Jumping Back In

10

"So Rory, what'll it be, Harvard or Yale?"

Rory couldn't help but laugh as Paris Geller found a way to turn making lunch plans into an arduous ordeal. Both Harvard and Yale had private social clubs in New York City, and Paris was presenting each option for their lunch outing the next day.

"I still can't believe you're a member at both clubs! That must cost a fortune!"

Paris sighed, "Well I am a Yale alumna, and I am currently a Harvard student. Rory. This is what the Ivy League education is all about! You need to rub elbows with other people of our caliber! As your friend, I can't believe I've let you go this long without being a member at the Yale club!"

The passionate Paris was so loud, Rory was sure the man sitting next to her on the train could hear everything Paris was saying on the phone. "I've been to the Yale club before, its just not really my scene."

"Ah. Richard took you? Smart man."

Rory still cringed a little every time Paris referred to her grandfather in such a friendly way. "Yup. He is a smart one..."

"I'm serious Rory! Doyle and I make a point to visit every time we are in New York, even if it is just to play squash."

"You and Doyle play squash?" she questioned incredulously.

"Yale. We're going to Yale. I swear if I hear one more smug Harvard kid say he 'goes to school in Cambridge,' I'm going to lose it. I need a cleanse."

Rory sipped her coffee, "You're the one who chose to go to Harvard for Law School."

"I know! But if you would just see these kids Rory! They're not like us, they're of a different breed..." eventually, Paris' rant began to blend in with the noise on the train.

***

The Yale Club was as pretentious as one would expect it to be. Rory stared up at the large stone building while tugging down her blue dress which was not cooperating on the blustery fall day.

Once inside, she found Paris sitting primly in the main lounge.

 "Pants? I was allowed to wear pants? Why didn't you tell me?" Rory pouted. The Yale club had a strict dress code that caused Rory to fuss over her outfit for an hour before meeting with Paris.

Paris posed proudly, "This is a pantsuit. Not just pants. I've got the whole Hillary Clinton thing going for me." She looked at Rory up and down.

"What?" she frowned, feeling self conscious in the elegant room.

"You look nice. Bulldog blue. It compliments the decor." Paris nodded approvingly.

Rory took a moment to observe the room around her. The ceiling and walls were adorned with intricately carved woodwork. There were subtle nods to their alma mater: blue rugs and drapes, as well as antique memorabilia. There were club members sitting in different parts of the lounge. They were also dressed to fit the dress code; however, they looked much more natural than Rory felt in her dress. She was brought back to reality when she realized Paris had gotten up to walk into the dining area.

"Speaking of Hillary, did you know she is a member here? God, I hope I meet her one day. I would've been a perfect daughter for her instead of that disappointment of a daughter Chelsea."

"Paris, what did Chelsea Clinton ever do to you?" Rory attempted to subdue Paris.

Paris threw up her hands, "I'm just saying, two parents are Yale alumni and you pick Stanford? She probably only got into that Ivy wannabe because she pulled the Presidential card! Meanwhile, you and I were at Chilton; toiling away at our studies, doing it the old-fashioned way!"

"Two please." Rory said to the hostess, blushing as Paris continued to critique everyone that came to mind.

The two young women were escorted to their table by the window. Rory's seat faced the view of the city; however, her back was turned to the rest of the dining room. Rory looked up when she heard a pause in Paris' criticism of the Clintons. "What is it Paris, is Hillary here?" she joked.

Paris snarled, "Not even close."

Before she could even turn around, Rory heard a distinct laugh. She had no doubt the man with this laugh was the source of Paris' vexation. Rory could feel the color draining from her face- a natural reaction when this person was in the room.

She gulped. "Huntzberger?"

Paris nodded, the scowl still on her face, "and his spawn."