Chapter 2
Disclaimer: No one is mine, unless you don't recognize him or her from the show.
A.N. Thanks everyone who reviewed. It really rocks my world when people review my work! Oh yeah also people's thoughts are in parentheses if you all got confused.
And now...on to the main event...dun dun dun
Recap (cuz I forget sometimes what happens in a story from the chapter before it)
A little old lady beats Tristan up with her purse because he portrays women so badly in his articles for the New York Times.
********************************************************
Tristan walks into Paris' office again; the second time this week because she called him in. (I do not have a good feeling about this. She seemed all- professional when she asked to see me. I mean she sent her secretary down to make sure that I got the message. But whatever, I know I can BS my way through anything with her, I think-actually I hope.)
Paris was watching the emotions scroll across her ex's face while he was thinking. He didn't realize that he was standing in doorway to her office and that she was inside watching him. (Why did we break up again? Wait no! I was the one to break up with him and I should not be here contemplating why we broke up. It was my idea. I do not have any feelings for this stubborn, egotistical, amusing, playful, and especially stone-aged mentality towards women, man. I think too hard. All right here, I am going to think about something fun for me: my lunch date. Now that was more fun than I have had in a long time, especially with the whole no complications thing. I mean this was our first time actually going out on a date so there we were getting to know each other, not delving into our emotions concerning one another. I am very happy. I like this feeling, especially when it concerns my love life. But I don't have time to over-analyze this because Tristan can read me like a book and I want to keep the date to myself. Now I am focusing on Tristan and why I called him into my office. Wait, why did I do that? No wait, I think I know...His last article still showed women as the weaker and not as smart sex. Where did I go wrong? He was married to me, and I was the top of each of my classes in high school, college, and graduate school. Where could he get an idea that women aren't as smart as men?)
Tristan laughed at her, pulling Paris out of her reverie. "And why, pray tell, are you laughing at me?" Paris asked in a huffy tone.
"Aw Hun, I just thought you looked cute sitting there thinking so hard."
"Well you know I do have to think because I have a very demanding job that requires me to do so." She challenged.
"Oh I know you have a better job than I do. HELLO! You are my boss. But I know you and thinking hard, well anything hard..."
"I don't want you to finish that sentence because we are in here to discuss business. Maybe on your time we can probe, not a good word, I mean look into your interests with innuendos. I bet I could totally take everything you dish out to me. I have been practicing too. And now I am officially off the subject." Paris mutters to herself, "Think Paris think, the New York Times, the place you work, get your mind in focus."
"Those self-help tapes have been working I take it. I knew that I got a good present for you. Good job, me. I deserve a pat on the back."
"I swear you were sent here just to torment me."
"Actually I was sent here because you asked for me."
"I was talking metaphorically."
"Me too," Tristan replied with a grin. (God!, Paris thought, Will he ever not do the grin? RRRRRR.)
"Ok, down to business." Paris puts on her glasses to end the playfulness of their meeting. "I want to talk to you again about your articles. I don't believe that you even took into account what I said in your last article. Thanks. I am your editor and I am here to offer suggestions which will better your writing and the success of the newspaper. But you totally disregard what I said probably because we have a personal relationship. When we were married, you at least did what I suggested or took into consideration what I said. Now it is as if what I say goes in one ear and out the other. I got over my fascination with hearing myself talk when I was about two. I now just talk when I have something to say to someone."
"Whoa, you went scary there on me. I know you still like to hear your own voice because you mutter to yourself all the time. Anyway, I did take your suggestions to heart when I wrote my article but I just didn't show that in my work. I don't know why that I bash women with my words but it's who I am. And I do listen when you talk, even though it looks like I don't listen. I do. You are important to me. I still love you, even though I am not in love with you. You are my best friend Paris and you know you are guilt tripping me by saying that I am disregarding our working relationship because we have a personal one. I know you. You are using the fact that we are still emotionally involved with one another because we are friends to get what you want out of me. But I honestly tried to portray women in a better light in this last article. I guess it just didn't happen."
"Well, it has to happen. You need to stop alienating our readers because of how you write. Is there any way that you could do a piece about women to show that they aren't as dumb or superficial as they seem in your other articles?"
"How much of my job is on the line here? Because I don't want to devote one article or a whole segment about women if there is no point. I write because I can and I show my voice to the people. I put myself on the line every time I write an article for the public."
"Oh come on Tris. You are just bs-ing me. You don't "put yourself out on the line" every time you write an article. You write because you are good at it and you love to see yourself in print. Anyway, your job is dependent on this new piece about women. Not only will you right an article but you will do a bunch of them about women or a woman in particular. But I haven't thought of an idea for you because I figured that you would want some control in this whole process."
"How many days do I have to come up with an idea?" Tristan said in a dejected voice. He hated when there were restraints on his work. He liked to just write whatever came to mind. He wrote about society specifically about occurring themes and practices prevalent within the sexes.
"I got you until Friday. You will have to present your idea to me and then I have to get a green light from the people upstairs before anything happens. And you know, you could do a piece not in the city but maybe in a small town. I think you should try to get away from New York. You will find a different kind of people in the burbs and rural and small towns. But I am just suggesting. There is no weight on the suggestions I just gave you."
Tristan gave her the look that meant 'are you crazy,' when she mentioned small towns. He moved to the city for a reason: to not be in a small town where everyone gossips about you and always seems to know your business. It was fun when he was in high school and military school because Tristan thrived on being the center of attention, because he thought that he was the best thing that ever happened to anyone. But he was older now and he did not have such an egotistical view of himself anymore and also enjoyed being as reclusive as one could be in a big city. He now has true friends instead of superficial ones that he had during his years before college. Now, only a select few really knew him and he liked it that way. But he would be lying if he didn't say that he enjoyed the attention he got from women who realized who he was, a popular writer for the New York Times. "Well I will think about where I want to do my piece and who or what I want to do my piece on. But enough about me. You look happy."
(I look happy? I know I am happy because I went out with a great guy at lunch and I am going to go out with him again soon. God bless Rory Glimore. She is a great friend for setting me up today. I don't know how I would have survived senior year without her by my side on the Franklin and in student council. And all that time together caused me to lighten up towards her and I realized that we were friends. Who would have thought that when I first met her, we would be such good friends now.
I can still remember when I saw her at that college fair at Chilton. We both went up to the Harvard stand and discussed how we both could go there because it was a big enough campus that we would never see each other at. Who would have known from that, that we would end up roommates through out our entire careers at Harvard? Who would have known that she would teach me a few things about life?) Tristan waved his hands emphatically in front of Paris' face. "Oh yeah, you are SO happy. How was that date?"
Paris tried not to blush because Tristan knew her too well. "Date? I had a date and I missed it! Damn. You really need to inform me of these things since you know so much more about my personal life than I do."
"I know that you had a lunch date. Come on you know that I can read you like a book and I have seen you before and after dates. I know the symptoms you show after a great date. You have to tell me. I have no life at the moment and you look so happy that I want to be happy with you and know why you are happy."
"Do you want to live vicariously through me?" Paris laughed. "Who would have thought that one day the all-mighty Tristan would need fictitious facts that he infers about MY, Paris Gellar's, love life?"
"You are trying to get me off track and anyway I have been trying to get in- tune with women and decided that the women I date suck, literally and figuratively, and they add to my perception of women.
See I am really trying here, especially now that there is a bet involved. But back to your lunch date. Tell me everything, think of me as one of your female friends. Tell me all the gory details." And in a gay voice adds, "I want to know what you were wearing, what he was wearing, what you all ate and everything. Was there a kiss? Plans for another date?"
Paris laughed a deep belly chuckle because of Tristan's impression. She decided to give in and tell him since he would figure it out anyway but she wouldn't give him many details, only the bare bones. "Well a friend set me up with her friend. I had already met her friend before from previous excursions to her house. We had a good time."
"Oh come on. You know that you want to gush. Will there be a next date? I'm the best friend here I want to know." Tristan whined.
"Fine. But I just want to let you know that you are the male best friend not a female one. You aren't privy to the same information. So anyway, he and I clicked when we first met and even more so now. I really hope that we go on another date. I know he was interested. What is wrong with me? I sound just like Rory."
"Rory? Who's. Oh yeah I remember her. She was your college roommate. I remember her giving you paper bags when you started to hyperventilate when you were named valedictorian. She was the maid of honor at our wedding too right?"
"Uh huh, and she went to Chilton with us. She started in the middle of sophomore year. You called her 'Mary.' But the nick name wouldn't help because you used to call new girls either 'Mary' or 'Mary Magdalene.'"
"No, but I think I remember Rory. And yes she did tend to ramble when she was nervous because you made her talk to me on the phone once 1st year of college because I didn't understand French and she minored in it so she helped me. She was nervous because she remembered me and I guess she didn't like what she remembered and I don't know. But I do know what you are talking about. How is she?"
"She's good. She moved back to Stars Hollow from Boston because her step dad broke his back so he needed help running his diner. She set me up with her friend and I love her for it because he is great. He makes me very happy." Paris got the happy smile on her face.
"So do I get a name?"
"His name is ." a telephone shrieked, causing both to reach for their cell phones. Paris smiled as she saw the number on the screen of her phone. "It's him!" she whispered. As she answered the phone, sweeping her hair back from her face as if fixing herself for the caller to see, she motioned for Tristan to get out of her office.
Outside Paris' office Tristan grinned, " I will get his name and I will meet him to see if he is good enough for my Paris." And, as if an afterthought he said, "I wonder how Rory Gilmore really is? Maybe I should call her up. Humm, eh." Tristan shrugged off the thought. He walked back to his office thinking about the piece that he had to create an idea for by Friday. (Maybe I should try to travel somewhere.)
Disclaimer: No one is mine, unless you don't recognize him or her from the show.
A.N. Thanks everyone who reviewed. It really rocks my world when people review my work! Oh yeah also people's thoughts are in parentheses if you all got confused.
And now...on to the main event...dun dun dun
Recap (cuz I forget sometimes what happens in a story from the chapter before it)
A little old lady beats Tristan up with her purse because he portrays women so badly in his articles for the New York Times.
********************************************************
Tristan walks into Paris' office again; the second time this week because she called him in. (I do not have a good feeling about this. She seemed all- professional when she asked to see me. I mean she sent her secretary down to make sure that I got the message. But whatever, I know I can BS my way through anything with her, I think-actually I hope.)
Paris was watching the emotions scroll across her ex's face while he was thinking. He didn't realize that he was standing in doorway to her office and that she was inside watching him. (Why did we break up again? Wait no! I was the one to break up with him and I should not be here contemplating why we broke up. It was my idea. I do not have any feelings for this stubborn, egotistical, amusing, playful, and especially stone-aged mentality towards women, man. I think too hard. All right here, I am going to think about something fun for me: my lunch date. Now that was more fun than I have had in a long time, especially with the whole no complications thing. I mean this was our first time actually going out on a date so there we were getting to know each other, not delving into our emotions concerning one another. I am very happy. I like this feeling, especially when it concerns my love life. But I don't have time to over-analyze this because Tristan can read me like a book and I want to keep the date to myself. Now I am focusing on Tristan and why I called him into my office. Wait, why did I do that? No wait, I think I know...His last article still showed women as the weaker and not as smart sex. Where did I go wrong? He was married to me, and I was the top of each of my classes in high school, college, and graduate school. Where could he get an idea that women aren't as smart as men?)
Tristan laughed at her, pulling Paris out of her reverie. "And why, pray tell, are you laughing at me?" Paris asked in a huffy tone.
"Aw Hun, I just thought you looked cute sitting there thinking so hard."
"Well you know I do have to think because I have a very demanding job that requires me to do so." She challenged.
"Oh I know you have a better job than I do. HELLO! You are my boss. But I know you and thinking hard, well anything hard..."
"I don't want you to finish that sentence because we are in here to discuss business. Maybe on your time we can probe, not a good word, I mean look into your interests with innuendos. I bet I could totally take everything you dish out to me. I have been practicing too. And now I am officially off the subject." Paris mutters to herself, "Think Paris think, the New York Times, the place you work, get your mind in focus."
"Those self-help tapes have been working I take it. I knew that I got a good present for you. Good job, me. I deserve a pat on the back."
"I swear you were sent here just to torment me."
"Actually I was sent here because you asked for me."
"I was talking metaphorically."
"Me too," Tristan replied with a grin. (God!, Paris thought, Will he ever not do the grin? RRRRRR.)
"Ok, down to business." Paris puts on her glasses to end the playfulness of their meeting. "I want to talk to you again about your articles. I don't believe that you even took into account what I said in your last article. Thanks. I am your editor and I am here to offer suggestions which will better your writing and the success of the newspaper. But you totally disregard what I said probably because we have a personal relationship. When we were married, you at least did what I suggested or took into consideration what I said. Now it is as if what I say goes in one ear and out the other. I got over my fascination with hearing myself talk when I was about two. I now just talk when I have something to say to someone."
"Whoa, you went scary there on me. I know you still like to hear your own voice because you mutter to yourself all the time. Anyway, I did take your suggestions to heart when I wrote my article but I just didn't show that in my work. I don't know why that I bash women with my words but it's who I am. And I do listen when you talk, even though it looks like I don't listen. I do. You are important to me. I still love you, even though I am not in love with you. You are my best friend Paris and you know you are guilt tripping me by saying that I am disregarding our working relationship because we have a personal one. I know you. You are using the fact that we are still emotionally involved with one another because we are friends to get what you want out of me. But I honestly tried to portray women in a better light in this last article. I guess it just didn't happen."
"Well, it has to happen. You need to stop alienating our readers because of how you write. Is there any way that you could do a piece about women to show that they aren't as dumb or superficial as they seem in your other articles?"
"How much of my job is on the line here? Because I don't want to devote one article or a whole segment about women if there is no point. I write because I can and I show my voice to the people. I put myself on the line every time I write an article for the public."
"Oh come on Tris. You are just bs-ing me. You don't "put yourself out on the line" every time you write an article. You write because you are good at it and you love to see yourself in print. Anyway, your job is dependent on this new piece about women. Not only will you right an article but you will do a bunch of them about women or a woman in particular. But I haven't thought of an idea for you because I figured that you would want some control in this whole process."
"How many days do I have to come up with an idea?" Tristan said in a dejected voice. He hated when there were restraints on his work. He liked to just write whatever came to mind. He wrote about society specifically about occurring themes and practices prevalent within the sexes.
"I got you until Friday. You will have to present your idea to me and then I have to get a green light from the people upstairs before anything happens. And you know, you could do a piece not in the city but maybe in a small town. I think you should try to get away from New York. You will find a different kind of people in the burbs and rural and small towns. But I am just suggesting. There is no weight on the suggestions I just gave you."
Tristan gave her the look that meant 'are you crazy,' when she mentioned small towns. He moved to the city for a reason: to not be in a small town where everyone gossips about you and always seems to know your business. It was fun when he was in high school and military school because Tristan thrived on being the center of attention, because he thought that he was the best thing that ever happened to anyone. But he was older now and he did not have such an egotistical view of himself anymore and also enjoyed being as reclusive as one could be in a big city. He now has true friends instead of superficial ones that he had during his years before college. Now, only a select few really knew him and he liked it that way. But he would be lying if he didn't say that he enjoyed the attention he got from women who realized who he was, a popular writer for the New York Times. "Well I will think about where I want to do my piece and who or what I want to do my piece on. But enough about me. You look happy."
(I look happy? I know I am happy because I went out with a great guy at lunch and I am going to go out with him again soon. God bless Rory Glimore. She is a great friend for setting me up today. I don't know how I would have survived senior year without her by my side on the Franklin and in student council. And all that time together caused me to lighten up towards her and I realized that we were friends. Who would have thought that when I first met her, we would be such good friends now.
I can still remember when I saw her at that college fair at Chilton. We both went up to the Harvard stand and discussed how we both could go there because it was a big enough campus that we would never see each other at. Who would have known from that, that we would end up roommates through out our entire careers at Harvard? Who would have known that she would teach me a few things about life?) Tristan waved his hands emphatically in front of Paris' face. "Oh yeah, you are SO happy. How was that date?"
Paris tried not to blush because Tristan knew her too well. "Date? I had a date and I missed it! Damn. You really need to inform me of these things since you know so much more about my personal life than I do."
"I know that you had a lunch date. Come on you know that I can read you like a book and I have seen you before and after dates. I know the symptoms you show after a great date. You have to tell me. I have no life at the moment and you look so happy that I want to be happy with you and know why you are happy."
"Do you want to live vicariously through me?" Paris laughed. "Who would have thought that one day the all-mighty Tristan would need fictitious facts that he infers about MY, Paris Gellar's, love life?"
"You are trying to get me off track and anyway I have been trying to get in- tune with women and decided that the women I date suck, literally and figuratively, and they add to my perception of women.
See I am really trying here, especially now that there is a bet involved. But back to your lunch date. Tell me everything, think of me as one of your female friends. Tell me all the gory details." And in a gay voice adds, "I want to know what you were wearing, what he was wearing, what you all ate and everything. Was there a kiss? Plans for another date?"
Paris laughed a deep belly chuckle because of Tristan's impression. She decided to give in and tell him since he would figure it out anyway but she wouldn't give him many details, only the bare bones. "Well a friend set me up with her friend. I had already met her friend before from previous excursions to her house. We had a good time."
"Oh come on. You know that you want to gush. Will there be a next date? I'm the best friend here I want to know." Tristan whined.
"Fine. But I just want to let you know that you are the male best friend not a female one. You aren't privy to the same information. So anyway, he and I clicked when we first met and even more so now. I really hope that we go on another date. I know he was interested. What is wrong with me? I sound just like Rory."
"Rory? Who's. Oh yeah I remember her. She was your college roommate. I remember her giving you paper bags when you started to hyperventilate when you were named valedictorian. She was the maid of honor at our wedding too right?"
"Uh huh, and she went to Chilton with us. She started in the middle of sophomore year. You called her 'Mary.' But the nick name wouldn't help because you used to call new girls either 'Mary' or 'Mary Magdalene.'"
"No, but I think I remember Rory. And yes she did tend to ramble when she was nervous because you made her talk to me on the phone once 1st year of college because I didn't understand French and she minored in it so she helped me. She was nervous because she remembered me and I guess she didn't like what she remembered and I don't know. But I do know what you are talking about. How is she?"
"She's good. She moved back to Stars Hollow from Boston because her step dad broke his back so he needed help running his diner. She set me up with her friend and I love her for it because he is great. He makes me very happy." Paris got the happy smile on her face.
"So do I get a name?"
"His name is ." a telephone shrieked, causing both to reach for their cell phones. Paris smiled as she saw the number on the screen of her phone. "It's him!" she whispered. As she answered the phone, sweeping her hair back from her face as if fixing herself for the caller to see, she motioned for Tristan to get out of her office.
Outside Paris' office Tristan grinned, " I will get his name and I will meet him to see if he is good enough for my Paris." And, as if an afterthought he said, "I wonder how Rory Gilmore really is? Maybe I should call her up. Humm, eh." Tristan shrugged off the thought. He walked back to his office thinking about the piece that he had to create an idea for by Friday. (Maybe I should try to travel somewhere.)