Don't Let Me Slide
Disclaimer: Gilmore Girls characters and settings were created by Amy Sherman-Palladino and are owned by Warner Bros. Television.
A/N: Welcome! Come join me, will you, for a little indulgent Trory FutureFic. I've rated this M primarily as a precaution for now, but be warned that something's likely to come up later down the line to justify the rating. (Pun intended.)
Are people even reading Trory anymore? ;-) I guess we'll find out. Apologies in advance for the fact that this chapter is sorely lacking in one half of our dynamic duo, but have no fear - all will be set right in the near future. The story title based on "Don't Let Me Slide" by Tedeschi Trucks Band; Chapter title from John Mayer's "Why Georgia".
Chapter 1 - A Still Verdictless Life
"What's your plan from here?"
Rory slid a cardboard box into her trunk and turned to face her coworker with a pasted-on smile, trying not to show her dismay at the start of what was sure to be a long line of similar questioning. "My first order of business is to figure out how I'm going to get all of my earthly possessions from point A to point B."
"Point B being back east?" Claudia asked. "You're headed home for a while, right?"
"Home, or any daily I come across that's not succumbing to budget cuts." Rory slammed the trunk closed. "Whichever comes first."
"Damn you, Generation Y, and your ever-shifting news paradigm."
Rory gave a rueful laugh. "You're right. I'm blaming Twitter for this whole mess."
Following Claudia back through the lobby, Rory couldn't help but dwell on the gradual changes that had led up to her departure. She wasn't anywhere close to the first staff writer to be let go over the past year, and she was certain she wouldn't be the last. She stepped off the elevator and drew in a deep breath to steel herself for making her way through the bullpen for the last time. The hustle and clamor of the 12th floor had diminished accordingly with the departures of each of her fallen comrades, but it was still a newsroom, and it had been her home away from home for years.
Rory had never been a big fan of goodbyes. Friends and coworkers whom she'd grown to love, and even some of those she'd only grown to tolerate, took a pause from the daily grind to wish her well. She'd watched fellow staff members make their own increasingly ominous exits, knowing that her turn would come eventually. Now that her time had arrived, the overwhelming feeling was that of surrealism as she realized she'd never step off that elevator again.
After she'd made the rounds and finished her farewells, she made one last stop at her desk, or what was left of it. She clutched the name plate that she'd slid out of its holder, the last residual piece that had indicated she was ever there. The space looked exactly as it had on her very first day, but back then it had been full of possibilities. She trailed her fingers listlessly over the barren laminate surface before turning away. Rory turned to give Claudia a tight smile after she pressed the elevator call button.
"I guess this is it," Claudia said. She'd become not only Rory's favorite coworker, but a very close friend. "Do you have everything?"
Rory smiled at her fretting. "I think so."
"Do you want me to walk you down to your car?" she asked.
"I think I can manage," Rory assured her with a smile. "Knowing you, you're already pushing deadline. Get back out there." She gestured with her chin to Claudia's desk, which sat just beyond Rory's. Her vacant desk seemed to stand out like a sore thumb, but they all knew from experience that Facilities would drag it away overnight, and in the morning, the only vestiges of Rory's presence at the StarTribune would be her bylines.
"When do you begin your cross-country trek?" Claudia asked. The elevator arrived with an a familiar ding, and Claudia's eyes darted to the opening doors.
"I have some pickup appointments scheduled tomorrow for the furniture I managed to sell. The plan is to leave early Sunday morning."
"Don't forget to call when you get there, okay?"
"I won't," Rory promised.
Claudia pulled her in for a quick hug. "I don't know how we're going to function here without you."
"I get that a lot," she joked weakly as she pulled away. The elevator doors started to close, and she pressed the call button again to hold it. "Go on, get back to work. I'll talk to you later."
"I'll hold you to that," Claudia warned.
"You can count on it." Rory stepped back into the elevator and watched the doors close for the last time on the 12th floor.
Her heels echoed across the empty lobby, and before she stepped out onto the sidewalk, she took a beat to turn back and see the StarTribune logo emblazoned above the reception desk, remembering her rush of excitement upon seeing it for the first time when she'd come in for her interview. Nothing had changed in the interior of the lobby. That fact was somewhat comforting, but all too soon she had to step out into the crisp spring air, and a sharp breeze swept those comforting thoughts away.
The feeling of surrealism hadn't dissipated by the time she let herself into her apartment. After she tossed her keys onto the kitchen counter and slung her jacket over the couch, she simply stood and surveyed the place formerly known as home. Everything that had made it hers had already been sold or packed away into boxes. Even after an extreme purging of her possessions, she still wasn't sure she was going to be able to fit everything that was left into her car for the long trip back to Stars Hollow.
The sound of her ringtone broke into her contemplation of the stark walls, and she fumbled in her purse until her fingers closed over her phone. "Any brilliant ideas?" she asked, forgoing a greeting.
"Yes, as a matter of fact," Lorelai exclaimed animatedly. "I think I finally came up with a plan to depose Taylor from his position of power. Do you know where one would go to purchase about ten dozen mouse traps?"
"Let me clarify. Any brilliant ideas about how I'm supposed to transport myself, plus all my stuff, which seems to have exponentially increased over the past several years, across 1400 miles with nothing at my disposal but a Prius?" Rory plopped down on her couch and sunk into the cushions, pushing away thoughts about how some stranger would come to take it away in less than 14 hours.
"May I remind you that my brilliant idea was to hire a moving truck? You're the one who insisted on going the clown car route."
"The goal was to save money," she pointed out.
"I offered to drive up there in Luke's truck and help, and you turned me down. I still say you're missing out on the opportunity for some great road trip games."
"It didn't make sense for you to drive all the way out here, just to turn right around and drive all the way back. I can take care of it myself." She craned her neck to see the significant pile of her 'to keep' belongings stacked in what used to be the dining room. "I think," she amended nervously.
"If there's anything that doesn't fit, I'm sure you could ship it."
"And I'm sure that wouldn't get expensive," Rory assured sarcastically.
"Since when did you become Scrooge McDuck?"
She laughed in spite of herself. "Scrooge McDuck? Really? Is that the only example of frugality you could think of?"
"I've been kind of preoccupied with Operation Overthrow Doosey. Excuse me if my references aren't quite up to par. But are you really hurting for money?"
"Not yet, but I'll need to save as much as I can for whatever comes next."
"Don't sound so ominous," Lorelai chided. "It's not like you're going to be out on the streets."
Rory sighed. "I know, and I appreciate that." She disentangled herself from the couch cushions and headed into the kitchen to see what it may have to offer in the way of appeasing her growling stomach.
"I know this house may not be able to compete with the standard of living to which you may have grown accustomed, but you'll always have a place to stay."
"My standard of living isn't exactly on par with Better Homes & Gardens." She closed the refrigerator door on what turned out to be only a bottle of ketchup and half a bag of lettuce that was the wrong color. "I really do appreciate you and Luke letting me crash, but if all goes according to plan, I won't be in your hair for too long."
"You're welcome here as long as you need."
"I've been hitting up all my contacts, and I already have a few phone calls and meetings scheduled," Rory continued. "With any luck, I may be able to find a new gig before I even finish unpacking."
"Now it sounds like you're rushing to leave before you even get here," Lorelai huffed. "I haven't seen you for longer than a week at a time for years, and yet you're pre-emptively planning to be sick of me that soon?"
"I don't imagine I'll get sick of you that quickly," Rory teased, over Lorelai's incoherent sounds of disbelief. "What's really not sitting well with me is the idea of being jobless, displaced, and completely dependent upon the powers of the universe."
"You'll land on your feet, you always do."
Rory pulled her bottom lip between her teeth. "I appreciate the vote of confidence."
"Don't worry, hun. You'll figure something out. And in the meantime, you'll be welcomed back with open arms. The town party is on Tuesday, by the way."
She chose to ignore the bit about the party in hopes that Lorelai was kidding. "Thanks, Mom."
"You're my only daughter, after all."
"That you know of," Rory finished with a smile.
XxXxXxXxXxX
The dashboard clock read 2:23 by the time Rory pulled onto Oak Street in the wee hours of Monday morning. She'd been anxious to leave her empty apartment, so had only waited until her last Craigslist pickup of the day before hitting the road on Saturday afternoon. She got as far as she could that night before shacking up in a cheap motel, and therefore had gotten a later start that morning.
The familiar sights of Stars Hollow were enough to put a smile on her face despite the ungodly hour, and her heart swelled with the knowledge that she was so close to home. She really should've stopped for gas about thirty miles back, but she was confident that that she'd make it there before the needle struck empty. As luck would have it, she managed to hit the one street light in her path while it was on red. There was no one else at the intersection. On the last leg of a 22 hour drive, a red light was exactly what she didn't need. She glanced out the small space she'd managed to create via some fancy Tetris-like moves to see out her rearview mirror. There wasn't a soul to be seen.
At long last she got the green light, and her headlights finally swept across the front porch. She grabbed her purse and her overnight bag off the passenger seat, intensely grateful that she'd had the foresight to keep the essentials in close reach. There was no way she was going to start unloading the car until she'd had a good night's sleep. She trudged up the steps while digging in her purse for her old house key, but before she could fit it in the lock, the door swung open.
"Hiya, hun! Welcome back! How was Fargo?" Lorelai exclaimed in a horrible, yet unmistakable northern accent.
"You've been waiting all night to say that, haven't you?"
"You're darn tootin'!" She grinned, obviously pleased with herself, and she pulled Rory in for a hug.
"You do know that Fargo isn't really anywhere near Minneapolis, right?"
"Sure, but unless on some off-chance you happened to have stopped at Arby's, it was the only line I had."
"What are you even doing up?" Rory asked, dragging her bags into the house. "You didn't have to wait up for me."
"I didn't wait up. I went to bed and set an alarm for when I thought you'd get here, based on the last time you called."
"You're crazy," Rory told her.
"And you're here!" Lorelai cried happily, hugging her once again.
Lorelai's smiled was contagious, and Rory gave in. "Yes, I'm here!" She joined her mom in her excitement for a moment, but then brought them both back down to reality. "But I'll also be here tomorrow, at a more reasonable hour, so why don't we put off the rest of the reunion until then?"
"Party pooper," Lorelai accused, but the impact was a bit diminished by the yawn that immediately followed.
"We'll talk tomorrow," Rory told her firmly.
"Fine. Breakfast at Luke's?"
"Make it a late breakfast slash early brunch, and you're on."
"Done. Love you, hun."
"Love you too, Mom. Goodnight."
Rory dropped her bags on the floor in her room and shut the door behind her. From her perch on the edge of her bed, she took a long look around her old room, so familiar and yet so foreign. This was her home now. She flopped onto her back and stared at the ceiling as she took a deep breath. She closed her eyes and covered her face with her hands against the onslaught of everything she didn't want to think about. Tomorrow would be a much better time to start sorting out the rest of her life.
XxXxXxXxXxX
Just over sixteen hours later, Rory was Scotch taping a piece of paper to the door of a white-lacquered cabinet when her mother walked through the back door. Lorelai stopped short at the sight of her kitchen and did a double-take. "Obviously," she said matter-of-factly.
Rory smiled and stood back to survey her handiwork. The last paper she'd taped up helped finish the bracket-type chart she'd created of her journalism industry contacts. Starting with those she had the closest connections to and branching out, she'd made the graph to be sure she wouldn't miss out on tapping every available resource during her job hunt. The chart had started on her computer, but she'd decided she preferred the tree-chart-type visual, so she'd switched to hand-drawn. Her laptop was an island in the midst of the papers, lists, and books that littered the surface of the dining table.
"I hope you don't mind," she offered to her mom, perhaps belatedly. "I've got kind of a command center thing going on."
Lorelai shrugged and tossed her bag onto the counter. "It's not like this room has any other purpose."
"You don't think Luke will mind, do you?" she asked.
"Nah, he's nearly stopped trying to cook for me at home. I think it was the frying pan flavor argument that finally wore him down. And anyway, he's staying late at the diner tonight, since apparently there's some sort of clause in his cheese contract about late deliveries. I don't know, I wasn't really listening. But we're on our own for dinner."
"Sounds good, I'm starving!"
"I bet. Just looking at all this work is making me hungry." Lorelai tentatively picked at some of the papers on the table. "What's going on here?"
"I'm job hunting, you know that."
"Yes, but knowing it and seeing it in all its plentiful glory are two entirely different things." She pointed to the cabinet chart as evidence and raised her eyebrows pointedly.
"I've been on the phone all day, talking to people I know, and people I used to know, and trying to figure out who they know, and that led to, well…" She swirled her hand in the air in the direction of her chart, which she was actually a little proud of.
"The third stage of psychosis?" Lorelai offered helpfully.
"Don't mock the system," Rory insisted. "Anything that helps is a good thing at this point. I still can't believe that I've been searching so long and there's still nothing. I mean, I started looking as soon as I found out for sure I'd be let go." Rory sighed. "I don't like this," she admitted.
"So…" Lorelai eyed her daughter warily. "You seem to be holding up pretty well."
Rory sunk into the nearest dining chair and took a look around. "Do I? That's good. That's what I was going for."
"How are you feeling, really?" Lorelai asked. "I mean, being back home and all."
"I have no job - no solid prospects, even - and I just moved halfway across the country to move in with my mom. How do you think I feel?"
"Displaced?"
Rory tilted her head and considered. "Yes, actually. Displaced is an adequate descriptor. I'm physically, mentally, and emotionally displaced."
"As evidenced by the document entitled 'What Do I Want'," Lorelai observed, lifting a paper from the arrangement on the table. Rory watched her as she skimmed the list, nodding and making agreeable sounds. "All this sounds pretty good. I think you're forgetting something, though. You need to take into consideration the great philosophical debate that's plagued mankind for generations."
She grabbed a pen. "And what might that be? Are you going to cite The Cave?"
Lorelai raised her eyebrows in a knowing way. "Why did the chicken cross the road?"
Rory dropped her head into her hand with a groan. "I'm so glad that you're able to find amusement in the midst of my existential crisis."
"You'll be fine," Lorelai scoffed. "You're Rory Gilmore!"
"I don't think they care that I'm Rory Gilmore." She smoothed back the pieces of hair that had managed to escape her ponytail and focused on centering herself with a deep breath. "It's fine. Everything will be fine. I have lists and contacts and job postings, and I'm going to sort out a plan. I just don't like that it's so dependent on unknown factors."
Her mom gave her a compassionate look. "Honey, I know you don't like operating without a plan, but sometimes you just … have to."
"Gee, that sounds great." Rory cupped her chin in her hand and stared down at the papers littering the table.
"It is, and you know why?" Lorelai asked, using her fairytale voice as if she were speaking with a three-year-old.
Rory waited, but apparently her mother needed a response from her. "Why?" she asked in defeat.
"Because when you don't have a plan, you don't know where you'll end up!"
"That sounds awful. And you sound like Mary Poppins, or Walt Disney, or some other inspirational crackpot. In real life, it doesn't work that way. Because you know what? Not knowing where you'll end up is not romantic, it's not exciting - it's scary."
Lorelai stood up decisively. "That's it. I originally thought Chinese, but now I'm thinking that we definitely need to swing by Luke's for some emergency mac and cheese and pancakes. What do you think?"
Rory grimaced. "I don't know. I should really stay here and keep going for a while. It's still only four on the west coast."
"No, no way." Her mother pulled at her until she gave in and stood from her chair. "Your crazy lists and charts will still be here tomorrow. And plus, you'll be amazed at how much better things will start to look after mac and cheese."
XxXxXxXxXxX
Two weeks later, the view from Rory's chair was looking pretty good. The large oak desk in front of her held two sleek white computer monitors plus a laptop. A wireframe tray helped manage documents which were threatening to overflow, and a matching pewter cup displayed a bouquet of pens and highlighters. It was the perfect view, but from the wrong angle.
Rory gathered her bag and rose from the winged leather chair as Janet Carlson rose and came around to the front of her desk. "Thank you for your time, Rory," she said graciously. "I apologize that I took up so much of it."
Rory slipped out of Ms. Carlson's office through the heavy wooden door that she held open for her. "Don't apologize, I'm grateful that you took the time to meet with me."
"It was my pleasure. I'm just sorry that I couldn't offer the type of help you're looking for." She followed Rory through the picture-studded hallway of Panoramic Media. The lobby they spilled into was the effective hub of the 23rd floor, and Rory felt somewhat in the way of all the sharply-dressed people milling about.
"That's all right, I understand. Thank you again for seeing me, and if you hear anything…"
"You'll be the first person I call," Janet promised. It was obvious that she meant it. Their meeting had spent about fifteen minutes discussing Rory's work history before quickly transitioning to a passionate discussion of industry trends, including the potential fate of journalism and methods of adaptation. The past two hours had been the most productive and enjoyable of the past two weeks, and that was saying a lot, since this was her tenth meeting in that amount of time.
Rory reached out to shake the other woman's hand. "I'd appreciate that."
"I do hope you'll think about what we discussed," she led gently.
"I will," Rory promised.
"I won't keep you any longer. I have a conference call, and I'm sure you have a train to catch."
"I do, actually." At this rate it might take a near miracle for her to make the departure she had in mind, but she hadn't completely given up hope. "Thank you so much for meeting with me," she reiterated.
"Anytime. I hope to hear from you again soon."
Rory wasn't quite sure how to respond to that, so she smiled and nodded. Janet withdrew to her office while Rory turned to leave. Her phone rang, and she moved closer to the perimeter of the lobby in an attempt to get out of the way of the man striding purposefully in her general direction. He strode right past while she answered. "Hey Mom."
"Well?" she demanded impatiently. "What's the news?"
"Apparently there isn't any, anymore." She hoisted her bag up on her shoulder. "At least you wouldn't think so, considering no one wants anyone to write it."
"Aww, hun," Lorelai consoled. "Still nothing?"
"Well…"
"Oh?" Her mother perked up considerably. "What? Do tell!"
"I'll tell you all about it later," Rory promised, making her way toward the elevator. She wasn't exactly keen on disclosing her thoughts on the meeting while still on-site.
"I'm not good with 'later'," Lorelai complained. "Tell me now."
"Mom, I…" Rory trailed off in distraction as she caught glimpse of the elevator. The doors were closing, and she didn't bother running to make it. Instead, she stopped dead in her tracks, nearly causing a collision with another mission-fueled worker behind her.
"What?" Lorelai demanded.
"I'll call you back later." Rory hung up without another word and without waiting to hear the dispute. She was still distracted by the elevator. Almost unconsciously, she leaned to the side, trying to prolong her field of sight as the elevator door drew closed. Just before they shut for good, the face she was contemplating looked up from his phone and caught her gaze, his blue eyes locking on hers at the last second. The door closed just as she had to shift her weight on her feet or risk falling over. She'd realized in that last moment who she'd been reminded of when she caught the glimpse of the man in the elevator, but she shook it off.
One of the other busy people beat her to the call button, leaving her free to answer her vibrating phone with a sigh while she waited for the arrival of one of the other two elevators. "I told you I'd call you back later," she said impatiently. "When have I ever lied to you?"
"Do you really want the full list? Because I have it," her mom threatened.
"I don't have time for the whole list. I'm going to have to literally run to catch my train, which is why I said I'd call you back later. Once I make my departure, I'll have a whole two hours to talk to you."
"I can't say I'm not enjoying the visual of you running through the streets," Lorelai admitted. "Didn't you wear the Louboutin pumps? But why do you have to run? I thought you could catch the train from Grand Central at nearly thirty-minute intervals. I remember you bragging about something to that effect when you started planning these crazy meetings."
"My meetings are not crazy," she insisted defensively. "And I could, but I have a non-peak pass, and if I don't catch the 3:52, then that puts me into peak hours. I'd have to buy a whole new fare."
Lorelai laughed. "You've got to stop pinching pennies. Next thing you know you'll be one of those people who buys forty seven cans of cat food because it's on sale, regardless of whether you actually have a cat."
"No, what I have to do is get off the phone and catch this train," she corrected. "I'll call you in an hour, I swear."
"Fine," Lorelai grumbled. "I love you. Don't break a heel."
With that sage advice, Rory found herself listening to an empty line. She stuffed her phone back in her purse just as the elevator dinged and opened, and she prepared herself for her mad dash across town. She'd fit right in among New York's time-starved population.
It took a lot of effort and a little luck, but Rory fell into her seat at exactly 3:52. She needed a few minutes to catch her breath, and for the first time began to wonder whether people who exercised could really be on to something. The growing ludicrousness of that notion seemed to correlate with the decrease of her heartbeat. She set her purse on the empty seat beside her and situated herself more comfortably on the vinyl cushion. Of course, comfortable and cushion were both relative terms. The Metro-North Railway had been her home away from home for the past two weeks, during the course of which she had lunched, brunched, wined, and dined with every potential contact in the journalism industry. During one of her many jaunts into the city, she'd taken the time to calculate her hours spent commuting, and it wasn't a happy sum.
Knowing she was running down her time limit to call her mother, she dug in her purse for her cell. It began to ring before she could retrieve it. Her mom had probably set a timer. She groped around impatiently before her fingers closed on her phone. Her heartbeat picked up again at the inspection of the caller ID, and she fumbled to answer. "Hello?"
"Hi Rory, it's Hugh." His tone was decidedly downbeat, and she felt the all-too-familiar symptoms of disappointment stirring in her stomach.
"Hi Hugh, how are you?" Just because he was about to crush her dreams didn't mean she couldn't still be polite.
"Good," he admitted, though she noted that he had the good grace to sound humble. "Although I have some bad news. I did some digging around, and no one I've talked to is in a position to take on staff right now. I checked with some other online magazines, even a couple blogs. Sorry."
Rory nodded, belatedly remembering that gestures didn't convey well over the phone. "Oh, um, okay," she said lamely as she recovered. "Well thank you so much for checking. I really appreciate it, and it was good to see you again."
"Anytime, Rory." His voice alone almost made her cringe with its mix of regret and pity. "It was great to see you too. I wish I could've found something for you, but the market is… well. You know how it is."
"That I do." She knew all too well. "Well thanks again Hugh, and thanks for calling."
"Of course. I'd love to keep seeing your spec pieces, and if they don't fit with us, I can definitely help you shop them around."
"Sounds great," she agreed, although 'great' was a wild exaggeration from her actual state of mind.
"And if I hear of anything, I'll let you know," he assured.
She let her hand fall into her lap, still holding her phone, and knocked her head against the seat back a couple times. That was a parting phrase she'd grown uncomfortably accustomed to. When she'd begun her job hunt, she'd known it would take a lot of effort, but she honestly hadn't thought it would be this difficult. Perhaps it was foolish pride, but she'd been convinced that she'd find something. She had amassed several years of solid news writing experience, on top of two years of political writing, plus a hard-earned reputation for reliably riveting freelance work. She wasn't Anna Quindlen, but she wasn't as green as some of the others out there in her position.
She was growing increasingly uncomfortable as she continued to work contacts further outside her immediate network. She was out of her element, and while she was nothing but grateful to everyone she'd spoken with who had been so accommodating, she really did not enjoy being in a position of relying upon others to help her.
Her phone rang again, and this time it was exactly who she was expecting. "Hey."
"That doesn't sound like a good 'hey'," Lorelai accused.
"What kind of a 'hey' were you hoping for? I'm not exactly in an exuberant 'hey' kind of mood. There are apparently no writing jobs left."
"What? How can that be? They have everything covered? There's a lot of news happening out there. You can't tell me all of it is already being written about."
"Don't tell that to me, tell it to them," Rory insisted. "According to everyone I've talked to, they're not in need of any new writers."
"Well that stinks. Did you tell them that you can do it better than half the people they've already got?"
"I must have forgotten to mention that."
"You know what else you forgot to mention? The way you hinted earlier that you may have had some sort of luck during this meeting. Spill!"
Rory was surprised that it had taken her mom this long to bring it up. "Well, the meeting was with Panoramic Media, which is basically a big PR and advertising conglomerate. AJ Abrams referred me there, because their Director of Communications has ties to a few different publications in the city."
"That sounds promising!"
"Yeah, except it's the same story," Rory said. "No one is hiring."
"Oh." Lorelai paused, obviously trying to work it out. "But you did sound like something had happened, when we talked before. I wasn't imagining that."
"No, you weren't." It was Rory's turn to pause, as she took a deep breath. "She kind of offered me a job, there at the company." She winced and pulled the phone away from her ear at her mother's uproarious reaction, and waited patiently for her to calm down before moving on.
"How could this not be the very first thing you told me? For the record, the correct way to have started this conversation would've been 'Hey Mom, I got a job'!" Lorelai exclaimed. "And wait, why don't you sound excited about this?" Her tone deflated noticeably. "What's the catch?"
"It's not exactly a writing job."
"Oh. Well then what kind of job is it? Do they want you to sweep up at night?"
"She wants me to join her public relations team."
"Oh."
"Stop saying 'oh'!" Rory demanded. "I'm going to need some more syllables, and probably a few consonants."
"I don't know what to say. Everything I know about public relations, I learned from Samantha Jones," Lorelai admitted. "Why did she offer that to you? I mean, no offense or anything, but are you qualified for that? You have no experience, right?"
That had been one of Rory's top concerns also, in addition to the obvious fact that it wasn't at all what she'd imagined herself doing. "Actually, it's not that uncommon for a journalist to do PR work. They're kind of similar, except PR is inherently biased, and journalism tends to frown upon bias."
"Well honey, I'm sure you can be biased with the best of them," Lorelai assured her, clearly trying to find a positive spin.
"I already told her no," Rory said. "Or I tried to, anyway. She still wants me to think about it and call her tomorrow with a decision."
"Sounds practical."
"It's not like my answer is going to change by then." She fiddled absentmindedly with the strap on her purse. "Is it?"
"I don't know, is it?" Lorelai asked gently.
"I don't know!" Rory lamented. "I mean, it's not what I was looking for. I've always been focused on hard journalism; I've never even considered anything else. So on the one hand, what would that say about my conviction if I just accepted the first random job that came along?"
"I wouldn't exactly call it random, from what you've said," Lorelai corrected.
"Maybe not completely random," she amended. "But still – shouldn't I stay focused on the original goal?" She sighed and sunk back into her seat while Lorelai remained silent. In the void, she found a second wind. "On the other hand, what if nothing else comes along? The industry is changing so much, and it's not like I can't adapt, but who knows what or when the next opportunity will be?"
"All important things to consider," her mom acknowledged.
"And plus," Rory continued, "What about the fact that this job could potentially, theoretically, open even more doors? Public relations and journalism work hand in hand. I've worked with dozens of PR people, first during the campaign, and then at the StarTribune. So if I did take it, it's not like I would be out of the industry. Who knows who I could meet?"
"That's true."
Rory groaned. "I wish you'd stop being so agreeable, and just tell me what you think I should do."
"No can do, kid. You've got to decide this one on your own."
"You know, sometimes this whole 'supportive and encouraging' routine you've got going on can be really annoying."
"Well in that case, I can give you another number to call," she joked.
Rory laughed. "That's mean," she told her mother perfunctorily. "And there's no way I'm bringing Grandma into this. She's already been trying to set me up with jobs, and they're not exactly what I'm looking for, either."
"The person in charge of reviewing applications at the club to make sure no one gets in without proof of proper breeding?"
"Close. Director of Cultural Development for the DAR."
"Yikes."
"Yeah… So when you think about it, maybe it's best that I take what I can get? I mean, what's the alternative? Wait and hope that someone hands me my dream job on a silver platter?" There was another scenario, which was one of Rory's biggest nightmares lately, and it featured her standing on a street corner with a cardboard sign proclaiming 'will write for coffee'.
"You know you don't get the job of your dreams by waiting and hoping. The state of my kitchen right now proves that."
"Yes, but -"
"I'm not done," Lorelai interrupted. "I think I also need to point out that you're not Dorothy. It's not always as easy as following a yellow brick road."
"It's not even easy following this analogy."
Lorelai sighed at her daughter's inability to grasp the reference. "I'm just saying that if you think this job could even potentially, theoretically, get you to where you want to be, then that's a good thing."
Rory stared out the window while she tried to wrap her head around all the possibilities. Of course she had to consider the opportunity cost of taking the job; what if something else came along, but by that time she was unavailable? She didn't want to miss out on the potential of something better. Then again, the opportunity cost of not taking it was very clear. The fact was, she needed a job, and this one was certainly better than some. Not what she'd counted on, maybe, but… "This sucks," she concluded. What she really wanted was a guarantee.
"I'm sure you'll feel better after you make one of your ridiculous pro-con lists."
"I know you're making fun of me, but yes, I will."
She hung up with the promise to continue the debate when she got home. She'd promised Janet an answer by tomorrow. Not wanting to waste any time, she dug a notebook out of her bag to get down to the business of deciding her future. She flipped to a blank page and simply stared at it while her imagination ran wild with possibilities and consequences.
XxXxXxXxXxX
Rory was still poring over her extensive pro-con list on Friday afternoon when her phone rang. At the sight of the caller ID, she struggled for a moment with the thought of not answering. She wasn't ready. She'd said she would call, so why were they calling her?
She was running out of time as her ringtone neared its end, and her hand snapped out to grab the phone. "Hello?"
"Hi Rory, it's Janet."
"Oh hi, Janet," she said pleasantly, pretending she hadn't seen her name on her caller ID. "How are you?"
"I'm so sorry to call," Janet began, forgoing pleasantries. "I know this isn't what we talked about, but I thought you should know that there have been some changes to what we discussed."
She hadn't even made up her mind yet, and they were already rescinding the offer? Rory's heart sank, to her surprise. She made a mental note to record her disappointment appropriately on the pro-con list. "Oh?" she said politely. "Okay, well, I understand. That's -"
"No, please don't take that the wrong way; the offer still stands. I talked it over with the other Directors, and with some key members of the team, and we'd actually like you to come onboard as a Project Manager."
"Oh?" she said again. Try as she might, Rory couldn't think of anything to add. She kept her lips pressed tightly together in an effort to resist the urge to stammer.
"We've just been hired for a new campaign with a client. Our previous Project Manager is transitioning to a new role with the company, and we'd like you to fill her position."
"Wow, I…" Despite her best efforts, she was stammering just a little. She closed her mouth and then started over. "I really appreciate the offer, but I still don't -"
"Please don't turn me down yet," Janet asked with laughter in her voice. "I know this all seems sudden, but after our meeting yesterday, I knew you were just the type of person we were looking for."
"That's very nice of you," Rory told her sincerely. "But you know my work history. I don't have any experience in public relations. I don't know if I'd be comfortable stepping into such a critical role."
"You're right, I do know your work history. I think you'd be a great fit." Rory noted the confidence in Janet's tone, and couldn't help but be a little envious. She wasn't so sure of anything at the moment. "You'd be working with an Account Exec from the advertising department," Janet continued. "Your team and his would be working in tandem on the campaign. He'll be handling all of the strategic partnerships in addition to the advertising, and generating all of the business interest. They'll be doing most of the pitches, and your primary responsibilities would be media relations, along with planning and executing events for fundraising and brand building. Your experience actually lends itself very well to what we need for this project."
"I appreciate it, I really do," Rory began. Before she could get further, Janet interrupted again.
"I don't usually like to show my hand, but I want to let you know that we could really use you on this." Her honesty was disarming. "I understand your hesitation, but I want you to know that there wouldn't be any expectations on our part. If all goes well for this campaign then of course we would love to have you stay, but I can't even guarantee that we'd have any local positions available. Please also know that I realize this may not be your end goal. If, after the project is done, you decide the position isn't for you, there would be no hard feelings."
Rory took a deep breath, trying to absorb the massive onslaught of information. "I don't know what to say," she admitted. "Can I think about it?"
"Of course. I didn't call you for a decision, I just wanted to fill you in on the changes. Frankly, I'm thrilled that you're still considering it."
"It's a great offer," Rory admitted. "Please don't think I'm ungrateful. I just…"
"I understand. This isn't what you envisioned when AJ set up our meeting. Although, you should know, I did talk to him about it, and he agrees that you'd be fantastic."
She was glad that everyone else was so confident in her abilities. Realistically, she was well aware that she could do an adequate job in whatever project they threw her into. But Rory Gilmore had never been in the business of being adequate, and the fact that she wasn't tried and tested in these waters was slightly intimidating. "I'll call and let you know by the end of today," she promised.
"I'll look forward to it. Goodbye, Rory."
She hung up her phone and let her head drop to her folded forearms on the kitchen table. The papers that still littered the surface crinkled underneath her and she knew she was probably creasing them. She tilted her neck to rest her chin on her arms and look up at her computer screen. The window for her email server was blinking, and she clicked over to find that a chat window had popped up. She smiled and lifted herself from the table to compose a response.
She took the opportunity to fill her friend in on recent developments. To her surprise, Paris didn't attempt to persuade her one way or the other, though she did threaten that if Rory ever turned into a 'spin doctor sell-out', she'd make Paris's official enemy list. That was one list that Rory would prefer to stay far away from. She clicked back over to the window containing the 5-page pro-con list she'd carefully created. It was a masterpiece. According to the list, complete with a weighted point system assigned to all variables, her decision should be clear.
She stood from her chair and stretched, then made her way over to the fridge. The image of its contents was etched into her mind's eye by the time she shut the door, deciding she wasn't hungry. Instead she poured herself a cup of coffee in one of her favorite mugs and brought it with her back to the table.
She eyed her phone warily. Eventually she reached across her keyboard and the expanse of papers to grab it, and scrolled to the contact she wanted. Her stomach was tight and the blood in her veins felt cold with adrenaline. The line rang three times before an answer.
"Hi Janet," she greeted. "This is Rory Gilmore."