AN: Hey everyone. So sorry that it takes to long to update, but such is the price we pay. I'm a perfectionist, so I go over every chapter like, a hundred times. I'm obsessive when I care about something. I'm doing my best to get stuff out to you guys ASAP, but I am currently blocked writing chapter 16-everything else, I have drafts of. So, keep your fingers crossed and hope I get some inspiration to write what I know is somewhere in my head.
KelsT: I don't use this story as a forum to discuss or attempt to resolve stuff, so I would very much like to speak to you privately to explain to you why this isn't a "Mary-Sue" fic. So if you would please leave your E-mail address or send me an E-mail, that would be great. The review boards are a great place to leave your opinions and for other readers to comment on stuff, but for me to go into depth, that's something I'd like to do personally. I can assure you all, that this is not a "Mary-Sue" fic. This is very different from other fics out there, and hopefully it will turn out as great in reality as it is in my head.
Now on a personal note, I'd like to officially welcome Benjamin Martin into the world. He's the first new-born son of a good friend and one of the writers of this fic. Congrats honey!!! On behalf of Taylor and Stew and everyone else working on this fic...congratulations!!!
Ok, please review
Enjoy.
Chapter 10
"And this is it," Bree said, stopping in front of a house. It was a ranch-style, one-floor house that stood on levels eight feet off the ground. On the side, there were stairs leading up to the front door. "So...?"
"Well, it's...." Jess trailed off, not quite sure what to say.
"... A far cry from a third-floor walk-up rent-controlled apartment on Great Jones, I know. And I know it looks kinda crappy on the outside, but it's a nice space inside; it's got good potential."
"Yeah? Well, you always did have good taste. Let's see what we're working with."
They climbed the stairs to the front door; Jess put his hand on the railing, and it promptly fell off. They both looked down at it, then at each other. Bree shrugged.
"I never said it was perfect."
"I suppose you want me to fix that?"
"Well, you *did* break it."
Jess shot Bree a 'whatever' look.
"Well, if not you, I'm sure I can get Luke to fix it, or Kirk, or one of those other strong, handsome men around town. Of course they will need some incentive...."
"Okay, okay, I'll do it," Jess relented.
"Thank you, baby," Bree said, with a sly smile.
"Kirk, strong and handsome, huh?"
"Jess, I didn't realise Kirk was your type, but you go pursue whoever you want. You know I don't judge." She patted him on the cheek and turned to open the door.
Jess followed her, muttering darkly under his breath.
"So, this is it."
Jess looked around skeptically.
"See, now, there's the kitchen," Bree said, pointing to her left. She walked further in the apartment as Jess put down the bags he was carrying and hopped up on to the counter surrounding the kitchen. After a moment, Bree hopped up beside him and kept pointing things out, starting at the far left and working clockwise. "My room, bathroom, Dom's room...."
She finished by looking at the empty space down a step from the kitchen. "And that's where the TV and stuff goes."
"Not bad."
"And did you notice the color of the walls?" she teased.
"White, yeah, I got it." Jess rolled his eyes. "Wow, this place is all ready isn't it? New pipes, new paint job... the people you took this place from were all ready to move in, and they put a lot of work into this place too."
"Yup. Beats doing it myself," she shrugged.
"Seriously, how did you get this place?" Jess asked, turning to look at her.
"Are you doubting my abilities?" A provoking grin curled her lips.
"Never. I've seen you get out of speeding tickets, remember? I'm just curious how you got this place away from people who were obviously excited to move in."
"Money talks, my friend, money talks," she revealed flatly.
"Ah."
"You know," Bree mused, "I almost forgot how easy getting stuff is when you've got a fortune backing you up. I missed that power; that knowledge that you can have anything you want, because everyone has a price- and I miss being able to beat it without batting an eyelash."
"Is this the spoiled little rich girl that I met a few years ago? 'Cause I really didn't like her very much." He asked teasingly, but with serious undertone.
"No, and I wasn't that bad." Bree looked him in the eye to reinforce her point. "Look, you know I hate all that shit." She paused and continued. "I just kinda forgot what it's like to have that kind of bank roll. Jess, you remember how it was for you and Dom before I met you guys, right?"
Jess sighed. "Yeah, I remember."
Bree looked at him steadily, waiting.
"It sucked, alright?" Jess relented. "It really sucked, but we dealt with it."
"With my help," Bree added. "Look, it's just money. It's not like I'm selling my soul."
"Are you sure? 'Cause with your father -"
"That part of my life is my business Jess, you know that," Bree said, a little too firmly. She took a deep breath and quickly composed herself, and smiled confidently. "I can handle Martin, Jess. I can handle all of it."
"I know, I just -"
"I am not going back to that life. Like I said, it's just nice to know it's there."
"You don't have to justify yourself to me. I trust you."
"I know, and thank you for that." Bree said genially.
"I'd just hate for Dom and I to have to deprogram you, that's all," Jess cracked, lightening the mood.
"There is no need," Bree reassured him, laughing. "Okay, so where do we start?"
"Well," Jess said hopping off the counter and stood where the living room would be. "How about we start with the Village here," pointing to the wall in front of him, "and expand from there." He looked over at her. "And let me guess: no map?"
Hopping off the counter, she crossed to where he stood and gave him a smile as she produced a folded map from her back pocket. "You underestimate me."
Jess walked over to her and reached for the map. She pulled it away and held it behind her. He leaned closer so that there was only a small space between their bodies. "Bree," he said wickedly as his hand silently went around her back to grab the map, "you are one woman I will never underestimate."
Bree held up the map up in her other hand. "Again, you mean."
Jess smirked and grabbed the map, but didn't move. There were about two inches between them.
"Jess," Bree purred wickedly, "you have something to do, and it isn't me."
Jess cracked a smile and started towards the kitchen where he had left the bag of supplies.
"You forget, Jess," Bree said, with a wicked smile and a sultry wink, "I'm much better at this game then you are."
**********************
It was the thick of the August heat wave and Rory was stuck in a classroom that the air conditioner had recently given up on. The instructor, a young college senior in dusty jeans and a wrinkled shirt, scribbled a sentence on the board, while Paris sat at the edge of her seat trying to anticipate the answer. The instructor turned around to the class again.
"Okay. There's an error in this sentence. What is it?"
"An error?" Paris questioned.
"Yeah. Name that error."
"The whole sentence is wrong."
"Yes. Because there's an error. Can you name it?"
"No, Jack. There isn't just *an* error. There are numerous errors. You're hurting my eyes with that sentence. It needs emergency surgery."
"Paris, there is one way to fix this entire sentence. Just name it, I'll erase the sentence, and it'll be out of your sight forever."
"No. There's no one way to fix it. You've got punctuation problems, agreement problems, misplaced modifiers, and you've got the preposition at the end of the prepositional clause. In formal grammar, you never put the preposition at the end of the clause."
"Paris, you know the answer I'm looking for, don't you?"
"I might."
"Then just say it!" he cried, with a touch of desperation.
"Well, there are three possible answers you might be looking for, none of which would redeem this sentence."
Exasperated, Rory called out, "Make the verb plural."
"Thank you, Rory," Jack replied sincerely.
At the end of the class, Paris and Rory walked down the hallway, each along opposite walls.
"I can't believe this," Paris muttered, a little too loudly for Rory to believe she was talking to herself.
"Neither can I."
"It's unbelievable."
"It certainly is."
"Why do I get the feeling we're not talking about the same thing?"
"Because we're not."
"What's so unbelievable to you?"
"That you are going to continue to obsess about that stupid sentence."
"It's not just about the sentence, Rory. The guy is a complete imbecile. How am I supposed to get an 800 on the Verbal section with that nincompoop for a teacher? I might end up talking like him. I'll show up at my Harvard interview and tell the Dean of Admissions 'yo.' In fact, I was almost going to call out 'yo' to catch up with you."
"I might have walked faster just to hear it. Paris, the man is on his last year at Amherst. He's an English major."
"Amherst. Do you know who goes to Amherst? The people who don't get into Harvard."
"Stop it. It's a hot day. I could barely concentrate myself. Maybe it was an off day for him. And anyway, what are you worried about? You knew his sentence was wrong. I would say that's good evidence that your knowledge of grammar is sound. You have nothing to worry about."
"Yeah, if Jack is the one who writes the SAT's, but unfortunately, or fortunately for the sake of the English language, he doesn't. In fact," Paris decided, "I'm going to call Headmaster Charleston. It's ridiculous that the school should pay for this horrendous service. I mean, the guy doesn't even have the decency to wear clean clothes to class or comb his hair."
"Paris, relax. It wasn't that big of a deal."
"Well, I guess I should believe that coming from you," Paris retorted sarcastically. "If I want something to make me feel better I'll take a Paxil. Headmaster Charleston needs to know about this. We're not getting the type of preparation we should."
"Fine. Then I guess you have calls to make. I'll see you Monday."
"Well, if you don't care about getting into Harvard, then that's fine, Gilmore. More chances for me," Paris gloated as she walked away from Rory.
"Great," Rory moaned, her voice deflated. She sighed and left the walls of Chilton to Paris.
Next time…..
"Can I have my newspapers now?" Bootsy demanded petulantly.
"They're not your newspapers!" Luke protested, exasperated.
"Fine, you don't want to give them up. Just give me the cash."
"There is no cash. I'm not selling the damn newspapers."
********************************
"You started it," Bree charged.
"No. I didn't," Jess countered matter-of-factly.
"Yes you did."
"You know Bree, regardless of how many times you say it, it's not gonna magically come true."
"No, I only have to say it once."
********************************
"Hey Jess, why do I get the feeling that everyone knows who I am?"
"Because they do," he stated wryly.
"Well, that sucks" Bree said, annoyed