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Chapter 1: Guardian Angel?

Paris wasn't just angry but also befuddled that she had gotten into any kind of speaking arrangement with someone as frustrating as Doyle, her ex-lover, "What do you mean by saying that George Wallington's treatise on the ethics of Journalism is the ultimate bible of the entire profession?"

"Absolutely Paris dear," Doyle drawled out in his usually slow, saccharinely fake sweetly manner which he knew would totally infuriate his ex, "But of course that's beyond your scope of things which means being female is a handicap that you can't avoid."

"Why..." Paris was completely taken away by her usually hidden passionate feminist nature that had now circumvented her usual cool composure, "HOW DARE YOU!" How could she have ever been even minimally attracted to such a potentially self-possessed *ASSHOLE* was now beyond her understanding.

"See what I mean?" Doyle calmly replied to the explosion of saliva now sprayed in his face and which he proceeded to wipe off with a dismissive gesture of his hand, "how can you ever be a good journalist with an unbiased view of things if you can't even discuss a simple truthful statement without that frail feminine nature and temper? Men are better disposed for the task of reporting facts as a whole, in the most accurate way possible."

"Ignoramus," Paris retorted trying to recover from her momentary darkness. Now she remembered why she had disposed of the young man from her as yet short life, "Wallington was an obnoxious drunkard who was dispatched from the profession by the owners and also the editors of the greatest journalistic entity of the entire world, a.k.a. "The New York Times," because of his exaggerated rather inconclusive style of reporting. So I would hardly call that "beast of the dark ages" as a reputable judge of any kind on any matter at all."

"But of course even your comment as to the "Times" being the greatest entity in journalism indicates that you will never make a good reporter Paris "dear. Everyone knows that the "Washington Post" is the most powerful and greatest journalistic entity ever. There. My point has been proved again."

"One more "dear" from you Doyle," Paris almost growled in a warning manner, "and I will certainly attempt to decapitate that sandwich you are consuming!"

"Now," Doyle said trying to appear pacifying, "Paris we are in a public place."

"Nevertheless," Paris replied as she looked around, "your views on gender in journalism are already tainted and biased thus rendering you useless." Paris carefully glanced around her. At that precarious moment she and Doyle were in a small café with an 'Americana' type name, "Walter's Coffee Shop," that was situated next to the grand university of Yale where she now had resided for the last year as a very successful freshman and was extremely popular with the afternoon crowd of Yale students who came out to have lunch there every day. The coffee shop was adorned in the style of the cinematic fifties with quaint checkerboard floors, pastel shades of peach, lavender and pink, with a chrome counter top where Paris had been peacefully consuming a slice of apple pie and a tall glass of tea until Doyle had casually walked in and upon her,showering her with his unwanted presence thus disturbing her calm platitude. "You should hasten to read Dr. Rudolph Smith's thesis on the psychological equality of the genders before spouting your neanderthal views on the role of sex in the noble profession of journalism."

"I beg to differ," Doyle continued, "It is well known that Dr. Rudolph was a womanizing hack with a suspected weakness for marihuana. So I venture to cast doubts on his absolute credibility on any subject. As I said, because in my opinion women are..."

"Doyle shut up!" Paris exclaimed too loudly which made her blush when she received scattered applause from women sitting at several tables away, "take your sandwich and get out of here right now!" "Now Paris "dear" calm down and..."

Poor helpless Doyle never completed converting his intended thought pattern into actual audible words because he was hit directly with the contents of Paris' tall glass of tea which splattered all over his face and bow tie.

"Doyle get out!" Paris articulated in hotly as she got up off her seat at the counter and approached the young man with evident threatening body language.

"You are an overbearing hag!" Doyle huffed angrily as he quickly stepped away from the furious blond Paris.

"Get. Out. Now. Leave." Paris was direct and determined.

"I am but..." Again Doyle's words were cut short when Paris delivered her entire slice of apple pie to his usually pristine clean white business style shirt.

"I want to see your ridiculous bow tie out of here!" Paris finally yelled, "you obnoxious moron!"

Doyle wisely complied as he put down a five dollar bill on the counter top of the restaurant,"this will pay my bill and tip," he signaled the waitress as he quickly exited the small restaurant amid another wave of scattered applause.

Paris had no choice but to bow to the small smiling female public that praised her with wayward slang comments such as "you go girl," or "yeah girlfriend." Eventually the noise died down and the environment of the restaurant returned to its normal pathetic numb self and the flustered,embarrassed Paris was able to recover her usually cool, calm persona as she reached into her purse to pay the bill for her breakfast, "how totally unpleasant," she thought to herself as she brought out a ten dollar bill, "how could I have ever even thought I was in love with that buffoon? It certainly couldn't be fate" But as she was about to put her money on the counter top a pale masculine hand with the longest strongest digits that she had ever seen in her young life suddenly seized her by the wrist thus rendering her both shocked and momentarily paralyzed.

"How totally pleasant indeed, young lady. I completely agree with you. It certainly couldn't be fate."

Paris didn't know what shocked her most; the sight of a handsome, evidently elegant and well bred man dressed impeccably in a white suit or the fact that he had just obviously read her exact thoughts, "how did you do that?"

"How did I do what?" the tall blond man said in a tempered friendly fashion.

"My thoughts. You echoed them exactly as I spoke them in my mind," Paris said nervously then shook her head thus putting her long dark blond locks in disarray, "no it isn't possible. I don't believe such things. Now let go of my hand you cad!"

"Excuse me," the man who's handsomeness was seeping slowly into Paris' psyche, and his friendly blue eyes were winning her trust, "I meant no harm. I just had to capture your attention somehow."

"Well I'm leaving now. I'm upset. My day has begun badly thanks to an ignoramus. Now I won't have the remainder ruined by an apparent hack who uses amateur hypnosis or mediocre psychology as a pick up line." "Truly I would never impose myself on you," the man replied to Paris' rebuff, "I was only going to further an interesting point of conversation with you. Is fate determined or does a person have the choice in making one?"

"Fate is an intangible," Paris said determinedly, "and I don't deal in the occult or unseen."

"There are more things under heaven and earth than are..."

"Please don't bring the famous bard and that overly commercialized and badly used quote of his into such a ridiculous subject," Paris said hotly as she cut off the man's words.

"Must you be so rude?" he asked quietly.

"I..." Paris was suddenly seized with shame, "I'm so sorry. Its just I've been showered with very bad experiences lately. I apologize. My name is Paris."

"My name is Phillip," the man said with a smile. "Can't you even spare me a few minutes to discuss the "ridiculous" topic as you put it? Aren't you always open to debate?"

"Mundane things that I can grasp and see with my own eyes, yes. Those things I can debate and believe in. But now fate is another matter and in the realm of fantasy."

"But just now you did have the concept of it in your mind, Paris."

"It is a universal concept, a word that is embedded into our subconscious minds," the girl retorted, "its just an idea, a word of general usage which I don't take seriously in any way."

"But what if it were possible to choose what fate you desire? Would you do so?" Phillip asked.

"That would mean that I would know the future then."

"But you can see the choices."

"What?" Paris almost laughed, "are you serious?"

"Indubitably so." Phillip was soberly serious.

"Hamm," Paris regarded Phillip with an obvious smirk playing upon her pink lips, "what will you say next? That you are my guardian angel?"

"No," Phillip replied with an amused smile, "I'm not an angel. I'm fate."

"Smooth," Paris replied. "I don't believe you at all. This conversation is..."

"I can prove it."

"How so?"

"You have two fates to choose from today that will determine the rest of your life," Phillip said quietly.

"Today?"

"Yes."

"I can't believe that today determines my entire life," Paris said cynically.

"Right now I can show you those two choices, Paris."

"Remind me not to drink from any open containers you hand me." Once more Phillip smiled, "yes of course you should be cautious and skeptical. I can only demonstrate."

"Oh really as if this weren't real life and just a black and white film..." Paris was never able to complete her phrase because she saw Phillip wave his elegant hand and then she just blacked out.

Chapter 2: First Choice

When Paris Cellar recovered consciousness she found herself in another location. Paris was no longer sitting languidly at the counter of the restaurant a mile away from Yale. Now the confused girl was standing before a magnificent three story house surrounded by a plush green forest that in turn was then surrounded by a white eight foot high brick wall that would make the most powerful medieval lord green with envy and ashamed at how faded his castle and moat looked.

"Hey..." Paris was still somewhat disoriented yet the scenery before her dark eyes somehow seemed familiar. "This place reminds me of..." The girl's voice trailed off as she struggled to remember amid her muddled thoughts.

"Of course you find it familiar," Phillip said as he stood by the girl's side.

"Stop it," Paris snapped angrily, "your invasion of my mind is very disquieting to me so cease to read my thought back to me as if they were dialogue in a movie script."

"Forgive me," Phillip replied quietly, "I keep forgetting that you humans are bereft of such powers. But I must amend this. I must."

"Then just stop getting ahead of me," Paris spoke, "where is Walter's Coffee Shop?"

"In the past."

"What..." Paris was deathly pale now. "Am I lost? What have you done to me?"

"Don't be frightened Ms. Cellar," Phillip said reassuringly as he formalized the girl's surname to comfort her, to show that she was in his reliable hands, "you are not lost. What I am showing you is one of two probable futures resulting in the outcome of the choices you make in the past."

"How far have we come?"

"I would roughly calculate that we are about fifteen years in your future right now Paris."

"This place..." Paris was once again overwhelmed by the feeling of familiarity, "I seem to know it."

"Yes you do," Phillip said, careful of what he said and how so as to remember the girl's warning of not repeating her exact thoughts back to her. "Your husband bought you this house from its original, now deceased owners Richard and Emily Gilmore."

"Rory's grandparents?" Paris' eyes flew wide open at the sound of the familiar last name, "is she still around?"

"In some capacity or other though no longer directly. You know her socially but distantly through other avenues."

"Oh," Paris said sadly for although the other girl was never overtly her best friend or even eager to know her, Paris still respected and cherished her in a special way. But now Paris' attention returned to a former comment made by Phillip, "my husband? I'm married?"

"You married quickly just after your graduation from Yale."

"Well tell me who is he?"

"You'll have to see for yourself Paris. I can't go about revealing all so that you'll make your decision based solely on my opinions. No. You must work for this."

"I detest labor," the blond girl said cheekily.

"Then go in," Phillip motioned with a long arm encased in an immaculate white sleeved jacket,"let your eyes behold what awaits you in this future."

"I must have married well," Paris noted with admiration, "Sharon, my obnoxious mother must bevery pleased indeed. It has always been her wish that I should strive for marriage instead of a career."

"Well it seems you followed your deceased mother's wishes very well," Phillip replied, "she would be impressed."

"Sharon's gone?" Paris pondered not knowing if she was sad or upset for she was well aware that no love was lost between her and her worldly, money-hungry greedy mother.

"Go into the house Paris."

"Don't rush me."

"You are on allotted time. You can only be here for so long and must leave. Now go. Follow the path to the door."

"Follow the yellow brick road," Paris said sarcastically to herself more than to Phillip as she turned her back on him then proceeded to walk up the white smooth cement surface of the drive that led to the luxurious house. As she approached she found that the gorgeous dark brown oak door of the grand mansion opened, and in the doorway stood a young dark complexioned girl of perhaps Hispanic origin in a dark blue maid's uniform awaiting her with a grave look upon her plain featured face. Paris straightened automatically, putting more stress into her posture to which the girl at the door bowed her head briefly and stepped away from the huge doorway as if receiving a queen.

"Mrs. Fleming, your husband Mr. Fleming is waiting for you in the main library. Dinner will be served promptly in a half hour."

"What did you just call me?" Paris was profoundly fascinated by her new title, "what is my husband's name?"

"Surely madam has not forgotten her husband's name?" the maid was beside herself with amazement.

"Tell me," Paris ordered in regal fashion.

"Forgive my rudeness madam. Your husband is Doctor Asher Fleming, president of Yale University."

"Professor Asher?" Paris asked herself amid a sudden madness for he was in her reality her philosophy teacher. Her apparent choice of a husband quickly bewildered her, "but he is so much older than me. I never showed interest in much older men. How did this come about?" Paris entered the great house and shooed the young maid away who looked questioningly at her,"I'm not wearing a coat so go away," Paris said curtly to the girl who's dark gaze was making her uneasy.

"As madam wishes," the maid curtsied quickly.

"So where is the main library?"

"Madam is not well?" the maid asked feeling strangely that her grand lady suddenly seemed much younger than a few hours before and didn't recognize her own house.

"I asked a question didn't I. Must you answer in a question also? Just answer."

The maid felt more at ease in her lady's apparent acidity. No. The lady of the house was still as impatient and rude as ever. All was still as it was supposed to be, "to the left madam, down the main hall, two doors down."

"That will be all," Paris replied regally with a haughty toss of her head that would have filled the former lady of the house, Emily Gilmore with deep pride. "Well I am the queen around here so I might as well act the part," the blond girl said to herself as she turned away from the maid's small curtsy and shocked gaze. Then Paris proceeded to walk in the direction indicated by her maid. As the young woman began her trek down the elegant high ceilinged hall with shiny oak floors carpeted briefly in places by plush lavender, with walls painted in a delicate shade of gray that were in turn covered by huge golden cedar framed portrait of distant ancestors costumed in medieval or Victorian era clothing, or lush brightly colored medieval tapestries. As Paris progressed she was surprised to see the customary figure of a knight's suit of armor complete with sword, mace and lance accompanied by a huge handsome shield emblazoned with an elaborate ancient family coat of arms. "Wow. I really did marry well. I always knew that Professor Fleming was English, but the guy must be royalty to have this almost cinematic getup standing around." Suddenly Paris stood in the middle of the grand hall, overwhelmed by its elaborate decorations.

"Which of the damn doors leads to the damn library? They all look the same." Paris had her reply almost instantly as a door about ten feet away, on the left side of the hall flew open and a small figure flew out of it that propelled itself in her direction.

"Mommy mommy!" a shrill child's voice cried as what seemed to be the chubby figure of an eight year old boy dressed immaculately in a dark gray tweed suit complete with jacket, knee length pants, knee high socks and brown leather Oxford shoes, with wild dark hair crowning a round freckled face quickly hugged the startled Paris around the waist with his short beefy arms.

"Mommy mommy"

"Get off me you brat!" Paris yelled in exasperation as she tried to pry herself out of the obnoxious child's powerful embrace, " Get the hell off me!" But still the little boy in his proper attire persisted in his mighty hug which in turn frightened an already despaired angry Paris to yell even louder. "GET OFF ME!" Paris literally detested children of all ages.

"William Anthony Nicholas Jackson stop that this instant! Let your mother go! You know she doesn't like to be touched! You'll ruin her clothes again with your antics. Let go of her or I'll have to punish you!" Out of the corner of her eye Paris saw a young woman, the apparent owner of the authorative voice commanding the snotty boy now tied to her waist, come out of the same open door that the brat had exited from. The young woman was in her early twenties like Paris, with well coifed dark hair and wore a formal dark blue business suit in the prim proper style of the thirties which made her look rather matronly. "This snotty nosed obese beast is my son? And who named him?" Paris was aghast at the prospect that such a monstrous, runny nosed ridiculously dressed and named progeny had issued forth from her tender vagina.

The matronly young woman advanced to then attach herself to the raging, stubborn little boy who continued to yell "Mommy mommy!" loudly with all of his might. The matronly woman wrapped her spindly arms shrouded in her dark fabric around the child's wide waist to then begin pulling on him, "William Anthony Nicholas Jackson let go of your mother this instant!" But the little boy clung to Paris so firmly that the matronly woman cried out in desperation, "Maria come quickly! Hurry please!"

Paris was only able to turn enough to see the young maid who had greeted her at the front door come running down the hall toward her, the beastly child who clung heartily to her, and the matron who clung to the beastly child. "Yes Ms. Francesca. I am coming."

The young maid tangled her arms around Francesca's waist then began to pull on the woman whoin turn pulled on the stubborn William Anthony Nicholas Jackson tying to get him off the now helpless Paris. Both young women pulled and pulled with all of their womanly strength to pry the massive mighty boy away from his reluctant mother but it was all in vain. Still the boy clung to the terrified Paris.

"Mommy mommy!"

"William Anthony Nicholas Jackson let go of your mother right now!" The sound of a strong male voice rang suddenly through the house like a loud clap of thunder that seemed to make the very foundations of the huge mansion quake in awe of the magnificence of the authority and firmness of the voice. The spoiled William Anthony Nicholas Jackson quickly released Paris, and in doing so propelled the maid Maria and Ms. Francesca backward against the wall. The figure of a slender older man impeccably clad in a pin stripe Armani suit, with the scent of Old Spice cologne mingled with expensive Havana cigars wafted up to Paris Cellar's rather sensitive nose so that she had to strongly suppress the urgent desire to sneeze inappropriately.

"Francesca take the boy upstairs right now!" the strong male bass voice ordered quickly.

"Yes Dr. Fleming." Ms. Francesca the matronly one said with undisguised respect and admiration as she curtsied quickly, then took the obese boy by the wrist to then pull him toward the stairs which stood to the far end of the hall. "Come William Anthony Nicholas Jackson. You have been a naughty boy. You must obey your father!"

A cynical Paris rolled her eyes as for the umpteenth time the matronly Francesca chanted the little boy's name which almost made her want to tell the woman to "just write a song alright already!"

"But daddy I never see mommy," the little boy whined.

"Upstairs now!" the grand, godlike male bass voice barked loudly.

"Yes daddy," the wilted little boy with the many names replied sadly making Paris almost pity him as he retreated with Ms. Francesca whom Paris now surmised was the child's nanny.

The maid Maria, Francesca the matronly and the pitiful William Anthony Nicholas Jackson Fleming all retired quickly from the presence of the lord of the manor.

Silence ensued as the serving women and the child seemed to disappear into the shadows as if the entire scene had unfolded upon a theater stage. Now a hesitant Paris stood with mouth agape before the elegant, dominant presence of her obviously wealthy haughty husband Asher Fleming who regarded her with a small smile upon his wrinkled face. "He looks so very old," Paris thought to herself as she inspected his face with her dark eyes, "his hair is now completely white. I think he's about in his early fifties which should make him about seventy five in fifteen year's time!"

"Close your mouth dear," Asher said quietly as he put his strong cold hand on Paris's delicate slender wrist. "Its so unbecoming."

"Hey!"

"Again your use of the quaint colloquialisms returns," Asher continued critically, "we've already discussed this. Perfect English is what we must always use so that our son will learn proper respect of our mother tongue!"

Before the befuddled angry Paris could reply, her majestic husband pulled her into the study and closed the door behind them. Paris now found herself in a splendid room where the walls were lined with oak bookcases laden with books of all sizes and shapes. The ceiling of the room was high seeming unreachable and cone shaped with a magnificent mural of a nautical scene of some kind. Two large grand windows surrounded by dark blue curtains stood to one side revealing a view of the majestic primal forest behind the great house commanded by Asher Fleming who stood by a huge cedar desk placed in a far corner. "I must admit that my investment in that budding plastic surgeon was worthwhile," Asher said grandly as he stood with arms crossed surveying the still shocked confused Paris who stood a few feet away from him. "He's made you look the way you did when I first laid eyes on you so many years ago. You were a Yale freshman and I was but an immigrant English Professor newly arrived from Hertfordshire."

Asher took several quick energetic steps that put him face to face with his shorter wife. "Just looking at you now I suddenly remember the first time I saw you. I fell in love with you at first sight and have felt that way ever since."

"Oh you have?" Paris was again befuddled for it was truly a paradox that a man could go from cold and unbearable to warm and charming was quite amazing. But poor Paris was finding Asher quite sexy despite his great age and wrinkles."

"Yes, always," Asher affirmed almost passionately as he wrapped his cold hands around the girl's delicate wrist and pulled her to him as he sat on his massive, elegant desk. "You were such a child, and still are in many ways. But you have given me so much pleasure in bed. You have given me a son. My greatest scholarly accomplishments mean nothing to having such a handsome heir to my name, and you gave me that my dear." Asher surrounded Paris' waist with his long arms and held her close. "You make me feel young and quite amorous. Paris saw Asher's face getting closer and his scent which was a mingling of cologne, nicotine and his stale breath engulfed her so that she was overwhelmed when he kissed her full on the lips. Asher Fleming's lips were sufficiently agile to Paris' taste but she was still repulsed when her tongue inside his mouth outlined the edges of his dentures. Still the girl felt a sudden unexplainable rush of desire when his strong hand began to stroke her between her thighs. Paris had unexpectedly decided to wear a short tweed skirt instead of her customary gabardine pants or faded jeans that day so that Asher's hand landed on her tender bare skin sending a sudden jolt of desire through her that was so shocking, even disconcerting that the girl found herself helpless to the man's manipulations as he raised her unto his lap while unzipping his pants then loosening his belt.

"What's happening?" Paris said more to herself as Asher's excited heavy breathing rushed past her left ear. Then Paris felt him enter her quickly, forcefully. Asher's surprisingly large cold penis began to pump into Paris which surprised her that a man his age could still be so thriving. Reality seemed to spin for the girl who found herself a puppet as Asher easily lifted her up then down on his strong lap while her legs were helplessly spreadeagled on each side of him. "Oh my...mmmm..." The very fact that she was even mildly half repulsed and half aroused confused

Paris who couldn't control of the situation. Then Paris felt Asher explode inside her like a distant dull roar, his cold penis expanding then dwindling to a bland presence within her before the feelings of pleasure within her could be fulfilled. "Too soon..." Paris mumbled. "Too soon."

Suddenly before Paris could register what happened next the door to Asher's study was opened with such force that it bumped violently against the wall beside it, and a shrill odious voice rang through the air; "Mommy! Mommy!" Then a small mass attached itself to Paris' backside as a sudden scream rang from her throat.

"Stop it!" Paris screamed as she struggled between the two males who held her in place. "Let me go you morons!"

Asher was laughing heartily. Little William Anthony Nicholas Jackson giggled and hung onto Paris with all oh his might.

"Mommy mommy mommy mommy mommy..."

Suddenly nothingness ensued which seemed to last an eternity of darkness for Paris but then her consciousness returned. Paris found herself sitting at the counter at Walter's Coffee shop with her gallant escort Phillip. "What just happened to me?"

"You just came back from a very long journey into the future," Phillip replied as he held Paris'hand within his own larger one. "It was a shock to your system."

"Was it even real?" Paris asked.

"That will depend on your choice, Paris. Whether what you have just seen comes to pass will depend on the decision that you make today. You must still see the second choice."

"No...wait..."

"You must see it to choose. There is no way out of this, Paris." With those words Phillip waved his elegant hand and Paris Cellar found herself engulfed in darkness once more.

Chapter 3: Second Choice

Paris was mightily pissed when she returned to consciousness only to find herself in a place that was not Walter's Coffee Shop. "How dare you manipulate me around like this!" Paris sputtered angrily as she turned her coffee colored eyes on elegant Phillip who stood staidly beside her. "You didn't even let me get a word in edgewise!"

"What would you have said then?" Phillip asked, quite amused by the girl's apparent rage.

"I would have told you that I didn't want to know anymore!"

"But how can you make a wise decision if you only know one choice Paris? That doesn't seem very logical. You certainly seem like a very sensible, logical girl."

"But..."

"Besides once you agreed to this the dice was thrown. There is no other alternative but to go all the way to the end," Phillip explained gently as he took the girl's delicate hand in his own and squeezed it gently. "Now don't fret so much. We're already here anyway."

Paris blinked several times. "Where? Or should I say...when? Which is the most appropriate because I certainly don't know?"

Phillip smiled. "We've come eight years into your future. Right now its summer. We are on a small island named "Orange Cove," which is about twelve miles from the bible belt."

"?"

"Florida."

"What? How did we get this far?"

"That's not for me to say, Paris. That is what your alternate future seems to be."

"What happens now?" Paris asked as she felt the soft breeze in her face mingled with the warmth of the Florida sun that crowned a light blue sky crowded by fluffy erotic white clouds that moved languidly, slowly across the heavenly cerulean background with great ease. "Phillip?" When the girl turned around she found that her companion had vanished. "Where are you? Don't leave me here!"

"You'll be just fine Paris," Phillip's ghostly echo seemed to float on the breeze from faraway,"Your wife is coming."

"What?" Paris was mildly surprised. "WHAT?" Now Paris was quite beside herself. "What do you mean by that? Wife? What wife? What are you insinuating? Phillip where are you? PHILLIP?"

But no reply came to her angry desperate queries. All that poor Paris could do was to look around her at the ocean waves that tenderly lapped against the grayish beige sandy coast which was blocked from her sight by the passing of a casual beachgoer. Paris sighed as she leaned down, then took off her shoes. "I'm way too overdressed for this place."

While Paris pondered her situation and enjoyed the gentle ocean breeze running through her blond hair she heard a voice calling to her from a short distance away.

"Paris. Paris its time to come home."

"Home?" Paris was both startled by the word as well as by the voice that she recognized immediately. "Rory? What is she doing here?" Paris had to squint her eyes then put her hand to her brow to shield her vision from the sharp sunlight as she made out a figure silhouetted against the white sand and the golden day. The figure walked briskly toward Paris and slowly went from darkness to colors then to total perfect focus. Paris couldn't keep her heart from beating madly out of control as she finally understood who Phillip had been referring to when he said the word 'wife.' "Its Rory? I'm married to Rory? How can that be? I mean I'm not even..." But the concept of Rory as her wife wasn't even in the least bit repulsive to the blond girl who even felt a knot in her throat and her knees turning to jelly as she pondered the possibility.

Paris was totally speechless as she finally got a good look at Rory Gilmore who was now only about three feet away from her.

"Paris. You must come home. Its almost lunchtime. Elsa will be setting the table by now. You know she gets angry when we're late to eat. Besides the baby has been crying all morning for you. You know she misses her mammie."

Paris was still speechless as her eyes surveyed the sight before her. Rory...Lorelai Leigh Gilmore eight years into the future had aged very well so that it seemed to Paris that the woman was even more stunning than the younger Yale Rory she saw everyday. This Rory had long dark auburn sun-streaked hair. This Rory had an even bronze tint to her strong skin. This Rory seemed taller, lanky without the baby fat that still adorned the younger version. This Rory was radiant wearing a loose gray T with faded jeans while her feet went bare making deep impressions on the sand.

"Paris."

Paris almost wet her panties at the soft husky sound of her name from Rory's ruby lips as the woman stood before her with a smile that could melt even the most stubborn petty heart. Paris almost chocked on her saliva when she saw Rory leaning close and her arms coming up. "She's going to hug me. She's going to...to kiss me? Rory Gilmore is going to kiss me. And we have an Elsa? Who is Elsa? And a baby? We have a baby? And Rory is my wife. And she's going to kiss me? Rory is going to kiss me..."

"You look so silly in these clothes sweetheart," Rory was saying as she hugged Paris to her warm body. "You keep forgetting we're not up north anymore. I don't know how you manage to survive in them." Then Rory tilted Paris' head back a little so that she leaned down slowly. "But you're so cute anyway. And today you look the way you did when we were at Yale." Rory seemed to hover for just a bit over an impatient Paris. "You know I was telling Elsa today that little Katie looks so much like you."

Paris couldn't help herself as a warm gushing happiness seemed to rush up from her legs to her upper limbs and finally to her heart. "We have a little girl?" Paris couldn't help the squeal of joy that revealed itself in her usually gravely inflected monotone voice.

Rory's reply was a strange look in her sapphire eyes as she surveyed Paris' befuddled features."Paris? What's wrong with you? Of course we have a little girl. Katie. Two years and three months. It took me seventeen hours of labor at Palmetto General in Hialeah to deliver her. You fainted five minutes into the delivery room. Fine coach you turned out to be!" Rory lightly chastised Paris then laughed at the blond's fiercely blushing cheeks. "But you made up for it later."

"Rory...I..."

Paris was never able to finish her words because before she knew it Rory was kissing her sweetly longingly on the lips with a passion that was until recently unknown to the usually logical cold Paris Cellar. "Paris. I love you so much."

Paris was chocking in need as she felt Rory's right arm around her waist. Rory's hand was tenderly stroking her long hair. "My God. I never knew..." was all that Paris could think as Rory's passion surrounded her.

"Come on darling," Rory whispered lovingly into Paris' small ear, thus sending a shiver of pleasure through the blond's young body at the warmth of the brunette's breath. "We have to go home."

Paris was as docile as a lamb as she let Rory lead her away from a beach then down a narrow path that led onto another narrow path paved in stone surrounded by tall fig trees that bloomed in almost pure verdant green, without any touches of brown except for their massive trunks. Paris gawked awkwardly at the sight of daisy, rose and pansy bushes that grew in between the empty stretches of the great fig trees that lined the narrow paved path. Paris followed quietly as Rory led her along the path that finally revealed the outlines of a house at its end.

"Home?" Paris swallowed hard.

"Home," came Rory's deep husky reply.

"When did we move here?" Paris asked regretful of breaking the magic of the moment. But she had to know; Paris had to know how all of this happened. Rory stopped in the middle of the path and turned to look at her in a confused gaze. "What do you mean? Paris you're scaring me. What's gotten into you today? You can't remember things from our life. Is it the sun?"

"No. Please Ror. I'm sorry. Don't be angry." Paris was apologetic. "Please humor me. I just want to know. Just tell me how all this happened. Why are we a world away from Stars Hollow? I never thought..."

"That we would ever come so far?" Rory smiled as she resumed her former composure. "I didn't think we would ever move so far across the country. But when your dad died five years ago you inherited the entire Cellar estate. You sold it all and decided to start over."

"But you were with me right?"

"Of course Par. Or have you already forgotten our anniversary?"

"No." Paris panicked as she tried to remember the sparse details that Phillip had supplied her.

"Eight years. We've been together for eight years."

"So its not amnesia then."

"Yeah...I mean...no." Paris sighed with relief when she saw the friendliness and tenderness in Rory's eyes remain. "I'm just not myself today Rory. Sorry. I just can't believe that I convinced you to leave Stars Hollow. You loved your little town so very much."

"But I love you so much more Paris," came the adoring reply from ruby lips. "When we got married sraight after graduating from Yale I promised that I would always follow you even if it was to the end of the earth."

"You love me." Paris was awed by the fierceness of Rory's passion. "And you came here with me." Rory laughed; a bright ringing tone that seemed to go straight to Paris' heart, piercing it with desire.

"Come on. Elsa is waiting with lunch. We can play with Katie awhile. Then you and I can take a stroll on the beach. The sun isn't so cruel in the evening."

"Home." Paris said the word once more with awe, even something like reverence as she looked up to finally survey the structure that loomed more closely now as she approached at snail's pace with Rory snuggled adoringly to her side.

The house that met Paris' surprised gaze was minuscule compared to the massive glory and size of the mansion that she shared with Asher Fleming in her other destiny. But this three story wooden house with white framed windows with hints of lavender curtains peeking through shiny glass, with gray shingled roof and peach colored walls, with a wide screen door opening before a white wooden door that also parted to reveal the figure of a middle-aged, gray haired woman in a dark uniform bearing a little girl in her arms, exuded a warmth and loving aura that the former structure lacked in all of its architectural glory.

"We're coming Elsa!" Rory said loudly with a wave of her arm.

"Elsa is our housekeeper." Paris deducted as much.

"Well yes she is," Rory agreed happily. "You're getting much better now." Rory joked then gently swatted Paris on the wrist.

"Ouch."

"That's what you get for being forgetful."

"I promise not to forget again," Paris smiled despite herself, despite the strangeness of the situation.

Before she knew it, Paris was standing at the steps of the house with Rory beside her. Paris watched anxiously as the woman she now recognized as Elsa reached out with the little child in her arms. Paris gasped at the sight of the beautiful little blond girl that gurgled happily and reached out to her as well. "Oh..." Paris was speechless at the moment she received the plush, warm little bundle of innocence in her arms. "Katie?"

"Mammie," little Katie gurgled happily.

"She's so beautiful," Paris said with evident emotion as a knot of love for the child bloomed in her throat. as she laid a brief kiss of adoration on the little girl's brow. "This is mine. Ours. Rory and Mine. This beautiful and precious thing came from us." Paris' thoughts were filled with deep emotions as she held the little girl in her arms who cuddled happily into her body and said "mammie" over and over again as she played with a loose lock of Paris' long hair.

"Katie!" Rory scolded gently as she delicately took hold of the little giggling girl's hand, "you'll make your mammie's hair a mess!"

"Mimma mimma!" little golden Katie cried plaintively as she took a firm hold of one of Rory's hands.

"What did she just call you?" Paris was both puzzled and amused by the child's odd habits as she looked up at Rory.

"Katie calls you mammie. She calls me mimma. But you know that. Paris..." Rory's gentle features grew grave with concern. "You really aren't well at all are you? Is it your stress again?"

"No I'm alright Rory." Paris could have kicked herself for making Rory worry. It just seemed that Paris couldn't say the right thing and she wanted to desperately. But she had to know how this wonderful reality had come to pass before she left. Paris wanted to know how this world had been formed. Paris wanted to know how she had managed to win Rory Gilmore's love. "I'm just off today that's all. I just want to hear it all again. How we started out. How our life was built. I mean...you and I. I mean...we were never really...you know..."

"Gay?"

"Um yeah." Paris blushed and glanced at the ground for even the mention of the word embarrassed her. Of course she wasn't a full blooded heterosexual with dozens of past male lovers. No. Paris could only count on two experiences in her past; Jamie and Doyle. Both of them had been disastrous relationships which only made Paris determined to remain single for the rest of her life. Sex was something that Paris could solve with a dildo or clit pump because she was neither impressed by it or liked it very much. But this was so unexpected to the blond girl who could only surmise that the event of her becoming a lesbian had only come later in her life because growing up Paris had always considered herself quite straight. But what surprised Paris most was the pleasant surprise of who her "wife" was; Rory flaming het Gilmore who had boys like Dean and Jess fighting over her in highschool. Paris was "married" to Rory who had turned the usually flirtatious playboy Logan into a monogamous mess with her cute seduction of him in bed until she dumped him three months back in a public display of anger because his family had rejected her as a suitable mate for their precious heir to the great family fortune. Paris could still recall that the once cynical sarcastic Logan who loved women then dumped them mercilessly was now a social saddened recluse because he had lost Rory. "But how did it all begin Rory?" Paris just had to know how she had gone from asexual young spinster to happily married lesbian.

"Paris!"

"Please tell me. Please."

"I don't know how it all started," Rory pondered quietly as she played with little Katie who was still in Paris' arms. "One day out of the blue you just attacked me, threw your arms around me then kissed me on the lips and publicly proclaimed to the world that the two of us were now a couple, going steady with the firm plan of getting married right after graduating from Yale. Oh...you also added that you would twist the balls off any guy who came near me."

"Me?" Paris' mouth twisted into the most extraordinary funny looking frown that made Rory laugh as she took baby Katie from the blond then delicately deposited her back in Elsa the housekeeper's arms.

"Yes you," Rory was still laughing as she turned to Elsa, "Elsa take Katie upstairs for a nap. And can you keep lunch for at least a half hour more?"

"Yes as Miss Rory pleases," Elsa replied sweetly with a thick German accent.

"I thought you said Elsa would get mad," Paris said as she eyed the housekeeper. "Just where did we find that odd creature?"

"Really Paris!"

"Tell me."

"Elsa was a wedding gift from Logan."

"Where is that poor bozo now?" Paris was suddenly very resentful of poor Logan Huntzberger.

"Happily or unhappily married to Madeline," Rory replied nonchalantly with a shrug of her shoulders.

"So where were we? I was going to twist the balls off..."

"Please stop..."

"But Rory we weren't even...gay. I mean you always seemed so straight!"

"Well I certainly thought so too until you attacked me and outed both of us to the world. You ruined my reputation as well as yours. Not to mention that we came the object of jokes for a whole month. Still we were somehow voted "most adorable couple" at graduation. I had no choice but to be your girlfriend because the guys were just too terrified of you to even dare asking me out, plus you were pretty much all over me after that!"

Paris couldn't help but smile. "But apparently you liked me and my being all over you."

"You're a marvelous kisser. You are the most tender loving thing I have ever known. I couldn't resist you. So here we are. I have always been glad that you attacked me that day and insisted that I was your girlfriend!" Rory's smile was so radiant that it seemed to put out the very sunlight lightly peeking between the leaves of the fig trees.

"Oh. Naw..." Paris slipped momentarily from her perfect English grammar as she blushed, felt incredibly ashamed and giddy at once, and looked down to start tracing invisible lines on the pavement below with her bare foot. When Paris looked up once more she saw Rory looking at her rather intensely. "Well aren't we going to have lunch?"

"Not right now baby." Rory was pulling Paris toward the side of the house to a side door next to a large screened area.

"Where are we going?"

"I got horny remembering old times," Rory said quietly as she warmly clasped Paris's hand in her own. "I want some intimate time in the Florida room."

"F l o r i d a r o o m..." Paris enunciated slowly as she finally realized that the intense look in Rory's baby blues was deep rampant lust mingled with desire.

"Oh my God!" Paris was startled at the prospect of sudden sex with Rory; much more so than she had been with cold Asher. This was unexpected for Paris who didn't know very much about lesbian copulation.

"But..." But before the befuddled blond could utter another word she was through the open door of a quaintly decorated room with large screen windows. In the middle of the room was a large sofa with the well worn out look of many nights of passion and comfort. Like a flash the door was shut behind them, and Rory had Paris lying on her back upon the tanned sofa.

"Rory..."

"You went out early this morning for a walk on the beach," Rory was saying as she sat next to Paris who lay on the sofa. Rory had skillfully begun to unbutton Paris' blouse. "Its been so long since I kissed you before getting out of bed to shower. I've missed you so much." Rory was out of breath as she pushed Paris' blouse down her shoulders then leaned down to kiss the girl's slender neck.

Paris' head swam amid a current of emotions and colors that surrounded her with the new knowledge of Rory's maddeningly gentle touch and warm lips. "I never knew it would be like this." Paris was beside herself with awe that a girl, that Rory could fill her up so quickly...so unexpectedly with desire. "I never knew that she could be this way. Now I know why Dean and Jess were so willing to kill each other over her."

Rory was stroking Paris' hair as she undid the blond's brassier that unhooked in the front. Soon Paris felt the cool air hit her skin which made her blush profusely at the thought that her breasts were bare to Rory's hungry eyes. But Paris didn't have time to ponder or reason between Rory's kisses to her lips which then trailed down her cheek, chin, then neck in a path of fresh saliva which eventually led to her left nipple which was assailed quickly then covered completely by the brunette's hungry mouth. "Oh my God." Paris could only whisper as she brought up her nervous hands to tangle them in Rory's wild dark locks while she suddenly felt Rory's hand roughly wedged between her slightly parted thighs. Rory's unexpected brusque touch sent electric currents through Paris that made her part her legs to give the brunette's digits ample room as they slipped under panties and into her intimate wet vaginal lips. Paris felt the touch come in waves then swirls in her inner folds as her familiar musk came up to greet her nose. "Oh God." What seemed like several seconds of Rory's fingers teasing her clit at intervals then entering her vagina Paris finally felt the swell of a victorious although small orgasm rip through her from toe undulating till it reached her head. Then Paris fainted.

Chapter 4: Paris Chooses

"I'm..."

"You're back Paris," Phillip said quietly as he held the distraught girl's hand thus giving her his silent support as they still both sat at the counter of Walter's Coffee Shop.

"I feel so tired. I went a very long way." Paris felt the weight of many years upon her blond head yet she had not even aged a whole extra day to be added to her twenty years of life.

"Yes you did Paris. You saw what few people ever get to see. Yet you never left this place."

"But it all seemed so real," Paris complained this time in a more whining manner. "Are you telling me it was all a dream? Did you really manage to hypnotize me after all?"

"No, Paris. I haven't done anything to you at all. You looked inside your own mind and heart. You peeked briefly into what might be."

"So...its not a future set in stone then?"

"None of it has happened yet. It all depends on you. The two outcomes are what you are being offered. The choice is yours to make. One of them will be your future."

"I need time," Paris said nervously. "You can't expect a person to just decide so quickly what will become of their entire life in just one day!"

"Actually more like five minutes," Phillip added.

"Five?"

"Yes. Only five to decide."

"Some damn guardian angel you are!" Paris growled angrily. "Can't you help me? I need advice!"

"I musn't interfere in the choice you make. Those are the rules."

"I would enjoy firing you as my guardian angle!" Paris exclaimed.

"I'm not your guardian angel Paris. I'm just your...advisor."

"Advise me then!"

"I can't. I'm not allowed. But I can give you some very good advice that will help with your choice."

"What is it?" Paris asked in desperation.

"Go with your heart. Don't choose with your head."

"That doesn't help very much Mr. Advisor or whatever you are!" Paris was once again not just impatient but mightily pissed indeed.

"That has to help because both of your destinies are now entering the coffee shop at this very instant so you must pick one of them NOW!"

"Where? I can't see anything?" Paris was panicking now as she looked around.

"Professor Asher Fleming coming in the side door at 95 degrees," Phillip said and pointed to the left. "Rory Gilmore coming in the front at 180 degrees."

"I have to pick?" Paris turned to see Professor Fleming entering the coffee shop by the side door.

Asher Fleming was tall, slender and just beginning to gray at the temples of his blond hair. Asher was smiling, and was incredibly handsome and charismatic at 52 and dressed impeccably in tweed.

"Can I do this?" Paris turned around once more to face the main entrance of the coffee shop only to see Rory Gilmore approaching. Rory was stunningly beautiful and voluptuous with dark wavy hair and piercing blue eyes that could go straight to a person's heart. Rory was dressed in faded jeans, ankle high boots and a blue short sleeve top adorned her upper torso. Rory balanced several books under one arm and held her cellphone with the other into which she spoke agitatedly. Then Paris heard Phillip urging her on with his words that came from behind her.

"Go with your heart, Paris. You already know what you want."

"Yes. I do," Paris said with a smile as she got up from her chair beside the counter. "I know what I want." Paris had chosen her future.

Rory Gilmore never knew what hit her at that instant. All that she was able to recall was that a few seconds before she had entered Walter's Coffee Shop to have lunch as she did at least three times a week she had been talking to her mom Lorelai on her cellphone, complaining about her classes and how heavy her books were to carry around. "Mom...I'm actually carrying five books right now under one arm. No wonder I have such skinny arms." Rory heard her mom speaking but had no time to process just what the woman was saying because as she raised her blue eyes she saw Paris rushing toward her at great speed. A confused Rory looked at her room-mate in confusion and wonder then all hell broke loose as she felt Paris collide roughly into her. The next three seconds were a blur to Rory who now found herself trapped in a strong bear-hug from Paris while her books and cellphone lay strewn about her on the coffee shop floor. "Paris? What the hell are you doing?"

Paris sported a huge grin as she held a defenseless Rory in her arms that she kept tightening more and more each second. "I love you Rory."

"What? What are you saying Paris? Are you insane? You hate my guts. You tolerate me. I'm your friendly nemesis." Now it was Rory who was greatly upset. "Just let go of me Paris. Look at what you've done. My books are everywhere! I'll bet my cellphone is broken now too. Let me go!"

"I'm never ever letting you go Rory! I love you. I'm in love with you and I want the whole world to know it!"

"You are insane Paris! Now I'm sure of it. That damn life coach of yours has completely ruined you! Now let go of me. People are staring. You're embarrassing me!"

Paris Gellar let go of one arm only to bring it up and use her free hand to dig her fingers into Rory's thick locks of hair. "I don't care what the world thinks anymore!" the blond girl replied loudly.

"PARIS LET GO OF ME! People are staring at US!"

"I want everyone to know that you and I are officially going steady. We are now a couple. We are going to get married as soon as we graduate!" Then Paris proceeded to stand on her toes to reach Rory who was slightly taller and at the same time she yanked on the brunette girl's hair to pull her head down closer to her own.

"PARIS! LET G..." Rory was unable to finish her phrase because before she knew it her ruby lips were covered with Paris' own. Rory's eyes nearly burst out of their sockets as she tried to console her amazement and shock with her reasoning and logic. "Paris is KISSING me?"

Paris kissed her Rory with a passion that she had never known that she had but was now overflowing from every pore in her body. Paris was quite surprised at the softness and warm moistness of the girl's lips that she was now attacking. Then Paris eased her hold on the helpless distraught Rory as she stepped back just a bit so as to make a startling announcement.

"SPREAD THE WORD. RORY GILMORE IS MY GIRLFRIEND NOW. WE ARE NOW A COUPLE. WE ARE GETTING MARRIED AFTER WE GRADUATE. AND I WILL PERSONALLY TWIST THE BALLS OFF ANY GUY WHO TRIES TO MAKE THE MOVES ON HER! RORY GILMORE IS OFFICIALLY MINE!"

Amid a wave of light laughter from the people in the coffee shop Rory managed to get out a short phrase.

"Oh damn I'm ruined. Now I'll never be able to get another date!"

Paris began to kiss Rory again right there in the middle of the coffee shop in front of everyone.

From the side door Professor Asher Fleming felt a strange absence of unknown kind tug at his heart and he felt a bit of sadness at the sight of the girls kissing. "Now why am I so sad? I really can't decipher it." Then the handsome professor simply shrugged his shoulders and went to search for a table near the window.

Paris sighed as she held Rory and turned to the counter where she had been sitting, her dark eyes searching for her friend Phillip. He was gone. "I never got to thank him."

"Paris are you socially suicidal?" Rory asked as she looked down at her chaotic friend. "Do you realize what you've done to the both of us? Now everyone thinks that we're a lesbian couple! What were you thinking? Are you really being serious or is this a joke?"

"I'm ever so serious Rory," Paris said soberly as she gazed up at her brunette. "Everything I just said is the truth. I'm in love with you and I'm going to marry you. We are going to have the most wonderful life together. You'll see!"

Rory sighed in evident exasperation. "What has gotten into you?"

"Destiny," Paris replied as she leaned into Rory's warmth. "Everything is going to be fine now."

Rory just rolled her eyes and hugged Paris back.

At the feel of Rory's arms around her Paris knew that she now was going to have the one thing she thought lost to her forever. Paris was finally going to be happy. Truly happy. Paris sighed happily for this was the beginning of a wonderful life.

FIN