"You're back?" she says, sitting down on her bench, and opening one of the two books which are her companions today. You can't see what the titles are, though your curiosity is huge.
"The ambiance can't be beat," you smile. "I hope you don't mind my being here?"
"It's a public garden, as long as you have access to one of the houses that faces it. You didn't go all Hugh Grant in Notting Hill, did you? Jumping over the fence?" she questions with a laugh. Her laugh is beautiful, as is her smile, just like her.
"No," you chuckle in return. "My family owns one of the houses on the north end of the gardens."
"Ah, well, my grandmother and I are staying with friends of hers on the west side," she says, pointing and then going back to what she was reading.
"I hope you don't think I'm being too forward," you say after a few minutes, "but I was wondering what you're reading?"
"Oh, no, I don't mind at all," she smiles. "William Faulkner's As I Lay Dying and when I need a break, a side of The Portable Dorothy Parker," she says, holding both up for you to see.
"Ah, 'my mother is a fish,' and I would quote the 'boys don't make passes' line, but I find it's just not true," you say, making both of you laugh.
"You're a Faulkner fan?" she asks, perking up.
"I had to read Absalom, Absalom! my sophomore year, and Light in August in high school. I'm not a huge fan of Yoknapatawpha County, but some interesting stuff does happen there. He's not whom I would readily pick up when I'm just looking for something to read for the hell of it. There are other southern authors I prefer - Flannery O'Connor, Truman Capote's early work, Eudora Welty, Carson McCullers, Tom Robbins is always good for a laugh, Wendell Berry, John Kennedy Toole, Zora Neale Hurston. I guess it's banal, but Harper Lee, and even Cormac McCarthy, though I guess he's not really southern, more modern, unromaticized western."
"I adore A Confederacy of Dunces," she grins. "It's one I can read over and over and never tire of."
"I would agree. Whenever I have a hotdog I think of Ignatius," you smile. "I must have read it four or five times, and I've never been able to decide if I like him or Don Quixote more - both of their flights of fancy are so amusing, yet appealing."
"It's funny, because I love all things related to pop culture, but I totally get the mocking part," she grins, laughing in a way that lights up her eyes. "So on the one hand, I totally get where he's coming from, but on the other I can't imagine the disdain."
"He does do his own version of windmill tilting quite well," you laugh in return.
"I'd tend to agree," she smiles, pulling her bottom lip through her teeth. "There's plenty of challenging reading on the syllabus, so I'm trying to get ahead for the fall semester," she explains. "I have this huge survey of American Literature class that is more reading than I've ever had to do at one time, and I'm afraid it's going to eat my lunch."
"I'm sure you'll do fine," you chuckle, amused at her obvious overachieverness. You'd always made good grades, but very rarely had to actually work at it. Your transition from high school to college hadn't been especially difficult, but it had probably helped that you had partied your way through the latter half of high school, getting yourself ready for the college grind. "If you're diligent enough to get the syllabus of a class in the summer, then you must be extremely organized. I tend to end up surprised when the TA announces that we hopefully haven't forgotten the paper we have due in five days."
"Yeah, well, I thought I was the queen of organization, too," she replies with a shake of her head, and a pulling at the sleeves of her cardigan. "But everyone at Yale was the valedictorian of their high school, everyone is super organized, everyone is used to making straight A's. I got the first grade I'm ashamed to admit I got last year; I even had to drop a class because I was going to fail it. I'm not letting that happen this year…" she rambles.
She'd lost you at 'Yale'. You can't believe your luck - this exquisite girl with the sad, but, beautiful eyes and lovely melodic voice goes to Yale.
"You're an Eli?" you cut in.
"You're an alumnus?" she asks after a moment, eyes wide.
"No, I start my junior year in a few weeks," you smile.
"Really?" she asks, her eyes widening, her voice full of wonder. "That's crazy. I've never seen you around campus, but then, maybe we don't have the same major, or same extracurricular activities. There are a lot of people at Yale. I'm starting my sophomore year."
"Well, that explains it, then," you return. "I took last year off - some friends of mine and I decided to play Magellan, but didn't exactly make it all the way around the globe. We made it to Fiji, and had a bit of a mishap." You decide to go with the Readers Digest condensed version of events. "So we never would have met at school. I'll be living at Berkeley in the fall, I'm an econ and history double - well it's degree really, since it's different schools - but major, with an English minor."
"Oh, okay, I'll be at Branford. I'm an English and poli sci double major with a minor in philosophy."
"Goodness, the college of liberal arts really must love you," you laugh.
"I guess they must," she nods with a small giggle. "Nothing practical about anything I'm studying, though I guess that's part of why I joined the Daily News staff. That's practical, since I do want to go into journalism. Tricky thing, since there's no school of journalism or journalism major. You would have thought I would have considered that when I was falling in love with Yale."
Maybe this was turning out to be a bad joke, maybe she knows who you are, maybe…you shake off the doubts creeping into your brain - you've grown so cynical at such a young age. You'd approached her, not the other way around.
But women have been throwing themselves at you since you were too young to really even understand what was going on, and now you meet an exquisitely beautiful girl who happens to want to be a journalist and goes to Yale, which makes you assume the worst. You shut down that line of thinking in your brain and go a different direction instead.
"Is Doyle still cracking the whip at the Daily News?" you force yourself to laugh.
"You're on staff at the Daily News, too?" she questions, eyes squinting as she looks at you with skepticism. "I'm not famous, so I'm not wondering if Ashton Kutcher is around in back of that tree you're leaning against, but this is a little too 'this is your life' for me."
She causes you to laugh, and in the process alleviates many of the voices you're trying to push back in your head; she has no idea who you are. "It is a little Twilight Zoney, I have to agree. I was a little taken aback myself when you said you were on the Daily News staff," you smile. "I'm Logan, Logan Huntzberger," you say, crawling toward her on your knees to extend your hand.
"Oh my goodness!" she laughs, her eyes widening, one hand going to her mouth, you can see her quickly putting together who you are. "My grandmother knows your mother; I've been leaving the house when she comes by for tea. They're gossiping about people I don't know really doesn't interest me. I'm Rory Gilmore," she finishes, extending her hand to shake yours.
"Richard and Emily's granddaughter?" you question, chuckling.
"Yes," she nods.
"This really is a small world," you reply with a shake of your head.
"Just don't start singing the song. I might have to do bodily harm to you then," she laughs.
"I promise," you swear, holding your hands up in mock surrender. "I wouldn't be caught dead. Maybe if I went to Disney, but even then, only to mock."
"In the great tradition of Ignatius and Lorelai Gilmore, mocking is always appreciated," she grins conspiratorially. "But to answer your question, yes, Doyle is still laboring as editor; he'll be in charge when we get back for fall semester as well."
"Well that's good to know," you return with a small smile, not letting on to the irony of your answer. In Doyle's mind, you exist just to further his career aspirations, which allows you to treat him and his beloved paper with utter contempt. He looks at you as his golden meal ticket, a conduit to your powerful sire, not realizing how much you despise anyone who thinks of you as a Huntzberger first and not just Logan.
"I guess newspapering is in your blood," she remarks.
"According to my father, it's part of my DNA, imprinted on my soul," you mutter. "I should let you get back to your book, or books," you say, not really wanting to discuss the paper or journalism. "I wouldn't want to be the cause of you getting behind and have to face the wrath of Professor Farthing or Watson or Brown."
"Thank you," she chuckles. "Though I think for the first time since Chilton, I'm actually ahead. Maybe this semester won't kick my butt quite as hard as I thought," she finishes with a smile, before burying her head back in Yoknapatawpha County. You go back to your Baldwin, though you steal glances across at her every so often, noting that she does switch to her Dorothy Parker after a bit. You feel her stealing glances your way as well, which secretly pleases you, though you make sure your expression never changes.
After a bit more than an hour, you stretch, your ass asleep and your limbs cramped from lack of movement, deciding that maybe it's time to get up and take a stroll. You check your watch, realizing that your mother will be back soon, and decide to head back to the house, not wanting her to catch you with her friend's lovely granddaughter. It might put thoughts in her head that you don't want there. The thought of maybe asking out the lovely Miss Gilmore and experiencing what you're sure is the great pleasure of her company when you're both back at Yale is a distinct possibility, but putting matchmaking thoughts in your mother's head or that of one of her friends isn't something you want to happen yet - at least, not for years and years.
"I think I'm going to head back inside," you say, stretching out your arms and adjusting your stiff back. "Are you here much longer?"
"We're here till Tuesday of next week, so a week more," she replies.
"Will you be back here tomorrow?" You know she will, but she doesn't know you've been spying on her for days.
"Yes," she nods.
"I'll bring tea, if you don't mind the company?" you offer, thinking of the bakery you know just around the corner where you can get scones and sandwiches. She probably eats like a bird, just like every other slender girl you knew, but you've never let a nibbling female stop you from enjoying a good meal.
"I would love the company," she smiles widely, making you grin in return. "But you can hold the tea, I'm a coffee drinker. That's the one bad thing about this country - you can't find a decent cup of coffee. Italy and France both have excellent coffee."
"I'll see you tomorrow," she says. You see her blushing and smiling into her lap as you glance over your shoulder for a last look, pleased she's as affected as you've been for days.
I've often wondered what it might feel like to have something significant happen and not realize that it did till later. Not that this was significant, I doubt it was, but still.
I met a boy yesterday, though I'm not even sure it would qualify as meeting him, since really we just exchanged greetings. But it turned out that he was a fellow Yalie, though he took last year off, so I never would have seen him around campus. And it's not like he's my type - his family makes Grandma and Grandpa look like paupers, to begin with. But it's been so long since I've met anyone who shared my love of language, really since I was first getting to know Jess. I thought I would meet lots of people like that last year at school, but somehow it never happened.
Not that any of this matters. I'm not interested in Logan, not romantically. Supposedly I love Dean, otherwise why did I do what I did? But I made a disaster of that anyway - why would anyone want to be with me? But maybe I made a friend today, and it would be nice to have friends at school - I could use a few of those. He seems a little forward; he did approach me both times, after all, but maybe he has some nice friends that I could hang out with when we get back to school. Not that Paris isn't great…ok, that's not true, and you should never lie to your journal. Paris is a pain in the butt, and I love her in spite of that, but it would be nice to meet some people besides Paris. It is funny though, having to come to London to meet someone who might become a friend back home…
TBC