Author's note: No your eyes don't deceive you. This is an actual update. And it only took a year and 4 days to finish it. Sad. Anyway, if you can remember where this thing left off, then you're doing a lot better than I am. I had to review the last few chapters, and I'm sure I probably contradicted something anyway. So just ignore that. Also, just because it's taken me this long to update, I'm not going to scrap everything and wrap it up in one tiny package just to finish it. If I'm going to finish it at all, I want it to be done properly. So if that means it takes a few more parts, so be it. I hope this part doesn't disappoint since the faithful of you have held on waiting for so long.
Part 8
The occasional squeaking of the windshield wipers as they flew across the glass provided the only sound in the otherwise solemn vehicle. The rain spattered on the windshield, running to the sides and streaming down the passenger's window. Blurred scenery faded in the distance, bathed in sunlight as the clouds disbursed to give way to the sun. Yet the last remnants of the rainstorm surrounded the car, seemingly following them no matter which way they turned. The dark clouds hanging over their heads mimicked the silence resounding in the car. It was as if God metaphorically set them apart in their own dreary existence, while the rest of the world continued on with their happy lives.
And so it seemed to always be.
His eyes glanced her way for the first time since they got on the highway. She had her back completely to him, daring him to make a move so that she could bite his head off. Or better yet, so she could have the momentum of turning if she reached out to slap him.
Refusing to lift his foot from the gas, he took the exit ramp at a speed well above the posted limit. He took satisfaction as he saw her turn and her knuckles whiten as she held onto the handle of the door. Nearing the end of the ramp, he was prepared to ignore the yield sign and merge with traffic without slowing. Only his plans were thwarted by an unusual backup of rush hour traffic.
He hit the brakes quickly, jarring the car to a halt, inches from the rear bumper of an old Volkswagen. He heard a thump from her side of the car, realizing moments later that it was the sound of her knee hitting the underside of the dash. The force of the impact dislodged the door of the glove box, sending the familiar black box, along with a dozen receipts to the floor.
He felt a bit guilty for his actions, but she was taking it like a trooper. She refused to break her vow of silence, even to utter a painful "ow" or a deserved curse in his direction. His guilt was replaced by anxiety the moment she leaned down and reached for the box. He could see the curiosity on her face, and hoping that the other emotion was not one of recognition, he reached out swiftly and brushed her hands away before she could grab hold.
"Leave that alone" he bit out. It was the first words spoken between the two in twenty minutes.
She snapped her head in his direction, glaring with what could only be described as hatred written all over her face. She looked about ready to say something before deciding he wasn't worth the effort and shifting back to face the door.
He was disgusted with the way she was cowering away from him. More than that, he was disgusted with the way he had been acting that would make her cower like that. He was a jackass, plain and simple.
The traffic eased along and he struggled to remember which way to turn once he got into town. He was hoping it would come to him as he was certain that she wouldn't give him directions if he asked. She would rather walk home than give him the satisfaction.
As they neared her street, he knew he was on the right track as she began to straighten her skirt, anticipating the moment she would be free from him. He looked her over, certain she knew he was doing so, wondering what she thought of his timing. Her hair was still damp from being caught in the rain, and her arms were folded across her chest in a defiant, self-protecting manner. Her stature indicated one thing clearly. She was adamant and stubborn, and willing to win this confrontation no matter the cost.
He was certain she had approached him today out of sheer need. For nothing else would have made her cross the line of hostility he had established with her. She was nominated to this Founder's Court, and her escort had been taken out of commission at the most inopportune moment, leaving her to fend for herself in a school where she knew no one, and the only person even close to being called her friend was so jealous she bled green. He felt sorry for her, and the twinge of guilt and shame at helping her into this predicament made up his mind.
He pulled up next to her house, easing the car to a stop. Putting the car in park, he left the engine running. The rain had finally stopped and the residual drops glinted off the grass in the front yard. A car was parked in the driveway, seemingly haphazardly abandoned by the driver. Its awkward positioning fit well with what he knew of her mother.
Rory grabbed the handle on the door, pulling back and leaning her weight on it to open. She had forgotten that he had the child locks on, and her efforts got her nowhere. She didn't say a word, only sat looking straight ahead, assuming that he would have the decency to allow her to escape her mini prison.
Instead he turned to her, sighing a long sigh of desperation.
"Look, I know you need an escort for this weekend."
She didn't respond, still staring straight ahead.
"What time do you need me to pick you up?" he asked dryly.
She finally turned, looking at him with a look of disbelief. She then broke her silence with a mocking laugh, her intent to make him feel like a little child.
"I would rather take the neighborhood dog who's blind, deaf, missing a leg, and smells like dead fish than to go anywhere with you." Her words were unusually snide, and he was sure she meant them.
"I figured you would say that," he mumbled as he reached for his cell phone. His pushed in three numbers, hit the send button, and held it to his ear. A few seconds passed before he spoke into the phone. "Hartford Connecticut." A few more seconds. "Richard and Emily Gilmore, please."
A wave of panic hit her as she realized what he was attempting. "What are you doing?" Her voice betrayed her.
He didn't answer her, merely looked over at her for a second, and then straight ahead.
"You're bluffing," she said, just as he spoke a greeting into the phone. She heard him introduce himself as 'Tristan DuGrey', grandson of the great Janlen DuGrey. Her wave of panic was turning into full fledged fear as she heard him make small talk with what he wanted her to believe was her grandparents.
She tried to speak again, to tell him to stop acting and let her out of the car. He responded by unbuckling his seatbelt, opening the car door, and stepping from the car. He shut the door, walked a few paces away from the car, and turned around to face her. He was still holding the phone to his ear, staring back at her through the window.
She again tried the door, hoping miraculously that it would open this time. No such luck. She was trapped inside the car, watching him through the glass, unable to hear what he was saying, and unwilling to believe he was actually speaking with one of her grandparents.
A few minutes later he ended the conversation, closing the phone and shoving it back into his pocket. He walked around the front of the car, and she could have sworn he was walking slowly just to infuriate her. He grasped the door handle and unceremoniously jerked the door open.
Finally free from the car, she jumped out so fast she was afraid she was going to fall over on her face. She smoothed her skirt, tugging on her shirt to get it back into place. He reached into the backseat of the car, grabbing her bookbag and thrusting it toward her. She took it from his hands, turned on her heels, and practically ran for the porch.
"Your grandmother said I can pick you up at 5 at their house."
She whirled around at the sound of his voice, her damp hair sticking to her face. She brushed it out of her eyes and attempted to appear nonchalant. "I don't believe you."
Deliberately misinterpreting her statement, he defended. "Well, it was her idea. She suggested that we leave from there since it's a lot closer than leaving from here."
She guffawed at his audacity. "You're lying. You didn't call her, you probably called one of your groupies just to tell them how you had me trapped in your car."
He stared at her blankly and shrugged his shoulders in a 'suit yourself' gesture.
She turned and made her way towards the house at the same time her mother stepped onto the porch. Lorelai looked first at Tristan with a puzzling glare, and then to Rory. Rory had stopped halfway to the house when she looked up and saw her mother coming out. She was holding the cordless phone in one hand, using the other to cover the mouthpiece. She knew what she was going to say before Lorelai even opened her mouth.
"Your grandmother's on the phone."
Rory's stomach twisted as reality set in. Furious, she turned toward Tristan, fully prepared to lay into him with one insult after another. Instead, the only words that came out of her mouth were the first one's that came to her head.
"I hate you."
Tristan looked up as he approached his side of the car, looking her directly in the eye. "We've established that," he retorted. He climbed into the car and moments later squealed the tires as he peeled away from the house.
Pulling into the driveway of what could only be described as his penitentiary, Tristan eased the car into the garage next to his father's latest acquisition. Most wealthy men of his father's generation had a penchant for fast cars and fast women. His father was no different. He wasn't sure which his father turned over faster, the mistresses or the machines.
He gathered his belongings from the car and weaved his way through the other cars in the garage. His mother's car was there, which was no surprise since she didn't bother to leave the house on most days. He entered through the connecting door to the house, taking the back stairs in a rush to reach his room before either of his parents realized he was home. Opening the thick wooden door, he slipped into dimly lit interior of his bedroom.
Finally alone to himself, he threw his things in the chair by the door, scurried to his bed, and flopped down with minimal effort. The softness of the covers felt wonderful next to skin. He had always loved that feeling. He rolled over onto his back, towards the dead center of his bed, sinking down in comforter. He stared blankly at the ceiling, feeling like a little kid surrounded and protected by the comfort of familiarity. This was home.
He drifted in and out of sleep for the next few hours, wrestling with thoughts and dreams that plagued his mind. A few times he was awakened abruptly from a dream, finding himself tangled in the covers from his unconscious thrashing. He was usually either falling, or being chased by an unrecognizable force in those dreams. Running to get away from something he didn't quite understand.
By the time he had fully awakened, the sun had completely set and the light vanished from the windows. Sitting up in be, he flipped on the nearest light and vanquished the last remnants of sleep from his head. He half stumbled, half walked toward the closet across the room, opening the door to the stench of moth balls and room fresheners. This was the closet where he kept his 'good' clothes, separate from the everyday garments and uniforms he usually wore.
He grabbed for the garment bag that hung near the front, ignoring the oft neglected clothes further towards the back. He felt a little bit guilty for holding onto such things that he didn't need and wouldn't dare say he liked. He made a mental note to go through the masses of clothes and get rid of the ones he absolutely wouldn't miss. He could give them to a local thrift store, or better yet, a charity that helped the less fortunate to dress successfully for job interviews when they otherwise wouldn't be able. He was feeling better about himself already.
Unceremoniously he tossed the bag on the bed. He fumbled with the zipper, peeling away the cheap plastic from the tux. As soon as he did, he began to smell the lingering stench of smoke. He had intended to have it cleaned after the last wearing, but he must have forgotten. And then he remembered why.
Because it reminded him of her.
He had worn it last to his cousin's wedding, and though it seemed silly now, he hadn't wanted to clean the suit and erase the memories of that night. Didn't want to erase her from that suit.
Today he knew better. He would have one of the staff take it to be cleaned overnight. There was no use holding onto something that wasn't there. She had slipped from his grasp before, and the sooner he realized that it would always be that way, the sooner he could move on with his life.
His mother's voice on the intercom jarred him from his thoughts. "Tristan, I need to see you in the dining room." Her voice was terse and short. "Now," she added for good measure. It wasn't a request, it was an order. One he didn't want to follow but knew better than to ignore.
Minutes later he entered the staunch and overbearing room, the cold façade matching the coldness of its occupants. His mother was seated at one end of the ornate table, barking orders at one of the wait staff she considered incompetent. His father sat opposite her, reading the latest figures faxed to him by his accountant. They were separated by only 8 feet physically, but metaphorically, it was miles. His parents insisted on upholding the fallacy of a perfect marriage, even if that consisted of silent dinners every night together. Tristan was not expected to join, not that they noticed anyway.
He stood silently in the table, waiting for his mother to finish her latest tirade before making his presence known. She dismissed the staff person with a flick of her hand, shooing her away as if she were a dog. Tristan took a step forward, keeping as much distance between them as was humanly possible.
His mother barely acknowledged his presence before beginning to talk. "Your father and I will be out of town this weekend."
He wasn't surprised by this revelation, for his parents were often disappearing on the weekends to one of more of their hideaways.
"We expect you to be on your best behavior while we are gone." Her reprimanding tone was almost as comical as the message she delivered. His parents never cared what he did, and though she would never stoop to the level, he could almost imagine her wagging her finger at him like she would a little child.
"In spite of your behavior the past few weeks, we trust that you will not turn this house into the laughingstock of the neighborhood. You will not have anyone in our house while we are not here." She didn't have to explain any further. He knew she was referring to Rory, as much as he knew it was useless for her to even bother. He would like nothing more than to spite his parents and invite an entire throng of 'unapproved' guests to their house. To traipse them over his mother's ornate carpeting, to parade them through the closed off rooms of the house even he was not privileged to see. They need not worry about Rory however, for short of drugging and kidnapping, she wouldn't step a foot near him voluntarily.
He had tuned her out by this point and words droned on and on as she enumerated the ways in which he was not to embarrass them. She caught his attention moments later when she mentioned where they would be.
"Don't think you can get away with anything either. We will be in town for part of the weekend and we're not above dropping in to make sure our orders are followed."
It occurred to him that his father hadn't even looked up from his reports, and yet she kept using the word 'we' as if they were a united effort in this manner. His father usually left the disciplining to her anyway, because he didn't care enough to be bothered.
"We have to make an appearance at Chilton's Founder's Court festivities. As a former Founder's Queen myself, I am expected to be in attendance at the alumni events." Ordinarily he would have scoffed at her self righteousness, but what she had just said stopped all thought process in his head.
She was going to be there.
He was dismissed before he had let it fully settle in. His parents would be attending the same event he had voluntarily gotten himself into. And he would be attending with the one person his parents had forbidden him to see. He shook his head in defeat as he climbed the stares back to his solitude. It had been a long day and he wasn't prepared to sort through what it all meant just yet.
He, his parents, and Rory, all in the same room together again. It was going to be ugly.
Rory hung up the phone with an exaggerated sigh. Her grandmother could be so irrational sometimes. Every logical argument Rory raised as to why she shouldn't go with Tristan, her grandmother shot down and dismissed without further comment. And Rory couldn't tell her the true reason she didn't want to go with him. For in her grandmother's eyes, he was a saint swooping in to rescue the damsel in distress. And nothing she said would convince her otherwise.
She curled her legs under her on the sofa, reaching for the remote to the television. She was in the mood for a movie. One that would take her to a fantasy land where all her problems melted into the darkness and her worries were tossed to the wind. She no sooner had the remote in her hand than the telephone next to her rang out shrilly. She prepared herself for a second round with her grandmother before calmly answering the phone.
"Do you have an escort for this weekend?", the voice on the other end bit out.
She was a little taken aback. "Paris?"
"No, it's the pope," Paris replied sarcastically. "Do you have an escort?," she asked with more force.
"How did you get this number?" Rory countered.
Paris let out an exasperated sigh. "You're listed in the book. Oh the wonders of technology, will they ever cease?"
"Oh," was all Rory could reply.
"Either you're deaf or plain dense since I've had to ask 3 times. Who is your escort?"
Rory evaded the question, not wanting to admit out loud that she was forced to take Tristan. Not wanting to face the wrath of Paris when she found out. "Why do you need to know?"
Paris was becoming obviously irritated with her by now. "My mother is having placards made with each girl's name alongside her escort's."
"Couldn't she just put 'Rory Gilmore and guest'?"
"If you don't have an escort, just say so and I can get back to my studies and stop concerning myself with the everyday drama Rory Gilmore."
As much as she didn't want to, Rory knew that she had to fess up. She took a deep breath before finally saying the two words. "It's Tristan."
Rory fully expected another tirade from Paris, but she wasn't expecting the dead silence that she got. Not certain what to say, she waited for it to begin. But instead she was confronted with a soft clicking on the other end as one Paris Gellar, slowly and deliberately hung up on Rory Gilmore.