I felt rejuvenated from this coffee stop and well awake as I inserted the key into the ignition and turned it. The car roared to life, the rumble of the pistons firing up, the feel of my foot against the rubber of the gas pedal, feeling like a racer with the imported leather steering wheel in my grasp. My heart skipped, the control I felt going home taking root within.
"Now doesn't that feel nice?" Paris said as she buckled up.
"God, yeah." That was my only reaction as I shifted into drive and made my way out of the parking lot and back onto 83. Low to the ground, I found myself not used to the visibility in front of me, with the glare of the street lights above shining onto the well-waxed exterior of the Porsche. I felt nervous as I went the first few blocks, the feel of getting comfortable more paramount. Paris thought I was doing fine and didn't indicate any sense of panic.
I prepared to make my way back to 91 in the Seven Corners area south of town, thinking that she'd have me drive immediately home. The map voice tried to guide me onto Maple Street, and as I came to the sign indicating where to turn, I made my way into the far right lane...
"Second lane, Shaker Road." Paris' butted in with her direction to me.
"But the sign says Hartford, this way, I need to turn here."
"No you don't," she said. "Take Shaker Road, we'll get to Hartford eventually." I didn't want to refuse her, so I switched back into the Shaker lane and stopped at the traffic light, wondering what on earth that girl had up her mind. Maybe she wanted to meander and have a slow conversation with me, I wasn't sure. The light turned green, and for the next two miles she didn't say a word, which was good because my focus was on breaking myself into the car. I kept at a legal speed all through the rest of the road's length in Massachusetts, the sign welcoming us to Connecticut a beacon of relief for the both of us. I heaved a breath, as Paris watched out the window the dark scenery of the small road passing by.
Four miles and six minutes later, we go through the small town of Somersville, and the navigation is on track even as the road takes another name change. Paris' weekend driving experience comes in handy as she lets me know which fork to take, how familiar she is with the stretch. At 55 miles an hour, it's very leisurely and winding, so much that my mind for the first time all night drifts to a different place than Paris; it's how on earth I could convince Mom to finally break down and let Grandma and Grandpa give me a car, something like this. Not that it would ever happen, but it's a good fairy tale to hold close.
I get ready to flick on the cruise control after the curves of the road become fewer and farther between, the traffic very light. The drive so far had been unsurprising, with that promise of why I'd find out why Paris loved her car not indulged. In all honesty, at that speed a Buick land-boat would feel just about the same, I couldn't see why a drive down an old colonial road on the outer fringe of Hartford was so special at all.
First appearances are deceiving though. After crossing a road and seeing a sign that the next intersection wasn't for another four miles, Paris finally spoke up softly, and brought her concentration towards me.
"Bring 'er up to 75," she commanded. Was she kidding, that was twenty miles over the speed limit! I have sped before, but only in a late rush to get to a destination. There was plenty of time to get home yet, no need to rush. I told her this, and she just shrugged it off.
"I'm not in a rush, I just want you to feel how responsive this car is on the road, it's built for speed."
"But what about the police--"
"It's really late, they only really monitor here at rush hour. At other times of the day this is just another farm road with milk and egg trucks rumbling through. When it's night there's an unsaid agreement between the motor enthusiasts of this part of the state and the community that we can use this road to test our cars...safely," she emphasized the word. "We can't go 145 and wring out every horse, but at that speed anyways there's not a lot you can control, the brake is tenuous and the margin of error is a string of thread. I always stay under 100 if I can, it still gives you that rush without that dread you'll fly off the road."
I gulped down, thinking about how crazy it was because I never knowingly broke the law in my life. But watching the needle on the speedometer bounce back and forth between the 60 and 65 gauge lines, and the few curves of road that were ahead according to the map screen. The effects of the speed lured me in, beckoning me for more, to feel more of a rumble in the wheel. There was a freedom here that I never felt before, the trust the both of us were having in each other building a bond further that wasn't there previously.
That if I was ever in trouble, Paris would be there for me. It wasn't even a question whether I'd be there for her anymore at the same time. She liked me as the small-town girl, and in turn her eccentricities that would annoy all others kept me close to her.
"Par?" I demanded with a heavy dose of confidence. "I hope your seatbelt is nice and tight." Before she could say another word, I pressed my foot down harder on the accelerator, and let the speed of the car pick up.
Immediately the effect felt intoxicating as I could feel the G-forces along the back of my neck paste me into the deep plush of the bucket seat. The speedometer went to 70, the needle slowly inching up until it reached what Paris asked me to drive at. The scenery started to blur further, the lonely darkness of the road, the bright yellow centerline the only guide keeping me on the road. I debated with myself whether to go above 75 on the straightaway, the sense I wanted to clear in some psychic way to her. My foot pressed down a little more on the gas pedal, flirting with 80 but teasing it back down to 77.
"You want to, right?" Indeed she knew, and I nodded. She ran a hand along my upper arm, and I could feel her smile. "I told you this felt good."
And she was right about that, because with each additional pound of pressure on the gas, I could feel the rumble of the engine more and more in my seat. I mean literally in my seat too; I brought the car up to 85 and slid into a gentle curve, the tires making perfect contact with the smooth asphalt. The vibrations picked up more with the speed, my eyes focused on the road and thoughts of any cops nearby were more than obliterated, the logic portion of my brain more concerned with all the mathematics going into keeping the car steady than basic law.
The pleasure lobe presented something interesting within; those vibrations were being focused into one point in particular of the seat. Right on center, those sensations were heading right between my legs, and I could barely articulate how it felt to have a six-digit performance car engine sending sexy tremors where I so didn't need them to be at that exact moment. The seat beneath me hummed like it was battery-operated and had three speeds. Not that I know how that feels, really.
Alright, once on the washer a couple years ago in completely accidental circumstances. There wasn't a chair in there, I was deep into reading a book, didn't want to be interrupted, and I couldn't help it, God! Why am I even talking about this...
Anyways the seat hummed and I continued to drive down that road, Paris next to me and no way to hide the arousal I felt from driving so fast. My legs couldn't be crossed and there was no covering up the effects, I was exposed. I heaved in and out to keep the car in control, the better to take my mind off the fact Paris was looking at me as if I was the most beautiful thing she could ever behold. She would say the occasional thing, telling me I was doing a good job, or that I was driving better than she would in the same situation. My eyes didn't leave the road, for all I knew I was driving the speed of sound. Below the humming only magnified, my panties starting to feel as if one layer too many. The self-gratification I had held off since my Wednesday night shower was finally coming to a head and telling me that as soon as I was home the first stop better be my bedroom.
A yellow diamond sign came into my view; a 180° curve was up ahead, the road winding around a small hill, advising 40 mph of speed.
"This is it, the last curve before we get into the extreme north suburbs." Her soothing monotone let me know that this roller-coaster ride was almost over. "You'll have to slow down to only 70, but taking it at that speed is so worth it."
Only 70? RationalRory had to butt in with that observation, wanting me to back off and drive like a grandma. My heart was probably bursting from an upswell of blood pressure, and I think my stomach had relocated to just above my liver. Whatever the case, Paris was ready to challenge me once again.
"You ready to take it Gilmore? This is something you definitely don't learn in driver's ed, it has to come to you naturally." I had already played gutsy all night with how I felt, what defined a relationship. We're still hidden from view of everyone, but creating our own world to keep the secret that we were a couple, to fall into each other the way we have. I felt adventurous, gutsy, fearless.
For now, I had to keep everything with Paris to myself. But on this two lane road just outside the megapolis, I could feel free to express myself however I pleased. She was making me discover what had long lain dormant, or even undisturbed inside of me. I could have the guts to do this.
"Hang on to your armrest baby," I said steady, only a trace of nervousness in the treble of my voice. "How about 80?" I let go the gas the little I needed to enter it safely, my mind gauging all I needed to take the curve at double the legal limit that sign begged me to take. Paris was alarmed.
"You sure? I always have to back off at--"
I cut her off with simple words. "You can only get to Lover's Lane through Dead Man's Curve, might as well make the most of it." With tension hanging in the air, I let more fuel burn in the engine as I saw the first of the striped signs against the guardrail. I tightened my grip on the wheel, starting to feel the spin of the curve against one side of my face. The reflectors along the side were the bread crumbs guiding me, my bloodflow tightening, my legs struggling to stay straight. I felt like a race car driver taking one of the tough curves of a road course, the tires squealing below as I took the curve, keeping the speed no lower than 77. Paris held onto my arm tight, for once showing some nerves from my cavalier driving style. I wound the steering wheel, keeping the 911 within the lines and steady even with the centrifugal forces weighing in on the vehicle.
I reached the top of the curve with 90° to go, the speedometer holding steady along with my resolve. Hearing from Paris that she hadn't taken it at the current speed made me feel even gutsier about everything. I felt the car shift but hold steady, every bit of Mom's driving instruction coming into handy for the next 700 feet. The tires kept a constant Morse code-like squeal, the effects of the curve getting to me in the worst way possible. My pelvis shifted in one direction, the way I certainly didn't need it to, the space between my legs making me think of even more illicit behavior with Paris, say in a backseat or in the rear of an airplane. The intensiveness of the situation and the curve was getting to me in the worst way possible.
The car shifted a little right of the white line, but I quickly reined it in as Paris seemed amazed at how composed I was about being able to use her car. She held my arm tight, so much that I could to feel the bruising beneath where her hand was resting. I managed to keep control for the rest of that long curve, until the hill finally ended and the first signs of civilization came back in my front view strong with a string of street lights along what had turned into Pinney Road going past Ellington and into Vernon.
I settled down and brought the car into the demanded and much slower city speeds, relaxing my sudden lead foot off the gas. I couldn't believe what I just done; I sped through miles and miles of Connecticut farmland and countryside with no one but the occasional car in the other direction! It was such a rush, and below my waist, though not irked by the heavy speed, still felt a hum like a cell phone stuck on vibrate. I shook myself out of reverie, and the last few minutes had felt so good. After all that time without a word, I finally had to say something to Paris as I stopped at the first light since Springfield.
"I'm glad you got me to drive this!! Wow!!" My eyes were wide, and there was a smile brighter than I ever had before. "The control and handling is out of this world, and the luxury...honestly I could sleep in this seat." I felt totally sunk into the plush confines of it. "I mean I knew I could drive like that, but it wasn't realistic to think I'd ever go at those speeds, much less on a public road of all places." I was smiling and my breath was taken aback, as if I just had the best cup of coffee or candy bar ever. Meanwhile my heartbeat had yet to recover, for it was racing at a fast rate.
She looked at me in euphoria, proud as she could be she could give me this moment to savor, driving a fast car the way I did. Truth be told, she was still catching her breath from the shocking drive, her thoughts for what may have happened overwhelmed by what actually ensued. All that she could do to show me my driving skills rivaled hers was to 'mm-hmm' in acknowledgement.
The light turned green, and I drove into the metro area at the appropriate speeds, the signs directing towards the Buckland area and Route 84. The drive was relaxing from hereon in, Paris turning on the classical channel to soothe herself back into the dullness that seemed to be her life with Sharon. She could see that the good times for the evening were coming to an end, seeming resigned to the fate of us having to go back into hiding again.
Going back into downtown Hartford, she finally gathered her bearings and spoke again. "I really don't like having to hide all of this."
"Me either," I said automatically. "Tonight, as far as it's gone, has gone well despite what happened with the movie and the restaurant, we recovered quickly. But we can't tell anyone that, we have to lie and tell them some fiction about the interview subjects being too boring for a Franklin article."
"Not that they are," Paris pointed out. "But how else are we going to be able to sneak this all in? I go to bed at night, and my mind fills with all the things I want to do with you, the things that if I had a boy, would be OK. Holding hands, sharing a quick kiss, sending you a bouquet or a teddy bear as a surprise to remind you that you're in my thoughts. I can't do any of those things, it's like the only way we can express things or be together is using the Colts-to-Indianapolis 'Mayflower in the dead of night' strategy." She sighed sadly. "I have to plan you being with me at the Manor around my mother being there because she has the line of thinking where she hates your mom all these years later."
"We'll be public soon enough," I assured her. "We just need to think of this for the time being like a private little thing that's known to us and us only. And maybe Miss Patty, I haven't told her we coupled up yet but when I saw her this afternoon, she was giving me that look."
"What look?"
I wrinkled my eyebrows. "The 'did you do something slutty' look."
She laughed. "Which you'll have on your face all day tomorrow if I can help it. She'd be proud of us, making out at a Chinese restaurant and in the theater." Both of us giggled at the very idea of Miss Patty watching the both of us making out, if somewhat creepy, yet hilarious.
"Seriously though, things'll be OK. We can probably cut the tension out of school eventually because everyone is starting to think of us as good friends anyways."
"I just don't want it to get back to Mother," she pointed out with worry. "That's why I kept some space between us, because some of the Chilton girls get back to their Daughters of the Civil War mothers during 'how is school' talks, and those women then happen to let Sharon know at a gathering we're closer than we should be."
"As long as her new man from the casino's distracting her we're fine." I smiled at her, and tried my best to assuage her worries. "Think of it this way, Dean and I managed to hold out for three months until Thanksgiving everyone finding out about us even though we surreptitiously flirted for the two months before that. If he wouldn't have given me that first kiss right in the market just before Thanksgiving, we might have been able to wring out an extra month." I then noted something else to compare to that. "Both of us, in comparison have been flirting for the last four months, thinking about each other the way we did until we finally decided to do something about it. We were just a little bit late on the 'doing something about it' part."
"We made up for lost time," she interjected. "I've just never been in a relationship like this before, where I'm sharing stuff like I am, my worries and such. I keep thinking any minute it's all going to go to pot and that's it, and I want to keep us secret for as long as we can. At the same time, I don't want to be ashamed because I'm gay and we like each other."
"I'm not ashamed of you Paris, not at all," I said. "When I was getting ready it took all I had to make Mom know that I don't think of you as high-strung and wacky anymore, but as a friend, a good friend at that. You've been really good to me, tonight you treated me well. You must've wanted to slug the guy at the Italian restaurant for not giving us a seat."
"Nah, of course not." She pauses for a moment, evilly smirking. "Slug, probably not, it's not lady-like to throw a punch. A taser shot to the groin however, that's class."
"Par, you wouldn't!!" I laughed out loud. "He's just the front guy, not the manager who ordered all those reservations to be put aside for the bankers."
"He stopped us from entering, thus the stress gets taken out on him."
"What about that omniscient ticket girl at the theater, she was flirting with you," I noted.
"She was not."
I imitated the girl's response after Paris sarcastically told her off when she asked whether we did more than movie-watching in the theater. "I would with you blondie!"
"Stop it Gilmore."
"Come on, I saw it in her eyes, she wanted to be with us, more you than me."
"Was not."
"She was looking at you the way I have over the last few months in secret. You can deny it all you want hon, but you are a wonderful looking girl."
Paris got self-conscious and tried to hide the blush that was forcing up through her. "No one noticed until you did."
"Well, they're idiots," I opined. " I remember each morning through the summer getting up when you roused me awake, telling me the shower was open and I could hop in. You'd wear a towel or your underwear and the first thing I'd wake up to in the morning was the sight of you getting ready, not only for the day ahead, but to prove you're the best, and God, you looked beautiful like that. When you wake up, you're happy; it's only when the weight on your shoulders and Sharon gets to you that you become the way you are. When I look at you, I see more than that someone fully dedicated to your studies, you also want to make a difference in this world. You do that through the paper, the government and charity work, knowing that wining and dining at a society event is crap. Money only does so much, getting your hands dirty is the only way to feel like you made a difference."
I let what I say sink in with her as I drive down the expressway, taking an exit when I see there's a nice private park ahead nearby, because the driving kept me from getting into the conversation fully. What I said however, was fully meant. The lust aspect was built up through all the months living together and confirmed what I had felt for Paris over the months was the right thing to do. She cares so much, no matter how much she says all the activities she gets into are just for impression's sake. She would've tired out long ago if that was the only reason she rolled up her sleeves the first day back home from Washington and got right back into Rebuilding Together, working on three houses in the short time until the start of school. She might have an abrasive outside, but I know she has a sensitive inside.
It's just been up to me lately to get through to that layer.
I pull into the park, the dark setting of the parking lot overlooking the stars of the cool, clear night in the sky, and north to all the lights of Hartford. This had to be a lover's lane, but we were the only ones there. I pulled into the parking space and turned off the engine, wondering what to do next.
"I don't mean to sound worried," Paris said soothingly. "I know how you feel for me, I just keep thinking that after a pinch this is all a dream, that none of this is happening."
"It's OK, I think that way too." I took her hand into mine. "Trust me when I say this is not going to go away, that this will not end."
Reminding her of our outing conversation, I brought up something from almost towards the end. "Remember when you ask me whether this might have been a phase, being interested in girls, on my end mostly?"
The question was clear as day to her, along with the answer. I could see the worry in her mind as she remembered my answer of if it's a phase, it's a phase, but we have to take a risk. "Yeah," she said, her voice soft.
I had to take the next step in making it clear that tonight had definitely taken me quite a ways from the 'I like boys' camp. I found the seat-adjustment control and tilted the back down as far as it would go. It was my time to be aggressive, for she took the lead twice already in the evening. I felt a bit nervous, but that feeling was overwhelmed by a sense of confidence in what I was about to do.
I asked Paris to push her seatback down as far as she could too, which she did, not knowing my intentions. The small interior of the car would have to be enough, as I brought her attention to me, her eyes wide with a blend of confusion and want.
"The phase is over, I think we've gone beyond that tonight. This us, it's now a definite." I smiled at her as she struggled to describe how happy she felt. I brought a finger to her lips to keep her quieted.
"I'm serious Par, this night...it was all you wished for, all I wished for to happen, and more. I mean this night...there was not one moment I was bored at all, every part of it was interesting and gave me just that much more to learn about you. Not the you that's out there at Chilton, just you, a smart girl with all this want for me, and for the longest time, nowhere to express it except in your dreams. I loved the restaurant, loved the movie, and I loved the drive, this night took me by surprise." I pushed closer towards her, trying to make her position herself horizontal to the windshield. Taken aback, she reverted to non-vocalness.
"Thanks..." she blanched out, obviously not used to the idea of giving up control. I rubbed soothingly along her back, and she laughed when she accidentally bumped the back of her head against the passenger's side window.
"Ouch!"
"You OK?" I asked when the small laugh ended. She rubbed her head, and gave me a dirty look.
"Maybe I should've brought down the Rover." She smiled, as I brought my hand into her hair. "I had a great time tonight too, this was the best."
"I bring out the best nights in you, don't I?" I was easily reminded that she's had three 'best day/nights of my life' in just the last week.
"You bring out the best in me, period." The words were said seriously, and as she stared at me over her, both of us getting into a somewhat comfy recline along the two Porsche seats. She brought herself closer, wrapping her arms around my waist. "I'm very happy about everything tonight." Our lips softly meet, and we buss, then separate again.
"It was great, wasn't it?" Another kiss. "I especially liked when you took my accidental breast brush as flirty and turned the tables against me."
"That did not feel like an accident, I know you did that on purpose."
"The first time, total accident," I noted. "The second time, maybe I did mean to do that." She threaded her hands into my hair, as I worked mine along her side. "I honestly haven't developed much of a fetish for them yet. You could say I need some hands-on time with them." With a twinkle in my eye, I elicited a groan from Par.
"I need to be up by noon tomorrow Gilmore, don't be planting things in my psyche I might think about all night long." She was melting in the seat as I continued to mercilessly kiss her senseless, then dragged a couple of my fingers along the curve of her breast. She makes this sexy little straining sound that just gets to me as I torture her like she did, keeping away from the sensitive tissue around her areola, covered by the layers of her sweater and bra.
"Fuck, Rory..."
The sound of passionate profanity is something I quickly copy to my memory banks, as I push up her sweater a bit to feel bared skin at the side of her waist. She in turn sticks to deep kissing me while running her hands up and down the length of my body without pushing up my dress. Her smooth legs brush against mine, and she pushes one of them against my crotch, my already oversensitive clit causing me to bite my tongue and hold off trying to bring gratification out of this. We have to wait, no matter what, it's too fast to start giving each other deep sexual pleasure. I let her know exactly what I thought of her six-figure 'sex toy' by telling her how I responded to each and every curve in the road, her kissing getting deeper and deeper with each insinuation. Never had I been so dirty, I always thought of my sexual talking as more Masters & Johnson than Dr. Ruth. But the clinical dissection of all the passion of the night we had brought Paris more satisfaction by her own confession than she ever expected.
We stayed liked that, wrapped up in each other for fifteen minutes, giving into the held impulses we kept built up through the week for modesty's sake. I truly did want her so badly, and her the same. The radio silence from last night was now unacceptable, because it just strangled these feelings that we now have. God, Paris is such a great kisser, I mean she's amazing. Dean was aggressive and always prone to kiss overkill, but when that blonde gets into my mouth, it's soft and lingering, we both share the load. I can't help but think all those tongue exercises over the years meant for public speaking and debate and Paris in front of a mirror, pecking her lips and rolling her tongue around a lot. I could just picture her lost in a daydream about me while going through those motions.
Eventually a check of the dashboard clock told us that 12:10am was here, and we had used up every single second of the date that was possible. By then, my hands were wandering against her bare back beneath the sweater, and in the heat of passion we had both managed some breast brushes...OK, more like gropes. Nothing too deep, it was along the sides and we never outright palmed them, me through her bra and her above my dress. Still, we separated looking as if we were in a lover's embrace. She looked at me and said that I should throw on my jacket because my dress was wrinkled up, and that there was a little gloss from her lips sparkling along my neck side.
I was smirking as I watched Paris gather herself together for the last twenty minutes of the drive, because I think I stretched out her sweater, along with messing up her hair a little. She was still exhaling rather loudly as we got out of the car and traded seats, tugging at the bottom of her skirt.
"Cripes, my panties don't feel right," she grouched, then asked me to turn around.
"I hope not, not after all of that." I quipped.
"No, I mean they're riding up, you try having the emergency brake against your ass for 25 minutes!!" I couldn't help but laugh that I had turned Paris from a refined and buttoned-up schoolgirl who didn't want to get the stick out of her rear into an untamed woman who seduced me with her words, her actions, and her wheels. I turned around to let Paris have some modesty as she reached beneath her skirt and straightened out her underwear.
Yeah, I wasn't thinking about helping her out at all. Riggggght. The whole minute before she said she was decent was nothing but torture and dirty thoughts. So much for being uncorrupted and innocent, my naughty side getting more than enough mental images of tonight to build up my dream library for the next few weeks.
After that, we got into the car and Paris drove out of the park, the last twenty minutes of the night going without incident. She asked me to drill her on that homework that remained to be done, and from memory I quizzed her on Russian Novels and AP Trig, just glad that all the stress of the relationship was starting to dissipate. We were still our ol' little selves, just with some extra sugar and spice that made us think we were both nice.
It was 12:20 when Paris entered the town limits of Stars Hollow, and 12:25 when her car made that last turn onto Cherry Lane. Every minute of the night had been used to the fullest, except for those last five before half-past midnight. I looked at her quietly, focused on the road and drinking in the way she looked after six hours doing nothing but being together. She was tired from the long schlep both ways from Springfield to here and still had a half-hour in her to get back into Hartford. Looking at her in the very dim light, with her long blonde locks mussed from our rendezvous at the Hartford lovers lane, her shoes off and bare feet on the gas because they hurt, along with her tired eyes, it was the very picture of beauty. She had a neutral expression on her face, the night having many memories to overwhelm the both of us.
I contrast to her, with that same make-out hair and a wrinkled dress beneath my jacket to hide the evidence of anything more than a study session with Paris. This is where I remind myself that I can't say I went out with her, just that we spent a night chasing a story that never happened.
She took the turn into my driveway, and with a squeak from the undercarriage, comes to a stop just near the walkway so she won't have to put her shoes back on for long. Quietly, she got out of the car, her gaze pouring over each and every inch of me. Paris went around the front, holding up her hand, silently communicating that she'll help me out of the car. Over on my side of the car she opened the door, I unbuckled my seatbelt, and climbed out with the help of Paris' proffered hand in mine. I thanked her and she shakes her head.
"The date must help their significant other from the carriage," she reminded me simply. "If it's wet, their coat must be draped along the ground."
"Chivalry's still hanging in there I see." I got out and straightened out the bottom of my dress.
"I'd say it has a 60% chance at a full recovery. Can I walk you to the door?" She smiled and I wanted to shrug her off, playing the modern girl. But I just can't help it, what she's doing is so cute, so...unlike her. Still, it's taking a while to see the softer side of Paris Gellar that very few, if any, see out there.
"You up to it, it's almost 12:30." I try to talk her out of this anachronism, but no way is Paris budging.
"I can sleep in the afterlife." Ahh, that's what I was waiting for, a quick quip said in that bitter voice of hers. She asked me to walk with her, and as we made our way to the porch, I note that the living room light is still on. Even with Paris, my mom still worries about me getting home on time and in one piece.
"How much was this house? I've never really thought about it, but everything about it is so nice. Quiet neighborhood, plentiful parking, old-style architecture, you even have a swing porch."
"Mom has a $125,000 mortgage with half already paid off," I say. "She saved almost every penny for the down payment from my birthday on, and when she fell in love with it, there was no going back, she wanted us out of the apartments in downtown. The couple who used to own this house moved to Florida, and we lucked out and got it somehow, they rejected all bids because they respected Mom so much." I look in awe at where my roof still is, seven years after we moved in. "Last year we had a termite invasion."
"I remember that, get that fixed?" We were still uneasy at the time the termites came, but she understood all about them since they invaded her father's ski cabin up in the Berkshires, forcing him to build anew.
"Oh yeah, everything's fine now, but my mom looks down at every step she takes on the porch from now on. It's an old house, but it's got so much, in memories and more than that. You could say it was the culmination of mine and Mom's dreams for us until we started looking at Harvard and her own inn, respectively."
"Doesn't she have the Independence?"
"She just runs it, what she really wants to do is own an inn, she has an MBA now so she could come closer to the dream with Sookie. It might not be here though, there's only one other appropriate building in town here that's sort of run down and old, and the owner doesn't want to sell. She tried last year, no luck."
"Well she ran a tight ship the night I was there, she'd be a good boss." Paris meant every word of what she said, I could tell from her relaxed body language. After the slow walk in the front yard, the time was almost up though. We were now on the porch and almost at the front door, and both of us felt that all the hours in the world weren't enough for us.
"This is it," I croaked out, trying to put off the fact Paris was about to leave me for the night. "The end."
"I know. I don't want it to be." She was just as sad about parting too. "This night just went way too fast."
"I wanted it to be slow." I wrapped my jacket tighter against me as a cool gust of wind blew towards the direction of the porch.
"Any other date and I'd be rushing away from you right now, relieved it's done. But I still feel a pull." The magnetism between us was just getting stronger by the day, and by the hour at that.
"You date well Par," I said. "I had a great time."
"Likewise." Close to the door, we gazed at each other one last time, as I drank her in. Her eyes reflected the happiness she's had of the evening, and her body isn't tight anymore, she seems more relaxed and at ease. The space between us is closer than we ever have been in a public place. "Did, um, did you, want to you know...call tomorrow, late afternoon? I mean if I don't pick up the phone I'm signed into iChat so you'll find me there too, or if that doesn't work and you're away and/or I am at the same time, there's the cell phone, my Blackberry, I have your portable IM address so I know I'll get a hold of you..."
I hushed her, and tried to get her over the bundle of nerves she had. "If you need to get a hold of me by string and can I'm sure we can work something out. You will hear from me tomorrow, whatever it takes." The unease was lifted, and she sighed audibly.
"Good Ror, I'm glad." She laughed a little nervously. "This is why I never won Ms. Congeniality, how do you put up with me for so long, I'm a wreck."
Because I like you, I thought right away in answer, maybe even love. I've been finding it harder and harder with each new meeting to keep the L word far away from us. I can't help it though, she just makes me want to fall for her, it's too easy to do. I smile and say that no matter what, I'll stay with her, no matter what.
Another check of the watch showed 12:30 approaching, so after Paris said a thank you to me, she started to have to rush away from me.
"I'm sure Lorelai wants you back, so I should go." Looking all around to make sure my mother's shadow isn't in the window, nor Babbette or Morey watching us from their house, she brings a hand up to her mouth, and kisses it. I watch in a trance as her fingertips brush against her luscious lips, and then she brings it back down her body. She then takes my hand and brushes the kissed fingers into my palm, stunning me with the romanticism of the gesture. It's so sweet as she releases my hand and then gives me her secret Mona Lisa smile only I seem to know.
"A kiss goodnight, my sweet." God, I love it. "You'll think of me tonight?" A nod on my end.
"As long I'm in your dreams." I look at her one last time as my hand meets the doorknob. "Goodnight Par." We break apart.
"Goodnight to you also Ror." She turned around, and we go our separate ways, the night now officially over for the both of us and my stomach in so many twists a Wisconsin Dells waterslide has nothing on my intestinal tract. I panted, the nearness of her getting to be like a drug for me. I wanted more time with her, to just run in the house and tell Mom we had layout work to do at the Manor overnight so I could have an excuse to be with Paris until I awoke tomorrow morning. Still, I let go and watch her walk back to her silver bullet of a car, the air of the New England midnight chilling me, but not cooling the afterglow of this entire date. I don't watch her depart this time however, choosing to go in the house to ease the pain of watching her drift further and further from me as she makes her way back north.
Not one date with Dean did I feel this way. My hand seemed to tingle from the kiss into a hand that she gave to me, the quaintness of our courting, a mix between the best of Victorian times and the modernity of two sudden lesbians drawn to each other making the whole situation something that was indescribable.
Going in the house, I don't stop at the coat hook, and head into the living room. Indeed, Mom is laying on the couch watching SNL, waiting for my arrival. She directs her eyes from the TV and towards me.
"Well, there she is," she said with a smirk. "Is Paris that demanding that she needed every minute of the evening?"
My mind spun into action, starting the white lie factory back into business. I hated this, really hated this. For now though, it had to be done. I could feel in my voice the lie like acid going through me. "The night went fine as far as research. As for actual material, forget it."
I sat next to her on the couch and spun the best yarn I could muster when I was on cloud nine from the evening just passed. Following Paris' cover story with Sharon, I made up something about the Wessons keeping us waiting with a boring game of bridge, and when they finally got to us, the interview had so few sparks or spontaneous moments that Paris was falling asleep from the deadly dull chronology of their Chilton careers. I put a spin on his senior prom description being so tedious that it would be the perfect lesson plan for a sex ed teacher to bring up celibacy.
I felt jumpy as I continued to rattle about this fake interview, and after about ten minutes of discussing it, I finally said that we ate Chinese up at Lady Sing's and then went home after that.
"It took that long for an interview?" Mom wondered. I nodded.
"Journalism is pain Mom. Sometimes you get the Dali Lama for hours, and other times you're forced to fill column space with the crazy cat lady from Seekonk. It's like your job, where you get a charity group one week, and then the Serial Killer Enthusiast Club Convention the next."
"Oh, don't remind me of that, Michel still isn't over the fangirls of Ted Bundy gushing over him. Last time I book a group based on initials alone." She laughs, and slowly changes the subject. "I can understand why you're so involved with stories lately. All the sudden though you're friends with Paris, close friends at that. Did this have something to do with Dean?"
I bit on my lip; she's trying to wear me down and get to the root cause of my sudden closeness. More aversion was needed. "Well Lane's been busy forming the band, and well...yes, I was having some doubts about Dean because I wasn't truly deeply in love with him anymore. Paris noticed, and at first I didn't want her help dealing with it. You don't understand how close we became over the summer, sharing that dorm room. We couldn't just clam up 24/7, there were times we had to talk. I didn't go into detail about it while we were down there, but occasionally we'd talk about guys, and without Lane, she became a sounding board. She might not understand relationships but she doesn't want to see my focus go down over a boy."
"But you come back, Lane is there and you can get back to normal with her." This annoyed me, since when was 'normal' talking to Lane and nobody else? I rolled my eyes and tried to explain the best I could why the closness with Par.
"Am I allowed to have a second best friend Mom, because Paris has been more of one than Lane lately. I match brains with her and I don't have to edit myself because Lane might find the topic dull. She's heard more than enough about Dean; she sees him everyday. Paris barely sees him and has no interest in bo...dating (almost let it slip out there accidentally, yikes!), and she understands that it's not the be all-end all of high school. I just feel comfortable with her lately, the sarcasm about him she has worked to ease out that pain I felt when I went ahead and dumped him. It gave me perspective, he's just a guy, and now he'll work, but in four years? I'll be off at Harvard juggling a Globe or WGBH internship while he's becoming Gypsy's apprentice."
"But you hated her last May when she put your hat in the race! Did you forget that?" Easily corrected and taken care of.
"I was annoyed that she did, but it gave me something to do, a goal to strive for, I never hated her decision. I had a great summer with her in Washington, and we came back here with an understanding that this rivalry is better the way we have it now, we barely even talk grades anymore and she crossed her heart she'd only monitor them weekly instead of daily."
"I know hon," she looked at me with concern, "I just don't want to see you abandon Lane for Paris, she would be devastated."
"We're still on good terms, she just hasn't felt the need to talk to me lately, I promise. I just want things with Paris and I to work out, being her enemy isn't something I'd like, you have to know that." I was just impassioned about how much I wanted to be close to Paris so much, trying to make Mom understand that this wasn't my descent into high society, cocktail parties and boring men with nothing to show for themselves but their name happening to be on a will with a nice dollar amount in front of it. "Paris doesn't want me to leave Lane either, she said she'd rather have a sliver of my friendship than none at all. But you have to understand, Chilton senior year? It's hell (the total truth). You see me; I don't come out of my room until at least eight each night. I have Franklin, student government, debate, and all these little other things to do, oh and don't forget the schoolwork. I can't talk to Lane about this. But Paris is there, in almost every single moment. As much as I wanted to, I couldn't ignore her, she has so much pain with her life and I'm her lifeline to stability. I'm not under all that much stress, but her? I have to be her friend. I want to be her friend. Without all this school crap on her plate, she is intense, yet fun to be with. I just wish you could understand that."
"Rory, dear--" I was starting to get a little unhinged, tired of Lorelai belittling her because Paris seemed like she needed to be on Zoloft. Finally, she decided to relent on what she used to say about her. "I'm sorry, I guess I'm still under the thinking that in two weeks you'll be at odds again, differing sides. I just never expected you to finally bite the bullet and befriend her fully."
"Well, I did," I said weakly. "I would appreciate it if you let up on the teasing. I've kind of checked with her, and she isn't a robot." I smiled, feeling like I was keeping some delicious knowledge from everyone else that against me, she felt so soft and tender. "Oh, and thank her for winning on Monday morning. I still didn't hear you say anything about that to her, we won it for you."
"I know," she sighed in resignation. "I'm just trying to let the picture sink in of Paris and you dancing for that long a time, and actually winning. I have to admit, you two are an OK team, and judging from the lack of damage or scars within your person, she's a safe driver too. I guess I'm a little resistant to change sometimes, especially when it comes to someone like Paris being your friend." She then apologized for everything she's said about my girl for the last two weeks. "However, I feel free to reserve mocking for something that's justified, say her bawling over a B-?"
Pretending to think for a moment, I accepted it. "I think she'll be fine with that. Thanks Mom."
"You're welcome." We hugged, and I felt a sense of relief that Paris and I would be accepted more as friends than originally thought. After some more time talking about how her night went (pretty good if you must know, except for Sookie unable to hold a little liquor), we sat down and watched the rest of SNL, even though by now we were at the lame part of the show. With Soul Train coming on after, it was my wakeup call to go to bed, and after wishing Mom a goodnight and sweet dreams, I headed to my bedroom, feeling much more calm than when I came out of it hours earlier.
* * * * *
I flopped onto my bed, turning on the CD clock radio to some music and curling up with a book, my mind not on either thing at all. Obviously, it was all on Paris and how close we've been lately. Kicking off my shoes, I look down at myself, my head propped on a pillow as I look towards the ceiling.
It's now twenty after one, and I don't want to change out of my dress and into PJs since the night has exhausted me so much. Never mind that it was such a great night, but that it exceeded what might have been a fine first date. We did the cute things, but we also both got a little aggressive. I surprised myself tonight with how much my feelings for Paris are starting to overwhelm me. For the first time since the Winter Formal in 2000 when I feel asleep with Dean on the mats, I'm starting to get the butterflies in my stomach, and the nervous feeling that I have to reel off and keep things in control.
This is much worse, because I see Paris for at least half of my day, if less than that. Before it was easy to stay in control of how I felt, because the Chilton uniform and her attitude never flattered her. After this evening, it's going to be that much tougher.
She looked so damned hot, I recall, the picture of her in the tight sweater and leather skirt something that's replacing her usual authoritarian guise in my head. I saw her being kind and happy for herself for once, glad to have my company. I just don't know anymore if when 7:40am comes and we walk through the Chilton doors, I can handle her having to be antagonistic to keep up the charade that we hate each other.
Bittersweet is how it feels to be me right now. I'm in love with a girl who is my compatible equal, but not too compatible that's she's boring. But no one knows that at all, except the two of us. Because if they did they would immediately frown on it and tell us to break up. Me for someone like a Jess or a Dean, her for a guy with several surnames, a roman numeral in his name, and the sexual prowess of a sloth. I just want to say to someone else that I like her, but who the hell do I trust besides Miss Patty? My peer circle is small enough as it is, and everyone in this town lives on gossip. Chilton runs on rumors and secrets in turn. How do I confess to someone, anyone, that I'm a lesbian, without them shunning me and becoming distant because it's a lifestyle choice that's frowned on by all others? I mean what's so different about it, I'm kissing a girl, that's all, nothing else. I'm not doing anybody any harm, and frankly I don't need some know-it-all religious scholar pointing out that it's not in God's plans for me to be the way I am. Love knows no boundaries, they might say, but that's always suffixed by except if you want someone of your own sex, then punch your ticket downstairs! I know I'm a good person, and I work hard to be good, what does it matter that I like a girl?
Maybe I need a therapist like Dr. Birnbaum, I don't know. I just have so many expectations and it's so hard to stay in line with them lately when the only thing I want to think about is Paris giving me release and mounds of sweet nothings to mull over. I could call her right now, but it's too soon, and she has to be way too happy about the date to have self-doubts like I do. No need to stress her out, and certainly there's no need to build up the anxiety I have about this right now.
You had a good night Rory, I remind myself as I slip out of my dress, taking out an old worn tank top from my dresser to sleep in. There's an urge to get myself off, so I decide to go without bottoms. Still though I can probably wait to wind myself down like that; I'm wound up but I can handle not having release for a little while longer.
It was a great date, and Paris proved herself to be perfect dating material after all. I think of this already as a day I can recount when I grow old as perfect. All the roadblocks that got in our way were easily quashed, and she proved herself to be quite the sweetheart and romantic that was lurking within her. Going out with her now is not going to be boring; I can feel it inside.
Feeling nostalgic after only such a short period of time, I reach into my purse and take out the pair of chopsticks from Lady Sing's I kept, and the Femme Fatale ticket stub. I could already feel time shift back five hours to the both of us sitting in the restaurant, watching each other eat as the talking went on and on without any stopping. My fingers run along the exquisite wood, and in my mind I can feel my hands as weight down on Paris' as I try to teach her how to eat. That was cute, I recall, her frustration like a seven year-old so funny to watch from someone with an air of sophistication usually surrounding her.
Already though, I have an idea to remind her when she comes to pick me up on Monday morning, another secret shared between us only. I'm smirking as I think of look that would cross her face as I came out of the diner with these chopsticks tied into the back of my hair, something I would do only for her as a hint, for provocation. I could ask her to come a bit early and share some breakfast, and then when we departed, I'd find a secret spot off the side of the road where we could have privacy, just her and I all alone as I encourage her closer, asking her for some passionate things. Maybe have her massage my scalp and undo the chopsticks so that the bun I'd put them in would be released and she could bring me closer to her and just show how much she deeply cares for me and my company, in more than academic ways...
My imagination is so vivid lately, I love it! Now I must do it, just for the priceless reaction for when she comes into the diner and has to keep her mouth shut as she clenches her teeth and desires to pull the sticks from my hair. Everyone else might think of me as the naïve bookworm, but I'm really going to show Par how much I think about her, what she's doing and that I want this thing we have to go way beyond one date. My chips are in the pot, I'm risking it all on a Tajikistani Political History question response in Final Jeopardy!, I'm spinning for the dollar when I already have 95¢ on the Big Wheel from my first go. Whichever game show analogy you use, my heart is totally with Paris now, and I just hope she realizes how much more that I want her after tonight's successful date...