Chapter Eight
Why is it humans don't purr?
It's not like we're any different from cats.
We eat, sleep, and rub up against others of our kind…
Rory stopped and smirked as she pondered that thought.
We even do that more often than they do, if we're lucky.
We feel just as content… So why don't we purr?
How come when we purr we just sound as if we're trying to be sexy and failing miserably?
Or maybe we're just doing it wrong?
She cleared her throat and began to purr softly under her breath.
Sounds better, but not quite it…
She purred a little louder,
A fellow subway traveller inquired as to whether she would like a throat lozenge.
Take a step back. What the old woman in the tattered coat doesn't quite understand is that Rory is at a loss. She is utterly satisfied and for once in her life she has no form of expression to communicate her mood. We see Rory flash a thousand shades of ruby, before stuttering a negative response and turning slightly in the opposite direction. Still, her humiliation does not force her feeling of sublime fulfilment to yield. And why should it? For a extended period of time, this young lady -whom we see shining in happiness - knew nothing but the corners of the shadows. Being the wind beneath anothers wings brings little delight, and these past days of rendevous with a man who needs her have brought her to this hieghtened state of bliss. But it can not last. Down in the foundation of her soul she knows this can not continue. What her heart forgets to ward her on, her head acknowledges. She has chartered unknown territory. She has become The Other Woman. She has flung herself into a situation that cannot be rectified. People will be hurt. Pain will reign. Whether she can spare her own heart in the process, one can only wait to see.
"Whitney, why is it that we can send a man to the moon, travel across our globe within hours, or create a triple glazed donut, and yet we haven't yet found a way to get rid of junk mail?" Rory seethed as a window flashed before her.
She'd never had 63 new messages awaiting her in her inbox at one time before.
The blonde laughed as she placed Rory's coffee mug gently next to a stack of purple post-it notes.
"God knows," Whitney giggled, "I'm contstantly getting emails telling me I can get my high school diploma in 12 days! I mean, duh!"
Rory clenched her teeth to stop her from retorting something along the lines of 'Duh! All you need lately to get a decent job is blonde hair and blow jobs - diplomas are so passe!'
Instead she smiled painfully as her assistant flipped her hair and sashayed to the next desk.
Congratulating her self on a job well avoided, she opened her inbox prepared to delete the advertisements for hair removal, sex toys, degrees, or whatever it was that was flooding her system.
Her jaw dropped in shock when her inbox was fully downloaded.
63 e-mails all from the same sender.
'J Mariano.'
Wincing slightly, she pulled open the first and last e-mail.
'Rory.
Please call me NOW.
Jess.'
'Rory.
Please call me NOW.
Jess.'
Letting out the breath she hadn't realised she was holding she picked out a few random messages, each one holding the same message.
After a few moments of deliberation, she picked up the phone and dialled the familiar number.
Only two rings sounded before she heard his breathless voice fill the earpiece,
"Rory?"
She sighed, "Jess, hi."
"Well?"
"Well, what?"
"You know what."
She rolled her eyes, "obviously I don't know what or else I wouldn't have asked. Surely we've had this routine for years now, why don't you just tell me?"
He was silent for a moment, then, "What the fuck do you think you are doing?"
Floored by his obscenities, she stumbled over her words, "I d-don't know w-what you mean, Jess?"
"Don't play dumb. I've known you too long to think you're that stupid. Then again, you got yourself into this mess so I'm starting to adjust my opinion."
Sighing again, she spoke softly into the phone so as to not attract the attention of her Co-workers, "Jess, you know it's not that simple."
"What do I know? I'm sorry, but you haven't told me anything yet!"
"You know," she whined.
"That you're sleeping with your best friend's husband?"
"I don't think Paris would appreciate being referred to -"
He interrupted her, "This is not the time for jokes and you know it."
"Sorry."
There was a pregnant pause as Jess collected himself.
"So," he started, "I would be right in assuming that last night while I was on the phone to you, Dave came to your house?"
Rory closed her eyes.
"Yes," She whispered.
"And I would be right in assuming that he is the man you had hinted at becoming involved in?"
"Uh-huh."
"So, naturally I would be correct in assuming that last night was not the first time you and Dave had had sex?"
Rory remained silent.
"Shit, Rory, what are you doing?"
"It's complicated!" She protested.
"You're damn right it's complicated! It's your regular fucking ABC after school special! Ror, you're having an affair with a married man. Not only that, but you're having an affair with a married man who is married to your Best Friend!"
"But they're both unhappy! And she -"
"She what, Rory? Gave him permission?"
"She has a guy on the side! Dave and I saw them together! Niether of them are happy, Jess! They fight all the time! And Dave and I… we…"
Jess groaned, "if you finish that sentence with 'are in love' then I may well throw up."
"Jess! Stop!"
"Stop what?" He drawled.
Rory could feel her eyes start to well up at his attack.
"I'm happy, Jess. Really happy. Happier than I've been for a long time. Happier than I've ever been with Dean, You, Josh, Pete, and especially Tristan. Don't ruin this for me! Please, Jess," she begged, "I really need you on my side."
He said nothing, so she continued, "I don't know about his feelings other than they are strong. He wants me. He said he needs me. And I think I might need him too," she trailed off and tried to swallow the lump that had crept into her throat.
A while passed where neither of the two spoke. She could tell he was mulling over what she had said, pondering the same dilemma she had faced herself not days earlier.
Finally, he spoke, "so, do we have a team name?"
She grinned and sat up straight, "you mean it?"
"Well, I never was one for sticking to the rules, was I?"
"Thank you so much, Jess, I -"
He interrupted her again, this time with a much softer, gentler tone.
"This doesn't mean I like how you're going about this, Gilmore. I'm extremely worried about you. And Dave, too. If this bond between you two really is," he paused and struggled to find words, "whatever it is you are hoping it is to be, then I am thrilled for you both. But it's not going to be easy, Rory. I hope you know that."
Rory, who had been practically bouncing in her seat, deflated. She hadn't wanted to confront that aspect of her situation just yet.
"I know that."
"Good. Well, I've been awake for far too long over this - I'm going to bed."
"Don't you have to work?"
She could practically hear him smirk.
"Details, details"
"Thank you, Jess," She said somberly.
"No problem, Gilmore. Good luck to you, call me soon, okay?"
They said their goodbyes and Rory slumped in her seat, not even bothering to sift through the stack of papers crammed into her 'in' tray.
Just as she was about to pick up her pen and notepad, a message popped up on her computer screen,
'Message L Dugrey
from D Rygalski
It appears you have forgotten your skirt.
Is skirt off sick?
Dave'
Letting out a giggle, she pulled the keyboard closer to her,
'Message D Rydalski
from L Dugrey
How dare you seduce me in this impertinent manner.
In future, use film references other than Bridget Jones' Diary - or better yet, get some of your own material.
Rory
P.S I'm not wearing a skirt'
Smiling to herself at the double entendre of her noting she was wearing pants instead, Rory waited for him to reply.
A moment later another message arrived,
'Message L Dugrey
from D Rygalski
Yikes, next time I try to be witty and pop-culturally educated I shall remind myself not to try at all.
You cut me deep, Rory. You cut me real deep just now.
You'll have to make it up to me later.
Dave
P.S I'm intrigued. Not wearing a skirt. Perhaps I should come to visit your office more often if the staff is always in a state of half undress?'
Rory stifled a giggle and blushed for what seemed the hundredth time that day. Hitting the reply button, she started typing with gusto.
Take a step back. One has to keep In mind that this is not innocent e-flirting. Not by any standards. Rory has already pushed her friends' words of warning to the back of her skull. She chooses not to heed his words, for her rose-coloured contact lenses have not yet fallen out. She is the victim of the honeymoon period. An unfortunate phrase in a situation such as this. In love with her best friends husband? She may not even consider the emotion coursing through her veins to be in league with such a term, but it is indeed true. She is in love. As is he. Their less than innocent form of escapism from their mundane and problematic relationships is far more intense than either have yet to realise. What exactly do they see coming from their trysts? Perhaps they are unsure or that themselves. It is unlikely, however, that they have fully grasped the enormity of their future. But then again, one can ponder. One can hypothesise. One can dream…