Rory finished lining her lips, then swept the bright red lipstick over them. She was starting to regret not agreeing to have a professional come do her hair and makeup. It was just that the last time she'd let someone else do her makeup—at the wedding—she'd wound up looking like some airbrushed fantasy and not like herself. Rory had waited her entire life for this moment, she wanted to attend as a person she recognized. After an untold number of YouTube video tutorials and an hour in the bathroom of their suite in the Sofitel trying to figure out which of these eighteen brushes were for which of these twelve eye shadow shades, she was beginning to recognize the error of her ways. Ultimately, she'd decided to wipe her face clean, go minimal, and use a pop of deep red on her mouth to distract from her lackluster eye lining abilities. The final result was…acceptable, she supposed. Now she just had her hair to contend with.
She grabbed the travel jewelry organizer out of her toiletry kit, figuring it was best to secure her diamond studs now, so she didn't risk messing up her tresses once they were pinned into place and sprayed with five tons of hair spray. She unzipped the case, flipping it open to the earring section. Her eyes blinked in shock as she stared at the empty section where the detachable earring panel was meant to be, her heart starting to accelerate in her chest. "Oh no. No, no no…" she muttered to herself, beginning to unzip every compartment. The black onyx necklace was where it was meant to be, as was her diamond tennis bracelet. But the earrings were nowhere to be found. Once she's emptied every pocket and compartment, she turned the organizer upside down, shaking vigorously and praying for the jewels in question to fall to the floor but nothing materialized. She dropped the case, throwing open the door to the bedroom and rushing over to her suitcase, immediately starting to tear it apart.
A low knock sounded on the half open door and Logan peaked his head in. "Everything okay in here, Ace?"
"No!" she pulled out a sneaker, shoving her hand inside as though she might magically find a pair of two carrot diamonds hiding inside the sweaty insoles. "This is a disaster."
"Well, it's certainly a disaster area," he agreed. "But maybe you could be a bit more specific…"
She finally stopped her search long enough to look up at him. "I can't find my earrings."
"Oh. Well, are you sure you packed them?"
"Do I look sure?" she asked, waving her left Ked in the air. But despite her irritation at his inane question, for the first time, she actually tried to stop and remember. She remembered her fingers securing the clasp of her necklace through the loop. She remembered laying her bracelet flat. She even remembered screwing on the backs of the earring as she secured them to the panel. But she could not for the life of her remember reattaching the panel to the jewelry case.
"Okay, well," he said, his voice calm and reasonable as he approached the bed and gently closed the top of her suitcase. "I think you've sufficiently searched your bag, so let's just assume you left them at home. Do you have any other earrings you can wear?"
"Just the ones I wore on the way here."
"And those won't work?"
"The $7.99 rhinestone martini glasses I bought from Clare's? Sure, they'd be the perfect statement piece to compliment my designer gown."
Logan let out a little chuckle. "Well, I'm sure they're lovely but you're probably correct about them not being quite right for the occasion."
"I can't do this Logan," Rory wailed.
"Do what?" He furrowed his brow with confusion.
"This." She threw her hands up in the air. "The huge galas. The fancy dresses and big hair. The hobnobbing with people I've only ever dreamed of meeting." Last weekend she was eating burgers from a food truck with Brendon. That was her comfort zone; fun, relaxed, casual. She had thrown a greasy napkin at him after he told a groan inducing joke. He had picked pickles off his burger and fed them to someone's dog (with their blessing). And this weekend she was dining with journalistic royalty in a custom-made designer gown that she didn't even dare ask the price of. It was a dream come true. But maybe some dreams were meant to remain a fantasy because right now, she could really go for a burger on a picnic bench while dressed in a twenty-dollar sweater and a pair of leggings from Old Navy.
"What are you talking about? You've been to plenty of these events; the Huntzberger Christmas Party, the Children's Hospital Gala…our wedding. Plus, you went to society events with your grandparent's before."
"It's not the same."
"Why not?"
"Well, for starters, the guest lists didn't include the President of the United States!" Or every idol she'd ever had as child. Sure, there were some big-name reporters at those events—the ones who worked for The Huntzberger Group—but this was a whole new ballgame. At those past events she was content to mostly make idol chitchat and do her best to fade into the background as just 'Logan's wife.'
And while she knew she was attending the White House Correspondent's Dinner as Logan's wife and hadn't earned a spot there on her own right, she wanted to be there as Rory Gilmore, up and coming political reporter. She cared if she made an impression. She cared if people took her seriously. She'd waited her whole life for this moment, and all she could think was, that she didn't actually deserve to be there and every Johnathan Swan and Maggie Haberman was going to know it.
"Hey, I hear President and Doctor Biden and just regular Joes…or a regular Joe and regular Jill," he smirked, clearly thinking he'd done something funny there, but Rory wasn't amused.
"Do you even hear yourself speak?"
Logan sighed, apparently resigning himself to the fact that she was past the point of humor. "I'm sorry, it's just, you've been so excited about this, I guess I'm just not sure what's suddenly changed."
"What's changed is that I'm a goddamn mess. I have no earrings, my makeup is a wreck, my hair isn't done, and I'm not entirely sure I can walk in the heels I let your sister talk me into. I'm going to make a fool of myself."
"You look great." She glared at him; this wasn't the time for him to placate her.
"Okay, so you probably want to lose the curlers and switch the bathrobe up for an actual dress, but that red lipstick is stunning, Honor told me your dress is out of this world, and I have seen you rock some truly death-defying heels."
"I'm going to make a fool of myself."
"Look, if the heels are that bad the concierge can have a new pair here for you in half an hour. And while they're at it, I'll have them pick up some earrings too."
"No, that's not…" She dropped her head into her hands. "I don't belong there. These are the top people in the industry. They're icons. They interview senators and governors and The President on a daily basis. And I'm some two-bit local reporter covering town hall meetings in suburban Connecticut for a paper with a circulation count the size of a large high school."
"Hey, I own that paper."
"Yeah, and fifty more that are bigger than it." Rory knew he wasn't actually offended. The Stamford Gazette was far from their biggest holding. Mitchum had only purchased the paper a few years ago and it had grown somewhat, but it was never intended to take over as a major national publication.
"Ace," her name came out as a sympathetic sigh. He put a hand on her back, pulling her in for a hug as she struggled to stave away any tears that could ruin the makeup she'd finally made look somewhat acceptable. "First of all, you are a great journalist. Every one of those reporters paid their dues before they got there. They're not any better than you, they've just been doing it longer. Also, I'm one of the top guys in the industry and you can talk circles around me on pretty much every topic there is, except maybe sports and cars. So, you know, I'm counting on you to make me not look like a fool."
"You forgot cigars and whiskey," she sniffled into his shirt. Thank god he hadn't started getting dressed yet. If she snotted on his tuxedo, she'd really want to burrow into a hole.
"Well, those are career and society altering topics, but we're running short on time, so I'll have to school you on them some other time," he chuckled.
"Thank you," she mumbled into his chest. She knew she should pull away now and go finish getting ready but he smelled so good and felt so peaceful. He'd become comfortable and familiar to her over the past few months. He was safe, he understood her, and he always seemed to know how to calm her down. She needed that right now, just for a few seconds longer before she was thrust into a situation she still felt wholly unprepared for. But if he was by her side, she could do it.
"You good?" he asked. She nodded her head against his chest.
"You want me to see if the concierge can call a jeweler and get you some earrings?" She thought about it for a moment. Any earrings she wore tonight needed to be expensive, high-end jewelry. She knew Logan could afford it, but she'd already spent far more than she was comfortable with on this affair. Besides, sometimes less was more. The necklace was the real statement piece, and her shoes and purse had some bling to them too.
She shook her head, finally pulling back from his embrace. "No. The outfit will work without them. Besides, Coco Chanel said that before you leave the house you should take off the last thing you put on. I'll just pretend the earrings were gonna be the last thing I put on."
"Alright, well then, you should probably go do something about those curlers," he flicked a finger at her hair. "The limo is going to be here in just over half an hour."
"Right." She headed back into the bathroom and started pulling the rollers from her hair, running her fingers through the locks to break up the curls. She'd decided on a simple side swept do; the braid would take a little more work than she was used to, but otherwise it was easy yet elegant. She managed to get the braid done after her third try and she pined it in place so that all of her remaining hair tumbled over her right shoulder, then made ample use of the hair spray to ensure it stayed put. When she was satisfied, she made her way out to the bedroom and glanced at the clock; fifteen minutes until they had to leave. She shed her robe and pulled on her shapewear and stockings, then she grabbed the strappy, crystal embellished Jimmy Choos from her bag and sat down on the bed to fasten them to her feet. Once the shoes were buckled, she headed to the closet to pull out her gown.
The dress was a color block black and nude floor length gown that hugged her curves. The plunging neckline had scared her at first, but it stopped high enough and had straps wide enough to allow her to wear a real bra and Honor had assured her it was not in any way improper. She undid the zipper and stepped into the gown, pulling it all the way up and doing the zipper as high as she could manage on her own. Next, she put on her necklace, the gold and onyx feather shaped pendant falling into the v of her dress and accentuating her cleavage.
Taking a deep breath, she walked across the room to the full-length mirror. She had to admit, the outfit was breath taking. And her hair and makeup, though not professional quality, looked good.
"You just about ready in there?" Logan called out from the other room. "The desk called; our car is here.
"Coming," Rory yelled back. She took once last glance and hurried out into the common area where Logan stood waiting, dressed to the nines in his Armani tux. "I just need you to finish zipping me up… What?" she asked as she noticed Logan staring strangely at her. "Is something wrong? Is it my hair?" Her hand immediately went up to her head.
"Oh, uh…no," Logan blinked, shaking his head. "No, your hair is fine. Uh…just…" He twirled his finger as he took the few measured steps to close the gap between then. "Turn around…"
Rory did as she was instructed, turning her back to Logan. She felt his left-hand fall to her hip as his right grasped the pull of the zipper. His fingers were warm through the silk and sequins of her dress. The zipper seemed to move at an agonizing pace s it dragged glacially over the skin of her back. He finally reached the top but somehow she couldn't seem to move. He appeared in no rush to step away either and his hands lingered for a few seconds until she finally heard him clear his throat. He let go of the zipper and the fingers on her hip fell away as she finally turned back around to face him.
"You ready?"
"Uhh," she shook herself out of the daze she seemed to have fallen in. "Yeah, I just gotta…" she grabbed her clutch off the entry table near the door and held it up to indicate she was ready to go.
"Great, after you…" Was it just her imagination or did his voice sound gruffer than normal? She shook it off and stepped through the open door.
"Where has Huntzberger Group been in advocating for the US to follow suit?" Randy Baker asked. Randy was the chief financial officer at Rheinberg Press. He was interested to know Logan's stance on The News Media Bargaining Code that had passed last year in Australia and his thoughts on bringing similar legislation here in the US.
"We're looking into it," Logan replied vaguely. Mitchum, had been on the fence about the steps Australia was taking to require online platforms like Meta and Google to pay for the right to share news articles. On the one hand, he was a businessman and he'd happily take money off the hands of tech conglomerates. On the other hand, he was worried about the ability of an independent press to remain independent when they were being funded by a couple of huge companies. And sure, they wouldn't be funding them outright, but the vast majority of their news articles were accessed through those sites these days; millions of dollar's worth of traffic. Lose the eyes that Facebook and YouTube brought in, and their papers would be in big trouble. Logan had yet to make up his own mind on the matter.
"What's to look into? It's been a huge success in Australia. Plenty of other countries are already following suit."
"I agree," Rory inserted from her place by Logan's side. His hand was on the small of her back where it had been glued for the entire length of the conversation. To be honest, he'd been finding it hard to not have his hands on her the entire evening. He knew how nervous she was about this night. So far, she'd been more than holding her own, which he knew she would, but he figured it couldn't hurt to make sure he was letting her know she had his support. That's all it was, a comforting hand to let her know he had her back. And sure, some people might point out that he was lending his support a little farther south than he usually did, but there were appearances to keep up, they were newlyweds after all… and so far, Rory hadn't seemed to mind.
"See, Huntz, your wife knows what she's talking about."
"She always does," Logan admitted. "Way more often than I do." Randy chuckled insincerely.
"I think everyone in this room can agree that journalism is an industry that needs to endure for the public good. Journalists deserve to be paid appropriately for their work and accepting government funding is a dangerous proposition. If these outlets are going to distribute our news, they should pay for it."
"I like this girl, Logan." Randy nodded vigorously.
"Woman." Rory corrected. Logan sucked in air through his teeth. Uh oh, Randy was screwed. Logan had a feeling he wasn't going to be liking Rory so much in a few minutes when she finished wiping the floor with him.
"Excuse me?"
"I'm a woman. And a journalist. Not a girl. I haven't been a girl in a long time. Not since I got the right to vote, became editor in chief of the Daily Princetonian, and graduated cuma sum laude from Princeton. I can email you my CV if need. Also, I wasn't done…"
"Feisty."
"You really enjoy having your ass handed to you, don't you, Randy?" Logan pointed out with an impressed raise of his eyebrows. This was a man who was truly looking for a public flagellation.
Randy held his hands up, mea culpa style. "Hey, I didn't mean anything by it, I swear. I'd love to hear the rest of what this beautiful woman has to say."
Logan felt Rory tense next to him; he was pretty sure it was the 'beautiful' comment. While he'd be hard pressed to disagree—he himself had been distractingly aware of how beautiful she was all night—he could see why she might find the comment less than complimentary at that moment. Apparently, however, she decided to let it go.
"I was saying," she resumed, "that we need something to protect journalists from this new digital oligarchy, but we need to be careful about the details. I think we can see from the success of the Australian law that the concerns about the legislation benefiting large media outlets like ours while disadvantaging smaller organizations has been unfounded…so long as we make sure that those smaller outlets can collectively bargain. But we still need to make sure any version of the law we pass here ensures continued independence of the press. We can't allow these companies to use their financial backing to influence the news that we report. Also, we need to acknowledge that we need them more than they need us. And they're not afraid to use that to their advantage. We can already see how they're pushing back against renegotiations in Australia. Not to mention, the mere prospect of the passing of Bill C-18 had Google blocking news content from 4% of Canadian users just last week."
"She makes some good points," Logan concurred, looking at a sheepish Randy. Actually, she made some excellent points. He might need her to quiz him on the subject before he scheduled a board meeting to discuss it at length.
"Right, well," Randy cleared his throat, his eyes already starting to flit around, looking for an excuse to hightail it out of there before Rory further humiliated him. "The devil is in the details. It's been great talking to you, but I see Johnny Malbour over there and I need to have a word with him." He took a swig of his drink and wandered away.
Logan let out a laugh but Rory still appeared to be less than amused. "Ugh," she scoffed. "I hate people like him."
"Gee, can't see why. But hey…for someone who, not two hours ago was afraid she'd make a fool of herself here, you sure did make a fool of him, so that was fun." They'd been here less than half an hour and she was already so in her element. Not that he'd had any doubt she would be. But he was glad she seemed to have gotten over her own self-doubts.
"Anger and a deep hatred of the patriarchy invigorate me," Rory finally let out a laugh of her own.
"So, you ready to go meet some people you actually want to talk to?"
"Yes, please. I think I saw Anderson Cooper before. Ooh, and that's Tamara Keith over there…" she pointed in the direction of the NPR reporter. She took his hand and started pulling him in that direction but out of the corner of his eye he saw something that made him stop.
"Actually…" his eyes zeroed in on their new target. "I think I have a better idea."
"But….Tamara Keith!" Rory pouted, her ruby red lip sticking out in a way that made him feel disoriented in an oddly pleasant sort of way. He blinked it away, trying to focus on the matter at hand. This was way better than Tamara Keith…nothing against the woman, but Logan knew where Rory's true affections lay.
"Just come with me," he started to reroute her, much to her reluctance until her eyes finally saw what his did. She stopped dead in her tracks.
"Is that…?" He let his eyes take in her reaction with gratification. Her crystal blue eyes were wide, her previously pouty lip hanging open with shock. Her chest heaved subtly with excitement, and yet it was enough to draw his gaze down, following the chain of her necklace down to the place where the pendant sat, nestled between her breasts. Focus, Logan, he reminded himself. He blinked, breaking himself out of the trance he found himself in.
"You know, Ace, I do believe it is."
"Oh my god," she clutched onto his arms with both hands. "I'm going to meet Christiane Amanpour."
"You need a minute to collect yourself?" he chuckled.
"Hey! Don't make fun of me."
"I'm not!" He wasn't. In fact, he found her excitement invigorating. He'd grown up in this world; he was a jaded, old man at thirty. But seeing things through her eyes, it was like he could enjoy the feeling vicariously through her.
She took a deep breath, squaring her shoulders. Apparently she did need a moment to collect herself. "Okay, let's go."
She started walking again, and he could see the physical restraint she used to keep from running and jumping on the woman.
"Christiane," Logan greeted as they approached the woman who was chatting casually with another person he didn't recognize.
"Logan," she smiled up at him. He could see Rory's eyes go wide with the knowledge that he was on a first name basis with her. Not that they were besties or anything, but they had met at other media events throughout the years. "Good to see you. Have you met Joanna Woodburn?" she introduced her conversation partner. "She works for the Atlanta Journal."
"Nice to meet you," Joanna said, taking his hand to shake. He could feel Rory next to him, clinging to his arm and practically vibrating with energy waiting for her introduction. Joanna turned back to Christine Amanpour. "It was good talking to you, Christiane," she excused herself, leaving Logan and Rory alone with the acclaimed international correspondent.
"Christiane, this is my wife, Rory, Gilmore."
"Hi Rory. How are you? Nice to meet you."
Rory released her right hand from her vice-like grip on his forearm and reached it out to shake. "It's nice to meet you too," she beamed. Logan was a little worried about Christiane Amanpour's metacarpal bones, but she seemed to be taking Rory's enthusiastic greeting in stride.
"Rory is a huge fan," Logan explained.
Rory brushed a hair nervously out of her face. "I just think you are so inspiring. Your reporting is so bold and moving and fascinating and I know you've won nine Emmys, but I just don't think that's enough," Rory gushed. "Not that you care about that kind of thing, but I just want to say thank you."
"Thank you. That's really nice of you."
"You know, I almost met you once before," Rory started back in, her hands clutched excitedly in front of her. "My mother owns an Inn and there was this guest who looked exactly like you. I had just graduated Princeton and was home for a few days before I started my first job covering the 2016 Hillary Clinton presidential campaign for this online news magazine. Anyway, my mom ran all the way home and pulled me out of my room in my pajamas insisting it was you. I was like, 'Mom, what would Christiane Amanpour be doing at the Inn?' I mean, it's a nice Inn and all, I highly recommend it if you're ever looking for a little weekend getaway outside of the city, but really, what would the chances be? Anyway, the next thing I know I'm being introduced to some very understanding woman named Janette wearing nothing but pajamas…me, not her. She was fully clothed, you know…in attire didn't have fuzzy bunnies on it."
"Oh, my." Christiane Amanpour looked slightly taken aback…which was quite an accomplishment considering the woman had seen everything from the fall of European communism to the Bosnian war to the siege of Yasser Arafat's compound.
Rory's face went bright red. "I am so sorry, I am totally fan girl-ing. I just…I have wanted to meet you for so long. You were my inspiration for becoming a journalist."
"Rory is an amazing journalist," Logan touted. As amusing as he found Rory's 'fan girl-ing,' he figured she'd appreciate a little help getting her back on track.
"You're still working?" Christiane asked.
"I am," Rory nodded energetically. "It's been a little…complicated. But I just really love what I do."
"What kind of reporting do you do?" she inquired.
"Local and state government, mostly, but I've been starting to cover some more national politics and I even got to do some coverage on France's presidential election.
"Well then, you're in the right room. I look forward to reading some of your work."
"Oh my god, really? That would be amazing."
"Of course."
"Thank you so much."
"It was nice meeting you, Rory," Christiana Amanpour reached out to shake her hand once more.
"Nice to meet you," Rory took her hand again.
"Good luck and take care." She walked off into the crowded room.
Rory turned to him, smile glowing. She grabbed both of his hands. She was bouncing up and down on her tiny, fragile heels. "Christiane Amanpour looks forward to reading some of my work," she beamed. "Come on, I need champagne to celebrate."
She grabbed his hand and dragged him to the bar. He ordered their drinks and Rory continued to gush over her celebrity encounter. Logan couldn't help but feel her excitement; the glow of happiness, the twisting of exhilaration in his own stomach, the clenching in his chest. She was infectious; he couldn't keep his eyes off of her. He was still listening to her babble happily when he felt a vibration in his coat pocket. He should ignore it. There wouldn't be any business to attend to tonight…other than the obvious; Ana was taking care of all of his work messages and calls. There was nothing on his phone that couldn't wait. But he needed to do something at that moment, because otherwise he might never stop staring at his wife. He pulled the phone out and saw the Instagram notification. He tapped on the pop up and it took him to his DMs. At the top of the screen Natalie's name was in bold, her picture framed in a red circle with a green dot at the bottom to indicate she was active and a blue dot the right to confirm that she had been the messenger who had caused his phone to vibrate. Without thinking, he opened the DM. It was a meme of a sad looking cat with the caption…
How you feel when the people around you are boring…
While you're at a party!
Natalie M: How's the dinner? Same boring drunks discussing stocks, cars and their latest friends to be indicted?
He glanced up at Rory, then back at his phone.
Logan H: Actually, it's not so bad this time.
Natalie M: *Gasp*. What is happening? Has Logan Huntzberger grown up and gotten boring?
A small smile pulled at his lips at the easy banter. Even after all this time. Even over text.
Logan H: What can I say? It was bound to happen eventually.