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Silence pervaded the studio, as Lorelai stood rooted to the spot. Her eyes were as big as saucers, her mouth open, her chest heaving from the force exerted by Paul Anka as he pulled and dragged her into the studio.
The lights of the studio were in sharp contrast to the dim darkness descending outdoors. Lorelai blinked, once, then again, as her eyes tried to adjust to the light. Leash still in hand, she looked down at Paul Anka, who remained in his seated position on the floor in front of Lorelai. Her hand trembled.
As if choreographed by a canine version of Miss Patty, Paul Anka literally rose to the occasion; yes, physically rose. He punctuated the stunned silence of the townspeople with a growl. A bona fide, actual growl.
It was one of those moments that parents, and even pet owners, look upon later with pride, as if they were themselves instrumental in achieving the feat. Years later, when retelling the story to her children, and then grandchildren, and then great-grandchildren, Lorelai would with pride recall this night. The night that Paul Anka rose up, took his chances, rising up to challenge the town. The night that Paul Anka had the guts to go the distance, and voiced his outrage.
Not too loudly, though.
However, it had the effect of breaking the quiet that had descended upon Miss Patty's studio after Lorelai and Paul Anka's unplanned and surprising interruption of the clandestine town meeting.
As always, the unflappable Miss Patty was the first to recover. "My my, Lorelai darling, you certainly know how to make an entrance," Miss Patty intoned, dulcet syllables huskily rolling off her tongue like dark chocolate pudding dripping off a spoon. "This reminds me of that time in '63 in New Orleans when I popped out of a life-size dish of Bananas Foster…"
Kirk salivated; he could almost taste that dessert…and Paul Anka whimpered a cautionary yelp.
That didn't stop Miss Patty. "I was supposed to be in Havana you know, but Fidel prefers crème brulee…Oh that Fidel…"
From the assembly, Morey had the impudence to ask, "Didn't the flames get you, Patty?"
"Shh, Morey, shut up, will ya?" Babette added in her usual, less-than-quiet voice. "It was probably not a real Bananas Foster."
Kirk chimed in, "I think they call that performance art…"
Taylor had had enough, and he and his megaphone came back to life. "Order, people. This is highly irregular." He banged the gavel on the lectern, not once, not twice, but three times. "Order!"
Someone in the assembly snickered…prompting another "Order!"
"Give it a rest, Taylor." Lorelai finally found her voice, and turned to face Luke's nemesis.
Paul Anka yelped in agreement.
Taylor Doose was not one to be dissuaded by a second-hand dog. "What are you doing here, Lorelai?" he asked.
"What am I doing here? What am I doing here?" Lorelai replied, her voice rising in pitch as she repeated herself.
The assembled townspeople had the grace to keep silent.
"All right, all right," Taylor continued, refusing to answer Lorelai's apparently rhetorical question. "You can stay, but please take a seat. And take that…creature…" he pointed at Paul Anka, "and tether him outside…"
Lorelai had tried, really tried, to teach Paul Anka some tricks. That was one of the benefits of having a dog, right? Hamsters didn't do tricks. Cats were dicey in the trick department as well. But a dog, a dog had multiple uses. Luke had often mocked Lorelai's attempts at teaching Paul Anka some tricks; he was hopeless at the most common of dog tricks. But she persisted, always hoping that in a crunch, the unlikely performer would look the metaphoric tiger in the eye and rise to the occasion.
Rising up, Paul Anka, the dog with more emotional baggage than his mistress, took his time and took his chances. He reared up on his hind legs, and braced his front paws against Lorelai's jacket. Had Lorelai looked down, she would have marveled at this feat, the precise front paw placement, the delicate balancing on the rear paws.
But Lorelai was still distracted by the clandestinely assembled town meeting in front of her, and the town leaders behind her. So, she did not notice that one of Paul Anka's paws was placed exactly over her jacket pocket. The same pocket into which she had placed her cell phone. The cell phone with the keypad facing away from her body. And let's face it, Paul Anka was not a graduate of Kirk's 'The Biggest Loser for Dogs' program, so he was able to exert just enough force to depress one of the numbers.
Lorelai believed in convenience; no lengthy finger and mental workouts for her. So as she had once ably demonstrated to Luke, she was a firm believer in the power of the speed dial. Number one was for her daughter. That one had not gotten a lot of use over the past year, so luckily for all concerned, it wasn't the easiest number to depress. Number two was for Luke's Diner. Even before she had started commingling body parts and assets with Luke, speed dial number two was indispensable to her welfare. It was the number of her friend, her confidant, purveyor of food, and supplier of coffee, all in one. Speed dial number three was simply, 'Work': currently, the front desk of the Dragonfly Inn.
Friends occupied the next row. Sookie's home number occupied speed dial number four, and the kitchen at the Dragonfly Inn, basically Sookie's office, occupied position number five. Michel's home number had been carefully programmed into speed dial number six. (It had taken bribes and a late-night phone call to his lovely mother to obtain it.) Babette's home number occupied number eight, and Luke's apartment, number nine. Zero was for her parents' home, reflecting the way they often made her feel.
But by far the most used number was Lucky Number Seven. Outside left edge. The number she'd worn out one summer when the man who had kissed her so thoroughly at the opening of her inn had felt duty-bound to care for his family and be away from her. The number she used when feeling flirtatious, when feeling lonely, when she needed to tighten that string that bound her heart to his. The number she used just because it was him.
Paul Anka's paw could have struck any or all of these keys. It could have hit the asterisk or the pound sign. But as if written in the stars, Paul Anka rising, depressed Lucky Number Seven.
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Across the square, Luke Danes had also noticed that the town seemed quiet that night. But his daughter was there with him and he was enjoying an unusually quiet Friday evening with her in the diner. He had pulled up a stool beside her and was playing a leisurely game of 'Hangman' with her, marveling at the words she chose. He just knew that he had to introduce her to Rory one day…
Luke and April's quiet game was interrupted by the ring of his cell phone. Even as April's eyebrow quirked Spock-like in the direction of the diner's cautionary sign, Luke shrugged his shoulders and answered his phone, smiling as he saw who it was.
"Hey," he answered.
No sound.
"Lorelai?" he continued, not caring that April was overhearing him say the name he dare not say in her presence.
Silence.
"Lorelai?" he repeated.
'Probably accidentally has it in her purse and hit the button,' he thought, readying to turn his phone off.
And then Lorelai's indignant voice pierced his ear.
"How dare you! How dare you call a town meeting behind Luke's back to discuss what is a private matter?"
Remembering a time when he had deliberately used speed dial to catch Lorelai's attention, Luke remained on the phone.
TBC
Next: Luke's brain fog finally lifts as he listens to Lorelai defend him.