The Fortune Cookie's Always Right
Disclaimer: I own nothing but my imagination.
Author's Note: I changed the name of this story once I found out that there's already a story circulating with the same title. My apologies! And on to the fun...
CHAPTER 2: BLACK EYES AND FORTUNE COOKIES
The Yale Daily News room was bustling with activity as Doyle followed Paris around, weaving around copy machines and desks.
"I just don't see what the problem is, Doyle," Paris said, walking briskly to her desk.
"Paris, I've told you a hundred times; the man is threatening to get a restraining order. Cornering him in the men's bathroom was over the line," Doyle shrieked in frustration.
"Oh, what, so if I had a penis this would all be ok?" Paris countered in a demanding tone.
"What?" said Doyle, clearly nearing a nervous breakdown.
"If I were a man that would have been no problem, but since I'm a woman it's unacceptable? Unbelievable!" said Paris, plopping down at her desk.
"I'm not discussing this with you anymore. Gilmore, some help please?" Doyle pleaded.
Rory lifted her head above her computer. "Oh, no! You are on your own, buddy," she said, returning to her article.
Exasperated, Doyle leaned on Paris's desk. "Look," he said in a final plea, "do what you have to do, just please stay on the legal side of stalking, got it?"
"No problem," Paris said with a fake smile. Satisfied, Doyle sniffed and returned to his desk. As soon as he was out of earshot, her smile was wiped away.
"Honestly," Paris said, turning to Rory, "I got my scoop, so what's the big deal?"
"Not getting into it, Paris," Rory said distractedly.
"What?" said Paris, craning her neck to hear.
"Five hundred more words, Paris," Rory said, not taking her eyes off the screen.
"Fine. I have a few more questions left – I wonder if I can still catch the senator at the country club; he shouldn't be leaving for another 27 minutes. Bye," Paris said, off to finish her interview.
"Bye," Rory said, waving one hand while typing with the other.
"Geez, watch where you're going," Paris said, bumping into someone on her way out. "Hey, nice shiner there," she said, getting no response.
Rory looked up to see Logan Huntzberger making his way to his desk – with a noticeable black eye. "Oh no," she breathed. Rory watched as Logan sat down at his desk and began to type.
Doyle was obviously too frazzled from dealing with Paris to even attempt conversation with the Huntzberger heir. He took one look at Logan and flew out the door, shouting, "Coffee break!"
Rory looked around to see if anyone noticed Logan's presence, let alone his black eye, but everyone seemed to be going about their business. She willed Logan to look up so she could – well, smile at him or something – but he persisted in staring at his monitor. Suddenly she got an idea: she would instant message him.
R: Sorry about the party… are you ok?
Rory waited for Logan's reply, but when there didn't seem to be one forthcoming, she tried again.
R: I'm so sorry about Dean. I didn't know he would be there.
Still no reply. Rory began to get annoyed.
R: Look, I didn't know my real boyfriend would be there, but there's no reason to be mad at me. After all, it was your brilliant idea to create some sort of public display of affection, one that I didn't pre-approve, so that black eye is entirely your fault.
Rory peeked around her computer to study Logan's face. He didn't even smirk.
R: Well all I can say is that you either have one hell of a poker face or you really don't give a shit. Either way, I hope it was all worth it; and I hope your face hurts.
Rory harrumphed. She closed the instant message and saved her work before slinging her purse onto her shoulder and briskly walking to the door. She almost made it when Logan's arm shot out, grabbing her wrist as she passed by his desk. Shocked, Rory looked down at their hands before letting her gaze rise to meet Logan's. She shivered as his thumb traced over her pulse point.
Quiet enough that only Rory could hear, he spoke. "It was worth it," he said, smirking. He let go of Rory's hand as she stood there, trembling. She opened her mouth to say something, but was speechless. Rory closed her mouth and narrowed her eyes before walking out of the room as quickly as her feet would carry her.
"What did I tell you, Rory? What did I tell you?" Paris said, gearing up for a fight. She slammed shut her laptop lid and picked it up off the coffee table. She stared up at Rory from the couch.
"Paris, gum does not count," Rory said, sighing, holding a stick of gum halfway to her mouth.
"Yes it does," Paris insisted.
Rory sighed and tossed the gum onto the coffee table. "How, Paris? How does it count?" she asked, hands on her hips.
"Because! Gum requires chewing, and chewing reminds me of food. Therefore, I cannot have gum in my presence," Paris explained.
"Oh my God, Paris. You know you don't actually have to fast for Ramadan in order to write about it," Rory said, rolling her eyes.
"Yes, I do! I need to get the full experience," Paris said.
Just then, there was a knock on the door. "This isn't over," Paris said, storming into her room. Rory went to answer the door.
"Marty!" she exclaimed, giving him a short hug. Marty blushed and walked through the door.
"Hey, I totally scored at the party tonight," he said, holding up a brown paper bag.
"Oh yeah?" Rory said, peering into it. "Ooh! Tiny little egg rolls! Sweet!"
"Rory! I can smell that from here," said Paris from her room, leaning out enough to give Marty a death glare. Marty looked up.
"Does she mean me or the food?" he asked.
"I'm sure she means the food," she said, patting his arm reassuringly and sending Paris a look.
"You better be taking that out of here!" Paris called as Rory led Marty to her room.
"Ok, that time I think she meant me a little bit," Marty said, flopping down on Rory's bed and throwing his coat across the back of her desk chair.
"Ignore her," Rory said simply.
"Oh that's ok; I usually do. Egg roll?" he offered.
"Don't mind if I do," Rory said, selecting one and sitting beside him. "This is better than the caviar," she said with a full mouth. Marty just grinned.
"Check the bottom of the bag," he said, holding out the bag. "I swiped a few fortune cookies."
"Oooh!" Rory said with interest. She reached in and grabbed one. "You too," she said, tilting the bag back to Marty. He got one as well.
"You first," said Rory.
Marty cracked open his fortune cookie and pulled out the slip of paper. "A-hem. 'Chinese food is good,'" he read.
"In bed," they said together.
Rory started laughing. "They got that right!"
Marty just shook his head. "Leave it to me to not even get a real fortune."
"You can have mine," offered Rory.
"No, no, there are rules for this sort of thing," Marty said. "Go ahead, open it."
"Ok." Rory opened her cookie and proceeded to eat it, leaving the fortune on her lap. Marty raised an eyebrow. "That's part of the deal, you know," she said. "You're supposed to eat the cookie first or else your fortune won't come true…or something like that, anyway."
"Ok," Marty said dubiously.
Rory cleared her throat and read her fortune. " 'Romance comes into your life this year in a very unusual sort of way'…hmm."
"Now see, unusual could mean anything," Marty pointed out.
"True," said Rory, starting to throw away her fortune.
"Wait!" said Marty, a little too quickly.
"What?" Rory asked, pausing.
"Well, I mean, what if for some weird reason your fortune comes true?" Marty said, turning a little pink. "I mean, you know, you did eat the cookie first."
Rory thought about it. "Well, but I already have a boyfriend," she said, looking at her fortune. Still, things with her and Dean seemed a bit shaky at the moment, and she knew deep down that there was something not right between them. She made a decision. "Well, we'll just see what happens, hm?" she said, standing up and sliding her fortune onto her French memo board.
Just then, they heard the door open and close.
"D'you think Paris left?" Marty asked, with exaggerated hope in his voice. Rory laughed.
"Maybe the egg rolls got to her," she said, giggling.
"God, I hope so," Marty said, stretching out on Rory's bed, hands behind his head.
"What's going on, Rory?" a voice said from the doorway to her room.
"Dean! Hi! What are you doing here? I thought you had to work!" Rory said, moving to embrace him. He held her arms when she tried to put them around him.
"What's wrong?" she asked, confused.
"What's wrong? First the party, now I find you here with a guy in your room? On your bed?" Dean exclaimed in disbelief.
Marty looked worried and sat up.
"Dean," Rory said, partially annoyed, "this is my friend, Marty." Marty stood up and offered his hand.
"Hi…so…um…you're the boyfriend. Nice to meet you," Marty said, his voice shaking a little. Dean reluctantly shook his hand but didn't say anything.
"So..um…I'm gonna go, now," Marty said, pointing to the door.
"Marty, you don't have to leave," Rory said, shooting an angry glance at Dean.
"No, no, I have to go…to…a thing," he said, grabbing his coat. "Nice to meet you, Dean. Later, Rory," Marty said, walking quickly out the main door.
Rory crossed her arms and looked at Dean. "That was really rude, and way out of line," she said angrily.
"Come on, Rory. Is he another one of your 'friends'?" Dean replied.
"God, Dean! Yes, Marty is just a friend. And he was fully clothed, for heaven's sake! Not to mention that I was on the other side of the room. This is really paranoid of you, Dean," Rory said.
"Sorry," Dean said grudgingly. "It's just…you said Logan was just a friend - "
"And he is just a friend, more like an acquaintance," Rory said. "Besides, I thought we already went over all that. You can't go scaring poor Marty like that with your whole caveman possessive thing."
"Sorry!" Dean exclaimed, running his fingers through his hair in frustration. "It's just… I gave up a marriage to be with you, and I don't mean to bring it up, it's just that I freak out when I think about the possibility of this not working, you know?"
Rory stood there, fuming, and then her expression softened. "Look," she said firmly, "in order for this to work, you have to trust me, because if you don't then this will never work. As for Lindsey, that was not my call and you know it, and it's not fair to use that in an argument." Rory suddenly felt tired and sank into her desk chair.
Dean looked at her and crouched in front of her. "Rory?" he said at eye level, his hands on her knees.
"What?" she responded warily.
"I'm really sorry. I know I can trust you," Dean said, trying to convince himself as much as Rory.
"It's ok," Rory said quietly, looking down at her hands and playing with the hem of her shirt.
"Hey," Dean said. Rory looked up. "I love you," he said.
"I know," Rory said, searching his eyes for the Dean she fell in love with.
"Marty seems ok," he offered.
Rory gave a small laugh. "Yeah, he's a strange one. Harmless, but strange."
Dean smiled, but then his smile turned a bit cold. "I still hate Logan," he said.
"He's not that bad…for a snob," Rory said. She started to laugh.
"What?" Dean asked, squeezing her knee.
"Oh, nothing. It's just that he totally had a black eye yesterday," she said between guffaws.
"Well, good," Dean said proudly. Rory's laugh died away with unease. She immediately felt bad for laughing at Logan, but she did think he was messing with her. Why did he derive such pleasure out of making her uncomfortable? She tried to get Logan out of her head.
"So…" Dean said suggestively, pulling Rory toward the bed. "Kyle apparently has four dates in a row tonight, and he says he'll be there all night long," he mock-pouted.
"Well, how rude, kicking you out like that. Whatever will you do?" Rory said, sliding onto the bed beside him.
"I suppose I'll have to think of something," Dean said, kissing Rory.
Rory woke up to a loud knocking – no, make that pounding – on her bedroom door. She reluctantly opened her eyes to find a sleeping Dean in her bed. She cocked her head and looked at him. Somehow the drool made him less attractive. Apparently the whole so-cute-in-the-morning thing didn't apply to Dean.
"Rory!" she heard from the other side of the door.
"Coming, Paris!" Rory said. She carefully climbed over Dean so as not to disturb him and threw on her robe.
"What?" she said, cracking the door.
"Look, I'm not Cliff Clavin here, ok?" Paris said, thrusting a manila envelope.
"What?" Rory said, wiping the sleep out of her eyes as she took the envelope.
"Mail, Rory, I'm not your freakin' mailman."
Rory looked at the manila envelope in her hands. "How did you get this?" she asked.
"It was slipped underneath our door, and it has your name on it. We're done here. I'm going to my craft corner," Paris said, turning around and walking across the room.
Rory rolled her eyes and quietly shut her door. She went over to her desk and sat down in her chair. Curious, she inspected the envelope. The front was simply marked "Rory Gilmore." She flipped it over to the back. The flap was sealed with an old fashioned wax seal with the initials "LDB." Rory gasped. She broke the seal and dumped the contents onto her desk. A blindfold fell out as well as a note.
Ace,
You up for another adventure? 10:00 a.m. in the medieval history section of the main library. Wear the blindfold.
LH
Rory smiled as she considered the note. She picked up her digital camera from the shelf of her desk and turned it on. She began to flip through the pictures from the scaffolding jump. "Well," she said to herself, "in omnia paratus…"
The review button is your friend! Coming up: possible interaction with Colin and Finn... and who knows? Stars Hollow may be in the mix...
