The sun is rising over the vast city slowly, slithering between the buildings, turning their icy surfaces into burnished gold and pale blue. A cold ocean wind blows through the open windows of the empty loft.
She had been crying, sobbing, hysteric.
"Mom something terrible happened you have to help me you have to tell me what to do!"
"Baby, mommy's here. Oh God Rory please tell me what happened, please stop scaring me, don't worry I love you ok just tell me,"
She rises slowly to her feet, straightening up, breathing deep. Her cheeks are glazed with tears, her mouth dry and pale, her eyes rimmed with shadows.
As the rays grow, creeping down below to the twisted, shadowed streets, creeping into the trembling leaves of Central Park, sliding down sidewalks in streaks and slashes of luminescent yellow. One breaks on her face as she stands by the open window, the wind blowing her hair back, arms trembling at her sides.
Her face slowly takes on another semblance. Something is withering and falling away like a translucent skin, a shadow that is suddenly gone. There is a new hardness, a resolution in her eyes that has replaced the dazed, pained confusion.
"Yale."
Her lips form around the words and let them escape gently.
"Mommy I made a mistake Yale Yale is gone….."
"Darling, Yale isn't gone. It's right there I promise. Are you ok for tonight? Are you safe? Did Jess do something?"
"No, mom, no, no, Jess didn't. It was me. And it was them."
Nothing else matters really. It doesn't matter what is sacrificed along the way. She has dreamed, waited, prayed, begged, crawled on her knees, alienated people, sacrificed relationships and dances and parties, studies till she cried from exhaustion.
That it should be taken away from her now, when she is so close, is unfathomable. Her resolutions, her morals, her old views of life have crumbled around her just like her childish fantasies and her innocence.
Instead, there's something left there strangely akin to the hardness in her mother's eyes when she parks in front of the splendid house in Hartford every Friday evening. She had never understood, she had been too young, too naïve. Lorelai had downplayed it, made it humorous, but only now Rory understands the painful rift that will never be healed. She understands it, because for the first time, she is standing on the other side of it.
Yale. College.
"Baby, it's ok. Go to sleep. I'll be there tomorrow morning and you can tell me everything. Sleep a little, ok Rory? Ok honey? Oh my baby…"
They'd both been so scared, so shellshocked. Her mother's voice had been so calm, so soothing. After all, there was still a week till registration. Lorelai had probably thought in that gap, anything could be fixed.
But this, Rory knew, this was different. Because their usual rescuers were now the enemy.
Did anything else ever matter? She can't remember anything coming even close. A laugh trembles on her lips. She would sacrifice Jess in a heartbeat, sacrifice her grandparents, and sacrifice even her mother. But she cannot sacrifice herself, sell herself into this luxurious slavery awaiting her.
College.
Nothing matters now but that. This is real life, someone whispers to her. Life without the cushions and safety nets. Life without the mommy. Without the money.
College.
She laughs outloud, then catches herself, frightened.
Her smile fades into the same thin-lipped resolution she has seen on her mother's face so many times. Hard, but smart. The softness has not disappeared from her face, but it's backed by pure steel now.
She closes the window resolutely, shutting out the cold wind, standing in a warm beam of sunlight.
Today is the first day.
Resolutely, she washes her face with slow even strokes. She brushes her hair in the same way, carefully steps into the brown skirt and pale blue sweater and pushes her hair behind her ears repeatedly. With a slow hand, she lipsticks her mouth in one long stroke.
She has no purse with her, so she takes the 50 dollars Jess has given her and tucks them into her bra.
She is ready.
They meet in the Campbell Apartment in the Grand Central Terminal. Rory is there first. She checks her coat and secures a seat before she realizes what she had presumed to be a bar lounge is actually an exclusive landmark. She gazes covertly at the 1930's style opulent design, the muted atmosphere, the leather chairs, the prices of the drinks, trying to appear less amazed. She feels slightly uncomfortable. A clock behind her rings twelve; a lady in a Chanel suit glides by, all perfume and pearls, accompanied by two men in dark suits and New England accents. Her fingers slowly trace the edge of the buttery, dark leather.
She orders two drinks, a Long Island Iced Tea for her mother, and a virgin Shirley Temple for herself, the old usual. Her fingers tremble and twist and knot a cocktail napkin. The server is cool and polite, and for a moment Rory agonizes that she has done something wrong. She quickly remembers to put this small town mentality behind her.
Lorelai blows in immediately like the north wind, instantly filling the room, making the bartender smile, making the server smile, and instantly appearing beside Rory. There is the gleam of tears in her eyes. She says nothing but holds Rory long and hard, rocking her back and forth, and they laugh and sob and Rory cries and Lorelai's lips draw thinner and thinner.
When Rory is done explaining the story, minus the incriminating details regarding Jess's occupation, Lorelai looks at her solemnly. With shaking hands, she pours half of her drink into Rory's empty glass and motions Rory towards it. With a quick, careful look around, Rory downs it, and smiles shakily at her mother. Her hands gradually unclench, and she leans against Lorelai.
" I don't know what to do," she says.
Neither of them is sure. They both try hard to push out of the haze of pain and confusion that surrounds them, to find a resolution, to lay down clear answers.
Lorelai pulls out a cocktail napkin and a pen and Rory remembers something suddenly. A quick, darkly lit memory swirls around her, watching her mother so many times when younger doing this at the kitchen table – sitting there with pen and paper, biting her lip and making lists of options, weighing them.
She suddenly knows where the list making is from.
At the end of the meeting, they have found no better alternative than Jess offered. Rory is unwilling to come back home. Lorelai is unwilling to leave her completely alone, so they compromise for the first time.
"We'll meet here every Sunday," writes down Lorelai. "I'll bring you an account of the money I'm saving for you. You'll give me the money Jess is making for you to put in it. Since you've already deferred Yale, I'm pretty sure you can't enlist anywhere else so you'd better work this year for the money because you will need it. You have to promise to come home one day a week, and Friday nights in Hartford are off, of course."
Rory nods obediently, tired, glad her mother can give her the details.
The clock ticks one, the gilt-rimmed hands landing luxuriously and squarely on the number.
They stand, and embrace, and Rory watches Lorelai as she floats out through the revolving door, the afternoon sunshine blinding, her brown hair swirling in the wind. Time slows down, and there seems to be a pause as her mother so slowly turns her head and her lips form words that Rory knows by heart.
I love you, she had said.
Then everything speeds up again, and Lorelai is gone, a girl is checking out her coat for her and taking the tab, and Rory dashes for the door, knocking her glass over. It comes to a dead stop on the carpet, spilling red and brown liquid on the thick carpet.
She is back at the loft now. It's cold, no heat. She puts on her coat, locks the door and presses in the code, and heads into the city. The wind makes her eyes sting, and the tall buildings seem to close in on her. She hurries down the cracked sidewalks, weaving between people with a certain ease. A taxi carries her down to the center of commerce where she finds the job listings. Her feet hurt by now. She holds back tears of frustration, plopping down on a bench and gathering her coat around her. Her head aches and her nose feels like it might start to run.
She scans the papers, circling things, flipping pages, crumpling up some. She's ready to close it when one last small advertisement catches her eye.
"Private nanny needed. 212-345-3226. Excellent credentials needed."
Intrigued by the anonymity and brevity of the advertisement, she quickly jots down the number and inserts a quarter in the phone.
The cool voice instructs her to come for an interview in one hour at 40 Park Avenue. For a moment she is stunned at the address, at her luck, and reminds herself she hasn't got it yet.
But at four on the dot she is admitted into the luxurious lobby of the discreet but opulent building inhabited by some of the world's richest people. The elevator man takes her up to the floor requested after making a private call, and leaves her in a muted but fabulous salon. She smoothes down her hair, nervously fiddles with her pearls earrings, sits up straight and grasps the hasty resume she has typed at an internet café and stuffed into a hard brown folder she bought at a paper shop.
The woman that comes in is just what Rory though she might be.
She is about 30, with a perfectly coiffed blond bubble hairdo. A sleek tailored DKNY suit fits her toned frame, and she strides in on high stiletto heels. Her professional makeup and luminescent skin seems natural, as though she were born with it. In a clipped, Atlantic accent, she bids Rory sit and takes the folder from her.
She looks up and raises one eyebrow, amused.
"Darling, what on earth are you doing here? Accepted at Yale?"
Rory blushes slightly, and tells her first lie.
"I've decided to defer for a year because it's a family tradition that each of us should work a year in a regular job, in order to learn how to treat help and learn the worth of the dollar. I'm taking my year now due to sheer exhaustion. Chilton was very demanding, and I decided I needed a rest."
The woman doesn't blink an eyelid, seeming to think this perfectly acceptable, as Rory knew she would. The rich could always afford eccencitries. The woman looks over the phone numbers typed carefully in, and excuses herself for a second. Rory can hear her speaking on the phone with someone. There is a pause, then a short reply.
The woman comes back in, and offers Rory her hand.
Stunned and wide eyed, Rory takes it.
"Welcome. My name is Grey McMahon, but you can call me Mrs. McMahon. This isn't standard procedure, but the nannies I've interviewed so far have been so sub-par that I've had to actually place an advertisement. You've been the first thing along that I've liked, not to mention you're a Gilmore. My husband knows your grandfather."
Rory presses her lips together, suppressing a bitter smile.
Of course.
"I've gone ahead and just taken you, because we really are in a desperate position. David and Margot need someone to take them to school and activities tomorrow and I simply can't do it. I'll just need you to fill out these papers, take this training booklet I used on the last nanny and read it, and report to me at 6 in the morning tomorrow. Your hours will be from 6 to 8 in the morning, getting the children ready and to school, and then from 4 to 8 in the evening. Possible, yes?"
"Of course," replies the somewhat dazed girl.
"Go on and rest up then, you'll need it."
"I have only one request," replies Rory quickly, and the woman raises that eyebrow again. "Please don't mention my working here to anyone. My grandparents don't approve of my father's methods of training his children."
"No problem. I hear your father is running a successful business in Boston."
"Yes…"
"Well then, tomorrow."
On the sidewalk outside, Rory lets out a deep breath. She feels like crying again. What if her deception is discovered? What if her grandparents find out? What if?
But there's no going back now. She goes directly to the address Grey has given her, and places the order for four McMahon 3-b uniforms, whatever those are. With a pang, she thinks of her grandmother's maids. Swallowing her pride, she wanders around, a little dizzy, until she finds a hot-dog stand and has her first real meal of the day. She picks up the uniforms two hours later and is surprised – They consist of black woolen skirts that are cut stylishly and swirl a little down to her knees, and a thin black sweater with a rounded neckline and three quarter sleeves. They are to be worn with black dress shoes with low heels, she reads, and a black scarf and black or tan coat.
She sighs, and watches the wet, drizzling lights blur by from her dark taxi window. Golds and reds and greens all swim by, lost behind the raindrops and fog, and darkness closes in around her silently.
She makes her way up the empty stairs to the loft, and lays down on the mattress. There is no one else there. She leaves the lights off, tears steaming down her cheeks in the cool room, fingers knotted in the sheets. She buries her face in his pillow, missing him, trying to find his scent. Her knees slowly curl up to her chest.
Outside it is raining.
She is crying for everything she has lost. Her freedom. Her innocence. Her safety. Her heart.
After sobbing quietly for a bit, she dries her eyes and lays there, silently forcing herself to stop crying.
I'm going to be strong, she remembers. She whispers the words in the darkness over and over. I'm going to be tough like Jess, and I'm going to make it. I'm going to be ok. Next fall I will be at Yale and all this will be a bad dream that's passed.
She hears the door open, and sees the yellow patch of light that opens and closes on the floor. He's coming towards her, putting something down on the floor. She hears him take his jacket off.
He lays down beside her, kissing her tear-stained cheeks, saying nothing in the cold room. In silence, he undresses her. She feels something land on her bare skin with the lightness of a feather. His eyes gleam dark and wet in the shadows, but his face is still and pensive.
She touches it. It is money.
He lays them over her bare skin, covering her with bills. He lets them float down in a pile on her stomach, over her legs, between her breasts, on her bare neck. There are more and more floating, and there are tears falling out of her eyes and she is smiling, laughing almost, a choky, sobbing laughter.
She pulls him down on her and kisses him long and slow and sad in the darkness of the cool room, and the money falls unnoticed between and around them as he makes love to her and gives her the only thing he has to offer.
