Rory And Paris

Chapter Five
The Marriage of Rory and Paris

For Rory, the City of Light had become a City of Darkness. A pall heavier than death hung over her heart as she waited in line to catch a plane home. Rory struggled mightily to hold the tears back, a gallant but vain effort. How could this be? she wondered to herself. How could this city, my city, my Paris, let me down like this? Weren’t me and Paris Gellar destined to be together forever? Then how could it be that I was returning home without Paris Gellar by my side?
Finally, Rory could hold back the tide of pain no longer. She stepped out of the boarding line and slumped on the floor in front of the Air France ticket counter. She began to cry uncontrollably.
Anne Marie Laurant had been standing in the slow-moving line just ahead of Rory. Anne Marie was a statuesque brunette in her mid thirties. She was the wife of a career French diplomat who served in the UN. She was on her way to New York to visit him. With her was her eight month old son, Alain, whom she cradled in her arms, and her ten year old daughter, Isabelle, who stood by her side. Isabelle tugged at her mother’s skirt while pointing over at Rory.
“Ma ma, something’s wrong with that girl.”
Anne Marie looked over at the ticket counter and saw the despondent Rory crumpled on the floor.
“Here, hold your brother.”
Anne Marie handed the toddler to Isabelle. She walked over and crouched next to Rory. She took a tissue out of her purse and handed it to Rory. Rory used it to dry her eyes.
“You have lost someone close to you, no?”
Rory shook her head no. Anne Marie stared deeply into her eyes.
“Ah, you are in love… Perhaps you should stay and try to work things out with this boy, no?”
“It’s over between me and this – person.”
The perceptive Anne Marie picked up on the neutral “person.” She looked Rory directly in the eye and said –
“You know, Bronislava Nijinska, sister of the great Russian ballet dancer Vaslav Nijinsky, once said, ‘There are two kinds of interesting people: the prima ballerinas and the homosexuals.’ I take it you are not a prima ballerina.”
“No.”
“Let me give you some advice, and it is based on experience. I have found that love is the only thing that we possess that is truly worthwhile. Without love, life has no meaning. And something so valuable should not be given up easily. If you truly love this girl, then you should fight for her and your love. Go to her.”
Anne Marie’s words penetrated to Rory’s innermost marrow. Rory got her second wind. She got up, grabbed her suitcase and ran for the exit. She hopped a cab back to her hotel and checked herself back in.
She entered the room and threw her suitcase on the floor, then left immediately. She caught the metro to the Place Vendome. She wanted to do some shopping. She wanted to get Paris a special gift – something that would knock the socks off of her, something she would remember. There were also some other things she wanted to do, and spent a good part of the afternoon doing them. Rory knew she had to go for broke. She knew this would be her last chance to win Paris back. Once she finished, she caught the metro to Paris’ hotel, the Citadenes Saint Germain des Pres. She knocked on Paris’ door, but there was no answer. She hightailed it downstairs to the lobby and out the front door. She spotted the doorman. She ran up to him, huffing and puffing.
“Anglais?” Rory asked.
“Oui, Madam.”
“I’m looking for a girl, about my height, maybe a little shorter, brown hair, my age. Have you seen her?”
“So many people come and go, it is hard to remember.”
Rory took another stab at it.
“She’s like a pint-sized volcano with a really bad attitude.”
“Oh, herrr. I have seen her. She is not easy to forget. The park.”
The doorman motioned with his head to the small park a couple blocks down the road, and Rory raced off for it. As she entered the park, she spotted Paris sitting alone on a bench beneath a cluster of elm trees. The shadows of early evening filtered through the trees, bathing Paris half in darkness and half in light. Rory stopped running and walked slowly up to her. Paris looked up and saw her. Paris shook her head, and gave off a half smile.
“You didn’t think I would give up that easily, did you, Paris?”
The half smile continued to grace Paris’ face. She then turned somber.
“You know, Rory, Harvard is not the sum and total of my dreams.”
“Nor mine.”
“I have other dreams.”
“So do I.”
“Life can be so hard sometimes.”
“I know.”
“It would be nice to have someone there to share it with me, the good times and the bad. I don’t want to live me life, having no one, and then at the end of it be shuffled off to some old dyke’s home.”
Rory laughed.
“It’s not funny, Rory.”
“Yes it is. Yes it is.”
Paris stood up.
“Look Rory, I never meant to hurt you. And I certainly never meant for things to go as far as they did. I’m sorry.”
Paris turned to leave. Rory grabbed her by the shoulder and turned her around.
“Paris, I let you get away once. I’m not going to do it again.”
Rory kissed her on the lips. She took her by the hand.
“Where are we going?” Paris asked.
“C’mon. You’ll see.”
Rory led her away.

The Le Cabaret was a small nightclub on the Place du Palais Royal. Rory and Paris sat at a table in the back. A jazz band played softly. It was a cozy, intimate atmosphere.
Rory and Paris sat there, in silence, sipping on their drinks. Rory tried unsuccessfully to fend off a big smile on her face.
“What?” Paris asked. Rory remained silent.
Suddenly, Josie Mollet, the nightclub singer, walked over to their table.
“Are you ready, Ms. Rory?” Josie asked in that husky, mellifluous, voice of hers.
“Yes.” Rory replied.
Paris raised an eyebrow, wondering what the heck was going on. Josie turned to Paris.
“This is from Ms. Rory to you. I hope you enjoy it.”
The band struck up the opening chords to “Suavecito.” Josie stood next to Paris. She starting singing those memorable words –

La la La-a-a-a. La la la-a-a-a. La-a-a. La la la-a-a-a.
I never, I never met a girl like you in my life.
I never, no no yeah, I never met a girl like you in my life.
The way that you hold me in the night.
The way that you make things go right.
Whenever you’re in my arms.
Girl, you’re filling me with all your charms.
Suavecito, mi linda, hey there now.
Suavecito, well we’ve got to find it out.
Suavecito, mi linda, feels good the rhythm too.
Suavecito, cause you know girl I love you.
I really do love you.
La la La-a-a-a. La la la-a-a-a. La-a-a. La la la-a-a-a.
I never, no no yeah, I never met a girl like you in my life.
‘Cause I know we’ll always be,
Together just you and me,
From here on, you’re gonna see,
You’ll be mine until eternity.
Suavecito, mi linda, hey there now.
Suavecito, well we’ve got to find it out.
Suavecito, mi linda, feels good the rhythm too.
Suavecito, cause you know girl I love you.
I really do love you.

Josie finished. Paris was clearly moved. Rory rose and knelt on one knee next to Paris. Paris got an “Oh fuck, what the hell is this woman going to do?” look on her face. Rory took out a ring box and opened it. She stared into Paris’ eyes.
“Paris, will you marry me?”
The nightclub patrons looked on, astonished. Paris took a deep breath, but said nothing, leaving Rory hanging. The anguished seconds ticked off. Paris continued to remain mute. Finally, Rory snarled at her –
“Paris, say yes. This ring cost me a lot of money, which I don’t have by the way.”
Paris gave Rory that cynical smirk only she could give. She stared at Rory, still not saying a word. But she didn’t have to. The ever-so-slight smile on her face, the look of longing in her eyes, said all that needed to be said. Rory placed the ring on her finger. The patrons clapped. Rory kissed her on the hand. Rory and Paris were now engaged.

*************

It was a glorious time to be in Paris, and even more glorious if you were young and in love. Rory and Paris both seemed to sense that as they stood next to each other, in the center of the park directly beneath the Eiffel Tower. The time was precisely twelve midnight. The night air was cool but invigorating.
The park was empty. Rory looked stunning in a strapless white dress that flowed effortlessly down to her knees. Paris was gorgeous in her black slacks, white blouse, and black blazer. Before them stood a priest, Monsignor Bruno Patrique. Off to one side, standing in silence, was world-famed violinist Pierre Kapek. The only light came from a lone candle that had been strewn with roses. The priest spoke.
“Do you, Paris Gellar, take this woman, to be your lawfully wedded spouse, to have and to hold, to love and cherish, till death do you part?”
“I do.”
“And do you, Rory Gilmore, take this woman, to be your lawfully wedded spouse, to have and to hold, to love and cherish, till death do you part?”
“I do.”
The priest motioned to Paris.
“Place the ring on her finger.”
Paris slid the platinum wedding band on Rory’s right ring finger.
“And you.”
Rory slid the matching wedding band on Paris’ left ring finger.
“You are now joined in holy union. You may kiss.”
They kissed, sealing their bond. Monsignor Patrique stepped back to the edge of the grass. Pierre Kapek moved forward and knelt down on one knee. He began to play “Bitter Sweet Symphony” with his violin. Rory and Paris waltzed to the strains of the haunting music.
“I will always love you, Rory.” Paris said as they continued to waltz.
“Be mine forever.” Rory answered her back.
“I will always be yours, Rory.”
“Love.”
“Love.”
“Love.”
“Love.”
Monsignor Patrique stood, watching in awe, as the young married lovers danced in front of him, putting on a breathtaking display.
“Love.”
“Love.”
“Love.”
“Love.”
“Be mine forever, Rory.”
“I will always be yours, Paris.”
“I’ll love you forever.”
“I will always love you, Paris.”
Pierre finished. His violin fell silent. Rory and Paris stopped dancing, exhilarated and breathless. They embraced. It was done. They were joined – forever.

The full moon was a silvery silhouette in the bedroom of Paris’s hotel suite. Paris stood in front of Rory, erect and stiff. A tear streamed down Paris’ cheek. Rory reached over and wiped the tear away. She then undid the buttons to Paris’ blouse. Soon the blouse was floating carelessly through the air to the floor. A bra. Slacks. Silken underwear. Soon both young women were completely nude. Rory’s eyes burned with an unquenchable fire. Here at long last was the summit of all her desire. Here was what she had longed for all these years. The luxuriant goddess of abundance was here before her, ready to fulfill her every desire.
Paris did not move, could not move. Rory took Paris in her arms and started to kiss her passionately. Rory could feel the trembling of Paris’ expectant flesh against her own and rejoiced in it. Rory’s hands were everywhere, caressing, probing. Rory found her way down to Paris’ womanhood. Her tongue penetrated the folds of flesh, soft and moist. Paris’ body convulsed with shock. She moaned, then collapsed to the bed. Rory eased on top of her. She stared deeply into Paris’ eyes, giving her a look only true lovers could know. They consummated their love.

**********

Paris stared complacently out at the crystal blue waters of the Atlantic as their plane sailed for home. She smiled. How could she not? Next to her sat her lover, wife, best friend. She reached across and kissed her, then held her hand tightly.
“Well, I guess we can forget about that calc test today.” Paris joked.
“We could have made it back in time if a certain person had agreed to take the Concorde like I wanted to -”
“Oh no, you’re not getting me on one of those flying phallic symbols, especially after that one plane blew up in mid-air. Krrr boom. I don’t think so… Besides, that calc test just doesn’t seem so important anymore. Does it?”
“No, it doesn’t.”
Paris kissed her wife on the lips. She burst out laughing.
“What?” Rory demanded.
“You know, the United States government is never going to recognize our marriage.”
“I don’t think the French government recognizes it. I mean, some of that paperwork did look suspicious.”
“Well, what do you expect from a priest who use to run guns for Che Guevara?”
Both women laughed.
“You know, they have civil unions for gays in Vermont now.” Paris said.
“I think maybe we should stop off in Vermont.”
“I agree.”
Paris kissed Rory on her ring finger. Paris stared at the ring. Suddenly, Paris’ mood shifted.
“What’s wrong?” Rory inquired.
“I was just thinking… My parents are never going to accept this. I mean, for heaven’s sake. I’m Jewish, married to you, by a Trotskite Catholic priest. My parents don’t have any reference point to deal with something like this… Rory, they could disown me.”
“Don’t say that, Paris. They would never do that.”
“Yes, they would.”
Both women grew very somber.
“What about your parents?” Paris asked.
“Well, I think it will take them a while, but they’ll learn to deal with it.”
“And your grandparents?”
“Oh, God.”
“Exactly.” Paris exclaimed.
A look of panic overcame Rory. “I could lose my inheritance,” Rory cried out. “After what my grandparents had to go through with my mom and her getting pregnant with me. And now this. They may decide to heck with both of us, and just write me out of their will.”
Rory sighed, deflated.
“Paris, you really think your parents would disown you?”
“Yes… You know, I think we should keep this to ourselves for now. I don’t think the world is ready for what we have together. I don’t think they’ll understand. I mean, people could really get hurt by this. No one needs to know but us.”
“I agree. For now, we won’t tell anyone. Then when we start college, we’ll be living together anyway, and we can decide what to do then.”
Rory hugged her. Paris’ eyes started to moisten.
“See, I’ll always wipe the tears from your eyes.”
Rory reached over and wiped away the tears that streamed down Paris’ cheek.
“Still worried about your parents? They aren’t going to find out unless we tell them. You don’t have to worry –”
“No. It’s not that. It’s just… It’s just that I’m so happy, Rory. I always thought my life would be one of achievement, not happiness. I’ve yearned for happiness, but never dared hope I would find it. But now I can see for me, happiness is possible. And I can scarcely believe it. Thank you.”
Rory kissed her softly on the lips. Paris melted in her arms. They clasp hands together, their wedding bands intertwined.
“Be mine forever, Rory.”
“I will always be yours, Paris.”
“I’ll love you forever, Rory.”
“I will always love you, Paris.”

The End