Title: What Sam Says
Chapter 3: The First Mystery
Disclaimer: Still don't own 'em.
A/N: I like reviews. I really do. And usually, when I write, I write longer A/N's, and draw everyone into my weird little world. And I usually write humorous stories, or at least fluffy…but this one.
I don't know why I started this one. I'm not entirely sure what's going on, either. I mean, I know a little more than you guys, but not that much.
So bear with me.
Flashbacks are in italics.
And yes, Jacey925, you were right. I was thrilled when I read your first review. I actually said, "Oh, my God, how did she know?" How did you know? I mean, I knew, but that much was expected. You wanna share your secret?
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Rory's cell phone sang as soon as she sat next to her mother on the couch. She dug it from the front pocket of her overalls, flipped it open, and closed it with a satisfied look on her face.
"So…how's Tom?" Rory turned to her mother.
"Who was that?" Lorelai asked, pointing at the phone.
"No one," Rory shook her head. "Is there still a Tom?"
"Uh…yeah, there's a Tom. But how'd you know?"
"I checked my messages when I went through my apartment."
"Oh." Lorelai grew quiet. "Sweetie, where have you been?"
"It's a long story," Rory said as way of an answer. It was, after all, almost three in the morning.
"I've got all the time in the world," Lorelai said softly. Rory nodded.
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Rory kissed her mother quickly on the cheek.
"Happy birthday. I gotta go, he's waiting in the car."
"Oh," Lorelai said softly. "Okay."
"Call you later!" Rory yelled, running backwards down the porch steps, waving.
"I'm so sure he's gonna let you do that," Lorelai whispered to Rory as she climbed into his car. She sighed as the car drove off. "He hasn't let you talk to me for longer than five minutes in the last six months—ever since I met him. That bastard. He's a bastard for keeping you from me, and he's a bastard for making you fall in love with him."
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"Well, after we left here, we went back to my apartment. To sleep, you know. And then the next morning, he woke me up at six—I tried to yell at him, but he wouldn't let me. He told me we had to leave right now, and so he let me throw a few clothes into a bag, and then we left."
"And went where?" Lorelai asked.
"The airport. I had no idea what he was doing, and the next thing I know, we're on a private jet. And he kissed me and left to go to the cockpit, and I didn't see him till we landed. In France."
"France. Why?"
"I still dunno. He helped me off, kissed me, and pointed me in the direction of this young guy I'd never seen before. The young guy walked over and said, 'I am here to take you to the Hotel.'" Rory paused in remembering. "He took me to the hotel."
Lorelai was staring at Rory's stomach, wondering when it would come into the picture. "How far along are you?" she asked suddenly.
"Huh? Oh, five months. Don't worry, it's not his."
Lorelai breathed a visible sigh of relief, and Rory slightly smiled.
"What happened at the hotel?" Lorelai asked, hoping to get back to the story.
"Lots." Rory answered.
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"We are at the hotel," the young man said in a very thick French accent, turning to Rory in the cab. "I must leave you now. You will go inside and tell the front desk that you are Mark Miller's guest, and they will take it from there."
"Okay." Rory nodded. "Thank you."
"Don't thank me. I am paid for my services. If I were not, I would not be here."
"Oh. Goodbye." Rory slid from the cab, and as soon as she closed the door, it sped off. She watched after it, almost sadly, turned to the hotel, and marched in, still clutching her bag.
"Hello. I'm Mark Miller's guest," she told the man behind the front desk. His face paled considerably at the mention of Mark Miller, and she wondered why her boyfriend's name could do that to someone. The man yelled commands to a few bellboys, in French, and even though Rory had taken French in high school, she only caught a few phrases, the most prominent of which was, "She is very important. Very important."
Rory wondered once again what she was doing in France, where Mark was, and why these people were so convinced that she was important. She fervently wished to call her mother, but couldn't, because she'd given Lorelai the brush-off only twenty four hours ago, and Mark didn't like it when Rory called Lorelai a lot, anyway.
"This way, Mademoiselle," the first man said, gesturing for Rory to follow him. A bellboy grabbed Rory's bag from in her hand, and another slid her purse from her shoulder. Rory almost tried to get them back, before realizing that they were indeed bellboys, and they were following her and the older man into the elevator.
"What the hell am I doing here?" Rory muttered to herself as the doors closed and the elevator started moving up.
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A/N: Sorry it's so short…but I think it adds to the mystery. Don't worry, I'm already working on the next chapter. And it's all a mystery to me, too, by the way. I'm not entirely sure why Mark packed Rory up and took her off to France, and I'm also not sure who the father of Rory's baby is, either. She knows, though. And she'll say something next chapter I'm sure.
I swear, I'm practically obsessed with this story now. It's really interesting, though, and it's the first time I've tried to write anything that's not at least a little funny.
Am I doing an okay job? The purple button just below this statement would like it if you told it how I'm doing, and I'd appreciate it, too.
Thanks!
Oh, and any questions, you can review and ask, or e-mail me at sami57peace2u@hotmail.com and I'll try to answer everything as well as I can.
