She almost tripped over the steps as she descended down the train. The air was a mixture of smoke and cold Scarsdale air, making her cough and shudder at the same time. Since it was already past 4 at night, the sun would soon be up, and everything would get noisier, so she decided to run over to the first cab in queue, she didn't want anyone to notice her and call 911 on the spot; her wig had fallen off her head in the train when she was in half slumber, and since she already felt pretty shameful, she didn't risk putting it on again. Though her make up was still a great disguise and her hair was tangled, she could never trust herself.

As she approached the cab, some old woman had already occupied the  front seat, and as she saw there was no other way she could run up to get another one as the first ray of the sun was already up, her plan A was to convince the lady to give up her seat. Before the cab driver geared the engine, she knocked the passenger seat. The woman turned and scrolled down the window. She had quite a tired look on her already wrinkled face and the creases in her eyebrows showed a deep frown of frustration. Didn't seem if she would let go of the taxi.

But, nevertheless, she would still give it a go.

"Um, good morning!" She chirped, in the sweetest, most convincing accent she could manage.

The woman smiled back.
"Ah, just wanted to ask if the taxi was free?" Glory continued.
What a wreck. Could anyone have said anything madder? Where were her senses? Of course it was not free, she had solely made a fool of herself.

"The back seat." The driver intruded in.
The back seat. That was a good idea if anything. But then who knew how far this lady would have to go? Could she wait?
Well, there was no other way.

"Sure." She said, doubtfully.
"Address please?"
Glory recalled the address Zac had told. It was house number 13 in Tudor Lane.

"13 Tudor Ln," she answered.
The taxi driver nodded thoughtfully. "That would do, ma'am lives in the closest town, will surely do."

Glory opened the back seat of the Impala Cab after handing over her case to the driver who stuffed it in the trunk. The cab smelled strongly of a recent car - service spray.
The driver got into the front seat, and without a word, raced the car out of the station.

As the car drove, Glory stared out through the fog in the glass. It was her first visit to Scarsdale. She had heard of the city twice before, or maybe thrice, but never actually went. All she knew was that it was economically low and the streets were full of restaurants and the sale stalls were all over tue place. But being the glorified Hamilton girl, she  never had anything to do with such a place.

But for now, maybe there was some chance she could get herself some decent job which would do her sustenance ... Zac was doing with the rents, so she didn't have to worry about that, for now. Before her departure from home, Ashley had added in that the Landlord was a quite rude man, so she was happy she wouldn't have to face him for once. 

"What house, again?"
"Number 13," she replied the driver.

The driver nodded slightly and decelerated the car. In three minutes, he stopped the car in front of an old, huge Victorian house, with a well - designed slant roof, big glass windows with deep red curtains showing up, except the orange one at the further end.

Now this was a good start.

"Is this the house?" Asked the driver.
"Maybe. That's number thirteen, isn't it?"
"Seems so. That's what the house plate says so."
She nodded.
"7 Dollars, please."
Glory made a grumpy face at the money, but still handed it over.

She exited the taxi and waved good bye to the lady inside, thankful to her for letting her share the ride.
She turned towards the house, and noticed the taxi was still there.
She raised an eye brow at the driver, who simply pointed at the woman.

The woman scrolled down the window.
"Check if it's the right house, what if you get lost or something."
She couldn't do that. Even if it was the wrong house, it was Tudor and she was quite sure of it as the notice board at the start of the road said so.
"It's okay. Thanks for being so kind, but I'm sure it's the house!" She replied.
Not satisfied, the woman frowned, but still, agreed.
"Take care, honey!" She smiled.
Glory smiled back and mouthed another thank you as the window scrolled up, and the driver, who seemed enough frustrated by all the drama, raced as fast as he could.

Once the car was out of view, Glory headed for the door bell, and rang it. When she received no answer  at the first ring, she got anxious, however, didn't give up. On the third ring, she heard foot steps approaching and relieved.

Before the door opened, she smoothed her hair and licked her lips. She didn't want give away some "emotional wreck" impression.

A tall, lean guy stood inside, holding the door open. Once Glory met his eye, she noticed how it curled at the ends and those deep under eye bags proved him to be North-East Asian.
"Annyeong? You are?" He asked, in a pretty thick accent.
Thick, but good, nevertheless.

"Glory. Glory Hamilton. Zac was saying he-"
"Oh so Glory it is, right, right. Zac's 'dearest friend Glo', is it?"
Glory giggled at Zac's description of her and nodded. Deep inside, she was relieved it was the right house, the right Tudor Ln.

"Come in, come in, it's really cold out, the others aren't awake yet, we can have a silent coffee in the kitchen, I'll set the kettle right now-"
"Oh, no, I can do it myself. Just show me the kitchen, you can get your sleep done."

She was happy he was making her feel at home. That's what she needed for now, consolation.

"Oh, then that sounds great, there's the kitchen." He pointed towards the only open door around the lounge.
"Thanks." She muttered, happily indeed.
She noticed the guy stepping back to the stairs, which were the first thing you see once you enter the house, waving his hand.
"Oh, I'm Ivon, by the way."
With that, he disappeared up the hallway.

Now all alone in the kitchen, Glory poured water in the electric kettle and made herself some strong but sweet, hot tea.
She found some toast in the toaster and home - made marmalade. She made herself a slice and when the kettle whistled, she poured the tea in the blue and white mug with a moustache printed on it. Funny, indeed.

With the last sip of her tea, she felt energetic and stronger.
Now all she needed was to show everyone who abode in the house of what a champion she was, not the wreck she seemed to be.