A/N: This chapter really had me stuck, and then I lost the passion for this story, and writing in general. But I'm back on track now, and looking forward to moving these two ahead in their imaginary lives.
I'm happy to receive your feedback, as always. Thanks for sticking with me.
Chapter 5 –Throw me a life preserver
Rory let her body sag into her desk chair, and it squeaked loudly. The sound was quickly swallowed up by the heavy drapes and sumptuous furnishings in her new office. Her eyes swung to the right, subconsciously looking for an escape from what was beginning to feel like her gilded prison. But the view out the tall, bulletproof windows had long since gone dark, not just from the shorter fall day, but because she was staying late. Again.
After only two weeks, Rory's reputation for putting in too many hours at the office was firmly entrenched. Everyone knew she was one of the first in the door and likely the last to leave. The only people who were there even later were the Secret Service agents and the Marines on guard duty.
But at least they had rotating shifts, Rory thought with a hint of envy. If only she could figure out the cloning process so that there were two of her. Then maybe she could read all she wanted to read, do all the work she had to get done, and actually find time to enjoy being in this lovely office with a view of...
Well, ok - it was a view of the driveway. Still, it was a view she was lucky to have, and one that many of her peers dreamed of.
Rory's head dropped forward into her hands, and she grimaced at her negative thoughts. This wasn't working out at all the way she had expected. She knew it would be hard work, yes. And she had planned for growing pains and hiccups in the learning process.
But now, she was starting to seriously doubt the feasibility of one person doing this job by themselves. There simply weren't enough hours in the day.
Add to that the fact that a few members of the staff didn't care for her at all, and made no effort to hide their disdain, and she was in what her mother liked to call an extreme pickle. The biggest of all garlic dills, this was. The harder she tried to get everyone to like her and respect her, the more they thumbed their noses.
And of course her Deputy just happened to be the worst of the worst. Perry Tremaine was old school, as old as they came in the 'old boys club' of the House's Administration. He'd been Deputy to three Secretaries now, and it was becoming clear to Rory that he'd thought this time around he'd get the call and the big office.
But for whatever reason, the Chief and POTUS had picked her. She was grateful, but sometimes she wondered what the hell they'd been drinking when they made their choice. And she was getting the sinking sensation that she'd been set up to fail. Not intentionally, of course. She never once thought that their offer was ingenuous. But these days there was rarely a minute that she didn't feel inadequate for the position with which she'd been entrusted.
God, what a mess.
A soft knock on her door brought her head up, and she hoped she didn't look as awful as she felt.
"I'm headed out, boss."
She smiled at the tall woman with smooth chocolate skin. Her secretary was an ally, and a strong one at that. Rory wouldn't have survived this long without her help.
"Thanks Angelique. Have a great weekend with your family. I hope the rain holds off for Trevor's big game."
She paused while buttoning up her coat. "Me too. Paul's parents are coming in just to see him start at QB. I'd feel awful if they got soaked."
"Grandparents don't mind. It could be 30 below, and they'd still be there with smiles on."
"And foam fingers!"
The women shared a laugh before a look of concern settled on Angelique's face.
"You staying late again tonight?"
Rory gestured to the piles of news reports and editorials on her conference table. "I have to get through this stuff before my first briefing on Monday."
When her secretary's frown lines deepened, Rory tried to crack a smile.
"Maybe Sunday will be a slow news day?"
Angelique just shook her head. "You know there's a whole team that puts together the highlights for you, so you don't have to read all of this yourself."
Her boss just nodded.
"Of course you know. Then why-"
"Because I don't want to miss anything that someone thought wasn't important enough to include."
Rory's explanation was met with a deep sigh.
"This is probably out of line for me to say, but you told me to just speak what's on my mind."
At Rory's confirmation, she took a deep breath."It's ok to trust other people to do their jobs."
Blue eyes met brown and Rory knew she was speaking the truth. But this job was so big, so important, she couldn't risk any mistakes, no matter how small.
"It's my first briefing Angie. It's all on me, and I know a few former colleagues who will delight in catching me on a point or two."
Angelique fiddled with the belt on her wool coat. "Maybe postpone your first time for a week? Perry is more than happy to do it and..."
"No." Rory's cheeks heated at the thought of backing down from an assignment. "The Chief set the date, and I intend to meet it with some of my best work."
The other woman sighed again and turned to leave.
"Ok. But you'll burn out before the end of the year, at this rate."
"I'll be fine. I just have to get through the first one."
"Sure boss. You'll be great."
Rory tried to hide her uncertainty with another smile, but knew she was failing when Angelique frowned again.
"Leave the coffee going?"
Angie's hair swung behind her as she pulled the door closed.
"Always do, boss."
While the West Wing quieted down for the night, Rory put the finishing touches on her latest blog entry for the White House's public website. The Chief had suggested the posts as a way to get her feet wet before jumping into the big Secretary shoes. At first, Rory felt like it was a slow pitch, almost condescending considering what they'd actually hired her to do. Her Deputy had been particularly cutting as he made snide comments about her questionableabilities. But now she realized that, as a confidence booster, it was very welcome. It was the only writing she had been doing lately, and it was a relief to hit submit on something she knew she could handle.
As the email flew off to the proofreaders, her attention turned back to her huge desk. It felt as big as a car, and made her feel very small sitting behind it. The wood surface was marred with the indents of many pens, representing her numerous predecessors and their countless hours toiling away on the work she now shared.
The Chief had offered to get her a new desk, if she wanted; perhaps something more to her taste. But just as all of the Secretaries before her, she opted to keep the worn antique. It was a link to the great history of this room, and the role she now filled.
But could she live up to it?
Rory's attention was drawn to the heavy paperweight sitting under the desk lamp. A beautiful pink rose was encased in a glass bubble the size of a softball, staying forever perfect and preserved. It was a gift from the President's personal secretary, Bethany,for her first day – a tradition started decades earlier that represented the special relationship between the two positions. She was grateful for the courtesy.
As Rory had come to discover, the general idea was simple: Rory did her best to protect POTUS and the President's Office from media attacks and such, and the President's Office would take care of her.
After only her third day, her favourite coffee (other than Luke's) mysteriously appeared in the little kitchenette outside her office, along with a subscription to the Yale Daily News. Angelique wouldn't comment, but her sideways glances implied that the gifts were from Bethany.
It was yet another reason that Rory was determined to be the best Press Secretary she could be. People were counting on her. SHE was counting on herself. Failure or mediocre performance was not an option in this building.
Her fingers ran over the smooth glass, and then down to the letter weighted beneath it. She'd read it several times, but it still left her unsettled in the best way. Rory cursed herself as she again pulled the sheet free and let her eyes feast on the words.
Rory,
I think I may just have to frame your letter. As a reformed hoodlum – well, almost definitely reformed – I can't imagine another circumstance where a letter addressed to me from the White House would carry anything but bad news, probably starting with 'You're being investigated'.
In all seriousness though, I hope you're enjoying what must be a crazy, thrilling, carnival ride. And if I know you, your coffee pot is all you need.
Yes, Truncheon continues to grow faster than we can rein it in. Expanding seemed like a good idea, but now we're stuck with the nightmare of staffing three locations with people we can trust. And considering that I'm often the "people person" of our little managerial triad, you can imagine what a pain it's been.
Maybe now that you're a boss, you can give me some insight. It's still not kosher to smack around the employees when they say something dumb, or express an interest in those Twilight books, right? What if it's just a verbal lashing? Come on, you have to give me something!
Fine – I'll refrain from berating the help... but only because I can see your stern face in my head. I saw it enough times that it's permanently in there.
Make sure you play nice at the lunch table. And if all else fails, send up a smoke signal and I'll come by and break you out. Unless you still have an aversion to climbing out windows – never did understand that one.
-Jess
She smiled wistfully at the last sentence. The reminder of their first meeting made her long for the simple days when all she worried about was whether a boy liked her, and whether she'd get an A or an A+ on a test. Another quick glance at her surroundings had her wondering when she had arrived here in adulthood. It must have snuck up on her when she was busy doing other things.
Suddenly her big office seemed too small for comfort and Rory jumped up from her chair, determined to walk off her restlessness before settling in to read another stack of reports.
The small reception area for the Press Secretary staff was empty, all the computer monitors turned off. The Deputy's office was likewise dark, the door left ajar. Because she knew that if she ran into anyone, she'd see more of the same disapproving looks for staying late, she decided to avoid the West Wing lobby altogether. Instead she turned left into the hallway outside the Cabinet Room and found herself at the staff entrance of the Press Briefing room.
Rory paused at the doorway, her nerves holding her captive. Funny, when she was sitting in one of the many gallery chairs, she felt totally in her element. But now, from this angle, the room seemed huge and intimidating.
Get it together, Gilmore. You won't actually bleed from their sharp questions.
She shook her head at her own stupidity and straightened her shoulders. If she was afraid of the room, then she would just have to spend some time in it until she wasn't afraid anymore. Her stomach swam a little, but she stepped into the room with a false bravado her mother would have been proud of.
Her confidence was short lived.
The motion sensors suddenly turned on all ten banks of fluorescent lights at once, causing Rory to shriek and jump back out the door. Luckily the hallway was still empty, and no one saw her blush and scurry inside.
It really wasn't a large room, in the grand scheme of things. And the dais wasn't raised that high. Nothing to be afraid of, she lectured herself. As she stepped up to the most photographed podium in the world, she tried to remind herself that the room she was standing in used to be a swimming pool.
"Kind of gives new meaning to the saying sink or swim," she giggled to herself.
The longer she stood there, the more her feelings of trepidation grew, until the podium was literally the only thing holding her up. Maybe she couldn't do this. Maybe she would faint under the lights, in front of all those cameras, in front of her peers and colleagues.
Oh dear god, maybe someone will pull the fire alarm and save me.
She was mulling over the technical details of her escape from the White House when she heard footsteps behind her.
"Don't vomit – that smell never comes out of the carpet."
Martin, the President's long-time speech writer took a seat in the front row, and gracefully crossed one leg over the other. He'd been kind to her on her first few days, leaving her to settle in and stopping by to ask her opinion on how to slant things for some sound bites he'd written.
Rory blushed even deeper and took a settling breath.
"It's not being sick that I'm worried about. I've been having this dream the past few days where I get up here, open my mouth to speak, and nothing but Ron Burgundy's voice comes out."
He was silent a minute, considering her absurd nightmares. Then in a deadpan voice, he responded quietly.
"Then at least the corps will be amused before they tear you to ribbons."
She grimaced at the thought. "Gee, thanks. That helps a lot."
He sighed and brushed some imaginary lint off his trousers.
"Look, do you think you'd be here unless they had absolute confidence in you?"
Martin's face was impassive, but his eyes held a mixture of annoyance and encouragement.
"But what if they're wrong?" Rory knew she sounded pathetic, but her knees were still wobbling.
"You try telling Denis he was wrong, and see how that goes."
He raised his eyebrow in challenge, and she knew he was right. She worried her bottom lip as she contemplated the seriousness of the job she'd been given, and the responsibilities it entailed.
"You'll do fine, Ms. Gilmore. Try to at least have as much faith in yourself as everyone else does." Martin stood and tugged his impeccable suit into place, running a hand over his sleek, silver hair.
"I believe you said you weren't even unpacked yet. If you decide to run away on Monday afternoon, at least that's already done. Look on the bright side."
He left just as quietly as he'd come in and Rory continued her face off with the empty blue chairs, their seats folded and waiting for the press to arrive and fill the room with their energy and excited voices. Was this how Taylor felt, looking out at a town meeting? Probably not, she decided. He relished the rapt attention of the citizens, as much as they loathed his tyranny.
Well Stars Hollow, look at me now, she thought with a wry smile.
No one, including herself, could have predicted where she'd end up. And yet, all of her life experiences had been leading to this place, this moment in time.
You can do this. It's just like the debates at Chilton - preparation is key.
Rory almost laughed at that memory. Their poor opponents hadn't known what hit them. Although with a mouth like Paris', drawing blood was a distinct possibility. Rory considered her friend's nearly unshakable confidence. She would have no problem standing here.
Maybe I can channel a little Paris, Rory thought quickly.
Yeah, if I want my first briefing to start an international incident!
Rory shook her head and tried to focus on her breathing, on staying calm while standing beneath the bright lights.
You can DO this. You've got the experience, and everyone believes in you.
That final thought stuck in her head. She really did have a great cheering section. Her Mom and Luke, Grandma and Grandpa, Paris, Lane, Sookie. Really, the entirety of Stars Hollow was rooting for her.
You were destined for this, we both know it.
She even had supporters in other cities - one city in particular.
A smile curved her lips. Maybe she really could do this. There seemed to be plenty of people that believed she could; maybe she should start believing it too.
Rory finally stood up to her full height behind the podium and tried her withering stare on the imaginary gallery. After a few seconds of what probably looked like nothing more than squinting, she giggled.
Yes, she could do this.
On impulse, she pulled her phone out of her pocket and took a picture of the rows of empty seats before her. She knew there was someone who would particularly appreciate this view. Then she hurried out the door and back to her office; she had reading waiting for her. She also wanted to get a letter finished before the morning mail bag.