She's So Halogen
Chapter Five
Author-- Tinuviel Henneth
Summary-- Future-fic: One beautiful, reluctant, Pulitzer Prize-winning muse + a depressed and creatively stuck songwriter + a bevy of selfish exes, substantial egos, and senseless evasion = A good, old-fashioned romance. Unconventional 'ship alert!
Disclaimer-- I don't own any of the people you recognize. José and Katie belong to themselves, although they have been borrowed for this fic against their will. They're real people! Everybody else is fictional and was either invented by Amy Sherman-Palladino (who owns all of GG) or myself (who owns nothing). So there.
Author's Note-- I hate this chapter with a passion. The next one is so much better.
*S9
Lane Kim-Lopez was not accustomed to being jilted. She had never in her life been jilted. Her first and most serious boyfriend had not jilted her. The Korean she dated for a few months after him had not jilted her. Her husband had yet to do it. Yet her best friend seemed to do it constantly. She hated the feeling of waiting around for someone to show up, only to find several hours were wasted on someone who never comes.
Rory had made plans with her, damn it, and she had never come. José had gone to bed early, claiming a headache, and she and Jax stayed up late watching a movie on television. He was such a sweet little boy; nothing at all like his selfish, brooding father. He was very smart, too. His mother Katie was a small-stage actress, and he had grown up around her friends. She had been in an accelerated learning program in school, so Jax only knew highly intelligent adults. It had influenced him for the better, Lane thought.
When Rory did deign to appear at the venue, poking around backstage with an expressionless face and her all-access pass, Lane had ignored her for a few minutes. Finally, she couldn't bear the silence anymore. "What did you have to do that was more important than go out with your oldest friend?" Lane asked, her voice hurt.
Rory perked up and stared at her for a long time. An expression finally appeared on her face, one of regret and slight confusion. "Oh, Lane, I'm sorry," she said. Her voice was earnestly repentant. Lane wanted to hate her for it, but she felt she couldn't.
"It's okay," she said. "But what happened? I was really worried. I thought maybe you got mugged or kidnapped, or you got hit by a car and were lying in a coma in a hospital somewhere. You should have called."
Rory nodded sadly. "I know. I completely forgot about agreeing to go out with you."
"Who were you with, then?" Lane implored, genuinely curious as to who could possibly wrench forgetful-as-an-elephant Rory away from previously made plans.
"Um--" Rory faltered, wondering how she was going to phrase her news. "I was out with Dave, actually," she said gently.
Lane dropped the hairbrush she had been holding. She spun around in her chair to stare blankly at Rory. "As in Dave Rygalski?" she asked, quite bewildered and fairly sure she had misunderstood. Why would Rory--?
"Yeah, Dave Rygalski," Rory said, smiling sheepishly.
Lane sat back in a funk. She felt very well that it was ridiculous to feel territorial about him when she was married to someone else, but she still would have never expected Rory of all people to go after her ex. She wasn't sure if she should play the part of the good friend and as for details like she had with every other one of Rory's random hookups; Dave was such an entirely different variable. He was like a Greek letter, in Lane's mind, in a world full of standard English ones. Maybe a Russian character. "So," she said awkwardly, "did anything happen?"
Rory shrugged, sitting down on the other chair. "Define 'anything.'"
Lane glared at her. "Did you sleep with him?"
When Rory didn't answer right away, Lane swallowed and closed her eyes. Weren't some things sacred? Honestly, what gave Rory the right to go and sleep with Dave? It wasn't like Lane went out and screwed with one of Rory's exes (not that she hadn't wanted to once or twice). But, Lane reasoned, that was different. She and Dave had dated for seven and a half years. Rory's longest relationship to date was just shy of three years, with Dean Forester back in high school.
"We may have had sex," Rory said noncommittally. She couldn't meet Lane's eyes.
"How can you 'may have had sex?' That's kind of a you did or you didn't kind of thing," Lane replied, trying to will herself out of the room and the subject. She was trying to will away negative thoughts. It was bad karma. She ought to be happy for them. It was about time Dave moved on. It was about time Rory found a keeper. But she couldn't find it in herself.
"I got drunk last night," Rory replied. "I can't remember. I woke up in his bed, though, so I'm pretty sure of what happened."
Lane breathed a small sigh of relief. At least Rory being intoxicated cheapened the ordeal. It meant that the connection wasn't so strong. It meant that alcohol had been to blame. Excellent, maybe Lane could trick herself into believing that, too, but she felt that even when drunk Rory still didn't make stupid mistakes. "Is he as good as I remember?" Lane asked carefully, attempting to liven the conversation up a little. It was clear Rory felt bad about it.
Rory looked up, her blue eyes all shiny with pre-tears. She smiled. "Um," she said uncertainly. "How good do you remember him being?"
Lane couldn't help but grin. "I kind of miss that," she admitted. "He's a very attentive lover."
"Isn't José?" Rory asked with an arched eyebrow. She did not agree or disagree with the question of Dave's prowess.
Lane rolled her eyes. "It's not that he's bad. He's just so apathetic about everything, including sex. I'm always like, 'Damn it, José, I'm your wife. I expect a little more effort than what you're giving me.' He doesn't get it." Both women had to laugh at this.
A moment later, Rory asked, "Are you mad at me?"
"Why would I be mad?" Lane asked. Her voice was pitched just a little too high. Rory caught it and felt ashamed all over again. But it wasn't in Rory's nature to question why Lane still thought she had some stake in Dave.
Rory truly couldn't come up with a response that wasn't completely insulting. She opened her mouth for a moment, then closed it again. "Nevermind. It was silly to think you'd be mad," she said. "After all, you and Dave broke up five years ago, you're married, and Dave deserves to be happy, too, right?
On that note, Rory got up and left the room. Lane stared after her, wondering. She really was more like José than she had previously thought.
*S10
"This is awesome, Dave," Zach said, staring at the slightly crumpled sheet of paper Dave had shoved under his nose a moment ago. While Dave played the guitar part he'd worked out for it, Zach read over the words. The words were good. They flowed, they had emotion, they were perfect. "You, like, grew some inspiration."
Brian, slouched in a chair nearby with a nauseous look about him, nodded. "Yeah, dude. Amazing. Great guitar bit." He moaned and shifted his position, bringing one foot up onto the chair with him and resting his chin on his knee.
"He's sick," Zach explained unnecessarily. "He's really, really sick, in fact. I tried to tell him that the show isn't that important, but you know him."
Dave shrugged. "We're not the only act. We only have to be on for forty-five minutes," he said. "And the other bands could compensate." Brian groaned and his skin turned a peculiar bluish color.
"That's not healthy," Zach said, worried.
"You're right," Dave agreed.
"Would you two just shut up. I'll be fine," Brian snapped. "God, I feel like I have menstrual cramps."
"Are you constipated?" Zach asked. "You could be constipated. We could get Liam to get you some Phillips. He'll do anything to keep us going up on stage."
"Including give you his colon if he has to," Dave added. "He loves the band that much."
"He loves it more than we do," Zach agreed. "We're bad band members. Very, very bad."
"We should be punished. They should make us play for hours and hours on end, no breaks."
"And no water, or cigarettes, or. . . Jack Daniels!"
"Or Heineken, because everyone knows that Heineken should be its own food group," Dave added. "That would be quite a punishment, wouldn't it?"
"It might not be harsh enough, though."
"Would you two please shut up?" Brian snapped, cutting their conversation short.
Dave smiled. "Just look over the lyrics, add to them, whatnot. I have to go find Manny and talk to him about. . .something." After he left, Zach looked back down at the lyrics.
"You know, these are brilliant," he said.
"Yeah, dude. They are. I need to lay down."
*S11
Rory was standing with one of the roadies, Manny to be exact, by a water cooler. Manny was explaining the fine art of tuning guitars to her, but frankly none of it made much sense. It seemed to be a lot of guesswork in her opinion. Technical guesswork, the worst sort of guesswork. Manny was still funny, though, and it wasn't unpleasant to listen to him chatter on about it.
She felt silly, awkward even, about her situation. She had woken up that morning in the most comfortable bed she'd ever had the good fortune to have slept in. It was soft and warm and there was another warm body next to her. She felt safe and comfortable and then it occurred to her that she was in New York and there was no possible way that there could be a body next to her in New York because Jared never left Cape May. She freaked out and scrambled out of the bed as best she could. She found a discarded Purist shirt on the floor and pulled it over herself. She went into the bathroom, used whatever toothbrush and comb she could find, then grabbed a pair of gray fleece pants that had been laid carefully over a chair right outside the bathroom door. She had slid her feet into her mules, grabbed her purple dress, and that's when it occurred to her that it was Dave lying there in the bed. It was Dave Rygalski of all the men in the world that she found herself sleeping next to in the most comfortable bed in the world. She had started to cry and had left the room in a flurry, not bothering to wake him up because she didn't think she could bear what he might say. She couldn't remember what she had done, she couldn't remember anything after ordering a Long Island Iced Tea at the Shrapnel Fairy, and she couldn't remember what actions she had so brazenly taken to have ended up in bed, naked, with a naked man named Dave Rygalski. It wasn't so much about Lane or any feelings Lane might have. It was about poor, sweet Jared Henderson, who was probably at that very moment she woke up in bed with Dave sleeping in their bed down in her house in Cape May, New Jersey, blissfully unaware that his girlfriend of a year and two months had just cuckolded him.
But of course, she couldn't tell anyone about it. Lane didn't know about Jared and she fully intended to keep it that way. Maybe if she was truly lucky, Dave would be in the same position she was and wouldn't remember having sex or that they did anything at all last night. That way, she could go blissfully about her business, writing books and supposedly loving a wonderful man named Jared Henderson, who adored her. She wanted to scream, she wanted to cry and rant and scare a small child. She wanted to talk to her mother, but that wasn't possible because her mother and the twins were on vacation and her mother needed the time for herself. For the moment, she settled on talking to Manny about something as asinine as guitar tuning.
When she saw Dave approaching them, not seeming to notice her at first, her stomach bottomed out. "Traitor," she muttered to herself.
"Manny!" Dave called out, jogging over.
Manny looked up. "Hey, Dave, mah man. How you doin' this fine afternoon? Write that song yet?" This was Manny's customary greeting. It was automatic.
Dave beamed. "Yes."
"Ah, man. Maybe next-- You did? Dude, that's fuckin' great. Liam might be able to unwind his nutsack now. He's been rampagin' around here all day." Manny did a funny little dance. "Ain't it great, Ror?" he asked.
Dave glanced at Rory, then realized she was standing there. The look he gave her dashed her hopes of his being too inebriated to remember. She sighed and gave him a small wave, attempting to pass it off as a nothing sort of event. Dave regarded her nonresponse with confusion, but he had other things to worry about. Like telling Manny about the song.
"So, tell me about the song," Manny requested eagerly, as expected.
"Zach and Brian have my lyric sketches, but I can pluck out a little of the guitar for you later on," Dave said, grinning. Regardless of Rory's presence, he was still giddy. He had actually gotten a song written that was decent.
"What's it about?" Rory asked, her voice soft, unobtrusive. Dave and Manny almost missed that she said anything at all. They both turned to her, because that question would have never occurred to Manny to ask, since he didn't care about the lyrics. He was so guitar crazy. She blushed at their sudden attention. "I mean, what are you trying to get across with the lyrics? Is it a sad, slow song? Is it a whiny post-pop angst rock song? A sappy power ballad? What?"
Dave frowned at her for a moment. Manny raised his bushy black eyebrows at her. "Yeah, man, what's it about?"
Dave shifted his weight nervously from one foot to the other. "It's sad, I guess. A sad love song. The girl kills herself at the end."
"Many a love story ends that way. Anna Karenina, Romeo and Juliet. It's perfect," Rory told him. He wrinkled his brow.
"That's a little creepy," Manny pointed out. "Why does the girl kill herself?"
"Because she didn't know that the boy loved her. He cheated on her and was stupid, and when she kills herself, he feels terrible and has to go through the rest of his life alone," Dave explained. He earnestly didn't feel like explaining his song. He didn't want to cheapen it.
"How. . . chipper," Rory said. She glanced at Dave's watch. "Oh, damn. It's four o'clock. I have to call Jar-- I have to go." She shook her head and walked away, her shoulders tense.
Manny turned to Dave and narrowed his eyes. "Gee, I wonder if you fucked her last night," he said snidely, making a move to walk away.
Dave's hand shot out and clamped around Manny's upper arm. "That's not funny. And it wasn't like that."
"Man, she's, like Lane's best friend. You don't fuck with the best friends of your ex girlfriends. It's, like, against dating etiquette." Manny rolled his eyes. Dave let go of his arm. He briefly wondered why the universe was so against him. Now Manny was giving him advice on etiquette. Maybe tomorrow a schizophrenic bum on the street would attempt to explain advanced calculus to him.
"I have to go," Dave said awkwardly, walking off in the opposite direction from the way Rory had gone.
"Sure thing, man," Manny muttered. He looked down at the guitar he was holding. He tapped his fingertips on the neck idly. He shifted his weight. Finally, he walked away from the water cooler, too.
----chapter finis
A bit more character development here. I also wrote the song, poem-form, but it's terrible and I won't be posting it.
I paid for Support Services, so there should be an option on the review thing that says, "Add Author to Alerts" or something like that. Do it. I promise, everything will be easier if you do. So long as you don't mind occasional updates about my Potterfic as well.
Chapter dedicated to Andy and Aaron as they're mowing the grass outside right now. My dog wants to kill Aaron.
--T. Henneth / story completed 12 June 2003 / chapter posted 11 August 2003
