Chapter Twenty Four
Rory smiled at the sight of Jess and Ricky animatedly discussing a comic book. As she watched the pair, any worry about how she would interact with Jess was gone. Her suspicions, and that point that was all they were, didn't mean that Jess was a different person. He was the same book-loving boy she'd known for years. He was the same passionate person who would always call Rory out when she was making thoughtless decisions or taking life too seriously. So what if he maybe liked her? He was still Jess.
Rory would have loved to have that moment continue for eternity. Unfortunately, at that moment her phone chirped with a text message. Jess looked over at her and she looked down at her phone to see her mom asking when she'd be home as Luke was starting dinner. It was time to get going.
"Time to go Ricky. Luke is starting dinner. We don't want to miss that," Rory spoke, packing up her laptop. Ricky looked at her sadly, but nodded, nonetheless.
"You can take this book," Jess said and Ricky's eyes lit up. The way to that boys heart was through books. "Just bring it back the next time you're here and if we don't see each other Luke will get it to me." Ricky nodded quickly in understanding before jumping down from the stool, his book tucked under his arm and the comic held in front of his face like the most precious thing he'd ever seen. He scurried through the diner and outside before taking a seat on the step to read the comic while Rory finished packing up.
Without her son to act as a buffer, Jess and Rory stood around a little awkwardly. Rory was happy that she had the task of packing up otherwise she wasn't sure she could stand it.
"What were you working on?" Jess finally asked. It seemed he had made a decision that he too wouldn't let whatever was hanging unsaid in the air between them change things too much.
"It's me first major story. Definitely going to be front page above the fold so it's quite the big deal," Rory responded rather proudly. "I've been tasked with investigating rumours about potential illegal activity at Huntzberger Enterprises." Jess's eyebrows rose almost to his hairline and his eyes widened.
"You're writing an expose on the jerk?" Jess asked. "I didn't think you had it in you."
"Yeah, well, he's trying to take my son from me," Rory responded, before slinging her computer bag over her shoulder, shooting Jess a friendly smile in goodbye, and following after her son.
When Rory returned back to New York at the end of the week, she officially submitted her story. It had been several months of not really doing anything. Followed by a few weeks of actually getting some information that she sat on for another few weeks. Then finally, about a month and a half of writing, further researching, and fine tuning. It was truly a labour of love, and also a labour of anger and fear and frustration. When she finally sent it off to Miranda for her final approval and publishing, she really did feel like she birthed another child.
And then came the anxiety.
She'd essentially just written a hit piece on the father of her son, the man she was currently in court with. Would this affect anything? She'd told Paris about the story, told her about the details that she'd discovered, and Paris hadn't seemed to be phased by it. All her lawyer friend had said was they weren't going to use it in the court case, but she hadn't warned Rory against it, hadn't said a word about not publishing it or not writing.
But in the last few weeks, Rory's brain had decided that it would immediately jump to worst case scenario, terrible things happening. So, as soon as the story was out of her hands and she couldn't easily retract it, especially not unless doing some serious sucking up to Miranda, her mind went to the judge awarding Logan full custody because of it. How would this be perceived? How would it all go over? Would this be the piece that destroyed her journalistic career before she even really got started?
"If Paris thought it was bad, she would have said something," Lane slurred for what had to have been the twentieth time that evening. She and Rory were sitting at one of Rory's favourite bars in New York. As soon as Rory had submitted her story, she'd reached out to Lane and asked if her oldest friend in the world was free for the evening. Lane had readily agreed and arrived in New York only a few short hours later.
Rory found some relief in the presence her childhood friend. She found even more relief in the warmth of the alcohol that slid down her throat with each drink.
"Sometimes Paris isn't the best at counselling others when it isn't strictly in her prevue," Rory slurred back. She was still in that unproductive state of mind where only the worst case scenarios were allowed to have credence and thrive. There was no place for logical thinking or sound reasoning. Lane seemed to recognize this and, instead of continuing to make her case, simply order the pair another round.
Rory smiled at her friend. There was a reason she had turned to Lane.
The story broke the next day. It was front page news and, before Rory had even finished her first cup of coffee and awoken her son for the day, it was everywhere. Every channel on television, news organizations on social media, and even people in the hallway outside her apartment were talking about it.
Logan Huntzberger, business darling, was a lying, cheating, criminal. Her allegations, supported by at least half a dozen sources, though none of them named, were being discussed by everyone. And the discussions, much to Rory's relief, were all against Logan. They were on her side; they believed her words. Some were a little hesitant, a little more questioning, but most were supportive.
It put a bounce in Rory's step that she hadn't had in months. Not since this story had been dropped in her lap, an attempt to trip her up. Instead, Rory had done the work, taken the time, and written one of the most important exposes of her career.
As soon as the story came out, she'd called her mom. Lorelai had read bits and pieces of the work as Rory had been writing it, but she hadn't seen the whole thing. And Rory had bounced a couple of ideas off her mother. She didn't want another ballerina fiasco, even though in the end she didn't feel like she'd been in the wrong in that situation. However, her mother hadn't read the whole piece start to finish and Rory wanted her unfiltered opinion.
"I knew I didn't like Logan. From the moment I met him, I just sensed that something was off. I knew it!" Lorelai all but yelled down the phone as soon she'd picked up. "I'm sorry that you got tied up with him."
Rory sighed over the phone at her mother's slight hysterics, but also smiled. Lorelai Gilmore lived for the I told you so moments and Rory really was glad her mom was on her side.
"Okay, aside from that, what did you think of the piece?" Rory wasn't sure why, but asking her mom, or really anyone, to critique her writing in person sent waves of anxiety through her and she had to get up and pace around her living room while she waited for her mom's response.
"It was well-written, informative, definitely not biased, and if I hadn't known you for over thirty years and been witness to your dating Logan, I wouldn't have known you had any sort of personal connection with him." Lorelai spoke like she'd prepared her answer for this question beforehand and was reading it off, but Rory didn't care. She just needed the validation.
"You don't think people will make the connection?" Rory fretted. As she spoke, a rather frantic pounding began on her door. A little hesitantly Rory went over to see who was aggressively knocking on her door. The Times wouldn't have given out her address, of that Rory was certain, but you still couldn't discount crazy, deranged stalkers who were mad at her for the story she'd written. Stanger things had happened.
Looking through the peep hole in her door, Rory witnessed a slightly agitated Paris. Her heart dropped into her stomach. She was aware that her mother was speaking but did not process any of what she said.
"I'm sorry, Mom. I've got to go. Paris is at the door and she looks worried." Rory didn't wait for her mother's response before hanging up her phone and a little hesitantly opening the door. Paris could give a good ass-whooping speech with the best of them and something about her friend and lawyer's demeanour made Rory very sure that she would soon be experiencing exactly that.
"So, you've read it?" Rory asked, trying to make her voice sound light and airy and hopefully making Paris feel slightly less upset at the brunette.
"Yeah, I did," Paris responded, but her tone wasn't upset. In fact, her words, along with the wave of her hand she made as she spoke them, came across as dismissive. Was Paris not here about the story? Why else would she have come to Rory's apartment? Paris never came to Rory's apartment. Being an important lawyer in a major Manhattan law firm payed a lot more than a columnist at a newspaper and Paris always insisted they meet either at the blonde woman's brownstone or at some trendy restaurant throughout the city. A house call was so out of the ordinary that Rory had instantly assumed the worst.
"What did you think?" Rory asked. She felt like she was on the back foot, like she was missing a key piece of information, and without it she wasn't sure how to proceed.
"It was fine, a little vindictive. Reminds me of that time you called a ballerina fat. But it seems to be circulating well. Can I come in?" Paris asked. In that moment Rory realised that, in her panic, she'd stood right in front of the door, trapping her friend out in the hallway of her apartment building.
"Yes, sorry. Come on in? DO you want some coffee? Tea?" Rory still wasn't sure what Paris was here for and how she could best handle the whole thing so she defaulted to the good hospitality she'd learned from her grandmother.
Paris shook her head at the offer and, as she took in the small, eclectic living room in front of her, wrinkled her nose. "Apparently you and your mother have the same taste," Paris spoke under her breath. Rory still heard it but chose not to comment. Paris had always lacked a certain amount of tact, which had at times been extremely aggravating and also incredibly refreshing. A little reluctantly, Paris took a seat on Rory's couch.
"I got a call from Huntzberger's attorney," Paris finally spoke. Rory, who had already been tense, felt her muscles contract even further.
"Oh!" she exhaled involuntarily.
"She said that she'd seen the article and needed to talk to Logan about it first but hinted that they might be willing to make a deal." Paris examined her nails like she was bored by this discussion.
"Can they do that? Even with the case before the judge?" Rory slumped into her armchair across from Paris. Of all the things she thought Paris had come to her small apartment to discuss, the end of her custody struggle was the last thing on the list.
"Yeah. Up until the judge makes her ruling in open court a deal can be made between the two of you. So, I'll let you know when I hear something. I've got to be in court for an embezzlement case in an hour." Having said her piece, Paris stood once more and left. Apparently, the agitation that Rory had seen in Paris had nothing to do with her case, but rather the fact that Paris was rather pressed for time.
"Right. Okay." Rory wasn't entirely conscious of the words she was speaking. Her mind was still processing the information she'd just received. On autopilot, Rory walked Paris to the door and saw her friend out. She was in the same state only seconds later when her phone rang. It was why she answered her phone without checking the caller ID so she wasn't entirely sure who was calling.
"Hello?" Rory spoke, her tone sounding a little dazed, even to her ears.
"Rory. It's Logan."
