A/N: I want to thank everyone who reviewed my story. You guys ROCK!! I
just want to give shout outs to a couple reviewers who have hung with me
including Pretty Words Like Blades, Ophelia, SuperGirl101, AvidTVFan,
Swim6516, Authors-Anonymous, Green Eve, SunLight, ProudMary,
JCTigerWolfe4me, Someone, hlf 2002, Luisa, I love it, Me, Arianna, LCI-
02/03 and AnonymousThinker. You guys have reviewed multiple chapters and I
just love you for it! (If I missed someone, please email and let me know!)
To those of you who emailed me personally to thank me for introducing you to the authors mentioned in the story, well. . . there is no better compliment I can receive. When someone tells me they have a new love for Pablo Neruda or Tom Stoppard (etc.), I literally walk on air for hours.
So, thanks. : - )
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. ~ . ~ . ~ .
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Rory walks towards Luke's diner, hunching her shoulders against the morning chill. Her backpack is heavy, its contents holding the evidence of Chilton's academic rigor. Its weight causes her to walked pitched slightly forward in order to maintain both balance and momentum. As the heels of her saddle shoes click out a rhythmic cadence on the not quite frozen sidewalk, she reflects on the events of the past month.
'Has it really been a month?' she wonders, her mind tumbling backwards to a conversation on a bed with her mother and Lane. Despite admitting that her feelings for Jess don't fit neatly within the boundaries of platonic friendship, that's exactly the course she has plotted and pursued. Friendship. She and Jess have established an easy, yet illusorily frustrating pattern of. . . 'What?' she thinks. 'Friendship? Camaraderie? Detente?' None of those words exactly defines the feeling she calls "Jess" but she can't come up with anything more descriptive.
It's a fragile illusion, a house of cards, whose existence depends upon her pretending that all she wants from Jess is his company. Nothing more. Through sheer willpower she ignores the small tug that whispers, 'stand closer to him' in her ear. She conquers the force that lifts her hand upward urging 'touch him' by stopping her hand in midair and letting it fall to her lap. Temptation licks at her fingers, promising sweet salvation but she steels herself against this unfamiliar unsettling longing.
Pushing these feelings deep down to the place that even she doesn't dare look at, she crosses her fingers and hopes he can't see it. Hopes he doesn't sense her weakness or feel her torment.
She craves his company. She requires his presence almost the same way she requires air. Her old hobby of studying him has been made obsolete by their newfound friendship, this curious truce they've tacitly agreed to maintain. However, she has picked up a strange new habit of searching for him in crowds, scanning other faces for signs of his features.
'What's better,' she wonders, 'drowning in him all at once or losing my mind slowly in this excruciating game of make believe?'
Her rational mind has convinced her that friendship is the preferable option, the only viable alternative. It seems less risky, less scary. So, she hides her heart under the bed and locks her secret drawer. She washes the whispering angels from her head in the morning when she shampoos and prays that they'll behave for one more day. It's a confusing dichotomy, this internal tug-of-war, but it allows her to be part of his world, to call him friend. She's determined to make that be enough.
Rory's hand reaches out to grasp the doorknob of Luke's diner when the door unexpectedly opens. Startled, Rory jumps slightly as Jess's form emerges from the diner to stand outside in the blue-tinted morning light. Seeing that he has frightened her, he grins.
"Hey," Jess says in a low voice, the cold temperature turning his breath into fog.
"Hey," Rory greets in return, smiling shyly at him.
"Sorry I scared you," he states.
"Well, you can't help that you're scary," she teases before realizing how much truth is contained in that simple sentence. Changing the subject, she asks, "Are you leaving?"
Jess smirks. "Yup."
"I mean, I see that you're leaving, cause you just walked out the door and why would you walk out the door if you weren't leaving?" Rory rambles.
Jess's smirk grows as he shoves his hands into his pockets seeking their warmth while he waits for her.
Collecting herself, she continues, "What I meant was, where are you going?"
"School."
"It's too early for school," Rory observes, pulling back her mitten to check her watch. "It doesn't start for another hour."
"For me, it starts in a few minutes."
"Jess, do you have detention again?" she questions, sounding exasperated.
Jess doesn't answer her, but instead glances furtively at his feet before looking up to meet her eyes with a guilty grin.
"What did you do this time?" Rory sighs, wrapping her arms around herself to protect against the frost-edged wind.
"Nothing," Jess responds with a careless shrug.
"Uh huh. Stars Hollow High routinely gives people detention for no reason."
"You noticed that too?"
"What did you do? Put blue food coloring in the mashed potatoes?"
"Most people don't get the recommended daily allowance of vitamins from the blue food group," he deadpans.
"Or, did you teach the foreign kids fake English phrases full of swear words?"
"Breaking down cultural language barriers can only strengthen the melting pot that we call America," Jess responds sarcastically with a gleam in his eyes.
"C'mon. Tell me."
"I was wrongly accused."
"Sounds like you need a good lawyer."
"Maybe I just need a good journalist to generate public sympathy for me."
"Sympathy for you in Stars Hollow? You'd need a miracle."
"Every day."
"Tell you what. . . I'll call Anne Sullivan. She might have one more miracle up her sleeve that she could spare for you. I'd offer to call Jerry Garcia but he's, you know, dead."
"Isn't Anne Sullivan dead too?"
"Hmm. . . Well, I guess you're out of luck then," Rory notes in mock seriousness, shaking her head.
Her walk to the diner has colored her cheeks and nose winter pink. The silent wind lifts her hair off her shoulders so it swirls just below her knit cap, gently dancing against her neck. Absently, she brushes it away from her face with a mitten-clad hand.
Jess observes her quietly, noting her flushed face, the way she stands to brace against the cold, her flowing hair, her sparkling eyes. When his eyes return to hers, Rory is surprised to discover a look she can't quite interpret in their liquid brown depths.
"Too bad there isn't a journalist around with a soft spot in her heart for me, who's willing to tell the world my story," he breathes, moving closer to her.
"Yeah," she agrees, swallowing hard. "That is a shame."
Jess grins at her, enjoying her momentary discomfort. Gesturing towards the school with a tilt of his head, he says, "I should go."
"I guess I'll see you later."
"Guess so," Jess says softly as he begins walking away.
Rory watches him cross the street and on impulse calls out, "Try to stay out of trouble."
Jess turns to look at her, smiles broadly, and continues walking. No promises are exchanged this quiet winter morning.
As Rory enters the diner she is greeted by Luke's very angry voice shouting "No!"
"Now, Luke," Taylor intones patronizingly, "You are a part of this business community and as such, you must participate-"
"No!" Luke interrupts. "Listen to me Taylor. . . No! No! No! No! No! No!!"
"We're just talking about one inflatable astronaut."
"Oh," Luke replies. "I thought you wanted me to hang miniature green Martian lights on the windows. Since it's just one, uh. . . I'm assuming it's life-sized?. . ."
"Oh yes, and amazingly lifelike."
"OK, since it's just one life-sized and lifelike inflatable astronaut, my answer is. . . 'NO!'"
"Luke, be reasonable."
"Taylor, right now, not tossing you out of here on your head is as reasonable as I'm going to get."
"Would you prefer the green Martian lights because I can get them back from Bootsy. He has a fondness for Martians and the color green, but say the word and they're yours."
"The word that's coming to mind right now isn't something I can repeat in public."
"But-"
"NO!"
"Don't force my hand, Luke. I'll bring this up at the next town meeting if I have to."
"You do that, Taylor."
Huffing, Taylor turns to exit the diner. Before leaving, he stops and in the most threatening voice he can muster states, "This isn't over."
"Taylor, they need a new word for 'over' to describe how incredibly over this is."
"Hmpf," Taylor sniffs as he brushes shoulders with Rory in his irritation and haste to leave. She teeters slightly, the weight of her backpack throwing off her precarious balance. Watching her sway, Luke rushes over to her, placing both hands on her shoulders to prevent her fall.
"Are you OK?" he asks her, concerned.
"Yeah," she answers. "Thanks."
Luke grins and asks, "You want some coffee?"
"Please!" she responds, smiling as she pulls her cap off her head. Walking to a counter stool and removing her backpack she asks, "Umm. . . did I understand correctly that Taylor has an inflatable doll he wants to give you?"
Luke stops abruptly, a look of horror flashing momentarily in his eyes.
"Luke?" she questions.
"Bad visual," he mutters.
"What?"
"Nothing," he says, recovering. "He wants me to decorate the diner for the town's Space Festival this weekend."
"And I for one am shocked and ashamed that you won't," Kirk interjects.
"Stay out of this, Kirk," Luke states flatly.
"Really, with all the crowding in the world, celebrating space is our civic duty," Kirk asserts.
"What are you talking about?" Luke asks as he pours coffee for Rory.
"Space is a valuable yet diminishing commodity. I mean, look at the poor farmers. With urban sprawl all but overtaking Stars Hollow, where are they supposed to put their baby chickens and cows? Even though you may not care about saving farmland and meadows, the rest of us do. You won't be happy until every last amber wave of grain in this country is covered in asphalt, will you?"
"Kirk," Luke sighs, "It's not a celebration of 'Open Space', it's a celebration of 'Outer Space'."
"Oh. . . Well. . . That wasn't clear."
"That's why I'm telling you."
"That astronaut doll makes more sense now. Are you really not going to display it?"
"Not in this lifetime."
"Do you think he'd let me have it, then?" Kirk asks, brightening.
"Why don't you go ask him?"
"I better hurry before someone else beats me to it," Kirk muses aloud as he tosses several dollar bills on the counter and quickly exits the diner.
Luke grins as he watches Kirk leave.
"Why are we having a Space Festival?" Rory asks between sips of coffee.
"Apparently, it's the 42nd anniversary of Yogi Gagarin orbiting the earth."
"Yuri," Rory corrects him.
"What?" Luke questions, puzzled.
"If you're talking about the first man in space, his name was Yuri Gagarin."
"What'd I say?"
"You said 'Yogi'."
"Oh, I meant Yuri. Yogi was a bear."
"And Jeremiah was a bullfrog but. . . Unlike Yuri, Yogi and Jeremiah do not have moon craters named after them," Rory observes. She pauses before saying, "Is it just me or do you think it's weird to celebrate the 42nd anniversary of something?"
"See. . . Your mistake is that you're trying to make sense of what happens in this town. It's better to just go with it. Trust me on this."
"I wonder if they'll serve freeze-dried ice cream?" Rory wonders aloud, becoming more animated. "That's what the astronauts eat in space."
"Please don't encourage Taylor."
"Maybe John Glenn will speak. Or Neil Armstrong!"
"OK, you're slipping over to the dark side."
"I once wrote a paper on Robert Goddard. I called it 'Soaring in the Shadow of Orville and Wilbur, Robert Goddard - The Father of Modern Rocketry'."
"You're scaring me."
"I got an A."
"Don't you have a bus to catch?"
Rory checks her watch and jumps from her stool, muttering, "Uh oh." Downing the last of her coffee, she places the cup back on the counter and smiles at Luke. As she makes her way to the door, she says to him, "Do you want me to try to find an alien costume in your size? You could wear it to the festival."
"Bye, Rory."
Laughing she says, "Bye, Luke."
. ~ . ~ . ~ .
By the time Jess's final class is done in the afternoon, the transformation of Stars Hollow's town square into an intergalactic space station has already begun. As he crosses the street on his way to the diner, Jess stops mid-stride and stares, his face a mixture of awe and revulsion.
Silver and black streamers hang suspended from light pole to light pole. What appear to be flying saucers, but on closer examination reveal themselves as pie tins wired together, hang from the trees. Dueling banners battle for attention above the gazebo. One reads, 'Blast Off to an Adventure in Outer Space,' while the other proclaims, 'Stars Hollow Galaxy Quest.'
Jess is startled by a voice over a megaphone intoning, "Stand back everyone! Coming through! Everybody out of the way!"
Jess's feet come unglued from the pavement as he jumps backwards to avoid colliding with Kirk. Kirk, wearing a silver space helmet, has one arm wrapped around an inflatable astronaut while his other hand holds the onerous bullhorn.
"Nice helmet," Jess smirks.
"Thank you," Kirk replies.
"Exactly what are you doing?"
"I am trying to clear the area so the workmen can bring in the telescope," Kirk answers. Looking off to the side, he raises the megaphone to his mouth and blasts "Look lively people!"
"A telescope?"
"Yes, it's on loan from the Providence Naval Observatory. It will be here through the weekend for the Space Festival."
"Ah. That's what this is."
"Kirk," Taylor says harshly as he approaches, "give me that bullhorn."
"For the duration of the festival, I'd prefer you to address me as Captain Kirk," Kirk answers, frowning as Taylor whips the megaphone out of his hand.
"I will do nothing of the sort," Taylor replies grumpily. "Patty needs your help with the moonwalk skit. I'll take over supervision of the telescope delivery, which," he pauses to look directly at Jess, "will be chained and locked down to prevent theft."
The corners of Jess's mouth inch upwards. "Gee Taylor, I'm curious," he draws. "Is there some sort of black market for stolen telescopes that I don't know about?"
"What?" Taylor replies, looking nervous. "No, of course not," he backpedals.
"I wonder how much they go for."
"Now see here young man. I'll not tolerate any shenanigans from you. This telescope will be under lock and key and constant surveillance if I have to stand guard over it myself."
"Relax, Taylor," Jess states scowling.
"Excuse me," Kirk interrupts.
"What is it Kirk?" Taylor snaps.
"I'd really prefer to reenact an episode of Star Trek instead of the moon walk."
"Oh for goodness sake! It's already been decided. We're doing the moon walk - it's historically significant and involves the American flag."
"Star Trek is also historically significant and. . . let's just add a flag or two. No one will notice. We can start with the tribble episode and-"
"I said 'no'. And why are you carrying the astronaut around?"
"I don't want it to get stolen."
"For a town with no crime, you people are really worried about theft," Jess observes.
Moving the astronaut doll behind his back, Kirk informs Taylor, "You can't have it back."
As one of the workmen delivering the telescope approaches the trio, Jess uses the distraction to slip away unnoticed. He walks towards the diner, eyes widening as he passes a table laden with bobbing head Buzz Aldrin figures. On the other side of the street, the town troubadour wanders by singing 'Spirit in the Sky.' While Jess watches, a miniature flying Sputnik replica that's tethered to a telephone pole smacks the troubadour in the forehead. The troubadour stands silent for a moment before dropping backwards like a freshly chopped tree.
"Talk about a one hit wonder," Jess mutters to himself as people scurry to assist the fallen singer.
. ~ . ~ . ~ .
Jess leans, elbows on the counter at Luke's diner. Reading, his face is a study of concentration. Turning the book's page, he hears the door jingle lightly to announce the arrival of a new customer. Glancing up, Jess straightens his spine as a slow lazy smile overtakes him. The smile is returned by Rory as she approaches.
"How was detention?" she asks, sitting at the counter.
"Thrilling," he answers.
"I'll bet."
Jess places his book on the counter as he turns to lift the coffee pot. Asking her if she wants coffee is as unnecessary as asking Madonna if she wants attention. While he pours a cup of her liquid addiction, she picks up his book.
Holding it up she asks, incredulously, "Are you reading this?"
Smirking, he answers, "That is one of the generally accepted uses for a book, yes."
Without a word, she leans down and retrieves a book from her backpack. Grinning, she hands it to him.
"No way," Jess says.
"Way," Rory counters laughing.
They each hold in their hands identical paperback copies of the same book, Jitterbug Perfume, by Tom Robbins.
"I think I'm father along that you are," she speculates, looking at the position of the bookmark in his copy, which she still holds.
"Yeah, but I've read it before. You better be nice to me or I'll tell you how it ends."
"You wouldn't!"
Jess shifts forward to resume his original elbow-leaning position and grins devilishly at her.
"What's the last part you read?" he asks.
"Well, let's see," she begins. "Alobar is a medieval king who decides to achieve immortality. So far, he's been alive for several centuries with his wife, Kudra, due to the combination of hot baths, a circular breathing technique, and a perfume they created. I love the parallel storyline with the three different teams in the present day who are searching for the perfume's base note - it's totally suspenseful and hilarious! Anyway, Alobar and the ancient god, Pan, are trying to figure out how to rescue Kudra from the netherworld after she and Alobar intentionally 'jump' there to check things out."
"Oh, you're at the part where it really starts getting good."
"It's already good."
"It gets better though, wait till Alobar-"
"Jess!" she cries, panic stricken. Immediately, she places her hands over her ears and, like a 5-year old, chants, "I'm not listening, I'm not listening, I'm not listening. . ."
Jess observes her with intense amusement, his eyes laughing. Shaking his head he leans across the counter and pulls her hands down. She smiles at him and says, "If you're going to tell me the ending, I'll have to leave."
"You know," he says, his voice warm, "if my lips had something else to do, they probably wouldn't misbehave."
Rory blushes. Looking down, she realizes he's still holding onto her arms after pulling her hands from her ears. Slowly, his thumbs begin stroking the sensitive skin on the inside of her delicate wrists causing tiny pinpricks of goose bumps to scurry up her arms.
Gasping, Rory tries to remember that friendship is safer and, up until today, he has willingly played along with her charade. Now, she feels confused, off-center. She trembles as a flood of sensations lashes at her.
Watching her reaction, Jess's eyes darken and cloud. He feels like a tiger that's been caged for too long and is now pacing, desperate for release. He makes a decision that he will not be the one to break their contact. While his thumbs make light teasing circles over the veins in her wrists, he waits to see what she will do.
"Tom Robbins uses scent as a catalyst for much of what happens in Jitterbug Perfume," Rory whispers. Her arms feel like molten puddles but she makes no move to pull them away.
Jess holds her eyes and continues his ministrations on her wrists. "Smell is a powerful memory trigger," he murmurs.
"Apparently so are beets," she breathes.
"Lusty vegetables," he agrees.
Conversation is becoming more difficult for Rory. "I love the way Robbins writes. . ." she pauses to formulate her thoughts, "pairing words that don't normally go together to create unexpected meaning."
His hands expertly release their grasp of her wrists as his fingers join his thumbs on the inside of her forearms. His touch is feather light, like a firefly, trailing up her arms and moving back down to her palms.
She shivers. Her eyes lock on his.
Struggling to remain coherent, her breathing grows heavy. "The writing is lush, poetic, magical, layered, and raw. It's so different. . ." she trails off.
Watching for any sign of resistance and detecting none, Jess steps silently around the corner of the counter and moves closer to her. Continuing his caresses, his hands never leave her skin.
"Robbins is in a class by himself," he says, his voice soft. "He was once quoted as saying that a woman in pink circus tights contains all the secrets of the universe."
"Mmm. . ." she sighs, closing her eyes, her heart pounding, her body hypersensitive.
"He said he was seduced by books. He refers to them as 'cradle-robbers', saying they captured a tow-headed, blue-eyed, pre-literate innocent and turned him into a paragraph junkie."
"Seduced?. . ." she mutters, her head involuntarily falling back slightly.
Jess stands next to her now, his fingers burning trails on her skin. He leans over and inhales her own powerful perfume.
"Rory," he whispers, his lips centimeters from her ear. "What are you feeling?"
Her mind is passion-fogged, yet she tries to make sense of his question, "Feeling?"
"Tell me," he urges, his voice husky. "Tell me right now. How do you feel?"
Opening her eyes, she looks up to find him gazing at her from under hooded lids. His eyes are longing and dangerous.
Her body responds. Her nerves tingle.
"I feel. . ." she breathes. "I feel. . ."
"Jess!" Luke's voice booms.
Cursing silently, Jess automatically steps away from Rory. Their contact broken, Rory feels instantly abandoned. She brings her tingling arms in close to her body and holds them. Her stool is cold and she mourns the loss of Jess's warmth.
Running a hand through his hair, Jess turns angrily towards the kitchen. "What?!"
"I need your help unloading this shipment."
"In a minute," Jess responds.
"Not in a minute. Now!" Luke orders sternly, staring daggers at Jess.
Jess sighs, rolling his eyes. He turns to Rory. "I'm sorry," he mutters, eyes scanning her flushed face for a remnant of want, a sign of regret.
"It's OK," she responds, not entirely sure what she means. Was it OK that he touched her or OK that he stopped? What was the question he asked. . . 'How do you feel'? Honestly, she feels too many things to sort them and find the one response that would explain her emotions.
Bewildered, she looks up at him and gestures towards the door, "I should. . ."
"Right," he nods.
"Jess!" Luke's voice calls from the back of the diner.
"Coming!" Jess responds in annoyance. When he looks at Rory, she is halfway across the diner. This time, she doesn't say goodbye before she leaves.
.
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A/N: In addition to being a Robbin's paragraph junkie, I'm also a review junkie! Thanks for reading! : - )
To those of you who emailed me personally to thank me for introducing you to the authors mentioned in the story, well. . . there is no better compliment I can receive. When someone tells me they have a new love for Pablo Neruda or Tom Stoppard (etc.), I literally walk on air for hours.
So, thanks. : - )
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. ~ . ~ . ~ .
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Rory walks towards Luke's diner, hunching her shoulders against the morning chill. Her backpack is heavy, its contents holding the evidence of Chilton's academic rigor. Its weight causes her to walked pitched slightly forward in order to maintain both balance and momentum. As the heels of her saddle shoes click out a rhythmic cadence on the not quite frozen sidewalk, she reflects on the events of the past month.
'Has it really been a month?' she wonders, her mind tumbling backwards to a conversation on a bed with her mother and Lane. Despite admitting that her feelings for Jess don't fit neatly within the boundaries of platonic friendship, that's exactly the course she has plotted and pursued. Friendship. She and Jess have established an easy, yet illusorily frustrating pattern of. . . 'What?' she thinks. 'Friendship? Camaraderie? Detente?' None of those words exactly defines the feeling she calls "Jess" but she can't come up with anything more descriptive.
It's a fragile illusion, a house of cards, whose existence depends upon her pretending that all she wants from Jess is his company. Nothing more. Through sheer willpower she ignores the small tug that whispers, 'stand closer to him' in her ear. She conquers the force that lifts her hand upward urging 'touch him' by stopping her hand in midair and letting it fall to her lap. Temptation licks at her fingers, promising sweet salvation but she steels herself against this unfamiliar unsettling longing.
Pushing these feelings deep down to the place that even she doesn't dare look at, she crosses her fingers and hopes he can't see it. Hopes he doesn't sense her weakness or feel her torment.
She craves his company. She requires his presence almost the same way she requires air. Her old hobby of studying him has been made obsolete by their newfound friendship, this curious truce they've tacitly agreed to maintain. However, she has picked up a strange new habit of searching for him in crowds, scanning other faces for signs of his features.
'What's better,' she wonders, 'drowning in him all at once or losing my mind slowly in this excruciating game of make believe?'
Her rational mind has convinced her that friendship is the preferable option, the only viable alternative. It seems less risky, less scary. So, she hides her heart under the bed and locks her secret drawer. She washes the whispering angels from her head in the morning when she shampoos and prays that they'll behave for one more day. It's a confusing dichotomy, this internal tug-of-war, but it allows her to be part of his world, to call him friend. She's determined to make that be enough.
Rory's hand reaches out to grasp the doorknob of Luke's diner when the door unexpectedly opens. Startled, Rory jumps slightly as Jess's form emerges from the diner to stand outside in the blue-tinted morning light. Seeing that he has frightened her, he grins.
"Hey," Jess says in a low voice, the cold temperature turning his breath into fog.
"Hey," Rory greets in return, smiling shyly at him.
"Sorry I scared you," he states.
"Well, you can't help that you're scary," she teases before realizing how much truth is contained in that simple sentence. Changing the subject, she asks, "Are you leaving?"
Jess smirks. "Yup."
"I mean, I see that you're leaving, cause you just walked out the door and why would you walk out the door if you weren't leaving?" Rory rambles.
Jess's smirk grows as he shoves his hands into his pockets seeking their warmth while he waits for her.
Collecting herself, she continues, "What I meant was, where are you going?"
"School."
"It's too early for school," Rory observes, pulling back her mitten to check her watch. "It doesn't start for another hour."
"For me, it starts in a few minutes."
"Jess, do you have detention again?" she questions, sounding exasperated.
Jess doesn't answer her, but instead glances furtively at his feet before looking up to meet her eyes with a guilty grin.
"What did you do this time?" Rory sighs, wrapping her arms around herself to protect against the frost-edged wind.
"Nothing," Jess responds with a careless shrug.
"Uh huh. Stars Hollow High routinely gives people detention for no reason."
"You noticed that too?"
"What did you do? Put blue food coloring in the mashed potatoes?"
"Most people don't get the recommended daily allowance of vitamins from the blue food group," he deadpans.
"Or, did you teach the foreign kids fake English phrases full of swear words?"
"Breaking down cultural language barriers can only strengthen the melting pot that we call America," Jess responds sarcastically with a gleam in his eyes.
"C'mon. Tell me."
"I was wrongly accused."
"Sounds like you need a good lawyer."
"Maybe I just need a good journalist to generate public sympathy for me."
"Sympathy for you in Stars Hollow? You'd need a miracle."
"Every day."
"Tell you what. . . I'll call Anne Sullivan. She might have one more miracle up her sleeve that she could spare for you. I'd offer to call Jerry Garcia but he's, you know, dead."
"Isn't Anne Sullivan dead too?"
"Hmm. . . Well, I guess you're out of luck then," Rory notes in mock seriousness, shaking her head.
Her walk to the diner has colored her cheeks and nose winter pink. The silent wind lifts her hair off her shoulders so it swirls just below her knit cap, gently dancing against her neck. Absently, she brushes it away from her face with a mitten-clad hand.
Jess observes her quietly, noting her flushed face, the way she stands to brace against the cold, her flowing hair, her sparkling eyes. When his eyes return to hers, Rory is surprised to discover a look she can't quite interpret in their liquid brown depths.
"Too bad there isn't a journalist around with a soft spot in her heart for me, who's willing to tell the world my story," he breathes, moving closer to her.
"Yeah," she agrees, swallowing hard. "That is a shame."
Jess grins at her, enjoying her momentary discomfort. Gesturing towards the school with a tilt of his head, he says, "I should go."
"I guess I'll see you later."
"Guess so," Jess says softly as he begins walking away.
Rory watches him cross the street and on impulse calls out, "Try to stay out of trouble."
Jess turns to look at her, smiles broadly, and continues walking. No promises are exchanged this quiet winter morning.
As Rory enters the diner she is greeted by Luke's very angry voice shouting "No!"
"Now, Luke," Taylor intones patronizingly, "You are a part of this business community and as such, you must participate-"
"No!" Luke interrupts. "Listen to me Taylor. . . No! No! No! No! No! No!!"
"We're just talking about one inflatable astronaut."
"Oh," Luke replies. "I thought you wanted me to hang miniature green Martian lights on the windows. Since it's just one, uh. . . I'm assuming it's life-sized?. . ."
"Oh yes, and amazingly lifelike."
"OK, since it's just one life-sized and lifelike inflatable astronaut, my answer is. . . 'NO!'"
"Luke, be reasonable."
"Taylor, right now, not tossing you out of here on your head is as reasonable as I'm going to get."
"Would you prefer the green Martian lights because I can get them back from Bootsy. He has a fondness for Martians and the color green, but say the word and they're yours."
"The word that's coming to mind right now isn't something I can repeat in public."
"But-"
"NO!"
"Don't force my hand, Luke. I'll bring this up at the next town meeting if I have to."
"You do that, Taylor."
Huffing, Taylor turns to exit the diner. Before leaving, he stops and in the most threatening voice he can muster states, "This isn't over."
"Taylor, they need a new word for 'over' to describe how incredibly over this is."
"Hmpf," Taylor sniffs as he brushes shoulders with Rory in his irritation and haste to leave. She teeters slightly, the weight of her backpack throwing off her precarious balance. Watching her sway, Luke rushes over to her, placing both hands on her shoulders to prevent her fall.
"Are you OK?" he asks her, concerned.
"Yeah," she answers. "Thanks."
Luke grins and asks, "You want some coffee?"
"Please!" she responds, smiling as she pulls her cap off her head. Walking to a counter stool and removing her backpack she asks, "Umm. . . did I understand correctly that Taylor has an inflatable doll he wants to give you?"
Luke stops abruptly, a look of horror flashing momentarily in his eyes.
"Luke?" she questions.
"Bad visual," he mutters.
"What?"
"Nothing," he says, recovering. "He wants me to decorate the diner for the town's Space Festival this weekend."
"And I for one am shocked and ashamed that you won't," Kirk interjects.
"Stay out of this, Kirk," Luke states flatly.
"Really, with all the crowding in the world, celebrating space is our civic duty," Kirk asserts.
"What are you talking about?" Luke asks as he pours coffee for Rory.
"Space is a valuable yet diminishing commodity. I mean, look at the poor farmers. With urban sprawl all but overtaking Stars Hollow, where are they supposed to put their baby chickens and cows? Even though you may not care about saving farmland and meadows, the rest of us do. You won't be happy until every last amber wave of grain in this country is covered in asphalt, will you?"
"Kirk," Luke sighs, "It's not a celebration of 'Open Space', it's a celebration of 'Outer Space'."
"Oh. . . Well. . . That wasn't clear."
"That's why I'm telling you."
"That astronaut doll makes more sense now. Are you really not going to display it?"
"Not in this lifetime."
"Do you think he'd let me have it, then?" Kirk asks, brightening.
"Why don't you go ask him?"
"I better hurry before someone else beats me to it," Kirk muses aloud as he tosses several dollar bills on the counter and quickly exits the diner.
Luke grins as he watches Kirk leave.
"Why are we having a Space Festival?" Rory asks between sips of coffee.
"Apparently, it's the 42nd anniversary of Yogi Gagarin orbiting the earth."
"Yuri," Rory corrects him.
"What?" Luke questions, puzzled.
"If you're talking about the first man in space, his name was Yuri Gagarin."
"What'd I say?"
"You said 'Yogi'."
"Oh, I meant Yuri. Yogi was a bear."
"And Jeremiah was a bullfrog but. . . Unlike Yuri, Yogi and Jeremiah do not have moon craters named after them," Rory observes. She pauses before saying, "Is it just me or do you think it's weird to celebrate the 42nd anniversary of something?"
"See. . . Your mistake is that you're trying to make sense of what happens in this town. It's better to just go with it. Trust me on this."
"I wonder if they'll serve freeze-dried ice cream?" Rory wonders aloud, becoming more animated. "That's what the astronauts eat in space."
"Please don't encourage Taylor."
"Maybe John Glenn will speak. Or Neil Armstrong!"
"OK, you're slipping over to the dark side."
"I once wrote a paper on Robert Goddard. I called it 'Soaring in the Shadow of Orville and Wilbur, Robert Goddard - The Father of Modern Rocketry'."
"You're scaring me."
"I got an A."
"Don't you have a bus to catch?"
Rory checks her watch and jumps from her stool, muttering, "Uh oh." Downing the last of her coffee, she places the cup back on the counter and smiles at Luke. As she makes her way to the door, she says to him, "Do you want me to try to find an alien costume in your size? You could wear it to the festival."
"Bye, Rory."
Laughing she says, "Bye, Luke."
. ~ . ~ . ~ .
By the time Jess's final class is done in the afternoon, the transformation of Stars Hollow's town square into an intergalactic space station has already begun. As he crosses the street on his way to the diner, Jess stops mid-stride and stares, his face a mixture of awe and revulsion.
Silver and black streamers hang suspended from light pole to light pole. What appear to be flying saucers, but on closer examination reveal themselves as pie tins wired together, hang from the trees. Dueling banners battle for attention above the gazebo. One reads, 'Blast Off to an Adventure in Outer Space,' while the other proclaims, 'Stars Hollow Galaxy Quest.'
Jess is startled by a voice over a megaphone intoning, "Stand back everyone! Coming through! Everybody out of the way!"
Jess's feet come unglued from the pavement as he jumps backwards to avoid colliding with Kirk. Kirk, wearing a silver space helmet, has one arm wrapped around an inflatable astronaut while his other hand holds the onerous bullhorn.
"Nice helmet," Jess smirks.
"Thank you," Kirk replies.
"Exactly what are you doing?"
"I am trying to clear the area so the workmen can bring in the telescope," Kirk answers. Looking off to the side, he raises the megaphone to his mouth and blasts "Look lively people!"
"A telescope?"
"Yes, it's on loan from the Providence Naval Observatory. It will be here through the weekend for the Space Festival."
"Ah. That's what this is."
"Kirk," Taylor says harshly as he approaches, "give me that bullhorn."
"For the duration of the festival, I'd prefer you to address me as Captain Kirk," Kirk answers, frowning as Taylor whips the megaphone out of his hand.
"I will do nothing of the sort," Taylor replies grumpily. "Patty needs your help with the moonwalk skit. I'll take over supervision of the telescope delivery, which," he pauses to look directly at Jess, "will be chained and locked down to prevent theft."
The corners of Jess's mouth inch upwards. "Gee Taylor, I'm curious," he draws. "Is there some sort of black market for stolen telescopes that I don't know about?"
"What?" Taylor replies, looking nervous. "No, of course not," he backpedals.
"I wonder how much they go for."
"Now see here young man. I'll not tolerate any shenanigans from you. This telescope will be under lock and key and constant surveillance if I have to stand guard over it myself."
"Relax, Taylor," Jess states scowling.
"Excuse me," Kirk interrupts.
"What is it Kirk?" Taylor snaps.
"I'd really prefer to reenact an episode of Star Trek instead of the moon walk."
"Oh for goodness sake! It's already been decided. We're doing the moon walk - it's historically significant and involves the American flag."
"Star Trek is also historically significant and. . . let's just add a flag or two. No one will notice. We can start with the tribble episode and-"
"I said 'no'. And why are you carrying the astronaut around?"
"I don't want it to get stolen."
"For a town with no crime, you people are really worried about theft," Jess observes.
Moving the astronaut doll behind his back, Kirk informs Taylor, "You can't have it back."
As one of the workmen delivering the telescope approaches the trio, Jess uses the distraction to slip away unnoticed. He walks towards the diner, eyes widening as he passes a table laden with bobbing head Buzz Aldrin figures. On the other side of the street, the town troubadour wanders by singing 'Spirit in the Sky.' While Jess watches, a miniature flying Sputnik replica that's tethered to a telephone pole smacks the troubadour in the forehead. The troubadour stands silent for a moment before dropping backwards like a freshly chopped tree.
"Talk about a one hit wonder," Jess mutters to himself as people scurry to assist the fallen singer.
. ~ . ~ . ~ .
Jess leans, elbows on the counter at Luke's diner. Reading, his face is a study of concentration. Turning the book's page, he hears the door jingle lightly to announce the arrival of a new customer. Glancing up, Jess straightens his spine as a slow lazy smile overtakes him. The smile is returned by Rory as she approaches.
"How was detention?" she asks, sitting at the counter.
"Thrilling," he answers.
"I'll bet."
Jess places his book on the counter as he turns to lift the coffee pot. Asking her if she wants coffee is as unnecessary as asking Madonna if she wants attention. While he pours a cup of her liquid addiction, she picks up his book.
Holding it up she asks, incredulously, "Are you reading this?"
Smirking, he answers, "That is one of the generally accepted uses for a book, yes."
Without a word, she leans down and retrieves a book from her backpack. Grinning, she hands it to him.
"No way," Jess says.
"Way," Rory counters laughing.
They each hold in their hands identical paperback copies of the same book, Jitterbug Perfume, by Tom Robbins.
"I think I'm father along that you are," she speculates, looking at the position of the bookmark in his copy, which she still holds.
"Yeah, but I've read it before. You better be nice to me or I'll tell you how it ends."
"You wouldn't!"
Jess shifts forward to resume his original elbow-leaning position and grins devilishly at her.
"What's the last part you read?" he asks.
"Well, let's see," she begins. "Alobar is a medieval king who decides to achieve immortality. So far, he's been alive for several centuries with his wife, Kudra, due to the combination of hot baths, a circular breathing technique, and a perfume they created. I love the parallel storyline with the three different teams in the present day who are searching for the perfume's base note - it's totally suspenseful and hilarious! Anyway, Alobar and the ancient god, Pan, are trying to figure out how to rescue Kudra from the netherworld after she and Alobar intentionally 'jump' there to check things out."
"Oh, you're at the part where it really starts getting good."
"It's already good."
"It gets better though, wait till Alobar-"
"Jess!" she cries, panic stricken. Immediately, she places her hands over her ears and, like a 5-year old, chants, "I'm not listening, I'm not listening, I'm not listening. . ."
Jess observes her with intense amusement, his eyes laughing. Shaking his head he leans across the counter and pulls her hands down. She smiles at him and says, "If you're going to tell me the ending, I'll have to leave."
"You know," he says, his voice warm, "if my lips had something else to do, they probably wouldn't misbehave."
Rory blushes. Looking down, she realizes he's still holding onto her arms after pulling her hands from her ears. Slowly, his thumbs begin stroking the sensitive skin on the inside of her delicate wrists causing tiny pinpricks of goose bumps to scurry up her arms.
Gasping, Rory tries to remember that friendship is safer and, up until today, he has willingly played along with her charade. Now, she feels confused, off-center. She trembles as a flood of sensations lashes at her.
Watching her reaction, Jess's eyes darken and cloud. He feels like a tiger that's been caged for too long and is now pacing, desperate for release. He makes a decision that he will not be the one to break their contact. While his thumbs make light teasing circles over the veins in her wrists, he waits to see what she will do.
"Tom Robbins uses scent as a catalyst for much of what happens in Jitterbug Perfume," Rory whispers. Her arms feel like molten puddles but she makes no move to pull them away.
Jess holds her eyes and continues his ministrations on her wrists. "Smell is a powerful memory trigger," he murmurs.
"Apparently so are beets," she breathes.
"Lusty vegetables," he agrees.
Conversation is becoming more difficult for Rory. "I love the way Robbins writes. . ." she pauses to formulate her thoughts, "pairing words that don't normally go together to create unexpected meaning."
His hands expertly release their grasp of her wrists as his fingers join his thumbs on the inside of her forearms. His touch is feather light, like a firefly, trailing up her arms and moving back down to her palms.
She shivers. Her eyes lock on his.
Struggling to remain coherent, her breathing grows heavy. "The writing is lush, poetic, magical, layered, and raw. It's so different. . ." she trails off.
Watching for any sign of resistance and detecting none, Jess steps silently around the corner of the counter and moves closer to her. Continuing his caresses, his hands never leave her skin.
"Robbins is in a class by himself," he says, his voice soft. "He was once quoted as saying that a woman in pink circus tights contains all the secrets of the universe."
"Mmm. . ." she sighs, closing her eyes, her heart pounding, her body hypersensitive.
"He said he was seduced by books. He refers to them as 'cradle-robbers', saying they captured a tow-headed, blue-eyed, pre-literate innocent and turned him into a paragraph junkie."
"Seduced?. . ." she mutters, her head involuntarily falling back slightly.
Jess stands next to her now, his fingers burning trails on her skin. He leans over and inhales her own powerful perfume.
"Rory," he whispers, his lips centimeters from her ear. "What are you feeling?"
Her mind is passion-fogged, yet she tries to make sense of his question, "Feeling?"
"Tell me," he urges, his voice husky. "Tell me right now. How do you feel?"
Opening her eyes, she looks up to find him gazing at her from under hooded lids. His eyes are longing and dangerous.
Her body responds. Her nerves tingle.
"I feel. . ." she breathes. "I feel. . ."
"Jess!" Luke's voice booms.
Cursing silently, Jess automatically steps away from Rory. Their contact broken, Rory feels instantly abandoned. She brings her tingling arms in close to her body and holds them. Her stool is cold and she mourns the loss of Jess's warmth.
Running a hand through his hair, Jess turns angrily towards the kitchen. "What?!"
"I need your help unloading this shipment."
"In a minute," Jess responds.
"Not in a minute. Now!" Luke orders sternly, staring daggers at Jess.
Jess sighs, rolling his eyes. He turns to Rory. "I'm sorry," he mutters, eyes scanning her flushed face for a remnant of want, a sign of regret.
"It's OK," she responds, not entirely sure what she means. Was it OK that he touched her or OK that he stopped? What was the question he asked. . . 'How do you feel'? Honestly, she feels too many things to sort them and find the one response that would explain her emotions.
Bewildered, she looks up at him and gestures towards the door, "I should. . ."
"Right," he nods.
"Jess!" Luke's voice calls from the back of the diner.
"Coming!" Jess responds in annoyance. When he looks at Rory, she is halfway across the diner. This time, she doesn't say goodbye before she leaves.
.
. ~ . ~ . ~ .
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A/N: In addition to being a Robbin's paragraph junkie, I'm also a review junkie! Thanks for reading! : - )