Chapter Three
Rory crossed her legs before promptly uncrossing them. She had no idea what was proper in this situation. She didn't have a table to hide her lower half or a view of how anyone else was sitting. No one was paying attention to her, but if someone looked over, she didn't want to be caught with her skirt ridden up, and too much thigh showing. She was a respectable intern and this was the first time she was allowed to sit in on a meeting of the editors and staff writers. This was big stuff.
With a pen in hand, she hunched over a clipboard, ready to take notes. Hidden in her purse was a tape recorder, so she could replay this later. Only two days remained in her internship, and she doubted she would have this opportunity again. She didn't want to miss a thing.
Across the room, Rob waved at her, a smug smile stretched across his face. She glowered in the most unprofessional way.
"Simon Doonan? Where the hell is Simon?" A gruff shout demanded from the head of the table. The voice belonged to an overweight man of about sixty, with snow white hair and a thick upper lip that overpowered its bottom counterpart. With his pudgy jowls and no-nonsense demeanor, he reminded Rory of Don Vito Corleone. The only thing missing was a strategically placed cat.
"He's out sick today, sir," a petite blonde answered.
"Well, when he gets better, tell him he better get his act together or Simon Says will be replaced by Ida Insists."
An array of snorts and chuckles broke out among the table, muffled behind hands and cups of coffee. The Don was not pleased.
"Would changing a section that has been part of the Observer for years really be the best move? I mean, Simon just put out a new book, and it's doing exceptionally well, and – " At the boss's frown, the man tried to change tactics. "Ida Insists doesn't really have the same ring as Simon Says does. There's no cute play on a familiar game and…" The man trailed off, defeated.
The Don shrugged. "It's still alliteration. Plus, it'd be written by a woman, a fresh perspective. Maybe the paper needs a change. And if Doonan's book is doing so well, then he can't need this job all that much, can he?"
"Look, Dad – " Rob cleared his throat, trying to cover up his slip. Rory hid her smile behind the clipboard. "Mr. Cambridge," Rob amended. "We shouldn't make any decisions until Simon returns to work. He's out with a high fever, and we really should cut him some slack."
Mr. Cambridge stroked his double chin before acquiescing to his son's request. "Fine. He better be back within the week though. I still managed to make deadlines when I was in recovery for triple bypass surgery."
Rory rolled her eyes at the obvious display of favoritism. A male employee coughed "Daddy's boy" into his hand. Rob scowled.
"On to the next order of bus– what is that?" Mr. Cambridge asked as the digitalized version of Frankie Goes to Hollywood's "Relax" began to play. Rory's eyes widened as she recognized the digitalized sound as the ring her mother had programmed into her cell phone. Lorelai had thought it useful for when her daughter became too stressed and needed a good laugh. Rory gulped.
"Is that someone's cell phone?" Mr. Cambridge demanded.
Discreetly, Rory picked up her purse and set it on top of her clipboard. She slipped her hand inside and attempted to feel her way to the end button. In the corner of the room, removed from the meeting, she hoped no one would notice her actions.
"Miss Gilmore, is that your phone ringing?" Rob asked, an amused quality to his tone.
"I, uh, if you'll just excuse me…" Rory jumped up and fled from the room.
"Completely unprofessional, that girl," Rob commented, shaking his head.
-
Rory locked the stall and banged her head against the door in frustration. Gingerly, she touched her face, feeling the burn of humiliation on her cheeks. She squeezed her eyes shut, wondering how she'd ever step foot in the office again. More than likely, everyone would forget what she looked like, and she would become a symbol rather than a person, a faceless annoyance: the inappropriate intern. However, Rob would remember. He'd be sure to rub it in again and again.
Grabbing her phone, she dropped her purse and clipboard onto the ground. She checked the missed call list and an unfamiliar number appeared on the screen. With a frown, she called the person who had doomed her to an embarrassing end to an otherwise unproductive internship.
"Yeah?" the person answered.
"Jess?" Rory asked. "You're the one who called?"
"Oh yeah, that was me."
"You're unbelievable! What were you thinking?" Rory demanded.
"That you told me to call you again?"
"Oh." How logical of him. "Sorry. I just… never mind. How'd you get this number?"
"I called your apartment and your roommate gave it to me," he replied. "Shouldn't she be at work?"
"I have a feeling she got fired weeks ago, but is too embarrassed to say anything."
"Huh." He paused. "I have a proposition for you."
"Sounds interesting."
"What are you doing tonight?"
"The same thing I do every night," she admitted.
"Try to take over the world?" he suggested, a hint of laughter nipping at his words.
"It both amuses and terrifies me that you used to watch that show." She smiled at the image of a younger Jess watching Saturday morning cartoons, wearing his favorite superhero shirt, a mop of dark hair covering his eyes. "What I meant was absolutely nothing."
"Wow. Exciting night life," he deadpanned. "You do realize that you're in New York City? There are museums to go to, stores to shop at, protesters to mock… the list goes on."
Rory smiled. "I'm sure."
"So, now you have an option. You can either sit at home, acting out the definition of pathetic, or you can come out with me."
Rory's jaw dropped in surprise. She would have given anything to know what he was thinking as he asked her to take a chance and see how much he had changed over the years apart.
"This is a tough choice," Rory said in what she hoped resembled an unconcerned tone. "What would coming out with you entail?"
"I'm not asking you out, Rory."
"I didn't – " She groaned, covering her face. "I didn't think you were. But I'm… "
"Just say yes."
Rory bit her lip, trying to imagine a night out with him. She couldn't remember a time when she and Jess were strictly friends without some larger possibility looming. When it came to them, there was no such thing as an innocent touch or meaningless gesture.
They were not ready for this. She was not ready for this. "Okay."
She had no idea what she was doing.
"That's a yes?"
"That's a yes," she confirmed and gave him her address.
"Good. I'll drop by at seven."
She wanted to ask him why, if he had been thinking about this since the night before when he called. But she wasn't brave enough. "I have to get back to work. I'll see you tonight."
"Yeah. Bye, Rory."
She hung up and sighed. Two years did not mean that all of the residual anger and hurt was gone. Two years did not mean an automatic return to normalcy and a friendship either could handle. It couldn't. She didn't understand why they were fighting what logic told them.
"Miss Gilmore, are you in here?" A sudden voice called out, echoing against the tiles of the bathroom.
Startled, Rory jumped, and lost her grip on her cell phone. She watched as it sailed through the air, landing with a splash in the toilet bowl.
"Rory?" the voice asked again. "I know you're in here. I can see your feet."
Rory stomped her foot, nearly breaking her heel in two, and bent over the bowl, staring down at her drowning phone. "Present," she called out miserably.
"That was quite a display in there," Rob said, leaning back against the sink. "I think it's safe to say you won't be offered a job here after you graduate."
Rory could take constructive criticism; she thrived on it in a desire to better her performance. But Rob was downright caustic. He belittled her and made her feel as if her internship was phony, like she didn't deserve to be here. It drove her crazy.
"As long as it means not having to work with you again," she mumbled.
"What was that?" He left his perch and knocked on the stall door. Rory sprang into an upright position, and the sudden movement triggered the automatic flush.
"Oh no!" She watched in horror as her phone disappeared with the rest of the water.
"Is everything okay in there?" Rob asked, knocking again.
"Yes," she snapped.
"Come on out, Rory."
"I'm fine in here, thanks," she replied, wondering what would happen if she attempted to flood the toilet. Would her cell phone pop back out?
"Miss Gilmore, you're on the clock. I demand you come out."
"Don't 'Miss Gilmore' me," she hollered back, frustration giving her unprecedented courage. "Don't pretend you're superior to me, you're only thee years older!"
"I don't care how old you are, I am your superior in this office, and you will address me with respect. Now come on out here!"
"You address me as 'Miss Gilmore' around everyone else, but when we're alone you flirt with me. And the rest of the time, you're giving me the most mediocre jobs, and insulting me while doing it! I wish you'd stop being such an asshole!"
Rory spun around to face the door, her eyes wide with horror. Clapping a hand over her mouth, she tried to ignore the abject dread that overwhelmed her. She and Rob constantly butted heads, but she had always managed to skim that thin line between passive dislike and total disregard for authority.
She undid the lock, and the door swung open.
"I'm sorry," she said quickly. "That was… completely uncalled for."
Rob stared her down. "Just get back to work, Miss Gilmore."
"Right." As an afterthought, she added, "Sir."
-
Jess arrived at quarter after seven with two laundry bags full of dirty clothes. Rory frowned in her doorway, thoroughly confused.
"What's with the laundry?" she asked.
"Guess where we're going tonight."
"You're kidding!" She crossed her arms. "I thought we were going out."
"We are. Now, I'm sure you have some dirty clothes." When she remained silent, he continued, "Alright, go grab your roommate's. I'm sure she'll appreciate the favor."
Rory looked disgusted. "I'm not handling anything that touched her or her boyfriend's body!"
"Rory, just grab some kind of washable material."
She hesitated. "We're really going to a laundromat?"
Jess sighed. "Yes, we're really going to a laundromat."
"Right," Rory nodded as she unsuccessfully suppressed a twisted grin. "Because that's not the definition of pathetic."
Jess narrowed his eyes. "Just get your clothes."
-
Rory sorted her dirty clothes as Jess ransacked the coin machine. They had been there for only ten minutes, and already the outing was ebbing toward uncomfortable. Words from either were sporadic and unsuccessful in beginning a real conversation. Their limited speaking was acceptable for now, but as soon as the machines were loaded, there would be too much down time. She needed to do something. Fast.
"Quarters," Jess said, dropping a handful on the counter.
"Oh, yeah… good." She forced a smile. "Thanks."
Two women speaking in rapid Portuguese sat against the large store window, and in the back, a man knelt with his nose pressed to the dryer as he watched his clothes tumble back and forth. The lone employee had long ago disappeared for a prohibited smoking break. The emptiness of the laundromat was too much for Rory. She craved a crowd and chaos; anything to distract from the situation at hand.
"I flushed my cell phone today," Rory blurted out.
Jess set an empty basket onto the floor. "As in… flushed flushed?" He made an odd gesture with his hand, a product of disbelief and confusion.
"Yeah." She was blushing.
He pursed his lips together, wondering how offended she would be if he laughed. Maybe that was what she wanted – a small chuckle, something to break the ice. Or she could be nervous and spitting out random information. A couple of years ago, he would have acted on instinct, her feelings be damned. Now he just wanted to get through tonight without upsetting her.
"Any particular reason?" he asked carefully.
"Outrageous bills."
He nodded in understanding. "Very practical."
"I figured it was about time to switch cell phone providers anyway." She shrugged. "I've always wanted a phone endorsed by Ken Jennings."
"And you too can become a super genius with a freakish robotic memory," Jess recited in a patented TV announcer's voice.
Rory grinned. "That's the idea."
He began to load his clothes into a nearby machine, a flurry of band T-shirts whizzing by. She recognized many of them, despite the speed of his hands. There were familiar colors, bold logos, pictures of bands she knew he liked; some she could even remember wearing, bashfully grateful when he lent them to her.
"So…" She tested the obligatory word, the transition stiff and lifeless. She plunged on when he chose not to take the bait. "How do you like working at Myers?"
"I don't."
With a frown she asked, "You don't like it?"
"No," he corrected. "I don't work there."
Confused, she watched him dump a cup of laundry detergent into the machine. He closed the top, starting the cycle.
"I don't understand."
"I don't work at Myers," Jess said, as if this five word statement explained all. "How could I? After calling Dean bagboy for two years straight, I think the irony would actually kill me."
"Dean still works there," she mumbled off-hand, too preoccupied with Jess's job to hold her tongue.
"Seriously?" Jess tried to hide his grin for all of three seconds. "Wow. I suddenly feel much better about myself."
"Jess."
One word and the years peeled away, leaving him awkwardly seventeen. He didn't like this, the way time fluctuated between past and present when she was around. Sometimes he was certain he had not changed; nothing had.
"Explain," she ordered.
"The guy you met – Eric? – he has like four jobs. One of them is cashier at Myers. Whenever his hours conflict, he sends me in his place. I get some extra cash, and he doesn't get fired. Everybody wins."
"That's sweet."
Jess flinched. "Sweet? I'm not sure that's the right word."
"Fine. It's nice that you're helping your friend out." She began to gather her clothes into a neat pile so she could begin her own load, when she froze. She had a death grip on a pair of pants as she looked over at Jess, her forehead creased in serious thought. "How often do you cover for him?"
"Once every couple of weeks." He shrugged. "Not that often, really. Why?"
"It's just…" She released the pants, pushing them back into the pile. "When we ran into each other, I happened to take a different route home. You happened to be working that day. I happened to be harassed by a singing cowboy – "
He cocked his head to the side. "Excuse me?"
"It's just this whole reunion thing was completely by chance," she continued, ignoring his comment. "Change one thing and it doesn't happen."
He didn't speak for a whole minute – she knew for sure, she counted each second in her head – but he wasn't still either. He stacked and unstacked the quarters in groups of four. She didn't stare at him, but at her laundry instead, under the pretense of sorting, and it was the discreetness, she figured, that made his silence easier. Without her gawking, there was less pressure to speak, almost as if he could pretend she hadn't mentioned anything at all.
"I'm glad it happened," he finally said.
She nodded in agreement, expecting nothing else from him, because really, that was enough.
-
"Wherever I end up after college, it will be in a place that has its own washer and dryer," Rory stated. She snuck a look at Jess and found his grin contagious.
"You're pathetic," he said.
She gasped, feigning offense. She was stretched out over three plastic chairs while Jess sat on the floor, against the wall. Her back was sore and her neck was stiff but she didn't want to move for fearing of ruining what she and Jess were sharing.
"It's a pain dragging laundry all around the city," she insisted.
"You're such a princess."
She scoffed. Jess thought it was a funny sound, brimming at the edge of haughtiness but not quite there. He wondered if that was the way she was now – a rich socialite with her nose permanently fixed in the air. He had trouble picturing her like that, but there was no way he could know for sure. She had always been a bit on the selfish side, and with enough influence from her grandparents and Yale, she could be molded into anything. When he had dated her back in high school, he had foolishly thought that maybe he was saving her from that.
"Don't insult me," she warned but she smiled as she said it, inviting more.
At the sound of the dryer's buzzer, she jumped up and trotted over to fold her clothes. Jess followed close behind.
"You should just have your laundry sent out," he suggested. "You could hire a maid."
She took out a pair of jeans but hissed when her fingers brushed the hot metal of the zipper. "That certainly sounds nice," she said, throwing the pants on top of the dryer and rooting inside for something less dangerous to fold, "But somehow, I doubt I'll be able to afford something that extravagant."
"What about your grandmother?" he asked, testing the waters. He wanted to push this, just a little bit. He wanted to know who she was now, if her values had changed since entering high society.
"Grandma," she pouted. "I know you paid for my high school and college education, but could you please hire me a maid? I'd like a penthouse too, if you don't mind. Please," she continued, "keep me in the lifestyle I'm accustomed to."
Jess snorted. "All that sarcasm from such a small girl."
"I don't need my grandparents paving the way for me," she said. "I don't need personal favors to get by. I'm going to do fine on my own."
"I know." He grabbed her discarded jeans and folded them, setting them on top of her growing pile.
She leaned forward on her elbows, sighing. Jess froze, unsure if she was frustrated or tired.
"How are we doing this?" she asked.
"Doing what?"
"This!" She shot up like a bottle rocket, animated with an unidentifiable emotion. "How are you and I having a normal conversation? How are we here, right now, speaking, and not yelling or glaring or inflicting bodily harm?"
"So far, we've avoided doing that."
"Doing what?" she demanded, flustered.
"Bringing it up," he said. "Yelling."
She stared down at her hands, resting flat against the dryer. He heard her take an unsteady breath and prepared himself for the worst. "I never forgave you."
He stifled a sigh, unhappy that she had exhumed something he was hoping they'd get past. This had been going so well.
"It's fine," he said quietly. "I never forgave you either."
-
He walked her to her apartment even after she said it was unnecessary. The conversation had died after their respective confessions, and she didn't need that disconcerting silence following her home. But he had insisted.
She held her laundry bag close to her chest, nearly obstructing her view of the sidewalk. When he asked if she wanted to stop for a cup of coffee, her polite refusal was muffled by the bag.
"So that's it?" he asked as they turned onto her street. She was surprised at the question; her building was in sight and she thought the night was over.
"What?" She lowered her laundry bag, just a bit.
"We brought up what happened, so now we're back to not speaking."
"I never said – "
"You knew this wasn't okay, Rory." He stopped at the bottom of the stairs that led to her building. "So why the silence?"
She should never have agreed to this night in the first place. She could see that now. "I have to go, Jess. I have an early morning."
She swept past him and trotted up the stairs. Dropping her bag to the ground, she pulled out her keys and stuck them in the door. Looking over her shoulder, she expected to see him standing on the sidewalk, wordlessly asking her to come back. Instead, there was only his hazy outline as he crossed the street, walking away from her and all the things left unsaid.