Disclaimer: The Gilmore Girls characters that you recognize are
not mine; they're the brainchild of the brilliant Amy Sherman-Palladino.
But the characters that you don't recognize come from the recesses of my crazy
brain.
Author's note: Am I crazy for starting a new fic? Probably. I'm usually not one to start a new story when I still have one in the works but … sitting by oneself and being bored to death during a lecture about rural life in Southeast Asia really made my mind wander. Heh. Next thing I knew, I was scribbling down ideas and wishing that I had brought my lap-top to school. This story is AU-ish (some things from canon hold, and some don't) and it's a future fic, that's pretty much all you need to know at this point. Everything else will be revealed as we go along. Some things may be unlikely, but that's why this is AU: just go with it yo. Heh. I just wanna have fun with this. I'll try to update this as often as I can. No promises though. ;-) And of course, feedback is very much appreciated. Hope you enjoy the story!
A big thank you to Grace, for reading it over and telling me that it didn't completely suck.
* * * * *
Perfect
by inmyeyes
01: Muse
"It's been almost two months, Rory," Paris Gellar said exasperatedly. She gave the woman sitting opposite her a pointed look. "And I remember that you distinctly told me that you had started working on it!"
The woman in question calmly sipped her coffee and beckoned to the waiter for a refill before saying anything. "Paris, you really need to calm down."
Her jaw dropped in disbelief. "Calm down? You want me to calm down? I can't believe you, Rory Gilmore!"
"It's not like I can help it, Paris," Rory said, shrugging. "I've tried, okay. But I just sit there, my fingers on my keyboard, and nothing comes."
Although Paris looked visibly calmer, her voice was still tight. "Did you try-"
"Yes, I did." A pause, then, "Nothing. No words."
"I swear, Rory, you're the only writer I know who still uses pen and paper."
"You make it sound like I sit by candlelight and write using a feather quill." Rory's lips curled into a grin. "I just don't trust technology enough, that's all."
Paris sighed, "You've only got about four months left before the deadline."
Rory smiled her thanks to the waiter who filled her cup with coffee and let him walk away before speaking. "I know, you don't need to remind me."
"I'm just worried."
"I'm not," Rory said, smiling gently. She hurried to reassure, "All I need is some kind of inspiration and the book will write itself."
Shaking her head, Paris said, "You make it sound so easy."
"It's not easy but it's not difficult either. It just… is."
"Oh God, please don't get into one of your philosophical moods."
"Oh, this coming from the girl who critically analysed Descartes while drunk," Rory quipped.
"Well, I don't like Descartes and-" Paris emphasized, "I was not drunk. I was merely… tipsy." She held her hand up when she saw that Rory was about to say something. "The level of alcohol in my blood is not the issue here, Rory."
"Sometimes Paris, I wish you were only my friend and not my editor," she sighed.
"Tough luck," was the sarcastic answer.
"Okay, fine. We can compromise on this. Give me two more weeks and if I still don't have a chapter by then, you're welcome to scream at me for as long as you want."
"Thanks for making me sound like a tyrant."
Rory sighed. "Paris."
"I'm worried because you've never had this problem before."
"Writers' block is a common problem, you know," Rory pointed out. "I'm not the only freak who experiences it."
Paris held her hands up in surrender. "All right, all right. I'll let it go. For now."
Rory's smile was grateful. "Thank you. And really, Paris, don't worry. I have a feeling that once this book gets written, it'll be my best one ever."
* * * * *
One week later…
"Hello?" came the distracted greeting.
"Say it, Paris," Rory urged. She leaned back in her soft armchair and pulled her feet beneath her. Pulling back a loose strand of hair, she sighed loudly. "I just know you're dying to say it."
"Say what?" Paris asked. "Could you be less cryptic?"
"Fine, fine. Draw out my misery. Just say it, Paris."
"What the hell-" Paris broke off, as Rory's incoherent babbling finally made some semblance of sense to her. "Oh."
"Damnit, Paris," Rory cried out frustratedly. "How difficult is it to say 'I told you so'?"
She was quick to offer her sympathy. "Still stuck, huh?"
"Yeah," was Rory's mumbled answer. "Now I'm getting worried."
Paris easily switched modes from editor to friend. "Look Rory, you said it yourself: these things pass. All you need to do is get out of your house, go somewhere and just people-watch. You never know what you might find."
Rory groaned. "I'm so desperate, I just might do that."
"Just out of curiosity," Paris asked cautiously, "does this have anything to do-"
Rory snorted. "No, it's got nothing to do with the fact that the last date I was on was three months ago and that it was so abysmal that it made me seriously consider swearing off men."
"You know, for a woman who's had three best-selling romance novels, you are far too cynical," Paris commented.
"I am not cynical," she protested loudly. "I just have very strong opinions about love and relationships. I'm a realist."
"You're a romantic realist."
"There is no such thing."
"You can be the first of its kind," Paris suggested.
"No-"
"Remind me again: who was the guy you were last out with?" Paris asked, cutting off whatever it was her riled-up friend was going to say. "Did you actually give him a chance? Or did you, as always, just-"
"Why are you talking about such an inane matter?" Rory demanded. "We've got more important things to consider!"
Again, Paris ignored her. "You've been this rut for so long because you let it happen. And you're way too picky. You're even pickier than I am, and that's saying a lot."
"Excuse me?" Rory sputtered.
"How can you write about romance when you don't have any romance in your life?" was the pearl of wisdom from Paris.
"Thank you, Dr. Gellar," she muttered sarcastically.
"I have an idea-" Paris began.
"No, no, no," Rory quickly interrupted. "No more ideas. I'll go out, breathe in some fresh air and see what happens."
Rory hung up before Paris could say anything.
* * * * *
She took Paris' advice.
Thankfully, it was a warm, sunny day which made sitting on a bench in Colt Park infinitely more comfortable than it would have been had it been December. Placing her favourite pair on sunglasses on her nose, she leaned back against the tree trunk and gracefully accepted the shade provided. Then she pulled her bag closer to her and pulled out her thermos of coffee and a blue spiral notebook. She uncapped a pen (the one she had dubbed World's Most Perfect Pen because of the smooth way the ink glided across the page), flipped the pages of the notebook until she got to a pristine white page and wrote the date at the top of the page.
Then her eyes drifted upwards, taking in the surroundings. To her left was the playground, full of children running around. The sound of laughter and squealing reached her ears and for a moment, Rory's lips tilted into a small smile. She was half-tempted to walk over and have a turn on the swing but the voice of Paris (which, she thought wryly, doubled up as the voice of my conscience) rang in her head. Resisting the urge to sigh, she turned her attention to her right. Along the paved walkway, she saw people taking a walk, cycling, rollerblading but none of them caught her eye.
Her gaze roamed again, this time settling on the grove of trees not too far in front of her. She glimpsed a young teenage couple sitting on a plaid blanket under a tree. The variety of food laid out before them told her that they were having an intimate picnic and the look in the young man's eyes as he brushed his lips lightly across the girl's spoke of his love for her. Unbidden, Rory felt something inside of her clench.
The next thing she knew, her pen was flying across the blank page.
Ten minutes later, she stopped to read what she had written; only to sigh and tear the page out.
* * * * *
Dipping her hand into the large bowl, Rory was dismayed when she found that it was empty. Sighing, she turned it upside down, hoping for at least one kernel of popcorn. All she got was grease sliding down the sides of the bowl.
"Great, just great," she muttered, wiping her fingers on her old, ratty bathrobe. She dreaded the thought of moving from her comfortable position on the couch to make more popcorn. Instead, she reached for the bag of potato chips on the table.
Munching happily on her chips, her attention fully on Runaway Bride, Rory was vegging out after an unproductive day. She had stayed at the park for almost three hours but all she had to show for it was only two pages of very rough ideas. Everything else was a blank. Finally, as twilight set in, she had packed up her things, dropped by the Chinese restaurant near her apartment for take-out and trudged home for some much-needed relaxation.
The sound of the ringing phone intruded, causing her to sigh heavily. Grateful that she had the foresight to place the cordless phone within reach, she picked up the call. "Say whatever it is you wanna say, and say it fast," she muttered, her eyes still trained on the television screen.
"Rory Gilmore," said the caller chidingly, "that is not how you should answer the telephone."
Rory winced and sat up straighter when she realized that it was her grandmother on the phone. "Sorry, Grandma," she apologized, "I'm just been having a bad day."
"That's no excuse for rudeness, young lady."
"I know, I'm sorry."
Emily Gilmore hmphed, but let the matter go. "How've you been, dear? How's the book coming along?"
"It's not been going too well," Rory answered. Not wanting to dwell on that, she quickly asked, "Is there a reason for your call, Grandma?"
"You know that your grandfather's birthday is coming up in a few days."
"Yes, I bought him an antique pocket watch that I think he'd like."
"How lovely," Emily remarked. "Anyway, I'll be throwing a party for him and your presence is required, of course. It'll be on Thursday evening, at our house. You'll be there, won't you?"
She bit back a sigh, knowing from experience how dreary parties like this one could be. "I'll be there."
"Good. That's good." Emily sounded disgruntled when she said, "I had to practically threaten your mother before she agreed."
Rory wasn't surprised. "You know how my mom is, Grandma."
"Yes, unfortunately, I do," she sighed. "All right then dear, I'll see you on Thursday."
The call from her grandmother having thoroughly ruined her movie-watching mood, Rory dialled the number she knew by heart and waited impatiently for someone to pick up. "C'mon, c'mon," she mumbled, tapping her fingers against her thigh.
When a breathless "Hello?" reached her ears, she smiled her first genuine smile of the day. "Couldn't find the phone, huh?"
Lorelai perked up at the sound of Rory's voice. "Hey babe, you know me too well."
Rory laughed. "Maybe you should get a phone that actually has a cord," she suggested. "The chances of you misplacing it would be much lower."
Lorelai made a face. "But that would mean that I'd be immobile when I'm talking on the phone. And you know how easily bored I get. Plus, I'd probably get tangled up in the cord and trip."
Rory had to grin at her mother's line of reasoning. "So, I hear that you were coerced into going to Grandma's shindig on Thursday."
"Damn right, I was coerced," Lorelai said heatedly. "My mother actually blackmailed me. Emily Gilmore blackmailed me! It was preposterous."
Rory wanted to laugh but knew better than to show her amusement. "What exactly did she blackmail you with?"
"Baby pictures."
"Naked baby pictures?"
"No," Lorelai clarified. "Just baby pictures."
"Explain to me how baby pictures are blackmail material."
"They are when you had an enormous head as a baby," Lorelai said. "And when said pictures are from your baptism and you're wearing a horrendous gown full of ruffles and lace and flounces, which only serves to highlight your huge head."
"I count myself lucky that I was not afflicted with that," Rory quipped.
"Yeah," Lorelai agreed. "You should thank your father." Without pausing, she went on, "So, how's it going?"
Rory slouched back against the couch, frowning. "It's not going."
Lorelai's voice was full of concern as she asked, "Are you feeling okay?"
"Fine," she said dismissively. "Just a little stressed."
She was too in-tune with her daughter and knew that Rory was feeling worse than she cared to admit. "Do you want me to come over? I can be there in thirty minutes with junk food, coffee, a tub of Ben & Jerry's and a Brad Pitt movie."
Rory smiled. "Can we watch Legends of the Fall?"
* * * * *
Thursday evening…
"Oh God," Lorelai moaned, lifting the cup of coffee to her lips and taking a sip. "We've only been here ten minutes and I can already feel my brain cells screaming out in pain and slowly dying."
"Mom, be nice," Rory admonished. "It's Grandpa's birthday."
"I am being nice," she said defensively. "I actually brought a present."
Rory narrowed her eyes in suspicion, knowing her mother's propensity for giving wacky and unorthodox gifts. "An actual present? A good present?"
Lorelai shot her an offended look. "Yes, I got him a respectable-looking tie."
"Wow, you must have exercised a wonderful amount of restraint," Rory commented.
"Yeah," she sighed. "I had my eye on this great tie with pink elephants."
Rory laughed, the mental picture of her grandfather wearing such a tie vividly in her mind. "I'm sure Grandpa will appreciate your self-discipline."
Lorelai was only half-paying attention, her gaze roaming over the crowd before latching onto someone standing on the other side of the room. "Well, well, it seems like we've found the eye candy for the night." Turning to face Rory, she winked and tilted her head discreetly towards who she had been referring to.
Nonchalantly, she let her eyes travel slowly across the mass of people until she saw their quarry. Leaning against the doorframe leading to the dining room was a tall, blonde man who was –it seemed- charming the pants off the lady he was talking to. He was dressed perfectly in a dark suit, exuding confidence, power and –Rory noted with a slight shiver- blatant masculinity. She could only see his profile from where she was, but what she did see told her that this man was good-looking. After taking inventory of his form, her stare travelled back to his face in time to see a smile stretch across his lips.
Something about him seemed familiar, but she couldn't put her finger on it.
A hard nudge to her side brought her attention back to her mother who was watching her carefully.
Lorelai arched one slim brow, grinning all the while. "You like what you see?"
She raised her glass of champagne to her lips, stalling for time. Her eyes drifted back to him for a second before she answered casually, "He's a good-looking man."
"A very good-looking man," Lorelai agreed. "Unfortunately for me, he seems closer to your age than mine."
Rory simply shrugged.
A devious sparkle came into Lorelai's eyes. "I dare you-"
Her jaw dropped open at those words. "No way. You're not daring me to do anything."
Crossing her arms in defiance, Lorelai gave a mock-innocent smile. "Yes, I can. It's a mother's prerogative."
"I can still get Grandma to pass around those baby pictures," Rory said threateningly.
Lorelai didn't look bothered; she rubbed her hands in glee and said, "I dare you to walk over to Gorgeous Man and talk to him for fifteen minutes."
"No," came the firm answer.
"Yes."
Rory sighed, seeing the determined sparkle in Lorelai's eyes. "Five minutes."
"Ten," she stuck out her hand, "and you've got a deal."
Eyeing the pro-offered hand with misgivings, Rory finally accepted the dare. "I have one word for you, mom: payback."
* * * * *
She had been watching him surreptitiously for the past half an hour, waiting for an opportunity to approach him. But he was always surrounded with people and Rory despaired that she would never be able to catch him alone. Still, she delighted in studying him, watching the way he interacted with people, his mannerisms and appreciating his good looks.
This is a stupid idea, she thought, cursing herself for taking the dare. I'm gonna look like an absolute idiot.
Wanting to stamp her foot in frustration, Rory drained her glass of champagne and foisted off the glass on the waiter. Taking a last look at the blonde man, she decided that it was a futile endeavour. She would get a much-needed cup of coffee before conceding defeat to her mother.
After whispering her request for coffee to one of Emily's maids, she mindlessly nibbled on a tiny sandwich, hoping to look inconspicuous. God, she hated these parties sometimes. And these damn sandwiches are too small, she thought as she polished off her third piece.
"Those things really are too small, aren't they?" The voice echoing her thoughts jolted her back to reality. Licking her lips and swallowing the last of the sandwich, she turned around.
Her eyes collided with ones so blue that they reminded her of a summer sky. Hoping that she had managed to hide her surprise, she took a deep breath and smiled.
Seemed she didn't need to seek out Gorgeous Man; he had found her.
"I need to eat ten of those things before I feel satisfied," Rory remarked, striving to sound casual and not at all flustered.
Up close, he was even more attractive than she had imagined… and the nagging feeling she had gotten earlier came back. Casting a glance over his shoulder, she spied Lorelai giving her the thumbs-up. Her mother really was something and that thought made her smile widen.
"Ten?" was his somewhat incredulous answer. She felt his eyes slowly take her in and she fought the urge to blush. His eyes back on hers, he beamed a smile, "It doesn't show at all." She didn't miss the appreciative glint in his eyes. Again, she wondered what it was about him that seemed familiar.
She inclined her head in thanks and said, "I have a wonderful metabolism."
He laughed and other stab of recognition hit her.
Who is he? she wondered. "I haven't seen you around before," she said lightly. "Is this your first time at a Gilmore party?"
He smiled and Rory was reminded again of someone. "Not quite. I've been away for a few years, working in the British branch of the company. And my grandfather was good friends with Mr. Gilmore." Thankfully, he decided to introduce himself. Holding out his hand, he said, "I'm Tristan-"
DuGrey, her mind completed. The pieces finally fit.
"-DuGrey, by the way."
She fervently hoped that he didn't catch her shock at his identity. Numbly, she offered her own hand; the feel of his lips on it brought her crashing back to earth. He was looking expectantly at her and Rory realized that he was waiting for her to introduce herself.
He didn't remember her. Not that he has any reason to, she reasoned.
"Nice to meet you, Mr. DuGrey." She gently pulled her hand away and gave a polite smile. "I'm Rory Gilmore." She held her breath, waiting for some spark of remembrance from him.
But there was none.
Irrationally, she felt disappointed.
"Mr. DuGrey is my father. Please, call me Tristan," he implored. "You're Mr. Gilmore's-"
"-granddaughter," she supplied.
"Oh yes, he talks glowingly of you."
A tap on her shoulder made her spin around and she found that the maid had returned with her cup of coffee. Smiling her thanks, she took the cup, grateful for the diversion. "Well," she tried not to stumble over his name, "Tristan, I-"
"You haven't had your fill, right?" He gestured to the platter of sandwiches. "How about we make our way to the kitchen and demand some real food?"
She had to laugh at the mischievous way he smiled and the beseeching way he held out his hand to her.
She found herself giving in.
* * * * *
She was sitting on the ground in her grandparents' garden with her shoes off, a cool breeze blowing her hair off her nape and a half-eaten BLT sandwich in her hand. And beside her was Tristan DuGrey.
Tristan DuGrey: the guy who had been the most popular and sought-after guy in high school. She remembered meeting him on her first day at Chilton and being utterly bowled over by his swaggering self-confidence. For a short while, she had thought that maybe he had been somewhat interested in her. But before long, his attentions on her diminished, as apparently it did with all girls. Once, after she had befriended Paris, she had tentatively asked about Tristan. Paris was quick to disabuse any notions she had about him. After that, he rarely crossed her mind but every once in a while, she wondered about him.
It had been years since high school –almost ten years, Rory reflected- and since they had not run in the same social circles and weren't even acquaintances, it wouldn't be reasonable to expect him to remember her. He had been the big Kahuna, and she was only a small fish in the sea.
"Do you do this often?" was her query.
After swallowing his bite of sandwich and washing it down with soda, he quirked a brow at her and said, "Do what?"
"You know," she waved her hand around, "skip out on parties and charm the servants into feeding you."
He winked. "Only when there's a beautiful woman involved."
She flushed, but she hoped that it wasn't evident in the dim light. "So I was nothing more than an unwilling victim?"
His smirk made him look 16 again. "Somehow, the words 'unwilling' and 'victim' don't seem to fit the situation."
"Okay, then." She amended her words, "How about 'unsuspecting victim'?"
"Oh, were you?"
She looked baffled. "Was I what?"
"Unsuspecting." He smiled teasingly. "It didn't seem like you were."
She struggled not to smile. "That's because I know your kind, Tristan DuGrey."
"My kind?" Her words piqued his interest. "What exactly is my kind?"
Brushing all bread crumbs from her lap and grabbing her heeled sandals, she slowly stood up, aware that his eyes had followed her motion. "The kind that entirely too charming for his own good." And he really was... which was why she thought that it would be prudent for her to leave before he intrigued her even more than he already had. Her lips curled up into a bright smile. "Thank you for the sandwich, Tristan."
Without waiting for a response, she turned on her heel and made her way to the sliding doors that led into the house. She hesitated when she reached them and indulged her urge to look back at him.
He was still looking at her, a small smile playing about his lips. With his jacket off, his tie loosened and his already tousled hair ruffled by the light wind, he painted an attractive picture, looking even more handsome and relaxed than he had been earlier. Taking a breath to still her pounding heart, she took one long last look at him and smiled.
* * * * *
The moment she reached home, she reached for her notebook and pen and started scribbling.
She didn't fall asleep until five in the morning.
* * * * *
Author's note: Am I crazy for starting a new fic? Probably. I'm usually not one to start a new story when I still have one in the works but … sitting by oneself and being bored to death during a lecture about rural life in Southeast Asia really made my mind wander. Heh. Next thing I knew, I was scribbling down ideas and wishing that I had brought my lap-top to school. This story is AU-ish (some things from canon hold, and some don't) and it's a future fic, that's pretty much all you need to know at this point. Everything else will be revealed as we go along. Some things may be unlikely, but that's why this is AU: just go with it yo. Heh. I just wanna have fun with this. I'll try to update this as often as I can. No promises though. ;-) And of course, feedback is very much appreciated. Hope you enjoy the story!
A big thank you to Grace, for reading it over and telling me that it didn't completely suck.
Perfect
by inmyeyes
01: Muse
"It's been almost two months, Rory," Paris Gellar said exasperatedly. She gave the woman sitting opposite her a pointed look. "And I remember that you distinctly told me that you had started working on it!"
The woman in question calmly sipped her coffee and beckoned to the waiter for a refill before saying anything. "Paris, you really need to calm down."
Her jaw dropped in disbelief. "Calm down? You want me to calm down? I can't believe you, Rory Gilmore!"
"It's not like I can help it, Paris," Rory said, shrugging. "I've tried, okay. But I just sit there, my fingers on my keyboard, and nothing comes."
Although Paris looked visibly calmer, her voice was still tight. "Did you try-"
"Yes, I did." A pause, then, "Nothing. No words."
"I swear, Rory, you're the only writer I know who still uses pen and paper."
"You make it sound like I sit by candlelight and write using a feather quill." Rory's lips curled into a grin. "I just don't trust technology enough, that's all."
Paris sighed, "You've only got about four months left before the deadline."
Rory smiled her thanks to the waiter who filled her cup with coffee and let him walk away before speaking. "I know, you don't need to remind me."
"I'm just worried."
"I'm not," Rory said, smiling gently. She hurried to reassure, "All I need is some kind of inspiration and the book will write itself."
Shaking her head, Paris said, "You make it sound so easy."
"It's not easy but it's not difficult either. It just… is."
"Oh God, please don't get into one of your philosophical moods."
"Oh, this coming from the girl who critically analysed Descartes while drunk," Rory quipped.
"Well, I don't like Descartes and-" Paris emphasized, "I was not drunk. I was merely… tipsy." She held her hand up when she saw that Rory was about to say something. "The level of alcohol in my blood is not the issue here, Rory."
"Sometimes Paris, I wish you were only my friend and not my editor," she sighed.
"Tough luck," was the sarcastic answer.
"Okay, fine. We can compromise on this. Give me two more weeks and if I still don't have a chapter by then, you're welcome to scream at me for as long as you want."
"Thanks for making me sound like a tyrant."
Rory sighed. "Paris."
"I'm worried because you've never had this problem before."
"Writers' block is a common problem, you know," Rory pointed out. "I'm not the only freak who experiences it."
Paris held her hands up in surrender. "All right, all right. I'll let it go. For now."
Rory's smile was grateful. "Thank you. And really, Paris, don't worry. I have a feeling that once this book gets written, it'll be my best one ever."
One week later…
"Hello?" came the distracted greeting.
"Say it, Paris," Rory urged. She leaned back in her soft armchair and pulled her feet beneath her. Pulling back a loose strand of hair, she sighed loudly. "I just know you're dying to say it."
"Say what?" Paris asked. "Could you be less cryptic?"
"Fine, fine. Draw out my misery. Just say it, Paris."
"What the hell-" Paris broke off, as Rory's incoherent babbling finally made some semblance of sense to her. "Oh."
"Damnit, Paris," Rory cried out frustratedly. "How difficult is it to say 'I told you so'?"
She was quick to offer her sympathy. "Still stuck, huh?"
"Yeah," was Rory's mumbled answer. "Now I'm getting worried."
Paris easily switched modes from editor to friend. "Look Rory, you said it yourself: these things pass. All you need to do is get out of your house, go somewhere and just people-watch. You never know what you might find."
Rory groaned. "I'm so desperate, I just might do that."
"Just out of curiosity," Paris asked cautiously, "does this have anything to do-"
Rory snorted. "No, it's got nothing to do with the fact that the last date I was on was three months ago and that it was so abysmal that it made me seriously consider swearing off men."
"You know, for a woman who's had three best-selling romance novels, you are far too cynical," Paris commented.
"I am not cynical," she protested loudly. "I just have very strong opinions about love and relationships. I'm a realist."
"You're a romantic realist."
"There is no such thing."
"You can be the first of its kind," Paris suggested.
"No-"
"Remind me again: who was the guy you were last out with?" Paris asked, cutting off whatever it was her riled-up friend was going to say. "Did you actually give him a chance? Or did you, as always, just-"
"Why are you talking about such an inane matter?" Rory demanded. "We've got more important things to consider!"
Again, Paris ignored her. "You've been this rut for so long because you let it happen. And you're way too picky. You're even pickier than I am, and that's saying a lot."
"Excuse me?" Rory sputtered.
"How can you write about romance when you don't have any romance in your life?" was the pearl of wisdom from Paris.
"Thank you, Dr. Gellar," she muttered sarcastically.
"I have an idea-" Paris began.
"No, no, no," Rory quickly interrupted. "No more ideas. I'll go out, breathe in some fresh air and see what happens."
Rory hung up before Paris could say anything.
She took Paris' advice.
Thankfully, it was a warm, sunny day which made sitting on a bench in Colt Park infinitely more comfortable than it would have been had it been December. Placing her favourite pair on sunglasses on her nose, she leaned back against the tree trunk and gracefully accepted the shade provided. Then she pulled her bag closer to her and pulled out her thermos of coffee and a blue spiral notebook. She uncapped a pen (the one she had dubbed World's Most Perfect Pen because of the smooth way the ink glided across the page), flipped the pages of the notebook until she got to a pristine white page and wrote the date at the top of the page.
Then her eyes drifted upwards, taking in the surroundings. To her left was the playground, full of children running around. The sound of laughter and squealing reached her ears and for a moment, Rory's lips tilted into a small smile. She was half-tempted to walk over and have a turn on the swing but the voice of Paris (which, she thought wryly, doubled up as the voice of my conscience) rang in her head. Resisting the urge to sigh, she turned her attention to her right. Along the paved walkway, she saw people taking a walk, cycling, rollerblading but none of them caught her eye.
Her gaze roamed again, this time settling on the grove of trees not too far in front of her. She glimpsed a young teenage couple sitting on a plaid blanket under a tree. The variety of food laid out before them told her that they were having an intimate picnic and the look in the young man's eyes as he brushed his lips lightly across the girl's spoke of his love for her. Unbidden, Rory felt something inside of her clench.
The next thing she knew, her pen was flying across the blank page.
Ten minutes later, she stopped to read what she had written; only to sigh and tear the page out.
Dipping her hand into the large bowl, Rory was dismayed when she found that it was empty. Sighing, she turned it upside down, hoping for at least one kernel of popcorn. All she got was grease sliding down the sides of the bowl.
"Great, just great," she muttered, wiping her fingers on her old, ratty bathrobe. She dreaded the thought of moving from her comfortable position on the couch to make more popcorn. Instead, she reached for the bag of potato chips on the table.
Munching happily on her chips, her attention fully on Runaway Bride, Rory was vegging out after an unproductive day. She had stayed at the park for almost three hours but all she had to show for it was only two pages of very rough ideas. Everything else was a blank. Finally, as twilight set in, she had packed up her things, dropped by the Chinese restaurant near her apartment for take-out and trudged home for some much-needed relaxation.
The sound of the ringing phone intruded, causing her to sigh heavily. Grateful that she had the foresight to place the cordless phone within reach, she picked up the call. "Say whatever it is you wanna say, and say it fast," she muttered, her eyes still trained on the television screen.
"Rory Gilmore," said the caller chidingly, "that is not how you should answer the telephone."
Rory winced and sat up straighter when she realized that it was her grandmother on the phone. "Sorry, Grandma," she apologized, "I'm just been having a bad day."
"That's no excuse for rudeness, young lady."
"I know, I'm sorry."
Emily Gilmore hmphed, but let the matter go. "How've you been, dear? How's the book coming along?"
"It's not been going too well," Rory answered. Not wanting to dwell on that, she quickly asked, "Is there a reason for your call, Grandma?"
"You know that your grandfather's birthday is coming up in a few days."
"Yes, I bought him an antique pocket watch that I think he'd like."
"How lovely," Emily remarked. "Anyway, I'll be throwing a party for him and your presence is required, of course. It'll be on Thursday evening, at our house. You'll be there, won't you?"
She bit back a sigh, knowing from experience how dreary parties like this one could be. "I'll be there."
"Good. That's good." Emily sounded disgruntled when she said, "I had to practically threaten your mother before she agreed."
Rory wasn't surprised. "You know how my mom is, Grandma."
"Yes, unfortunately, I do," she sighed. "All right then dear, I'll see you on Thursday."
The call from her grandmother having thoroughly ruined her movie-watching mood, Rory dialled the number she knew by heart and waited impatiently for someone to pick up. "C'mon, c'mon," she mumbled, tapping her fingers against her thigh.
When a breathless "Hello?" reached her ears, she smiled her first genuine smile of the day. "Couldn't find the phone, huh?"
Lorelai perked up at the sound of Rory's voice. "Hey babe, you know me too well."
Rory laughed. "Maybe you should get a phone that actually has a cord," she suggested. "The chances of you misplacing it would be much lower."
Lorelai made a face. "But that would mean that I'd be immobile when I'm talking on the phone. And you know how easily bored I get. Plus, I'd probably get tangled up in the cord and trip."
Rory had to grin at her mother's line of reasoning. "So, I hear that you were coerced into going to Grandma's shindig on Thursday."
"Damn right, I was coerced," Lorelai said heatedly. "My mother actually blackmailed me. Emily Gilmore blackmailed me! It was preposterous."
Rory wanted to laugh but knew better than to show her amusement. "What exactly did she blackmail you with?"
"Baby pictures."
"Naked baby pictures?"
"No," Lorelai clarified. "Just baby pictures."
"Explain to me how baby pictures are blackmail material."
"They are when you had an enormous head as a baby," Lorelai said. "And when said pictures are from your baptism and you're wearing a horrendous gown full of ruffles and lace and flounces, which only serves to highlight your huge head."
"I count myself lucky that I was not afflicted with that," Rory quipped.
"Yeah," Lorelai agreed. "You should thank your father." Without pausing, she went on, "So, how's it going?"
Rory slouched back against the couch, frowning. "It's not going."
Lorelai's voice was full of concern as she asked, "Are you feeling okay?"
"Fine," she said dismissively. "Just a little stressed."
She was too in-tune with her daughter and knew that Rory was feeling worse than she cared to admit. "Do you want me to come over? I can be there in thirty minutes with junk food, coffee, a tub of Ben & Jerry's and a Brad Pitt movie."
Rory smiled. "Can we watch Legends of the Fall?"
Thursday evening…
"Oh God," Lorelai moaned, lifting the cup of coffee to her lips and taking a sip. "We've only been here ten minutes and I can already feel my brain cells screaming out in pain and slowly dying."
"Mom, be nice," Rory admonished. "It's Grandpa's birthday."
"I am being nice," she said defensively. "I actually brought a present."
Rory narrowed her eyes in suspicion, knowing her mother's propensity for giving wacky and unorthodox gifts. "An actual present? A good present?"
Lorelai shot her an offended look. "Yes, I got him a respectable-looking tie."
"Wow, you must have exercised a wonderful amount of restraint," Rory commented.
"Yeah," she sighed. "I had my eye on this great tie with pink elephants."
Rory laughed, the mental picture of her grandfather wearing such a tie vividly in her mind. "I'm sure Grandpa will appreciate your self-discipline."
Lorelai was only half-paying attention, her gaze roaming over the crowd before latching onto someone standing on the other side of the room. "Well, well, it seems like we've found the eye candy for the night." Turning to face Rory, she winked and tilted her head discreetly towards who she had been referring to.
Nonchalantly, she let her eyes travel slowly across the mass of people until she saw their quarry. Leaning against the doorframe leading to the dining room was a tall, blonde man who was –it seemed- charming the pants off the lady he was talking to. He was dressed perfectly in a dark suit, exuding confidence, power and –Rory noted with a slight shiver- blatant masculinity. She could only see his profile from where she was, but what she did see told her that this man was good-looking. After taking inventory of his form, her stare travelled back to his face in time to see a smile stretch across his lips.
Something about him seemed familiar, but she couldn't put her finger on it.
A hard nudge to her side brought her attention back to her mother who was watching her carefully.
Lorelai arched one slim brow, grinning all the while. "You like what you see?"
She raised her glass of champagne to her lips, stalling for time. Her eyes drifted back to him for a second before she answered casually, "He's a good-looking man."
"A very good-looking man," Lorelai agreed. "Unfortunately for me, he seems closer to your age than mine."
Rory simply shrugged.
A devious sparkle came into Lorelai's eyes. "I dare you-"
Her jaw dropped open at those words. "No way. You're not daring me to do anything."
Crossing her arms in defiance, Lorelai gave a mock-innocent smile. "Yes, I can. It's a mother's prerogative."
"I can still get Grandma to pass around those baby pictures," Rory said threateningly.
Lorelai didn't look bothered; she rubbed her hands in glee and said, "I dare you to walk over to Gorgeous Man and talk to him for fifteen minutes."
"No," came the firm answer.
"Yes."
Rory sighed, seeing the determined sparkle in Lorelai's eyes. "Five minutes."
"Ten," she stuck out her hand, "and you've got a deal."
Eyeing the pro-offered hand with misgivings, Rory finally accepted the dare. "I have one word for you, mom: payback."
She had been watching him surreptitiously for the past half an hour, waiting for an opportunity to approach him. But he was always surrounded with people and Rory despaired that she would never be able to catch him alone. Still, she delighted in studying him, watching the way he interacted with people, his mannerisms and appreciating his good looks.
This is a stupid idea, she thought, cursing herself for taking the dare. I'm gonna look like an absolute idiot.
Wanting to stamp her foot in frustration, Rory drained her glass of champagne and foisted off the glass on the waiter. Taking a last look at the blonde man, she decided that it was a futile endeavour. She would get a much-needed cup of coffee before conceding defeat to her mother.
After whispering her request for coffee to one of Emily's maids, she mindlessly nibbled on a tiny sandwich, hoping to look inconspicuous. God, she hated these parties sometimes. And these damn sandwiches are too small, she thought as she polished off her third piece.
"Those things really are too small, aren't they?" The voice echoing her thoughts jolted her back to reality. Licking her lips and swallowing the last of the sandwich, she turned around.
Her eyes collided with ones so blue that they reminded her of a summer sky. Hoping that she had managed to hide her surprise, she took a deep breath and smiled.
Seemed she didn't need to seek out Gorgeous Man; he had found her.
"I need to eat ten of those things before I feel satisfied," Rory remarked, striving to sound casual and not at all flustered.
Up close, he was even more attractive than she had imagined… and the nagging feeling she had gotten earlier came back. Casting a glance over his shoulder, she spied Lorelai giving her the thumbs-up. Her mother really was something and that thought made her smile widen.
"Ten?" was his somewhat incredulous answer. She felt his eyes slowly take her in and she fought the urge to blush. His eyes back on hers, he beamed a smile, "It doesn't show at all." She didn't miss the appreciative glint in his eyes. Again, she wondered what it was about him that seemed familiar.
She inclined her head in thanks and said, "I have a wonderful metabolism."
He laughed and other stab of recognition hit her.
Who is he? she wondered. "I haven't seen you around before," she said lightly. "Is this your first time at a Gilmore party?"
He smiled and Rory was reminded again of someone. "Not quite. I've been away for a few years, working in the British branch of the company. And my grandfather was good friends with Mr. Gilmore." Thankfully, he decided to introduce himself. Holding out his hand, he said, "I'm Tristan-"
DuGrey, her mind completed. The pieces finally fit.
"-DuGrey, by the way."
She fervently hoped that he didn't catch her shock at his identity. Numbly, she offered her own hand; the feel of his lips on it brought her crashing back to earth. He was looking expectantly at her and Rory realized that he was waiting for her to introduce herself.
He didn't remember her. Not that he has any reason to, she reasoned.
"Nice to meet you, Mr. DuGrey." She gently pulled her hand away and gave a polite smile. "I'm Rory Gilmore." She held her breath, waiting for some spark of remembrance from him.
But there was none.
Irrationally, she felt disappointed.
"Mr. DuGrey is my father. Please, call me Tristan," he implored. "You're Mr. Gilmore's-"
"-granddaughter," she supplied.
"Oh yes, he talks glowingly of you."
A tap on her shoulder made her spin around and she found that the maid had returned with her cup of coffee. Smiling her thanks, she took the cup, grateful for the diversion. "Well," she tried not to stumble over his name, "Tristan, I-"
"You haven't had your fill, right?" He gestured to the platter of sandwiches. "How about we make our way to the kitchen and demand some real food?"
She had to laugh at the mischievous way he smiled and the beseeching way he held out his hand to her.
She found herself giving in.
She was sitting on the ground in her grandparents' garden with her shoes off, a cool breeze blowing her hair off her nape and a half-eaten BLT sandwich in her hand. And beside her was Tristan DuGrey.
Tristan DuGrey: the guy who had been the most popular and sought-after guy in high school. She remembered meeting him on her first day at Chilton and being utterly bowled over by his swaggering self-confidence. For a short while, she had thought that maybe he had been somewhat interested in her. But before long, his attentions on her diminished, as apparently it did with all girls. Once, after she had befriended Paris, she had tentatively asked about Tristan. Paris was quick to disabuse any notions she had about him. After that, he rarely crossed her mind but every once in a while, she wondered about him.
It had been years since high school –almost ten years, Rory reflected- and since they had not run in the same social circles and weren't even acquaintances, it wouldn't be reasonable to expect him to remember her. He had been the big Kahuna, and she was only a small fish in the sea.
"Do you do this often?" was her query.
After swallowing his bite of sandwich and washing it down with soda, he quirked a brow at her and said, "Do what?"
"You know," she waved her hand around, "skip out on parties and charm the servants into feeding you."
He winked. "Only when there's a beautiful woman involved."
She flushed, but she hoped that it wasn't evident in the dim light. "So I was nothing more than an unwilling victim?"
His smirk made him look 16 again. "Somehow, the words 'unwilling' and 'victim' don't seem to fit the situation."
"Okay, then." She amended her words, "How about 'unsuspecting victim'?"
"Oh, were you?"
She looked baffled. "Was I what?"
"Unsuspecting." He smiled teasingly. "It didn't seem like you were."
She struggled not to smile. "That's because I know your kind, Tristan DuGrey."
"My kind?" Her words piqued his interest. "What exactly is my kind?"
Brushing all bread crumbs from her lap and grabbing her heeled sandals, she slowly stood up, aware that his eyes had followed her motion. "The kind that entirely too charming for his own good." And he really was... which was why she thought that it would be prudent for her to leave before he intrigued her even more than he already had. Her lips curled up into a bright smile. "Thank you for the sandwich, Tristan."
Without waiting for a response, she turned on her heel and made her way to the sliding doors that led into the house. She hesitated when she reached them and indulged her urge to look back at him.
He was still looking at her, a small smile playing about his lips. With his jacket off, his tie loosened and his already tousled hair ruffled by the light wind, he painted an attractive picture, looking even more handsome and relaxed than he had been earlier. Taking a breath to still her pounding heart, she took one long last look at him and smiled.
The moment she reached home, she reached for her notebook and pen and started scribbling.
She didn't fall asleep until five in the morning.