Chapter 6: Check This Hand, Cause I'm Marvelous
Author's Note: Fuck, shit, damn, hell, it has been a long fucking time since I've been around these parts. I think my fan fiction virginity grew back in that time. My extended absence can only be blamed on alcohol. I've been drunk for almost two years. I'm that badass. Hemingway actually sent me a letter, from the grave, commending me on my ability to be more fucked up than Zelda Fitzgerald back in their days when they kicked it in Paris. Ah, just kidding! Writing fan fiction just seems lame now. I know, blasphemy! It's like I'm dick slapping all of you readers by saying that. And I'm sorry. But this just isn't my format anymore. I still write about fucked up people, just in a less Gossip Girl, more realist, life sucks but we don't all know Oscar De La Renta, way. But, I've had this chapter hidden away for awhile, working on it de temps en temps and tonight, I was like, fuck it, I'm going to post this teaser. And really, that's what this chapter is. It wraps up nothing. I end it on a cliffhanger. And being a total whore, I made this chapter quite a bit shorter than others. But while I was editing this, I chuckled quite a bit. Yes, I'm into myself enough to admit I entertained myself. So after writing my autobiography of an author's note, I don't know if I should ask for a welcome back party or for you to accept my apology for being such a terrible fan fiction whore. Tell me in your comments what you think.
Disclaimer: I have a complicated relationship with Lady Gaga (God, wouldn't that be an awesome facebook thing? Someone join facebook as Lady Gaga, friend me and let's get complicated together). I don't really like her but I understand her appeal and think she's sort of a genius. I hate that she is a genius but she's a genius for this time. But in ten years, she's going to suck. She's going to suck so hard that when her song comes on, you'll remember all those times you loved it and then remember you had to be drunk to love Lady Gaga, and then you'll get drunk. But this lyric is too awesome to not use as a title for this materialistic story. So yeah. If you moved to the mountains and grew a beard and wrote folk songs about your latest break up, this title comes from Poker Face. Check out Jude Law's dramatic reading of the lyrics. It makes my panties drop.
And now, on to the story.
In a world where you had champagne for breakfast and wore True Religion jeans, you became a woman not when you were, finally, properly fucked (you're allowed to discount that disappointing, awkward, unnaturally tangled first time) but when you were presented into society in that tragically ordinary Oscar De La Renta white gown.
Crème wasn't allowed. Off-white was for those horrendous knock offs you'd find under the pier in Jersey. If you wanted to be a Hartford debutante, it required an Oscar original, white gloves and a Prince Charming to waltz with.
And fuck in the suite your parents owned upstairs.
Rory should have been focused on getting her Oscar Grecian Gown fitted by Mr. De La Renta himself. She shouldn't have been wallowing in Mia Farrow's Black and White Oscar dress from Truman Capote's 1966 Black and White party, watching My Fair Lady.
One, you didn't wallow in a 3,000 dollar dress Mia Farrow wore to the Black and White ball, and two, you didn't wallow, especially when you had the most perfect dress sitting in your closet.
Tomorrow was supposed to be the happiest day of her life. She was finally becoming a debutante. Her boyfriend looked like Daniel Craig in a tux. She'd ruined E's dress. What was there to be sad about?
Oh yeah, kissing James Dean. The James Dean who maybe kind of sort of loved her, if you believed the words that exited his perfect lips.
Love was such a ridiculous, wasted emotion that only happened in Paris when you were drunk off the Eiffel Tower and a wine from Cotes-de-Bourg.
Rory hated Paris, thought Cotes-de-Bourg wine was a thing that only the country club crowd drank to wash down their Xanax and didn't want to fall in love. Or be in love.
She hated being around people who were in love. That was why she treated Logan like shit and vice versa.
Take notes, Jess!
Maybe she should just fuck the pool boy, Javier. She'd spent the summer lying by the pool in her Norma Kamali red bathing suit pretending to understand his adorable Spanish accent. They'd fooled around in the pool house the day after Rory found out about Logan's little private going away party for E. It was hot and all, but he drove a Volvo and went to community college, so no matter how hot it was when he taught her to tango, he wasn't Rory Gilmore worthy.
But, she was bored. Her Mia Farrow dress was better to look at than to wear, and all the tension Jess had built up in her was just begging to be put to good use.
And Javier looked really good with his shirt off.
It also helped that E had wanted him, and he'd said no to the toxic vagina and blonde hair. No! He was the only hot boy in Hartford who hadn't risked his life for a little pussy.
And did we mention he had a Spanish accent? And knew how to tango? And rolled his tongue in this oh so perfect way…
Oh summer flings. So hot. So dirty. But so out of style in the fall.
To fuck or not to fuck the Spanish pool boy, that was the question.
But before Rory had time to weigh the pros and cons of doing under water ballet with Javier (pros: he was hot. Con: he was poor. Ah, hot versus poor. It was like the historic battle of good versus evil, except superficial. And it brings to mind a certain Kanye West song, but it was important for your man to have money for all that work you were going to need) she heard a knock on her door.
"Go away." Bored with her pathetic state, she paused My Fair Lady.
As much as she loved Audrey Hepburn, sometimes, she wished she'd shut the fuck up. Who would ever be happy enough to dance all night? Happiness was ridiculously large chocolate covered strawberries and a warm gun.
Um, even robots fall in love, Rory.
"Miss Rory…" Greta hid herself behind the door, just in case Rory decided to throw that vase of roses Logan had sent her. To apologize. For not fucking her.
Rory hated roses.
"I told you not to bother me while I was wallowing, Greta." Oh to be young and full of self-pity.
"But Miss Rory, it is Master Jess. He says it is urgent." As in his pants are constricting his ability to do anything and he needs a bit of assistance, urgent?
"Tell him to fuck off and die." There was one of those phrases you wished you could find on a Hallmark card.
"I'd rather not."
"Greta, you let him in the house?" Well, it'd be rude to not invite your Romeo in for tea, Rory!
"I'll take it from here, Greta." Jess gave Greta that disturbing, 'I'm about to deflower your dear, sweet, Rory' smirk of his.
"I'm telling my mother and she will have you deported back to Russia!" Bad move, Gilmore. Hell hath no fury like a Russian maid scorned. Your cashmere sweaters will never be soft again. And lock your jewelry case. Russians love a side of diamonds with their vodka.
When Jess locked the door, Rory lost it. She remembered that dream she had the other night. They were in the library. She was in a green dress. Yes, she had the obligatory Atonement fantasy every girl in the world was having at this very moment. Mock her later for her lack of originality. But right now all she wanted to do was grab him and ki…kill the motherfucker.
"No, Greta, I didn't mean it. Please, come back. Please."
He somehow, in the span of a second, was millimeters from her lips, leaning over her in his disgusting, rapist sort of way. "You don't trust me?" he breathed.
She pushed him away. She was Rory Hayden Gilmore. She was not going to let Jess Mariano get under her skin. Or her La Perla underwear. "I don't trust your dick."
"I think it is more likely you'll violate me with your tongue."
Her eyes rolled into the back of her head. But not for the reason Jess was hoping. "You wish."
He slid his hands into his pockets and leaned against the wall. If he lit a cigarette, he'd look just like Marlon Brando. And then, Rory's panties would be forced to come off. "I have a little video from our tryst in the elevator to prove it."
She set up, tucking her hair behind her ears. All of sudden, she had sprung into Emily Gilmore mode. Mentally, she was already planning where to dump his body. "Are you blackmailing me?"
"No. I just wanted it as a memento." Jess eyed her outfit but not in his normal violating sort of way. "You look ridiculous."
"And you say you love me." Actually, he said 'yeah.' It was too soon to say 'I love you.' There hadn't been enough suffering. All seventeen-year-olds had to pretend to be tragic at some point in their courtship. Rory and Jess were no different, if you forgot that they partied in the Hamptons and ruined people's lives to burn calories.
"It was a slip of the tongue."
"Oh." Is that disappointment we heard in Miss Gilmore's voice? Was she in love with Jess Mariano, the same boy she swore to hate on countless occasions? It couldn't be, could it?
"You didn't really think I loved you, did I?"
Any sign of disappointment was gone. Any sign of anything was gone, actually. She really was ready to take over Emily's throne as the ice queen of Hartford. "No."
"Because people like us are incapable of love."
"Stop comparing us."
He lit a cigarette, because he knew she'd either rip his cardigan off or throw her vase of roses at him. Either way, he came out on top (even though he preferred the idea of her straddling him). "But I'm quite a fan of the idea of fucking you. In your bed, by the way."
"Why are you here?"
"I thought I made that clear."
"I'm not fucking you in my bed. My sheets are far too expensive." Jess' dick was as lethal as E's vagina. A Burberry scarf you found at Goodwill might be the only thing worthy of his dick, so either buy your Egyptian cotton from Target or Rory would die tighter than Queen Elizabeth.
Come on, we all know if Jess doesn't deflower her, no one will. It takes a King to dethrone a Queen. The Court Jester just won't do.
It.
As we've seen.
"Then how about against the wall?" Poor, poor Greta. Someone needed to warn her of the fluids she would come in contact with next time she cleaned Miss Rory's room.
She bit her tongue. He did that to her. He made her forget that she'd washed her hair. He made her lose the ability to eat (even though it went against Emily's debutante diet to eat anything but almonds and Evian). He made her wallow. Wallowing led to mass consumption of Chunky Monkey, which totally went against the requirements of wearing an Oscar De La Renta dress.
Mia Farrow weighed seventy-pounds. Rory had a lot of unnecessary weight that no one appreciated. She might be forced to break a rib or two to fit into her dress. Whatever. She was born to suffer for fashion.
Jess made her hate herself, basically. "Did you come here for any reason besides being a complete asshole?"
His pants felt a bit tighter than they had this morning. It was becoming increasingly hard for him to control his need to fuck her. "Is Logan your escort for your little coming out into society?"
"I didn't know you were capable of being straight to the point."
"When I want someone…" He took a step, his eyes focused on her collarbones. He wanted to run his tongue along…well really, anywhere on her body. He wasn't picky.
She put up her hand. This was not happening. This could not happen. "Don't finish that sentence. I'm not going to ask you to be my escort."
"Why not?"
"The short or the long version? Simply, you disgust me. And I doubt you'll look half as good as Logan will in a tux."
James Dean versus Daniel Craig. Oh, we can't choose. Our vaginas won't let us! How can we expect Rory to decide?
"You evaded my question."
Her face fell. She couldn't convince him, her supposed boyfriend, to fuck her. Why would she expect him to put on white gloves for her? Those white gloves were more than just an overly gay gesture. With those gloves, he was promising Tiffany's, 2.5 kids, a golden retriever, and ten years of wedded bliss, if you forgot that one of them would become an alcoholic, he'd keep a mistress on the side that enjoyed dick more than Chanel (Louise, maybe?) and Rory would medicate in the best way possible: Jess Mariano's dick. "That's because I don't know."
"Then let me take you. As friends."
"Friends?" Let us echo her statement: friends? Friends don't let friends take each other's clothes off until they've emptied a bottle of Grey Goose.
"Friends."
"You'd have my dress off before we even made it down the steps."
Her coming out would definitely be memorable. And chilly.
"Only if you helped me with the first few buttons."
"Why are you being nice?' She considered this nice? Oh, we forgot: she hates nice people.
"Call it an apology for kissing you in the elevator. And for saying 'yeah' to your question in my bedroom." He brushed his needed-to-be-cut-because-he-looked-like-a-cross-between-Wolverine-and-an-emo-kid hair out of his face. If he wasn't so him he'd be disqualified as a possible escort for the hair alone.
But he smelled like London and evil, Rory's favorite scent.
She perked up. Jess Mariano did not apologize. Ever. "There would be rules."
"Such as?"
"No touching. No getting me drunk. No taking me back to your father's suite. And no fucking."
It'd be clichéd to be deflowered after you came out, anyway. Rory Gilmore was many things but she wasn't a cliché.
"Why do you assume I have control over the last thing?"
"I don't loathe you entirely but you're Jess Mariano. Date rape seems like something you'd enjoy."
"Now you hurt my feelings."
"You don't have feelings."
"And neither do you."
"So maybe we're meant to be best friends."
"I wouldn't go that far. If you're my best friend, I can't think about you when I…" His eyes traveled to her perfectly perfect cleavage. It was just sitting there, waiting for someone.
But who?
"If we're friends you can't do that. So stop it. I'm not letting you escort me if you say things like that." Because then she'll do things, like him.
"I feel like we should shake on this." Jess Mariano sure did like deals that involved Rory Gilmore and fucking.
She scrunched up her face like she'd just seen her mother wearing last year's Diane Von Furstenberg wrap dress. Perish the thought of wearing something from the 09 collection! "I'd rather not."
"Why? Afraid you might jump me in my school boy uniform?"
"No. I just don't know who you've had that hand in today." She gave him that little smile of hers that said 'get the fuck out.'
She had such polite facial expressions.
But again, friends? Seriously? This had to be the dumbest idea we've ever heard. You can't tongue fuck in an elevator one day and then have slumber parties, that involve both parties being fully clothed, the next.
And what about Javier?
Riddle me this: what's blonde, slutty and in need of being vaccinated?
Given up? Want another hint?
Oh I'll stop being such a tease and get to the good stuff.
This blow up doll was currently having tea with Hartford's favorite ice queen.
What could these two bitches have to discuss besides New York Fashion week and the fit of E's Oscar original?
Oh yes, we forgot about the person they share, who was currently ringing her grandmother's doorbell: Miss Rory.
This is far too delicious to even comprehend.
Rory wasn't one to wait for the maids. She preferred barging in, a la Miranda Priestley, and leaving her Lorick cape draped over a piece of furniture, just to piss her grandmother off.
If she were in a really good mood, she'd pull out her pack of cigarettes during tea.
"Miss Rory! Miss Rory!" Ugh. Rory hated her grandmother's incompetent (weren't they all? Didn't the word maid reek of incompetence?) Swedish maid. She thought she would be better suited as a milkmaid.
Or playing a milkmaid for an escort service.
Rory glanced over the shoulder of her Nanette Lepore Ingénue strapless dress. It was just something she'd thrown on with a pair of leggings.
Thank god she wasn't still walking around in that Mia Farrow gown all zombie!Rory like. Emily would have her committed.
"Heidi, stop following me!"
"But Miss Rory, your grandmother…"
"Invited me over for tea."
"But an unexpected visitor stopped by and she told me to…"
She stopped, almost falling out of her Pedro Garcia Noa pumps. Damn her personal shopper. She always bought a size too big. Oh well. She'd be fired later. "Name one person that is more important to my grandmother than me."
"Oh Miss Rory, this person isn't more important, per say. It's just, we all know…"
"Is Jess Mariano having tea with my grandmother?"
"Certainly not. Mrs. Gilmore finds him to be a vile human being!"
"Grandma always had terrible taste in men," she muttered, without realizing what she'd just admitted.
"What was that, Miss Rory?"
"Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Now why can't I go see my grandmother, Heidi?"
"It's Miss Rigby."
"My grandmother would never have tea with someone whose vagina is used as a playground by every man in Hartford."
"She just showed up. She was not invited."
"Obviously."
"Do you need a moment?"
"Yes!" She screeched, slamming her heels into the mahogany.
She just needed a moment. That was all. She certainly wasn't going to have a meltdown.
It was not like a little freak out wasn't normal for society girls. It's hard to juggle looking fabulous, kissing the right boy and not falling in love with narcissistic assholes that are completely wrong for you.
The right accessory for Rory Gilmore wasn't the boy who complimented her Fendi bag, unfortunately. The longer she denied it, the more therapy she was going to need.
She rummaged through her grandmother's medicine cabinet. She was Hartford's Judy Garland. There had to be an upper somewhere in her stash.
Society kids and their need to mix prescription drugs and cocaine. Tsk tsk.
She popped a Quaalude. It'd have to do.
"You don't love Jess Mariano," she said into the mirror. Who was she trying to convince? "You can't love Jess Mariano."
E placed her hand on top of Emily's. "I've always thought of you as the grandmother I never had. You were so good to me after Pop-Pop died."
"Your Pop-Pop was…"
"A terrible man who drank too much and hated me for not being a boy. He also didn't understand the color pink."
"Excuse me?"
"He said it was an extravagant waste of coloring that reminded him of Pepto-Bismol. I think it went along with his distaste for all things feminine. My therapist said he was a repressed transsexual."
"Oh my."
"But never mind that. I didn't come here to share tea and gossip about Mrs. Mariano."
"Such a whore."
"Just like her son."
"Oh you're such a glorious bitch!"
"Coming from you, that means so much," she paused. Another Oscar worthy performance, perhaps? Watch out, Kate Winslet! "You're everything I aspire to be."
"Stop!"
"I'm serious. You're the epitome of what a Hartford woman should be. I've always envied Rory for having you as a grandmother."
"She doesn't seem to appreciate me very much."
"Well, she has been hanging out with some unsavory characters as of late."
"Who?"
"I hate to be a little snitch…"
"Her mother ended up pregnant at sixteen because of that awful Hayden boy! I must know!"
"It's Jess Mariano. Apparently, Headmaster Charleston found them fornicating in the library."
"What!" Those Gilmore women sure do know how to screech.
"Oh dear, have I said too much? I've said too much. I better go. Thank you for the tea, Emily. And when you see Rory, don't be too critical. There was a time when I was swayed by the Mariano charm."
"This can't be true. She's with Logan. She is going to marry Logan. There must be some kind of mistake."
"Charleston found her underwear in a copy of Anna Karenina. No one else has read that book at Chilton, aside from Jess Mariano."
"This all makes sense now. At Lorelai's party, the sloth was lurking. And then Rory rushed to her room in tears. Oh god, what if she's pregnant?"
"At least their children will be literate. And there are excellent places you can send her in France when she starts to show."
"Marc Jacobs doesn't make maternity clothes!"
"Maybe he'll make an exception for the Gilmore's."
"I need a gin and tonic. Heidi! Heidi!"
Fifteen seconds later, Heidi was on the patio with the drink in hand. Fifteen seconds was not acceptable when the crisis required alcohol.
"Heidi, I could have you deported."
"I'm a citizen, Mrs. Gilmore."
"It takes fifteen seconds to make a gin and tonic? Are you somewhat impaired and decided not to share that bit of information with your employer?"
"I've been practicing…"
"You pour as you move, Heidi! We've been over this. And stop slouching. I pay you to not slouch."
"Yes, Mrs. Gilmore."
"Stop standing there like a drooling fool and hand me my drink."
"Its just…may I speak with you in private?"
"Miss Rigby's breeding is far superior to yours. Didn't you grow up in a field playing with bunnies and braiding hair?"
"Your granddaughter is here."
"Well send her out. Miss Rigby and her are the greatest of friends."
"I don't think…"
"I didn't hire you to think."
E knew she had three seconds before Rory appeared and threw a fit, wasting crumpets and tearing her Milly dress with the jam knife. It was time for E to disappear.
"Oh Emily, I'm afraid Rory and I had a falling out over her current lifestyle. I just can't be around people like that anymore. Mommy wouldn't approve. I think it would be best if you confronted her without me here. She might try to kill me."
"Don't be silly; Rory reminds everyone of Bambi." With fangs and heels and a penchant for being evil. That Bambi.
"Well then, we must think about the baby."
In one hand was a glass that had a splash of orange juice with half a bottle of Prosecco. In the other hand was a gun. No! We're just kidding. Rory wished she had a gun, but in the words of the queen "Tea wasn't meant to be a bloody affair!"
"Grandma, you didn't tell me you had invited E over for tea." It appeared Rory had opted to act like a lady. This was good. Her grandmother wouldn't approve of her depraved hedonism.
But let's be honest; didn't everyone in high society practice depraved hedonism? Wasn't it all about getting off, no matter what?
"Why do you insist on calling her by her first initial? Have I taught you nothing? Her name is Elizabeth."
"I never thought Elizabeth suited her that well. Far too virginal."
"Oh Rory, you always had your mother's wit."
"And you inherited your mother's ability to turn every man in Hartford into a blithering fool. Tell me, have you and your mother fucked the same man yet because that would just be too precious."
"Rory Hayden Gilmore! What has gotten into you?"
"Jess Mariano. You better get her checked out. Last I heard he has genital herpes. I hear he doesn't' tell girls unless it flares up."
Rory forced a smile. "Grandma, don't you think Heidi should see the whore out? It is our teatime. And don't you have a sex addiction recovery meeting to attend, E?"
"Don't throw stones, Gilmore. Isn't your mother a recovering alcoholic?"
"Only because of my father's need to give everything that walked by his limo a ride."
"This is highly inappropriate conversation, ladies."
E ignored Emily. "Like mother, like daughter."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"You and your mother are unable to keep a man faithful. Wonder why that is? Emily has trained Richard like a Labrador."
Heidi rushed in with E's Michael Kors wool coat, throwing it over the blonde's face.
She saved her from being doused in peppermint tea and Prosecco, which was a shame, because everyone wanted to know if E would melt.
For some reason, Heidi liked Rory. Was it even possible to like a self made bitch that verbally assaulted anyone who couldn't pronounce Balenciaga correctly? Maybe Heidi and Rory could form a bond of master bitch and protégé!
"Grandma, how could you let her in the house?"
"I didn't know you two were no longer friends."
"It's all over the internet!"
"And what is this nonsense Elizabeth tells me about you and Jess Mariano fornicating in the library? And let me remind you, that is the library you begged your grandfather to pay for. Did he buy you a fornication library?"
For Jess Mariano, everything was made for fornication. When you took a tour of Chilton now, you had two options: the historical 'this school was founded in 1898 by a poor white man with a dream' route or the 'where Jess Mariano has fucked' edition. Both were equally educational. The only difference: it was recommended that you wear plastic gloves for the latter.
"She's delusional. All the coke she did is finally catching up with her."
"So you're not pregnant?"
"Child birth is vile."
And it leaves stretch marks! Ew! Bikini season was officially closed forever after you gave birth. There was also that nonsense about no cocktails for nine months.
"Because we'd pay to have you fixed."
"I'm not a poodle."
"Yes, but if you couldn't control yourself around that boy…"
"But you'd be fine if Logan impregnated me?"
"Since you'll be married at some point, it wouldn't be as upsetting."
It would upset evolution.
"I'm not marrying Logan!"
"Oh don't be ridiculous. Jess Mariano will inherit Jimmy's business when he dies and squander all the money on booze and women with questionable morals."
"Logan is no better."
"The Huntzberger name will do wonders for your social status, dear."
Emily couldn't let her granddaughter's brief fling with insanity make its debut into society tonight. She had kept Lorelai's alcoholism, brief stint in rehab when Rory was still shaking her Tiffany's silver rattle, and her own love of Vicodin away from those vultures. Her granddaughter would not ruin all of that damage control by being stupid like her mother was. And besides, she would lose that most coveted invite to the Huntzberger Christmas party if Rory started dating that Mariano boy, who Emily was sure had a strand of syphilis that would ravage her perfect, seventeen-year old body.
And the Mariano Christmas party consisted of Jess entertaining three foreign exchange sluts in the pool-house with the sounds of Bing Crosby and his dick. It was a very private affair that Rory would certainly not be attending. Ever.
"Social status? That's all I am to you? Social status?" Rory screeched.
"Rory, dear, you know how important it is to keep your name out of the papers in Hartford. Your mother doesn't understand how all this works. I'm merely protecting you," she reminded her.
"By forcing me to be with someone I don't love?"
Love was relative, no? Who really marries someone for love nowadays? Elizabeth Taylor should be our role model, not our 'don't turn out like her' example.
"You'll learn to love him."
"Before or after he cheats on me, again?" Rory became ice cold. "I'm not feeling like tea today, grandmother. I'll see you tonight at the coming out, I suppose." A wicked smile spread across her flawless face. "Jess Mariano has agreed to be my escort."
She didn't wait for Emily to have a classic Gilmore meltdown. She could hear her screaming for Richard, which meant in three seconds he would exit his office, scotch in hand, ready to do some sort of damage control.
Rory didn't care. Tonight was no longer her coming out. Tonight was all about ruining the Gilmore name. And if she had to fuck Jess Mariano to complete the destruction, oh fucking well.
Rory pulled out her phone. "I need your help, Mariano."
"I thought we promised to just be friends."
She rolled her eyes. "Not in that department. I've decided to take down the Gilmore's."
"You are a Gilmore."
"My grandmother sees me as a chess piece. I'm sick of being moved around a metaphorical board by her. My whole life was planned out for me before I even knew what Gucci was. Logan, Chilton, Yale. It was all the great Gilmore plan. And a few days ago, I was fine with that. I was fine with being a pawn. But not anymore. And I need your help."
"You know I'm always up for a good game of ruin your chances at a trust fund."
"That's why they call you the King."
"Actually, that's what I require girls to say when I make them come."
"Focus, Mariano. My grandmother hates you."
"It must run in the family."
She ignored him. "The Gilmore's worst fear is that I fall in love with you."
"I don't normally agree to plans that involve the word love…"
"Don't worry, Mariano. I'm not the kind of girl that falls in love."
"You finally admit it."
"Just act like the idea of us being together is not completely disturbing. Not that it isn't. Because it is. We would never work out."
"Why are you reminding me?"
"I just thought I should make it clear before we go through with this that this in no way opens the door for us to be a thing. I don't want to be a thing with you."
"And what makes you think I'm entertaining the idea of being a thing with you?"
"I don't think that. I just…"
"Maybe you're saying it for your benefit, Freckles."
"I know what I want."
"And what is that?"
"Not you."
He smirked. "And exactly how far do you want to take this charade?"
"How ever far it needs to go."
"No limits? No rules? Where is the fun in that?"
"This is your one chance to do whatever you want to me and you're complaining?"
"You know I like the chase."
"Well after tonight, you can continue to chase me."
"Oh Gilmore, you really know how to get a guy going." He paused. "I have one request for the night."
"What?"
"Don't wear anything under your Oscar dress."
"That's not ladylike," she teased.
"I'll have to teach you some manners then, I suppose. My limo in front of the Met at 8?"
"I'll bring the champagne."
"I'll bring my dick."
"Such a gentleman."
"I'm your Carey Grant. Stop denying it. When you touch yourself, who do you think about?"
"Hemingway." And with that literary jest, she hung up.
"Miss Rory, you look lovely."
Rory applied her strawberry lip-gloss. Jess' favorite. "Thank you, Greta." When Greta didn't immediately exit, Rory knew something was up. "What is it, Greta?"
"It's Mr. Jess. I know you find him to be vile and you're in love with Mr. Logan, but the way he looks at you, well, I think Mr. Jess is in love with you."
"The way he looks at me? What does that mean?"
"At your mother's party. He looked bored with everyone else in the room. But when you came his way, he lit up."
She didn't miss a beat. "That's called an erection."
"And I see it with you too, Miss Rory. You're different around him."
"Stop it, Greta."
"You shouldn't listen to your grandmother anymore. You don't want to end up like her."
"And my mother is so much better? All she has is her vodka to keep her happy."
"You could have Mr. Jess."
"I don't want him."
"It's weird, Miss Rory, to go around pretending you don't want the one person that makes you happy."
"He doesn't make me happy." When Greta didn't say anything, Rory lost it. "He doesn't! God Greta, you know nothing about this world or what it takes to be me. I have to be perfect every fucking day. My headband can never be askew. I have to be seen with the right people. Drink the right martini. Wear this year's Chanel. I don't have time to slum around with people like Jess Mariano. And even if I did love him, which I don't, he doesn't love me."
"How do you know?"
She wanted to cry. "He said so."
"Oh Miss Rory, he didn't mean it."
"Please, don't pity me, Greta. Now could you hand me my headband and leave me alone?"
She stared into the mirror, placing the Jennifer Behr Rosette headband she'd picked up on a whim from Saks on her head, a lavish accessory for her effortlessly pulled back locks. She looked perfect. Even her messy bun was the type of mess that seemed intentional. Her eyelashes were swept with two strokes of Dior.
"You are perfect," she said to no one. And then the tears started. But who were these tears for? The boy she didn't love?
"You are perfect and he doesn't want you." And in true Gilmore fashion, all emotion immediately disappeared. Tonight was her coming out. She could cry later. There was champagne to drink and crotches to grab.
"You look perfect." Of course she did. She was a Gilmore. You could throw her in a trash bag and she'd look marvelous. But having a hot boy compliment you was always nice.
Rory smiled. "I do believe that's the nicest thing you've ever said to me, Mariano."
"Did I not compliment your lips?" He moved closer to her in the limo, close enough to whisper in her ear. "They're my favorite thing about you." He ran his finger down her arm. "Correction: they're my favorite thing about you I've gotten to know, personally."
She scooted away from him. "You're drunk."
"Only a little."
She shook her head. "This isn't how this night was supposed to go."
He sighed. He was annoyed with this game, because in some weird, Jess Mariano logic, he thought he'd gotten the girl. "Let me guess. Logan was supposed to ride in on a white horse with a thousand yellow daises. And as you descended the stairs of the Gilmore mansion, Moon River begins to play."
"And instead I'm in the back of a limo with you."
"Dreams do come true," he smarted, moving away from her.
She looked at him. "Are you upset?"
"Why would I be upset that Gilmore wishes it was Logan in this limo and not me?"
"You don't even like me. You said earlier today you didn't love me."
"I don't."
"Then what's with the attitude?"
"I'm bored with this game. Are we going to fuck or not?"
"Is that the only reason you asked to be my escort?"
He took a sip of his scotch. "You're just like all the others."
"I thought…" she trailed off.
"That I cared about you? That after tonight things between us would be different? You told me on the phone we would never become a thing. You said it, Gilmore."
"I don't know what's going on."
"Fuck if I understand this situation."
"Why are we acting like this? This isn't us. We like games. We like ruining people's lives. We care about no one but ourselves."
"Then fuck me."
"What?"
"I care about myself, which means I care about getting laid. Fuck me."
"You can't be serious."
"Did you think your first time was going to be special? That there would be candles and fireworks and some weepy love song playing right when you were about to cum? Did you think it'd be with someone you loved?"
"Why are you doing this?"
"What?"
"Acting this way."
"Because I can't do this anymore."
"Do what?"
"Pretend."
"What are you talking about?"
"I don't know."
"No! You don't get to do that. Say it." She paused. "No, don't say it. Just kiss me."
"What?"
"Kiss me. I know you want to. Just kiss me."
Jess stared at her. He moved closer and brushed his lips against hers. It was gentle, unlike their first kiss.
"I didn't wear anything under Oscar," she whispered as he pulled away.
"Rory, do you know what you're doing?"
"I'm tired of being a virgin."
"I'm tired of you being a virgin."
"Let's work on fixing that problem, then, shall we?"
"As you wish."
Her eyes flew open the instant all the alcohol left her system. She looked around. There was her dress. There was her headband.
But where the fuck was she? She needed to google map herself. Or find her phone and check it. She could always rely on drunken text messages to help her figure out what the fuck happened and where she should tell Oscar, her limo driver, not the designer, to pick her up.
But then she saw something move in the corner. And that something was Jess Mariano.
"Morning, love."
"No. No. No. No. No," she kept repeating.
"My god, why are you talking?"
"This did not happen. No. No!"
He smiled. "What do you think happened?"
"I don't know but I feel…"
"Sore? Properly fucked?"
"Like I'm going to need to get vaccinated. Oh my god, did we use a condom?"
"I'm sterile."
"Where are my shoes?"
"You really don't remember last night, do you?"
"Did we have sex?"
Don't you hate those mornings you wake up and can't remember what you drank, who you fucked or what you did with your Coach purse?
And to not remember your first time? We'd almost feel bad for her if we all didn't know how hung Jess was.
It's probably better she didn't remember that. If that's what happened. We're not giving anything away
Ending Author's Note: Did I mention I was a bitch? That ending is probably the bitchiest thing, aside from killing Rory or Jess or revealing Jess didn't actually have a dick after such a long hiatus (I swear, it was so long, it was like I went on my own writer's strike) I could've done. But I couldn't resist ending that way because it sets up for flashbacks and confusion and pregnancy test and two versions of a story. Oh the goodies...if I ever update.
Reviewers: So, if you've ever pulled a Rory, do tell! I love hearing about regrettable bedfellows after drinking too much! I'm serious, too. This is all anonymous and good, dirty fun. If you tell me yours, I'll tell you mine. Also, thank you, for those that actually read, for being the most patient bitches ever. I know you were probably like "Bitch writes a story about someone losing their virginity and doesn't come through?!?!?! OMG WTF!" But we established long ago I was a bitch, so are you surprised?
So is Rory bluffin' with her muffin? Sorry, I had to do it.
