Chapter 3
"Take it from the Naked Guy -- this all seems like a fabulous idea now, but it's just going to backfire horribly come Monday morning."
Thanks to Chiaroscuro for being persistent, to Kel for being patient while I babbled, and to Lauren for being there for me. A lot.
Chapter 3: Putting the "Pity" in Pity Party
Still staring at the words on the screen, Rory pulled the phone from her jacket pocket, not bothering to check the caller ID. "Hello?"
"Rory?" Her fingers froze on the keyboard.
"Rory, you there?"
"Dean. Hi."
"Hi." She could hear him clear his throat on the other end of the line. "So, how are you? How was Europe?"
"Good, good. Europe was great."
"I'm glad. Look, I was just calling to tell you..."
"What?"
"I told Lindsay about what happened with us."
"Dean, you didn't."
"Yeah, I did."
"But I thought things were going well for you two this summer."
"They were. But I couldn't keep this a secret forever. She deserves to know the truth."
"What...what did she say?"
"Nothing, really. She got really quiet, and then just walked out. I think she went to her mom's."
"Poor Lindsay."
"I was wondering if maybe I could see you tonight, you know, so we could talk about this."
"Dean, I don't think that's the best idea."
"Why not? I mean we're friends, right? Besides, I haven't seen you since--"
"That night. I know." Wearily, Rory put her hand to her forehead. "Look, Dean, I’m really sorry you and Lindsay are having problems, and I hate the role I had in that, but I don't think you coming here would be a good idea. Besides, I have plans," Rory lied.
"You do?"
"Yeah. I’m supposed to meet some friends in about twenty minutes."
"Oh. Well, I'd better let you go, then."
"Yeah. Bye, Dean."
"Bye." She heard the desolation in his voice, forced herself to ignore it as she clicked off the cell phone.
So, you have plans for tonight, huh, Gilmore? Big night of studying and going to bed at nine-thirty, more likely.
Rory slumped in the computer chair. Plans? She didn't have plans. Granted, Dean didn't know that, but it suddenly struck her how pathetic she really was. Sitting in the newspaper office on a Friday night? This was a new low.
Where's "to hell with it all?" Where's throwing caution to the wind?
Rory jabbed furiously at the keyboard with her index finger. God, Mom, get the hell out of my head already.
Great. Not only was she hanging around the newspaper office, now she was simultaneously crabby and mopey about Dean. She'd thought the pain she'd felt this summer was bad enough, but now she felt even guiltier knowing that Lindsay had been hurt as well. For all her attitude this year, she truly hadn't deserved what Dean and Rory had done to her. Rory knew that, and it only made her more miserable.
Enough of this crap. She had to get off her butt and out of that office.
Rory weighed her options. Paris was at the professor's, so that was out. Rory glanced across the newspaper room to see Doyle sitting at his desk. Was she really that desperate?
No, of course she wasn't, she realized with a flash of inspiration. Pulling open the top desk drawer, she rooted around until she found the Yale student directory. Flipping through it, she realized the student directory didn't much help if she didn't even know the last name she was looking for.
Fine. I give up. My life sucks. Tossing the directory back into the drawer, she stood up and put on her jacket. "Doyle, I'll see you later," she said as she walked to the door.
"Huh?" he replied, not even pausing as his fingers flew across his keyboard.
"Never mind."
Shoving her hands in the pockets of her jeans, Rory walked dejectedly
back to her dorm.
We are friends, right?
Determined to ignore the conversation that was replaying in her head, Rory attempted to concentrate on something, anything else. She looked to her left and saw a couple sitting on a bench, holding hands. The girl had her head resting on the guy's shoulder and they both looked perfectly content. Shaking her head, Rory moved her gaze across the courtyard, where another couple was sharing a kiss under a tree.
"Oh, for God's sake," she muttered.
"Rory, oh my God! How are you?"
She turned to see her ex-suitemate jogging toward her. "Janet, hi!" When Janet neared, Rory gave her an impulsive hug. "I'm fine. How are you?"
"Oh, great. Really busy."
"Me, too."
"How was your summer?" Janet asked, taking a swig of her water bottle as she fell in step with Rory.
"It was good. I went to London for a few weeks, and then my grandmother and I toured Europe."
"Ooh, very fancy. Meet any hot European guys?"
"Oh, naturally. Had to beat them off with a baguette."
Janet laughed. "Oh, please tell me you dated a little over the summer."
"Not really," Rory shrugged. "I slept with my married ex-boyfriend" just doesn't have the right ring to it. "How's your boyfriend?"
She listened to Janet prattle on, enjoying simply walking and talking with a friendly-type person.
"…So anyway, we're going to a party at Trumbull tonight. What do you say?"
"What do I say about what?"
"About the party, silly. You free tonight?"
She was about to make her standard homework excuse when it occurred to her that the last thing she wanted was yet another night of sitting in her dorm room, listening to Paris's damn Pure Moods CD and brooding about Dean. "You know what, count me in."
"Great! What's your room number?"
Rory gave it to her.
"I just have to go shower and change, then we'll come pick you up. Still rooming with Madam Dictator?"
"Paris? Yeah."
"I don't get that. I mean, you're so, well, normal. And Paris is, well…"
"Yeah. Believe me, if you'd told me three years ago that I'd be rooming with Paris Gellar, I would have called you a raving lunatic. It's funny how some things change." And how much some things stay the same.
~*~*~
Janet smiled at Rory as they walked down the hall toward the booming music. "I know I said it earlier, but you look awesome."
"Um, thanks. You look great, too." Rory looked down at her camisole and skirt self-consciously. She had to admit, she was looking more like Lorelai than plain old Rory tonight -- which suited her fine.
Janet's boyfriend held the door for the two of them as they entered the party. A guy was standing just inside, holding a stack of plastic cups.
"How many?"
"Two," Janet said. She snuck a glance at Rory. "You want one?"
Rory had never really been into the party scene her freshman year, and had only gotten really drunk once, on spring break. "Why not," she said, nodding to the guy. Tonight was not the night for boring old Rory Gilmore habits.
"Fifteen for all three. Keg's that way." Rory handed a five dollar bill to the guy in exchange for a cup, and then headed with Janet to the table with the keg.
~*~*~
An hour or so later, Janet grabbed her boyfriend's hand and turned to Rory. "We're going to go dance. Will you be ok?" Janet yelled over the music.
Rory nodded. "Me? I'm fine. Go, have fun." She watched as the two disappeared onto the crowded floor, sipping on her third – wait, was it her fourth beer? She couldn't really remember, and she didn't really care. She'd hoped drinking would get her out of her mopey, depressed mode, but it turned out she couldn't even get piss drunk successfully. If anything, she was more upset about the whole situation -- God, about her whole life -- than she'd been three hours earlier.
"You look like you could use something stronger than beer."
Rory shifted her gaze to the left, seeing an average-looking frat guy standing there. "No, thanks, I'm fine."
The guy smiled. "Oh, come on, loosen up a bit."
Good God, if one more person tells me to loosen up--
"Here," the guy said, extending a glass to her. "It's my special concoction."
Through the buzz in Rory's head came Lorelai's voice -- kid, don't be stupid, you don't know what's in that -- and that in itself was enough to make Rory reach out and accept the glass. If it would get her mother's voice out of her head—
"Hey, Nate. Rory." She looked up to see Marty standing next to her. He was smiling, seemingly casual, but she knew better. The look in his eyes was something she knew all too well -- the Lorelai Gilmore-patented I'm butting in for your own good look.
"Hey, Marty," the guy said loudly, a grin on his face. "Great party, huh?"
"Yeah. Nate, what's in this?" Marty asked, gesturing to the glass Rory had in her hand.
Nate laughed. "Does it matter, man?"
Marty crossed his arms over his chest, all pretenses of friendliness gone. "She's a friend of mine, Nate. Yeah, it matters."
The other guy put his hands up in the "don't shoot" gesture. "I can take a hint." After he was gone, Rory lifted the glass to her lips. Marty looked at her in disbelief.
"You don't still intend to drink that."
"Sure I do."
"OK, no offense, but I never realized you were stupid."
Rory glared at him. He was dressed in a gray sweater and dark jeans.He looks good, a small part of her said -- or he might if he wasn't being so damned high and mighty. "Why the hell are you here?" she snapped.
"A friend of mine lives here. That's not the point. What the hell are you thinking?"
"Not thinking, actually. Thinking is bad. Now let go of me." Rory turned on her heel, all set to stomp away, but Marty hadn't let go of her arm. She turned her head back and fixed him with a glare. Marty just shrugged and gave her a what can you do? look in return.
"I could have sworn I said leave me alone."
"Yeah, you did, but I'm not so good with the listening."
A defiant look on her face, Rory lifted the glass she still held in her right hand to her lips, taking a sip. "Gross," she muttered.
"Yeah." Marty loosened his hold on her arm. "Look, I can't tell you what to do, but take it from the Naked Guy -- this all seems like a fabulous idea now, but it's just going to backfire horribly come Monday morning."
"What happened to 'Rory, you need to lighten up'?" she asked, her voice affecting a mocking imitation of Marty's.
"There's lightening up and then there's drinking because you're sad. Trust me, I know the difference."
Rory scoffed. "I'm not sad."
The look on his face told her he wasn't buying it. "Could have fooled me."
Her shoulders slumped and she leaned back against the wall. "I'm so pathetic, I can't even do the party girl thing right."
"Join the club." Seemingly satisfied that she wasn't going to do anything stupid, Marty joined her against the wall. They watched the happenings in silence for several moments, until Rory blurted out, "What is your last name?"
If he was surprised by her question, he didn't show it. "Harris. Why?"
"Because I wanted to call you, but I didn't know your last name, so I couldn't look you up in the directory." She laughed bitterly. "That's pretty sad, don't you think, that I don't know your last name or where you're from or what your family's like, but hey, that's Rory Gilmore for you, too busy to care about anyone but herself."
Marty turned to look at her. "Hey, slow down, one thing at a time. Why did you want to call me? Did you have a question about class or something?"
"Because he called me."
"Who?"
"He called, and he wanted to come talk to me, so I lied and told him I had plans, but of course I don't. I never do. I just needed to talk to someone so I'd stop feeling like such a liar and a loser and--"
"OK, Rory, stop. Concentrate. Who called you?"
"Dean," she replied, as if it should have been obvious. "He said he wants to talk, but I don't want to talk. I want to forget. I'm really, really good at forgetting." A small wave of dizziness hit Rory. She laid her hand on her forehead, pressing the heel of her hand into her skin as if she could push away the sudden vertigo that had struck.
Marty looked either confused or concerned -- Rory might have been able to tell which, if her head would stop spinning. "Rory. You OK?"
Her eyes shut, she mumbled, "Fine, fine. I'm always fine. That's me, the Fine Girl."
"Well, you don't look it. Here, sit down." He ushered her a few yards away and forced her to sit on the arm of a couch. "How many drinks did you have tonight?"
"I don't remember." The spinning had subsided a bit, leaving a dull ache behind her skull. "Marty, this is silly. I'm OK. I probably just need to get some fresh air."
It was concern in his eyes, she decided, and the knowledge of that made her feel -- something. She couldn't pinpoint the feeling, but she thought Lorelai would say it was an attack of the warm fuzzies.
Safe, that was it. She felt safe. Yeah, but you felt safe with Dean, and look how that turned out. "Enough already!" she muttered under her breath.
"What?"
She looked up at him. "Oh, not you. I'm just--I need to get out of here."
"Alright. Come on, let's go."
"No, it's OK, I'm just gonna walk back to my dorm. You should stay, enjoy the party."
"Not likely." Something in his tone made her bite back the argument she'd been about to make. She let him hold on to her arm as she stood up off the couch. He fished his keys out of his pants pocket.
"My car is parked just around the corner."
"Your car? Where are we going?"
"You need food."
"I like food."
"Glad to hear it."
tbc
Posted by Carrie on 12:45 AM