Thursday, October 17, 1963

Dusk had long since swept over the Yale campus, chilly October fingers pressing up against the windows and leaving yellowed leaves stuck on the sills. Many windows, dark and empty, were indicators of inhabitants who had decided to pursue more exciting happenings on campus; others were indicators of inhabitants exhausted from a day of classes filled with America's brightest minds and tests marked by unfailingly judgmental professors. One window, however, still glowed gently in the night, and the silhouettes of two students moved languidly within.

Of course, any poetic merit to the image was thoroughly shattered by Robert Delaney's usual dramatic ramblings.

"Dick, I really think I'm in love. She's absolutely gorgeous, has legs up to here and hair down to here and honestly, when you see her – it's as if Ursula Andress had a twin sister. Smokin'!"

"If you keep calling me Dick I'll have to start calling you Bobby," Richard Gilmore mumbled, supremely uninterested in his friend's love life. He swirled his glass clockwise, the amber liquid smooth against the crystal like the warm lamp light seeping across the otherwise dim room.

Tall and broad, well-groomed, and neatly dressed, Richard sat comfortably on the dorm's settee. Being the property of a Gilmore and a Delaney, though, the couch was far from the lousy yellowed thing that many college students elected to install in their dormitories, if anything at all; the luxe burgundy leather chesterfield and matching chairs on proud display in the middle of the room were a perfect complement to the heavily stocked bookcases lining one wall and the rather rude so-called modern sculpture stretching scandalously in one corner that Robert had brought back to the dorm one drunken Saturday. Amber beads that jingled rather annoyingly with close steps on the plush carpet hung from the lampshades clustered at either end of the chesterfield. It really was a bit of a wonder what you could do to a bleak, emotionless residence room if you had a little bit – or, rather, a lot – of money to burn.

Of course, the books squeezing up against one another in the bookcases were Richard's most prized possessions; at six, his mother had already instilled in him a sense of avid curiosity, and at eight he was devouring the classics. His parents had only been too happy to fund his lifelong obsession, and as he sat on the chesterfield letting his roommate's lovesick rantings go in one ear and out the other, Richard briefly wondered what to read before bed. Which reminded him that he needed to call his fiancée before she went to bed…

Robert laughed, leaning forward slightly. "Do you know what the best part is?" he said in a low voice, eyebrows raised high and smirk set in place. "I have two words for you. On. Top."

Choking on his scotch, Richard reached for the handkerchief in his sportcoat pocket and coughed loudly as the liquor burned a trail down the back of his throat, Robert chuckling all the while. He tucked the soft fabric back into his breast pocket and shot his friend a glare, draining the rest of his glass. "That was far, far more than I needed to know about your relationship with Hope. And now, if you're finally done, I should call Pennilyn."

Robert rolled his eyes, generously refilling his own glass. "You, my friend, are missing out," he said knowledgeably as he stood, crossing the room to the door of his bedroom. "I mean, Pennilyn's nice and all, but come on. Live a little. Have some fun before you get tied down. Are you coming to John's party on Saturday? I'm bringing Hope, all the boys are dying to meet her. You'd better not have an economics exam again. Please tell me Botsford isn't giving another exam, I think I might cry if you missed out again."

"As long as John refrains from throwing up on my shoes again, yes, I'll be there," Richard replied. The last party had cost him a fortune in cleaning, and it had been a failed venture – he couldn't get the stink out and ended up throwing his shoes away. John was a ridiculous lightweight and had the terrible habit of drinking far, far too much. "And who told you Penny and I were getting married?"

Robert winked, one hand jauntily tapping the side of his nose. "Dicky boy, you can't hide anything from me. I saw that ring you bought. What a gem! My friend, if you're giving her a diamond like that I'd better hope you were serious."

Richard grinned bashfully as Robert laughed again. "Well, don't go spreading it all around, Lynnie's father is planning on making a formal announcement. Big party and all that," Richard said. "And wait, how did you – were you looking through my things?"

Robert just winked again, laughing all the while. Richard rolled his eyes. His friend was really too much sometimes, although that really was just the way he played the game of life: play hard, roll fast, and don't let anything depress you. Richard preferred a much more conventional model himself.

Instead of saying anything, he shook his head disapprovingly and raised one eyebrow at his friend who really was drinking too much for a Thursday night. Robert got the hint and slipped into his bedroom, sitting down into the easy leather desk chair and closing the door behind him with one foot. As Richard carefully dialed Pennilyn's number in the sitting room, Robert leaned back, glass in hand, to spend the rest of his evening dreaming about Hope Archer and her impossibly long bare legs.

...

Friday, October 18

When the phone rang at precisely eight o'clock, Richard picked up the elegant black receiver and held it to his ear, still distracted by the newspaper editorial set in front of him detailing Vietnam terrors. He forgot to say hello.

"Er, is this Robert?" Pennilyn asked with confusion, her voice hoarse over the line. Richard jumped a little and then realized who is on the other end.

"Hello Pennilyn, it's me, Richard," he said, folding up his newspaper again and leaning back on his desk chair. He frowned. "You don't sound well. Have you come down with something?"

There was silence and he heard the faint sound of a nose being blown. "I think I caught something from Deborah. She was walking around our room yesterday coughing and sneezing and moaning about being sick and missing Ernest and now she has me sick too." She was interrupted by a hacking cough, and Richard winced half in sympathy and half in slight disgust. But Penny returned, stating calmly if a little thickly, "I was so looking forward to going to that gathering of John's but I hardly think I'm in any state to."

"Would you like me to come visit you?" Richard asked helpfully. "It's still early, maybe I could find soup or something else comforting and be in New York by tonight..."

Penny gave her soft pleasant laugh which sent her into another fit of coughs. When she recovered, she said kindly, "Although that would be lovely, I think that's quite a bit of a hassle. No, I'm perfectly fine."

"Really, I could come by and spend the weekend with you," he offered. "I should get used to nursing you in sickness if this marriage thing is going to happen, after all." She laughed again.

"No, you go ahead to John's party," Penny said. "I heard all about how excited the boys were about that. You go and have fun without me before you're stuck with me forever."

Later that night when he hung up the phone after just under an hour of conversation, Richard undressed for bed and slipped under the covers. His hands folded over the top of his quilt, and he thought about Pennilyn Lott. She was beautiful, kind, sweet and calm. His parents adored her easy charm, understated confidence and cheerful disposition, as well as her white-collar lineage. She was clever, studying psychology at Vassar College, and they had never had any significant disputes in two years of quiet romance ever since he met her through a friend. Their relationship was, in a word, uncomplicated. She really is the ideal woman, Richard told himself. An ideal wife. He hesitantly tested the word wife a few times in his head, but it seemed wrong, so he settled on woman. He drifted off to sleep, thinking not of Pennilyn's soft blonde curls and wide blue eyes but of pocket squares and tiered cakes.

...

Saturday, October 19

"Too bad Pennilyn couldn't make it," John said all too cheerfully over the buzz of the budding party in a Yale dormitory similarly decorated to Richard's. The only difference was that, rather than a rude looking sculpture hiding in the corner, John had decorated with several very rude framed posters that were currently the subject of great titillation amongst a group of giggling girls, long past tipsy and well on their way to completely drunk. John had, about two hours previously, swung open a cupboard door to reveal shelves lined with bottles of cheap beer. Several men Richard knew were already eyeing the friends with interest, apparently eager to take advantage of any benefits alcohol might provide them.

John Dorsey was tall, lanky and a genuinely good man with an infinitely positive disposition, except for when he got too drunk and threw up on Richard. He also had deep pockets and liked to hold large and loud parties full of bad beer and, for a select few special guests, extremely strong and pricey liquor. "She's alright though? Just a cold?"

Richard nodded, accepting a glass of something dark and definitely stronger than he intended to drink tonight. "I told her I'd call her later to inform her whether she needs to buy me a new pair of shoes," he said with a wry smile, and John laughed uproariously. It really wasn't all that funny, but Richard suspected the host of the party had been cleaning out the beer almost single-handedly.

People were streaming in through the door and John didn't seem to mind the numerous uninvited guests, instead weaving through them all to offer up bottles of beer left and right and a glass to certain esteemed guests. Richard was just about ready to leave the crowded room and get some fresh air away from the heavy stench of cigarette smoke and spilled alcohol when he spotted the top of Robert's head at the door. Unsurprisingly, Richard's roommate spotted him back and appeared at his side in a matter of seconds, already nursing a half-empty bottle.

"Richard, allow me to introduce to you Hope Archer," he announced grandly. At his side was a tall, leggy blonde in a very fashionable silky blue dress that showed unprecedented amounts of anatomy. Richard smiled politely as he shook her hand, a class ring settled firmly on her finger. Her good looks didn't surprise Richard in the least – Robert was reputed in the world of women to be quite the catch, according to Penny – but the class ring did. Richard wouldn't have pegged Robert to be interested in an older woman…

"Call me Hope," she introduced herself throatily. Her voice was warm, a comfortable voice, and Richard saw immediately why Robert held her in such adoration. There was something sensual underneath that pleasant timbre, and a mischievous glimmer in her eyes. "I've heard lots about you. Richard Gilmore, yes? Now isn't that a familiar family name."

Richard gave a bit of a chuckle, unamused. "I see you graduated from Smith," he said politely. "Very good school, from what I hear."

Hope laughed, a twinkling laugh that reminded him somehow of Penny. "Oh yes, I loved it. I graduated in June. My younger sister Emily is studying History there at the moment." She gestured vaguely beside her.

That brought Richard's attention to the petite, curvy brunette standing behind Hope in a smart green sheath, dark auburn waves perfectly coiffed and looking positively bored. Richard saw no resemblance whatsoever other than the intense dark eyes so similar to her sister's, and wondered for a moment why Robert picked Hope. He then realized that he was staring, and so proffered his hand, abashed. "Lovely to meet you," Richard said quickly. Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw Robert smirking.

Emily took his hand, a quick and firm shake, and barely smiled, merely nodding in response. Richard wondered whether he had done something wrong and looked towards Robert, who raised his shoulders slightly. Nothing erased the joyous grin on his face. "Why don't we go meet John, Hope," Robert said cheerfully, leading her away. Without hesitations, Richard realized that Robert was eager to introduce Hope to everyone he knew.

Richard watched them weave back through the crowd before realizing that Emily still stood next to him, watching them go with distaste. "Oh, for Heaven's sake," she said coldly. "It's bad enough I had to drive the girl all the way down here. 'Oh, Emily, my dear sweet sister, I want you to meet Robert, he's such a darling and you'll love him even though you have to drive two hours in the rain and fog to a place you don't recognize where I'll promptly ignore you in the midst of a terrible drunken mess of people you don't know.' And of course I say why yes dear sister because I'm a complete and utter masochist."

He stared at her for a few seconds as she glared into the crowd, not sure what to do, until he decided to pour the contents of the first bottle he could reach into a glass and asked meekly, "Drink?"

"God, yes," Emily muttered darkly, taking the glass of vodka from Richard's outstretched fingers and downing its ample contents in one drink. She turned and started at the sight of him. "Oh. Hello. I'm sorry. That was rather –"

Her hands fluttered about for a second until she clasped them together, composing herself. "Richard, is it?" Emily asked instead. "This is a… lovely place."

A couple, giggling with utter inebriation, pushed past them and into the bathroom, locking the door behind them with a loud click. There was a thump and then a pleasured moan.

"Thankfully it isn't mine," Richard replied wryly. He paused. "I was about to get some fresh air, I don't suppose you would like to-"

"Hallelujah," Emily interrupted impatiently, and after a hesitation remembered her manners. "Thank you."

Minutes later Robert surveyed the room, looking for his roommate and friend. "Oy, have you seen Richard around?" he asked a passing pantsless and very drunk John Dorsey.

John laughed, a dizzy and simpering girl on each arm and beers clutched in both hands. "Say, Blondie, seen my buddy ol' pal Dick?" he asked in the vague direction of his right arm. She giggled hysterically and he gave a clumsy wink. They disappeared into his bedroom, his last audible words "he's sure gon' be excited t' meet you ladies…"

"Maybe he's just gone off and gotten some fun of his own," Hope suggested into his ear. "He looked a little bored. Could've done with some excitement to spruce him up a bit."

Grinning, Robert looked up at her. "You're right. You know, this Robert is feeling dull and boring himself…"

"Does Robert want a little excitement?" Hope murmured. He laughed and pulled her closer.

...

"Well isn't this nice," Emily deadpanned as they sat on a bench outside the building, huddled under an umbrella. The rain, coming down in heavy sheets, ceaselessly pounded the ground so hard Richard was surprised erosion hadn't set in yet.

"It's usually nicer out," Richard said unhelpfully. Emily arched an eyebrow and said nothing. They sat in silence, the only sound coming from the rain that battered Emily's umbrella. Richard racked his brains to make conversation, and finally asked, "So you're a History major? What sort of history?"

"Oh, the usual," came her reply. "Western European history, largely. I specialize in the seventeenth century, although I'm rather enjoying a seminar I'm taking on World War I."

"I read a very interesting article on World War I the other night," Richard mused. "He – the author – seemed to believe that Germany had no provocative intentions whatsoever in the events leading to the war. Shafted all the blame to Britain. It was a terrible editorial, actually. No historical support whatsoever."

Emily made a small disbelieving sound, turning to look at him. "No support whatsoever?" she asked, indignation written all over her face.

"Well, other than the obvious British influence over the race to armament, not really," Richard retorted, slightly flustered. Generally he aimed not to upset those he entered conversations with. "I would think that the state of all of Europe at the turn of the century contributed to the rise of the war."

"True, but a ridiculously narrow viewpoint. The root of all of the problems was clearly and historically British."

"Well, isn't that a bit extreme?"

"Hardly…"

...

Conversation had come easily after that. After the conclusion of their heated, exhaustive debate – Richard had begrudgingly accepted Emily's argument – and a tangential discussion on integration down South, they swapped life stories and anecdotes, though for some reason Richard couldn't quite place he conveniently steered around the topic of Pennilyn. Richard learned that Emily had grown up wealthy not far from Yale, in a world of manners and grace. She was a member of the Daughters of the American Revolution and had been a dancer, graduating high school with high marks and entering Smith with the world at her fingertips. "Not as if that means anything," she had commented. "There's hardly a place in the world for a clever woman other than in the house of a rather dull husband. Perhaps something secretarial?" With some surprise, he noticed that she didn't seem too upset by this, and said so. She shrugged. "One day I'll find a man." He wasn't quite sure what she meant by that.

What he did realize, though, that holding a conversation with Emily was easy and surprisingly natural. Her acerbic nature and wit were refreshingly appealing, and somewhere inside he was amused at how seriously she took things she believed in. She was passionate and opinionated and her eyes flashed prettily when he said something against her beliefs, leaping to defend herself, almost accusatory. He admired her cleverness, and the way her animated hands clenched in the air as if it were putty. Richard found himself hanging on to every word she said. Similarly, she smiled at his words and laughed at his jokes, and his stomach felt full of warm, bubbly champagne at every peal of wholehearted laughter that she gave, so much that he found himself making more jokes than he ever did. Emily was so different from Penny's quiet, uninteresting friends, and yet at the same time she was so similar in her ramrod-straight posture, her demure hands folded neatly in her lap. He wasn't sure that he'd ever met anyone like her before.

Time had, through the course of their lengthy conversation, silently slipped through their fingers, and when Richard glanced for the first time at his watch he was taken by surprise. "It's… very late," he said, glancing up at her. The rain had long since eased up but it was all dark save for the light that glowed yellow from within the building. Emily looked at the delicate watch on her own wrist, and raised her eyebrows. "Won't you look at that," she muttered. "I wonder where my sister will have gone off to by now."

"Knowing Robert, they'll be at our dormitory," Richard told her. "I could take you?"

Uncharacteristically shyly, Emily offered a small smile. "That would be lovely, thank you," she said softly. He smiled at her and reached around her to rather chivalrously pick up her umbrella. His wrist brushed accidentally against her hand and gently, Emily circled the base of his palm with two slender fingers, holding him still as she leaned upwards toward him to kiss him tentatively on the lips.

Her lips were warm and soft but before he could do anything he would regret, Richard pushed her away and blurted, "Pennilyn."

Emily blinked at him. "Pennilyn?"

"Pennilyn Lott. My fiancée." Richard said regretfully. "I'm engaged, Emily. I'm so sorry. I should have mentioned."

The expression on her face shifted, instantly guarded. "Well," she muttered. "Yes. You could have mentioned that during our conversation."

She avoided his eyes now, and cleared her throat. "Well don't we all feel a little more stupid right now," Emily said, her tone light. "Why don't we just go and find my lovesick sister and your roommate. Please."

Wordlessly, Richard stood and offered her his hand. She barely tightened her grip on his fingers as she stood up herself, offering him a quick and polite smile. For the rest of the night as they walked back to Richard's dorm and Emily picked up her older sister, she was exactly that: succinct with her words and forcibly polite and, Richard noticed, his gut inexplicably wrenched itself into a tight spiral and refused to unwind, even after the Archer sisters left and Robert lay dreamily naked on the coffee table extolling the virtues of Hope's breasts.

That night, he slept dreamlessly.