Disclaimer: I do not own Louise, Dean or Gypsy. I'll go further to say I
am not affiliated in any way a'tall to Gilmore Girls. Or Paris. She
belongs to Nate. Seriously. It's a very well kept secret in GG land.
Author's Note: Well let's see- Jamie, Gracie, Trixie, and Nate. Oh, and Roxy. Without them, this fic would cease to exist. And yes I realize that might be a good thing.
*
If there was one thing Louise Grant had learned early on in life, it was that she should not center her universe on one particular guy. In the end they'd just leave you, bore you or end up incarcerated. She didn't even like depending on them for anything, either. If one canceled on a date, he was easily replaced. So the fact that she had to rely on Mr. Funkill over there, also known as Dean, to fix her car and get her back on the road so it would look like she hadn't been further than the mall, had to be the reason why she had such a sour disposition presently.
As if it was her fault that he had no taste in topic conversation. What'd he expect of her? To discuss the competition in the latest episode of Battlebots? Uh, no. She had a life. And it wasn't as if she was going to complain about the fact that she and Madeline couldn't really borrow each other's lip gloss without major problems, considering she was a summer, and Madeline a winter. She knew more than that, she got into Chilton- didn't she?
If she really wanted to, she could discuss Tolstoy, Nabokov, Plath and their literary masterpieces at the same level of Rory and Paris. But she didn't, because those topics really didn't interest Louise. Sure, she enjoyed The Bell Jar as much as everyone, but why drag it out to have all this meaning? Sylvia Plath wrote it as a semi-autobiographical novel. Esther had severe depression, and couldn't bring herself to commit suicide because there was always a reason. It was like what that Rachel chick had said to Will in About a Boy, "There's always going to be something. An episode of NYPD Blue or whatever." She was paraphrasing, because it wasn't exact, but same idea. When she finally does get ready to take the plunge, so to speak, she doesn't die. And gets admitted into that institute. She gets screwed over in her treatments, and leaves with a new will to life. Why analyze that? Louise accepted it, as it was, a good novel.
Not that she expected Mr. Mechanic to want to talk literature, philosophy, religion or anything else they had taught her at Chilton. But the fact of the matter was that she had a mind with opinions on things other than what shades went with her coloring.
"You're scowling," Dean commented as he slid into the passenger seat, and Gypsy went underneath the car hood. What kind of name was Gypsy? Freak town.
"My feet are all blistery," Louise shifted his gaze to him. "It means I'm going to have to spend every afternoon at the foot guy."
"The foot guy?" Dean asked, despite the feeling he had that he was going to regret it.
"I don't remember his title, but he gets rid of the ickiness that my foot procured today. Blisters, irritated skin, et cetera," Louise explained. "Then this time next week I'll have to go to a pedicurist. And I can forget about wearing sandals."
"How tragic for you."
Louise ignored him and started to rummage through her purse. Where was her cell phone- she needed to check in with Paris. Maybe she wouldn't need that car after all. Besides one time in Stars Hollow was enough for this week, month or even year. Lifetime. It was enough for a lifetime, she finally decided.
"What are you looking for?" Dean asked her.
"My cell."
"Why?"
"Because I'm going to tell my friend to forget it and I'll just wait for my car to be done before going home," Louise answered. Ah, there it was.
"What friend?"
"What makes you think that you know anyone that I know?" Louise snapped at him, really the man was driving her to be a bitch.
"Well, um, for one we already do," Dean, pointed out. "Rory, remember?"
Louise started to purse her lips before remembering it was an action that her mother would do. "Maybe I just find her really unmemorable."
"Or maybe you're growing senile at a very young age."
Louise managed not to glare and ignored him as she dialed Paris's familiar number.
"Gellar." Paris all but barked it out. Really, Paris needed to soften her voice just a tad.
"Grant," Louise replied. "Now that we have that all sorted out, I have something to tell you."
"If you're calling to tell me you saw Mindy boffing Buffy, I'll hang up and never pick the telephone up again," Paris warned her.
"No, I called to say it won't take as long as I thought and I'll just wait for the car myself."
Paris sighed, "Fine. I'll cancel the driver. Anything else?"
"Hair volumizer."
"What?"
"You need it," Louise told her, and the only reply she got was a low groan, then the clicking of the phone before the dial tone kicked in. "Hmmm…lovely." She shut her cell phone off.
"Hair volumizer?" Dean questioned incredulously. As if a conversation could not be centered on such a thing.
It could. Louise knew that from experience. "Don't worry, you don't need it."
Right. Dean wondered if there had ever been a time when woman actually made sense. Most likely not.
To Be Continued…