Rory sat still, holding a flute of champagne in one hand, and smoothing the napkin on her lap with the other. Her fingers were sweaty and brushing invisible creases was the most subtle way to rid the clammy moistness. Twenty four other girls swirled around her in their evening gowns, either talking among themselves, some too loudly, or watching the French doors that Tristan DuGrey would enter at any moment.
She took a few calming breaths. He was by far, the last person she expected to see there. Don't the producers screen the guys to find a nice guy, how in the world did they get a guy like Tristan? She smirked mirthlessly This is just the ego push a guy like him needs.
Rory glanced over where a girl in a tight red evening dress was sucking in her stomach to make her stomach appear flatter and chest bigger. She was moving her lips to form words, but remained soundless. She was obviously practicing pre-packaged responses and witty lines.
"Ladies."
Biff Granger, the host of the show, came in. His suit was rumpled on the shoulders from the sitcom-expected hug he'd shared with Tristan before coming in.
She rose with everyone else and walked to the edge of the group.
"Tristan will be in here for a second and you have till nine o'clock to meet him. He'll be taking every single one of you aside for a minimal of ten minutes. During those ten minutes, no interruptions right? Mingle among yourselves during that time. The cameras are set up around the rooms, and camera men are walking around as well. Ignore them, in fact, it'd be best if you didn't ever look directly into the lens. It makes for a better shot. If interviews ask you questions and opinions just look at the interviewee and answer the questions as truthfully as possible." He clasped his hands in front of his waist. "Any questions?"
No one replied.
"And now." Biff looked directly at the camera. "Tristan?"
The French doors opened, he opened them both, giving himself a double door entrance. An amused smirk played his features and his hair was flawlessly brushed around for the carefully spontaneous look. His crystal blue eyes saw far and deep in a way that didn't fit his strut.
Tristan glanced around the foyer / great room the girls waited in. He surveyed their eager glances, brushing over some of the most attractive ladies he'd ever seen all in one area. His eyes rested on a few, but stopped heavily on Rory Gilmore.
The one that got away.
Endless days in military school had flattened the grating ego that created used to friction between anyone else he'd ever meet. The "humble" him that emerged from his academy in North Carolina was nothing like the playa that had left Chilton. He'd never expected to see Rory again, he'd thought of her a few times. The self respect in her had made her admirable.
"Ready, Tristan?" Biff clapped his on the back, the ultimate sign of comradery. "You're going to be quite the playa tonight."
"Don't hate the player..." Tristan clapped his hands together and gave his audience a sparkling grin. "...Hate the game."
Tristan walked a few steps forward, the easiness and suaveness of his Chilton days returned almost too easily.
He was supposed to pull aside every girl at one time or another during the evening. They'd all be giving their best first impression and by the end of the night he'd cut ten girls. Excuse me, keep fifteen. No one would be cut. He smirked at ABC's logic.
He knew at least one girl who wouldn't be cut.
"I'm Emily." A girl in a high neck halter top of startling blue suddenly took his hand eagerly.
"Emily, glad you're here." He said politely, but distantly. Being raised to accept handshakes with warmth, it was hardly easy to make his handshake limp and apathetic.
"I'm very glad to be here."
"Take a walk then?" He gestured to the veranda where the pool, set up to look like a woodland swimming hole, had a rock inlayed path.
"I'd love to!" She was obviously more than happy to be the first 'date-ee'.
He slid his arm around her waist in a too-foward manner some girls would hate. 'The Jerk' was his character, and in character he would stay. "Tell me about yourself." He said as they came out.
"Well." She fluffed her breezy blonde hair. "I was a Dallas cheerleader for a few years..."
"Really? I was going to buy the Dallas football team." It was a blantant lie, but one thing Tristan fully knew about jerks was that their favorite sound was their own voice.
"Really?" She squeaked, unannoyed at the interruption.
"Oh yeah."
This is almost too easy.
This is almost too easy.
Of course Tristan was going to cut her first time around. He was going to be a player the whole 'game' of a show and if she could be stick in the muddish for the whole ten minutes he'd pick some other twenty something siren to take her place as the fifteen staying the night in this mansion.
Rory pretended to sip the champagne again. It was nasty bubbly stuff, expensive, but not nearly as good as an icy coke or a thick smoothie. The frosty glitter of the silver pixie dust embroidering along the top of the dress reflected in the chandelier'slight. The silver orb light hung by an invisible rope from the high ceiling, making it look like it floated above the room.
Five girls had already been pulled aside. He'd take them to the closed off veranda where the poll was designed to look like it was in the middle of a fairy land forest. It was the only place the interview couldn't be spoiled by prying ears. Emily, was that her name, had been the first pulled aside. She was practically swooning on the couch. Anyone who even asked how it went in an unsubtle "give me hints, huh?" would get an ear-full of everything from his broad, broad shoulders to his blue, blue eyes. Rory did notice, with a dry irony, that nothing was ever said of his personality.
A bridal magazine was on the coffee table. It was ironic wasn't it? It was almost a tease for the set designer to put a bridal magazine on the table. Rory took the bait and picked it up. Reading gibberish was better than reading nothing.
She flipped past the advertisements to the only semi-attention holding article, which talked around arranging flowers to make them look cute. She needed tips anyway, being the best friend made her the florist for any upcoming weddings. And someday Luke and Lorelai would...she let herself drift into ideas of a step father and smiled a tad.
"And she's reading again. How novel." It was whispered.
She turned quickly where Tristan leaned over the edge of the arm chair she was sitting in.
"Excuse me...um?"
"It's Tristan." He filled her sentence in with a smirky smile.
"My mistake." She set down the magazine.
"Excuse me Tristan?"
"You're up to bat, Princess." He jerked his head to the veranda door.
"Oh, sure." She stood and pretended not to see his offered arm as she walked with him.
"So, where are you from?" He asked her with a little smile.
"Connecticut." She glanced where cameras followed. She knew that if they found out that they knew each other that they'd kick her off the show. Which wouldn't necessarily be a bad thing, but they'd make her pay for the first class flight they'd provided and the first class hotel she'd been in the past two days before shooting. It's be easier to last the next few hours and go home all-expenses paid.
Obviously he knew that too, and was going to play along. Nicest thing this jerk had ever done.
"Really? Me too, we got something in common."
"No kiddin'?" She asked dryly.
"So, what do you do?"
"I go to Yale."
"No kiddin'? You look like the kind of person who'd go to Harvard."
"Wuddya know?" She asked. It was almost funny how they werechatting about her past dreamsin this incognito way
"Wuddya know?" He smiled at her. But the smile didn't fit his personality it was too...nice. Rory paused, puzzled.
Author's Note: There's the update. Read and review! I hope you guys like it!