Disclaimer: I own nothing. Not even enough imagination for a long author's note. But I do hope you enjoy this update.
'Sandwich. Or cheeseburger,' Jess rubbed his chin thoughtfully.
'UFO?' Rory tried.
'I think that can be onion there...' Jess narrowed his eyes at the conceptual art piece before them.
'Oh, there's a title over there...' Rory crouched, her eyes gliding over the little sign note under the art piece. 'Yuk,' she wrinkled her nose as she rose up, 'Kinky.'
'Breast cancer,' she recited as she met Jess' questioning look.
Jess blinked expressionlessly and moved on to the next piece.
Rory followed.
Modern art displays were often something to throw you off the train and run straight through your concept of aesthetics, making sure to not leave much behind. What did the artist want to say by using his old tent and that can of tomato sauce? Was this outline the product of a complex thought process, or was it because someone forgot to put on their glasses?
Loaded snobby people loved modern art, Jess had noticed. Mainly because they were afraid they would look stupid if they admitted to not getting a bit of it. Jeez.
He felt a light nudge in his ribs. 'Huh?'
'Look,' Rory nodded towards the growing group of people in the middle of the saloon. 'She's starting.'
On an improvised mini stage, a woman dressed in a country/rock outfit took a seat on a chair, preparing her guitar.
'Smelly cat, smelly cat...' Jess whispered as they approached and Rory suppressed a chuckle while ushering him closer towards the Sheryl Crow lookalike.
Couple of deep breaths and a little misplaced blame.
It's not love we shared, we just share the shame.
We met in a grocery, sometime in late June.
Since then life's been hazy and a little out of tune.
Was about circling a number, a distance that had grown.
You cutting in his slumber, me taking off her crown.
Kissing felt like reaching, we reached through that thick wall.
We looked for something. Wasn't there. Was never there at all.
You were still with him, and she'd still wait at home.
Who thought from where we started, that's what we would become?
You said you got invisible and being lonely 's sad.
I said that being lonely gets part of being mad.
You hoped that he would notice, I hoped that she'd react.
Glass broken, we walked over. That trust had been long cracked.
I told you you looked pretty and you began to cry.
His words, my lips, you still wanted him to try.
We thought we'd walk a distance,
we made it grow instead.
We thought we stitched the wounds
but then again, they bled.
'No point,' you said then. 'I thought there was a point but there wasn't.'
I shook my head and said 'That's life, my dear. Life often doesn't.'
'Definitely in for the brooding character,' Rory commented as they moved on to the photography display.
Jess started playing with the Zippo in the right pocket of his slacks. He didn't have the cigarette pack - Rory had insisted on putting it in her purse. He managed to keep the Zippo though. Something familiar in his hand to brush awkwardness away. Tonight, more than any other night, he missed his old jeans and worn sneakers. Rory, unlike him, seemed perfectly comfortable in her formal dress and heels.
'I don't see why women should try to write from a man's point of view,' he shrugged, irritation making its way up his chest, tainting his voice with bitterness.
Rory quirked an eyebrow.
'Chauvinistic.'
He looked to the side, wishing he hadn't conceded to giving her the cigarette pack.
'Huh.'
'There was a guitar,' Rory tried.
'Couldn't make up for the lack of originality. It doesn't work that way, switching a pronoun here and there, then writing nonsense.'
'At least it rhymed.'
'Please.'
'Rhymed better than that sonnet by Matt's poet.'
'Hardly.'
'O-kay.'
'What?' he turned to face her, his features a snappy mixture of irritation and impatience.
Rory held his gaze without much effort. By now, she had learned to read his moods. See through his agitation. He had been on edge this whole week, but she kind of got it. She was just like this when her company was about to slip away.
He was reading parts of his book tonight. He had been doing his best not to bite his nails. Which was a rather poor job, seeing how nervous he already was.
Rory laced a hand through his and led him on to the modern photography display.
She tried to keep a straight face but couldn't hold back a grin.
'Okay, what is it?' he asked, registering her amusement.
'Nothing.'
There was a very childish 'I wanna go home' expression written over his face as they walked on between human size photographs of food.
'Yeah. Looks like it,' he muttered as they passed by a french fry.
He kept fumbling with the Zippo in his pocket as they stopped before an enormous banana.
Rory pecked a chaste kiss on his cheek.
'Funny boy,' she smiled knowingly. 'Hey, it's your book, you're nervous. It's okay to be nervous.'
There was an unusual combination of neglect and shyness that drove Jess Mariano through life, Rory had learned. He didn't care about anyone's opinion. Checked. Yet, he felt uneasy being watched. He wasn't nervous because someone might not like what they saw, he was nervous because someone was looking at all.
Being aware of this controversy in him proved quite helpful when trying to figure his mood swings out.
'Oh, here's Stacy. Stace,' Rory waved towards the tall redhead.
'Hey,' Stacy approached them, sizing Jess as she did. 'How's the hero of the day?'
'Time so slowly turns,' Jess recited sulkily, making both women smile.
'Stage-feverish,' Rory explained, as if he weren't there. 'Please try to ignore him.'
'I can't,' Stacy grinned, giving him a wink. 'He's the star, aren't you?' she turned towards him, her voice deliberately sweet like in 'aren't you an adorable sweet boy, Jessie'.
'Jeez,' Jess shook his head, 'I need a smoke.' Then, towards Rory, 'You mind?'
Taking the cigarette pack from her hand, he headed outside.
'Mm, sulky,' Stacy nodded at his leaving back.
'He'll be okay,' Rory's eyes followed him on his way out. 'Come on, let's find Chris and Matt, I spotted them around the butter sculptures.'
...
An awful bunch of tramps. That's what we were. Beggars of all size: all rags and tatters One-eye Johnson, Market-oriented Streetlight Ricky, Stinky Park Lot Mal (and his disgusting cat), Creative Toothless King of signs Sam ('Too lazy to work, too scared to steal, please assist'), and, of course, jolly ol' drunken me... But that's not fair, 'cause we were all drunk - most of the time. Tonight, for example. You needed some serious amount of booze to help you fall asleep on a night like this.
'Anyone zeen Mal theze dayz?' Toothless Sam lisped.
No one paid attention.
'Boyz,' he looked around with an uncharacteristically serious expression, 'I can zmell zomething and it izn't Mal. I found hiz cat, and he never goez anywhere without hiz cat.'
Not that any of us knew the date, but that was the night when Mal started missing.
...
A/N: Feedback is always welcome.