I apologise for the sparse updates. And now that a new semester had kicked in, this is only getting worse. Unfortunately, I have to allocate more of my energy towards the fascinating world of biology. All creativity will be wasted on an 8-page proposal detailing on why people should stop fishing beluga sturgeons (I'm not kidding). So don't fret when you don't see any updates soon (or in the next 4 months). Although fic-writing is time consuming, I still need it to keep me sane. Don't worry, I won't give this up … in the foreseeable future.
Disclaimer: I wish I own all GG characters. This way, I can do whatever I want with HA. Or I can just do … right … underage kids around. I'll shut up now.
The phone was ringing.
To the many occupants of this office it was not that big of a deal. Given that this was The New York Times office, it was neither surprising nor new to hear multiple phones ringing simultaneously in unison. She fielded a few dozen phone calls in this very office everyday. Rory would start worrying when the day came and her phone stopped shrieking for her attention. For now, she chalked it up to normality when the phone interrupted her creative thought process. Again.
But this one was different.
A spark flashed through her head. A warm fuzzy feeling travelled along her body before she reached for the phone. Familiarity. Instant recognition. Premonition. Call it whatever you want. Rory instinctively knew who's on the other end before she picked up the phone.
"Good afternoon, Rory Gilmore speaking."
"Hey babe, you got anything planned for this Friday?" The familiar voice asked.
"I have a hot date."
"Translation: you are going to binge on Ben and Jerry's Cherry Garcia while watching the Alias DVD I got you. The closest this could be to a hot date would be you salivating at the sight of David Anders." Lorelai chimed up.
She laughed at her mother's accuracy. Rory was wondering when her mother was going to call her. Lorelai didn't call last night like she usually would.
Rory missed her mother. She really did. She missed the way her upbeat humour could save the day. She missed the way her mother would perk up at the scent of Luke's coffee. She missed Sunday night movies. Of course, they still continued the Sunday night movie tradition. But this was a different version. Instead of interjecting snarky commentary while throwing popcorn at each other, the only way they could do it now was over the phone.
"You got a better suggestion?"
"Come with me to Friday night dinner."
Unlike her mother, Rory was no longer obligated to go to Friday night dinners once she moved to New York. She still showed up occasionally, but that's on a volunteer basis. Her grandmother implemented the new dinner arrangement after the time she nearly fell asleep on her way over. She thought it would be far too dangerous for her to drive after a gruelling day at work. Upon such stellar example, Lorelai briefly flirted with the idea of moving out along with Rory. She reconsidered once Rory vehemently reminded her of her job and her life in Stars Hollow.
"What did you do this time?"
"Nothing." Lorelai used her innocent voice hoping to fool her daughter. But to Rory, she was basically broadcasting the fact that she ticked off Emily … again. She seemed to have penchant for that.
"Yeah right." She rolled her eyes.
"Fine. I said something." Now Rory was intrigued. She had to give her grandparents some credit for this. After more than 10 years of Friday night dinners, they pretty much accustomed to Lorelai's crazy antics and developed a fairly high tolerance for it. It took a lot more to tick off Emily than it did 10 years ago. Of course, that never stopped Lorelai from giving out repeat performances.
"Uh huh. Go on."
"I was telling them a particularly engaging story about Kirk and the time he got high on lemonades during the Spring Fling. Then bam! Out of nowhere, I started using Luke's nickname …"
"Butch?" Rory interrupted.
"No."
"Flannel boy?"
"Nope, think worse."
"Trekkie?"
"Nope. But great idea, I'll used that to annoy Luke the next time I see him."
"Flannel-burger boy?"
Lorelai scoffed. "Now, I'm offended. I can certainly come up with something much more creative than flannel-burger boy."
"I can't think of anything else."
"NDG."
"Good Lord! You called your boyfriend naked diner guy in front of your parents?" Rory was mortified.
"Well, I used the abbreviated form, and I thought she would miss it."
"Grandma has good ears."
"Now I know. Then she started asking me to explain the meaning of NDG. And she did it with that evil glare thing that made my right eye twitch like a metronome. I got scared and in my sordid attempt to change the topic, I started talking about Dick Clark and the robotic qualities in him which totally tipped off my parents because it's nowhere near New Years and they stopped showing reruns of American Bandstand like five years ago." She managed all of that without breathing.
"That's terrible!"
"Yeah. It prompted the Spanish Inquisition. I swear, Jed Bartlet had an easier time during his question periods than I did with my mother. It kept going and going … like a Springsteen concert."
"Or the energizer bunny."
"Either way, I managed to field off the question session and ran out of the house without telling my parents what exactly does NDG stand for. But I can't do that again and I'll put down a good amount of cash to bet that Emily will resume the conversation where it left off. Please come with me this Friday, I don't want to do that again … alone!" She pleaded.
"Misery likes company." Rory pouted.
She hadn't been to her grandparents' place for nearly a month now and she could use some of their unrelenting support. But she didn't look forward to another night of dodging her grandmother's kind-hearted inquiry towards her living arrangement. Emily still didn't know about Jess, and Rory was not in a hurry to correct her perception.
But she did sympathize with her mother.
"Seriously though, mom, can you ever go to a Friday night dinner without putting your foot into your mouth?"
"That's like asking if Adam Sandler is capable of making good movies."
"He was pretty good in Punch-Drink Love."
"But after stunning Ebert and Roeper into giving him a two thumbs up, he went on to release Eight Crazy Nights which was a painful as jabbing your eye with a blunt pencil while somebody played Chopsticks in the background. And don't even get me started on his later movies. They made Big Daddy looked like a Palme d'Or candidate."
"Why are you comparing yourself to Adam Sandler? And of all people, why Adam Sandler?"
"Watched The Wedding Singer again." Lorelai stuttered before she realized Rory was laughing at her choice of entertainment. She huffed, "That's not the point. My point is, it is certainly possible for me to keep my foot away from my mouth, but it won't last long. Just like Mr. Sandler and his dismal track record when it comes to quality movies."
"Fine. I'll go to Friday night dinner with you." Her mother was right when she predicted that she had nothing better to do. Maybe this time she'd have enough courage to tell her grandparents the truth.
"Thank you. Thank you. Thank. You." Lorelai squealed in delight. Rory had to hold the phone away from her ear for the sake of her eardrums. She could imagine Lorelai doing the happy dance behind the concierge's desk much to Michel's dismay.
"But seriously can't you do better than Dick Clark?" She couldn't help but tease.
"You're spoiling my happy dance moment." Lorelai pouted. "Michel is freaking out at the valet again. I better do some damage control before he quits. I'll see you on Friday then."
"See ya."
Once she hung up, Rory picked up the pencil and started writing again. She continued to work on her article, translating complex visuals and emotions into elegant strings of words. The pencil rubbed against the foolscap at lightening speed, struggling to write down her thoughts as quickly as she created them. It's the most primitive way of writing and Rory liked it that way. She never got the hang of typing out rough drafts. It felt impersonal.
After an hour of frantic writing, Rory finally finished her article. It was still in its preliminary from and it could use a few improvements here and there, nonetheless, she got the framework down. She decided now was a good time to refill her coffee mug.
Office coffee wasn't the best kind of coffee in the world. On good days, somebody would leave the pot empty, forcing the next person to wait around for a fresh pot. On bad days, somebody would leave it on the counter, effectively cooling it down and allowing it to acquire an odour that didn't belong to coffee. But there's one good thing about office coffee. It's super strong. Strong enough that it should came with it's own surgeon general's warning.
Today was a good day.
In the break room, Rory found Scott staring intently at the droplets of coffee squeezing through the machine. The droplets travelled down into the pot and accumulated into a clear brown pool.
"A watched pot never boils." She quietly snuck up behind her co-worker.
"Hey Rory." He looked up at the sound of the comment. But he quickly focused his attention back on the coffee machine.
She always thought she had an unhealthy addiction when it came to caffeine. It wasn't until she started working here did she realised that there were people in the world who craved coffee with more urgency than her and Lorelai combined. Scott was one of those people. Rory once caught him squinting at the machine. He managed to give his explanation with a straight face when she confronted him about it. It turned out that he was attempting to use telepathy to speed up the water molecules between the coffee grinds so his coffee would be ready sooner.
Even Lorelai wouldn't go that far.
"Hey Scott. Did you hear anything about the new photographer?"
"You meant Joanna LeClavier. I believe she's out on an assignment with Janet." He straightened himself but a fraction of his attention still remained on the coffee.
"How's she like?"
"Professional. I heard from Steph that she interned at the National Geographic. Beautiful portfolio."
"But what does she look like, features wise. Just so I won't accidentally call the securities when I found a stranger around the office."
"Tall, brown hair, green eyes. Young. She got that I-can-conquer-the-world look in her eyes. The usual." The machine finally stuttered to a complete halt. He snatched the pot out and filled their mugs. Little splotches of brown liquid danced onto his sleeves.
"Didn't we all use to have that look." She sighed at the memories as she dumped a packet of sugar into her coffee. Not that she had lost all hope in journalism, but being a part of it had certainly chipped away some of the mystique and expectations. Things were always more glorified when you're on the other side of the fence.
"I remember that. Good times, good times." He nodded in acknowledgement.
"Too bad we lost some of that naïveté."
"Somewhere around the third month of working here. Welcome to the real world. Let's hope this one won't run away crying like her predecessor." Scott delivered the line with a twinkle in the corner of his eyes. He poured the rest of the coffee in the cup before he left. "Good luck on your article."
Rory remembered to brew a fresh pot before she retreated from the break room. She walked towards her office with and uneasy feeling in her stomach. That conversation with Scott left her oddly unsatisfied. When did she become such a pessimist?
The phoned rang again.
Just like earlier that day, the similar wheels and gears in her head click into place. The same thought process took place again. It's a strange feeling, like she could sense who's on the other end. She chuckled at the thought. If this continued, maybe she could save the company some money by forgoing the caller ID. She really had no need for it.
But this was not the same person as before.
"Good afternoon, Rory Gilmore speaking."
"Yo, it's me."
"I know it's you." She said with a knowing smile.
"How's work?"
At this rate, I'm going to spend the rest of the day taking phone calls instead of finishing my article before the deadline. But she didn't say what's on her mind. She simply replied, "Stressful at best." She paused for a brief second before switching to quizzical enthusiasm. "Where are you calling from?"
"Home."
"Home? As in New York City, our home?" She asked, startled.
"Yep." Jess yawned.
"But I thought you won't be back until the weekend."
"Me too. The crew wrapped up a few days earlier than projected and I absolutely refused to spend more time over there than I have to. No offence, charming country, but I just really wanted to come home."
"You traded your tickets?"
"Yep. 31 hours and 5 connecting flights later, I'm home." He couldn't help but yawn again. All that travelling was draining away his energy at an alarming rate.
"31 hours!" Rory gasped at the thought.
"Well, not all of the time was spent on a plane packed like sardines in a crushed can. A significant amount of time was spent at the waiting lounge. What is it with airport bookstores and their unhealthy obsession with John Grisham? I ran out of reading material and I was forced to buy one of his books out of desperation." His tone was that of bemusement.
"You poor thing." She sympathized. She wanted to hear more about his trip, but stacks of paper reminded her of her impending deadline. "Hey, I still have work to finish, why don't you tell me all your stories over dinner."
"Sure. I think I should catch a nap between now and then." He yawned again.
"Do you want to eat out or order in?"
"Let's go out."
"How about The Plant. Go take a nap, I'll see you there after work."
"Sure thing." Rory was about to hang up the phone when Jess added. "Wait a minute, please be more specific than 'after work'. Last time you said that, it resulted in me waiting 2 hours for you to show up. I hate to tell you this, but you have workaholic tendencies." Jess said the last part in stage whisper, as if he's divulging a secret rather than stating a fact.
She laughed it off. "I promise I'll be there at 7:30. Now get some rest before you collapse. You sound terrible." She was telling the truth.
"Thanks." He answered wearily, "I'll see you later then."
Rory was polishing up the last sentence of her article when her editor stumbled into her office. A girl, who she presumed to be Joanna LeClavier, followed closely behind. Scott's depiction was pretty close to the truth. But there's more to her eyes than the mandatory I-can-conquer-the-world look replicated by many newcomers. It was much more than that. The expression in her eyes walked the fine line between confidence and arrogance.
"How's the article coming along?"
"I still need to type it up." She took off her glasses and gently set it on her desk.
"Good." He nodded in approval. Tim turned towards the person that's standing behind him. "Here's somebody I'd like you to meet. This is Rory Gilmore. Short listed for the Pulitzer once, one of the brightest young stars in this organization."
Tim introduced her with a proud voice normally reserved by a mentor for a prized student. He liked her because of her professional work ethics. Assignments were always completed at least a day before the deadline, never complained about her work schedule, never a cause for worries or headaches.
"Hi. Joanna LeClavier. Majored in anthropology in Vassar." She shook Rory's hand in a firm and assertive manner.
She noticed that Joanna didn't wait for Tim to introduce her. Rory had a feeling that this was her approach to life as well. She didn't seem like the kind of person that would wait in the backbenches. She looked, and sounded, like the kind of person that would jump onto opportunities.
"I still have to introduce her to a few more people before the end of the day. Don't worry, you'll get the chance to get acquainted with each other. I might have an assignment for the two of you later this week." Tim added before he left her office with Joanna following closely behind.
Rory put her glasses back on and allowed a few stray thoughts lingered on the new photographer. She admitted that she's no psychology major, but Rory saw enough of Joanna to make a few crude observations. She's the kind of person that would eventually get whatever she wanted. No matter how hard it would be.
It's best not to have her as an enemy.
After that, the day went by unusually fast and uneventful. Rory found herself at The Plant in no time.
The Plant was actually short for The Old Power Plant. It was not an eating establishment that one could put in any category. It's neither a restaurant nor a diner. It's something in between. Some might venture to call it a pub, but Jess wasn't sure on that either. One thing for sure, it sure as hell wasn't a power plant. The old engine and various paraphernalia on the wall might give it an atmosphere that matched its name, but it was never more than that.
Just like any night, The Plant was bustling with rambunctious energy. People were there to unwind and trade war stories after a solid day of work. Rory instinctively approached the secluded corner in the back. A place quiet enough that people didn't need to raise their voice in order to be heard. As expected, Jess was seated at a table already. Their table.
They may be the last people to admit it, but they spend more time eating here than they do at home. There was something attractive about the turbine parts and old pictures that transported them back in time. Twice a week, there's a live jazz quartet, playing old favourites by Sarah Vaughn and Nat King Cole. With the cheap pints, good food and live music, it was no wonder why Jess and Rory spent a majority of their time here.
Rory was bringing him up to speed with her life when the waitress set down the food before them.
"You know what I missed most while I was away?" He asked as he pulled out the pickles from his burger.
"My dashing sense of humour and brilliant social commentary." She replied matter-of-factly as she snatched the pickles from Jess's plate.
"No. I was going to say The Plant." Rory gasped at his response and threw a fry at him. " … and of course I missed you too … sure …" He surrendered the last part when a flurry of fries were aimed at his direction. He leaned forward to pinch her pouting face, "Hey, I was away in a remote corner of a foreign country, cut me some slack."
"Fine."
"But honestly," He took a sip of beer, "I do miss you."
"Me too, kiddo. How's Thailand?"
"Cool. The crew and I were exploring the streets of Bangkok during down time and we came across this record store tucked away in an alley. You cannot believe what I found there."
"Bootleg Pink Floyd?"
"Actually, I think I saw a copy of The Wall in there with questionable legitimacy. But that's not what I'm talking about." He paused for dramatic effect. "I found The Empire Strikes Back on vinyl."
"The Empire Strikes Back."
"Yep."
"The greatest episode in the entire Star Wars saga."
"Yep."
"The one where Princess Leia declared her love to a stuck up, half-witted, scruffy-looking nerd-header Hans Solo and all he said was I know."
"Yep."
"And it's on vinyl."
"Just the way Mr. Lucas intended it to be. It also came with a picture storybook in Technicolor. You can follow along if you like."
"I've gotta see this!"
He chuckled. "Maybe this is the beginning of the collector's edition vinyl box set with special behind-the-scenes footage of Carrie Fisher and Harrison Ford! Who needs DVDs." He stuffed his mouth with what's left of the burger and washed it down with the beer. "So that's the most exciting aspect of my trip, what about you?"
"I did an article on how kids lost their childhood when parents got all paranoid over playground safety." She took another bite off her burger.
"My story is better."
"Hands down." Rory admitted.
"Quick question. What did you do to my room?" He asked between bites of onion rings. He didn't sound happy at all.
"Nothing." She tried her innocent voice.
"Rory, I have curtains with an pattern so ugly that it looked like a bunch of flowers had seizures and puked on it! Now I confess, I might not have spent an astounding amount of time in that room lately, or in this country for that matter. But I'm sure it didn't have anything that resembles the Von Trapp family curtains in my room when I last saw it"
"Mom brought it over while you're away. Apparently, she got the idea from Trading Space and thought it'd look better than the blinds you had. I have to admit it's not her best work. No doubt the product of severe dehydration brought on by the excessive drooling over Ty."
"Next time I leave town, my room will be off-limits to your mother. I don't want her to redecorate my room with snow globes."
"Too Citizen Kane?"
"Terribly."
She stole an onion ring from Jess's plate before changing the topic. "So when are you going to leave for your next trip?"
"Sometime next month. Maybe earlier than that, maybe later than that. It all depends on how soon I finish the write-up and if they like it enough to print it. I hear that they're planning on a tour book concentrating only on extreme sports around the world. If that works out, someone will pay me to go heliskiing in the Alps. It's like a dream come true." His eyes sparkled with enthusiasm. The kind of enthusiasm displayed by little kids in a candy store.
"Sound dangerously fun. You sound like you actually like this job." She observed.
"I know. Scary, huh? I guess I paid my dues with ten years of shitty b-rate service industry jobs where I cater to the whims of short-tempered customers. Finally, karma is on my side and I'm rewarded with a job that I actually enjoy."
"Good for you. You earned it."
"Enough about my oddly satisfying job. How about you? Still seeing Phillippe?"
"My god, it's been a month and a half and you're nicknaming him already!" Rory squeaked out a mild protest.
"We do that to people all the time. Remember how we used to call Kirk Ralph Wiggum behind his back."
"No. You used to call Kirk Ralph Wiggum." Rory corrected him. "I used to call him Kirk."
"True. You were always the paragon of virtue. Anyways, back on topic. Are you still seeing DuGrey?"
Rory tipped her head sideways and fidgeted with a piece of hair. "Yeah. I'm still seeing him." Maybe it's the beer, maybe it's the atmosphere, but Jess thought he saw her blushed.
"So is he for real?"
"I think so. It's nice spending time with a person that already knew you." She replied softly.
She left out the part where they always had brunch on Saturdays in this charming little café. The first person there will get the table and order for the both of them. Waffles and extra pulp orange juice for him; French toast and extra strong coffee for her. There's something comfortably routine about it. Just like what she and Jess was having right now.
"What about the part about him being a player and all?"
"I thought about it and I decided to give him a chance. I don't think it's fair a judge a person by what he did 10 years ago, especially what he did when he was 16. I mean, we both did some crazy stuff when we're teenagers." She gulped down the rest of her drink. "He probably left his former life behind. I think he's entitled to the benefit of the doubt."
"What if he continues his old habit?"
"I'll stop seeing him, simple as that. Look, maybe I'm overlooking his flaws, maybe he's very good at hiding his real nature, either way, I couldn't find a legit reason to not go out with him." She rationalised. "And honestly speaking, I'm having a good time."
"I can see that." Jess admitted.
Rory was too busy flagging down the waitress to get her another drink. But if she paid attention to her dinner companion, she would notice the way his voice toned down. If she paid attention, she would notice the mixture of sorrow, pain and disappointment that flashed across his eyes. He quickly recovered his easy-going voice and offered the congratulatory smile to his roommate.
Rory could be infuriatingly clueless sometimes.