He was back for the summer. Back to a world of lunches with the parentals and their associates; of tennis and golf and all other sporting activities that children like him were brought up on; of endless dinner parties full of non-stop parading by peacocks showing off their feathers. He was back in Hartford, in a world that had often seemed larger than life but now, at eighteen years of age, suddenly seemed diminished and smaller. The houses were not as big as he had remembered them. The streets filled with BMWs, Mercedes and Porsches that lined the driveways like the tall, stately oaks by the pavement had a sameness about them though he was sure there were differences. Hartford had changed but then so had Tristan DuGrey.
Two years ago he had left Hartford (and Chilton) in disgrace only now to return in superficial glory. His father had preached to friends and acquaintances that military school was the true future for the American education system, as if he had sent Tristan there voluntarily and not because of unmentionable circumstances.
"They teach children about the real world. Not some glorified version. Boys turn into men there. They learn about determination, ambition, the American tradition and the principles that this great country is founded upon. Tristan has learnt discipline and he's prepared for anything life will throw at him. He's independent and self-reliant. Not to mention that he finished top of his class. He had Yale, Princeton, Stanford and the likes vying for his admittance but of course he's going to Harvard. It is after all family tradition."
Gestures were important to speeches as Mr. DuGrey had learnt years ago, and so with practiced art he would slap his son on the back as a show of pride and affection; the kind of physical intimacy that would have been expected between a father and a son. As dictated by his role, a role that Tristan had perfected at the age of five, he clasped the right of his father's arm - always the right - and twisted his mouth upwards in what might have been called a smile though it lacked any real emotion. Five seconds later he would step back, the performance over, and would wait patiently for the round of applause from the audience. They always received one. He and his father were great actors in their own special way.
It was without effort that Tristan found his way back into his old circle of friends; he was a king returned from his sojourn in far away, exotic places. They did not see him. They only saw the perfect golden boy with good looks, good grades, money, and blood bluer than the sea or the sky. If his disgraced departure from Chilton registered in their shallow minds it was only to add spice, adventure and a hint of delicious (but acceptable) rebellion to his personality. Besides, he was charming, intelligent and more good-looking than ever with his perfectly built frame and accentuated muscles that he had gotten from the daily drills at military school. Tristan DuGrey was a man's man and a woman's man rolled into one. Essentially, while he was everything they dreamed of, they were everything that he did not dream of. He wanted more. He craved more.
"More, sir?"
Tristan blinked and tried to find his bearings, "Eh…"
"The waiter asked you if you wanted more," Madeline, a childhood acquaintance, helpfully supplied. She was a sweet brunette who in all her life had been a follower and was destined to become a trophy wife, though certainly not Tristan's, no matter how much she might have wished it.
He stared at the offerings on the silver platter and carefully selected one of the canapés, a miniature piece of toasted bread topped with a thin slice of salmon and a dollop of cream cheese. "This is a nice party you have here, Madeline."
"It is lovely, isn't it?" Louise interceded, "But let's not talk about such things. I want to hear more about you." She slipped her arm possessively around Tristan's and led him away. There was no real polite way of excusing himself so he allowed himself to be directed away from Madeline and the other partygoers to a more secluded spot.
As Louise chattered, more about herself than about him, Tristan began to reflect on how some things hadn't changed. She was still as vapid as ever, the blonde who hid her sly intelligence behind a carefully decorated exterior. Tristan spent the first few minutes watching in fascination as Louise's lips moved; a flurried motion of twists and turns lending a permanent sneer to almost everything she said. For a while he was content to observe her mouth's strange patterns as she uttered soundless gibberish but he soon grew bored of that. To prevent his eyes from glazing over he scanned the room.
By the refreshment table were Kenneth and William, rehashing all their conquests – real and imaginary. There were a group of girls giggling and tittering as they headed to the bathroom and amongst them he noted a few ex-girlfriends. Across the room Simon Denning was making life difficult for one of the waiters; Tristan rolled his eyes and mouthed the words 'inferiority complex'. Near the entrance he spotted Madeline and Paris greeting a latecomer, a willowy brunette with an air of elegance and refinement that girls like Louise strove to imitate. The latecomer was the type of girl Tristan could see his parents approving of; her whole demeanor giving away her 'old rich' roots. Yet the jut of her chin hinted at determination and the absolute straightness of her back and the tiny fluid gestures she made with her hands revealed an intelligent, serious person.
"Rory Gilmore."
His head snapped back to Louise, her words finally gaining his attention. "What did you say?"
"It looks like Rory Gilmore has arrived. You do remember Rory, don't you?"
Rory Gilmore. Could I forget?
Tristan wondered to himself though he answered Louise in a less revealing way, "I think I vaguely remember her." His eyes, however, were fixated on Rory. He watched as she tilted her head to the left and her coffee-brown hair fell to the side in a smooth and fluid motion straight out of a shampoo commercial. Her porcelain pale skin was tinged with a faint blush of pink complementing the rose colored dress she wore. He found himself waxing poetic over her appearance. Pathetic. A mere few minutes in her presence and you're reduced to the smitten Sophomore of the past. Two years and her smile still gives you butterflies. You don't need this, DuGrey. You're over it."I didn't think you would," came Louise's triumphant reply, "After all it's not as if she's memorable or anything. Not the type of person you would recall, Tristan."
Something in her voice made Tristan pause. There was a slight edge to her words although whether it was due to animosity towards the object of their discussion or a snide comment directed at Tristan and his past entanglements with Rory he did not know. Perhaps it was a little of both. Nevertheless it was a sharp reminder that Rory Gilmore was beyond him, had always been beyond him.
As his eyes absorbed the older Rory Gilmore, Tristan relived the stupidity he had laid himself open to in his numerous efforts to gain her attention. He could remember each encounter all too clearly; the humiliation, the desperation, the cocky bravado he had erected as a defense to Rory's obvious disinterest. Moreover he doubted that his foolish antics were completely erased from Louise's memory or anyone from Chilton who had borne witness to them. It was a rare female who made Tristan DuGrey jump through proverbial hoops and in a world of designer Barbie dolls, Rory Gilmore was virtually an extinct species.
They stood in their corner staring at her until finally he could bear it no more. "If you excuse me, Louise, I have to go. A prior engagement, you understand."
"Oh. Well I will see you around won't I, Tristan? You do have my number?"
"I'll call," came Tristan's empty promise as he quickly departed from her company. As he made his way to the door, he was stopped every now and then by familiar faces. Even as he said his farewells, made his excuses and promised to meet up, he was ever mindful of Rory's presence. His eyes traced her movements: from the entrance to the refreshment table, refreshment table to the bathroom, bathroom to the center of the room, center of the room to three feet away from him.
"It's a pity you have to leave so soon, Tristan. There's a party at Rick's, next Friday, though. You'll have to come. You will come won't you?"
"Hmm, no…"
"Ah, c'mon DuGrey. There's this blonde you have to meet."
He blinked, disorientated, and sucked some air into his lungs, "I'm sorry John. Of course, I'm coming."
"Good, good. Wait until you see the blonde…."
It was at that moment when their eyes locked and he was held captive by the intensity of Rory's blue eyes. A flicker of recognition crossed her face and shiver of elation danced through his body. She remembered him.
Slowly, slowly he exhaled a steady stream of air, trying desperately to calm himself. His lips twitched to an involuntarily smile instead of 'hello'. She returned his smile with a contemplative frown and Tristan stepped back as if Rory had physically struck out at him. His smile faltered and then completely disappeared though he could not tear his eyes away from her. Every now and then he nodded and made a 'hmming', 'ahhing' sound to give John the illusion that he was upholding his end of the conversation. Rory seemed less fascinated by Tristan though every now and then she snuck a few looks in his direction. It was no consolation for him because the frown was still a permanent fixture on her face.
Finally after five minutes of covert glances on Rory's side and blatant staring on Tristan's, she excused herself from the company she was currently keeping and made a move towards him. As Rory closed the gap between them, step by step, a bolt of inspiration struck Tristan. He knew what he had to do.
"I have to go."
"Now?" asked John in dismay.
"Yes. Now." Tristan confirmed. "I didn't realize how late it was. I really have to go."
"Well don't forget about next Friday!"
"Next Friday?"
"The party, remember?"
"Ah, yes, the party!" he snapped his fingers and nodded, "I'll definitely be there, man." One look Rory's way and Tristan realized that she was almost upon him; he had dallied for far too long. "See ya." He rushed to the door and a backward glance showed Rory standing next to John, an inscrutable look on her face.
Their eyes locked again and for a few seconds Tristan was frozen in motion. She seemed to be staring at the heart of him, burning holes through his soul. He stopped breathing. Another involuntarily smile began to form but this time Tristan felt it creeping up and quickly turned away. He willed his legs to move and it was only when he reached his car that Tristan began to function normally again.
Gripping the steering wheel he breathed; in and out, in and out; body heaving with the effort. Chicken shit. Is that what they taught you at military school, DuGrey? To run at the sight of a girl? A few more deep breaths and Tristan was once again sophisticated, composed, and infallible. Still he did not return to Madeline's party but inserted the key into the ignition and started the engine. The car roared as he drove away, a sound to drown out his inner thoughts.