A/N: I dedicate this chapter to Ali because she is talented, sweet, and wonderful.

Chapter Four

He could tell she was holding back laughter from the shape of her mouth. Her lips were pressed together, curved in a haphazard line that hid her teeth. He was unsure if this was a sign of amusement or snobbery, but he feared the worst. He didn't know what he would do if she refused his choice of lunch.

"I know it's no fancy French restaurant or anything, but – " He stopped when he noticed her expression contort further, her eyes wide with amusement. "What?"

"I'm eating at Le Cirque tonight," she said. "It just opened at its new location at One Beacon Court after being closed for months and Logan has been dying to go."

"Huh." He felt stupid suddenly, bringing her to some shabby hot dog stand whose manner of advertising involved a huge blue and yellow umbrella that proudly stated: "We're on a roll!" One Beacon Court was the newest edition to the Upper East Side, a place of luxurious condominiums that contained bathrooms that dwarfed his entire apartment. He supposed that was her life now, champagne and caviar and nights at the Palace.

She smiled brightly. "I'm more into the hamburger and hot dog scene myself."

Jess doubted her claim, deciding guilt was behind it, but he wasn't going to make this into a big thing. "One with everything on it," he requested.

"Make that two, please."

As the vendor decorated their hot dogs, Jess dug into his back pocket, producing a few crumpled bills. Rory bit her lip, and he wondered if this was another act of guilt or if she had moved on to pity.

"I can pay for myself."

"I invited you."

"Yeah," she said, "but going Dutch is so much more fun."

"Rory, it's not a big deal. It's a couple of hot dogs."

"Are you sure?"

Jesus. One glimpse of his apartment and eating habits, and suddenly, he was a fucking charity case. "I'm sure," he snapped, his mood sufficiently soured. He took his hot dog and handed over the money. "Keep the change."

Rory fell into step beside him as he headed down the street. She seemed to want to say something – maybe apologize for injuring his pride – but she took a bite of her lunch instead.

"So when is the boyfriend coming to get you?" he asked.

"Logan," she corrected.

"What?"

"He has a name." Her voice was stiff, and he knew she was annoyed. "It's Logan. Logan Huntzberger."

"Huntzberger," he echoed. The full weight of the name hit him seconds later. "The newspaper guy?"

"Well, yeah." Rory blinked, suddenly uncomfortable with using his name. "Sort of. I mean, his dad is the big newspaper mogul."

"Oh." He smirked, and her jaw tightened at the sight.

"Oh?"

"It's just… there's a whole new layer to your relationship. I get it now." He was still pissed from before, but he realized it too late as Rory stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, causing the crowd to part around her.

"Excuse me? You 'get it now'?"

"I didn't – "

"Not that it's any of your business why Logan and I are dating, but I'm not using him for his father. Okay?"

"Okay," he mumbled.

They resumed walking, but she threw out the remainder of her hot dog at the next garbage bin they passed. If her tone hadn't made it clear, her lost appetite had: he had screwed up and she was pissed.

"Look, Rory, I'm sorry." When she didn't say anything more, he continued. "I know you're not that kind of person." He was about to touch her elbow but thought better of it. "Okay?"

"The only people who seem to support this relationship are my grandparents," she blurted out. "And as much as I appreciate their stamp of approval, it's not enough. No one wants Logan and me to work, least of all his parents who hate me. And for you to just jump to conclusions like that…" She shook her head, exasperated. "Never mind."

"His parents don't like you?" He had to crack a smile at that. Rory was the kind of girl parents begged their sons to bring home. He had to ask.

"Apparently, I'm the 'white trash' of high society." She sighed, a new wave of agitation forming as she remembered the dinner from hell and all subsequent gatherings since then. "Not only do I have ambitions and plans for my future, but my mother's role as the Gilmore Black Sheep has tarnished my reputation." She rolled her eyes to accentuate how little she cared about her so-called reputation.

"Your mother." He understood now. Lorelai had created a delicious scandal among the elite, and Rory was that scandal. She was a walking reminder of how not to raise your debutant.

"Yeah, my mom had me young. Very young." She paused, as if realizing how much detail she was going into about her personal life. She hated how her lips loosened around him, as if they were dear friends instead of strangers. Being around him brought a certain level of comfort rivaled only by Lorelai's company. It was easy to forget she had met him less than a week ago.

"My mom had me at eighteen."

"Really?" She brightened at this, happy he was sharing something too.

"Yup." He stuck out his hand as if to introduce himself. "Broken condom."

"Defective birth control," she said, shaking his hand.

Her voice had lost its hardness, and her smile had returned. Before she could remember her previous anger, he tugged her across the street.

"Hey!" she yelped. "Isn't this jaywalking?"

"Not in the city," he teased. "This is called seeing an opening and going for it."

As soon as their feet reached the sidewalk, she hit him with her briefcase. "I think you almost just killed me!"

"You're exaggerating." He gestured to the subway entrance behind him. "I know where we're going next."

"Where are we going next?"

"You'll see."

She trotted down the subway stairs after him. "Hey," she said, reaching the bottom, "can I have the rest of your hot dog?"

-

"Oh my god!" Her excitement was more than he could hope for. She was practically floating between the racks of records. "God, my friend Lane would wanna live here!"

He winced at the familiar comment. "Go ahead, look around." She wandered off, and he bolted in the opposite direction. He needed to get away from her, even if it was only for a few minutes.

It was as if he was seeing this day through tinted glasses, a thin veil of déjà vu. Every word, every action brought him a reminder of her previous visit to New York. He remembered it well; that day she had made it possible for them to spend time together without the questioning whispers of the town or the overbearing presence of Dean. He had been free to talk to her, to touch her, show her around, and she had been sweetly awkward, rambling whenever her nerves became too much.

Today, he had taken her to a similar hot dog stand, but it hadn't been the same one. He would have loved to drag her to the same vendor on the same street, but it was as if none of that existed anymore. The key to unlocking her memory was buried somewhere with that cart, hidden behind a rip in time that he was never going to find.

"The Delta 72," he heard Rory say from the next aisle. He looked over his shoulder and found her holding a stack of records, facing the owner.

"An indie rock band formed in 1994, released their first single 'On the Rocks' in June of '95 and have released three albums since." The owner adjusted his brown-rimmed glasses. He was exactly as Jess remembered: too young to be old with a mess of brown-gray hair and a battered leather vest.

"Don Norman and the Other Four." Rory rocked back on her heals, excited with the next answer.

"Canadian garage band formed in 1962. Mostly known for covers. Disbanded in 1967."

Jess cut behind a stack of 70's collectibles and snuck into Rory's aisle. She sifted through her pile of records and said, "The Trashmen."

"Minneapolis rock n' roll band formed in the early 60's. Unfairly considered a novelty act. Disbanded in 1967, and temporarily reformed in the mid-80's."

"Wow! Okay, how about – "

"Rory?" Jess interrupted. "What are you doing?"

"This man is a genius!" she exclaimed. "He knows everything."

"Well, I'm good with music," the owner said. "Ask me the current president and I couldn't tell you."

"Rory, I think you need to leave him alone. He's not a toy."

"But…" She sighed and followed Jess over to the next aisle. "That was fun."

"Find anything you like?"

She considered the stack of records she had in her arms and held them out. "Yes, all of these." Before he could say anything, she nodded to an adjacent display. "And all of those." She paused, her forehead scrunched up in thought. "The first half of the story really."

"What's wrong with the second half?"

"I haven't gotten there yet."

"Well, go ahead, don't let me stop you."

"Thanks so much for bringing me here, Jess."

He shrugged, brushing off her appreciation. "I'm glad you like it."

-

She purchased a handful of records to share with Lane. She insisted she didn't know which were good, and had to wait for her official music savant to decide.

"Lane is an amazing drummer and a rock star at heart," Rory said as they left the store. "You'd really like her."

"Yeah?" He was unenthusiastic to say the least.

"Definitely. Her taste in music is varied, but she has an ear for the good stuff." She noticed his lackluster nod but didn't comment on it. "Where to next? I still have a couple of hours."

He thought back to her previous visit. It hadn't gone much farther than the record store and a swing by the Rockefeller Center at her excited insistence. She had needed to get to her mother's graduation, and he had had no choice but to let her go. However, if he had had more time, he knew exactly where he would have taken her.

"You interested in going to a bookstore?" he asked.

She appeared doubtful but was having too much of a good time to disagree. She trusted his decisions and wanted to tell him so, but in the end, she merely smiled and followed his lead.

-

The bookstore was small, no more than a slant of brick and a couple of barred windows to let in just enough light to read the titles on the shelves. The interior was warm and cozy, a sharp contrast to the cold November air. It was more than relief, however; it was like a minor epiphany for Rory. She hadn't been inside a bookstore or library for other than research purposes in ages. It was as if she had entered a time warp that led to her childhood, and she wanted to stop and breathe in the smell of old books and stale coffee and burning incense. She wanted to wrap herself in this new page of time, disappear into it and the feelings it evoked.

"I like this place," Rory said absently. "It's… nice."

"Go and browse," Jess ordered. "I'll be back in a few minutes."

"Wait, Jess." She tugged on the sleeve of his jacket. "What are you doing?"

He answered with a smirk, reminding her of something else, someone else; she didn't know exactly. But she felt his smile, like a pull on her heart, a cut on her wrist; in that one moment, she so badly wanted to cry.

"You'll see."

He disappeared for a full ten minutes, but she didn't browse. She didn't move much farther than the entrance. Her feeling of complacency had disappeared with Jess; she felt suffocated and trapped, much like she had back at his apartment. She didn't belong here, and she wanted to leave. Now.

"Rory!" he called out from the back of store. "C'mere!"

Hesitantly, she followed his voice, and found him standing in front of a small red sofa and a table full of books. He gestured to the couch, and she took a seat.

"Jess, I think – " She wanted to say, I think we should leave. She wanted to explain how difficult breathing had become, but he interrupted.

"When was the last time you read a book that wasn't for school?"

"Um…" She thought long and hard but couldn't recall a proper memory. She knew she had been an avid reader as a preteen, but couldn't remember much after that. It bothered her, the bookcases and extra shelves in her room, all made for holding novels. There was so much storage space, yet her collection was pretty flimsy. There were huge gaps on her shelves; most novels couldn't stand on their own. Her mother had bought bookends to keep them upright; Rory hadn't cared enough to invest the few dollars to do even that.

"I don't know," she finally said.

He rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly subdued. "Why did you stop reading?"

She frowned, once again trying to recall a concrete fact, a clear memory where she put down a book and never picked it up again. Nothing helpful surfaced. "I don't know. It's like, I remember a time where all I did was read, and then there's now, where I don't read at all. I don't remember any… transition period. I guess I just… stopped."

"Well, let's get you started again." He knelt down next to the table. "Pick a book from each pile. It's a good starter's kit."

"Are you serious?"

"As a heart attack."

"Okay." She was more relaxed now that she was sitting down. Maybe she could stay and skim a couple of books. This day could end on a good note. "What's this a pile of?" she asked, pointing to the tallest stack on the table.

"Classics."

"Of course." Great Expectations sat on top, a novel she had read in high school. She inspected the spines of the hidden books finding everything from Leo Tolstoy's Anna Karenina to Jane Austen's much adapted Pride and Prejudice to the thick hardcover version of The Count of Monte Cristo. "So many to choose from. I'll never catch up."

"If you pick a Bronte novel, you have to buy one by each sister."

She laughed, as she spread out the trio of books in front of her. "I guess it wouldn't be fair to play favorites." She finally decided on Emma because after seeing the Gwyneth Paltrow adaptation (and mocking her accent with Lorelai for two hours straight), reading the original was in order. "Next?"

He tapped a considerably shorter pile. "Everyone needs to experience some nihilistic reading at least once in their lives."

"Oh boy," she mumbled tonelessly.

"Now there's Bret Easton Ellis, the man who insists he's a moralist even though he wrote American Psycho and The Rules of Attraction, and Dennis Cooper who swears he isn't a nihilist despite what his books say. Here's Closer and his newest, which I haven't even read yet – The Sluts."

"The Sluts?" she asked, highly amused. "You'd let me read that before you?"

"I'm a gentleman." He picked up another book and handed it to her. "Diary by Chuck Palahniuk, America's favorite nihilist."

"Why this one?"

"Lullaby isn't exactly his best work, and Invisible Monsters has one too many twists for you," he explained, ignoring her offended "Excuse me!" "Go with this one, you'll be hooked."

"Fine," she huffed, stacking it on top of Emma. In the middle pile of the table, The Catcher in the Rye caught her eye, and she tapped it, waiting for an explanation.

"Contemporary classics," Jess said, displaying To Kill a Mockingbird and Of Mice and Men.

She told him she had read both for school, but had only enjoyed the former. "I didn't like Of Mice and Men. If I wanted to read about never achieving the American Dream, I would have flipped through A Death of a Salesman. Plus, his portrayal of woman? Thanks a lot, Steinbeck. Curley's wife was a great representation of us." She rolled her eyes.

Jess tried to hide his smile by pulling out another novel. She was getting into this. He wanted to find more that she had read, but he didn't know which she would remember and which she had gotten rid of. He wanted to hear her condemn authors or praise them as the second coming; he wanted to hear her talk, her voice strong and passionate, and indifferent to what he thought. When she slipped into debate mode, her meekness disappeared, and she became someone new. He wanted that now; he wanted to remember what it was like.

"I'll take Salinger," she decided. "Show me more, please."

He went through Russian Literature with her, and she ended up with another classic, Anna Karenina. He took her through the romance novels after she shrieked and covered her eyes, having finally noticed Fabio's bare chest on the cover of a paperback. "Julia Quinn, Nora Roberts, Danielle Steel," Jess listed. "If you ever read one of these, I'll lose all respect for you."

He pointed out the exploding genre of Chick Lit, knowing that every girl needed a romantic piece of fluff once in a while, although she declined to purchase one. He showed her historical fiction (specifically The Crimson Petal and the White, which she accepted with an exaggerated groan), science fiction, satire, and a small sampling of mystery novels. He threw a few essay books at her too, even though he insisted nonfiction required a whole day on its own.

"Hemingway," Jess said, handing her Sun Also Rises, "is in a class all his own." He was teasing her now, waiting for her to scoff and throw the book back at him. He was convinced it would happen; he even held his breath.

"I've heard Hemingway is the cure for insomnia."

He cocked his head to the side, waiting for another disparaging comment, a twisted smile. There was supposed to be more; she was supposed to remember! An afternoon spent in a bookstore surrounded by authors that spanned her history, her life, was supposed to trigger that hidden switch. Each of these books had defined her at one point, and now they were meaningless; assignments she had to read for school, classics she didn't have time for. He wanted to shake her until she remembered Sylvia Plath and Fyodor Dostoevsky, and damn it, even Ayn Rand. He wanted to pick up an obscure title and watch her smile as each character entered her head, each plotline and scene change; each unexpected plot twist. She used to be so good at this.

"You heard wrong." He indicated her growing pile of chosen books. "Get it."

As if sensing his irritation, she agreed quickly. "I think we need to go," she said, glancing at her watch. "Logan is supposed to pick me up soon."

"Fine. Let's go."

She followed him to the cash register, at least four steps behind him. She didn't know what had caused his sudden mood change, but she didn't want to get in an argument now when she was so close to leaving.

The cashier rang her up, and she dug inside her purse for her wallet. The crumpled pink card escaped her attention as she shoved her cell phone and makeup bag on top of it. She finally produced her credit card and paid. Jess was halfway to the door by the time she picked up her bag. She hurried after him.

"Jess?" She didn't know what she wanted to say. An apology seemed in order, but she didn't know what it would be for.

"We'll take a taxi," he said shortly. "It'll be faster."

-

She was having trouble balancing her purse, briefcase, and bags of records and books. Jess held her shopping bags as she got out of the taxi.

"You don't have to wait," she said. "He'll be here soon."

Jess shrugged. "It's okay. I'll wait."

"Well, thank you for today. For lunch and the record store and educating me in the wonders of the literary world."

"No problem."

She bit back a groan. Why had he shut down? She wanted him to acknowledge the day they had together with more than a shrug and a mumbled "it was nothing".

"Are you visiting Stars Hollow again soon?" she asked.

Jess thought back to the phone call from Liz and the promise to visit on Friday, but he wasn't going to mention it. He had to stop pursuing this. She wasn't going to remember; the memories weren't hidden somewhere in her head. That was the point of the whole procedure: erasing someone for good. He was gone and he had to accept it.

"My birthday is next week," she said. "I'm turning twenty-one."

He wasn't going to take the bait. This whole day was a waste, and he wasn't going to repeat the mistake anytime soon. "Happy birthday."

"Thanks." She studied the sidewalk for a silent moment before making one last ditch effort. "I have a confession to make."

"Yeah?"

"I've already read The Catcher in the Rye."

"You can read it again," he said, confused by her announcement. "It's allowed."

"Well, I was hoping maybe you could reread it first. Maybe put some notes in the margin for me?"

He stiffened, the flicker of hope cruel and ephemeral. He didn't know how she knew that about him, but he very much wanted her to disappear. He found himself looking for Logan over her shoulder, wishing the blond would come and sweep her away to Le Cirque.

"I flipped through a couple of your books," she explained, "back at your apartment." She pulled the novel from one of her bags and offered it to him. "Please?"

He took the book with numb fingers, dizzy with the memory of their first real conversation, her amused smile under the streetlights in the middle of the street. He wanted to give it back; he wanted to tell her how much he hated what she had done, how he would never forgive her.

"I hope you come down soon," she said. "I know your mom would love to see you."

Behind her, a limo pulled up alongside the curb and honked its horn.

"Bye, Jess."

When he didn't say anything back, she got into the limo, briefcase, purse, books and all. Jess clutched the Salinger copy to his chest, his head empty of rational thought. The limo drove away, and he watched it go, wishing he had said something more.

-

The restaurant was pleasantly crowded, a mix of collared shirts and flimsy skirts. Rory had dressed on the way over, in the limo, once again complimenting Logan's eye for dress sizes. He told her she looked beautiful and she blushed.

"I need to bring you to this record store," she said. "I don't know how Jess found it, but – "

"Thirteen."

"What?"

"I'm just counting the number of times you say his name tonight."

"Logan." She fiddled with the red tablecloth, the material sleek and expensive between her fingers. "I had a really good time today. I'm just trying to tell you about it."

"I know, I'm sorry." He waved his hands as if to dismiss the subject, or more specifically – Jess.

"It was nice that he met up with me. If he hadn't, I would have been all alone, wandering around the city." She let out a sad sigh. "Nothing to do but roam."

"Does Jess have a girlfriend?"

"Why, are you interested?"

"Well, I was hoping the three of us…" She kicked him underneath the table, and he laughed. Despite his flippant nature, Rory knew he was aggravated and possibly jealous over her new friend. She wished he would just spit it out already, so they could get on with their meal.

"He's Luke's nephew. He's fun to hang out with, and the person to see if you're looking to get a good hot dog in the city. That's it."

"That's it?" he echoed.

She smiled, remembering Jess's face as he presented her with book after book. "I promise."