This Text file is old! In a 🏛️Museum, an unsorted archive of (user-)pages. (Saved from Geocities in Oct-2009. The archival story: oocities.org)
--------------------------------------- (To 🚫report any bad content: archivehelp @ gmail.com)

From: nvrgrim@aol.com (NVRGRIM)
Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative
Subject: *NEW* STORY - BOATS AGAINST THE CURRENT by N. Perry
Date: 2 Feb 1996 21:15:56 -0500


Author's Note:   This is *not* in any way shape or form a sequel to my
stories GOIN' NOWHERE or PASSING THROUGH.  The third installment in that
on-the-road-drama is almost done and will hopefully be posted soon.  This
is something entirely different... I was home for the holidays in the
typical way and spent some time with my cousin, who was in the midst of
cramming for finals and hellish end-of-term papers.  One of the books she
was assigned was THE GREAT GATSBY, and in talking about it with her I
remembered how much I loved that book when I first read it.  As fate would
have it, that conversation stuck with me, and resulted in this little
piece...

Disclaimer:   If it's not entirely obvious already I definitely owe some
thanks to F. Scott Fitzgerald who is along with Ernest Hemingway on my
list of the all time greats.  I extend the usual gratitude to Chris
Carter, 1013 and Fox Inc. for creating Mulder and Scully and allowing me
to take these characters and do whatever I want with them as long as I
don't get paid for it....  



BOATS AGAINST THE CURRENT (1/1)
by Nicole Perry
nvrgrim@aol.com
1/3/96



It was the summer of my twenty-sixth year.  I had recently come to the
east after an unsettling time as a broker's assistant in San Francisco, to
start a new life devoted to the pursuit of politics and the glory of
government.  In 1923 there were many opportunities for a bright young man
with goals and ideals in Washington, many chances to seize nobility in one
hand and make it one's own.  

 I arrived with one small bag of clothes and another filled with books.  I
had always been an avid reader, all sorts of works of fiction and prose,
and could not imagine leaving behind the stories that had haunted my days
and filled my nights.  I found a small cottage amongst the rolling hills
of Maryland that suited my needs, and set about the tedious process of
obtaining legitimate work that would bring honor to my family.  

 After a few short weeks of effort, I found myself the congressional aide
to one of the junior senators whose beliefs casually mirrored my own.  The
work was hard and yet I enjoyed every minute, all of the rushing and
hustling and wheeling and dealing, the endless hours and sleepless nights.
 I have always been the sort who made friends easily, and it wasn't too
long until I had found comrades in my toil who were more than willing to
share a scotch at the end of a particularly grueling day.  

 It was one of these friends, a chap called Conrad, who first introduced
me to Dana.  She was a friend of his sister's, one of those women who had
led a charmed life from the moment she stepped on this earth.  She had
attended finishing school with Connie's sibling and surprised all who knew
her by following that lady-like pursuit with a rigorous course at
university.  There weren't many women in those days who sought further
education, but Dana was different.   She possessed an incurable curiosity
about everything around her, and it was that curiosity that drove her
further than her peers, that made her somehow special and placed her above
all the rest.

 The first time I saw her was at one of the dinner parties Connie was so
fond of throwing.  She arrived with her husband, an imposing man who went
by the name of Jack Willis.  He was the kind of man who had hard edges and
smooth corners, the sort of man that was hard to grasp yet easy to
understand.  He had a certain rough quality to him, the kind of quality
that makes you slightly afraid just to be in his presence.  He seemed a
bit indifferent to Dana, but at least at that party, he was the only man
who was.

 There wasn't a word you could use to describe her.  Lovely, if you were
searching for an adjective that might fit, but it was too simple to do her
justice.  She was a small woman, sixty-two inches on her best day, but the
power of her presence made you forget her tiny stature the moment she
entered the room.  Her hair was a fiery red-gold that shone in the sun
like God's most glorious creation, and her skin was purest ivory with a
radiance that glowed.  She had a smile that curved across her face like
the ocean against the shore, and each time she favored you with it you
counted your blessings and found yourself searching for ways to call it up
again.  

 When I entered she crossed the room towards me, a flute of champagne in
each of her graceful hands.  "You must be Charles," she said in the low
voice that was immediately, distinctively hers.  She wore a long dress of
cream-colored silk that rustled as she walked.  "Have a glass?"  She
offered me the one in her right hand and I took it, tossing it back as
though it would be a worthy distraction from her beauty.

 "Thank you," I said, wishing I had something clever to say.

 "There's more where that came from," she smiled, with a wink that
promised more than just the liquor.   "Come," she beckoned me forward with
a little wave.  "You have to meet Jack."

 We walked over to her husband where he sat with his back to the fire.  He
assessed her with a glance as we approached and scolded her as he would a
small child.  "I think you've had enough to drink."

 "Nonsense," she laughed, "the night is only beginning."

 And indeed she was right, for we enjoyed ourselves long after the sun
set, so late into the evening that I knew the ring of the alarm the next
morning would come as an unwelcome surprise.



It was several weeks before I saw her again, and although I couldn't quite
forget her my mind was occupied with my daily travails and left little
room for other thoughts.  The long days had driven me to taking walks in
the evening around the neighboring estates, trying to refresh myself to
begin anew each day.  The largest of the mansions that surrounded me
belonged to Mulder.  Or, I should say to be correct, Mr. Mulder, for at
that time we had not yet been introduced.  

 I had heard many rumors from those in town and in the city about Mulder,
about his mysterious past and the fortune he possessed.  There were those
who insisted that he was a criminal, having earned his money by working
the wrong side of the tracks.  Others chimed in with the vague insistence
that he was the heir to a European dynasty and had come to America to
stake a claim in the new world.  There were some who claimed he had killed
a man.  Those were the ones I was inclined to believe.

 It wasn't until much later that I discovered the truth about Mulder, but
I will tell you now what I learned so that you can appreciate the man he
was.  He was raised on the Vineyard by a father who was a high-ranking
government official, and their family had always possessed a certain
amount of money and privilege.  He had a younger sister, who had died or
disappeared under mysterious circumstances, and although to this day I
don't know the details, somehow Mulder himself was implicated.  He left
home when he was of age and was educated at Oxford.  He came back to
America just in time for the war, and earned a decent show of medals
during his time in the service.  Rumor had it that he had nearly died
once, but miraculously survived.  I couldn't help but wonder if perhaps
having been so close to heaven was what changed him, made him the reckless
man he was when I knew him.

 Everyone in Maryland knew Mulder, knew the fabulous parties that he
threw, knew that he was the ultimate host, gracious and kind and giving. 
But although there were many who took advantage of his generosity, there
were few that he could number amongst his friends.

 I was one of those friends, although how that came about I would be hard
pressed to tell you.  It was on one of my most bitter nights, when I was
close to leaving my job and returning to the safe haven of the Pacific,
that I met him, near the end of my evening walk.  He approached me, a tall
form cloaked in an expensive suit and a rather garish tie.

 "Hello, sport," was all that he said, but I could hear the desire for
company in his voice.

 "Hello yourself," I answered, somewhat surprised to see rumor take the
shape of a man.

 "Out here most nights, aren't you?"  

 I was again astonished to find that he'd noticed, and all I could do was
nod.  "I suppose.  It's an easy way to close the day."

 He nodded, and then extended a hand.  "Fox Mulder," he said. "Pleased to
make your acquaintance."

 "Charles Hopper," I answered, taking the hand and shaking it, noticing
the firmness of his grip.  

 He said nothing more for a moment, and I took the opportunity to study
his countenance.  His brown hair was wavy and somewhat awry, as though it
only had a passing acquaintance with a brush.  His eyes were the kind of
hazel that cannot be adequately captured, changing from browns to greens
to grays in a matter of seconds.  His face was angular and not yet lined,
but I knew he had at least eight years on me, and there was a certain
dourness to his person that made him seem even older, at least until he
smiled.

 He favored me with a bit of a grin and said, "Having a party to-morrow. 
It would be a pleasure to have you stop by."

 Gauging the seriousness of his request, I replied in the affirmative. 
"I'd be delighted," I answered.  "What time?"

 "Oh, eightish," he answered with a shrug of his shoulders.  "Bring
whomever you'd like."



In retrospect I probably wouldn't have invited Dana and Jack, but I'd
already asked Connie and when he mentioned that they were free I told him
to bring them along.  They all arrived at my place around eight-thirty and
by that time Mulder's place was in full swing.  We could hear the music
from my sitting room and when I offered them a cocktail Dana shook her
head in playful defiance.

 "No," she smiled, and there was something in her look that hinted at
trouble ahead.  "The party's already started.  We don't want to miss the
fun."

 None of us were willing to deny her so we crossed the grass that
separated my property from Mulder's and entered the courtyard.  The yard
was lit by what seemed to be thousands of Chinese lanterns, suspended by
string over the party in progress.  The band was playing a vague parody of
Gershwin and there were couples dancing in an area that had been
designated by a perfect square of pine wood laid down for just that
purpose.

 I followed Connie to the bar and ordered drinks for our group, champagne
for Dana and bourbon for the rest of us.  She took the glass from my hand
and after a delicate sip that smile was back.  "Let's dance," she said,
grabbing my hand.  I shot a quick glance at Jack who frowned but with a
shrug of his shoulders indicated his acquiescence, so I accompanied her
out onto what passed for a ballroom underneath the nighttime sky.

 The song that played was gentle and she felt good in my arms, soft and
warm and fragile.  I twirled her around, trying to remember the steps I
had learned so long ago and hoping I wouldn't embarrass myself by stepping
on her foot.

 "Isn't this wonderful?"  she cried, and the words were like a benediction
blessing the night.  

 "It is," I agreed. "It's a wonderful party."

 Several dizzying minutes later I felt a slight tap on my shoulder and
turned around to find Mulder behind me, the Mulder who had never before
been seen anywhere that there was dancing to be found.  

 "May I have this turn?" he asked in a voice that was slightly hoarse. 
His gaze went past me and sought her out with a singleminded intensity of
purpose that I had never seen before nor since.

 "Certainly," I answered, looking at Dana for confirmation as I released
her from my grasp. 

 She was staring at him with wide blue eyes that held a vague glimmer of
recognition.  Her lips were slightly parted, and it seemed to me that her
breath was coming fast and I didn't think it was because of the dancing. 
She said nothing, just waited as he stepped close to her and put his arms
around her.  I backed away, but not before I saw him take her hand in his
and run his thumb across the soft skin of her wrist.

 I left the dance floor and found Connie by the bar, polishing off what
must have been his third drink.  I ordered another and stood beside him,
watching them as they twirled across the wood.   They made a beautiful
couple, silhouetted against the nighttime sky.  His dark suit was the
perfect contrast to her pearl-toned silk sheath, and her hair whirled
around her head like an auburn cloud as he spun her away from him and back
again.   Their movements were synchronized as though they had been
rehearsed, as though they moved to an internal rhythm that only they could
hear.  

 Much too soon, the song ended, and the band stopped for a well-deserved
break.  The dancers left the floor, most in search of more liquor in a
vain attempt to further extend the evening's frivolity.  Mulder took Dana
by the arm and led her in the opposite direction, towards the rosebushes
that bordered one edge of his property.  I watched them until they
disappeared, their figures lost amongst the shadows.

 Time passed and I was engaged in a mild flirtation with a girl I barely
knew when I felt a strong hand on my arm and turned around to see Jack
standing beside me, a bit unsteady on his feet.

 "Where is she?" he growled.  "Where's she gone off to?"

 It took me a moment to realize he was asking about Dana, and instinct
told me to concoct a lie.  "I think she's gone inside," I said, a twinge
of fear making me wish I were right.

 "Alone?" he asked, and I had no answer.

 I didn't need one, for at that moment Mulder and Dana returned from their
walk, still arm in arm.  She was carrying a rose in her other hand, and
the crimson of its bloom matched the flush on her cheeks.  Mulder was
staring at her with a look brimming with longing and desire that probably
had something to do with the smile on her face.  

 Jack saw them right after I did and was across the lawn in an instant,
one powerful fist rising up and connecting with Mulder's jaw, fueled by an
intense jealousy that I could feel from where I stood.  Mulder crashed to
the ground and Dana uttered a small cry of dismay, falling to the grass
beside him.

 "Mulder!" was all she said as her hand caressed his cheek.  

 That was too much for Jack, who pulled her away from the fallen man with
a jerk of his wrist.  "Come on," he ordered, "we're leaving."

 She attempted to free herself from his grasp to no avail.  Unable to
remove his hand from her arm, she shot him a fierce glance full of anger
and disgust before allowing him to drag her to her feet.  

 "I'm sorry," she murmured, and Mulder looked up as she did, one hand
rubbing his jaw.  

 "No," he said, his voice so quiet I could barely hear him.  "I'm the one
who should apologize."

 The two locked eyes for a long moment and although the party still raged
it seemed as though everything had gone silent.

 Then Jack led her across the courtyard and back to their waiting car,
pushing her inside without a backward glance.

 I looked to Mulder, who had risen on unsteady legs.  In one hand he
clutched the rose that she had dropped by his side, holding it tightly as
though it was she that he held.  He watched as the car drove away and it
was almost like something broke inside him as he saw it round the corner. 
His whole body sagged, and his countenance was dark.

 A moment later, the band resumed their playing, and he slammed his eyes
shut, taking a deep and visible breath.  I watched him closely as he
reassembled himself in that brief instant, recreating his persona with an
incredible strength of will.  He opened his eyes then, and caught me
staring at him.

 "Great party, eh?" were his words, and I could only nod.

 Still holding tightly to the rose, he turned and walked back towards the
main entrance to his mansion, which suddenly loomed like an empty cavern
before him.  

 It was a long time before I saw either of them again, but that night
remained ingrained in my memory, like a haunting refrain that never fades.



The End -- there ain't no more!   Feedback is *always* appreciated at
nvrgrim@aol.com.  Thanks for reading !!!  :-)