Five Things That'll Never Happen to Lorelai Gilmore...

Never Gonna Happen...

Not in a million years.

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Homage to SuperKateB's wonderful piece which is much better.

For Kitty and Gen. Have a great party!

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She awakens just as the sun is dawning then smiles, stretches, and sighs.

She steps out of bed to open the window then and feels a cool breeze flutter through her thin silk gown. It's a beautiful summer morning.

She slips into the matching robe and fairly skips down to the kitchen.

And there they are.

He looks up at her from his place at the table and grins.

"You look just like an angel. Doesn't she, boys?"

The freshly dressed four-year old twins look up at her with open, shining, scrubbed faces. Two more sets of Luke's eyes looking at her adoringly.

"'Morning, Mommy!" they intone happily together and dive back into their spinach omelettes.

"Morning, boys," she returns, and walks over to kiss each clean-smelling head, before seeking the lips of her husband.

She sits down to join her family, taking a grateful sip of the nurturing herbal tea before her.

"What time do we go fishing?" she asks them with a smile.

"Well, how long for you to get ready?" asks Luke.

She shrugs, "Five minutes."

And she means it.

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It's been a long day at The Dragonfly. But a good one.

There's a full house and the guests are happy. She's just left Michel leading a parlor full of DAR women playing charades.

The level of laughter was rising in comparable proportion to the descending level of sherry in each quaint hob-nailed glass—all were clearly having a blast.

But now she's home.

She'll shower and change and head to Luke's. He is taking the next day off just to sleep in with her.

She's focusing her thoughts on what they might do instead of the sleeping, when she looks up to see Rory sitting on the porch swing.

"Hey," she smiles in surprise. "Fancy meeting you here."

"Yeah," Rory ducks her head sheepishly. "I wanted to talk to you."

"Okay," she says curiously, and climbs the steps to plop next to her daughter. "What's up?"

Rory studies her hands for a moment, then takes a deep breath before looking at her mother.

"I want to apologize," she says, looking her mother in the eye.

She nods, knowing what it has taken her beautiful daughter to say these words.

"I appreciate that, honey. I do."

Rory nods at that gratefully.

"Also, I wanted to tell you that I've done it."

"Well, I know that, Rory. As long as you're safe I don't really want to know all the details, though..."

"No, Mom, not done it ..."

"Okay... I'm confused then..."

"I've done it. Figured things out, that is."

"You have! That was fast."

"Well, I've spent the last several weeks thinking about what you said... about losing time. So, I went to see the career counselor at Yale."

"Wow. Rory, that is huge. I am so proud of you. What did you find out?"

"Well, first of all, I'm going back to Yale in the fall."

"Oh, kiddo! I am so glad!"

"Mom... Mom! Enough hugging now! I need to tell you more...I need air..."

"Okay, stopping with the hugging now..."

"I've decided to continue with my major in English..."

"Good, good..."

"Stop with the crying now too, Mom..."

"Stopping with the crying now, I promise..."

"I am going to add a minor, though. In Education."

"Oh, Rory. That is so right for you! To share your love of learning and force it on unsuspecting brats everywhere...Perfect!"

"Ha. Ha. I'm not sure what age-level yet. Older probably, so I can be more subject-focused. Maybe even university level, which would mean a Ph.D..."

"Rory, I am so proud of you."

"Really? Thanks. I just had to start thinking about what I really love in life, not some fantasy image I had of myself. I love learning. And writing. And there are lots of places for that in 'The Academy'. "

"Wow. You should be proud of yourself."

"I am."

"This calls for food!"

"Yes, it does! Luke's?"

"Definitely, Luke's!"

"Hey, Mom..."

"Hmm?"

"Would you have any objection if... I mean, just for a few weeks before the semester starts... And I did get a job at the high school tutoring center..."

"You want to come home?"

"Yeah."

"Ah, sweet, you missed me."

"That's right."

"Emily's been driving you nuts, hasn't she?"

"How many frickin' souffles can one person eat in a month!"

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She's been so good for so long.

Paid bills. Done without things to pay bills. Clothed, fed, and housed a child without any obvious collateral damage.

Built a business.

Made friends. Worked on her relationship with her parents.

So damn... good.

What's one little wicked rebellion before the wedding weighed against all this?

Absolutely nothing.

She'd worked hard every day, since the age of sixteen. Scrubbing toilets in the beginning. Counting change. Shopping thrift. Clipping coupons.

Just one little tiny fantasy indulged, that's all she wanted. Just one. And then, swear-to-God, normal life again.

And it was a needed ego boost, she had to admit. With forty looming around the block, it helped to feel attractive, to know men wanted her. It was selfish, perhaps. An indulgence. A game. But nevertheless something she wanted before she stood before friends and family and pledged single-minded fidelity for life.

No one would ever have to know. Or, be hurt. She'd just... get it out of her system. That's all.

The bar was definitely not a dive.

A little more blue collar, a little more country and less rock and roll than she would have preferred, sure, but not a dive at all.

And it was hopping tonight.

She smoothed her hands down her snug denim skirt, and adjusted the drape of her bohemian blouse so it slightly bared her right shoulder, then checked her gloss one last time in the rear view mirror.

Good to go.

She felt a twinkle in the pit of her stomach as she crossed the parking lot to the entrance ahead. It spilled light and music and laughing people out onto the sidewalk.

She fluffed her hair a bit nervously. She'd left it wild intentionally. To match her mood and the smokey eye make-up she'd gone with on a whim.

This was gonna be fun.

She stepped a booted foot over the threshold and the game was on.

She glanced about. The tables and booths were mostly full of laughing couples. More were swaying on the dance floor or playing pool in the corner.

She sidled up to the bar and found an empty stool on which to perch.

"Margarita," she ordered.

The bartender nodded and turned to fill her order as she slyly eyed the single men sipping longnecks nearby.

Not bad. Not bad at all.

Most, though not all, too young, true. But age wasn't an important part of her criteria tonight. Good looking was, though. And there was plenty of that to be had in each direction.

She smiled into a frosty, salty sip before looking up at the server, "How much do I owe you?" she asked.

"Nothing. It's on him." He cocked his head down toward the end of the bar.

She turned to meet deep brown eyes peering eagerly back.

Too eagerly.

She smiled regretfully at him and shook her head, then pulled a ten from her pocket and handed it over for her drink.

It was early yet. And Mr. Desperate Brown Eyes not what she was looking for at all.

Now the tall one in the corner maybe... hmmm... intense, silent, black leather... about the right age...

"What's this?" she asked wide-eyed to the server who was now before her again. "I didn't order another, yet. Even I don't drink that fast."

The bartender leaned into her, "Apparently, he's hoping you'll up your usual speed a little."

She followed his eyes over her shoulder to a see the whitest smile she'd ever beheld grinning back at her from a table beyond.

Geez, over-kill on the whitening strips there, pal.

She turned back to the bartender, "Send it back. Quickly," she intoned.

The bartender nodded, clearly impressed with her taste now.

She took another deep drink and felt the alcohol begin to work it's fuzzy magic. She leaned her head back a bit and closed her eyes, enjoying the sensation.

The music pulsed through her.

"Is this seat taken?" she heard a deep voice ask then.

She opened her eyes. Now this was more like it.

Mr. Black Leather was making his move.

"It's not an original line, I'll admit," he went on with a smile.

She smiled back, "Originality can be over-rated sometimes, " she told him.

He nodded and took the stool next to her.

"Can I get you another?" he asked.

She nodded.

"Another Margarita for the lady and I'll have another of the same," he told the bartender as he indicated his bottle.

He turned back to look at her. Almost shyly.

He's good, she thought in some excitement. This was really going to happen.

"I'm... Bill," he told her.

"Vicky."

He nodded. "I was watching you, Vicky."

"I know."

"You..."

She leaned in to him, trying to catch the end of his phrase over the music. She closed her eyes briefly as his scent invaded and shivered through her.

"...beautiful eyes..." she caught.

"Thanks."

Yes, Mr. Bill Black Leather was just perfect for what she needed tonight.

Their drinks came and they drank together quietly for awhile, both knowing what was ahead.

Relishing it.

There was plenty of time.

"Would you like to dance, Vicky?" he asked then as the music enveloping them slowed palpably.

"Very much," she smiled.

They stood and she bravely slipped her hand into his as they made their way to the dance floor.

What the hell. Might as well go for it while she could.

He took her in the traditional position but after a turn or two, her head tucked into his neck, their clasped hands resting on his beating heart, his free arm wrapped tightly around her waist... they swayed and moved as close as two bodies could be.

"Hmmm...." she breathed.

"You like dancing, Vicky?" he whispered teasingly into her ear.

"Ummhmmm," she responded breathily.

"I have to say that, right now, it's one of my favorite activities too," he acknowledged.

They continued this way, their bodies fitted together, quietly breathing one another in, through dance after dance... until the rhythm picked up once more.

They broke away from one another then and met each other's eyes.

And she knew she'd be safe with this man. That she could live out her wicked little fantasy with impunity.

Bill took both her hands into his and stepped into her, their eyes still locked.

"I... have a room... across the road... I'm... only in town tonight..." he whispered roughly. His eyes, pupils big and black now, told her all she needed to know about what he wanted.

She was pretty certain that her eyes reflected the same level of desire.

"Perfect," she whispered.

They turned in concert and quietly left the bar together.

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They next morning she awoke slowly in the hotel room, sore, aching, and disgustingly satiated.

"Coffee?" she heard.

She opened her eyes and gratefully took the offered mug.

"Thanks, Bill... Hmmm... tastes just like Luke's," she mumbled.

He crawled back into bed next to her.

"Yeah, well, there's a reason for that, Vicky," he responded dryly.

She giggled.

"Hey, next time could we add a little more leather into the scenario?"

"Lorelai, there isn't going to be a next time.. You said one time before we got married. That's it."

"Aw, but Lu-uke," she sing-songed, "You enjoyed it, you know you did..."

He rolled away from her with a grump.

But she knew he was smiling.

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After extensive research and reading on the subject, the menu was decided.

The folic acid in green vegetables really is essential for brain development of the fetus in utero. So that settled the choice of green beans in the steamer now. And the salad, with a light rice vinegar and olive oil dressing. Lots of tomatoes for antioxidants. Some sunflower seeds on top. All necessary. Nutrition is especially important for older mothers. Caffeine had gone right out the window first thing, of course. And any smokers within a four block radius of his developing baby and curvy wife, risked both tar and feathers. Not to mention, The Bat.

The chicken had been skinned before going into the roaster. And only the white meat would be served when it was done. Along with whole grain rolls. And light fruit sorbet, fresh from the maker, for dessert. No wine or beer for either of them (they were partners in this after all,) but a refreshing herbal iced tea to drink instead.

Maybe popcorn later if the munchies set in, as they tended to do more and more these days.

The table was set. Some nice flowers out the way she liked. Oh, and lit candles.

All ready.

"Luke!" she called out. "I've got dinner ready, hun. Come and get it!"

"Smells wonderful, Lorelai," he told her as he walked into the kitchen.

"Good. I think tomorrow I broil some nice fish," she said as she sat down.

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"Hey, Mom."

"Hello, Lorelai."

"I wanted to thank you for the wonderful tea party yesterday."

"I'm glad you enjoyed it. I loved your dress, by the way. It's was so youthful and spirited. It suited you."

"Well, thanks, Mom. I wish I had the figure to pull off classic Chanel the way you do."

"Oh, don't be silly!"

"I'm not. I'm serious. Thank God I've got your genes. I hope I'm as gorgeous at your age."

"Well, thanks, sweetheart."

"Hey, Mom, I need some advice."

"Well, I can't imagine what I could advise you on. Did you get to try one of those little tarts Evelyn made? Worth every calorie."

"Oh. My. God. Don't tell Sookie I tart-cheated on her, but it was absolute tart heaven!"

"What advice do you need, Lorelai?"

"Oh, right. I was wondering if you thought I should look into acquiring the old Winston place."

"For another Inn?"

"Yes. It's a beautiful property."

"Yes, it is. And a good location. I went to several balls there as a girl. Well, I think it's a great idea. But don't let Spencer Winston jerk you around. They've been trying to unload that place for tax reasons for years."

"So you think I could get a deal on it?"

"Absolutely."

"It's Palladian. More formal in style. I wonder if you'd consider helping me decorate it, Mom?"

"Really?"

"Absolutely. I have so much on my plate right now and it really is much more up your style alley. There'd be a tight budget to follow, though."

"Sounds like a lot of work. But fun work."

"It would be."

"Would you give me some time to think about it?"

"Sure. I'm going to go look at it next week, if you want to come along?"

"Oh, Lorelai, that really does sound exciting."

"It does, doesn't it? Oh, gotta go, Luke's home. I'll call you Monday, Mom. Love you."

"Love you too, Lorelai."