The Gilmore-Grey Union Book II: The Homecoming
By Michael Weyer
POV: Vincent
I've only just met this Luke guy but I could already tell that he takes his place of business seriously. Seriously enough to want to get this major private affair out of one of the major public places in this town. So at Lorelai's suggestion, we're adjourning to her place of work.
Somehow, I can't shake the feeling this trip through Wonderland isn't quite over yet.
I have to admit, it's a nice inn. Old-styled but accommodating and the interior looks friendly enough. Lorelai is leading us around on the tour as we come up to the main desk.
"Hi, Michel," she says. "How's it going today?"
The black man glares up at her before replying. "How iz it going? You dare azk me zat after this morning?"
Oh. My. God.
It's the black Inspector Clouseau.
Lorelai sighs. "I'm sorry I left you to open up today but I had to…"
"I don't care," he snaps. "I never care. You should know that by now. I simply care about doing zis job, a concept you are apparently unable to grasp well."
Amy and I exchange a long look, both of us thrown by this guys' weird voice. He gazes at us with a sneer. "I azzume zis is ze lucky man?"
Lorelai nods. "Yeah, that's Vincent Grey, that's his sister, Amy and his mom, Maxine."
"Nice to meet you," Amy says. She smiles and utters something in French. The guy just stares at her as if she crawled out from under a log.
"What was zat?"
Amy frowns. "Um…It was just a French greeting."
"Do I look like I need a new goat?"
Amy licks her lips. "Oh, sorry. My daughter is taking French and she says that's a good way to open a conversation."
"Your daughter iz a moron."
Amy just stares at him as if he slapped her with a dead muskrat. I don't blame her as I can't tell you what my reaction would be if someone insulted my daughter so matter of factly.
"As much as I would love to hear my own language massacred back at me, there is a lot of work I must catch up on."
"Michel," Lorelai hisses. "Don't make me call your mother."
He gives her that same tired look. "At zis moment, zat would be a relief."
Mom narrows her eyes at him. "Sir, I don't mind telling you, your attitude is not what I'd expect from a hotel clerk."
"I'm sorry," he says in a tone about as un-sorry as you can get. "Should I bow and zcrape and kiss your heels? I am told such an attitude iz expected for such high and upscale persons as yourselves."
"What I expect is a modicum of respect," Mom fires back. "Or at least the illusion of it."
"I have never cared for illusions, only reality and the reality iz that if I don't like you, I shouldn't have to show it."
Wow, for a Frenchman, this guy's got balls for saying this to Mom's face. Mom herself is starting to get that early shade of crimson as Lorelai just sighs. "Michel, please…I need you to keep watching the front while I bring them into the dining room."
"Oh, but of course," he mockingly says. "You know I but live to zerve."
"Keep up the attitude towards me and I may fix half of that statement," Mom snaps at him.
He gazes at her, then moves it to me. "My advice to you iz to run. Run far, run fast, run now. Zis family zhall siphon off your will to live."
"Um…I'll take that under advisement," I say.
He just sniffs. "Yes, just like your country listened to us on Iraq…"
"Michel," Lorelai snaps. "You know the rule of no-politics here. Remember, I still have INS on speed-dial."
He just sneers at her. "Take this brood out of here before they scare off more of ze guests. Someone must keep zis place on an even keel."
"Thank you, Lord Nelson," Lorelai remarks as she leads us toward the dining room. I just look back at that odd man behind the desk as we go. It's Amy who asks what I'm thinking. "Why do you keep that guy employed?"
Lorelai shrugs. "I suck at bookkeeping. And a French accent is supposed to give the place more of an air."
"Oh, it gives an air all right," Mom states angrily. "Much like lower Manhattan."
We all head into the next room as that air of foreboding once more grips my stomach. Somehow, I'm doubting a meal is what's on the menu next.