- Chapter Four -
Road rules, and the law for that matter, didn't seem to apply to her. She sped through changing lights and stop signs, didn't seem to be familiar with or rather, care for, the speed limit, and ever the epitome of patience, zigzagged through traffic, honking her horn at stragglers. Through it all, the serene smile at her lips never once faltered.
Some random song oozed out of the radio and was lost to the wind. He wondered about what kind of music she listened to, what books she read, what authors she preferred, if any.
"Ooh, this is my favorite part," she piped up, turning the volume up on the car radio.
With the taste of your lips I'm on a ride,
You're toxic, I'm slipping under
Taste of your poison I'm melting…
I'm addicted to you, don't you know that you're toxic.
"Too high, can't come down, it's in the air and it's all around, do you feel me now," she sang along, every now and then turning to him and making a random face.
He threw his head back and laughed, pulled in by her charm. Despite the horrible music, he was actually enjoying himself.
She sang every verse, did every sound effect and by the end of it, had him singing along with her.
Four Britney songs later, heading his directions, they drove into Stars Hollow.
"You're kidding me, right?" she spoke up, coming to a halt in front of Andrew's bookstore, referring to the surreal quality of it all. They had just passed Kirk a few blocks black, selling pink lemonade from a stand.
"I'm afraid not," he responded grinning, and got out of the car, "home sweet home." She followed after him.
"Unreal. I feel like I'm trapped in an episode of Leave It To Beaver." Making a perch for her sunglasses atop her head, she took in her surroundings; from the troubadour serenading a small crowd down the block to the gaggle of little girls in tutus making their way across the street.
"You have to see it during Christmas. Kirk, he was the guy in the lemonade stand…he dresses up as Santa Clause and…well…uh…he mostly just freaks out the kids, but you gotta admire the guy for trying."
"I'll take that under consideration," she responded, clearly amused.
"Sweetheart" a voice rang from behind them. Miss Patty and Babette sauntered over to them, clearly interested in finding out whom the new female was.
Tristan smiled and leaned back against the car. This should be interesting.
"Who's your friend, doll?" Babette questioned, lacing her arm through his.
"This is Isabelle," Tristan introduced, "she's a friend from school."
"Hello dear," Miss Patty, taking Isabelle by the hand, smiled. "Don't you look adorable in your little uniform. I'll tell you, if I'd had that kind of get up back in the day, I certainly could have…"
"Patty," came a voice from down the street, and they all turned as Taylor made his way towards them. "I wasn't done talking to you."
"Quick, let's get out of here before he catches up," Babette chimed in, letting go of Tristan and grabbing Miss Patty.
"Don't walk away. I see you…stop, don't walk away…Patty! Babette!" Taylor hobbled past Tristan and Isabelle, huffing after the pair.
"Maybe I should consider a permanent move here," a few seconds later Isabelle spoke up through a wide grin.
"I don't know…" he teased, "I'm not sure you could handle it."
"You'd be surprised at what I could handle," she countered, moving to stand in front of him, so that she had him pinned against her car.
He let out a chuckle, locking eyes with her.
"You want to kiss me don't you?" she put in almost nonchalantly, extending herself on her toes
"I'm not sure what to do with you."
"Here's a start," she pouted, taking his arms and draping them around her shoulders.
"Now what?" he teased, standing straighter so that now, he towered above her.
"Now you kis…" he cut her off by taking her chin in his hands and descending his mouth to hers. It was quick but deep and when he pulled back, she exhaled softly, eyes smiling up at him.
"So," he grinned, "you hungry? I know a place just down the street…"
"Actually, I have to be getting back," she responded, sending him a deep pout.
His smile wavered but remained on his face. "Sure…next time."
She twirled around and in one graceful movement opened the car door and slid back in. Still grinning he closed it after her, hands lingering on the vehicle.
"So…I guess I'll just see you at school tomorrow?"
"Actually, there's this party tonight…and you're going to take me," Isabelle responded, turning on the engine.
"I don't remember saying yes to that." Despite himself, he was grinning like an idiot, arms anchored against the car. He found her hard to resist.
"That's because I didn't ask," she put in before reaching for his collar and pulling him down for a kiss. This kiss was deeper, with Isabelle taking full control, tugging at his lips and parting them with her tongue.
Feeling someone's presence near, Tristan pulled back and stood in mild awkwardness as his eyes connected with four other sets of eyes; Miss Patty, Babette, Taylor and Kirk, all stared back at him.
"I guess that's my cue," Isabelle chimed in, pulling on her shades. "I'll pick you up here at 8:00." With that, she threw a wide-eyed Kirk a wink and drove off.
The next ten minutes were spent hearing Taylor's lecture on the wrongs of public displays of affection.
---
"No…too Emo…" sitting atop his bed, Lane chirped in, referring to the black t-shirt he had pulled out of his closet. "It says 'no one understands me, so don't try to.' You want something more approachable."
"I didn't realize it said anything," Tristan responded, crumpling up the shirt and throwing it at her.
"Don't get violent. You need my expertise…hey how about that green one with the robot donkey…good colour, somewhat political and confusing enough so its artsy but not pretentious…ooh or that red one with that hand and dollar sign…that'll probably speak more to them…"
"Lane…"
"…or do you think you should go more country club and less rock club…maybe pastels, do you have anything from Lacoste…"
"Lane!"
"Or Ralph Lauren…"
"Or how about I just go naked…you know, really make a splash."
"I don't know," she responded, leaning back against the headboard. "I just can't see you pulling that off…" Her words were cut off as another shirt came flying at her head.
"Seriously Tristan, you have to wear something nice…"
"Okay mom."
"Mock all you want, but you're the one who wanted my help."
"Wanted your help? Wanted your help? As I recall, you sauntered in here without an invitation and just started throwing orders around."
"And good thing too. Otherwise you might have walked out looking like a Backstreet Boy…unless that's what you're supposed to wear to a Chilton party…
"Lane…"
"Do you have any sweater vests…something argyle?"
"Mrs. Kim, what are you doing up here?" Tristan interrupted, speaking to someone just behind Lane and watched in amusement as she sprang up from the bed and was met by dead air.
"Not funny!" she threw back, grabbing a book from his shelf and tossing it at his head. Grinning, he ducked out of the way while she fell back against the headboard.
"Yeah, well…you're making this into such a big deal…
"That's because it is…"
"Lane, it's just some stupid party…"
"…Slash date that could determine the rest of your social life at Chilton," she finished dramatically, rising from the bed, pushing him out of her way and searching through the closet.
"What are you doing," he called in after her.
"Picking something out for you," came her voice as she dug further into his closet, throwing shoes, socks and an array of t-shirts past his head.
"I think I can dress myself thanks," he put in before pulling her out of his closet, ushering her out of his room and closing the door after her.
"No…" came her muffled voice from the other side of the door…"you really can't."
He chuckled to himself before turning up the volume on his radio.
---
Clad in a blue shirt and jeans, hands balled into fists in his pockets, he walked languidly towards Andrew's bookshop. The air was crisp, a hint of autumn in the air.
She was waiting for him, leaning against the hood of her car, legs stretched out in front of her. Dressed in a deep red sundress, the hem of which rested several inches above her knees, she looked gorgeous. And she knew it.
"Wow," he smiled at her, running a hand across his chin.
"Tell me about it," she too smiled before arching off the car and gracefully entering in through the door he held open.
---
She laced her fingers through his and guided him up a small set of marble stairs. On their way from the parking area and up the giant lawn, they'd passed by several partygoers passed out here and there.
He marveled at the grandeur of it all, taking in everything from the acres and acres of front lawn to the giant mansion that stood at its center.
They walked in through the open door and he had to hold back from gasping. The place was enormous, almost cavernous with a giant staircase that greeted guests at the main foyer and parted in two sections at the second level. Various paintings surveyed the partygoers from every wall and two crystal chandeliers draped down from a vaulted ceiling.
"Come on," came Isabelle's voice and he let her take him by the hand and guide him into an adjacent room. As they entered, he recognized a few people but no greetings were passed. Clearly, they had not been expecting him.
"Who's your friend Isabelle," a tall guy with a bottle in hand ventured.
"Not that it's any of your business Derek, but this is Tristan," she put in before reaching for two cups on the counter.
"Does Mike know about Kristan?" he inquired, taking a sip from his bottle and grinning.
"Clever, you come up with that all by yourself?" his own grin in place, more out of annoyance than humor, Tristan countered, taking the cup offered to him by Isabelle who had moved to stand between the two.
"Mike who?" she put in cleanly before taking Tristan by the hand once more and guiding him out of the room.
"So, whose Mike?" he called out after her as they weaved through the crowd.
"My boyfriend," she put in casually.
"And he's okay with you being out with another guy?" Tristan asked incredulously.
"It's okay with me," she turned to him and purred, before continuing through the crowd, hand still clasped in his.
He didn't know what to make of her.
Several seconds later, he found himself in the doorway of a massive room filled to the brim with people.
Writhing would have been a better way to describe the dancing going on in the room. Generally couples, intoxicated or on the verge of being intoxicated, took over what Tristan thought was a living room of sorts, engaged in everything from dancing to sex with clothes on.
"You wanna try that?" sultry grin in place, Isabelle pointed at a couple grinding up against one another.
"Do you mean dancing…or dry sex," he countered, taking a sip from his cup.
"Why don't we start with dancing and then work our way down from there," she put in smoothly before taking his cup away and walking off to the dance floor.
Running a hand across his jaw, amusement written all over his features, Tristan followed, coming up behind her and lacing an arm around her waist.
She moved with fluidity, her back to him, an arm draped around his neck. He held her close, one arm resting above her own while the other languidly held her waist.
The music was loud so there was no chance for conversation so for the next half hour they simply danced, swaying to the music.
---
A pounding headache was making its presence known at her temple, but from the smile at her lips, one would have never known.
She longed to be at home, curled up on her bed, instead of on a couch surrounded by people she cared nothing about. But Jack had coerced her into it.
Jack, with an arm around her shoulders and surrounded by his friends, made a comment and she laughed along with the others. The humor, however, did not reach her eyes.
She sank back against the couch, taking in the scene around her.
As it had been several hours into the party, most of the guests were severely intoxicated and as such, partaking in one crass act or another. In one corner, a couple was engaged in act that should have been executed behind closed doors.
Some partygoers were even passed out on the floor, empty cups, cigarette butts and the like scattered around them.
Teenage wasteland indeed.
Those that grouped around her and Jack, generally football players and their sycophantic girlfriends, sat glued to Jack's every word, not drunk enough to pass an opportunity to fawn over the reigning king of Chilton. Dressed alike, the guys in their letterman jackets and the girls in their whorish skirts and five inch heels, and practically sharing the same vain, materialistic personalities, they were all of them sheep.
And she was a part of it all.
She suddenly wanted to scream at the top of her lungs.
Instead she downed her sixth drink of the night, before briskly rising from the couch, making an excuse about the little girl's room.
In her haste, however, she did not miss the look in Jack's eyes. He saw past her excuse.
She weaved through the crowds, hoping to find the entrance to the back yard. It was suffocating in here.
Several times, she nearly toppled over, the walls spinning around her. She bumped into several people but most were too intoxicated to care.
Louise, making her way upstairs with some guy, called a faint greeting, asking if she was okay.
Rory nodded to her before continuing her way towards an exit.
The spinning was getting worse and she quickened her pace, needing fresh air.
She bumped into another person but through her disorientation, she couldn't decipher who it was. Not that it mattered. She just wanted to get the hell out of there.
Several times, she thought she heard her name, but tangled in an alcoholic daze and merging with the pulsating beats emanating from every room, she couldn't be too sure.
She caught the faint smell of fresh cut grass and turned in that direction, groping the walls for some sort of support. A sudden breeze, flying about the room, added further incentive to her drunken exploration and she forced her legs to cooperate.
Again, someone called out her name. But she didn't care. She just needed to get out of this mess.
Noises fading away, she finally made it to what seemed to be a side yard, sprawling into the dark for acres and acres. She ambled down a small flight of stairs and moved further into the yard, leaving behind all the noise and chaos. There was a small bench a few yards away from where she stood, set between a pair of willow trees and she moved towards it. But it seemed so far away and she wasn't sure if her traitorous feet, now refusing to follow her directions, would let her get to that spot.
Something caught her feet and she lost her balance, falling backwards, her feet flying out in front of her.
---
He was there before she hit the ground, cradling her body into an upright position.
Still disoriented, she tried to push him off, but he held on, afraid that the moment he let go, she would hurt her self.
"Rory, calm down, it's Tristan," he tried and relaxed as she stopped the struggling. Rising to a better position, he carried her to a bench, setting her down and crouching low in front of her.
"Are you okay?" he questioned after a few moments, rising to take a seat beside her.
She gave no answer.
Her cheeks were flushed a deep pink and strands of hair had come undone from where they were gathered at the base of her neck and. Her shirt was slightly askew and she seemed on the verge of passing out. Realizing that he'd been staring, he quickly pulled his eyes away from her, letting them fall across the lawn instead.
The party looked to be a million miles away and the music and drunken laughter too had faded to just background noise.
"You can go now," she broke through the silence abruptly and he turned to her, confused.
"What?"
"You-can-go-now," she met his gaze and repeated, pausing between each word as if communicating with a child. She looked completely lucid now, and irritated.
Something like annoyance flared up inside but he suppressed it.
"Are you sure?" Even before the words had left his lips, he knew her answer.
"I can take care of myself, thanks," she put in smoothly, lips meeting in a hard line.
Shrugging, he got up from the bench and moved to leave. But something held him in place.
"How are you going to get home?" He knew she wanted him to leave but he couldn't help himself.
"Not your problem," she let her eye lids flutter shut and leaned her head against one of the willow trees.
"Are you –"
"Look, you did your little good Samaritan bit so now I'd appreciate it if you left me alone," she cut in, anger adding a slight edge to her words.
He really couldn't figure her out. The first time they'd met, she nearly bit his head off for walking in front of her car, and for the rest of that day she'd completely ignored him. Yet, when they'd met again at the club, it had somehow felt different.
Frustrated he let out a sigh. She confused the hell out of him.
"Look," she broke through his reverie, "it's really not that complicated. You put one foot in front of the other and…"
"How many personalities exactly do you have?" This time, he was the one to make an interruption.
"I mean, at school you're one way but at the club, you were so, so…different," he finished weakly, from a lack of a better word.
She let out a laugh, high pitched and without any real mirth.
"At the club, I was drunk."
"As opposed to now, when you're clearly sober."
"Exactly."
Frustrated, he ran a hair through his hair. He honestly had no clue as to why he was still here, arguing with her.
"Just go back to the stupid party—" she broke off, clenching her fists against her eyes.
"Rory," he was back at her side but she rose from the bench and moved away from him.
"I'm fine, just leave me alone—" she nearly buckled at the knees, collapsing against him. He steadied her with his hands and felt his insides constrict as he caught sight of her face. Her brow was furrowed in pain and the colour had drained from her skin, her face as pale as porcelain.
"Can I take you to your car?"
"I just need to lie down for a minute. The headache will pass after that." He was surprised at how her tone had changed, not a hint of anger or irritation in her words.
"Should I take you inside—"
"No," she interrupted, a slight panic in her eyes. He doubted she wanted anybody else seeing her like this. "My car," she pointed to their left, leaning heavily against him, her words haggard. "I parked it along one of the side streets."
Not knowing what else to do, he led her out of the yard through a side gate, turning down a street now and then as she indicated between small gasps of pain.
It was only when they'd stopped in front of her car that he realized he still had an arm around her waist, holding her tight against him, while her head rested languidly at his shoulder. To a passerby, they could have been a happy couple, out for a stroll.
As if realizing the same thing, she peeled away from him, reaching to unlock the driver's seat door, swaying on her feet.
"Just let me drive you home okay," he tried, his right hand moving to cup her hand where it lingered above the handle. He quickly pulled back however, thinking better of it.
For a moment, she simply stared at him and watched the change in her eyes.
"Fine," she sighed opening the door and sliding to the passenger seat.
The corners of his mouth pulled up in a soft smile before he pulled the keys from where she'd left them on the door.
Twenty minutes later, once again following her directions, he brought the car to a rest through an impressive set of gates, alongside a beautiful, stone fountain.
The mansion that loomed at the end of the drive way was more lavish than anything he'd come across in Stars Hollow.
"So what? You're going to walk home?" elbow propped against an open window, she questioned.
"No," he laughed, "I'll catch a cab or something." He felt the air change around them, become slightly more comfortable.
He turned to look at her and was relieved to find her looking recovered, though still a bit tired. He wondered whether he should walk her to the door but thought better of it.
She shifted in her seat. "I can get someone to drive you…"
"It's not a big deal," he interrupted, a grin racing to his features. "I can take care of myself."
For a few seconds, a devastatingly beautiful smile covered her features. But just as quickly as it had appeared, it vanished.
"Well, thanks," she put in hastily turning away to reach for the handle on her door.
"Your welcome," he replied, moving to exit from the vehicle too. He wondered which personality she'd greet him with the next week at school.
A hand at his wrist pulled him back to reality. He turned just as she crashed her lips against his, hands moving to lock behind his neck.
Despite his better judgment, pulled in, he responded, pulling her onto his lap, arms encircling her waist. Her lips were soft and fiery, moving against his in unison, parting them with intensity.
He pulled her further against him, one hand racing up her spine to her hair while the other remained at the small of her back. He felt her hands at his nape, stroking patterns into his skin, then at his collar, moving down the line of buttons on his shirt.
His lips froze, sanity rushing back to replace his momentary lapse, and he pulled back. He wasn't going to take advantage of her like this. Unaware, she simply moved to his throat, lingering at the base of his neck.
"Rory," he called but she carried on.
"Stop."
She broke away as if singed, rushing to move out of his lap.
"I'm sorry, I just don't think…" he tried to explain, catching the quick cloud that moved across her eyes.
"It's fine," she put in quickly, regaining her icy composure. "Isabelle is probably waiting for her latest toy to return anyways."
He'd completely forgotten about Isabelle.
"Rory," he tired again but she was already moving out the door.
"Rory."
"Bye Tristan," she called out over her shoulder, rushing up a small set of granite steps and disappearing through a set of heavy oak doors.
---
