Defending Bjork
Chapter 8: Like a Roach to a Flame
A/N: Here's Chapter 8 for your reading enjoyment, and it's even earlier than usual. Thanks for all of the wonderful reviews; I can't believe I passed the 100 mark. You all are truly awesome! Special thanks to AvidTVfan (again… believe me, she deserves it) for involuntarily becoming my content inspector and to columbiachica for being the best fic pimp a girl could ask for. Please review! Definitely enjoy! ~Becka
"Seriously?" Jess exclaimed, eyeing Rory. "You're actually telling me that you not only read The Fountainhead, but you liked it?"
Rory smiled. "That's what I said."
"How old were you?"
"Ten."
"Ten?" Jess repeated in disbelief.
"Yeah, but I didn't understand a word of it, so I had to reread it when I was fifteen."
"I've yet to make it through it," Jess admitted.
"See, I knew I was missing something," Rory said triumphantly. "Only someone who hasn't read all of The Fountainhead could list it as his least favorite book."
"I've read enough," Jess scoffed. "Trust me, that book is in its rightful place."
"You should really try it again. It's a classic."
"Yeah, but Ayn Rand is a political nut."
"Yeah, but nobody could write a forty page monologue the way that she could."
"I take it back. Forget about the politics; she's just a plain old nut."
"And Ernest Hemingway is a cure for insomnia," Rory countered.
"Now you're just being ridiculous."
"It's true," Rory insisted. "Once, my mom and I competed to see which of us could drink more coffee in one day…"
"You do realize how wrong that is, right?" Jess interrupted.
Rory ignored his comment and continued. "By the end of the day, we'd both lost count, but we were pretty sure coffee was coursing through our veins instead of blood."
"For his sake, I really hope Luke had nothing to do with this."
"He was Mom's unwitting accomplice," Rory said, smiling. "That was the day she perfected her ability to dart behind the counter, fill up her mug, and get back on her stool before he ever saw a thing. Luke thought he was losing his mind. He kept standing in front of the half-empty pot, just staring at it. Then, he'd turn to us with this puzzled look on his face. He'd sort of gesture at the pot and look at us for confirmation that he'd filled it, and Mom would act completely confused, like she didn't understand what he was getting at. He must've refilled that pot at least ten times."
"You're telling me he didn't figure it out?" Jess asked in disbelief.
"Nope, the poor guy," Rory said, shaking her head sympathetically. "He never knew what hit him."
"Good to know that clueless thing he does isn't just an act," Jess mused. "So how does this relate to Hemingway?"
"Well, as you can imagine, by that night, we'd consumed so much coffee there was no way we were ever going to get to sleep. We tried everything. And for the record," Rory observed, "Warm milk does not live up to the hype. There's definitely a reason people prefer it cold. Anyway, eventually, I decided I might as well do homework if I was going to be up, so I picked up The Old Man and the Sea and started reading. Next thing I knew, it was morning."
"Right," Jess said skeptically.
"Face it, Jess," Rory teased. "One of your favorite authors is the literary equivalent of a sleeping pill."
Jess rolled his eyes, doing his best to ignore the satisfied smile on Rory's face. When she raised her eyebrows in challenge, he couldn't help but chuckle. "Ok, how about this?" he offered. "I'll make you a deal. Tomorrow, I'll try to read Ayn Rand again, and you will…"
"Give the painful Ernest Hemingway another chance," Rory reluctantly finished. "Yes, I promise."
"You know," Jess said sincerely. "Ernest only has lovely things to say about you."
At his words, Rory's face grew serious. "Why are you only nice to me?" she asked suddenly.
"Excuse me?"
"You've been sitting here, answering every question I ask you with a minimal amount of sarcasm and being really nice, but an hour ago, you were totally screwing with Dean."
"You see," Jess said, choosing his words carefully. "It's the screwing with Dean that's an important step to getting here so I can be nice to you."
"So it was a plan."
"What?"
"The whole bidding on my basket, it was a plan."
"Okay, I'm officially starving," Jess declared, blatantly avoiding the subject.
"And officially evasive."
"Come on, I'll get you a pizza."
"Answer my question."
"Do you like pepperoni?"
"Not going to, are you?"
"We can just get it on half if you want," Jess offered.
"Okay, I give; let's go," Rory said, standing and beginning to walk in the direction of town.
"If you insist," Jess answered, making a move to rise. He was just about to follow when his eye caught a glimpse of something lying on the bridge where Rory had been sitting. Crouching, he picked up the fallen bracelet, twirled it around his finger, and put it in his pocket. Then, he stood and walked across the bridge to catch up with Rory.
"A ninety dollar picnic basket, and I'm buying you pizza," Jess complained good-naturedly as they walked through town towards Pete's Pizza Place. "Have you ever considered cooking classes?"
"Maybe I'm fighting against the age-old sexist notion that women should do all of the cooking."
"Or that pesky age-old notion that people should be able to take care of themselves."
"Hey," Rory protested. "I can take care of myself. I have all of the necessary phone numbers memorized, and I am on very good terms with all of the delivery people in this town."
"Well, in that case," Jess teased, smirking.
"And you're Emeril Lagasse's long-lost son?" Rory asked sarcastically.
"I can hold my own."
"Guys are programmed at birth with the ability to make macaroni and cheese. That doesn't count."
"Think what you want," Jess dismissed. "I don't brag about my culinary skills."
"You're serious," Rory observed, turning her eyes to study him but continuing to walk.
Jess glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, then, realizing they'd arrived at the one busy street in town, he instinctively extended his hand in front of her to stop her from walking. As his arm brushed gently against her, Rory felt a sudden, disorienting wave of warmth rush over her. Confused, she tried to shake the feeling off, but, like Jess's arm, it remained until the oncoming car had passed. Once it was safe to cross, he withdrew his hand and shoved it into his pocket. Suddenly silent, they proceeded across the street.
They soon reached Pete's, and Jess stepped forward to pull open the door. In control of herself again, Rory walked past him into the restaurant. As Jess made his way through the door behind her, Rory remembered their earlier conversation and, curious, turned to look at him.
"You can really cook?" she asked again, skeptical.
"I can really cook," he affirmed, smirking.
"Huh," Rory responded, slowly nodding acceptance.
Jess's smirk grew wider at her cute expression. "So," he said, "Maybe we should order?"
"Yes, we should," Rory agreed, filing away her newly acquired Jess information for later reflection.
After agreeing on a fully loaded, medium pizza, Jess walked over to the counter to place the order, and Rory wandered off to choose a table. Picking a booth away from the windows and, therefore, the prying eyes of Stars Hollow gossips, Rory sat down and absentmindedly scanned the restaurant for familiar faces. A few tables away, she saw a group of girls – former classmates from Stars Hollow High. They were talking animatedly and giggling. She was only watching them for a second when one of the girls, a redhead who she faintly remembered from a junior high math class, nudged the blonde sitting beside her. Rory had had several classes with the blonde, Lacey, before she transferred to Chilton. Feeling the elbow poking into her ribs, Lacey cut off her story and, visibly annoyed, glanced at her friend. Rory watched as the redhead raised her eyebrows and started jerking her head, a universal indication that Lacey should look at something. Confused, Lacey glanced in the suggested direction, and, immediately, a wide smile spread across her face. Rory shifted her eyes to see what was so exciting and saw Jess walking across the restaurant towards her with the table number and two glasses of Coke in his hands. As he passed by the table of girls, she saw Lacey's eyes scan him up and down, and immediately, the other girls burst into another fit of giggles. Lacey's face turned bright red, and she smacked one of her laughing friends on the arm. That only made them laugh harder.
Rory switched her gaze from the girls to Jess and then back again. Even though she could tell he was completely oblivious to his fan club, Rory felt a stab of pain shoot through her chest, and butterflies took up sudden flight in her stomach. Her whole body was warring between feeling anger and sheer panic.
"Here," Jess said, setting one of the glasses in front of her and sitting down on the opposite side of the booth. "You didn't tell me what you wanted, so I got the one with the most caffeine."
"Thanks," Rory croaked. She pulled the glass in front of her and started sipping through the straw, trying to ignore whatever it was that had just happened to her.
"You okay?" Jess asked.
"Yeah," Rory said, forcing herself to relax. "I'm just hungry." On cue, her stomach growled loudly in agreement.
"They said it'll be fifteen minutes," Jess answered, glancing around at the pizza parlor's décor. "This place isn't very Stars Hollow."
"What do you mean?" Rory asked, looking around as well.
"It reminds me of a place in New York."
"There's a pizza place in New York that has a display case for Smurf memorabilia?"
"You're kidding."
"Nope," Rory replied, pointing at one corner of the restaurant.
"Okay, I didn't see that," Jess admitted, shaking his head.
Rory smiled and took another sip of her drink. "Did you eat there a lot?" she asked.
"Where?"
"The pizza place in New York."
"I spent some time there, yeah."
"It must be nice," Rory said.
"What?"
"Having a place here that reminds you of New York."
Jess shrugged. "I guess." Looking for a distraction, he reached out and picked up the table number.
"That's my favorite number," Rory said, looking up at him as she took another sip of her drink.
"Yeah?"
She nodded. "Nine is an excellent number."
"You should steal it," he said casually, rotating the number with his fingers.
"What?" Rory asked, surprised.
"Don't tell me you've never stolen one of these before." Just looking at her, he knew her answer. "You and Lane never stole one?"
"We never even thought about it," Rory admitted.
"Everyone does it."
"You stole a table number?"
"Quite a few, actually."
"Why?"
Jess shrugged. "The first time, it was a dare; the rest, it was just something to do."
"A dare? You don't seem like you'd care about that."
"I was young. Younger than the rest of my friends. I had to prove myself."
"By stealing a piece of plastic? How young were you?"
"Eight," Jess said, as he set the number back on the table. "And I got caught."
Amused, Rory smiled. "You did?"
"It fell out from under my shirt. My friends all bolted when they saw the owner coming."
"Nice friends," she remarked.
"It wasn't too bad. I had to wash dishes for the rest of the day."
"And so began your food service career," Rory teased.
"Guess I found my calling," Jess joked back, meeting Rory's eyes.
She held his gaze, studying him, wanting to figure him out, but, too soon, he looked away. "You should steal it," he repeated, looking down into his glass as he twirled the straw. A moment later, their pizza arrived.
Jess smirked as he watched Rory polish off her third, large piece of pizza.
"What?" she asked, noticing his look as she wiped her hands on a napkin.
"Nothing."
"C'mon, Jess, what's so funny?"
Leaning forward, he adopted a serious face and whispered conspiratorially, "It's just you're kinda eating me under the table here."
"Oh," Rory answered, her face growing hot.
"I mean, a man's gotta have his self-respect," Jess continued. Noticing the red rising in her cheeks, he ducked his head down a little in an effort to meet her eyes. "Rory, I'm kidding." She looked up at him uncertainly. "I swear," he assured her. "It drives me crazy when girls refuse to eat anything."
Rory smiled. "Well, then, in fairness to your fragile ego, I should warn you that I'm not even close to beating my personal record." To prove her point, she grabbed another piece of pizza and took a big bite.
Stubbornly taking her challenge, Jess picked up his own piece. Two bites later, he conceded victory, offering to refill her Coke as a reward.
Completely full, Rory pushed her plate to the center of the booth table and waited for Jess to return with her drink. Looking around, she noticed that Lacey and her friends were still sitting at their table, although the food had subdued their hyperactivity a little. She fought the urge to childishly glare at Lacey and instead distracted herself by tearing small pieces off from her napkin.
"Some poor guy is gonna have to clean that up, you know," Jess said as he set her newly replenished drink in front of her.
Smiling at him, Rory gathered the paper remnants together and transferred them to her empty plate. "Better?"
"Much," he replied.
"Diner life is changing you," Rory quipped.
"Don't remind me," Jess moaned. "So when do you have to be home?"
"No particular time. Why?"
"Well, thanks to you, I have to go buy a copy of The Fountainhead."
"I could loan you my copy," Rory offered.
"Thanks, but I think the only way I'll actually read it is if I buy it myself. Investing money in it is a good incentive to at least put forth some effort."
Rory smiled. "You know, it's not totally impossible that you might actually li–"
"Hi Jess," a female voice interrupted, cutting Rory off and drawing their attention. "Hi Rory."
Rory glanced at Jess and could immediately tell that, at most, he faintly recognized the blonde girl.
"Hi Lacey," Rory answered, looking back at their unexpected guest.
"I saw you sitting over here, and I thought I'd come say 'Hi'. It's sad that we never see you anymore."
"Yeah, it's weird," Rory agreed. "I miss everyone."
"So, how's your new school?" Lacey asked.
"It's good," Rory said, noticing that Lacey kept slyly glancing at Jess.
"That's good," Lacey replied. Then she pointedly looked at Jess and then again at Rory. "So I know it's none of my business, Rory," she started hesitantly, "but, um, it's just, well, I thought you were dating Dean Forrester."
"I am," Rory said, surprised.
"Oh," Lacey said, turning her eyes again to Jess. "Okay. So you two didn't break up or anything?"
"No, we didn't," Rory answered sharply.
"Right, okay. Some of us were just wondering 'cuz, you know…"
"Well, you can stop wondering because Dean and I are still together," Rory repeated abruptly.
"Oh, I didn't mean to imply anything or anything like that," Lacey weakly assured her, smiling slightly. "Um, so anyway, I'm glad your new school is going okay and everything. Maybe I'll see you around. See you in class, Jess," she added, flashing him a bright smile before turning and walking back to the table full of her very curious friends.
"What was that all about?"
"I don't know," Rory lied, irritated with Lacey's insinuations. "Should we go?" she asked, even as she answered her own question by standing up.
"Where?" Jess asked as he reached under the table to retrieve the basket Rory had stowed away earlier.
"To the bookstore. I think I hear Ayn Rand calling your name."
As they entered the bookstore, Rory breathed a sigh of contentment. Ever since she was little, she'd loved this bookstore – the way its warmth wrapped around her like a security blanket; the musty smell of old books mixed with the newness of just-released bestsellers; the subdued, cozy lighting; the endless world of possibilities contained within each cover. Like all of Stars Hollow, it was a whole world of wonder wrapped in a small package. The space was unassuming compared to a chain bookstore, but it was lined to full capacity with shelves and shelves of books. Hardcovers, paperbacks, first editions, tenth editions… it was almost a shame to hide the collection away in such a small town. Looking around, Rory completely forgot about her encounter with Lacey.
Without a word, as if by silent consent, Rory and Jess wandered off in opposite directions – Jess, to track down The Fountainhead and Rory, wherever her legs carried her.
An indeterminate time later, Rory stood in an aisle with three books in her hands, flipping through the pages of the one on top, when she felt Jess approach. He was trying to be stealthy, but the familiar scent of his cologne gave him away. She smiled as he moved to stand behind her, gazing over her shoulder at the book. Amused, she closed the book and held it up for him to see.
"The Moonstone, huh?" Jess said, not particularly surprised to discover that she'd known he was there.
"Yup, have you read it?" Rory asked, reopening the book and flipping through its pages again.
"It's on my list."
"Yeah, mine too. I alphabetized it a few years ago, and I think I finally made it to C. So, Wilkie Collins, it is."
"You'll have to tell me what you think of it. What else do you have?"
Rory closed The Moonstone and moved it aside to reveal the second book.
"Walden?" Jess asked.
"It's for extra credit," Rory explained.
"My sympathies. And the third?"
Shifting Walden to her other hand, Rory showed him the last book on the stack.
"The Children's Hour," Jess read off the cover. "Nice uplifting story for a rainy day," he quipped sarcastically.
"It's for my mom," Rory explained.
"Feeling the sudden need to take her happy-go-lucky attitude down a few notches?"
"No, we watched 'Julia' a few nights ago, and Mom mentioned she wanted to read it."
"Ah," Jess acknowledged.
"So what did you find?" Rory asked, turning to lean against the bookshelf, so she could look at him.
"As promised…" he began, holding up a book. "The dreaded Fountainhead and," he continued, "a book I thought you might like." He held a hardcover book out to her, and, curious, she took it from his hand.
"Don Marquis," she read aloud before flipping to the back cover. "I've never heard of him."
"You aren't alone, but, trust me, he's brilliant."
"Who is he?" she asked, looking up.
"He was a New York newspaper columnist back in the early 1900s. He wrote for the Evening Sun and the New York Tribune. His columns were funny and interesting, with a really unique cast of characters. His stuff was basically a social commentary on life, but it read like a cartoon, which made it accessible to all sorts of different people. It's too bad more people these days haven't heard of him."
"Was he really that big at the time?" Rory asked, wondering how she hadn't heard of him before.
"Oh yeah, he was an icon. Writers back then were crazy about him. People like Robert Benchley, James Thurber, and Dorothy Parker list him as one of their idols."
"I love Dorothy Parker," Rory enthused, intrigued.
"You should take a look at it. I checked around the store, but they only have this "Best of…" edition. Then again, it'll give you a good idea of what he was about. He was pretty well known for his column involving a character he called "The Old Soak." It's basically about the pseudo-philosophical musings of a guy who liked to drink but was trapped in the time of Prohibition. The concept was transformed into a play and a movie and everything. But, if you ask me, his best work is his stuff with Archy and Mehitabel."
"Archy and Mehitabel?" Rory repeated.
"Yeah, it's great. According to the legend created by Marquis, of course, he came to work one day to find a cockroach, Archy, flinging himself at his typewriter in a desperate effort to meet his need for self-expression. Archy would methodically throw himself at each key until he said what he wanted to say – mostly reflections on life from his perspective. When you read it, you'll notice that there's no capitalization because it was impossible for Archy to operate the shift key and a letter key at the same time."
Rory smiled, growing more and more interested. "And Mehitabel?"
"Mehitabel was a cat Archy knew. She believed she was the reincarnated spirit of Cleopatra."
"Sounds strange."
"You'll like it, trust me," Jess assured her.
"This from someone who counts Hemingway among his favorites," Rory said skeptically.
"Okay," Jess bartered. "If you don't like it, I will voluntarily read Atlas Shrugged."
"Can it really be considered voluntary if you're doing it because you lost a bet?" Rory teased.
"It's my best offer."
Rory smiled. "Okay, I'll read it," she said, knowing full well that she had been planning on reading it all along.
"Were you gonna look around some more?" Jess asked.
"No, I think I better stop before I see anything else I want, but if you want to keep looking, go ahead. I can sit and read somewhere. I don't mind."
"I'll come find you in a little bit then."
"Okay," Rory agreed, and again, they wandered off in separate directions.
Rory immediately found one of the few chairs they were able to cram into the small, confined space of the bookstore and sat down to read. She set her other books on the floor beside the chair and, intrigued, picked up "The Best of Don Marquis." Since each story was independent of all of the others, she opened up to a random page and began to read.
Several stories later, Rory smiled amusedly and glanced up to scan the immediate area for Jess. Not seeing him, she closed her eyes and flipped through the pages with her finger before stopping on a whim and opening her eyes to read the one she had landed on, 'the lesson of the moth':
"i was talking to a moth
the other evening
he was trying to break into
an electric light bulb
and fry himself on the wires
why do you fellows
pull this stunt i asked him
because it is the conventional
thing for moths or why
if that had been an uncovered
candle instead of an electric
light bulb you would
now be a small unsightly cinder
have you no sense
plenty of it he answered
but at times we get tired
of using it
we get bored with the routine
and crave beauty
and excitement
fire is beautiful
and we know that if we get
too close it will kill us
but what does that matter
it is better to be happy
for a moment
and be burned up with the beauty
than to live a long time
and be bored all the while…"
Over and over, Rory read and reread the story, knowing right away that, in a book brimming with brilliance, it was going to be her favorite.
"So, do you like it?" Jess asked, startling Rory out of her book-induced trance.
She smiled up at him. "Looks like 'Atlas Shrugged' will have to wait," she admitted. "It's great."
"As predicted," Jess said, breathing a sigh of relief.
"You're just lucky I'm honest," Rory pointed out, closing the book and setting it on top of her other three selections.
"Here, I'll get it for you," Jess offered, extending his hand.
"You don't have to do that," Rory disagreed. Between the ninety dollars for the basket and the pizza, she couldn't rightfully accept anything else.
"C'mon, hand it over."
"Really, Jess; it's fine."
"Rory," Jess repeated. "I'm buying you the book."
"No, you're not."
"Yes, I a—," Jess began before cutting himself off. "Okay, we can either stand here all day and argue about it like five year olds or you can just hand it over and let me pay for it."
Rory studied him and knew immediately that there was no way he was going to let her buy the book. Sighing, she bent down and picked it up. "Fine," she muttered as she placed it in his outstretched hand.
"Now was that so hard?" he asked.
She glared at him and retrieved the rest of her books. Smirking, he started to walk towards the register.
Finally resolving a debate that had been waging in her head since the picnic on the bridge, Rory stopped and called after him. When he turned to look, she said as casually as possible, "I just remembered something I wanted to look at. I'll meet you in front." He nodded and continued towards the registers.
As soon as he was out of sight, Rory darted to a different section of the bookstore and quickly scanned the shelves. Finding what she was looking for, she snatched it up and hurried to the front of the store, praying that they had both registers open. When she got to the front, she saw that Jess was still busy buying his books, and, thankfully, the other register was staffed. Darting forward, she placed four books on the counter. As she'd hoped, they were rung up and bagged before Jess ever saw a thing.
"I can't believe it's so late," Rory said, looking up at the darkened sky as she and Jess strolled across town towards her house. "Today was a good day."
"So I didn't completely ruin it by outbidding Dean on your basket?"
"Not completely," Rory teased. "Although I could have done without the whole "making Dean mad" part."
"You gotta admit, he makes it easy."
"You call spending ninety dollars just to make Dean mad easy?"
"I call it money well spent," Jess answered, glancing at Rory.
Something about his tone made Rory look over at him and smile. They walked the rest of the way to her house in silence.
"Well, here we are," Rory said reluctantly, pausing to turn to Jess.
Nodding, he reached into his paper bag and pulled out his books. He left behind the Marquis book and handed the bag to her.
"Thanks," she said quietly, taking the bag.
"I guess I'll see you tomorrow then," he said.
"Yeah, I'll see you tomorrow."
Turning, Jess began walking across the front lawn, in the direction of Luke's.
Rory's eyes trailed his movements for a moment, then, suddenly remembering something, she quickly shifted her three books into the bag Jess had handed her. Then, she slipped something out of her coat pocket and dropped it into the other bag, next to her not-so-impromptu final purchase. Looking up, she saw Jess turning to head down the sidewalk and, taking a deep breath, she softly called out his name.
He paused, and Rory jogged over to him.
"I almost forgot; I got you something," she said hesitantly, holding the bag out to him. His brow furrowed in confusion, he made a motion to look in the bag, but Rory's voice stopped him. "Don't look until you get home."
Shifting his gaze upward, he scanned her face. "Okay," he said simply.
A look of relief spread across Rory's face, and she smiled. "Good-night, Jess."
Puzzled, Jess watched her until she disappeared into the house, then, picnic basket and paper bag in hand, he headed towards Luke's.
"Hey, where have you been all day?" Luke asked as soon as Jess entered the diner.
"Bookstore," Jess tersely replied, holding up the paper bag as proof as he walked past the counter.
"Why do you have a picnic basket?"
"Uncle Luke, why do you have a picnic basket?" Jess threw back, eyeing the basket Luke had placed safely behind the counter.
Luke glanced at the basket and back at Jess but said nothing.
"That's what I thought," Jess said, smirking as he headed upstairs.
Kicking off his shoes and dropping his coat on the floor, Jess sat on his bed and peered into the paper bag Rory had given him. Unable to make out the darkened contents, he impatiently reached his hand in and pulled out a slim, hard-covered book. As the title was made visible to him, he felt a familiar pang take residence in his chest. Pushing the bag out of the way, he thumbed through the book; a flood of memories best forgotten washed over him, and he sighed. Suddenly tired and unsure of how he felt about Rory's gesture, he set the book on a nearby table and reclined back on the bed, his back smashing down on the discarded paper bag in the process. Through the thick, brown paper, he felt something sharp stab into his side. Curious, he lifted his body just enough to reach underneath and pull the bag onto his lap. Stuffing his hand back into the bag, his fingers wrapped around a piece of triangular plastic. He immediately smiled and tugged the object all of the way out of the bag. The number nine looked back at him. Impressed and amused, he set the table number on top of the book and lay back down, closing his eyes. After a moment, however, he reopened them and soon found himself staring at the two items. Hesitantly, he sat up and moved the number to the side. Then, he picked up the copy of "Winnie-the-Pooh," leaned back, and began to read.
