Chapter Four
City of Light, City of Love
The City of Light had never been more glorious. The crisp morning air bathe the city in a dewy haze, musky and fragrant, and the sun shimmered in wispy waves off the Seine river. Dominating the city, of course, was the Eiffel Tower, which stood like a bleak, uncompromising obelisk against a piercing blue sky. Rory and Paris reclined arm in arm in their canoe as it drifted lazily down the Seine. The panorama of the entire city lay before them, beckoning them like a sensuous lover. They stared deeply into each other’s eyes. They kissed. Long, beautiful, passionate kisses. Suddenly, a silken blouse found its way to the floor of the canoe. Then a stocking. Then a brassiere. Soon, the young lovers were completely nude. Rory and Paris consummated their love.
Dreams. Romantic dreams. Romantic daydreams. Romantic daydreams while you’re speeding down the highway in your jeep – definitely not a good idea!
“Oh shoot!” Rory cried as she snapped out of her dream world just in the nick of time, spotting a squirrel that darted in front of her. She swerved hard to her left, trying to avoid hitting the little critter, and then slammed on the brakes.
Rory got out the jeep. Was she now a Squirrel Hunter too? Despairing, she checked the pavement for the telltale splat of squirrel guts. Mercifully, there was none. She breathed a sigh of relief. She got back in the jeep. She buried her head in the steering wheel. Whew, that was a close call. She easily could have lost control of the jeep and veered off the road.
It was that damn Paris Gellar! Daydreaming about her, losing her thoughts in her, while she was driving, was downright dangerous. Paris was dangerous. What they have – had – together was dangerous. Apparently so dangerous Paris had to flee all the way to France to avoid her.
Rory promised herself she wasn’t going to daydream anymore. “Concentrate. Concentrate. Concentrate,” she muttered to herself. But no sooner had she started back down the highway she was back in her dream world again. Only this time, they were at Chilton. She couldn’t get those fifty minutes they had spent together in the closet out of her mind! She had held Paris in her arms. How good it had felt! All the years of longing, all the years of living the Great Lie, were over. They had kissed, fondled, each other. She had been amazed how bold they both had been. Paris had caressed Rory’s breasts. And she, in turn, had dared to put her hand inside of Paris’ skirt. She had felt the contours of Paris’ throbbing womanhood. She remembered laughing when Paris had recoiled when she felt the warmth of Rory’s hand against her. How Paris’ eyes had bugged out. What a precious moment! Yes, they both had dared to do the things lesbian lovers do.
And now it was over. Paris was on her way to Paris, France. Rory was stuck here in Hartford, Connecticut or wherever the hell she was, on this damn highway, having just come from that ugly visit with Louise. And the time she and Paris spent together in that closet might as well have never happened.
“No!” Rory cried, banging her fist against the steering wheel. She decided then and there, despite all the heartache she had endured, that Paris, the girl of her dreams, the girl of any girl’s dreams, was indeed worth fighting for.
She hightailed-it back home. Lorelai had gone to work, even though it was a Saturday. Something about a troupe of Latvian belly dancers being in town. What in god’s name Latvian belly dancers were doing in Stars Hollow Rory didn’t know and didn’t want to know.
Rory had a practical problem. She was here and Paris was on her way to Paris, France. But like Alexander the Great with the Gordian knot, Rory’s logical mind solved that problem with one stroke: if Paris is on her way to France, then I’m going to France!
Rory had already made up her mind not to think about what she was doing. If she did, she knew she would chicken out. Instead, just do it.
Rory dashed into her room and grabbed her savings account passbook. Boy what a deflator! She only had $672.38 saved up. She didn’t need to grab her checkbook. She knew how much she had there: a paltry $112.00. She then thought of the money Lorelai always kept stashed under her mattress in case of emergencies. Usually $250 or so. Rory ran upstairs and checked under the mattress. She found an envelope. She opened it, expecting to see mucho pictures of dead presidents. Wrong! It was empty. Damn, Lorelai, that sly dog, had been dipping in the till! Rory rushed back downstairs. She knew what she had to do, even though the thought of it sickened her: raid her old trusty piggybank. She had been squirreling money away in there ever since kindergarten. She got the ceramic piggybank out of her closet. It was so heavy she could barely lift it. She let it drop to the floor, and it burst open into a thousand pieces. She didn’t bother with the loose change. She grabbed up all the bills and plopped them on her bed. She counted up all the singles, fives, tens and twenties. Mostly singles though. It came to $313. Adding that to the money from her saving and checking accounts gave her a grand total of $1097.38.
“Not bad. Not bad.” She said to herself.
Rory had always been a travel junkie. Certainly not in practice, but at least in her imagination. She had always dreamed of visiting far-off and mysterious places. That was one of the reasons she wanted to be a journalist. And of course, she and Lorelai had always talked about backpacking through Europe before she went away to college. Rory would sometimes spend hours surfing the discount airfare sites on the net, seeing how much it cost to go to this city and that city. She knew she could get to France and back on the money she had. So this was no pipe dream. She could make this happen.
Rory whipped out her laptop. She pulled up her favorite discount airfare site. She saw that there was an Air France flight leaving from Hartford Airport at 3:20 p.m. She checked her watch. It was 10:15 a.m. She would have to move fast, but time wasn’t going to be a problem. The price was $542 roundtrip. She didn’t like the fact that there was a stop off at Toronto, but there wasn’t anything she could do about it. There were no non-stop flights to Paris from Hartford.
Rory crunched the numbers in her head. $542 for the ticket, plus tax. Figure in taxi fare, meals, miscellaneous expenses, $700 should cover it. Then there was hotel fare. Figure $100 for a decent room, per night, for a maximum of three nights, and that brings the total to $1000 to get there and back. Yay! I’ve got this covered! Rory cried to herself. If anything, she had a cushion. Rory had no intention of being there three days. She was going to track Paris Gellar down, win her back, and then if need be physically drag her back to the States with her.
Rory rubbed her hands together. OK, let’s make this happen, her visage said. She grabbed all the loose bills and stuffed them into her purse. Exhilarated, she ran out the house and dashed into town. She reached the bank. Oh great, wouldn’t you know it, who was at the ATM but none other than Taylor. He turned and saw Rory behind him.
“Hi Rory.”
“Hi, Taylor.”
“My, you look gay today.”
What the fuck! The color flushed right out of Rory’s face.
“Huh?”
“I said you look gay today. Happy. Like you don’t have a care in the world.”
“Oh… Ahh…”
“Well, here you are young lady. I’m done.”
Taylor finished up with his deposit and left. Rory stepped up to the machine, her hands shaking, her face white as a ghost. Taylor had scared the bejesus out of her.
It took a second for Rory to get her wits back. She then deposited the $313 in cash from her piggybank into her checking account. That gave her a total of $425. Then she did a balance transfer, transferring the $672.38 she had in her savings account to her checking account.
Rory wanted to have the money in her checking account because she planned on using her Visa check card to pay for everything. She had a credit card that Lorelai made her get for emergencies, but she personally didn’t believe in buying anything unless she had the money in the bank to pay for it, being the practical and frugal person that she was.
Rory checked the ATM printout. It showed exactly $1097.38 for her checking account. She kissed it, smiling like a Cheshire Cat. She knew that $1097.38 was probably the most important money she would ever possess. It was going to decide her future for years, perhaps decades, to come.
She dashed back home. She purchased a round trip ticket online using her Visa check card. The ticket was $542, and with taxes and fees, came to $602.54. It was for Air France flight #4129 for Paris, France, leaving at 3:20 p.m. from Hartford, with a stop over at Toronto, Canada. She printed out the electronic ticket. She then booked a hotel. She printed out the electronic confirmation.
She took the two pieces of paper, sat on the edge of her bed, and looked at them – not to make sure everything was OK; she was certain of that. But rather as tangible proof that this was it. She was going to do this. The ticket was non-refundable. There was no turning back. She was on her way to France to win the heart of her one and true love. She sat there and wept.
**********
It was a little after noon that Rory walked into Luke’s. She had already packed her bag and made sure she had everything ready to go back at the house. Now she was hungry. She had been running around like an overwound clock since seven this morning, when she first went over to Paris’ house, discovered she was gone, then over to Louise’s house, and found out to her horror Paris was on her way to France. Now she was starting to wind down. She had been functioning on nervous energy for half the morning. It was time for some real energy.
Luke’s was packed with the lunch crowd. Lucky for Rory, a couple just finished at a table over in the corner, the only open table, and Rory made a beeline for it. It was perfect. She didn’t want to sit near the window anyway. She wanted to be alone with her thoughts.
She sat down. Luke rushed over. He cleaned the table.
“Rory, I’ll get to you as soon as I can. It’s been like a madhouse all day. Sheesh, Saturday’s are the worst.”
Luke turned, took two steps, then turned back to her.
“Oh, what the heck. I’m over here. How can I help you?”
“Well, thank you. Um, is it too late for breakfast? I know it is.”
“For everyone else, yes. But for you, no. What’ll you have?”
“Some hotcakes and OJ.”
“Anything else?”
“No, that’s it.”
“Got it… Saw your mom this morning. Surprised she was working today. Boy, was she even screwier than usual. Babbled on and on about some Latvian belly dancers driving Michel crazy.”
“Well, those Latvian belly dancers will do that to you.”
Luke walked off. Rory waited patiently for her breakfast. As she did so, she couldn’t help thinking about Paris. How could she not? Paris’ flight was probably over the middle of the Atlantic by now. She wondered what Paris was doing. Was she sitting in her seat, crying? Was she thinking about her, Rory? Heck, why was she even on that plane to begin with? Just what exactly did Louise say to her?
Luke returned with her breakfast.
“There you go… You OK? You seem preoccupied.”
“No, I’m fine.”
“OK… Enjoy you’re meal.”
“I’m sure I will… Um…”
“Yeah?”
“Nothing.”
“You sure? Cause you looked like you wanted to say something there.”
“No. I just…”
“Rory, we’re practically like family. You know you can always talk to me. Right?”
“Um… I just wanted to compliment you on these pancakes. They’re great.”
“OK.”
Luke could tell he wasn’t getting the whole story, but he didn’t have time to inquire further. He rushed off. Rory plunged into her stack of hotcakes. She decided she would try to clear her mind, not think about Paris, just relax and enjoy her breakfast.
It didn’t take her long to finish. Truth of the matter she had been starving. She paid Luke and left. As she was walking home, she passed Mama Kim’s antique shop. Lane walked out.
“Hey, Rory… Rory… Earth to Rory!”
“Oh, hi Lane… You’re just the person I want to see!”
Rory pulled Lane aside.
“You OK, Rory?”
“Yeah. Look, Lane, I need you to do me a big favor.”
“What?”
“I can’t talk about it here. Let’s go to my house. I’ll explain everything there.”
“Ooh. All cloak and daggery. Cool.”
Rory grabbed Lane and virtually dragged her to the house. They walked in. Rory sat Lane down on the sofa. She sat across from her.
“Rory, what’s going on?”
“I need you to drive me to the airport. We can take my jeep. Then after you drop me off, you can bring the jeep home.”
“Um, Rory, I’m not allowed to drive.”
“You have your license, right? I know you have it. I’ve seen it.”
“Yes, I have my license. It’s my mom. She says if God wanted me to drive, He would have given me a car. And hello, you don’t see me with a car, do you?”
“Your mom doesn’t have to know. No one has to know. I mean, where’s your sense of adventure? I mean, you’re the same person who dyed her hair purple, aren’t you?”
“And chickened out.”
“But you did do it. We have the picture to prove it.”
“Yeah, I did, didn’t I… OK. I’ll do it. I’ve been dying to try out my driving skills. Vrroom!”
“OK, Mario, don’t get carried away… Let me get my bag.”
“You mean now?”
Rory rose and walked into her bedroom. Lane followed and stood at the doorway.
“Um, Rory, what’s going on? Where are you going?”
Rory grabbed her bag, took one last look around her room to make sure she hadn’t forgotten anything, then walked out. She led Lane back to the sofa.
“I’ve got about fifteen minutes until we need to leave.”
“Rory, what is it? I can tell something is wrong… Oh God, you had a death in the family.”
Lane reached across and held Rory’s hand.
“No, Lane… Everything is fine. Well, not fine… Oh boy, how can I say this. I don’t even know if I should tell you… You are my friend, right? What am I saying. Of course you’re my friend. I’m losing my mind.”
“Rory, you’re kinda scaring me now.”
“I’m sorry… Here goes… Lane… Lane… Oh God, it’s just… oh… I’m gay, Lane. I’m gay.”
Lane pulled away, stunned.
“You OK, Lane?”
“Rory, you can’t be gay. You’re not gay! You’ve had boyfriends. Good looking boyfriends. I mean, you have to beat guys off with a stick. I should be so gay!”
“I’m gay, Lane. Believe me. I’m gay.”
“How do you know?”
“I’m in love with Paris Gellar.”
“What!… I am now officially in full cardiac arrest!… This is a joke, right? Jamie Kennedy, where are you? I know you’re in here somewhere with that weaselly little hidden camera of yours!”
“I’m serious, Lane. I’ve never been more serious.”
Rory glanced down at her watch.
“Look, we better go. We can talk on the way to the airport.”
Rory went into her room and ripped out a piece of paper from her notebook. She walked into the kitchen. Lane followed her. From the expression on Lane’s face, it was hard to tell if she believed Rory or not.
“I gotta write a note to my mom.”
“You going to write a note to your mom telling her you’re gay?”
“No. I’m just going to tell her… well…”
Rory wrote the note. Lane took the note and read it aloud.
“Dear Mom. I know this sounds crazy, but by the time you read this, I’ll be on my way to Paris, France. I’ll explain everything when I get back. Don’t worry, I’m fine. Just something I have to take care of. Have faith in me. Love, Rory. P.S. If you have any questions, ask Lane.”
“Hey, I didn’t put that ‘P.S.’ part in there.”
“Well, you might was well have. Because when she reads this, who do you think she’s going to go running to first, screaming like a crazy woman, demanding answers? Your best friend, that’s who.”
“Let’s go.”
Lane was focused straight ahead, hands firmly at the wheel, as she sped down I-91 heading north. Rory sat silently next to her, staring glassily out the window. It was a crisp, cool Saturday afternoon.
“I can’t believe this. I’m driving. I’m actually driving! On a highway. With actual people on them… You’re nervous… You’re nervous! You think I’m going to crash.”
“You’re doing fine, Lane. You are a very safe driver.”
“So… You and Paris Gellar… You’re like, a couple?”
“Yeah. We’ve been together… you know.”
“You made love to Paris Gellar? Oh shit! – Oh my god, I can’t believe I just cursed.”
“No. We didn’t go all the way. But we have been together.”
“So there is no doubt then. In your mind, and heart, you’re gay?”
“Yep.”
“I’m blown away… This is like Apollo 11 to the moon. This is big… Hold on, I think I need to take this exit.”
Lane crossed over to the far right lane. She took the 40 exit to the airport. Within minutes she was pulling up to the Air France terminal. She stopped out front.
“God, see, my hands are shaking. I can’t believe I just drove like that. I did good, didn’t I?”
“Yes, you did.”
Rory grabbed her bag and got out. She stood at the curb. Lane got out and walked around to her.
“Don’t worry. I’ll get your jeep home safe and sound.”
“I’m not worried.”
“Rory, you still haven’t told me. Why are you going to France?”
“Because Paris – Paris Gellar – is on her way there.”
“And you’re going after her.”
“Right.”
“Because something happened between you two.”
“You could say that.”
“Wow… I mean, wow! You really do love her. Don’t you?”
“Yes. I do.”
“I mean, you really are gay then?”
“Yes.”
Rory tightened the grip on her luggage bag.
“Look Lane. You can’t tell anyone about this. I mean anyone.”
“I would never do that.”
“You’re the only one who knows.”
“I understand.”
“It’s crazy, but I was in Luke’s earlier, and I was going to tell him. At least a part of me wanted to. Thank God I didn’t. I guess I needed to tell someone. So I’m glad I ran into you. But no one else can know. Not even my mom.”
“I won’t say a word.”
“Just tell her you don’t know anything, and that I’ll explain everything when I get home, like I said in my note. OK?”
“Got it.”
“Well, I guess I better get going.”
Lane gave her a hug. Rory started to turn to leave, but then noticed a gleam in Lane’s eye.
“What?” Rory asked.
“Nothing… God, it’s embarrassing.”
“No, tell me.”
“Promise me you won’t wig out or anything… Oh, God, I can’t believe I’m going to say this… Rory, I want to kiss you. I’ve always dreamed of kissing a lesbian. It’s a bohemian thing. I never thought I would actually get the chance to meet a lesbian, let alone kiss one. I mean, you may be the only practicing lesbian I ever meet. At least that I know about.”
“So kiss me. If that’s what you want to do.”
“Um, people are looking.”
“Nobody’s looking. They’re strangers. They’re not going to care.”
Lane stepped forward. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She got up her courage and kissed Rory on the lips.
“Hot damn! I’m in a band. I’ve kissed a lesbian. Man, I’m livin’ the wild life!”
“Don’t forget that purple hair.”
“I can’t forget that… purple hair… purple hair… purple hair.”
Lane turned and got in the jeep. She rolled down the passenger side window as Rory headed for the terminal entrance.
“Hey Rory.”
Rory turned around.
“Good luck. I hope everything works out.”
“Thanks.”
**********
Do you know what it’s like to have a great dream, to have that dream within your reach, and then watch helplessly as your dream slips away, and there isn’t anything you can do about it?
-- Perhaps it was this fear more than anything else that was driving Rory forward, like some irresistible force. When one has trod the footsteps of Empresses and worn the Black Pearl necklace, raced through the Black Forest at 200 mph, held a woman like Paris in your arms, kissed her, caressed her, comforted her - when one has experienced such overpowering beauty and passion, how do you all of sudden one day say, well, that was nice, but it really wasn’t such a great dream after all? The thing is, you don’t. You can’t. At least not Rory. Rory wasn’t prepared to let what she and Paris had together just slip away like that. She wanted to pursue her dream while there was still something she could do about it. She didn’t want to look back ten years from now and wonder what might have been if she had had the courage to go after Paris, instead of just saying, OK, it’s over. Rory didn’t want it to be over. She loved Paris. She wanted Paris to be hers forever. She had made that vow after the trip through the Black Forest. And damn it, it was a vow she was determined to keep!
Rory stared out the window at the dark waters below as the plane cruised along at 30,000 feet. The flight to Toronto was uneventful, and now they were about an hour out over the Atlantic. Rory glanced down at her watch. It was 8:00 p.m. They were due to arrive at Charles De Gaulle Airport at 7:30 a.m. Sunday morning, Paris time.
The stewardesses came by, offering meals in bright orange boxes. Rory didn’t know if this was suppose to be a snack or dinner. She didn’t care. She took it and started eating. It contained an apple, a muffin, and peanuts. This had to be a snack. But then again, maybe this was dinner. She had heard the airlines were cutting back, but this was ridiculous.
Regardless, Rory wolfed it down in no time flat. She then reclined in her window seat and closed her eyes.
Rory passed the time by playing a mental game with herself, seeing if she could guess the precise moment she fell in love with Paris. Was it Romeo and Juliet? Rory laughed as she thought how ridiculous Paris looked in that wig and tights. What a riot! But there was something about the way Paris looked into her eyes, that told her that maybe one day they too, like Romeo and Juliet, would be lovers, though hopefully without that ill-fated couple’s tragic ending! And that ending. She so wanted Paris to kiss her as she gazed down at her lifeless body and prepared to take her own life.
But Rory decided no, it wasn’t Romeo and Juliet. It had to be earlier. There had always been so much tension between them, so much pent up sexual energy, waiting to be released. Was it the first time they met? It seemed so long ago now, but maybe it was love at first sight, though neither one of them knew it at the time.
Louise had long ago told Rory about how she, Paris, and Madeline had spied on Rory in the Admissions office when Rory first checked into Chilton, unbeknownst to Rory at the time. She described how they swiped Rory’s file so Paris could read it. Perhaps Paris knew from that first glance at her that she was in love. Perhaps that colored all their meetings after that. Perhaps that’s what both of them had been fighting all this time.
Rory started to doze off, and finally fell into a deep sleep. She awoke to a flight attendant poking her gently in the arm.
“Excuse me, you’ll need to bring your seat all the way forward,” she said. “We’re preparing to land.”
Whoa, Rory thought to herself. Just how long was I asleep? She checked her watch. It was 1:05 a.m. Since Paris, France was six hours ahead, that meant it was 7:05 a.m. local time. Indeed, they would be landing soon.
Rory moved her watch ahead six hours. She glanced out the window. The sun was just coming out of the East, a bright fiery orange. It looked like it was going to be a beautiful day. Rory started to feel an uneasiness in the pit of her stomach. She knew this was it. Either she would bring Paris Gellar back with her, and they would be together forever, or… well, she didn’t even want to think about that.
**********
Rory’s cab sped down the A3 expressway. She was on her way from Charles de Gaulle Airport to her hotel. She rolled down the window of the cab halfway. She let the wind blow through her hair. She could hardly believe she was here, in Paris! She laughed softly as she thought of the absurdity of how she came to be here. She could imagine telling the story of this trip to her grandchildren years from now, of how she went after and captured her great love. Would they believe her? Would anyone believe her? It just seemed too incredible.
The cabby said something to her in his broken English, but the words went right past her. Rory was in her own private world. She found out it was true what they say, that when you are in love nothing else seems to matter. She was daydreaming again, imagining herself and Paris walking hand in hand along the banks of the Seine; having a romantic dinner at a fine French bistro; standing atop the Eiffel Tower, throwing roses off, their petals fluttering to the winds in the cool night air. Suddenly, the cabby’s words hit her.
“Madam!”
“Oh, ah, yes?”
“That was 36 Rue De La Croix Saint Simon. No?” the dark-complexioned Moroccan émigré asked.
“Yes.”
He went back to chomping on his unlit cigar. He was a heavy-set, muscular man in his mid forties. His face was grizzled, world-weary, the look of a man whom life has beaten down, yet not entirely conquered.
“That address. That is the Armstrong Paris hotel. No? A very good hotel. You have good taste. Small, intimate.”
“Yes, it is.”
He spit a cud of tobacco out the window.
“So you are a, how do you say, student?”
“Yes.”
“You have to excuse my English. Sometimes good, sometimes not so good.”
“No, very good. I only wish my French was as good as your English.”
He stared at Rory in the inside rearview mirror.
“You are running away from love, or running to love?” he asked. Rory was caught off guard. She didn’t know what to say.
“Is it that obvious?”
“Obvious enough.”
“To love – I hope.”
“Oh… you hope? So things are in doubt, hey? Well, that is the best kind of love. Sometimes, things should not come too easy. Sometimes we need to prove we are worthy of love. Know what I mean?”
“Yes. I think I do.”
“You have come to the right place. It is not for nothing people call this the City of Love. But then again, what do people know. Hey?”
The cabby exited the A3 expressway, and deftly merged into traffic on Avenue Ibsen. From Ibsen he hit Boulevard Davout, and turned left on Davout, heading south. A couple minutes later he turned onto Rue de la Croix St. Simon. He stopped in front of the hotel.
“Thank you very much,” Rory said. She paid him. “Keep the change.”
“This is a very large tip. Thank you.”
Uh oh. How much did I give him? Rory thought to herself. Damn those funny looking Euros! Well, I can’t very well ask for my money back, can I? Shoot!
“Look, you have been generous with me, so I will be generous with you. Let me tell you a story. My mother came to Paris many years ago, like you, searching for love. She was obsessed with a painter, a ne’er do well who was a philanderer and a drunk. Let’s just say, things did not work out as she planned. Whenever I go back to Fez, in my native Morocco, to visit, I can see the lost dreams in her eyes. One time, I asked her about it, and what she told me, I tell you, not to discourage you, but as a word of caution: Every great city will break your heart, sooner or later.”
Rory’s face hardened. She grabbed her luggage and exited the cab. She stood at the curb as the cabby drove off. Rory had heard of a philosopher-statesman. But a philosopher-cabby? Besides, Rory said to herself, that could never happen to me. Wasn’t this after all the City of Love, as he himself said? This city would never deny me anything. This city was mine, just as it once belonged to Empress Josephine so long ago. And wasn’t my great love named after this city? So how could anything possibly go wrong? That was nothing more than the rambling of a bitter old man.
Rory wasn’t about to let his words bother her. She started for the hotel entrance. She stopped for just a second, admiring the building. Old and elegant, painted in golden hues, it had a stately charm that somehow reassured her everything was going to be all right. She headed inside and checked herself in and made her way up to her room on the third floor. She was all business-like. She was a woman on a mission.
Rory entered the room and tossed her bag on the floor. She then plopped down on the bed and relaxed. She had tried not to think about it on the way over, but now that she was here, she knew she faced a monumental problem: finding Paris Gellar. If worse came to worse, she was prepared to call every hotel in the city and ask if a Paris Gellar was staying there. But that could take days. She had a better idea.
The time was 9:05 a.m. She decided to grab a bite to eat before she did anything. She went downstairs. There was a restaurant on the ground floor, and she had a latte and croissant. After finishing, she went out and took a walk around the block to stretch her legs. It was a quiet, quaint neighborhood. I could live here Rory said to herself.
When she got back to her room, it was ten a.m. Which meant it was four a.m. in Connecticut. Rory knew she should wait, but she couldn’t help it, she had to know where Paris was staying now.
She picked up the phone, and using her calling card, made a long distance call. It took five rings before someone answered.
“Hello?”
“Louise, this is Rory.”
“Oh, God.” Louise said. She then hung up the phone in Rory’s face.
Shoot! Rory cried out. She dialed again. It took five more rings before Louise answered.
“Louise, don’t hang up --”
“Rory, do you know what time it is? It’s four o’clock in the freakin’ morning! Maybe you bumpkins over there in Sleepy Hollow get up this early on a Sunday morning --”
“Stars Hollow… Look, Louise, I’m calling from Paris, France.”
Whoa! Was that ever like a bucket of cold water to the face. Louise went numb, and the phone dropped from her hand, crashing to the floor.
“Louise? Louise!”
Louise fumbled for the phone, and finally was able to find it.
“Rory, what are you doing in Paris, France?”
“You know what I’m doing here.”
Louise was lying in her bed. She got up and sat on the edge. Her face had the look of someone in severe shock, like the moment you realize that bullet isn’t going to miss you after all!
“Louise? Are you there?”
“Yes…”
“Louise, I need to know what hotel Paris is staying at. I know you know.”
Louise’s face became distorted, twisted, as a volcano of anger built up inside of her. Finally, she exploded.
“What the fuck do you want from me! You know that’s the one thing I can’t tell you… Rory, I’ve known Paris since we were five years old! What makes you think you can just waltz in and --”
Louise was on the verge of breaking down. The despair in her voice was like a curtain pulled away for Rory.
“I am such an idiot.” Rory said. “I’ve been blind for so long. Now I can see everything… Look, Louise, I’m sorry --”
“Sorry! Your sorries don’t mean shit! Do you know how many times I wanted to tell Paris how much I… How many times I wanted to take Paris in my arms and… But I always figured that in the end, God or Fate or whoever it is that runs this sick world would make it all work out. But then you came along and changed everything. Everything!”
“I feel for you, Louise. I really do. But the bottom line is, I’m here, and you’re there.”
“But that’s only because I’m a coward. I’ve always been a coward, at least as far as Paris is concerned. But that’s doesn’t change the way I feel --”
“You’re not a coward. I could never believe that… Look, Louise. You’ve got someone. Madeline is always there for you. I mean, maybe she’s not the person that you really want. But she is there. You two are practically inseparable. But me and Paris have no one… And I promise you. I would never do anything to hurt Paris. I swear to you!… Look, I can’t talk much longer. This call is costing me a ton of money. Please, just tell me where Paris is staying.”
There was an unbearable moment of silence. Finally –
“The Citadenes Saint Germain des Pres.”
“Thank you.”
Rory grabbed a pen and paper and wrote the name of the hotel down.
“Louise… Louise… Louise, please say something.”
There was another long unbearable moment of silence. Louise finally broke it.
“We all have our bitter cups to drink from. For me, the cup will be bitterer than for anyone else.”
Louise hung up. Rory gently eased the receiver down. She couldn’t help but think what an awful and tragic thing love truly was.
For Rory, though, there was no time to dwell. She took a quick shower then dressed. She put on her blue slacks and white blouse. She checked the phone book, and got the address to Paris’ hotel. She was able to get directions from the desk clerk in the lobby using her fractured schoolgirl French. She left, her face flush with excitement.
Rory walked the couple blocks to the Porte de Montreuil metro station, and caught the 9 metro heading west. It was an anxious ride. She transferred at the Strasbourg St. Denis station, then took the 4 metro south to St. Michel, where she got off. Rory walked up the stairs out into the brilliant sunshine above. From there she walked the short distance down the narrow cobble-stoned streets to 53 Ter, Quai Des Grands, the address of Paris’ hotel.
Rory stood in front of the Citadenes St. Germain des Pres, pouring over its façade. She took a deep breath. She walked up to the entrance. The doorman held the door open for her as she entered. She got Paris’ room number from the concierge. It was 7H, a top floor penthouse suite. Figured. Damn, it must be nice to have all that money.
Rory could hardly contain her anticipation as she made her way up the elevator to the seventh floor. This is what she had come all this way for. This was it.
The elevator stopped. The elevator door opened. Rory stepped out. She walked down the hallway. Room 7H. There it was. Rory stood for a second in front of the door. Her heart was racing. She knocked on the mauve-colored door. She thought she could hear footsteps, but wasn’t sure. Finally, she could see the doorknob turn. The door opened. It was Paris. Needless to say, Paris was stunned.
“Surprised?”
“I am surprised.” Paris answered back.
Rory reveled in the sight of her. She eyed her from head to toe. Paris was wearing a light blue blouse and black slacks. She looked gorgeous. Rory stepped forward and kissed her softly on the lips.
“Paris, what are you doing here?”
“C’mon. I’ll explain.”
Paris closed the door. She led Rory down the hallway, and out of the hotel.
Paris and Rory sat quietly at a small café a couple blocks down from Paris’ hotel. The café overlooked the Seine river and provided a magnificent vista. The spires of Notre Dame glistened placidly to the west. It was a serene Sunday afternoon.
A waiter brought them their drinks. Rory took a sip of her cappuccino. She practically gagged on it.
“Oh, this is terrible.”
Paris laughed.
“Of course, silly. You don’t come to a Parisian cafe expecting good coffee, do you? You come for the atmosphere, the people.”
Paris took a sip of her own coffee. The crease in her lip gave her away.
“You can of course, on occasion, get a good cup of coffee, if you know what to order.”
“Ah ha! What have you got there?” Rory exclaimed.
Rory took a sip of Paris’ coffee.
“Hmm. This is good. What is this?”
“Carte noire. The best.”
“I’m going to have a cup of this. Where’s that waiter --”
“No, we can share.”
Paris moved her chair right up next to Rory’s. They took turns sipping from Paris’ cup. Rory glanced across constantly at Paris, amazed at how relaxed she looked.
“You look beautiful Paris.”
“So do you Rory.”
Paris looked directly into Rory’s eyes.
“You probably think I’ve lost my mind.” Paris said.
“No. I just don’t understand. Are you running away from me?”
“No… No. Of course not… Let me explain. See, when we first got together, it was the most amazing thing. It was so beautiful and so wonderful. I think a part of me always knew that I was, you know, this way, and then to have it confirmed, it was - indescribable. I had finally found myself.”
“I felt the same way.”
“And it was doubly special, because I had found you too. Thinking back, I realized that I loved you since the first time I laid eyes on you. But it all came out as anger, because I didn’t know any other way to express it.”
“I understand.”
“But then, after that first day we spent together, I started thinking, OK, we’re together, but what happens if down the road we break up for whatever reason? And the thought of not being with you was unbearable. That’s when I panicked and I had to get away.”
Rory pushed the cup of carte noire away and held Paris’ hand.
“Paris, why worry about something that may never happen? I mean, who can say what’s going to happen in the future?”
“No one. That’s what I’m talking about. I know you’re going to say we could never break up. But what if we did? See, you could move on easily. I mean, you’re beautiful, smart, personable. But I’m not like you. I’m different.”
“You mean… Butch.”
Uh oh, there it was. Finally. The “B” word. Paris curled her tongue.
“Yesss.,, And unlike you, it would be hard for me to meet someone else. I mean, let’s face it, I’m not exactly the easiest person to get along with.”
Rory’s eyebrows shot up playfully on that one.
“All it takes is one.”
“Yes. And I believe with all my heart you are that one, Rory. But I just wouldn’t be able to take losing you. I mean, if this is just some high school fling, destined to last only a few months, you could move on, but it would destroy me. I think for me, it’s better to have never loved at all, than to have loved and lost.”
Paris stood up. Rory got a sinking feeling in her heart. She stood up, following Paris’ lead.
“You see, Rory, I’m like granite, cold and hard. But if you take a hammer and chisel, and tap it in the right place --”
“It’ll shatter to pieces.”
“Yes.”
“Oh, Paris.”
“Goodbye, Rory.”
All Rory could do was stand there and watch as Paris turned and disappeared down the sidewalk. Suddenly, the haunting words of that cabby came flooding back to her: Every great city will break your heart, sooner or later.
Knowing there was nothing further she could do, and with tears in her eyes and a heavy, broken heart, Rory returned to her hotel, packed her bag, and headed for the airport to catch a plane home. It was over.