bA/N/b: In response to some responses and questions I've received, yes, this is a story that's been posted on another site for a very long time. If you've read it before, feel free to move on. If you haven't read it (or if you want to read it again), please enjoy—and leave a review!
Oh, yeah: Yes, the fact that I've started catching it up here means that I intend to finish it. I'll be posting the original chapters (there are sixteen total) over the next few weeks, and by the time I'm finished I hope to have new stuff to put up. Unless I get distracted by something shiny.
Ooh! Tinsel!
Chapter 3
If it hadn't been for the napkin rings, Lorelai might never have gone back to Stars Hollow. In fact, she hadn't even thought about the place in the two weeks that had passed since she'd been there. (Well, she thought about that coffee every time she stepped into a Starbucks, but other than that . . .) Emily, however, had called her at 6:30 that morning, waking her from a rare restful sleep in order to go into Martha-Stewart-on-Crack mode about the brass napkin rings she'd seen at Kim's Antiques.
"They'll set off Great-grandmother Gilmore's Limoges perfectly. Honestly, Lorelai, you don't expect me to host Family Dinner without napkin rings to complement the china, do you?"
Ah, yes–Family Dinner. About the time Rory started school, Emily and Francine had cooked up the idea of monthly dinners with Lorelai, Rory, Chris, and both sets of grandparents. The dinners alternated between the Gilmore manse and Casa de Hayden, Sr., with a clear but unspoken contest between Emily and Francine to see who could out-hostess the other. The penalties for absence from or tardiness in arriving at Family Dinner were only slightly more severe than the punishment for dropping a candy wrapper on the street in Bangkok.
Emily spent twenty minutes listing all the reasons why she couldn't get the napkin rings herself ("Between preparations for the DAR Fall Symposium on Saturday and overseeing the arrangements for the dinner I don't even have time to get my hair done, let alone make an eighty-mile round trip for something so trivial") and laying on the guilt ("I mean, really, Lorelai. It's not like I ever ask you for anything") before pulling out the big guns.
"Besides, I thought you'd just love a chance to get some more of that coffee you've been going on and on about for the last two weeks."
"I have not been 'going on and on' about that coffee!" But it was really, really good!
"Oh, please," Emily snorted. You haven't talked anything else since we went to that wretched little town. Everyone in Hartford knows how much you loved that coffee. Mr. Dealey over on Larchmont Avenue knows how much you loved that coffee, and Mr. Dealey hasn't left his house since 1987."
That's how Lorelai found herself once again entering the town of Stars Hollow, this time under a banner announcing the Fall Pumpkin Festival to be held the next weekend. In fact, the whole town seemed to have been turned into a giant Halloween centerpiece. All the storefronts along the town square (at least, Lorelai assumed it was the town square) were decorated with tons of autumn corn, giant fall leaves, and disturbingly cheerful jack-o'-lanterns. The only place that seemed to have escaped the magic wand of the Halloween Fairy (Halloween Witch?) was Luke's Diner, which stood in the middle of the square, singularly–and almost defiantly–undecorated.
After a quick trip into Kim's to pick up the napkin rings (which had mysteriously doubled in price since earlier that morning, when Emily had called to confirm that they were still available and to have them held), Lorelai made a beeline across the street for her coffee. The diner was once again empty, and she took a seat at the counter. Luke was behind the counter fiddling with a toaster that looked like it had seen better days, and he didn't even look up when she sat down.
"So, don't tell me. This place is actually an installation piece, and you're really a performance artist pretending to work in a diner. Something about the evils of capitalism or the emptiness of American nutritional habits, right?"
That got his attention. Luke looked up from his toaster-fiddling, and his expression changed from one of irritation to one of vague recognition when he saw the source of the Pretentious Art humor. "Oh, hey. You're back."
"Yes, and I'm wondering whether I should have come back, seeing as this is the second time I've been here and once again I am your only customer. Does the rest of this town know something I don't?"
"Oh, yeah." Luke looked around at the empty tables. "The place is always dead between 10:30 and noon, but come lunch time the vultures will start circling again." He put down the screwdriver and the toaster and wiped his hands on a rag. "So, can I get you something?"
Lorelai nodded. "Yes, I'd like a cup of coffee and a--"
"Please don't say 'plate of mashed yeast,'" Luke winced as he poured her coffee.
"Actually, I was gong to say 'and a Danish,' but, you know, whatever you've got is cool."
"I've got cherry, cheese, and chocolate."
"Ooh! Nice alliteration. I'll have the cheese, please."
"So, what brings you back to the Looney Bin?" Luke asked, placing a Danish on a plate and sliding it down the counter to her.
"Napkin rings."
"Napkin rings?"
Lorelai took a sip of her coffee and nodded. "Yup. Let's just say that the fate of the Free World–and even more importantly, the balance of power in my extended family–rests on me successfully delivering a set of eight shiny, overpriced brass napkin rings from Kim's Antiques to my mother in the next 36 hours."
"Ooo-kay." Luke shrugged, obviously having nothing productive to say about napkin rings or the inner workings of upper-class families, and went back to working on the toaster. "Oh, hey," he said after a minute. "I saw that Woody Allen movie you were talking about." He shook his head. "That guy's a head case, if you ask me–and he's way too attached to New York."
"You saw iAnnie Hall/i?" Lorelai asked, eyebrows raised.
"Well. . .yeah. Isn't that the movie you were talking about the other day?"
"You went and watched a film you'd never seen, based on the recommendation of a complete stranger?" She knew she was needling him in a way that came dangerously close to flirting, but she couldn't help it. There was just something about this guy that made her want to keep poking at him. It certainly had nothing at all to do with feeling flattered that she'd left an impression on someone she'd met for all of two seconds. Nothing at all.
Luke blushed. "Well, isn't that what people do when they read movie reviews, or watch those guys on TV? Take the advice of people they don't know? Those guys with the thumbs, what are their names? Siskel and Ebert?"
"Actually, now it's Ebert and Roeper. Siskel died last year."
"Whatever. Anyway," he continued defensively, "it's not like I went out and rented it or anything. They just happened to be showing it at the book store last week, and I thought, 'What the hell . . .'"
Now it was Lorelai's turn to look confused. "I'm sorry. Did you just say you watched a movie at a book store?"
"Yeah, they show movies there every Tuesday night. Half the town usually shows up."
Lorelai shook her head in wonder. "This is, like, the coolest town ever."
"You wouldn't say that if you had to live here," Luke grumped.
Just then, the bell over the door jingled, and a red-headed woman near Lorelai's age bounded into the diner. It only took Lorelai a second to place her as the one who'd been arguing over kumquats the last time Lorelai had been in town.
"Hey, Luke," she called as she came up to the counter.
"Hey, Sookie. How's it goin'?"
Sookie, however, didn't get a chance to answer. She'd been about to sit on the stool next to Lorelai, but somehow misjudged the distance. She toppled over, nearly landing in Lorelai's lap.
"Oh, god, I'm so sorry," she giggled as she righted herself. "Don't mind me. I tend to get a little klutzy sometimes."
"Oh, I don't mind," Lorelai laughed. "I usually have to spring for diner and drinks before I get any sitting-in-the-lap action."
Both women laughed until Luke, who apparently had a low tolerance for giggling females, broke in to make the introductions. "Lorelai, this is Sookie. She's the head chef over at the Independence Inn. Sookie, this is Lorelai. Lorelai is . . ." Luke's attempt at playing social facilitator fizzled when he realized he didn't know anything to say about Lorelai.
"Lorelai is a mom from Hartford," Lorelai finished for him. She turned to Sookie and smiled. "Nice to meet you, Sookie."
"You too, Lorelai."
"So, what can I get you, Sookie?"
"An iced tea for me, and a slice of peach pie to go for Mia. She's been dying for a piece of your pie all morning."
"Dirty," murmured Lorelai.
Luke and Sookie both looked at her as if she'd suddenly sprouted a giant purple horn in the middle of her forehead, then Luke turned back to Sookie. "Mia still trying to find a new day clerk?"
"Yeah," nodded Sookie. "Trent says he'll stay on until she can find a replacement, but he's ready to get out of there."
"Yeah, well, I'm sure she'll find someone soon," said Luke as he placed a paper cup and Styrofoam container in front of Sookie.
Sookie, however, didn't seem in any hurry to leave. "So, uh, Luke," she asked, turning a flattering shade of pink, "have you seen Jackson around today?"
Lorelai grinned into her coffee cup. She didn't even know Sookie, but she could always tell when a woman was practicing the ancient female tradition of subtly asking about a man without looking like she was asking about a man. It was clear that Sookie, however, hadn't quite mastered the "subtle" part of the ritual. Only someone with a defective social radar would miss the fact that she obviously had a crush on this Jackson guy.
"Nah. Haven't seen him since he dropped off the lettuce shipment this morning," shrugged Luke, who evidently had no social radar. "Why do you ask?"
"Oh, no reason," said Sookie hastily. "It's just that I wasn't around when he dropped off the peaches this morning, and I just wanted to ask him about–Oh my god, the peaches!" Sookie jumped off the stool, nearly knocking over her iced tea.
Luke was clearly used to Sookie's clumsiness, and he caught the cup before it spilled. "What about the peaches?"
"I think I left the peach sauce simmering on the stove!" She threw some money on the counter and grabbed her order. "Thanks, Luke!" she called as she ran out the door. "Nice meeting you, Lorelai!"
Luke just shook his head as Sookie left, but Lorelai's mind had already moved on to other matters. "So, this . . .Mia?"
Luke nodded. "She owns the Independence Inn."
"And she's looking for a new front desk clerk?"
"Yeah. The one who works for her now just started college full time and has to quit."
"So, you don't need a degree or anything to be a desk clerk?"
"I guess not," Luke shrugged. "I think Mia hired Trent pretty much right out of high school." Luke looked at her quizzically. "Why? You thinking of applying?"
Lorelai almost said yes, then thought better of it. "Who, me? Oh, no, no. I was just curious, that's all. I don't work." She sighed and picked up her coffee cup. "I don't need to work," she muttered.
She'd said it mostly to herself, but the look on Luke's face told her he'd heard her. If he'd intended to say anything about it, though, he was interrupted by the ringing of the phone. He stepped over to pick it up.
"Luke's. . . .Oh, hey."
Lorelai tried not to eavesdrop–she really did–but the way Luke tensed up when he heard who was on the other end of the line piqued her curiosity. Besides, she figured, if he wanted privacy he'd go into an office or something, not stand where the whole world–okay, where she–could hear him. Unfortunately, it was very hard to casually and unwittingly overhear a conversation when you only had access to one party in the conversation and that party insisted on keeping his back to you the whole time he was talking.
"No, it's not a bad time. What do you need? . . . Because you usually only call me when you need something . . .I'm not irritated. I've just got a lot going on. Now, what's up? . . .What happened to the money I sent you last month? . . .How the hell do you rack up 300 bucks in long distance in one month? . . .Well, tell him to stop calling you collect. I swear, Liz . . .No, no. I'm gonna send it to you. I'll put a check in the mail today. . . .You're welcome. So, how's Jess? . . . I mean, how's Jess? How's he doing in school? . . . Well don't you think you should find out? . . . Because you're his mother, that's why . . . What court date? . . . What the hell was he doing traipsing around Central Park in the middle of the night, anyway? . . . Yeah, I am mad now. . . . Aw, come on, Liz! You're blowing money you don't have on some schmuck who lives five hundred miles away, your kid is running the streets, and you . . . Okay, you know what? I can't talk about this right now. Your check's in the mail. You need anything else? . . . Okay, fine. Bye."
Luke slammed the phone down and stood facing the wall for a second, obviously trying to cool down.
"Boy, those telemarketers, huh? They'll try anything to keep you on the phone, won't they?" It was an admittedly lame attempt at levity, but Lorelai felt the need to diffuse the tension in the room–not to mention call attention away from the fact that she'd just been listening to the intimate conversation of a guy she barely knew.
Luke turned and looked at her as if he'd forgotten she was even there. "What? Oh, no, no. That was my sister."
Ah. "The 'real mess?'"
"Huh?"
"You told me you have a sister who–and I quote–'turned out to be a real mess.'"
"Oh, yeah." Luke laughed bitterly and began wiping down the counter again. "Yep, that's Liz, in all her glory."
"Oh." Lorelai, seeing that Luke was truly upset, decided she'd pried enough. She sat silently, picking up Danish crumbs with the tines of her fork as she watched Luke clean the counter.
Luke, however, seemed to need to vent, even if it was to someone he'd only met twice in his life. "I just don't get it. She floats from crappy job to crappy job, from crummy apartment to crummy apartment–and don't even get me started on the long parade of losers she's let march through her life, borrowing money and running up cable bills and leaving her crying to me about getting her heart broken–again. I mean, she's a thirty-four-year-old woman with a kid, and she's living like a freakin' hippie!" Luke threw down his rag and began flailing his arms and hands around wildly. "And that kid of hers? Jess is the smartest kid I know. He's always got his nose buried in a book, and he's got the vocabulary of a Columbia English professor. But he's failing out of school–again–and running around like a wild animal, and what does his mother have to say about it? 'La-di-da, he has to find his own path, man!'" He stopped for a minute, temporarily winded by his rant.
Lorelai wasn't sure what to say, but feeling that some acknowledgment that she'd been paying attention was required, she went with a non-committal, but universally applicable, "Gosh."
Luke inhaled deeply and placed both hands on the counter to steady himself. "I do what I can, you know? She asks me for money, I send her a check. She needs help moving, I'm there with the truck. I've even done what I can with Jess, though god knows how much help I've been in that department."
Lorelai sat for a second, watching all the emotions flicker across Luke's face. She suddenly found herself deeply moved by this man who gave so much for a family that seemed to give him so little in return. "I'm sure you've done everything you could," she said sympathetically. "What about your parents? Could they help out?"
A deeper, more intense shadow of pain crossed Luke's eyes, and he shook his head. "My parents both died a long time ago."
"Oh, god. I'm so sorry."
"It's okay, you didn't know," Luke shrugged. "That's why I've tried so hard with Liz, though, you know? I'm pretty much the only family she's got, and I do my best to look after her and Jess. That's what families are supposed to do. They take care of each other."
Lorelai thought of her own family and sighed. "Yeah. That's what families are supposed to do."
At that, Luke roused himself and looked at her sheepishly. "Jeez, I'm sorry. You don't even know me. You come in for a simple cup of coffee, and here I am going on and on like a crazy person."
"It's okay."
Luke rubbed a hand across the stubble on his jaw. "I swear, I'm really not normally like this. You can ask anyone in town. I mean, yeah, I rant–a lot–but I do not go around unloading personal stuff on people. Especially total strangers."
"First of all," smiled Lorelai, "anyone who accepts a movie recommendation from me is no longer a stranger. And secondly–and this may sound weird, so please don't take it the wrong way–I kinda liked it. Nobody's . . . ranted at me like that for a long time. It felt good to be a sounding board."
Luke gave her a small, uncertain grin. "Well, okay, then." He looked down at her empty plate and coffee cup. "So, can I get you anything else?"
Lorelai stood up and stretched. "A refill to go, please. I have an important delivery to make," she intoned, holding up the package of napkin rings.
"Oh, right. 'The fate of the Free World.'" Luke filled a paper cup with coffee and set it on the counter, but once again shook his head when Lorelai pulled out her wallet. "Keep it. It's the least I can do after you let me vent at you like that."
Lorelai smiled. "You know, you keep giving me free coffee, and I may have to keep coming back."
Luke simply smiled back at her. "Come back any time."
Lorelai drove back to Hartford feeling lighter than she had in a very long time. She'd almost forgotten that there were people who could just be friendly without setting social agendas or treating each other with barely disguised contempt, or that there were people who actually helped their families without trying to control them.
She slipped the Bangles into the CD player and thought about that job at the inn. It would be perfect for her. No formal training was required, and she had enough practical experience planning seating arrangements and kissing asses at countless Booster Club and Junior League functions–not to mention thirty-odd years of watching Emily run her house as if it were the Plaza–to work a hotel front desk.
Yeah, it would be the perfect job for her–if she were going to work.
She cranked up "If She Knew What She Wants" and stepped on the gas, thinking all the way home about coffee, and fall festivals, and brothers who looked out for wayward sisters.
Next Up: Family Diner