Lorelai spent her much-anticipated appointment primping, polishing–and stewing over the business card that was practically burning a hole through her pocket.
It was late into Saturday afternoon. She'd called Sookie, who popped over after her shift to help the girls get ready. Grateful that Sookie and Rory were occupied with a pile of glittery hairbows, Lorelai escaped for a few minutes to finally go over to Luke's. She didn't want this…whatever it was, hanging over her head at her parent's house later.
She quickly fastened the buttons on her long wool coat purchased the year before for 6 zillion percent off, and slipped into a pair of sky high heels with a skinny ankle strap. With a sigh, she spared glance in the hall mirror one more time and fussed with her long silky ringlets.
She was stalling.
With one more deep breath, she set her shoulders back and walked out into the cold.
XXXXXX
Luke couldn't remember the last time he'd spent this much time, money, and overall energy concerned with his appearance. Bare chested with a towel slung low around his hips, he ran a hand over his freshly shaven cheek and fussed with the neatly trimmed hair on his head. For a split second he wondered if he should've taken the barber up on his offer to put a little product in it.
With a grimace, he quickly dispelled that insane thought and exited his tiny washroom, sparing a glance at the crumpled shopping bags that littered his floor. He walked over to his dresser and rustled around in the top drawer for a minute. His hand landed on the dark green box he was looking for, and carefully unlatched it to reveal a stainless steel watch with a dark grey face. Frowning, he flipped it over and brushed his thumb across the inscription.
To the naked eye it looked virtually brand new. He'd seldom ever wore it. It was a gift from the team when he'd first signed at 18. It was fancy and heavy, and wreaked of everything he wasn't.
Decision made, he quickly wound it up. He was committed to the part tonight alright, down to the damn jewelry.
Part of him felt very, very stupid. He didn't run around in Italian suits wearing shiny jewelry. He wasn't dying to keep himself groomed like some GQ model either. He bought flannel in bulk and owned a single pair of steel-toed boots. His staple Levi's were damn near a decade old, and no matter the season, his choice of headwear was always going to be a backwards baseball hat.
An envelope of photos developed from the Christmas pageant caught his eye. He picked them up, and thumbed through them with a small smile, pausing on an image of the two girls: Rory, all dressed up in her lit up Christmas tree costume, her arms wrapped around a particularly luminous Lorelai, her smile easily outshining even the brightest lights that shone around her.
In an instant he felt the tension in his shoulders dissipate. With a resolute nod, he clasped the watch onto his wrist and strolled over to the wardrobe to get suited up.
Luke had just hiked up his pants when a series of knocks had him shooting a glare over his shoulder.
"I'm out for tonight, Earl! I told'ya if you need a new jar of pickles, there's plenty in the back."
He swung the door open, his jaw going slack at the sight of her. "Lorelai," he breathed out.
"Not Earl," She confirmed with a small hesitant smile. Her eyes swept across his broad bare chest and undone pants. He'd threaded a stiff leather belt through the loops but hadn't quite managed to fasten it yet before rushing to the door.
Luke stepped forward to greet her with a kiss and she couldn't help but hold onto his exposed bicep for balance. He gave her a slow once-over, "You're early." She looked…perfect. He shook his head to clear it and stepped to the side, allowing her to follow him inside the apartment.
"I thought the plan was to pick you and Rory up at yours, and then we'd all drive over there together."
Lorelai watched him pull a fresh undershirt on and tuck it into the waistband of his pants in fascination. To distract herself from the sight of him, she shoved her hands in her coat pockets and touched the folded up receipt. She gripped it tightly and pulled it out. He had one arm through his dress shirt when she finally spoke up.
"So who's Jasmine?" She asked with a shrug that she hoped came across as casual.
He was fussing with the tiny shirt buttons when the sharp tone of her voice had him jerking his head up, "Who?"
Lorelai held the stapled receipt in her hand. She read off the scrawled message in a sickeningly sweet tone, "In case your circumstances ever change. 555-7912, smiley face." She tapped her foot impatiently while Luke put the puzzle pieces together.
He knitted his brows, "Where'd you get that?"
"Seriously, Luke?That's what you're concerned with?"
Luke flung his arm towards the unzipped garment bag and empty shopping bags on the floor, "Geez, some snooty guy at the store gave me hell when I went back for the suit and didn't have the receipt."
Lorelai squeezed her eyes closed in disbelief, "You've got to be kidding me," she muttered.
"Forty minutes! That's how long that guy had me waiting, sitting in this tiny uncomfortable wooden chair. He looked at me like I had three heads when I tried to recall what exactly I spent damn near a month's salary on." Luke paced the floor and ran a hand through his hair, "He scolded me for not having that damn receipt! I felt like I was back in high school and I'd forgotten my homework."
Heels clicking, Lorelai met him across the room and shoved the tiny slip of paper in his hand, "Here! Happy now?" Luke stared at the receipt for a moment, just noticing the note from the woman at the store scrawled on the back.
"The mall doesn't close until 8," Lorelai tilted Luke's wrist towards her, "Looks like you still have time to take Jasmine up on her offer."
Luke rolled his eyes and crumpled the receipt without a second glance. Lorelai marched towards the door but he was hot on her heels. She held onto the doorknob and shrugged one of her shoulders, "Hey, maybe I'll meet someone nice at my parent's thing tonight and we can double next weekend!" She sarcastically exclaimed, before slamming the door behind her, the glass rattling in her wake.
XXXXXX
Lorelai hid her scowl behind a freshly made martini, the cool liquid distracting her from the cold hard fact that she'd screwed up. Of course she'd screwed things up. Her parents may as well as named her Screw Up Gilmore for the amount of times she'd managed to royally fumble even the possibility of a good thing. This wasn't just something good either. This–they–had potential to be something great.
Rory tugged on her elbow and broke Lorelai out of her thoughts, "Mom, can you put some extra apple tarts in your purse for later?"
Lorelai patted her shoulder bag with a smile, "Already got us covered, kid."
Rory giggled and leaned closer, "We'll need some extra ones for Luke. You know, for when he's feeling better."
Lorelai dropped her eyes to the near empty glass in her hand. She plastered on a smile and stumbled on her words, "Um, yeah, sure, of course." Rory sighed with relief, and greedily sipped from her own Shirley Temple.
On the other side of the house, Emily Gilmore expertly wove her way through the crowd. Dressed in an impeccably tailored suit trimmed with velvet and hair coiffed to the heavens, she plucked a glass of vintage Champagne from a nearby waiter and sipped appreciatively. With a critical eye, she appraised the artfully decorated dessert table, scanned the elaborate raw seafood bar Richard had insisted upon, and the waiters holding gleaming silver trays comprised of the rest of her carefully crafted menu.
Even Emily had to admit, the party planner she'd paid handsomely to lure away from Tippy von Hendrick's holiday party was worth her salt. In the foyer, stood a tall picture-perfect tree, trimmed with red ribbon and delicate red and gold hand blown ornaments Richard had brought back from Austria.
Yes, everything was perfect. Well, almost perfect.
Arm in arm with her husband, they stopped to chat with a handful of Richard's business associates at a cocktail table swathed in shades of emerald. Half listening to the conversation happening in front of her, she once again trailed her eyes over the crowd, landing instinctively on her daughter across the room.
Emily saw right through Lorelai's seemingly bright smile and shifty demeanor from the moment she'd crossed the threshold. Lorelai had gone so far as to flinch, physically flinch, at the mere mention of that insipid missing boyfriend of hers. He was supposed to be here. It was the perfect place to observe this new boyfriend on her turf. And what was she thinking, really? Getting involved with someone so…common. This was just like Lorelai too, getting involved with someone just to spite her own parents.
"Luke's not feeling well." Did her daughter think she was born yesterday? Of course, she didn't say a word. Not here. Not now. But trust, she would get to the bottom of this.
Emily set her empty glass on the table and politely excused herself from Richard's side. She strode across the room, making pleasantries along the way.
Lorelai and Rory held court by the dessert spread in the next room, "Wow it's…"
"A whole gingerbread village," Rory finished her mother's sentence in disbelief. She took in the elaborate display in front of her with delight, admiring the dozens of different shaped houses, gingerbread men, and even a chocolate horse drawn carriage that made up the snowy scene.
Lorelai briefly glanced over her bare shoulder, "You think anyone would notice if I snuck one of those in my handbag too?"
Rory giggled, "In that case you definitely should have brought your Charlie's Angels tote bag."
Lorelai tucked her tiny bejeweled clutch under her arm and with a curious finger, leaned forward to touch one of the gumdrop covered roofs. Her mother's voice had her yanking it back in an instant, and automatically smoothing down her curls.
"There you are!"
"Here we've been, Mom," Lorelai confirmed with a nod.
"Isn't it festive?" Emily remarked, eying the the gingerbread display. She cast a steely look her daughter's way, "Lorelai, keep your hands to yourself."
Lorelai rolled her eyes and gulped down what was rest of her drink in response.
Emily wrapped an arm around her granddaughter, "Rory, there are a couple of children around your age roaming around, let's see if I can't round them up and properly introduce you." She ignored the petulant look on Lorelai's face, "Perhaps your mother can find some people her own age to mingle with."
And that's how Lorelai found herself standing at the fully-stocked bar for a second round. "You lose your drinking buddy?" She spun around at the sound of the familiar voice, "Digger?"
Jason rolled his eyes at the old nickname, "Umlauts, as I live and breathe." He clinked his glass against hers, "You remember Patrick, Todd, and Bradley don't you?"
Lorelai greeted them with a friendly smile, "Class of '86, how could I forget."
The men raised their drinks in the air, "Hear, hear!"
While the weight of her fight with Luke still looming over her head like a dark cloud, she had to admit that the re-introduction of a handful of old high school friends was certainly a happy distraction. The group fell into easy banter, and Lorelai actually found herself having…fun? That was certainly a new feeling inside of these four walls. Three drinks down, she was happily tipsy and promptly swiped a whole tray of apple tarts for her new (old) friends from a passing waiter.
Sandwiched between a pair of buff blonde guys who's names she couldn't for the life of her remember, Lorelai felt flushed from the alcohol but still had all of her faculties. The man to her left leaned in close to ask if Christopher was making an appearance, she answered with an air of indifference, not particularly interested in the topic of her ex or his whereabouts at the moment, "Last I heard he was somewhere on the West Coast. Seattle? California? Or Hawaii maybe."
"Remind me to track him down and send over a fruit basket," Digger murmured under his breath. And not for the first time that evening, he eyed Lorelai's miles long legs in her slim fitting dress.
Blonde #1 and Blonde #2, were in the middle of a particularly raucous retelling of a house-party rager thrown in the tenth grade, when hushed whispers and not-so subtle gesturing started to filter through the room.
Two women with Aqua-Net hairdos and jewel-toned pantsuits approached the bar, "Fresh meat," the women said in unison as they eyed the stranger from across the room. "That must be the new VP from Richard's firm," One said, as she stirred her drink. "I didn't quite get his name, but I heard he's from Boston."
"Tsk," The other shook her head, "Ruth Harrington had it all wrong–he worked in Boston, but he's actually from Connecticut."
"At another firm?"
"No dear, he most certainly isn't from Richard's firm. That gangly boy over there in the corner, with the goatee, he's the new VP."
They leaned in closer to each other and whispered back and forth. A sinful smile appeared on their faces, as they sipped on their drinks and eyed the stranger appreciatively, "Well I'll be, an athlete in our midst. Rounds out the crowd quite nicely don't you think? Emily certainly does think of everything."
Back on the other side of the bar, another hanger-on interrupted Digger's impression of a high-school-aged Lorelai talking her way out of a speeding ticket. He nudged his friend, "Greg, isn't that…"
He nudged him back and nodded, "Man, what's he doing here?"
Lorelai's senses tingled. She heard her name in that low grumbly tone, and whipped her head around, meeting a set of blue eyes that looked dead-set and determined.