Chapter Thirty-Seven
"I have good news," Lorelai chirps into her daughter's phone as soon as she answers.
Rory stops rifling through her closet and sits down at her desk, thumbing through some of the notes she has scattered on top of it. "The Talking Heads are getting back together?"
"No."
"Meryl Strep is doing a movie with Colin Firth?"
"God that would be wonderful wouldn't it?" Lorelai sinks into her bedroom window seat, next to a dozing Paul Anka. "Sorry to disappoint but my good news is that I managed to talk your grandparents into coming here for Thanksgiving so with Sookie and Luke splitting the cooking that cuts us down from four dinners to two. I figured you and I could make a quick stop at the Kim's."
"Only two dinners? It feels like the end of an era," she comments, circling a word in her notes that she can't decipher.
"I know," she says, stroking Paul Anka's head. "But I am, alas, now married to a man who doesn't enjoy indulging in gluttony and you are freakishly committed to his demon spawn nephew so I think it's time to say sayonara to our marathon Thanksgivings."
"Wait, are we eating at the diner? Mom, you know Grandma is going to be awful if you make her eat at the diner," she protests.
"Relax, I have it covered."
"What does that mean?" Rory asks warily.
"I figured we'd just have it at the Inn. There's plenty of space in the dining room for us. You're still bringing Paris right?"
"Yeah, she's coming."
"Ok so that makes thirteen."
"Thirteen people?" She bursts with surprise, thinking of the earliest Thanksgiving she can remember; just the two of them in the potting shed sharing some leftovers from the Inn. It's sort of mind boggling to think of how their family has grown.
"Maybe fourteen," Lorelai continues. "There's you, me, Luke, Jess, Liz, TJ, my parents, Sookie, Jackson, Paris, Davey, Martha and we're not sure yet if Anna is going to let us have April."
"That's too bad," she says, disappointed. The custody arrangement in the last few weeks has gone from strange to nearly hostile, with Luke finally at the point of considering a lawyer. "If it helps, Paris and I were totally on our best behavior while she was here."
"It doesn't but I appreciate the sentiment," her mother tells her wearily. "So I'll see you Friday night?" She changes the subject brightly.
"Yeah, I'll meet you at Grandpa and Grandma's."
"Okay. And Luke wanted to know when Jess is coming."
"He said sometime Saturday."
"Still haven't pinned down that whole time and place thing huh?"
"Hey, he's trying," Rory defends. "By the way," she adds, looking at her closet. "Have you seen my blue sweater?"
"Which one?"
"The scoop neck one."
"Um…no." Lorelai lets out, guiltily glancing at the blue fabric underneath Paul Anka.
"You're wearing it right now, aren't you?" Her daughter accuses.
"No…"
"Mom!"
"I'm not wearing it. Paul Anka just took a liking to it is all."
"He what? Is he wearing it?"
"No...he's sleeping on it."
"Gross!"
"Oh c'mon. He doesn't droll that much. One good dry clean and you're good to go."
Rory sighs, throwing down her pen. "Your dog needs a puppy Freud."
"His ego is fine," Lorelai assures her, rubbing his ears. "He doesn't need to be psychoanalyzed."
"I bet I could throw a rock near the veterinary school and find you a dozen PhDs in animal behavior who would disagree."
"Ah, what do they know? Who do they think they are, James Herriot?"
Rory's phone lets out a series of beeps. "Mom, I've got another call coming. I'll call you back later, okay?"
"Fine. But you tell those James Herriot wannabees if they knew anything they'd be living in England."
"See you Friday," Rory chirps, disconnecting the call. "This is Rory," she answers.
"Miss Gilmore. This is Duncan Steel with New York Times."
"Mr. Steel," Rory greets, thinking back to her interview a few weeks ago. "It's nice to hear from you. How was your trip to Europe?"
"I hate France," he grumbles. "But nice of you to ask. Anyways, I wanted to call you personally about the results of our internship."
She bites her lip with trepidation. "Okay."
"Miss Gilmore, unfortunately, you were not selected."
"Oh," she lets out, disheartenedly. "Well…thank you for your consideration. I appreciate you calling me."
"Of course," he tells her. "I felt obligated to because I believe you were one of our strongest candidates and that you should've been selected. Your writing is very strong, you're clear and concise and yet you have a phenomenal way of turning a phrase. In your interview you showed tenacity, spunk and an ability to adapt quickly to a situation. When asked about your criminal record, you were honest and forthcoming, qualities that I very much admire."
"Thank you."
"Unfortunately," he continues, "my decision was over-ruled. It seems Mitchum Huntzberger made a personal phone call to one of my superiors."
"He what?"
"From what I understand he informed my boss that during the course of your internship with him you demonstrated no natural aptitude for this field, that you were unreliable, painfully shy, and unable to perform even the smallest of tasks."
"Mr. Steel, I—"
"This doesn't jive to me at all with the glowing references you received, some of which were from Mr. Huntzberger's own staff, the way you came off in person, or your Yale credentials," he adds firmly. "I made it very clear to my superior that I believed this to be a personal vendetta but he wasn't convinced, I'm so sorry."
"Thank you for letting me know," she answers, trying unsuccessfully to keep the tearful edge from her voice.
"I felt obligated to tell you. You have a bright future Miss Gilmore. I hope that you won't let someone like Mitchum Huntzberger try to destroy it."
"Thank you Mr. Steel," she manages to get out. "I appreciate your call."
"Good luck," he tells her before hanging up.
Rory lets the phone drop onto her desk, blinking back tears of hurt and anger. She's hit suddenly with a wave of blind rage. How dare he do this to her? She's never done anything to deserve this. Her mind fixates on her story, she could take him down, she could destroy him, she could make him wish he'd never—her eyes fall on the picture she keeps on her desk. It was taken the night the Daily News broke the story of President Holden's sex scandal, the whole staff, including Jess, are gathered around her desk, all of them exhausted but yet exhilarated by their success.
"You have a bright future Miss Gilmore. I hope that you won't let someone like Mitchum Huntzberger try to destroy it."
She grabs a tissue, wiping her nose with it as she finally comes to terms with the ethical consequences of her involvement with this money-laundering story. Her impartiality was questionable to begin with, it's shot to hell now. If she lets her vengeance get the better of her, he may ruin her career without ever lifting a finger.
"Paris," she calls, getting up. "I have something to tell you."
She finds Paris in her bedroom bent over her keyboard, her fingers flying a mile a minute. "This better be really damned important Gilmore."
"I'm withdrawing from my involvement in the Huntzberger story," she states frankly.
Paris sighs, turning around. "Did Cassady put you up to this?"
"This has nothing to do with Jess. I just…I just got a call from the New York Times. They said…they said they were going to hire me but Mitchum called and told them well…" She leaves the rest unsaid.
"Bastard," Paris curses. "Well, all the more reason to be involved, right? Now you're motivated."
Rory shakes her head.
"Rory this could make your career," she protests.
"Or it could ruin it. I thought when we started this I could be impartial, but I can't anymore. My job should be to report and cover the news in a fair and balanced way, not use it as a forum for personal revenge. All someone would have to do is point out my involvement with the Huntzberger's and no reputable news outlet would ever hire me."
"So all of this was for nothing then?" Paris asks her with narrowed eyes.
"No, not for nothing," Rory explains, perching herself on the edge of Paris's bed. "The Daily News should still run this story once we have one. A Yale alum, maybe two, arrested for money laundering? It definitely fits our news criteria. Once they lift the gag order you can work with one of the staff writers…Sheila maybe. I can still be involved in some capacity, I could try and see if Honor or someone will let you interview them and one of the other editors can oversee things to make sure everything looks fair. But I can't accept a byline or help you with your writing."
Paris frowns. "If that's the way you think it really has to be."
"I do. And I think even having the Daily News break the story will help my career somewhat, even if it's not the same way."
"Fine." She turns back to her computer. "I've got a paper to finish, shut the door on your way out, would you?"
Shutting the door, Rory strides purposefully to the downstairs apartment and knocks on Agent Hemsley's door, disappointed but settled in the fact that at least her conscience is clear.
"Rory," he opens the door surprised, and gestures for her to come in. Rory enters, eying the dirty laundry thrown haphazardly around the room.
"Did you know?" She asks abruptly.
"You're going to have to be more specific." He walks towards the kitchen. "Would you like some coffee? You look like you need it."
Rory follows him, stepping over several pairs of shoes and some exercise equipment.
"Wow, you've really got my number, don't you?"
"That's the hazard of following people around all day, I'm afraid. Paris sure drinks a lot of lemon tea, doesn't she?"
He clears some paperwork off one of the barstools and gestures for her to sit. "So what did you want to know? I can't promise to answer your question but I can try."
"Mitchum Huntzberger called The New York Times sometime in the last month or so," she starts. "I'm not sure he talked to but I just found out I didn't receive an internship because of his input. I'm assuming you already know because you've tapped his phones."
Hemsley pours some water into the coffeemaker and presses the button as he thinks about this. "I did," he finally answers. "The FBI found it of interest but they didn't believe it represented a physical threat to your safety so they elected not to disclose the information. I disagreed but I was overruled."
"I wish they'd told me," Rory explains. "I decided after hearing it that I shouldn't be involved with this story. I can't be impartial."
Hemsely hands her a cup filled to the brim with coffee. "I understand. You do realize—"
"That I still have to have an FBI tail, yeah, I know."
"It's for your safety. We just don't know what could happen or who Mitchum is working with."
Rory nods, sipping her coffee. "Do you have any idea why he did it?"
Hemsley purses his lips. "I can't tell you that. But I do know it has less to do with you and more to do with Logan's lack of cooperation."
Rory feels a stab of gnawing regret, wondering if it was her visit to Staten Island that prompted this, Logan had told her himself that Mitchum want to know what she was doing there. And with the scene she made, there's no way he didn't hear about it. "That's all you can tell me?"
"That's more than I should have," he answers succinctly. "I'm glad you came down here because I actually wanted to discuss Thanksgiving with you," he attempts to change the subject. "You and Paris will both be staying in Star's Hollow, correct?"
"I think Paris is just coming Wednesday through Friday and Jess and I are leaving for Boston on Friday," she answers swallowing another sip of coffee. "Will you be coming with us?"
"I've booked a room at your mother's Inn," he tells her with a smile. "I'll be staying there with my wife, who is also an agent. We'll be wondering around town keeping an eye on things but in a town that small, tailing you and Paris is going to be too conspicuous. We thought we might blend better as a couple"
"That's wise of you. People in my town are pretty observant." She fights back a smile, thinking of Kirk. It seems like too long since she's been home for longer than a few days.
"I'll keep that in mind," Hemsley answers. "As far as Paris goes, she'll be assigned someone to keep an eye on her while she's here and someone out of Boston will be assigned to you while you're there. You're both welcome to call me any time if you have any concerns."
"Thank you," Rory replies tactfully.
"I wish I could tell you more," he says as she gets up to leave. "But unfortunately that's just not how it works."
"I know." She glances at the clock above the oven. "I should get going. Thanks for the coffee."
"Thanks for the company," he tells her wryly.
"I'm heading out. I'll see you next week." Jess strolls out of his room on Saturday morning, his duffle bag thrown over his shoulder.
Leo lets out a growl of frustration and throws his pen down. "Can you help me with something first?"
"I'm gonna be late getting in as it is."
"I'll revoke the favor you owe me if you help me now."
Jess immediately lets his bag drop and pulls up a chair, his resting his elbows over the back. "What's up?"
"They won't let me talk to Celia but they said I could write her a letter. I'm just trying to…write her a poem." Leo shoves the paper across the table. "I'm having a hard time with it."
Jess inspects the semblance of a poem, biting his lip so hard it hurts from trying not to laugh. "Sorry," he manages to choke out, "but this is terrible."
Leo growls, banging his head on the table. "I know."
"You're already poet, how hard can it be?"
"I'm not Pablo Neruda, man. I don't write fucking love poetry! I write about fascism and oppression. The closest I've ever come to a love poem is that one about Nancy Pelosi and President Bush. And that was really more of a hate poem." He fiddles with the broken plastic on the end of his pen. "What is it that you say to Rory?"
"What?"
"There must be something you say to her that makes her keep you around."
Jess opens his mouth and then closes it. "Believe me, it's not because I'm channeling Cyrano de Bergerac."
"Your nose may be flawless but she is your cousin," Leo chortles.
"Do you want my help or not?" Jess growls back.
Leo ignores him, tapping his pen against the table with agitation. "How do you tell her she's beautiful?"
"I don't."
Leo's brow crinkles with derision. "What the fuck is wrong with you?"
"I don't feel the need to state the fucking obvious. Look," Jess attempts to change the subject. "You've been dating Celia for as long as I've known you, I'm sure there's something you could say. Just…be honest with her." He looks over the page again. "And don't force a bunch of clichéd metaphors. I mean, "Your chocolate orbs shine like precious gems," seriously? And this thing about candy lips and a bubblegum tongue? If you're going to steal from a song, make it a good one. This is from the shittiest of shitty John Mayer songs."
Leo snatches the paper back with a scowl.
Jess stands clamping his friend on the shoulder. "Just try to write what comes naturally, okay? Don't write a sappy love poem when you could just make her laugh. I know Rory loved that one you wrote about Gloria Steinem fighting for Wonder Woman."
"That was one of my better ones wasn't it?" Leo ponders aloud.
"And," Jess adds, picking up his bag and throwing it over his shoulder, "don't state the obvious. Any jackass can state the obvious."
Leo quirks his mouth at this advice, his pen hovering over the page. "Thanks Jess. Favor absolved."
He gives his friend a grin in return. "I'll clean the bathroom when I get back and we'll call it good. See you next week."
"Yeah, see you," Leo replies distractedly, his pen flying over the paper.
Rory's eyes dart up and down the street, searching for Taylor as she exits Luke's, coffee in hand. When she spots him turning the corner she quickly ducks into the alley behind Luke's.
"Rory?" Lorelai hisses, causing her daughter to jump.
"What are you doing back here?" Rory hisses back.
"I'm hiding from Kirk." She looks her daughter up and down. "Why are you dressed like an extra from The Scarlet Letter?"
"I got recruited into helping with the can drive," she explains. "And now I'm hiding from Taylor because I know he won't let me have my coffee over there. Why are you hiding from Kirk?"
"He keeps trying to apologize for the lawnmower incident."
"Didn't he cover all the repair costs?"
"And then some," she tugs Rory's coffee from her hand and takes a dramatic sip. "But he keeps trying to do me favors."
"Like what, walk Paul Anka?"
"He started with that but it escalated. Yesterday he offered to help dress me."
"Yikes. Doesn't he—" She stops as her phone begins to ring. Lorelai shoots her a glare for making so much noise, peeking around the corner to check for Kirk.
"You on your way?" Rory asks Jess as soon as she locates her phone from her apron pocket.
"Yeah, I'm going to be a little later than I planned, I'm sorry."
"That's okay," she replies. She holds out her hand, indicating Lorelai should give her the coffee back. "What time do you think you'll be here?"
"Probably around three, why?"
Rory looks down at the embarrassing pilgrim costume, taking the coffee from her scowling mother. "I may have been recruited to help with some fall themed activities."
"Recruited huh?"
"Shanghaied might be a better term," she informs him, taking a sip. "I'm cutting out at three though, no matter what Taylor says."
Jess laughs. "I could revisit my hoodlum past if the situation called for it."
Rory fingers the edge of absurd white bonnet she's wearing. "Oh it definitely calls for it."
"See you soon then," Jess assures her eagerly, his brain whirling with ideas.
Lorelai laughs as Rory hangs up the phone. "You don't want him to see you dressed like this," she teases in a sing-song voice.
"Would you?" Rory scowls. "I mean, not only is this thing God awful, but it doesn't even freaking fit." She gestures to the skirt, which falls several inches above her ankles.
"At least it's tight in the bust," her mother points out with a smirk. "You could totally re-create that Demi Moore scene from The Scarlet Letter."
Rory glares at her. "You know I was going to offer to distract Kirk for you but now I'm thinking I'm just going to leave you in the alley."
"Mean!"
"See you," she says, turning to leave.
"Wait! I'm sorry it's not that tight!" Lorelai calls after her.
Rory pauses, waiting for more.
"I take it back," She continues. "You don't at all look like someone capable of marrying Ashton Kutcher."
Rory quirks an eyebrow.
"If you distract Kirk for me I'll be your best friend."
"You are my best friend."
"I'll keep Liz away from the diner all night," she offers. "That's got to be worth something to you."
"Fine, deal." Rory hands her the coffee cup and ducks out of the alley. "Got to go. See you later."
"Tell him Luke wants to offer him a job," Lorelai calls after her. "That'll keep him busy for half an hour or so."
Rory gives her mother a wave as she walks away.
"Rory! There you are!" Taylor emerges from the throng of people in the square almost the moment she steps out of the alley. "What took you so long? I'm a pilgrim short. I need you front and center."
"I understand that, Taylor, but I figured," she gesture to her dress, "that it might be better if you find someone who actually fits in the costume."
"Oh dear," Taylor clucks, assessing it, "That is short isn't it? I mean it's not obscene but…hmmm." His eyes light up. "Sara's apron is too long. Trade with her and then go relieve Lacy at the donations table. You'll be sitting down so no one can tell and I need someone who can properly make change."
Rory gives him a weak smile. "Okay. I can be there till three."
"But the festival doesn't end till five, Rory."
She grits her teeth. "I have other plans, Taylor."
"I'm sure whatever you have planned isn't more important than the Fall Festival," he informs her dismissively.
"Actually—"
"Bootsy what are you doing?" Taylor calls out distractedly, rushing away before she can protest.
Sighing, Rory glances around for Kirk. It's going to be an interesting week.
A/N: Thank you everyone for your support. I hope you enjoyed this chapter. It was loads of fun to write! Anyone want to hazard a guess at what kind of stunt Jess will pull? ; )
Thanks for reading/reviewing/following and favoriting, it makes me so glad to know you all are enjoying!