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writer-or-whatever · 6 years ago

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I'm the anom from the Coffee one, your fic was sweet and amazing thank you very much Rory/Paris: Rory tries to be more sophisticated in one the Weller galas for Paris sake with hilarious results.

Hi, yes, I saw this and was like I know what I’m gonna do and then I proceeded to write all 3,253 words of it instead of reading my middle age lit for tomorrow because i really was not in the mood for old English, tbh.

Also, just a note, I may have taken the “with hilarious results” and sort of… chucked that bit out the window. I really didn’t mean to; I had a nice, funny, fluffly, fic planned out and then I got to writing it and I was about three quarters of the way done writing it and I was like what if, instead, I have angst and so I did.

Oops.

Anyway, enjoy (or cry your heart out, either way):

[Read on AO3 or FFN]

“Grandma, could I talk to you for a minute?” It was an odd request, not because Rory and her grandmother didn’t get along, but because she hadn’t once, in the two years of Friday Night Dinners, ever asked to talk to either of her grandparents alone. That was usually her mother’s thing, and, at least with Lorelai, it never meant anything good. Her grandmother, however, didn’t ask questions, merely nodded and followed Rory into her grandfather’s study, the closest private space she could think of.

“Rory, is everything alright?” Her grandmother looked concerned, and Rory felt kind of bad for worrying her over something that wasn’t even a problem. Well, something that wasn’t a huge problem, anyway. Just the little issue of her secret girlfriend asking her to come to her family’s super important, super formal, Hanukkah celebration that she had absolutely no idea how to act for.

No big deal, not at all.

“Everything’s fine, Grandma. I was just wondering if maybe you could help me with something?”

“Of course, Rory, but why are you asking me in here and not at the dinner table if nothing is wrong?” Ah, just another aspect of the problem at hand: not only did Lorelai not know that she was dating Paris, but she would be mocked endlessly if she knew that Rory wanted grandma’s help to act like a proper lady and impress Paris’s family, even if they didn’t know that Rory was their daughter’s girlfriend.

“Well, see, a friend from school invited me to an event and I don’t really know how to act at those sorts of things and I thought that you would know but you know mom, she’d mock my desire to learn about proper etiquette until the day she dies, possibly longer. You know how mom is when she sets her mind to something, nothing will stop her, not even death and-”

Emily interrupted her rambling before it could go on for too long, “Say no more, I completely understand. Now this even, when is it?” Her grandma’s interest was clearly piqued now that there was a chance to teach Rory something that was clearly important to her without Lorelai. The fact that it was about etiquette, Emily Gilmore’s specialty, just made it that much better.

“It’s on the seventh.”

“The seventh? Well, that doesn’t leave us much time, but it’ll be alright. So, who invited you to this, again?”

“Just a friend from school.” Rory really, really, hoped that she wouldn’t push any further because they were treading on dangerous ground here as it was.

“Someone whose family you want to impress by showing them that you’re a proper Gilmore? A boy you like, perhaps? Of course her grandmother would push, it’s Emily Gilmore, she’s the queen of pushing for information.

“Something like that.” There, hopefully Rory provided just enough to placate her grandmother’s need for information without actually confirming if there was a boy, which there most certainly was not.

“Alright, well, I’m glad you’ve moved on from that Dean, clearly to someone more suitable since they attend Chilton. How about you come over here a few days this week and we’ll have you all ready for next Sunday in no time.” With that, her grandmother lead the way back into the dining room, quick as you please, leaving behind a slightly grim looking Rory who could only nod her head and think about how, if her grandmother found out about who all this was for, she might actually prefer Dean.

Back at the table, she came face to face with a very curious Lorelai Gilmore, to whom she could offer no sturdy excuse for her talk to grandma.

“So, what was that,” she waved her hand between Rory and Emily, “all about?”

“Oh, you know, just asking grandma if I could come over here a couple of days next week and get a ride to the Hartford Library to get some books for school.” She could tell, before the entire excuse was even out of her mouth, that it would not hold up against her mother.

“What’s wrong with Stars Hollow’s library?”

“They don’t have the book I need, I looked.”

“And what book is that?”

Oh boy.

“I, uh, don’t remember off the top of my head.”

“You, Rory Gilmore, girl who actually likes school and studies for more hours than she sleeps, don’t remember something about school? About books?!” Her mom was in fine form tonight, both dramatic and relentless about something Rory would much rather not talk about.

Great.

“Well, I can’t be perfect all the time, right? Give someone else a chance, eh?” She could tell her mother wasn’t buying it, but, thank God, her grandfather changed the subject to his upcoming business trip to Utah. Her mom went with it, asking what else could there possibly be to insure in Utah other than cows, but Rory knew that this interrogation was far from over.

Mid-afternoon on Sunday the seventh of December found Rory in her grandmother’s house hiding in the kitchen on the phone with Paris. It’d been nine days of hiding etiquette lessons with her grandmother from her mother and hiding the person that was the reason for said lessons from her grandmother. Frankly, it was exhausting and Rory just really wanted to see Paris, formal event and etiquette be damned.

“I can’t believe you accepted her offer.” Paris was laughing at her, which, if it were anyone else trapped in the Gilmore house hiding from Emily and her personal stylist, she would be laughing too. But, it was Rory and Rory would just like some support from her girlfriend, thank you very much.

“Well, to be fair, when she offered it was less like an offer and more like an order.”

“You’re going to show up here looking like a proper seventy year old woman.” Paris was still laughing. “Oh, this is going to be great. You’ll really liven up my spirits; it’s the perfect Hanukkah gift.”

“Keep it up and I’ll bring her along to give you a last minute makeover. Then we’ll match. Won’t that be fun?” Paris stopped laughing, she was pretty sure Rory was serious.

“You’re not serious about that are you?” Oh, she did think Rory was serious.

“As a heart attack.” She still sounded serious, but just barely.

“I take it back,” and, with those words, Rory let out the laughter she had been holding in since she first threatened Paris with an old lady makeover. “Are you laughing, Gilmore?”

“I might be.” Not even two seconds after those words left her mouth, her grandma came into the kitchen. “Uh, gotta go, talk to you later,” and then she hung up on Paris, a thing that was basically a cardinal sin in the guide to dealing with Paris Geller.

“Who was that on the phone?” Her grandmother was looking at her with that look, the one that meant that she knew that Rory was talking to “the gentleman,” as she’d taken to calling the nonexistent boy that Rory was doing all this for.

“Just Paris, I needed to double check about the pages for the reading for history is all.” It wasn’t completely untrue, it was Paris on the phone, just not for information on the history reading.

“I see,” her grandmother said in a way that made Rory fairly certain that she believed that Rory was telling her it was Paris as a cover but didn’t want to pry, “well, now that you’ve cleared that up let’s finish getting you ready, shall we?”

When Rory left her grandparents’ house, she looked like an illustration pulled straight out of a modern retelling of Cinderella, tiara and all. She cannot believe she let her grandmother dress her like this, but there was nothing for it now. She approached the Geller’s house, which made the Gilmore residence look like a humble home in comparison, and rang the doorbell, secretly hoping that the butterflies in her stomach would take flight and take her with them. She was so nervous, what if Mr and Mrs. Geller didn’t like her? After all, they were not the most affectionate people in the world. What if they found out about her and Paris? What if Rory embarrassed herself? There was so much that could go wrong. Thank God the maid answered the door, took her coat, and ushered her inside.

She wasn’t even ten steps into the house when a hand grabbed her from one of the closets in the foyer and pulled her in.

“What the hell?! Let go of me,” She was yelling and twisting away from the hands that were on her arms in the dark closet.

“Gilmore, chill the fuck out. And stop yelling.” It was Paris. Of course it was. She came to see her in her own house at her invitation and she was still getting pulled into closets.

“Oh, hi.” She turned to face what assumed was Paris’s face, though it was too dark to see anything.

“Hi,” She flipped the light on as she said it, revealing the two of them and about four coats in the small space.

The butterflies were back, but this time it wasn’t because Rory was nervous, it was because Paris was fucking gorgeous. “You look nice,” she reached up to grab Paris’s hands from where they rested on her upper arms.

“Yeah?”

“Mhm,” not only did Paris look nice, but Rory really wanted to kiss her. Unfortunately, Paris chose tonight to actually wear a lipstick that would be very noticable if it were both smudged and on Rory.

“You do too, not at all like a grandmother.” Paris was smiling when she said it, very clearly holding back a laugh over Rory’s early hysterics over being turned into an old lady by her grandmother’s stylist.

“Thank you,” Rory did a little curtsey as she said it, just adding to the princess illusion.

“My very own princess charming, what do you know,” And Paris was leaning in, and, yeah, lipstick be damned because they were kissing and Rory was fairly certain that it was magical and that fact had nothing at all to do with her fairytale appearance and everything to do with the fact that it was Paris that she was kissing, being in love will do that to you. Not that Rory was in love with Paris or anything. Or, at least, not that she’d admit. Yet.

When they broke for air, Rory decided that she needed to point out the flaw in their kissing plan, “What are the odds that we’ll be able to make it to a bathroom to fix this,” she gestured to her lipstick smeared mouth, “without running into anyone and outing ourselves?”

“Very high, the maid knows and there’s a bathroom that’s for the staff three doors down from this one. She’ll give us a knock when all the other guests are here,” and, with her worries cleared up, they were back to kissing.

This lasted for about five more minutes before there was a knock on the closet door, clearly from the maid, since Paris pulled away and straightened up. “After you, her majesty, your public awaits.”

“Har de har har,” but Rory followed Paris out of the closet and into the bathroom anyway.

They got cleaned up and slipped into the midst of the party without anyone noticing, much to Rory’s relief. It wasn’t that difficult of a night, she remember to stand up straight, which fork was used for the salad, and how to politely exit a conversation every time someone asked her if she, a nice young lady, was seeing anyone.

It was all going fine, or at least it was, until the other guests had left and it was just Paris and her parents.

She was going to leave with everyone else, but Paris had asked her to stay for the lighting of the last candle on the Menorah, something that she typically just did with her family. It obviously meant a lot to Paris that Rory be there, and, if she was honest, it meant a lot to Rory to have been asked to stay. They lit the candle, followed the traditions, and everything was fine. Her parents were leaving, on their way to their separate wings of the house, when it happened. Paris turned to her and whispered, “I love you, thank you for coming. And thank you for staying.”

Rory was just about to return the sentiments when, faster than Rory would think possible for the large man, Mr. Geller was there and he was not happy. “What did you say? You love her? She’s a girl, Paris. You were raised better than this. You were raised to bring greatness upon the Geller name, not shame.”

“She’s not bringing shame, Mr.Geller. She’s being who she is, someone who is wonderful and ambitious and driven and intelligent and you should be ashamed of yourself for thinking such a thing, let alone saying it to your own daughter on a night that is supposed to be special and about celebration.” Rory couldn’t help it, she jumped to Paris’s defense, snapping and merciless, even though she knew Paris was completely capable of defending herself.

“It is a shame and she is not welcome in this house until she realizes it.” He turned away, resolute and hard in his decision, while Paris’s mother simply looked on.

“Good. There’s nothing here for me anyway, with parents that love their family name and money than they ever could me.” Paris was angry, and she certainly sounded it, but Rory could also see from the set of her jaw that she was moments away from crying.

“Let’s go, Par. Come home with me.” Rory’s arm was around Paris and guiding her over to the door where they both got their coats and a kiss on the forehead from Paris’s nanny, who Paris promised to call tomorrow.

They drove to Stars Hollow in silence, Rory driving Paris’s car and Paris glaring resolutely out of the passenger side window.

When they pulled up to Rory’s house, Paris finally spoke, “So, how are we going to play this? Poor Paris needed a night away from her parents so she’s spending the night at her friend, Rory’s, house?” Paris basically spat the word friend with more venom than she’d ever heard her use before, even back in their sophomore year when they were enemies and Paris didn’t spend a free minute not tormenting Rory.

“No. I’m going to tell her. I’m going to go in there and say ‘mom, this is my girlfriend, Paris, whom you’ve met, and I love her very much and she’s had a very rough night, can she please crash here?”

“You love me?” The hard edge left Paris’s voice, leaving a soft vulnerable whisper in its wake.

“Yeah, I do. And I’m so sorry that your parents are such homophobic assholes and I know that this won’t make up for it, but I do and I want you to know that.” Just as the last word left her mouth, Paris was kissing her, and it was salty and wet and sad, but it was Paris.

“Okay, then,” Rory said, getting out of the car and heading around to Paris’s side to open her door, “let’s do this, shall we?”

When they got into the Gilmore household, it was dark, but there were lights and sounds coming from the living room, so the tv was clearly on. And, when in the Gilmore house, where you can find a movie, you can find Lorelai, so the two girls made their way into the living room, divesting themselves of their heels in the process.

“Hey, Rory, how was the thing?” Her mom was very caught up in the movie, Casablanca, and hadn’t yet looked at Rory and so she didn’t see Paris, either.

“Not so great.”

“No? Nothing a little classic love triangle can’t fix.” She was still absorbed in the movie, despite having seen it approximately one thousand times.

“Not this time, mom.” That got Lorelai’s attention, alright, because, in the world according to Lorelai Gilmore, there was very little that could not be fixed by Casablanca. She was clearly surprised to see Paris standing there in her living room along with Rory, both of them disheveled and clearly upset.

“What happened?” She made her way off the couch and over to the two girls, Rick and Ilsa completely forgotten.

“Um, well, I went to the party at Paris’s, like I said, and it was fine until after everyone else left. I stayed to watch them light the Menorah because Paris asked me to and then, well, her parents found out about me.”

“Found out that you were there? Didn’t they invite you? Strange people, those Gellers.” At any other time, Rory really would have appreciated her mother’s attempt to make light, but not tonight.

“No. They found out that I am Paris’s girlfriend.” There, she said it. Now all that was left was to see how it went over.

“Girlfriend? Like friend who is a girl or…”

“The or option. Girlfriend as in hold hands, kiss, go on dates, kind of girlfriend.”

“Okay. So they found that out and what? They weren’t happy with it?” Lorelai sounded like she was teetering on the edge of the dangerous kind of angry that she only got when someone did something to hurt her kid, which, in a way, the Gellers definitely did.

“Definitely not.” Rory wasn’t really sure how much more Paris wanted her to say.

“They kicked me out.” Paris, apparently, had no qualms about telling Lorelai the whole thing now that it had been established that she didn’t care about the fact that they weren’t straight and were very much together.

“What’s your address, again, Paris? Tomorrow I’m going to go over there and give them a piece of my mind, I think. In the meantime, you’re more than welcome to stay here.”

Rory couldn’t help it, she practically leapt forward to hug her mother and whispered, “thanks, mom” into the embrace. Hugging one girl clearly wasn’t enough for Lorelai, since she pulled Paris into a hug as well.

Later that night, when Paris had gone to bed in her bed because Rory wouldn’t let her take the couch, Lorelai sat down on the arm of the couch by where Rory’s feet where, as she lay sprawled out on the couch under about four hundred blankets. “So, is this why you and Dean didn’t work out? I thought it was about Jess, but was it because you don’t like boys?” Her mom was quiet, something rare for her, which meant that she was trying to really understand, not make light.

“No. Dean and didn’t work out because I had feelings for someone else, but it wasn’t Jess. It was Paris.” She took a deep breath, “I really did love him, you know. I just wanted him to be happy, but, after a while, I wanted to be happy too. I hated hurting him, but it wasn’t because of Jess. I mean Jess is a great friend but that’s really all he is.”

“So, you like boys and girls?”

“Pretty much.”

“How lucky for you.”

“What?” She didn’t expect her mom to be made about it but lucky? What the hell was that supposed to mean?

“You’ve got twice as many fish in the sea, kid.”

“Oh my god.”

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#ask response #rose writes #Rory/Paris #rory/paris fic #Gilmore Girls #gilmore girls fic

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drylandlit-blog · 8 years ago

Text

BY STEVEN GRAY

Spoiler alert: The films referred to in this essay include Hail Mary and In the Realm of the Senses.

The ultimate in post-coital letdown is when you die.

1. There used to be a video rental store in San Francisco which specialized in Japanese films. This was in the 1980s. I wandered in one afternoon, not planning on renting any tapes but curious what they had. In the back was a section for X-rated films. I started reading the titles and descriptions since the translations were so demented. In going from Japanese to English the words passed through a warp which left them scrambled.

This was before computers and I had seen very few X-rated films. There was one showing on a nearby television, but I was jotting down the bad translations from the VHS boxes and ignoring the young woman on the screen who did not seem comfortable being naked. I guess I wasn’t ignoring her entirely. Some examples:

Nurses treated the penis gently.

She is playing the role in the bodily crush this time.

If you do not surely see, you will absolute.

The sweet smell of her rectal rosebud.

Training of Ririko is ejaculated.

The desire of the men who scramble for one woman.

The woman who loses reason to a man’s smell wildly.

The party which was out of order finishes and continues that there is nothing.

Business of the sublime love on which sweat and humors scatter goes and comes back to Heaven and hell.

A cry, a groan, and a pleasant sensation wrap in people.

Humors overflow.

Mad in the man’s flesh.

(((Seductive body get around the wave of crisis)))

This is the exciting Fuck with a beautiful porno actress of selecting carefully!!!

I am your fruit today what it is suitable and he is enjoyed thick time is offered to you.

Voraciously body of intelligent females.

I start playing with my finger when nobody is in a classroom.

I saw a film in Chinatown where two powerful supernatural spirits, male and female, were flying around and copulating wildly in mid-air. They were knocking down trees and stirring up a storm. At one particularly heated moment the female spirit’s cries were translated as, “So comfortable… so comfortable!”

2. A good example of a bad translation can be found in an ancient book. In the process of being translated several times from one language into another the original phrase, “young woman,” ended up as “virgin.” It had some repercussions since it referred to the mother of Jesus.

Jean-Luc Godard made a movie about the Virgin Mary called Je vous salue, Marie, or Hail Mary (1985). In his version, she works in a gas station and claims to be a virgin. Joseph is a cab driver who must take her word for it, even when she tells him that she’s pregnant (an angel arrived on a jet and gave her the news). The film was controversial. People didn’t want to think of the Virgin Mary pumping gas or posing naked. I had to cross a picket line in front of the Roxie to see it.

3. Japan has a history of authoritarianism and sadomasochistic comics are popular there. Sadomasochism is found in many films around the world, and one of the better ones is In the Realm of the Senses (1976), written and directed by Nagisa Oshima. Usually the man is dominant but here the woman prevails (it is based on a true story from the 1930s).

X-rated films are known for being a bad translation of what goes on between two people, but not in this case. It could have been called Breathless since one of the methods they use is erotic asphyxiation. “When you rob your brain of oxygen, you experience a high – euphoria, dizziness, and lower inhibition – before you lose consciousness” (medicinenet.com). It’s like smoking a joint which constricts the blood veins, reducing the amount of oxygen going to the brain (if a man wants a good erectile function he may want to be more careful with his veins).

A few years ago there was a trend going around called auto-erotic asphyxiation. It was for extreme sensualists who couldn’t get a date. It is something of a Freudian wet-dream where the sex drive and the death drive come so close together you couldn’t separate them with a piece of silk. Long before Freud had finished his toilet training the French referred to an orgasm as la petite mort. The death erections of hanged men have been observed for thousands of years. A woman was jogging on a Sunday morning in a park in San Francisco and came across a man hanging from a tree with his pants down. (It could have been the actor, David Carradine, who underwent a similar fate in a hotel room in Bangkok. One of his more famous roles was a half-Chinese monk.)

But I digress. In a film like In the Realm of the Senses the man went all the way. Over the edge, the point of no return. The ultimate in post-coital letdown is when you die. The woman cut off his genitals, he didn’t need them anymore, and wandered around town in a daze. Given the consensual circumstances I don’t think she was arrested. Japan was caught up in a fascist death drive in the 1930s and I wonder if the man refused it, finding refuge in a love affair with a woman. Unfortunately, the Dionysian has some deadly side-effects. (The Japanese have a delicacy, a poison fish. It enhances a meal with the threat of death if it isn’t cooked right. Bon appetite.)

4. From Death in Venice to Psycho and a lot of slasher movies, death and Eros are too close for comfort. An older man is attracted to an adolescent boy during an epidemic. A shower scene ends with blood going down the drain. A couple of college students humping in a tent offend the sensibilities of a maniac. Some directors take a violent and puritanical revenge on lovers. Hitchcock was known for torturing his actresses in films, particularly if they wouldn’t sleep with him. Many directors prey on the animal instincts of the viewers, going for a primal undercurrent which puts butts in the seats. The more suspense the better. When a man brings a woman to the movies and someone dies onscreen it brings them closer together. She clutches his arm in fear and apprehension which gets her adrenaline going and increases the likelihood of their having sex that night. Unless it doesn’t. When I was in high school in Los Angeles I brought my girlfriend to a drive-in movie. The first few scenes of the film were so violent that she got upset and we had to leave. However, a large portion of the public gets off on watching (simulated) snuff films.

From Basic Instincts to Snakes on a Plane, people pay the price for having sex. Maybe it’s a form of copulation control, having a death penalty for those who want to feel good. In some countries that penalty is all too real. A man or woman can be executed for sleeping with the wrong person. For some people, the danger enhances what is otherwise a mundane event (which says a lot about them). I don’t need a lot of suspense to make a love affair more interesting. I would find it distracting if there were foreign agents out to kill me while I’m lying with a woman (who for all I know is one of them), and that would not improve my performance. I’m not James Bond, in other words. “KISS KISS BANG BANG” (how the Japanese refer to him) would not describe my life. It would describe a lot of movies though. It is astounding how many movie ads contain a man with a gun and an attractive woman. Sex and death with a fallacious phallic symbol thrown in. “All you need to make a movie is a girl and a gun” (Godard).

I think guns are uncivilized. If you need a morbid atmosphere to liven up your sex life put some funeral music on the stereo or something by the Dead Boys. Or look in the mirror. As the poet and director, Jean Cocteau, said, “You’ve never seen death? Look in the mirror every day and you will see it like bees working in a glass hive.”

Steven Gray has lived in San Francisco since the 1970’s. His most recent book of poetry is Jet Shock and Culture Lag. He writes reviews for www.litseen.com.

SEX AND DEATH AND BAD TRANSLATIONS BY STEVEN GRAY Spoiler alert: The films referred to in this essay include Hail Mary and…

#steven gray

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