Chapter Twenty-One
Even though the opener hasn't gone on yet, the club in Hartford is packed with people. Rory glances over at the bar, noting the long line of guys waiting for the male bartender to quit leering at a group of girls dancing on the other side of the room and actually serve them.
She rolls her eyes.
"See if you can find a table, I'll get us some drinks," she shouts to Jess over the sound of voices and canned music. Jess nods in agreement and the two part ways.
At the bar, it takes nothing more than a smile to get the asshole to serve her. Ignoring his repeated attempts to get her phone number, she turns around with five beers in hand. Passing one apologetically to the frustrated guy behind her, she sets off across the room looking for Jess.
She smiles as she spots him at a table near the front. Lane gestures wildly while Jess shakes his head in disagreement, throwing in a few words for every dozen of hers.
"—they paved the way for women in rock and roll."
"Oh come on, they were a mass marketing gimmick."
"You did not just say that."
"Compared to Patti Smith or Janis Joplin it's like listening to Avril Lavigne."
"Like you've ever listened to Avril Lavigne."
"Hey, I have ears. What can I do? That chick is everywhere."
"You can't just dismiss their influence because they weren't appreciated in their time. Even today women are underrepresented in pretty much every sector of the music industry—"
"—and where they are represented they're propped up as pop princesses, believe me, I'm with you. I just don't think The Runaways are all that influential."
"This guy bothering you?" Rory jokes, sideling up behind Lane. She sets the beers in the table with a grin.
"Rory!" Her friend throws her arms around her. "Your boyfriend is hopeless. Did you know he doesn't like The Runaways?"
"You don't?"
"Hey, what I said was that by modern standards they could be considered a bit derivative."
"Really?" She crosses her arms, frowning but her eyes are laughing.
Jess holds his hands up in surrender. "And I'm done now. I refuse to fight both of you."
"Wise decision," Lane comments. "Is that a button down shirt? I don't think I've ever seen you wear a shirt without swear words on it."
"Dinner with the Grandparents," Rory explains with a sigh.
Lane nods in understanding and doesn't ask any further questions.
"Zach's talking with the bassist," she offers. "I figured I'd get us a table while still we could."
"This band any good?" Jess asks.
"Yeah, they're called Royal Rampage. It's sort of like Ashlee Simpson meets Good Charlotte," Lane deadpans, managing somehow to keep a straight face.
Jess's face scrunches with distaste. "Why do you hate me?"
"I'm sorry," Lane exclaims. "It's just really funny when your face gets like that. They're sort of alt rock with some definite early punk influence. Like Panic at the Disco with a twist of New Order."
He tips his beer to her in mock salute. "Ok, see that I can live with."
"Lane when are you guys gonna—" Rory is cut off by the rest of the room shrieking as the opener walks onto the stage.
"Hey everyone," a long-haired guy wearing suspenders and a poncho says into the microphone. "Thanks for coming out tonight. We're Armpit Juice." He immediately begins launching into a painfully screechy guitar solo.
"Armpit Juice?" Rory shouts with distain over the jumbled combination of hacked out drumbeats and what appears to be a cover of a Bon Jovi song.
"I didn't say the opener was good!" Lane yells back. "They're new, I've never heard them before."
Jess winces as the lead singer and the lead guitar manage to hit completely dissonant notes.
"This makes The Shaggs album you gave me almost listenable," Rory tells him, resisting the urge to cover her ears.
Jess ducks as a series of wet, wadded up napkins sail past his head and towards the stage.
"You guys suck!" Someone yells at the band.
The rest of the audience begins to catch on; obscenities fly through the air followed by beer bottles and pieces of food.
The guitarist stops playing. Screaming, he picks up one of the bottles and chucks it back into the audience where it shatters inches from Rory's left foot.
"Yep, time to go," she grumbles. Grabbing Lane's arm, she pulls her towards the exit while Jess follows them from behind.
"But Zach—" Lane starts.
Jess shakes his head, pushing Lane forward. "Keep moving. We're about to be in the middle of a riot."
"If he's backstage with the band, he's fine," Rory assures her, trying to shove through the chaos of people without losing her grip on Lane. Half the audience is scrambling for the exit while the other half pushes towards the stage.
It takes them ten minutes but disheveled and bloody they finally push through one of the side exits. Lane tightly grips a stiletto in her left hand, a frantic look in her eye as if daring anyone to mess with her. Rory's dress is ripped in several different places while Jess sports a bloody nose. In the parking lot, other members of the audience shuffle around like zombies under the harsh red and blue flashing lights.
"This is not my shoe," Lane exclaims. She holds up the stiletto she was clutching and throws it on the ground. "Your nose is bleeding by the way," she tells Jess.
"Yeah, I noticed," he replies sarcastically.
Rory tries to get him to move his hand so she can assess the damage. "Are you okay? Is it broken? Do you need a paramedic?" She fusses.
"I'm fine, Ror," he assures her. "I just need a tissue or something."
Rory reaches into her dress pocket, coming up with nothing, she eyes what remains of her bodice and rips out a piece of the interior lining.
"Here," she offers him.
"Thanks." He takes the piece silky blue fabric, tilting his head back to staunch the blood. "Jesus," he groans. "I didn't realize people rioted like this in Hartford."
"It escalated really fast too," Rory musses.
"Usually does."
Lane peers at him curiously. "You've done this before, haven't you?"
He turns his forearm, showing her a faint scar just below his elbow. "Broken bottle on Bowery Street back in 2000."
"You were rioting on Bowery Street at sixteen?" Lane asks excitedly. "God, my life is so unfair."
"Yeah well despite what the police report implies, I didn't actually start the riot."
Rory and Lane look at him dubiously.
"I turned around to ask a guy for a cigarette," he explains insistently. "Next thing I know people are rampaging in every direction, my arm is bleeding profusely and the police are reading my rights claiming that I—"
"Excuse me, Miss?" A slouchy guy standing a few feet away interrupts them. "I don't know if you're aware," he lowers his voice. "But your bra is showing."
"Hey—" Jess starts but Rory beats him to the punch, fixing the man with a withering stare.
"Excuse you, but I don't think that's any of your business," she reproaches, crossing her arms.
"No one said you had to look at it," Lane adds. She picks up the stiletto and waves it at him for effect. "Get lost bucko."
The guy takes in the fierce looking Korean waving a shoe in his face, the disgruntled lady in a ripped cocktail dress and the amused guy with a nosebleed who could probably take him in a fight and turns around.
"Yeah, keep walking," Lane mutters under her breath. Rory lays a hand on her arm, stifling a laugh.
"Asshole," Jess mumbles. "Who the hell made him the modesty police?"
Rory links her fingers through his free hand in response. "Do you see Zach anywhere?" She asks, changing the subject.
Lane holds up her phone. "I keep getting voicemail," she lets out worriedly.
"Maybe he's stuck backstage," Rory scans the parking lot and building which is still emptying of people. "We should probably just wait." She turns to Jess. "How's the nose?"
He moves the piece of fabric aside so she can see. "It's slowing down. It was just a stray elbow to the face." He gives her a reassuring grin. "Believe me, I've taken worse."
Lane lets out a laugh. "I've seen you take worse."
"Chuck Presby once chucked a basketball at my head while I was reading Ulysses," he explains to Rory.
"I've never seen so much blood," Lane adds. "I can't believe it didn't break your nose." She pauses. "Of course then you ironically broke his nose so…"
"Yeah well the jackass ruined my book."
"And if I remember right, you ruined his face right before senior picture day."
"Hey, I got so much detention for that I'm probably still on their roster."
"Lane!" A voice yells from across the parking lot.
Lane stands, searching for Zach's blonde head.
"Zach?" She calls back. She stands on the bumper block, trying to see over people's heads.
"Lane!" He calls again.
"Over here!" She waves her arms but the two inches the concrete block provides doesn't help her small stature.
Watching them, Jess sticks his two fingers in his mouth and lets out a shrill whistle.
"Was that you Lane?" Zach yells back baffled. A moment later, he emerges from behind two large bikers.
Lane wraps her arms around him, engulfing him in a hug.
"You okay?" He asks.
"I threatened someone with a shoe," she mumbles into his coat.
"What?"
"I'm fine. What happened to you?"
He pats her back affectionately. "I got stuck backstage. Freaking cops wouldn't let anyone leave."
Rory surveys the area, noticing the Channel Four vans have started to arrive. "We should probably get out of here before we become part of the morning news package."
"Says the aspiring foreign correspondent," Lane teases as they walk towards their cars.
"Hey, I want to write. I said nothing about being on TV."
They stop in front of Jess's Land Rover. "Jess it was good to see you," Lane tells him. "You'll look into those CBGB tickets right? I mean it's Patti Smith!"
He shoves his hands in his pockets with a small smile. "I'll see what I can do."
"Make it happen," she jokes. "I believe in you."
"Ugh! I smell like a gutter," Rory groans as they burst into her apartment.
"Yeah, but you look like a socialite gone rouge and I gotta tell you," he lowers his mouth to her ear, "it's kinda hot."
Rory gazes at him with lowered lashes and turns on her heel, heading towards the bathroom. "Maybe you could help me get this dress off?" she teases over her shoulder.
He smirks in response, following her eagerly into the bathroom.
"I really did like this dress," she pouts as he slowly tugs the zipper down. "I think it's beyond even Lorelai magic now."
"I liked it too," he says with a smirk as she steps out of it. Rory flicks on the shower, watching him expectantly as his shirt lands on the floor with her dress.
"What?"
She grins brazenly. "Oh I was just waiting for you to say you liked it better on the floor."
He takes a step towards her, his hands going to her waist. "I figured that went without saying."
She laughs, "In that case, ditto for your shirt."
A/N: I feel like I should firstly make sure you all know I completely made up Royal Rampage and Armpit Juice, if there are any bands by that name, it is purely coincidental. Also, I want to remind everyone that judging music is incredibly subjective and it's pretty much impossible to gauge the taste of fictional characters when the line between "good" and "bad" is so arbitrary. I don't consider myself a music snob in the least; I love everything and I'll go from Taylor Swift straight to The Clash. What I've tried to do here is write a conversation that explores a few different bands, you may agree with the ones I've chosen, you may not. No offense is intended to anyone's tastes.
I hope you enjoyed this somewhat fluffy chapter. I would love to hear what you all think of Lane. Too much, not enough? Your thoughts have been ever so helpful to me. I really appreciate all your reviews/follows/favorites. Thank you!