The most boring chapter yet. Captain exposition took over my hand when I wrote this. In fact, I'm sure you don't really need to read it. In fact, I'm not sure why I wrote it, or post it. Pffft. Whatever!
Dedication: To MaryATroryFan. You have no idea how touched I am when you took time to write those reviews. It's always interesting to hear from you.
Disclaimer: Yeah right, like I own Gilmore Girls. Whatever's been going up your nose have to stop.
Fridays were always the longest day of the week. The day dragged on infinitely and no amount of coffee could perk up the work process. To make matters worse, time significantly slowed down once it was past 3 o'clock. It was as if some unimaginable higher power was toying with everybody's patience.
Kevin took a break from his work to play with a picture frame. The smiling faces of his family beckoned him to abandon his work go home immediately. His son turned eight today and he couldn't wait to go home for the celebrations. Little Darcy had invited a few friends for his very first sleepover. The next day, the entire family would pack up and spend the weekend at the beach. He could already smell the salty air infused with the pleasant scent of coconut suntan lotion.
He was still imagining the upcoming fun-filled weekend when he was rudely interrupted by loud yelling. The image of him building a sand castle with Darcy dissolved as the voices got louder. Kevin strained his ears to distinguish the two warring camps.
Oh great. It's those two again. Who else but Tristan DuGrey and Carmen Dowling would engage in such an all out screaming match in this office. You'd think two people working at the Met would have milder dispositions.
Kevin thought he could screen out the background noise. It was a skill perfected by months of practice. A necessary skill considering the onslaught of arguments between Tristan and Carmen. But today's intense discussion had successfully obliterated any trace of concentration he thought he had. The final straw came when he heard the explosive sound of someone slamming the door.
By the time he walked into the break room, the excitement had significantly died down. The crowd had dissipated save for a shivering intern who looked as if his life had just passed before his eyes. Remy stood frozen on one spot with the deer-in-the-headlights look. The timid guy had only been here for 2 weeks on an exchange program from the Musée d'Orsay. He was a twitchy boy to start with too. This could not be good for his health.
Kevin looked around the cramped space. Itchy and Scratchy were nowhere to be seen. Now this was unusual.
"Remy, what happened?" Kevin gently pried the mug of coffee away from his firm grip and replaced it with a glass of water. His body probably couldn't handle the extra caffeine shock.
"Monsieur Valmont!" He sound startled and in process spilt half of his water onto his shoes. "I didn't know you're here." His French accent was a lot thicker than usual on account of his nervousness.
"Calm down Remy." He patted his shoulders lightly. "What happened?"
"I was down in the basement cataloguing the shipment we received from The British Museum. I came up to finish the paper work because the basement was badly lit and my contacts give me terrible headache if I work under fluorescent light for too long. I came in for coffee because I still have tons of work ahead me. Monsieur DuGrey was here too and I told him about the restoration work on the newly acquired stone statues.
"Monsieur DuGrey was commenting on how most museums acquire their artifacts through looters. I happened to think he had a point. Think about the Elgin marbles in the British Museum. What Lord Elgin did was no different than blatant thievery. We were talking about the Temple of Dendur when Mademoiselle Dowling came in.
"Maybe he said it wrong, maybe Mademoiselle Dowling heard it wrong, I really couldn't tell. But all of a sudden, they started yelling at each other. They spoke too fast, and before I knew it, she stormed off to her room and he went to the opposite direction." Remy pointed towards the staircase. The tremor in his voice had blurred his words to indecipherable fragments.
Kevin had a faint idea as to Tristan's whereabouts. There were a few spots that Tristan usually retreated to for a quiet moment. He tried his soothing voice on Remy. "Why don't you pack up and go home early today. Work can wait." Well, not really. But what could he say to the obviously distressed boy.
"Did I do something wrong?"
"Don't worry. It's not your fault. This happens all the time."
Too often to count.
As expected, Kevin found Tristan up on the rooftop. He was leaning against the ledge, talking to a lone pigeon. It cooed and tilted its head every once in a while as if it understood his arcane wisdom. When in reality, the pigeon was probably only there because Tristan was sharing a corner of his cracker with it. The heavy footsteps of Kevin scared the bird into abandoning its dinner.
"The two of you have to stop doing that. Pepe Le Pew was nearly reduced to tears down there. If this doesn't stop sooner or later, I'm sure he'd go home and tell his friends how terrible the Americans are."
"It's not as if the French had a high opinion of us to start with." He casually tossed the half-eaten cracker over his shoulder.
"True. But we don't need you to make matters worse." Kevin walked over and propped his elbow on the ledge. The mild spring weather coxed the trees beneath him to be pimpled with fresh green buds. "So what happened this time?"
"I'm not sure whether that girl is painfully naïve, or she has a bone to pick." Tristan didn't mention her name purposefully. As if mere mentioning it would leave an unpleasant taste in his mouth.
"Maybe both."
"Kev, let's be honest here. Museums didn't fill their display cases by waiting for the beneficiaries to donate whatever trinkets they were in the mood for. It's no secret that we rely on rich trustees as much as looters and smugglers to keep this place afloat. You think those extinct animals in the dioramas across the park died of natural causes? You think archeologists ever hesitated to think of the moral consequences when they dig up some ancient pharaoh's resting place? You think every Renaissance painting was acquired from auctions?
"I won't be the first to admit it and I know I won't be the last. But most of what we see was probably stolen from beneath someone's nose or plundered from some remote African villages. This is a dirty business and if you're looking to be the next Mother Teresa, what the heck are you doing at the Met? Go join Amnesty International or something!" The last part was delivered with harsh grittiness. As if he was trying to project his sentiments all the way to Carmen's office.
Kevin happened to agree with some of his arguments. There were dark elements to his job. Harrison Ford helped romanticized archeologists. But the truth was, none of them were Indiana Jones.
But Kevin wasn't going to admit that. Not because he couldn't let go of the status quo. But because he didn't want to make the situation worse that it already was. This was a matter of point-counterpoint that he didn't want to get into. The lesson he learned from Tristan and Carmen's many catfights was not to take sides. Never. For the sake of his personal health.
"I know the two of you have very strong opinions and fiery passion for your job, but this is getting destructive. As a friend, may I remind you that the boss doesn't have infinite tolerance." All that arguing couldn't be good for office morale. "Tristan, sometimes, you'll just have to let it go."
"I tried. Trust me, I tried letting go." He ran his fingers through his hair. "I'm as tired of this as you are. I'm not some weird monster that thrives on arguments. If I do, I would've chosen a career in politics. But no matter what I do or what I say, she'd end up lashing out on me. What's up with that?"
"I know Carmen could be unforgiving sometimes … "
"Sometimes?!" Tristan couldn't help but interrupt. "Try all the time. Do I have a permanent 'kick me' sign tattooed onto my forehead? Because as a friend, it's your responsibility to tell me that."
Kevin looked at the frustrated man before him. Debating whether or not to divulge what he knew to Tristan. As the punching bag, he deserved to know the back-story more than anybody else. On the other hand, Kevin wasn't in habit of spreading office gossip. Especially this kind of gossip.
Heck, there's nothing to lose.
"Ever heard of Ryan Hughes?"
"Not much. Other than the fact that the reason I have a job here is because he doesn't."
"Ryan and Carmen met when they interned at The Cloisters." Referring to the Fort Tryon Park branch of the Met that specialized in medieval art. "You know me, I am not a man who judges other people's personal life or their approach to life. What happens outside this building is of no interest to me. But from what I hear, Carmen … how shall I put it … doesn't have a high regard for relationships. And Ryan, well, let's just say he came in at a bad time." Kevin struggled for more eloquent words as he continued his narration.
"She was interested in Ryan, the interest was not reciprocated. But that never stopped her from trying. The glorified game of cat-and-mouse evolved from subtle nudging and winking to frequent leering. At first, he merely tolerated them, thinking she would move on once she got tired of his unresponsive stance. But that only served to fuel her advances.
"He soon got weary of her and resigned. Last heard either working at the National Gallery in London or he's working on his Ph. D in France. Tristan, think about this, he went all the way across the Atlantic Ocean to escape from her. He was that terrified of her. This could not be good for her pride."
"How did her personal life factor into my daily sufferings?" The annoyance was still in his tone, but his stance had visibly softened. It wasn't until he spoke the words out loud did he notice the alarming parallels between his life and hers. So, this is how they saw me.
"Well, the two of you do look dead-on from behind." Kevin offered with a shrug. "Hey, don't look at me. I'm no Dr. Phil. It's not like I can decipher the inner workings of a woman's mind." He highly doubted that Dr. Phil could decipher a woman's mind either.
"Great, I'll just get a box of permanent hair colour and ask my girlfriend to dye my hair for me. Heck, maybe I should just shave my hair."
"Whatever works for you, man." Kevin looked at his watch and decided that he had stayed too long up here. He still had a birthday party to go to. "I better go home. I still have to pick up Darcy's cake on my way home."
"Speaking of your boy, did he like his present?"
"He absolutely adored the chemistry kit. But I won't let him play with it until I set up a space for him in the garage. Less potential damage this way. I still remember the time he discovered baking soda and vinegar. Simultaneously."
"Who knew your son would turn out to be a science geek."
"Got that from his mother alright. Well, I really should go now. One more thing, promise me that whatever I said today will not spread beyond you and me."
"I thought everyone knew about it already."
"True, but it's still a sore spot for her. No guarantees on what could happen to you if you throw it at her face." No guarantees on what could happen to me if you threw it at her face, Kevin thought.
"Yeah, yeah, I'll remember that." Tristan gave the retreating figure a final reminder before resuming his contemplative pose, "Don't forget to pick up the candles along with the cake."
Rory muttered expletives under her breath to her overnight bag. The heavy canvas bag just simply wouldn't budge from the comfort of her trunk. So maybe she did pack too much stuff for a weekend stay. She tugged the handles one more time. Still no movement. The ringing of her cell phone interrupted her uphill battle.
"Hello."
"It's me. Did you arrive safely?" Rory already told Tristan about her plans to drive up to Stars Hollow and stay for the weekend. He told her to expect frequent phone calls since he had nothing better to do. But she didn't expect his phone calls to arrive this soon. The sweet gesture, as simple as it might be, gave her warm butterflies.
"I'm outside my mom's place as we speak. The traffic was a lot smoother than expected. How's your day?"
"Nothing unusual." He looked at the pigeon intently. It had circled back to scavenge for minuscule cracker crumbs.
After hearing Kevin's story, he had an irresistible urge to call Rory. Just to verify the fact that despite the similarities between him and Carmen, he was nothing like Carmen. He was no longer the player that nonchalantly played with other people's emotions. He had redeemed himself and he had wooed the girl of his dreams properly. Rory Gilmore was no longer an unattainable dream. She was his girlfriend.
The 28 years old Tristan was nothing like the 16 years old Tristan. He outlived his past. Tristan was a changed man.
"What'cha doing?" Rory had now given up on her bag and plopped down on the curb.
"I'm up at the rooftop." Thinking about his newfound knowledge on his feisty coworker.
Rory knew that the rooftop was Tristan's favorite place to do some serious thinking. And by "serious thinking", she meant something more substantial than which take-out place he should call for dinner. She could guess the root of his troubles. But if he didn't want to tell, then she sure as hell didn't want to ask.
"I hope you're not thinking of jumping. Because the Met isn't exactly a tall building and the most damage you could do is paralyzing your lower body."
"Well, thanks for that well timed advice. I shall now move over to the Empire State Building."
"Isn't there a cage around the ledge to prevent people from falling over?"
"Again, your knowledge astounds me."
"I got that part from Sleepless in Seattle."
"Nah. As infuriating as my day had been, I'm in no danger of jumping." He looked up at the increasing darker sky. "You're missing out on a beautiful sunset."
"Really?"
"Well, this isn't like watching the sunset from the mountains or the beach. A lot less romantic actually. But the sun did tint the smog into a delicious shade of orange sherbet. It's quite spectacular."
"Did you just use the words 'delicious' and 'smog' in one sentence?"
"It was a long day." He sighed. "Cut me some slack."
"Maybe I should let you go now. My mom is waving at me like a wild woman."
"From what I heard, that's nothing out of the ordinary."
"True. But she looks crazier than usual … if that humanly possible." Rory stood up and waved back at her frantic mother. "I'll call you after dinner."
"Promise?"
"Promise." As if on cue, Lorelai materialized beside her the moment she tucked the phone away into her coat pocket. The frantic waving never stopped. "Mom, I think we should get you on Ritalin." Rory was only half joking when she said that.
"I wonder what kind of high you can get if you mix Ritalin, coffee and massive amounts of chocolate glazed doughnuts."
"I think that's what they based the character of Spongebob Squarepants on." Rory shuddered at the thought. "Scary. In any case why are you jumping up and down?"
"Look!" Lorelai stuffed the newspaper into her arms.
"Umm. War in Latin America. Another avian flu pandemic. These aren't exactly news worth celebrating."
"Look under D5."
Once Rory flipped to that page, she immediately knew the source of her mother's joy. The picture wasn't large, but it's still there. It was from last night's event. They must've taken the picture when she was talking the Tristan and Christian. Tristan had his arms around her and she was leaning against him with all the saccharine qualities expected from two people in love. Christian 's twinkling eyes were still apparent despite the grainy texture of the black and white picture. All three of them looked like they were having fun. They didn't look like they just met each other five minutes ago.
"See, mom will be too busy grilling you on the DuGrey brothers that she'd totally ignore my NDG comment from last week. Remember, you have yet to tell Richard and Emily that you're dating the grandson of the great Jaylen DuGrey." Lorelai then bounced back indoor in search for the frozen chocolate cake she saved for special occasions. "This is my lucky day."
Rory stared at the picture and its unfortunate implications. Oh boy.