Rory - Part 3

Wrapping the towel tighter, feeling some small comfort in the way the soft material gripped and compressed her skin, Rory started to explore the room. It was bigger than her fifty dollar a night room at the Quality Travel Inn but there wasn't a lot to it. A king size bed took up one end, a leather couch and coffee table were off to the side; a small desk and chair took up another corner. The bathroom in the remaining corner had that unusual shower, and was big enough to share.

A large part of the wall behind the couch was covered in a curtain. Having visions of finding out she'd joined the ranks of the young and exploited, finally accomplishing something her mother hadn't, Rory cautiously opened the curtain to reveal a large balcony with a hot tub instead of the camera she'd feared.

She was surprised to feel a small rush of disappointment. Not that one of her goals before thirty was having sex on camera. Or that she wanted to watch herself having sex with the absent blonde. She'd been cured of any voyeuristic tendencies years ago by Paris.

Paris and porn, not two things she would have ever combined before that long ago moment. For a class project for their junior year at Chilton she'd insisted that it was impossible to debate the morality of pornography if they'd never watched any. And Miss Pattie had been happy to procure what she'd called a blue movie for them. Which Paris had proceeded to critique as if it were a nature show on PBS, her clinical detachment embarrassing Rory more than the video itself.

No, the problem was that she suspected that something more than sleep had occurred on those silk sheets, and seeing herself in a video, as distasteful as she found the idea, would have given her some clue to the night's activities. One that she would have destroyed immediately after.

A clock next to the bed gave her only an hour, not enough time for the dip in the hot tub she was tempted to take as a consolation prize.

Finishing her room tour at the desk, Rory discovered a small pile of her possessions. Looking thru the pile she noticed that all of her credit cards, her drivers license, hotel key card, watch, and car keys were there but strangely enough not her wallet, a gift from her grandmother. There was also a receipt of some sort with an address on it.

Off to one side was another key card, she assumed for this hotel, and a fancy business card. Picking it up, Rory examined the card closely for some shred of information about the Mysterious Blonde. It had a strange texture to it that she wasn't sure was actually paper. There was a soft, pliable feel to it that reminded her of leather. She read it aloud several times trying to understand it.

Ms. B. Summers
Head of Acquisitions and Arbitration
C. of W.S., LLC.
SPrime@NeoCoWS.org

She assumed B. Summers was her now absent host. She wondered what the B stood for. Probably not 'Blondie' she thought, suppressing a giggle. Something very California beach bunny, she decided, even though she hadn't looked like the beach was her natural habitat. Bunny or Bambi or maybe even Brandy. Trying to understand the rest of the information on the card, she decided that 'B' was some kind of buyer or lawyer for a futuristic veterinary drug company called Neo Cows that did genetic engineering. Or a programming exec for a Nick-at-Nite spin-off. An e-mail address but no phone number was unusual but very modern.

Tilting the card she noticed there was something embossed on it, like a watermark. If she tilted it just right she could see an odd symbol in the middle of the card. It looked almost like an hourglass with a sharp pointed object stuck through it.

"Enough silliness," Rory said to herself. "Can't call her and ask. Let's get dressed and get out of here."

Looking around, she couldn't find her own clothes but she did find a peasant blouse draped over the desk chair, and a pair of her favorite brand of jeans neatly folded on its seat. A bra and panties in a color she would never have picked herself lay on top of them. Given the option between naked and someone else's clothes, she quickly dressed, only slightly surprised that the underwear, silk no less, fit perfectly and the blouse and jeans were just her size.

"Shoes?" she wondered out loud. She stepped back from the desk and looked down at the floor. Under the chair was a shoe box. Sitting on the floor she pulled it over and took off the top. "Cute." She took out a pair of red Keds in her size. Someone went to a lot of trouble, she decided.

Leaning over the desk, she put on her watch and stuffed everything else into a pocket. She'd send her benefactress a check for the clothes when she got home.

Taking one last look to make sure she hadn't missed anything, Rory stepped out of the room with her best casual 'I belong here.' attitude. An attitude wasted with no one around to see it, she thought, a small pout gracing her face. Seeing an elevator at the end of a short hall, she headed towards it.

She liked to think her awareness of the hospitality business was better than most, after helping out at her mother's inn so many times in the past, but the elevator was something new, opening when she was less than a foot from it. Featureless on the inside, it had a single button next to the door. Stepping inside and gingerly pushing the button, she waited for something to happen.

"Descending," an overly smooth female voice announced.

"Umm, thanks," Rory murmured in surprise.

"Lobby," the voice said after several minutes. "Thank you for visiting. Please come again." The door opened out into a large, marble floored room.

Rory frowned. There'd been nothing in the room to indicate where it was or its name, not even the usual tourist brochures. And even the fancy talking elevator hadn't taken the opportunity to do some self promotion.

"Okay..." Stepping out of the elevator, Rory looked around, nothing jogging her still absent memory. Shaking her head, she walked over to the front desk. Before she could ask any questions of the two women behind the desk, the shorter one held out a hand, she assumed for the key card to the room she'd just left.

Pulling it out of a front pocket, Rory handed it over.

"A car is waiting out front for you," the other woman said, sliding an envelope across the desk, "Compliments of Ms. Summers."

"Thanks," Rory murmured, picking up the envelope, hoping they wouldn't notice her blushing. Nodding to them, she walked across the lobby towards the exit. Getting into the car, Rory gave the woman driver directions before sinking back into the soft leather seats.

Blowing on her coffee, Rory leaned back against her car. It had taken her two days to find out what the receipt was for. But not why she had it in the first place. She'd discovered the address by coincidence on the way to the airport to pick up her mother.

Taking another sip of coffee, she looked down at the receipt in her other hand. She looked back up at the sign on the other side of the parking lot. She wasn't completely sure it was the right place. It was one of the many instant wedding chapels in Vegas, though it was the first Goth one she'd seen. It looked abandoned, its door blocked by yellow police crime scene tape.

Something had happened there since she'd gotten the receipt. She didn't think she'd gotten married there herself. There'd been a distinct lack of a marriage certificate or the tacky plastic wedding paraphernalia she'd seen advertised in the lobby of her hotel. Shivering, she climbed back into her car, feeling the need to be around large numbers of people, even if it was at the airport.

The bench seats down near the luggage pickup were too hard, but the airport was a mad house so she'd told her mother to meet her down there. Even with the side trip to the wedding chapel, she'd gotten there too early. She found herself jumping up every five minutes to shake off the hard seat stiffness and stay awake, but Rory couldn't wait to see her mother. She had her two day hotelie conference and then they could spend a couple days in Vegas before hitting the road for home.

There would be plenty of time to forget the odd Halloween themed dreams she'd been having. Sure, the mysterious 'B' had a leading role in most of them but not much else about them made sense.

Smiling and nodding as she listened to her mother chattering away about her flight, Rory found herself stopping in front of the wedding chapel.

"Are you trying to tell me something?" her mother asked.

"Huh?" Rory looked at her, shaking her head, trying to clear a sudden fogginess from it.

"You got married, and you didn't tell me!" she gasped.

"No," Rory said, tightly gripping the steering wheel. "I didn't." She struggled to resist an unfamiliar voice she could hear whispering in the back of her head, telling her to get out of the car and go inside.

"What's this?" she asked, waving at the nearby building.

"A wedding chapel?" Rory said innocently.

"I've heard of such things," Lorelai said, "but we don't have such modern facilities in Star's Hallow..." She opened her door and climbed out of the car. "Let's check it out. Maybe they do franchises."

"Where would we put it?" Rory asked.

"In the flower shop next to Luke's," she said. "You buy flowers, get married and then go next door for the reception. Do you think Luke'll want a cut?"

"Only if he has to close for private receptions," Rory said straight faced.

"We'll charge extra if they want more than one table for the reception. Come on, let's check it out."

Shaking her head at her mother's imagination, Rory slowly released her death grip on the wheel and crawled out of the car, joining her eager mother on the sidewalk.

"Can't say I'm impressed." Lorelai said, pointing at yellow police tape blocking the door. "Why did we pick this one? The Goth look is cute," she said, waving at the black building, "but it doesn't shout Star's Hollow. We'd never get zoning approval. Maybe we should pick a different theme."

Shrugging, just glad her mother was there, Rory followed her across the small parking lot, getting a lot closer than earlier. Reaching the police tape, they could see signs of a recent fire.

"Must have been some wedding reception," Lorelai told her. "We might want to rethink this idea. Who caught the bouquet?"

"I don't remember," Rory told her. "But I think I was here."

"You think you were here?" He mother's head whipped around so fast Rory thought she might inherit the whiplash.

"There might have been a couple blurry, memoryless days this week," Rory said. "Let's go, this is creepy."

"Next time take pictures," she told Rory, leading her back to the car. "Was anyone else there?"

Rory pulled a piece of folded paper from a pocket and handed it to her before getting back in the car.

"What's this?" she asked, sliding into her own seat and unfolding the paper.

"Someone who might know," Rory said.

"Is this the man you married? Is he a hunk? Or a scrawny geek?" Lorelai asked eagerly. "Tom Cruise pretty or Tom Selleck rugged?"

"Not a Tom of any sort," Rory said, starting up the car. "She is a short blonde, possibly from California."

"A what?" her mother said, looking at her in surprise. "Spill! When did you start hanging out with actresses?"

"It's a long and possibly funny story," Rory told her. "But I can't tell it while I'm driving. And not everyone from California acts."

"It's Paris's faulty," her mother said, digging in.

"Paris?" Rory squeaked. "What's she got to do with anything?"

"She does something so you have to do her one better," Lorelai said.

Rory rolled her eyes. "She got a job with that British company Grandma recommended. She didn't get married, and probably didn't have sex she doesn't remember with a woman in a fancy hotel room."

"When did we start talking about sex with women?" her mother asked. "Is it still fashionable?"

"Only if you're a lesbian or a pop-tart," Rory said, desperately hoping to give her mother an opening to veer off into a topic that wasn't about blondes, sex, or wedding chapels of dubious provenance.

"Clever kiddo, but you're up against the master," her mother said, wagging a finger at her. "What did I tell you about safe sex?"

"I'm not sure there was sex involved," Rory said, cautiously turning into the hotel parking lot and heading towards the entrance closest to their room. Turning off her car she look over at her mother.

"Did you call her?" Lorelai asked, waving the paper. "She has a name at least? Not just a phone number?"

"I can't," Rory said, popping open the trunk and getting out of the car. She grabbed her mother's luggage. "I woke up in this poor woman's bed and couldn't remember how I got there. I couldn't have been more embarrassed if Taylor had walked in. And it was your fault!"

"Me?" Lorelai looked surprised as she joined Rory, taking one of her bags.

"Yes. You're my mother. You're supposed to teach me etiquette for situations like that," Rory grumbled, leading the way to their room.

"It's not in the handbook," Lorelai protested, dropping her bags on the floor and flopping down face first onto one of the beds. "It's your grandmother's fault. I bet she ripped the pages telling me how to deal with this kind of parenting crisis right out of the book." She leaned over the edge of the bed and rooted around for her phone.

"What are you doing?" Rory climbed onto the other bed. Curling her legs underneath her, she grabbed a pillow, hugging it tightly. She really wanted a hug from her mother but she wasn't sure she deserved one at the moment.

"Calling your grandmother. She should be taking some of the blame for you becoming a cliche."

"I'm not a cliche!"

"You woke up in Vegas, in bed with someone you didn't know. You might even have gotten married," she said, pressing buttons on her phone. "Is that even legal?"

"Does it matter?" Rory asked. "There's no proof, just a receipt from the chapel."

"Hi Mom! Your daughter. Your only daughter. Lorelai?" Groaning, Lorelai tossed her phone at Rory. "You talk to her. Tell her what you did! I think she's been in the sacramental wine again," she mock whispered

"She's not Catholic," Rory said, before holding the phone up to her ear. "Hi Grandma. No, it's just jet lag. She'll make sense in the morning. No, nothing happened."

• Buffy's e-mail address above? Not real. (E-mail to that address should fall into the big bit-bucket in the sky. I was going to use cows.org but it's some Wisconsin farmers website of some sort. Neocows.net -- as of this morning -- exists but is under construction. )

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