A/N: Sorry it has taken awhile. I've been super busy. In the words of Rob Thomas, "I wish the real world would just stop hassling me." Oh, well. That will never happen. I also got my Wisdom teeth removed this past Thursday. Before you all send me flowers, everything was great. Morphine is one of God's greatest gifts to man. Anyway, here's chapter eight. Forgive me for not remembering the episode title I took this from, but it is the one where Rory travels to New York to see Jess, and say goodbye. If someone would jog my memory, that would be excellent. As always, R/R. Peace and Love — moi.
Disclaimer: Milo is running my blender ragged these days.
Without further ado . . .
He walked down the stairs almost into the living room before stopping to lean casually against the doorframe. He had never seen her look more peaceful, probably because of the Valium. He inwardly kicked himself for his last thought and continued to lean and watch. Lorelai was snuggled up on their frumpy couch, wrapped in an old quilt with headphones on her ears and a book in her hand. He smiled when he saw the color of the plaster on her arm: hot pink. He couldn't help but chuckle. He quietly padded over to her and tapped her shoulder causing her to jerk in fear and drop her book
"Oh my God! Chris, you scared me!" She exclaimed, sitting up and pulling the headphones from her ears. "What are you doing here?"
"Jess called last night when he found out you were in the emergency room."
"It's just a fracture. The cast comes off in two weeks. Plus, these pain killers are making me happy!" She gave him a toothy grin.
Christopher chuckled. "What happened? It was late when I got here, and Jess didn't have time to explain."
"My Mom's joining P.E.D.A. She swerved to keep from hitting a squirrel or possum or raccoon or whatever the hell that thing was! All I saw was a big ball of fluff. It would have been better flattened, but Emily wanted to flatten the Jaguar instead."
"Ouch. So, the furry thing ran free, and you're here with a fractured arm on painkillers, listening to . . ." he leaned in to hear the music blaring from the Walkman, "The Joshua Tree while reading . . ." he paused again to see the title of her book, "An autobiography of Wendy O. Williams?"
"Pretty bitchin', huh?" She replied with a Valium-induced cackle, before leaning back on the sofa and immediately falling into a deep slumber.
He rolled his eyes, and then heard footsteps in the room. "She's a little whacked."
"I noticed. The last time she was this doped up, she was rambling about how if she had had a girl that she would have named her after herself instead of having a boy and naming you after me. She was outraged that their were way too many women that named their sons after their fathers. Then again, she did it anyway."
"I happen to like my name. Thanks for coming, Dad."
"Anything for you and your mother. Now, go on a quick coffee run before catching your bus. You'll be late if you don't go now."
"Right. See you tonight I guess."
"Tonight?" Christopher questioned.
"Yeah, I have an interview in Boston at five with a friend of Grandpa's. He's the Dean of English Literature at Harvard."
"Wow!" He said with a smile, pulling his son into a congratulatory hug.
"Yeah, I'm a little nervous though. I'll tell you all about it when I get back. Grandpa's picking me up from school. So, remind Mom when she stumbles out a catatonia."
Chris chuckled. "Will do. Call me on your cell if you need anything."
"Right. Bye, Dad."
"Bye, Jess."
"Here or to go?" Luke asked, going over to the coffee pot.
"To go." Jess stated simply. The man behind the counter watched him inadvertently as Jess moved his eyes around the room. The Diner was almost completely empty except for Rune and Andrew who were sitting in the back corner drinking tea and munching on bacon and eggs. Luke Danes knew immediately who he was looking for and knew that she wasn't there.
"She's gone Jess." He finally said, his voice gruff and faltering.
He looked at the elder man intensely, his honey-brown eyes piercing. He felt as if he had just been shot in the heart.
"What?" He managed to say.
"She left. Went back to New York. I got up this morning and her stuff was packed up. She was standing outside the Diner, smoking a cigarette and waiting for the next bus."
There was a pregnant pause. Jess too felt like grabbing for a pack of Marlboro lights.
"I'm sorry, Luke."
"Me too," He paused again, retrieving a piece of paper by the phone, " She left you something. Told me to give it to you."
He took the piece of paper from his hand and slowly read the words written in an all-too-familiar script.
"Yeah, you'd love to come home, but you know you ain't got one 'cause you're living in a world where you're best forgotten, and you think you're gonna choke but nobody's gonna listen to the one small point I know they've been missing 'round here."
If you understand, then you'll know where to find me.
-Rory-
No, he didn't understand. Not at that point, but maybe soon he would figure it out.
"Thanks, Luke. I gotta go. I'll be late for school." He quickly stated, grabbing the styrofoam cup in front of him and began to retreat out of the Diner.
"I'm gonna miss her too." But Luke admitted it to an empty Diner.
He walked off the bus with a copy of Desolation Angels, which Rory had given him, in one hand and a grande Starbucks blend in the other. Upon reaching the correct building, he was greeted by the same girl who had graced his kitchen only hours ago.
"Bon Jour, Paris." He greeted, receiving a scowl from the blonde. He knew just exactly how to push her buttons, and secretly, she loved that about him.
"Save it for your mother's concierge. What's his name? Michelin?"
He chuckled. His mother would love that one. "Sorry about last night."
"It's okay. I didn't wanna get in the middle of a fight between you and Dana. Don't worry about it. Although, I did wanna wish you luck in Boston today."
He smiled. He wasn't sure she was being honest with that statement. Paris was an extremely competitive person. So competitive, that she would do almost anything to win, be the best. Jess found quite odd that she was being so supportive. After all, She was the one who had told him the first day of school that she owned the school. She was Harvard-bound, and she would be valedictorian. In the midst of his private reverie, a light, humming noise brought him back down to earth.
He raised a incredulous eyebrow. "Ghellar, are you humming?"
She looked down at her saddle-oxfords, embarrassed. "If I said no, would you leave me alone?"
"Not likely. What were you humming?"
She blushed. "An old Goo-Goo Dolls song that came on the radio this morning. I hadn't heard it in years."
This made him curious. Paris listened to the Goo-Goo Dolls? "Which one?"
"Broadway." She stated, matter-of-factly.
It sounded slightly familiar. "Remind me?"
And she expounded. "'Broadway is dark tonight. A little bit weaker than it used to be. See the young man sitting in the old man's bar waiting for his turn to die? You'd love to come home, but you know you ain't got one 'cause you're living in a world where you're best forgotten . . .'"
His eyes widened. Broadway. That's where he was supposed to find her. "Hey, Paris," He responded suddenly, as if he was unsure about what he was about to say, "I gotta go."
She plastered a skeptical look on her face. "Where do you think you're going? We have school. You have an interview in Boston."
As he wandered away from her to the bus, he yelled something familiar, "Take good notes."
She huffed as his figure disappeared. She was always the one to take notes, never the one he wanted to see.
After a long bus ride, Jess took a cab to her stomping grounds — the East Village — a place where, at one time, Bob Dylan played clubs nightly, Kerouac wrote Big Sur on a bench somewhere on Bleaker, and Andy Warhol immortalized Marilyn Monroe on canvass. He leaned back watching the sights, as his dread-locked cabby sang out of tune the last few bars of No Woman, No Cry. The cab stopped at a random locale, and Jess crawled out of the backseat. His eyes took in the sights, noting the Dakota Building not far in the distance. He smiled at the idea of John, Yoko, and a young Sean walking to the studio where they would soon record Double Fantasy. He kept walking and before he realized it, was standing in a familiar yet unfamiliar spot: Washington Square Park. His eyes were then diverted to a small sidewalk café across from the park, and though it was a complete world away from the Great White Way, the sign above the door read Broadway Eatery. He then saw a warm body sitting on the bench outside the window, and just like he knew she would be, she sat with a copy of Oliver Twist and a cigarette.
"Nothing like an afternoon with a good book and cancer on a stick." He quipped, walking up the sidewalk.
Her head popped up, and she smiled. "Damn right." She then took a long drag.
He raised an eyebrow. "Well, give the Marlboro Man my regrets."
"Will do, but first, answer me this. What the hell are you doing here?"
He just smiled.
Lorelai was napping so he sat there surfing through television. Nothing was on. Ron Popeil telling everyone to set it and forget it. Yuck. A Newlyweds marathon on MTV. Not a chance in hell. A Mary-Kate and Ashley movie. You've gotta be kidding me. Wolf Blitzer. Even that sounds tempting. Finally, a Jon Stewart rerun. Now, we're talking. As Christopher settled in to watch HBO's parody news show with a bowl of popcorn, the phone rang.
"Crap Shack." He answered, in his head seeing Lorelai snickering.
"Christopher? Is that you?" It was a familiar voice he had been hearing all his life. This time her tone sounded pleasantly surprised.
"Hello, Emily. Yeah, It's me."
"What a nice surprise! I suppose Lorelai called you. How is she, by the way?"
"Sleeping like a baby. I'm glad only the car was permanently damaged. How's Richard?"
"He'll be much better when you tell us where Jess is."
He furrowed his brow. "What do you mean? I thought the three of you were going to Boston for the interview?"
"I thought so too. Apparently Jess had other plans. When you see him, tell him If he wants to throw away his future, don't embarrass us in the process. He's just thrown a marvelous opportunity out the window!" She exclaimed.
Christopher could imagine her twisting her string of pearls around her fingers in complete exasperation. "I will, Emily. You know that's normally not like him. I'm sure he has a perfectly good explanation."
"Well let's hope he does!"
She giggled slightly, leaning back against the plastic leather cushions, watching him grin across the table. Jess was definitely putting this on his list of absolute perfect days. They had talked all afternoon, and he had actually gotten her to open up about school, life, and everything in between. She talked with him about past relationships, and He talked with her about his current one. He wasn't sure why he was so comfortable spilling all his secrets with her, but it came as the most natural thing in the world. They talked about literature. She couldn't understand why he couldn't make it through Atlas Shrugged, and he didn't understand why she found The Green Hills of Africa to be the literary equivalent to a sleeping pill. Nevertheless, they both enjoyed idle chatter about Steinbeck's description of the Salinas Valley in East of Eden, Tolstoy's intriguingly sad train-wreck ending to Anna Karennina, or even the six-inch tall inhabitants of the island of Lilliput. Now, they found themselves sharing a pizza, like they did the even of Bid-a-Basket day.
"I still can't believe Paris doesn't like the Beats." Rory exclaimed, before biting into a hunk of crust.
"She says they're a waste of paper. She says, 'I've got one word for Kerouac — edit.'"
Rory rolled her eyes. "She just didn't grow up in the Village. If she ever got through Tristessa, she'd change her mind."
"Rory, that's about a lady and her chihuahua, chicken, and some more animals in the Mexican slums. I doubt Paris would even give it a glance. Paris read The Count of Monte Cristo for fun."
"This coming from the guy who hates Hard Times but loves Old Man and the Sea." She challenged, crossing her arms and raising her eyebrows.
"Dickens needed to leave the political satire at home. Ernest created a metaphorical masterpiece."
"Santiago, boy, Joe DiMaggio, fish, dead fish . . .blah, blah, blah."
He gave a defeated sigh. "Just because you haven't discovered his genius doesn't mean he wasn't one."
"Maybe. Maybe not. Kerouac was genius. Paris needs to give him a chance."
"She does."
And then they smiled at each other. He loved it when she smiled, a genuine smile. It was so rare, but when she gave him a glimpse, it was nice.
And then, she spoke, "You never answered my question. Why did you come here?"
He looked up from his plate to her face, a shocked glare on his own. She had asked him this question an unnumerable amount of times, and he had always managed to avoid it. Now, he wasn't so sure. The only thing he could think of to do was leave, and that's what he did. He retrieved a twenty from his wallet, left it on the table, and rose from the booth.
"I gotta go. It's getting late. Mom's probably going crazy by now."
She watched him go out the door before getting up and following him.
"Jess!" She yelled down the sidewalk, receiving odd looks from passers-by. He didn't turn around. "Jess!" He still didn't turn around. "Jess, I'm sorry! I didn't wanna leave!"
This got his attention. He turned around and began to slowly pad back down the sidewalk.
"I'm glad you came! I missed you too!" She was still yelling.
Before she could utter another word, he kissed her, and it felt like redemption. She took in his scent — coffee and laundry detergent, and he took in hers — shampoo and cigarettes. He put an arm around her waist, and she ran her hand through his disheveled hair, both feeling the contrast of Oxford cloth, leather, and warm skin. She felt his tongue graze the roof of her mouth, tickled, she hesitantly released his lips.
She backed away slowly. His eyes looked to her pink lips, swollen and glossy. She finally muttered, "I guess that was good-bye."
Then, they turned around and walked in opposite directions. Her cheeks blushed, and he was grazing his lips, realizing they were swollen as well.
Well, that was it. I hoped you liked it. Thank you all for your reviews of the past chapters, and I expect more. Hint. Hint. Anyway, R/R, and I will love you forever. Peace and Love — Caroline.