- Chapter Five -
"Mrs. Woodrow asked about you Rory," said her grandmother, setting down her fork and smiling broadly. "She was very impressed by you at our last D.A.R. meeting." From the head of the table, her grandfather flipped a page in the newspaper he was reading.
Rory smiled at her grandmother and refocused on her food. The eggs benedict was doing little to settle her stomach. But her grandmother had insisted on a full meal so Rory had complied, pushing past the hangover.
At the Gilmore house, Sunday Breakfast was a grand affair, and had all the grandeur of a meal with the Queen.
"Anita, please bring in some more hollandaise sauce," he grandmother called out and Rory had to restrain from covering her ears. She really wished she were back in bed.
Perfect smile in place, her grandmother turned back to Rory.
"Did you enjoy yourself at the last meeting Rory?"
"Sure grandma."
"It wasn't too much of a bore for you, being cooped up with a bunch of silly, old ladies?" Rory could see exactly where this was heading.
"You're not old grandma and I had fun." With the practice of years, the words spilled out effortlessly.
"So, does that mean you'll be interested in hosting our next meeting? We're thinking of something along the lines of a Monte Carlo Night. Perhaps at the country club."
Despite how it sounded, Rory knew that it wasn't a question or a request.
Pushing the egg around her plate, she nodded her head. "Sure grandma, I'd love to."
"Excellent."
---
"Kirk, for the last time, I have no clue what hollandaise sauce is and even if I did, I wouldn't make it for you."
"Well what sauces do you carry?" Kirk questioned, head peeking from over a menu.
With a soft thud, Tristan placed a bottle of ketchup in front of Kirk. "Enjoy."
He'd been agitated the whole morning, and most of Saturday too, and Kirk was doing little to calm his frustration. Slipping off his apron, he went in search of his father.
He found him in the back storage closet, pulling out packages.
"Dad, the morning rush is pretty much done with. Do you mind if I run out for a minute?"
"Sure," his father put down the packages and answered. "You okay?"
"Yeah, yeah. I'm fine. I just need to clear my head for a bit," he threw out quickly, not needing his father to worry about his petty little problems.
Throwing a quick smile at Babette, Tristan rushed out the diner doors.
He headed straight for the park, one of his favorite haunts. About halfway there, someone walked up beside him and looped their arm through his.
"Hurry, pretend you're talking to me," Lorelai pleaded, throwing a quick glance across her shoulder.
"What—"
"Why yes Tristan, I miss the old Tom Cruise too," she cut in hurriedly, pulling him along at a steady pace.
"Lorelai, oh this is silly. I know you can hear me." Tristan recognized Taylor's voice as it wafted in from behind them.
"I don't believe it," her voice an octave higher, Lorelai continued. "Cocktail is my favorite Tom Cruise movie too!"
They crossed the street, Lorelai pulling him along, and a few minutes later, finally managed to lose Taylor.
When she was sure they'd left him behind, Lorelai slowed down her pace, a smile dancing across her features.
"You sure do come in handy, Tristan," she beamed at him, ecstatic that he'd helped her avoid Taylor.
He only frowned at her. "Cocktail? You couldn't have at least said Days of Thunder? Or Top Gun?"
"Pssh," she waved aside his complaint. "Cocktail was Tom at his finest. Did you not see those fancy moves with the glasses and the coolers and the lemon slices…" Lorelai rambled on and Tristan found himself laughing along.
Finally done with her rant, she stopped to drop by the post office.
"Thanks for your help, Cole Trickle," she smiled at him before disappearing into the building.
"You owe me," he called after her, continuing on towards the park.
---
She didn't know why it bothered her so much, why it sent her thoughts racing a mile a minute.
Maybe it had to do with the fact that she'd never been rejected before by anyone. Usually, she was the one doing the rejecting, the one in control. It irritated her to no end losing that control.
Frustrated, she picked up her keys and headed for her car. She threw out a quick goodbye to Robert and left the mansion. Her grandparents were off at some assembly.
Once on the road, she felt the tension easing, her thoughts settling. The hangover still raged against her temple, but she pushed past it.
---
He was sitting on a bench, brow furrowed in thought, when his cell phone rang. He fished it out of his jeans pocket and answered.
"Hello?"
"You're lucky I'm even calling you after last night," a soft voice crooned at the other end. "But I just can't seem to stay away, Tristan."
"Isabelle?"
"Forgotten me already?" she huffed, but he caught a note of amusement in her voice.
"How could anyone forget you, Isabelle," he found himself smiling, relaxing against the bench.
"You certainly seem to have."
He laughed out loud. "Look, I'm really sorry about the party. Something came up and I had to leave." He really was sorry for having deserted her but he doubted whether his absence had affected her much. After all, every guy at the party had seemed more than ready to take his place on the dance floor with her.
"A likely story," came her voice from the other end. "But you can make it up to me next weekend."
"Let me guess, another party?"
"Even better. A rave."
---
A maid let her in, taking her coat and shuffling away to stow it in a closet. She was there often enough for the maids to recognize who she was.
She moved out of the foyer and up the stairs, heading for his room.
He was still sleeping when she barged in, barely awake when she shifted aside his sheets and confused when she straddled him.
"Rory? What—" he began, but her lips on his blocked out the rest of his sentence. He responded automatically, rolling her onto her back, arching her body into his. The kiss was intense, her lips parting his abruptly, tongue sliding out to meet his. Obviously enjoying it, he kissed her back, arms tight around her waist.
After a few moments, he pulled back and looked at her. "Are you okay?"
"Just kiss me Jack," she smiled before pulling him back to her, arms racing to tangle behind his neck.
---
Monday morning, the class was nearly empty when he walked in and took his usual seat. He caught sight of her friends, but Rory was nowhere to be seen.
Something like disappointment flaring at the pit of his stomach, he took a seat, puling out his books and settling them on the tabletop.
Several more students filed in and took their seats. Annoyed with himself for acting like such and idiot, looking up expectantly every time someone walked in the door, he pulled on his headphones and tuned out the world. There was still ten minutes to go before the opening bell.
It was several minutes later, when someone slid the headphones down to his neck that he zoned back to reality.
"What's got you looking so miserable?" Isabelle crooned at his ear, arms lingering around at his shoulders.
He let out a laugh, turning in his chair to face her.
"I was going for the whole, broody, lone wolf thing."
"Riiiight," she extended the word, as if unsatisfied with his answer. "Anyways, as I was telling you last night…the rave is this Friday and I can pick you up at the same place.
"You sure you don't need me to pick you up?" he questioned.
"Depends on what kind of car you drive."
"Um…I drive my dad's truck?" he tried, not sure whether she was kidding or not.
"Hmm," she pondered his answer, "as long as you're sitting in there with me, I guess I can handle a…truck."
Tristan laughed internally at her matter of fact tone. He was never sure how to interpret Isabelle.
"Anyways, the rave is at a warehouse just outside Hartford," Isabelle carried on and Tristan pivoted in his seat to grab a pen and piece of paper. She started dictating the directions to her house from behind his shoulder.
From the corner of his eye, he caught movement to his left and his head rose up just as Rory was walking into the classroom.
She looked the same; just as beautiful as the last time he'd seen her. As if she'd overheard his thoughts, a few desks away from his own, her eyes wandered over to his.
He smiled at her but her features remained stone cold, eyes dark and lips set in a hard line.
For the briefest of moments, she paused at his desk, as if she had something to say. But quick as a flash, she was already walking away towards her own seat.
Several seconds later, when he turned back to Isabelle, he caught something in her eyes that was there for only a fragment of a second before a soft grin changed her features.
"Don't get lost okay, I really want to go to this party," she put in before throwing a quick nod in the direction of the doorway, where stood their teacher, and heading for her seat.
---
She was out of the classroom before he'd even packed his books, down the hall before he'd left the classroom.
She was absent from her usual table at lunch but at least for that hour, Isabelle and her friends managed to keep Rory out of his mind.
After school, Isabelle offered to give him a ride home, but he declined, pretending he had to stay after school for an assignment. The truth of the matter was that he was hoping to run into Rory.
For the rest of the day, she kept popping in and out of his thoughts and he was only too relieved when the bell rang at the end of the day. He wanted to find her and talk to her.
Grabbing his things, he headed for her locker, or at least the general area of her locker.
Catching a lucky break, he found her on her own, pulling out books.
"Rory," he said, coming to stand next to her.
She turned to look at him for half a second before turning back to her locker.
"Listen, about the other night—"
"What other night?" she threw over her shoulder, crouching down to pull out a stack of papers from the bottom of her locker.
"After the party…I just wanted—"
"Look, it was a stupid, drunken mistake and I'm sorry if I offended you or something," she interrupted again.
He wanted to retaliate, call her on her lie. Her tone, her refusal to make eye contact, everything alluded to it. But he didn't want to push her. Not after he'd been the one to pull away.
"It's fine. Don't worry about it," he replied, balling his fists in his pockets and walking away.
The rest of the week flowed out with Rory pretending that Tristan didn't exist, ignoring his smiles and greetings.
Friday afternoon, heading for his locker, Isabelle sauntered past him, turning once to smile at him and yell out "wear something hot."
Grinning, he packed his things into his bag and headed out the doors. He had a few minutes till the bus arrived so he took the walk towards the stop at a casual stroll, a few people he recognized greeting him with a nod or a smile.
He caught sight of Rory and her friends, heading for the parking lot. As usual, he smiled at them and Louise and Madeline, smiled back at him. And as usual, Rory's lips were set in a hard line, eyes shifting quickly away from his.
He didn't really concern himself with Paris. He was used to her responses by now.
Paris never smiled
---
"You're hot enough for the both of us," Tristan insisted, smiling at her pout and helping Isabelle into the truck. She wasn't impressed that he'd come to pick her up in a black t-shirt and jeans.
"And besides," he questioned, coming around the front of the truck and getting into the driver's seat, "what did you expect me to come in? A mesh top and leather pants?"
"A girl can dream, can't she?" she countered, crossing her legs seductively and moving to rest her head against his right shoulder. Not that she needed any more help in that department. Her low-cut red top and leather pants left little to the imagination.
Clearing his throat in an attempt to settle his thoughts, Tristan shifted gears and put his focus back on the road.
The ride to the field took less than a half hour and even before they came in view of the actual party, the sound of it all wafted up to meet them.
Everything was happening at the base of a valley so only a fraction of the strobe lights and flashing bulbs reached the spot where they were parked. But the music was loud and pulsing, the notes hanging in the air hypnotically.
Tristan helped Isabelle out of the truck, drifting to the music. The sound system was amazing and the DJ even better.
"Tristan?" Isabelle sang his name as they reached the edge.
"Yeah," he replied, turning to her.
"You wouldn't mind giving me lift would you?" she beamed at him, lips set in a pout.
The hill wasn't altogether steep but, in her five-inch heels, there was no way she was going to make it all the way down in one piece.
Grinning, he motioned for her to get on his back before making his way down the slope. She snuggled into him, resting her head against his own.
"There really is no better way to travel," she laughed against his ear as they reached the bottom of the hill. But instead of letting her down, he carried her all the way to the center of the excitement, their laughter mixing with the noise and chaos around them.
---
Doing E at a rave; how predictable she'd become. Lying back against the couch, she waited for it to kick in. Fingers brushed against her cheek, but she ignored it, hoping the person would go away. When they continued to move up and down however, pausing at the hollow beneath her right eye, she jolted awake.
A pair of serene eyes smiled down at her, clearly lost in the same daze she was hoping to achieve. A petite woman, still in the process of retrieving her hand, smiled down at her. Clad in a metallic silver dress and sporting a halo of neon pink tubing, she could have been some kind of ethereal creature.
"You have beautiful skin," the angel called to her before her companion led her away.
Trying to regain her bearings, she closed her eyes again, snuggling up to the side of the couch. The music pounded in her ears, reverberating in her chest. Drowning in the noise felt wonderful and suffocating at the same time, and she brought her hands up to her face, shielding her eyes from the lights that overwhelmed her even through closed lids. Thoughts racing, she wondered where her friends were. Maddie and Louise had come with her but she'd lost track of them a while back. It didn't really matter. They'd call her cell if they needed anything.
"Does the pretty girl want to dance?" she caught Jack's voice through the thunderous music and found her self being lifted off the couch.
She would have objected but his arms around her felt comforting and solid, and she leaned into him, locking her arms around his neck. Beneath her touch, his skin was warm and she let her fingers linger at his nape, drawing pictures onto the exposed skin.
He let out that soft, guttural noise she loved and pulled her closer, head dipping to her hair. She spun around in his arms and dragged her fingers up and down his neck, swaying along to the music.
---
He'd played at some wild parties, but this was something he'd never experienced.
The first thing to hit him was the heat wave, not surprising considering that crammed into one space were thousands of people. He'd somewhat acclimatized to the music on the walk in, but when combined with the light show, he was on sensory overload.
The warehouse itself was dark and massive, extending off from the main section into several smaller areas. There was only one official level to the building but several metal staircases snaked their way up the walls, giving way to recesses and platforms along the upper section of the building. Elevated above the crowd in one of these recesses was the DJ, his equipment and massive stereos standing sentinel around him. Out of habit, he squinted his eyes and tried to decipher the man's face. But he was too far away for Tristan to make out any distinct features and the lighting did little to help him.
Projectors set up along beams that crisscrossed the roof displayed images against screens and walls, some spinning and twirling in time with the music. Every few minutes, green lasers panned the crowd from the opposite corners of the building, working with the roar of the music to disorient the senses.
Someone slipped a hand around his waist and he turned just in time to be embraced around the middle by a woman sporting neon pink hair cropped just below her jaw line. Before he could react, she had already pulled away, telling him to keep well hydrated.
"Trying to make me jealous?" Isabelle squeezed his hand and smirked, yelling over the music.
"Is it my fault that I'm so irresistible?" he pulled her in and spoke against her ear, and was rewarded with a silvery laugh.
"We are what we are," she put in before leading him towards the center of the excitement.
It was like fighting the tide, weaving their way through the throngs of people bobbing up and down, most too inebriated to move aside or care. He moved ahead so that he was at the lead, trying to shield Isabelle from some of the more unruly partiers.
Litter crunched beneath his feet and beads of sweat raced along his spine but he was too caught up to really care. Having suitably found the very heart of the party, Isabelle pulled him into dance and he obliged willingly, arms moving out to rest along her hips.
The strobe lights kicked in and the DJ weaved into a different song, faster and more intense and he felt the music echoing through him at an even stronger pace. It felt heavier and more solid against his chest, and he let his mind wander, needing to get lost in it.
Isabelle had her back to him, hands held above her head and she moved into him, grinding her body into his. He tried to concentrate on her but something had caught his attention. He'd been absentmindedly following the laser trails when his eyes had landed on her.
Barely three feet away stood Rory with her boyfriend, the couple swaying to the music just as he and Isabelle were. He caught snatches of her through the people that stood between them and she looked as beautiful as always. Her eyes were shut, lashes fanned out across her porcelain skin. Under the iridescent lights, it had an unearthly glow to it and he was pulled in.
A sudden gesture on her part, fingers flashing to squeeze the bridge of her nose, quickly erased the grin that had been spreading across his face. He watched as she peeled away from her boyfriend, and stalked off towards one of the side rooms, easily weaving through the crowd. Two girls were quick to take her place, one in front and one behind Jack. For a second, he seemed to hesitate and Tristan caught that torn look in his eyes. However, as one of the girls slipped her hand beneath his shirt, it quickly melted away.
Rory was completely out of sight when Tristan turned back to look for her. He froze on the spot and looked down at Isabelle. Her eyes too were closed and she seemed completely caught up in the music.
He contemplated whether he should disturb her but as Rory's pained expression flashed across his eyes, he bent low to whisper against Isabelle's ear.
"I'm going to go grab a bottle of water. You want one?"
She turned to face him, bringing her arms down to lock around his waist.
"Sure," she nodded, an odd look in her eyes. He grinned at her before untangling himself from her and heading for the sectioned off space Rory had disappeared into.
Half way there, he stopped as a pang of guilt erupted at his temple and he turned back to check on Isabelle. He had no reason to worry. Some guy had already taken his place.
---
Even in the smaller areas, the crowd was thick and that suffocating feeling pulled at her lungs. Her temple throbbed, and the room spun about her. For a split second, weaving through the masses, the pain went away. The Ecstasy had finally kicked in. Closing her eyes, she let the current pull her along for a while, content to stay in this elevated state forever.
Everything felt lighter, including her thoughts and dreads, and lost in the flashes of colour and thunderous music, she bobbed up and down in place, just another poor soul in the crowd. Arms twisted out to touch her neck, her back, move down to her hips, but she didn't have the strength to move away. Besides, she really wasn't in the mindset to care.
She felt great, light as a feather in a windstorm. No responsibilities to think of, no reasons to be sensible. She felt free. But when she reopened her eyes, the pain flared back and she nearly toppled over. Nearly toppled because lost in the throng of writhing bodies, she had no room to fall.
Someone took her hand, strong fingers securing around her wrist, and pulled her further into the room, away from the center of chaos. She didn't have the energy to protest.
---
