5. Surprises, Surprises
Rory paced back and forth in the foyer, the painted cherubs on the ceiling beaming down on her. She glanced up, the word creepy coming to mind, wondering how she could ever have thought of this house–this building made of marble and stone–as "amazing". Okay angels, God, Michaelangelo, whoever, please look upon this crazy daughter of yours who doesn't know what the frak she's doing here! And without any caffeine in her system, too!
She had rehearsed her spiel to Mitchum on the drive over, intending to tell him that despite Logan going off to London, as he ordered, Mitchum has to stop treating his son like some investment that he has to manage. That Logan has such great potential, if only he could be set free to make his own choices and forge his own path.
Rory stopped in front of the grandfather clock, staring at her reflection on the glass, but seeing instead Logan helping her "save" the Yale Daily News at the last minute, pitching in with his wonderful articles and his natural leadership. She saw herself flinging into his arms and their sweet reconciliation once the paper was in press, realizing then that there was so much more to Logan than she herself saw at the surface. Mitchum needed to see this, too.
Unfortunately, all her righteous indignation was sucked into the cool marble of the Huntzberger mansion the minute she was ushered into the threshold by the maid. "Mr. Huntzberger is with someone now, Ma'am, and asked not to be disturbed," she said, clearly not knowing who Rory was.
"Thank you, I'll just wait around here," she replied politely.
"Can I offer you something to drink while you're waiting? Coffee? Soda?" the maid asked.
"Uh…" Rory was dying to say 'coffee', but keeping intact some semblance of pride, she demurred, "No, thank you." She will not drink from the precious china of these people who have whisked Logan off to London. So there!
So now she waited for Mitchum to end his meeting, glancing out through the curtains to see Frank leaning by his limo, parked some distance from the driveway. He had beamed and tipped his cap to her as she passed him on her walk up to the house. That means Logan has been deposited at the airport, and is flying over the Atlantic at this moment, she thought with an ache in her chest. Impulsively, she flips out her cell phone, wanting more than anything to call him to say…hi. But she frets for a moment, unsure whether her call can be transmitted if he's already on the plane. And what would she tell him when he asks, so where are you? What are you doing now?
She returns the phone in her purse, just as the door to Mitchum's study began to jiggle open. In a moment of panic, Rory half-ran to the nearest bathroom. She closed the door and leaned back. Scaredy-cat coward!
She took a few deep breaths and realized she was in what she and Logan jokingly referred to as the "library". When trapped in some boring society event his parents are hosting, when they've done their duty and exchanged empty pleasantries with the bejewelled blue-bloods of Connecticut, they would politely excuse themselves and say they must now visit the library. To peruse Mitchum and Elias's new acquisitions. How well-read you are, how adorable! the blue-bloods would exclaim, blissfully unaware that what Logan and Rory would be studying is each other. Deep study, to be sure.
Rory now closed her eyes and conjured up the image of Logan holding her tight to his body, Logan's hands through her hair, kissing her eyes and cheeks before descending and delving into her mouth. Logan lifting her dress and touching her in the most intimate way possible; she caressing him in kind. He would then lift her onto the sink, her legs around his waist, as they frantically merge and collide in a haze of excitement (she more nervous, but excited nonetheless).
Logan, Rory murmured into his blonde hair. A door shut heavily in the distance, bringing Rory back to the bathroom–because its no library without Logan–and her flushed reflection in the bathroom mirror. She had a sudden, inexplicable sixth sense that Logan was actually with her, sharing the same space with her. That if she turned around, he would be there. But it lasted a moment, then was gone. Stay with me, she pleaded inwardly. You always give me the necessary push when I'm scared.
With a sigh, she turns on the tap and splashes water on her face. This is no way to face Mitchum! she berated herself. She leaves the bathroom just in time to catch Mitchum striding purposefully across the foyer. They both stop with some surprise, looking wide-eyed at each other like two skittish animals caught off-guard by oncoming headlights.
"Mitchum," Rory ventured.
"Rory," he replied. Then questioningly, "Rory?" He glanced out the window, Rory following his gaze to see the limo drive away to the distance. He began to shake his head, chuckling. "Rory? What are you doing here?"
Rory felt more uncomfortable than ever. Mitchum chuckling at her expense? How evil! "I wanted to tell you something. It won't take long. I know you're busy, it's early, you probably haven't even had coffee or breakfast, I know I haven't, so this wouldn't take time, really," she rambled. "Logan left this morning, of course you know that, and well, I wanted to talk about him," Rory finished with more emphasis.
Mitchum couldn't wipe the half-smile from his face. He didn't mean to terrify the girl, as she obviously was, but Rory in his house not two minutes after Logan is funny, in a comedy-of-errors sort of way. "Did Logan put you up to this?" he asked.
"Oh no. No. Logan has no idea I'm here. He'd probably think its…"
"Foolish?" Mitchum answered. "Well then, you're here, so why don't you come into my study so you can say your piece and we can both have our coffee, hm?"
Rory followed him to his study, shifting her weight from leg to leg as she stood in front of his desk, her hands rubbing across her abdomen as she is wont to do when she's nervous. She collected her thoughts, zeroing in on her encounter with Mitchum in the elevator the day before.
…It's time for him to start focusing on his future, and the only way he is gonna do that is to get him out of his environment and away from those dopes, Colin and Finn, and the Life and Death Brigade, and get him on a path. Logan is talented, he's talented! He's my son. I want him to achieve something. And he needs a push. It's what my father did with me. He pushed me, I grew up, and now Logan is gonna grow up.
"I agree with what you told me yesterday, when we rode the elevator together," she began. "The part about Logan being talented, I mean. I've worked with him at the Daily News, and he writes wonderfully. Not often enough," Rory admits ruefully, recalling many a time when she tried to convince Logan to write more. It was as if Logan was reluctant or afraid to acknowledge his own penchant for journalism. "But always excellent research, and well thought-out pieces. And I say this not as a girlfriend–in case you're thinking I'm biased–but as a writer myself and editor."
"I hardly need to be told this, Rory," Mitchum interrupted. "I wasn't sending him to London to be taught how to be a journalist. It's already in his blood."
"But see, it's not. Being what you want to be has nothing to do with bloodlines or family destiny. It has to do with discovery and choice. I know Logan, I love him," Rory simply said. "And I know that he feels stifled and frustrated and unhappy in any situation where he feels he doesn't have any freedom, when he feels he's being compelled to do something, rather than him choosing it freely."
"I know my son, too. You underestimate me if you think I don't," Mitchum replied in turn.
"Then why?" Rory asked plaintively. "Why make him do something that you and I know he doesn't want to do?"
"Are you sure he doesn't want it, Rory?" Mitchum retorted. "London, being a journalist, being in charge of our family business?"
"I…I…okay," Rory sighed, sitting on a chair, seemingly defeated. "I can't say unequivocally that he doesn't want this. But that's not my point. I'm sorry if all this seems pointless to you, now that Logan is in London. I just hope he can have some more leeway to find himself and figure out what he really wants. Not have it dictated to him."
Mitchum considered Rory reflectively, a bit amused, but impressed nonetheless, at the lengths she just went through to appeal to him on Logan's behalf. Not as passive or conforming as I thought, he admitted. She did have some moxie.
"Rory," Mitchum started, standing up from his chair and pacing in front of her. "Do you have any idea what it is like to be part of a family like the Huntzbergers?"
A dull pang settled in Rory's stomach. "No, apparently I do not, as your wife and father had so plainly made clear to me a year ago when Logan brought me over for the shanghai dinner surprise," she reminded him with an arched brow.
"No, no, no, that's not what I meant," Mitchum exclaimed, exasperated. "I don't mean in terms of marriage. I meant for Logan. For me. And my father and his father before him. Do you have any idea?"
Rory contemplated his question and slowly shook her head. "My own life and how I was brought up has been completely different from Logan's."
In her mind, she recalled her graduation speech, forever memorized: My mother never gave me any idea that I couldn't do whatever I wanted to do or be whomever I wanted to be. She filled our house with love and fun and books and music, unflagging in her efforts to give me role models from Jane Austen to Eudora Welty to Patti Smith.
"Yes, I figured that is the case," Mitchum nodded. "I know Emily's daughter had fled from her own pre-ordained life. Kudos to her for that, indeed," he added.
"We, however, have obligations to our family. To the legacy that had been built up for generations. You don't have to believe me, but Logan and I are more similar than you think; we are built from the same mold. I struggled and fought and resisted, and he is now feeling the same. In the end, however, I saw and reaped the rewards of working for my family. I am confident Logan will end up there as well," Mitchum finished, walking to the mini-bar to pour himself a drink.
"If you're so confident, then, why not give him some slack?" Rory countered. "Or are you so afraid that he wouldn't, after all, end up like you?" Inwardly, Rory fervently wished that Logan would not end up like Mitchum, the man she once so admired, but who now seemed so one-dimensional, a man stuck in a mold.
"Would it be so terrible if your son didn't end up like you?" she near-whispered. Rory stood up and smoothed her sleeves, fussed over her skirt. "I should go. Thank you for your time. I don't know what my visit had done for you, but I think it did me some good." She felt more ready to accept Logan's departure, now that she had expressed to Mitchum what she thought about it.
Mitchum leaned back against his desk, his head cocked and looking at her. He thought of himself as a jaded, cynical fool when it came to life and love. He had sacrificed too much. How different would things have been if he had someone like Rory Gilmore in his life? He felt…what? Envy? Fear?...that yes, perhaps Logan's life would take a different turn.
"You surprise me, Rory Gilmore," he said loudly. "I confess that I underestimated you. But I've been pleasantly surprised by Logan of late, and I believe it is entirely your doing." He was referring to Logan's more responsible behavior and attitude after his accident…and of course Logan's visit to him that morning. He offered a smile at Rory's wide eyes. "Oh, and yes, I've read your work at the Daily News, and I do think it is exemplary."
He turned and sat behind his desk, opening the newspaper with a snap, apparently having dismissed Rory. Rory, speechless, walked towards the door.
"By the way," Mitchum called out, not lifting his head from the paper. "Have a great summer."
"A great summer?" Rory asked with puzzlement. What an odd goodbye, considering they both knew full well what a miserable summer it would be these first few months without Logan. Not hearing anything more from Mitchum, she left the house and spent the rest of the drive to Stars Hollow pondering his words.
