Chapter Text
“Okay,”
She turned away to hide her smile, looking for nothing in her bag. They settled into a comfortable silence together. Paris sat and worked on homework in the corner of the store and Jess shelved books, whiling away the afternoon hours, occasionally getting wrapped up in debates about authors and politics. Occasional customers would wander in, and the pair would fall silent. She felt an unfamiliar pride at being seen in his presence by them, as if it was totally normal for them to be friends after all. The light began to dwindle outside; Jess went to shut the front door when the temperature dropped. His eyes swept the dusky street, dry leaves on the pavement glowing softly from the yellow bulbs of the store. He hadn’t felt that familiar dread for the whole afternoon.
“You hungry? There’s a good Thai place couple blocks away,” he walked back to Paris and started closing up the till.
“I’ve never had Thai apart from Pad Thai. Does that count?”
“No, that’s Chinese.”
“Of course,” she noticed his face. “Oh, you’re joking. Right. That was funny.”
“You’re what?”
Madeline and Louise stared at Paris. The trio was sat in Madeline’s expansive bedroom. Four poster princess bed anchored in the middle of the room, teen heartthrobs decorating the walls, and a mess of chic clothes on the floor.
“Making a film, for that festival,” Paris explained, again. The girls blinked at her. Louise held her script loosely in her lap, open. “Those alumni came in a month ago?” They were still blank. Paris sighed, “it was the day Amber dyed her hair black.”
Madeline shot up like she’d been electrocuted, “Oh my god, doomsday-”
“The emo-cident. Thank God for her bone structure, but I would’ve killed for her shade of red,” Louise added.
“Right. Well, I figured I’d put Jess in it, duh. He’s perfect. But I need to cast the rest of the roles,” she gestured to the script, but neither girl looked down at it.
“You’re not in it?” Louise pressed.
“No, my job is to stand behind the camera,”
“But Paris…” she slowly angled the script page she had been reading towards Madeline, who scanned the page. Her hand flew to her chest with a dramatic but sincere gasp, making her curls bounce with a comical flourish. The pair looked sympathetically at each other, clearly sharing some identical thought that Paris wasn’t privy to. After all this time there were still blind spots in Paris’ understanding of girl world. They turned to Paris with sympathetic frowns, like she’d just told them her diagnosis was terminal, “you know this means he has to kiss someone else?”
Oh, that’s all? At least they’re convinced I’m in love. She steeled herself.
“I’m okay with that,” Paris tried to not sound too confident. The girls ignored her. Madeline stood up and started pacing the measure of her green rug.
“Maybe she can fake it. Like show them leaning in from one angle, then switch to one where it’s just the back of Paris’ head, she can wear a wig!” Madeline offered, “lots of famous actors do it after their wives catch them cheating.”
Louise rolled onto her stomach, legs kicked up behind her. “But they’ll still be leaning in close, making eye contact, saying they love each other.”
“Oh.”
“Not to mention getting intimate in their trailer, running lines…” Louise drifted off, her eyes sinking down to the script in front of her.
Paris blushed, thinking back to their cosy corner of Red Eye, the secure feeling of his arm wrapped tightly around her waist. It had been a couple days, but the feeling was fresh in her mind. She turned to look at the framed photos on Madeline’s windowsill, catching glimpses of orange canopy swaying in the wind. It was the most anyone had touched her in years, and this realisation embarrassed her even more. She had only been on two dates with Jamie- they never did anything more than hold hands and kiss sweetly once.
The memory of his powdery cologne and feminine hands disgusted her now. After he never called, she picked apart every detail of the situation and probed her psyche until she came to a satisfactory conclusion. She decided their dates had felt like a victory because it was undeniable proof she was a real person, and served as some social capital to tide her over to graduation, at least. It had made her giddy at the time to be desired, but she shuddered thinking about the hours she sat by the phone in September. She pushed the feeling away, searching for a better memory. The warm yellow haze of Red Eye drew close in her mind, wrapping her up. Flashes of the golden lamp light tracing Jess’ cheek played in her mind. The faint smell of cigarettes on his clothes… he’d been so close.
“Who can you even trust to do that with your boyfriend?” Madeline’s voice was far away to Paris. She thought about how stimulated she felt around Jess compared to everyone else, mentally and physically. Dates with Jamie were full of dead air and dread, while just being close to Jess sent electrical currents under the entire surface of her skin. Maybe that’s why Louise was addicted to dating. She had always assumed it must be the thrill of the hunt or the social power it gave her, but maybe she just actually enjoyed the process. Her mind was still half steeped in fantasy when she replied.
“He’s not my boyfriend,” she mumbled back, “not yet anyway.”
“Louise, what if you did it?” Madeline turned to Louise, breaking Paris’ spell.
The phantom fingers grazing her ear disappeared like smoke. She was back to her usual self; head locked in place and eyes trained on her goals. Whipping around, she thought out loud, “that’s actually not a terrible idea. You’ve kissed hundreds of boys, this one will mean nothing.”
“And you wouldn’t steal him from Paris! Oh, Paris this is the only way,” Madeline plopped herself down on the bed, looking back and forth between them. They both looked expectantly at Louise, who turned a script page with intentional emphasis.
“Well. If I am to achieve greatness, greatness must be thrust upon me,” Louise hummed, eyebrows raised.
“Watch it-” Paris warned.
“Relax Pear Bear, I wouldn’t steal him from you, I swear,”
“A drum, a drum, Macbeth doth come,” Paris remarked dryly, unamused by Louise’s mind games.
“Peace, the charms wound up! When are you seeing him next?” Madeline chirped.
“Saturday, maybe sooner.”
“Well then we need to get you some new clothes,” she straightened her back, then dragged Paris to her mirror. Messing with her hair like a stylist, she continued, “what’s the deal for Saturday?”
Louise slinked over, taking clothes out of the closet and holding them up to Paris’ body like a paper doll, each hanger a question mark that was asked of Madeline- not Paris- who responded to each one with nods or shakes.
Paris struggled to lie, thinking back to Jess’ sarcastic banter. “Dancing, maybe?”
“Maybe?” Louise pressed, looking over her shoulder. Panic flooded Paris’ system. She delved deep into her Chilton girl world archives… ‘Brad Jameson came through with the fake IDs.’ That was it- Louise’s weekend plans!
“He said he knows a bar that doesn’t card.” That’s more like it, Geller, get your head in the game. She thought her improvisation had been obvious, but her friends bought it without question. Or they were at least good at hiding any doubt. They kept presenting different clothing choices for Paris, answering each other in-between breaths- ‘definitely not, “maybe with this?”, “I have a skirt back home that could really work for that.” Paris wondered if they secretly saw through the whole charade and were playing along as some cruel trick. She tried to rationalise the possible outcomes of that situation- even if they thought she was completely pathetic, Jess would still like her. Not to mention he was the one who’d come up with the plan. She couldn’t be that pathetic if cool customer Jess was her friend. Reassuring herself with logical conclusions and imagined comebacks for any insult, she watched her classmates circle like sharks.
After some plying, she tried a few things on, and the girls cooed at a midnight blue velvet dress. Paris was torn between humiliated and flattered. It felt so unfamiliar to be the object of fascination- groomed and examined like a test subject. But it also felt exciting to be the centre of attention, pretending to be someone else in Madeline’s dress. Pain and pleasure all at once- like stretching a sore muscle.
Once they’d settled on a couple outfits to lend Paris, they led her to a vanity table and started doing her makeup and fiddling with her hair. She felt as if she might as well have been strapped with leather cuffs, but she had to admit they knew what they were doing. Madeline swatched colours onto her wrist with scientific precision, Louise was surprisingly gentle with her hair.
“So come on, give us the dirty,” Madeline prompted.
“There’s not much to tell…”
“Don’t be so coy, we’ve met him. Guys with that kind of swagger have only one thing on their mind,” Louise coaxed, zhuzhing Paris’ roots from behind.
“Believe it or not, Jess is capable of keeping multiple things in his mind,”
Louise tilted Paris’ head back so she could look her in the eye, their faces only a foot apart, “what about in his hands?”
She rolled her eyes, wrenching her head out of Louise’s grasp, “he hasn’t tried anything yet.”
“But do you want to?” Madeline
“Of course she wants to, who wouldn’t want to?” Louise sprayed something into Paris’ hair.
“Just don’t give it up too easy.”
“But don’t make it too hard either or he’ll move on.”
“How much kissing has there been?”
The pair paused to receive Paris’ response.
“A normal amount,” Paris nodded, then frowned, doubting her instincts in case they pressed for more details. “What’s a normal amount?”
“For a guy like Jess?” Louise cocked an eyebrow, “I’m guessing a lot.” She squeezed a dollop of waxy product from a bottle and rubbed it between her fingers.
“What was it like with Jamie?”
The memory of his powdery perfume made Paris’ lip curl. “He was much more… chaste.”
“Snooze,” Louise said as she twisted Paris’ framing hair pieces in her fingers, coaxing them into delicate curls with the wax.
Madeline twisted her arm to reach Paris’ face with a brush, gently sweeping her cheeks with what Paris assumed to be blush, “shame, he was cute.”
“He was a gentleman,” Paris said.
“A gentlemen doesn’t stop calling without an explanation,” Louise reprimanded, “you’ve got yourself a Tramp now, Lady. Prepare to have your world rocked.” She gave Paris’ roots a final scrunch to lift them, smiling with apparent satisfaction. Paris felt herself blush under her gaze, or maybe Madeline’s magic makeup was a placebo. She had to admit, in their experienced hands, she was undeniably pretty. At least for today.
“I don’t know about that. We mostly just talk about books.”
“Oh Paris,” Madeline squealed, “I’m so happy for you. Here.” She thrust the neat pile of clothes into Paris’ arms- the sacred chosen items that they deemed capable of making her attractive. Paris smiled, a little numb from the hyperstimulation of their hang out but flooded with relief at the results.
That night, Paris couldn’t wait to fill Jess in. She fixed herself an omelette for dinner, almost overcooking it- distracted by her imagination. What was he doing right now? She knew Jess would be working late, he had a shift at Luke’s until close at 10 pm, but what was he doing right at that second? Chewing slowly, she started fantasising about the diner scene as if she was filming it; considering how to frame every detail, who to focus on and when, what kind of lights she’d need to mimic that golden halo the Red Eye lamplight cast around Jess’ cheeks.
She wore Madeline’s dress the whole time, admiring her reflection every time she caught a glimpse. It made her feel like a completely different person, and she relished the novelty as she went through the motions of her evening routines. Usually, Paris would be dead to the world by 10:30 pm- her sleep schedule being as rigorously maintained as every other aspect in her life- but she didn’t want to take her borrowed dress off until after she’d spoken to him.
As the time drew closer, she could feel her nerves pulsing under her skin. Doubts filled her mind, her dress looked stupid and she felt certain she would clam up on the phone. Madeline had imparted sage advice- to always call a little later than planned. “Keep him waiting so he knows he was to work for it,” she’d said. But Jess called right when he said he’d get off work, 10:10 pm exactly. Paris’ tongue felt like a wood block in her mouth, but once she heard his voice, wry and electrifying as ever, her fears melted away. Their conversation flowed with its usual ease, and it wasn’t long before she was delivering a giggly recount of the day’s events.
“So, she gives me a bundle of clothes for our dates-,”
“Oh good, I always wanted to date a consignment store,” Jess dripped, switching his phone from one ear to the other and holding it to his shoulder with his chin as he made for his bed.
“-she dumps it in my arms, and as I’m walking out the door Louise tops this beautiful slutty sundae with the cherry of- trojans!”
“No!” he scoffed with delight.
“A whole box of ‘em!”
He kicked off his shoes and got comfortable leaning against his headboard. “Who does she think I am, Magnum PI?”
“I turned a very unattractive shade of red and just said thanks, like an idiot,” Paris gestured and let her hand drop in her lap. “I guess she’s not keen on the idea of babysitting a mini-Parie,” she said, pronouncing Paris like the French do.
“God, don’t tell me you’d name your daughter after yourself,” immediately after saying it, Jess shamefully remembered Rory’s legal name. He actually didn’t hate the concept- when Rory had told him the whole feminist motivation behind her namesake, he’d found it mildly admirable. He was never going to be Lorelai’s number one fan, but she did have her moments. A Paris-Paris pair, however, seemed unnatural.
“I don’t want to name anything anything,” Paris sighed, “I don’t think I want kids, not for a long time at least.”
She stroked her palm up and down her adbomen, feeling the velvet fibres shift direction against her skin. They both thought about their mothers. Any news Paris? Did she have to sound so fucking bored? She couldn’t even muster fake enthusiasm for her one and only daughter? The last thing Paris wanted was to become like her mother.
Jess thought about Liz. He’d stopped calling her ‘Mom’ years ago. Why bother? She wouldn’t even respond to it. He remembered the last time he saw her; he’d come back at six in the morning after spending the night with his friends and found Liz throwing his clothes into a bin bag. She was having one of those moments, where he was afraid to get too close. This wild look would take hold of her eyes, like she wasn’t really herself, and it would frighten him. She’d be all frantic, shaking, then snap and be completely stiff. By 9 am he was on a bus to Stars Hollow.
Some things were just easier to just tune out.
He eyed the apartment door. He knew full well that Luke was meeting an old buddy in Woodbridge but still felt exposed. “Well for what it’s worth I think you’d be a good Mom.”
She snorted, “sure you do, Norman.”
Jess shut the door to his room, “I mean it. You’re organised; you don’t take anything lightly. You’d have it under control.”
Paris’ neck got hotter- the sincere conversational turn had also made her feel vulnerable. She sat up and flipped her pillow over absent mindedly, eyes settling on the garden view from her window. Everything was painted inky greys- no noise or movement disturbed the peace. She often felt small and lonely in her house, but today she felt safe. Drawing the curtains shut, she answered, “…well thanks. Wasn’t really my concern though.”
“Sure.”
“I’m more worried about how Louise is going to keep herself from stripping you naked in front of 15 crew members and two cameras,” Paris sat back down.
“Well, I’ll be sure to wear my magic underwear.
“That’ll delay her a good 10 seconds.”
“And by that time, I’ll have picked the lock on my cuffs,” Jess drawled. A rewarding hum of energy spread through him when he heard her laugh on the other end of the line. It was clear and bright and uncontrolled- the complete inverse of her carefully measured speaking cadence. “So, what outfits did they give you?”
“Oh, you know, something borrowed, something blue, a white dress and veil.”
“Ha ha ha,” he dripped sarcastically.
“No, I mean really it’s the opposite. I actually had to stop Louise from giving me a thong.”
“What’s wrong with a thong?” he lowered his voice despite knowing Luke was miles away, making his tone unintentionally sensual.
She felt as if she was back in Red Eye, with him murmuring scripted lover’s promises into her hair. Cradling the phone closer, she tried to tried to sustain the sensation- trying to mimic the his fingers were brushing against the shell of her ear, but very quickly realised herself. She yanked it away and regained composure. “It’s all very classy tops and skirts,” she tried to redirect the conversation.
“Well, I look forward to seeing them.” His voice was more innocent now, and sincere. But Paris still blushed, twisting a lock of hair too tight around her finger.
“You live with your uncle, right?” she already knew the answer, but she could tell she was getting too flustered to continue this line of conversation and wanted to segue.
“So I’m told,” he closed his eyes and tried to focus on relaxing his muscles one by one.
“What about your parents?”
“Dad took off when I was five, I used to live with Liz,”
“And she doesn’t have it… ‘under control’?” Paris probed gently. He chewed the inside of his lip. Talking about Liz was easier in the daytime. It was harder to pretend after a long shift and being alone in the apartment with just Paris’ voice made the world feel small, confined. The best he could reply was a soft, low hum of confirmation. The quiet scared Paris, she felt stupid for saying anything. Of course he didn’t want to talk about this. “Sorry, I don’t mean to pry. I was just thinking about what you said about moms.”
“What about you? Helicopter parents?”
“Depends. Does it count if they’re flying far, far away?
“Ah.”
“Turns out, the whole Bat Mitzvah thing about ‘becoming a woman?’ Not symbolic to them. They’ve treated me like an adult ever since.”
“Guess we’ve both got shitty luck.”
It was Paris’ turn to hum an agreement. But she felt guilty for leading the conversation there, because she knew his lot was worse. They talked a little about the books they were currently reading before saying goodnight, both knackered from their days.
Jess stayed up reading for another hour, then turned his music on and up. Way up. Without it, he’d spend the whole night drifting in and out of a light sleep, scattered with dreams of his life in New York. The louder and heavier the music, the better he slept. It was a weighted blanket holding him still until he fell under.
Paris slotted Madeline’s borrowed clothes into her wardrobe and drawers. The girls had given her lots of instructions about styling them, which she’d done her best to summarise in a notebook. They’d also promised to deliver more instructions on flirting, dating etiquette and, most mortifyingly, their version of the talk. Paris felt she’d overheard more than enough from them about all these topics over the course of their friendship, but they assured her she still needed a 101 introduction to nail the basics. Whatever.
The peaceful silence of the neighbourhood also disturbed her; she tried to ignore it but two hours in she started imagining a gentle rapping, rapping at her chamber door, and caved. She fished out a box of tapes she’d bought at a second-hand video store during her film research and put on the most comforting one she’d watched so far- Some Like It Hot. Despite being about two men cross dressing in an all-female band to hide from mobsters, it was surprisingly progressive and she drifted off to the sound of Marilyn Monroe lamenting her fuzzy lollipop luck.