uh…a hundred and nine," Finn said, leaning his head back so he could open his soda with both hands without taking the iced peas off his eye.
"She's been busy this summer," Rory said thoughtfully, eyebrows raised.
"The other number?" Lydia asked curiously, watching Finn.
"Nine-point-eight," Finn said.
"Wow," Lydia gaped, eyeing Finn up with renewed interest. Great jaw, an even tan to his rich olive skin-tone, crazy shirt open at the neck, richly-tanned collar-bones made to nibble, broad shoulders, he was tall and had pretty lips. Cadeon Woede, she wouldn't have believed him, but looks were often deceiving; she would know.
"No wonder her boyfriend clocked you," Rory said softly, smirking as she picked apart a large marshmallow.
"I feel like the answer to this question is going to be glaringly obvious, but what's the significance of that number?" Logan asked, glancing from Rory to Lydia.
"Sexual-performance rating out of ten," Lydia said, glancing from Logan to Finn, who stood up a little taller, his broad shoulders thrown back proudly. "She rarely scores higher than an eight-point-two. You wouldn't have thought it to look at you." Laughing as Finn balked at her indignantly, she placed a hand on Finn's shoulder and squeezed, grinning. "Wear that black eye with pride."
Paris' bedroom-door burst open, Paris appearing in a cloud of acrid pipe-smoke, glaring. "You can't be here."
"I'm sorry?" Lydia blurted, eyebrows raised.
"I need to prepare," Paris declared tightly. "I have to get the vacuum through here, and since you can't be trusted with any form of domesticity, I have to do it myself."
"What do you mean, 'I can't be trusted with any form of domesticity'?" Lydia frowned.
"You killed a Dyson, Lydia," Paris said staunchly, glaring over her shoulder as she pulled the new Dyson out of the little cubby-area opposite the refrigerator.
"I did not kill a Dyson," Lydia said defensively, her cheeks warming, because she knew she had.
"You tried to vacuum and half the Dyson ended up on the other side of the common-room while you were still holding onto the handle," Rory spoke up, and Lydia turned to gape at her: they had a deal; they would always take each other's side in an argument with Paris. Strength (and safety) in numbers.
"It was old and defective," she protested.
"It was brand-new! You can't be trusted with any domestic chores, Lydia," Rory said reasonably.
"I can so!"
"Okay, setting the Dyson episode aside, what about the shower-door at home? You reached for the curtains to wash them after the food-fight on our fourteenth-birthday, somehow you slipped and flew across the room; the shower-door was completely demolished," Rory said, eyes wide.
"I was the victim!"
"Uh-huh. What about the mop?"
"It gave me a splinter."
"So you brutalised it in the cheese-fondue incident of '02?"
"Oh, like you've never been suckered by a big shaft of wood," Lydia retorted, delighting in how rapidly Rory's cheeks flushed crimson, and the boys laughed.
"Hey!" Rory reached out, whacking Lydia on the arm. Rory was still touchy about the whole she-lost-her-virginity-to-her-married-ex-boyfriend scenario, and they hadn't talked about it all summer, let alone let Lydia tease about it.
"Ow!" Logan jumped in between them, grinning and laughing.
"Okay, you're giving me disturbing flashbacks to Honour teaching you how to play gin," he chuckled.
"Nobody specified that card-games are non-contact sports," Lydia said, giving him a look.
"Yeah, I still have the scar on my finger where you bit me during that game of Spoons," Logan chuckled softly.
"Logan, you've been spooning without me?" Finn gasped softly, wide-eyed and oddly reminding Lydia of Bambi.
"Poor boy, and on the same day he took a punch," Lydia sighed, shaking her head. Glancing at Logan, she said, "If you want, you can borrow my room to make him feel better."
"Leave Logan out of it, you can cheer me up, love!" Finn grinned happily. "Apparently, I score highly on the sexual-performance scale." Catching Paris' perplexed expression, Lydia said, "Kit gave him a nine-point-eight."
"Wow."
"Yeah."
"I will take up your offer to go into your room, Lydia," Logan smirked playfully. Glancing at Paris, he said, "It was nice to meet you…?"
"Paris."
"It was nice to meet you, Paris, we'll get out of your hair," Logan said charmingly. "Rory, I promise to recognise you instantly next time…" Lydia, picking up the Redvines and marshmallows, shot Rory the evil-eye as she loped over to her bedroom-door, opening it for Colin and Finn to slip inside. Pausing at the door, Logan smiled at Rory. "Master and Commander."
"The movie?" Rory asked, bemused.
"No, that's what I want you to call me from now on," Logan smirked. As Finn threw himself down onto Lydia's freshly-made bed, adjusting the large throw-pillow for his comfort while the large, open window bathed him in rich mid-afternoon sunlight, Lydia dumped the Redvines and marshmallows on the already-cluttered desk and glanced back at Logan.
"Seriously, stop flirting with my sister; it's like watching Animal Planet, just with coffee and J Crew," she smirked.
"Thanks for the visual," Colin frowned.
"You're welcome—Rory, have you seen my costumes?" Lydia asked, darting to the door before Logan could close it.
"Which ones?" Rory called, over the noise of Paris shoving the Dyson into the hardwood.
"Candy-striper, French maid, gorilla mask?"
"Um, no."
"Can you look for them?"
"Is it really imperative that you find your gorilla mask right this second?" Rory shrieked.
"Yes." Grumpy, pink-cheeked, Rory stomped into her room, two seconds later re-emerging, arms laden with stuff, something black and furry, something pink-striped, one thing black, lacy, fully lined with numerous frilly petticoats.
"There!" Rory said tersely, tossing each piece at Lydia to avoid having to step foot in Lydia's room. The gorilla-mask hit Lydia on the head, knocking her hard-hat off.
"Ow! Good thing I was wearing that hard-hat," Lydia pouted, closing the door on Rory as her sister marched over to her room, still flushed and irritated.
"Nice room," Logan said, glancing around; Lydia was a glut for creature-comforts, and the second she had claimed this room, she had made it her own, setting everything out as she liked it, working everything into the little room; lining the university-issue corkboard with pretty wrapping-paper and funky pushpins, decorating it with photographs, buttons, stickers and postcards, matchbooks and comic-strips amid her seventeen-month calendar, her class schedule for this semester, a couple of necklaces dangling from the glass pushpins: a soft, pretty rug on the floor; her new apple-green bistro chair; a 'spine' bookcase to save on space; a dress-form in the corner for her 'couture' projects, with her pink plastic trunk, her costume-filled suitcase and a vintage train case piled aesthetically in the corner beside it; and a yellow chevron-padded cube stool that acted as a storage-bin big enough to house her vinyl records, and a coffee-table with the addition of a small, cheetah-print tray (the stool custom-made by Luke, upholstered by Lorelai for a fifteenth-birthday present, the better to pretty-up her and Rory's room while providing extra storage space); a three-tier wheeled work-station currently laden down with books, large 50-slot black DVD cases, a vintage-style recycled-card suitcase full of makeup and nail-polish bottles, her record-player and her collection of scented candles and an unopened bag of plain white tea-lights. Ambience, Lorelai called them; Paris referred to them as irresponsible fire-hazards. Lydia lit as many of them as she could get away with, daring Paris to storm in and do something about them.
She removed the cheetah-print tray from the chevron cube stool, offering it to Colin, as Logan unfolded the bistro chair and sat down; as Finn's uncovered eye slid closed, squirming on the bed slightly in a subtle gesture of comfort, Lydia hit 'play' on her stereo and Sparks started playing, turning the beautiful 'Soren' chair Grandma had given her for her desk around so she could chat, Lydia sat.
"Thanks," Lydia smiled.
"When'd you move in?" Colin asked.
"Yesterday," Lydia shrugged, and Colin raised an eyebrow. "Paris likes to get everything perfectly in place before classes start, or she says it interferes with her ability to study. And I am too much of a comfort-creature to live with boxes unpacked."
"What's all this?" Colin asked, indicating Lydia's three very large photo and memento collages leaning neatly against the radiator under the window.
"Just…memories, from last year, this summer," Lydia said, shrugging, sipping her soda, knowing that the collage at the front was full of photographs of members of the Life and Death Brigade, alongside pictures from normal parties, club socials, hanging out with Lorelai and Rory in Stars Hollow, memories from birthdays and special-events past.
"Ah, In Omnia Paratus," Colin grinned, squatting down to examine a few of the photographs with noticeably more expensive décor and costume themes. Lydia smiled, lifting up her gorilla-mask, as Colin lifted the collage to look closely at some of the pictures; Logan stood to look over his shoulder. Finn was dozing on Lydia's bed, seemingly perfectly comfortable to sleep on a stranger's bed.
"Hey, these photos look great," Logan said, smiling.
"You missed out," Lydia remarked, and she was sure he had, to an extent; the memories of those parties were forever imprinted into her mind, but Logan had missed them, while he was no doubt enjoying exotic women in foreign nightclubs.
"Looks like," Logan smiled charmingly at her. "What were the themes?"
"Gatsby—Jordan on the golf-course, not Gatsby's parties; Gosford Park murder-mystery; Hitchcock—Suspicion, the white absinthe; Alice, of course, always a classic. Burton, not Disney, though there was some discrepancy over the five Hatters who showed up. Da Vinci Code—like my cryptex?" Lydia smiled as she picked up her polished wooden Cryptex from her box of trinkets she had yet to set out. "And Robin Hood. I was afraid Robert would get inspired by the Hunger Games and cull the herd, especially after the first bottle of bourbon and an argument with Seth over the catapult." She grimaced at Logan and Colin, but she smiled as she remembered sitting in the catapult with Robert, unafraid to be the first two shot through the air over hay-bales with nothing but a trampoline and a few mats to break their fall.
"Well, it's nice to know we weren't missed in our absence," Colin remarked.
"If it makes you feel better, I could lie and say the rest of the Brigade had to resort to copious amounts of alcohol to cope with your sabbatical," Lydia smiled. "But now, the prodigal sons have returned."
"And we will resume our duties as chief revellers!" Colin declared, jutting his chin up.
"I'm very glad to hear it," Lydia smiled.
"I thought there was a moratorium on photography at Life and Death functions," Colin said, indicating several photographs of Lydia in a very beautiful vintage, embroidered French flapper dress, t-bar heels and a straw cloche hat decorated with a teal ribbon and a large dusty rose, sipping champagne out of a champagne-saucer on a golf-course, a putter over her shoulder as she and Juliet sauntered toward the camera.
"Ah, see, these are merely photos of themed parties at which copious amounts of alcohol and food is consumed," Lydia grinned. "There is no In Omnia Paratus sign, no crest, and no sign of any gorilla masks that could be linked, by a government criminal-psychoanalyst looking into the life and crimes of Yale students, to the Life and Death Brigade."
"Loopholes," Logan beamed.
"Gotta love 'em," Lydia grinned. "And I would like to look back in twenty years and…at least try to remember how much fun I had while I was taking these pictures." Colin laughed, and Finn started, blinking around the room, bemused.
"No photos of your grandmother to commemorate your summer?" Logan asked, peering down at the other two collages.
"'The image of an angel is an angel'," Lydia said drily, shuddering. The Weeping Angels episodes of Doctor Who had traumatised her for three weeks.
"Careful not to blink," Finn spoke up, and Lydia raised her eyebrows at him, surprised that he got the Doctor Who reference. "I wouldn't mind being sent back in time to Venice. Helen McRory." He growled softly, grinning.
"You got your Sonic Screwdriver with you?" Lydia asked coyly, glancing pointedly to his jeans.
"I can't believe you got Rosemarie and Juliet to watch Doctor Who," Finn said, winking.
"Well, I'm a woman of many talents," Lydia yawned, tired and warm from the open window and the hundred-degree heat.
"So we've noticed," Colin grinned. She smiled, glancing at Finn.
"How's your eye?" she asked, as he fiddled with the pack of frozen peas.
"Oh, it's not too bad. Only hurts when I look at things," Finn smiled. "D'you happen to have any beverages in here, love?"
"Mm… Check the train case," Lydia told Colin, who was nearest that corner of the room with the dress-form and the pile of decorative luggage. "I'm not sure what's in there." She flung her door open, glad the vacuuming had stopped. "RORY! Where's my 'My Other Mug is a Shot Glass' mug?"
"It's in the crate with your nail-polishes and chevron blanket!" Rory shouted back, and Lydia closed the door, frowned, and launched herself onto the floor on her stomach, reaching under her bed for the translucent-white collapsible plastic crate, in which, yes, there were several blankets, two cardboard boxes and a tub of nail-polish bottles, and no less than four mugs wrapped up in empty pillowcases.
"Oh, my absinthe glasses!" she sighed delightedly, smiling as she opened the larger box to check its contents, the four matching absinthe glasses and delicate spoons glinting in the sunlight.
"Wild Turkey," Colin said, and Lydia glanced up to see Colin going through the contents of her train case, which had been upcycled into an easily-transportable mini-bar. Inside it, small bottles of Southern Comfort, Snow Queen vodka, Disaronno, Bacardi rum, Wild Turkey and Bombay Sapphire gin were neatly arranged alongside four sleek tumblers. She had no ice-bucket, but the train case was as perfect a little at-home mini-bar as she could make in her dorm-room. Colin smiled at her, opening the Wild Turkey bottle. "Excellent choice."
"I got a taste for it at poker nights," Lydia smiled, but she frowned as she looked through the contents of the train case, plucking out the pretty blue bottle. "Damn, I'm out of Bombay Sapphire; you should all be making a note of that, by the way."
"Oh, really?" Logan smiled.
"Just a little hint, you know, you might jot it down on a Post It, make sure you remember it for Draft Week," Lydia said, shooting them all a smile.
"Okay, what's Draft Week?" Colin asked. "I find it difficult to believe Rosemarie or Juliet would have anything to do with football."
"Juliet and Rosemarie haven't tracked you down yet?"
"Apparently not," Logan smiled, as Colin handed Finn a tumbler with a generous slosh of amber-coloured liquid.
"You missed the first two bi-annual Brigade Draft ceremonies; we instigated it last fall," Lydia sighed. "Bitzi Grossman, Helena Charles, iced vodka, a pool and a catfight."
"Even Amsterdam coffee-bars can't compete with that!" Logan grinned.
"So we decided that, to prevent any such situation occurring again, we should instigate the Draft," Lydia smiled, accepting a tumbler from Colin. "I would say more, but it would ruin the full effect of the announcement at the initiation party. I hope you've been recruiting heavily, we need some fresh blood."
"It can get a little incestuous at those parties," Colin agreed.
"Well I am shocked and horrified that while we were gallivanting all over Europe, here you were partying with the Brigade," Finn said, propping himself up against Lydia's pillows. "If our little sojourn in Santorini is anything to go by, you're a refreshing addition to our time-honoured institution."
"I shall take that as a compliment," Lydia beamed.
"It was intended as one," Finn winked.
"I'm just a little miffed that you weren't here last year," Lydia said, smiling at Logan. "We could have met quite a bit sooner."
"Very true," Logan smiled. "We'll have to catch up properly sometime. You got any evenings in that little black book of yours that haven't been taken up by Robert?"
"Maybe," Lydia smiled. "You'll be happy to know I'm out of my macaroni-cheese phase. Mostly."
"I am very glad to hear that," Logan grinned. "What brought that about?"
"Well, my backpacking trip through Europe with Rory and Lorelai after graduation, that exposed me to quite a few new experiences," Lydia said, and Logan chuckled. "And this summer, again, I was making my way around Europe, except this time we had an AmEx Black card. Amazing what culinary oddities are made available to you when you've got Gilmore money."
"Richard and Emily don't do anything halfway, I'll give them that," Logan smiled charmingly. Lydia made a noncommittal noise, then laughed softly, shaking her head. She said softly, "I can't believe you sank your father's yacht."
"Well, it did take us quite a few tries," Colin said, and Lydia laughed.
"Tell me," she smiled, and the boys were off, regaling her with their misadventures onboard the Andromeda. They went through the last of the bottle of Wild Turkey—Finn promising to replenish Lydia's bar after hearing she was still the tender age of nineteen—changed CDs numerous times, while they talked about their adventures and Lydia told them all of the gossip from Brigade parties-past.
"Can I ask you something?" Logan asked, setting his tumbler down on Lydia's cluttered desk. Lydia glanced at him, amused by his suddenly rather thoughtful expression. "Is Rory…?"
"Single?" Lydia asked, and Finn and Colin chuckled. Logan gave her a look, smiling. He picked up the gorilla mask.
"Ah, is Rory in omnia paratus?" Lydia chuckled, understanding where he was going with his inquiry. While they were both Gilmores, both heiresses with fat trust-funds (thanks to their great-grandmother, Lorelai the First) and both attending the prestigious Ivy League school, Rory was a good girl, a church-mouse. She was a good girl. Lydia was the adventurous, extroverted, enigmatic one who took chances, had fun. So she had been tapped; people were surprised she had a sister, because they never saw her. "No. Rory is…a Mary." It was the easiest and most succinct way she could describe her twin-sister.
"Haven't heard that in a while," Colin smiled.
"Private-school insults. You never forget them," Lydia chuckled softly, sipping her Wild Turkey.
"Were you a Mary?" Finn asked, grinning as he eyed her up.
"I…was incorrectly labelled a Mary-Magdalene by someone who knew no better," Lydia said, and Finn gave her a thoughtful, considering smile that made his eyes twinkle. The bedroom-door burst open, and Logan jumped; Colin sputtered on a sip of Wild Turkey, making Finn clap him on the back. "Paris!"
"Candles," Paris demanded, glaring at Lydia.
"Lighter-fluid!" Lydia chirped brightly in response.
"Lydia." The fires of Mordor crackled in Paris' dark eyes.
"Are we not playing Categories?" Lydia asked, blinking innocently.
"I need candles," Paris enunciated.
"Oh, you would like for me to give you some candles," Lydia sighed, snapping her fingers. "Jeez, Paris, why didn't you just ask?" She grabbed the bag of tea-lights from her wheeled work-station, glancing around for a knife or blade, and, finding her fabric scissors, cut the bag open, stood, and upturned the bag over Paris' hands; several candles escaped on the floor, but Paris caught about a dozen. "Are we making s'mores?" Lydia asked brightly.
"How did you even get into Yale?" Paris snapped, eyes narrowing.
"I smiled," Lydia said, eyes widening earnestly.
"One afternoon of you and I'm already irritated as hell!" Paris growled, whipping away; Lydia closed the door and reclaimed her drink from Finn, with a tight, slightly saddened smile. He gave her a thoughtful, inquisitive look, and Lydia's smile became a little lighter.
"She thinks I'm a waste of space because I did so much theatre in high-school," she said softly, sighing, as she sat down, draping her ankle over her knee and glancing at the door. If she had been alone after that tiny brush with Paris, she would have succumbed to introspection. Because she knew she wasn't as driven or motivated as either Paris or Rory, and she had always had to contend with that fact.
"Is that your major?" Colin asked.
"God, no!" Lydia laughed, smiling. She sipped her drink, licking her lips thoughtfully, and sighed softly. "No, I'm thinking of majoring in History. Rory's majoring in English. Paris is pre-med and pre-law and pre-communist dictator."
"She seems intense," Logan said, glancing at Lydia, who had snorted delicately.
"That is putting it mildly," she sighed, rubbing her forehead. Living with Paris was exhausting, like…the Gulag. It made two months' vacationing with Emily Gilmore look like a relaxing spa retreat by comparison, and that said something.
"I can understand why you spend a lot of time on Juliet and Rosemarie's couch," Colin said, examining a selection of Lydia's CDs. Lydia shrugged delicately.
"When they go for spa weekends, they let me study at their place," she said, sighing. People didn't expect it from her, but she actually did spend quite a stunning amount of time studying. Thanks to her Lorelai-given addiction to coffee, trained by Chilton to live off four hours' sleep daily, coming to Yale had been the next, more intense step in that training-course, a course of study she was sure was far more difficult than any actual future job she would take on, but the difficulty and variety of subjects made things interesting, and the challenge and the level of interest she had in each of the classes she chose added to her enjoyment of them. Rory was the dedicated bookworm, yes, but Lydia was also a very serious student too. She just…didn't get as much attention for her brains as Rory did. Or any, really. As Paris had exhibited, people were stunned to hear that Lydia had been accepted to Yale University.
Appearances were deceiving.
She sighed, as her phone buzzed with a call. Smiling at the caller-I.D., she picked up the call, agreeing to meet her friends from her Fifteenth Century Literature class at the Cupcakes and Ice-Cream Social.
"We'll walk you over," Colin said, setting aside his empty tumbler.
"Yeah, we've got…" Logan frowned, glancing at his watch. "We've got to meet some people for pre-dinner drinks."
"You're welcome to join us for dinner, love," Finn said, and Lydia smiled. "Looks a bit…funereal out there." He pointed to Lydia's bedroom-door, which they had glimpsed to have been shuttered and shaded, tea-lights glimmering a soft amber.
"Well, thank you for the invitation," Lydia smiled earnestly; she did like spending time with these boys, no matter how little or much alcohol was involved. They were by turns eccentric, charming, jubilant, breathtakingly adventurous, sly and playful, and her time with them in the Mediterranean had been the highlight of her summer. She had been sworn to secrecy, of course, but…cuddling with Finn had been one of her favourite moments with them, lying on the deck of the Andromeda close to sunset, hot bare skin gentle against hot skin under a soft blanket, smelling of brine, bourbon and honey, just dozing, peaceful, timeless. She had liked that moment as much as she had enjoyed laughing and playing with Finn in the water, skinny-dipping, kissing.
She had forgotten that, taking a sabbatical from Yale, they might at some point return, that she would see them again. But she was glad that she had, that they did come back before her time at Yale was over. Boys who loved their toys and had daddy's unlimited credit-cards could spend the better part of their lives getting their college degrees.
"Yeah, you're more than welcome. It'll be just us, the girls," Logan smiled. "Maybe if we get you girls liquored up, you can fill us in a little more on this whole Draft thing."
"And ruin the surprise?" Lydia smiled. "I'll see; text me the time and the address; if I'm not there on time, assume I'm running late and won't make it, don't wait for me."
"Very good," Logan smiled. A few short goodbyes filled with promise were exchanged, Finn lingering in a hug until Lydia pinched him playfully and stole his pack of frozen peas, and watching Logan trying to wrangle Colin and Finn out of the suite made her laugh, and, watching the way Logan had to bodily remove Colin from the common-room, she stood at the front-door with a hand over her mouth, giggling at a sudden memory.
"Oh my god," she blurted, trying to stem the flow of giggles. Finn draped himself over Colin, giving the illusion that they were the same height, and Lydia grinned at Colin as she laughed. "I just remembered…Colin, making out with that old lady!"
"I completely forgot about that!" Logan crowed, eyes widening with delighted incredulity.
"I did not make out with—" Colin flushed, embarrassed, as Lydia clung to the doorframe and Finn threw his head back and laughed. Protesting futilely, Colin remained flushed in the face, giving them an unwilling smile.
"Colin, I thought she was going to detach her jaw and swallow you whole!" Finn laughed. Laughing to herself, she could hear the boys' laughter echoing in the courtyard as she returned to her room. Plucking out a very floaty, very pretty embellished chiffon handkerchief skirt, a thin cotton camisole, a pair of strappy heels and a cropped denim jacket, Lydia changed, her outfit a perfect transition between late-afternoon and eveningwear, and she plucked up her favourite purse, put her essentials in it, and made her way out to the Cupcakes and Ice-Cream Social.
A.N.: Please REVIEW!