AUTHOR'S NOTE: THIS FANFICTION IS BASED OFF OF THE AMERICAN VERSION OF THE MUSICAL, NOT THE BRITISH. THIS STORY TAKES PLACE AS SOON AS THE PLAY IS OVER, AND FLORENCE'S PLANE HAS LANDED IN AMERICA. IT IS MAINLY TOLD FROM FLORENCE'S POINT OF VIEW UNLESS OTHERWISE NOTED. MY LOCAL COMMUNITY THEATRE IS DOING THIS PLAY SO THAT'S HOW I GOT THE IDEA FOR THE FANFIC. READ AND REVIEW PLEASE! I HOPE YOU LIKE IT!

Ch.1

"This is an operator. How may I help you?"

"I'd like to place a call to Russia." My palms were sweaty. Actually, my whole body was sweaty. After getting off the plane, I rushed through customs and to find the nearest phone booth. This was the call I needed.

"I'm sorry, mam, but I can't place a call out of the country. Thank you and have-"

"Look, this is an emergency. I don't even know why I got on this damn plane, but I did. And now I don't know what else to do. I can't explain to you my situation because you wouldn't understand. Is there any booth in JFK that can get me through to Russia?"

"Yes, mam, I'm pretty sure. The booth next to you might be able to. Have a nice day and I hope your day gets better."

"Thank you, but it probably won't." I hung up the phone. There was $0.75 wasted. I went to the telephone to my right.

"Bonjour. Comment puis-je vous aider?"

"Oh, sorry." Damn French phone! I don't know why I never studied other languages too much. I mean, I know a little Russian and Spanish, but that's all. Obviously these phone booths must each be for a different country. It would take too long to find the Russian one. The way things are going, there might not even be a Russian phone booth. I decided to go find my baggage and then try again.

I followed the signs to the baggage claim, and there was a pile of luggage waiting. I searched and dug through the pile. It shouldn't be too hard to find a bright pink bag. However, because of the luck I had been having, it was. I searched and searched, and my bag was nowhere to be found. I went to the security guard.

"I'm sorry to bug you, sir, but I can't find my bag."

"All bags would be in this pile, mam. If it's not there, it's probably at a different airport. I'm sorry."

"But, sir, I need my bag. How will I know where it is?" I started to panic. That bag had everything I needed, including Anatoly's number.

"Go to the American Airlines desk and ask there."

"Thank you, sir." I immediately ran, in high heels, to the American Airlines desk. There was a long line. After waiting fifteen minutes in line, I finally got to talk to someone.

"Excuse me, my luggage wasn't in the pile of luggage from my flight. Is there any way to find out where it is?"

"Flight number?" asked the lady, chewing her gum really loudly.

"It's flight 717 from Budapest to JFK."

"Mam, your bags are in Honolulu currently. Sorry for the mishap. Would you like to get it back?"

At this point, I was aggravated. I had been trying to keep my cool since the phone booth, and this was the last straw. "Of course I want it back! Everything I need is in there! And stop chewing so loudly! If I wanted to hear gum being chewed I would have some myself."

The lady looked at me like I was a total freak. "Jeesh lady, have a glass of water and chill. Here's the number for Honolulu's airport. Call them and they'll send you your bag. Next!"

I walked away with the piece of paper in my hand. I decided to call Honolulu before Anatoly. I had to set priorities. I walked back to the phone booth for America that I was at before. The operator put me through to the airport. I explained my situation and they told me they were sending my bag to my apartment in Connecticut. "When should I expect to receive it?" I asked.

"It should take up to five days. Have a nice day, mam."

Five days! This couldn't be happening. I decided not to even try to call Anatoly. With my luck, his plane crashed and he was the only one that died. I left JFK empty handed and there was my car, waiting in spot number 026 as they had said. It was a blue 1988 Cadillac Seville, just as Walter said it would be. I got in the car. The car actually started and made it out of the parking lot.

I drove all the way to Connecticut in one piece. I guess my luck was turning around. When I got to my apartment, my key was in the front office. I had to sign a couple of lease agreements, and then I found my apartment. It was nice and comfy, just as I had asked for. There was a message already on my answering machine.

"You have one new message received on May 17, 1988 at 11 AM. 'Hi, Florence. I hope you had a safe plane ride to America and you are enjoying your apartment with your father. Just wanted to say hi and again offer up my house in Moscow if you ever need it. Please call me back when you get this so I know you're safe. Bye. Oh and in case you lost my number, it's 818-777-1000.'"

I started crying. Everything that had been boiling up today just came out. No one will probably ever tell him I will never see my father. He was probably with Svetlana already enjoying Moscow and they've probably slept once or twice. How could this happen? How could I be so blind? I wanted to call back and tell Anatoly that I needed him and beg for him to leave Svetlana but instead, I made a different decision.

"Hello, American Airlines?...What is your schedule of flights to Moscow?"