Thank you to EVERYONE who took the time to read and review - please keep them coming! This should be a bit lighter, a tad more amusing, and a little more fun. For Now. *evil grin*
Also - Nattie and Alice, feed me the catnip :)
They were both limp in bed the next morning, Randy's shoulder a bit stiffer than he expected it to be, Meg's shin more aggravated than she would have liked, but it was nothing that a hot shower, long massage, and extra vicodin couldn't fix. Randy knelt in front of her at the edge of the bed, refusing to let her bend down to zip her boots, even though it was far easier for her than for him. He trailed the zipper up slowly, careful of her skin, her stockings – 'I remember picking these, too, which means I know she's wearing garters. Maybe dress pants aren't so bad after all...I know what she's hiding under there...for me...' - kissing her shin when he was finished with her. Meg held his gaze a fraction longer than she meant to, him kneeling in front of her, now holding her hands, the same strangely warm, fond look in his eyes.
"Whatcha thinking, Meggie?"
"Hm? Oh – uh – nothing." 'Lots of really stupid things. Things you'd never do and I shouldn't want, because this is enough right here. Jesus Christ, Meg, you just figured out how to – barely – make this functional. And you seriously just went 'Rings?' in your head? You are a fucking idiot. There. That's gonna be your first tattoo.'Idiot,' in really big letters, somewhere really obvious.'
Randy was still kneeling in front of her, but now looked like he was expecting an answer. "You stopped listening to me, Meggie."
"Ha. Yeah, probably. I'm sorry. It's the vicodin, I'm gonna be a little 'off' for an hour or so. Try me again? I'm listening now."
"I asked if you liked red and grey, or if that was just something you did for me." 'You gave me an idea, and it's stupid, and you're gonna hate it, which means I'm gonna ask about three million people if it's an okay idea, which means you're gonna find out about it, which means it's double-stupid. But I can try it anyway, right?'
"Hm. I guess I never thought about it? I used to wear blue all the time, didn't I? 'Joe's favorite. So, cross that right off the list.' I mean, when I wasn't stuck in work gear." Meg wrinkled her nose. "Not much changed there – it's just formal black pants now and not ratty cargos, huh?" Smoothing the front of her pants, she stood, rickety and coltish, pressing into Randy's shoulders for balance. "But...now...yes. Red and grey. Yours and mine." She turned to and fro to look at herself in the full-length mirror near the closets. "No makeup, today. I want to look like me. Maybe a little something on my mouth, but that's it." Meg fished for a light-colored lipstick in the bathroom, returning shortly. "And," she added, as she leaned into the mirror to apply the lightest coat of makeup possible, "I wear a lot more red and grey now, anyway. And black. I think I'm starting to match your ring gear, honestly."
"Something wrong with that?" Randy wrapped his arms around her from behind, gently kissing her neck and then working his hands feverishly at the bottom of her blouse, this time having much more luck with her buttons. "I mean, I can always switch to that aluminum foil stuff Nemeth used to wear, if you want something with more...flair..." He continued to nip a trail down her neck, finally biting down on the top of her shoulder and drawing a gasp out of her.
Meg was entirely in the moment, lost under his hands, only half-listening to what he was saying, until it fully clicked in her mind that he'd not only just threatened to wrap his own ass in metallic-silver-spandex, but that he also likely expected her to match him, at least somewhat. Quietly, she uncapped her lipstick and passed it to her left, knowing Randy would be less-likely to notice if she was moving that arm around. A few seconds later, and she'd surreptitiously applied a heavy coat to her mouth, which had gone from a demure, dusky pink shade to a garish, deep red-violet. A quick check of the mirror showed her his eyes were still closed and he was working on leaving a mark on her shoulder, so she capped the lipstick, dropped it into the pocket of her suitjacket, and spun them both dramatically, his back now to the mirror, kissing him so fiercely that it caught him completely off-guard. 'That'll teach you to shoulder-hickey me and make horrible wardrobe threats.' By the time Meg was done with her kiss, the color of her lipstick had returned to normal – the excess was now rubbed entirely across Randy's mouth.
"You," Meg breathed, "You just ruin me. In all the best ways." She had to work to tamp her smile down into something reasonable, but felt she could blame the overflow on his advances. Backing him to the door, she watched as he lifted their suitcases and grinned at her.
"Just wait, Meg. And fix your shirt; much as I want everyone knowing you're mine...I kinda overdid it." Meg glanced to the side and huffed – the mark Randy left on her shoulder was well beyond large and was approaching ridiculous. 'Then again, so is the fact you're wearing my lipstick. Oops.'
They had the elevator to themselves until they hit the fifth floor, where Renee and Jon boarded with them. Renee looked directly at Meg and had to fake a coughing fit before elbowing Jon, who had started to point-blank ask what the fuck, in those exact words, but thought better of it and simply bent around Renee, trying to appear concerned with her sudden inability to breathe.
"You okay, Renee?" Randy bent down with Jon, trying to see what was wrong. "I didn't bump you, did I? I'm a dumbass with these suitcases sometimes..." He leaned in even closer, and tried for a whisper. "Can I talk to you guys later? Please? I need advice."
Jon couldn't stand it anymore. "Only if you take the fucking lipstick off!" His whisper, a poor attempt at matching Randy's, was loud enough to be heard by Meg, who toppled backwards into the wall of the elevator due to her laughter, Renee collapsing to the floor howling with glee and banging her fist on the ground.
"Lipstick? I'm not fucking wearing lipstick!"
"You look like you were sucking on the wrong end of a hooker! Uh, no offense, Meg." Meg was now slumping down the wall of the elevator, tears beginning to leak from her eyes, still convulsing with laughter.
"I kissed her! That was it! Don't fucking call her a hooker!"
"I'm not calling her a hooker! Have you seen your fucking face? You're coated in the shit! You're fucking pink!'
Renee had crawled over to Meg, the two women now half-laying on each other, sobbing, hiccuping, rolling with laughter, Renee's skirt crawling up her legs, Meg's jacket and half-buttoned blouse falling off her shoulder, both men now looking at them. Knowing Meg wouldn't have a mirror – or at least not one that he could easily find – Jon grabbed Renee's purse and dug through it til he found something that looked like a compact, popped it open, and held it up in front of Randy. "Do you see, dumbass? You. Are. Pink."
Randy's jaw dropped, and the elevator took that moment to reach the lobby, open, and reveal Jon holding up a Chanel compact of pressed powder for Randy, whose jaw had dropped open, pink lips making a perfect 'O,' Meg and Renee curled around each other between the suitcases at the back of the elevator looking for all the world like they were deciding whether to be half dressed or half undressed, all in front of a crowd.
"Oh, fuck this." Jon swatted blindly at buttons, and the door to the elevator slid shut again as they made their ascent toward God knew what floor, both men slowly turning to face their respective girlfriends, who both knew they needed to calm down and do at least a slight bit of damage control – Meg in particular.
Randy turned to face Meg, who dropped her eyes and did her best to look bashful – which only resulted in her looking at Renee, who threatened to get her started laughing all over again by making kissy-faces at her. Clearing her throat and trying to push herself up the wall, Meg inched over to Randy, her head low.
"Ran, I only did it because you said you were gonna start wearing aluminum foil undies like Nemeth. Well, and you chew-toyed my shoulder."
"Wait, he what?" Jon cut in. "Orton, you can't be fucking serious. Those things looked like shit from a UFO convention."
"I wasn't serious, Jon, now shut up." He turned to Meg. "How did you even get this shit on me? And how am I supposed to get it off?"
"I put it on while you were busy putting this on me." She pointed to her shoulder. "And c'mere. It comes off easy." Meg fished in the front of her suitcase pocket for a towelette and began to dab at Randy's face. He couldn't help leaning into her; she was all cool fingers and light touches, and then a devilish idea came to him.
"We're even, Meg – I got you, you got me." Lipstick cleaned from his face, he leaned down and kissed her forehead, then threw a backward glance over his shoulder. "And now," positive the distance between his back and the wall of the elevator was just enough to accommodate her long frame, "I got you back!"
Lunging forward and down, gripping her around the waist and just barely under her ass, he flipped her upside down over his shoulder, the heels of her boots nearly crashing through the lights of the elevator. She had to force herself to control her panic and remember who was holding her. 'It's okay, Meg, stop, stop, breathe, it's Randy, you're safe, nobody's gonna hurt you, he knows you were playing around, it was just a joke. Stop.' He kept her upside down the entire way to the lobby, then through the lobby to the shuttle to the airport, only setting her right-end-up when they had to actually board the shuttle, him managing their luggage completely one-handed, her face flushed completely red.
"Did I win?"
"As soon as I figure out which end is up, I'll let you know." Meg clutched at his arm, trying to make the world stop tilting precariously to the left. She tried fanning her face, knowing she had to be tomato-colored. "So, tell me – does red still suit me?"
"Nothing's better than revenge."
"Game on, Ran. Sneak-fucking-tactics."
"Do your worst, Meggie. I'm gonna love you no matter what." He leaned down and kissed the top of her head before guiding her up the shuttle steps and into a seat near the back and against the windows where she could people-watch. Renee and Jon settled in across from them, with Jon sticking his feet out across the aisle and up onto the arm of the chair a row ahead of them.
"You're such a jackass, Jon. But you know that." Renee punched him in the arm. "Take your feet off that."
"Nope. Besides, I'm supposed to talk to Pinky here about something. What was it you wanted advice on?"
'Jesus Christ. Subtle like a whore in church.' "I was seriously considering the switch to silver. Guess that got nixed, huh?"
"For real? Meg, you gotta check your man for a concussion. Or don't tie the knots so tight. Lack of air, or something."
"Oh my God, Jon, please announce it a little louder!" Meg hissed at him from behind Randy, whose facial expression was stuck somewhere between frustrated at Jon's inability to be subtle and bemused at Jon's ability to broadcast hilariously inappropriate information - well, hilariously.
"I said," Jon announced, raising his voice toward the front of the shuttle, which now had quite a few more people in it, "Don't tie the knots so tight, Meg, when you're wrapping him up in bed. Guy's gotta breathe, you know. Ribbons and blindfolds and shit."
Renee slapped Jon in the back of the head, his foot finally falling from the arm of the seat ahead of him across the aisle. In a voice equally as loud as his, she announced, "Watch it, Jon. I can tie knots way tighter than Meg can. And you don't want to find out."
Shaking his head, the chauffeur announced that it was time for everyone to take seats and buckle up. After a pause, he added, "Tightly."
The bus erupted in laughter, Randy, Meg, Jon and Renee groaning and rolling their eyes.
At the arena, Meg met Dave near triage and kissed Randy goodbye, leaving him to walk Renee to the womens' locker rooms and then do whatever he and Jon did to warm up. Meg wasn't sure she wanted to know; Randy had taken to spending more time with Jon just as she'd taken to spending more time with Renee, and while the friendships seemed to be working on all fronts, a bit of a reckless and spontaneous streak was beginning to rear its head in Randy, just as a bit of a wild and adventurous streak was beginning to develop in Renee. 'I don't mind it; it reminds me of some of the shit we used to get up to when I first started. I just can't keep up with them, sometimes. Spontaneous glow bowling? Great! Fun! Having to be the scorekeeper because your leg's gonna fall off if you add thirteen pounds to one side? Shitty. At least I got most of the beer.'
Once he was sure the triage door was closed, and after several backward glances, Randy leaned down toward Renee and Jon. "Okay. About that advice."
"Wait. You seriously did need advice?" Jon sounded incredulous. "Don't ask me shit about costuming. Jeans. Wifebeater. And I had to argue for weeks to get it. No UFO-briefs."
"No, no, not that. You know that charity whatever it is coming up next week?"
"It's not next week." Renee jumped in, "If you're talking about the Make-A-Wish fundraiser, I mean. It's in two weeks."
"Okay, yeah, that one. I asked Meg to go with me. Joe never took her to that kind of shit; he always dumped her at the hotel. Half the time she'd buy ice cream and read a book or rent a movie with me while he was out doing the limo thing and getting his photo taken. But, she...kinda..."
"Didn't say yes but didn't say no?" Renee smiled.
"Exactly. So I dunno what to do. I want to take her. Don't get me wrong, I hate going to these things. The fundraising and the charity part is fine, it's the tux and red carpet and fake shit that bothers me. But..."
"You want to show her off?" Renee guessed again.
"Well...yeah. But she pulled the 'I don't have a dress, I don't have shoes, I look awful, I don't want to embarrass you' thing, and I don't know what to say to her."
"Jesus Christ, dude, how about, 'That doesn't matter, just come with me anyway.'?" Jon had fixed Randy with a look that told him he was positively stupid.
"Well I know that, dumbfuck, but she's not gonna believe me. She wants me to go with someone who – and this is her talking, not me – 'makes me look good.' And I don't know what to do with that. So I thought maybe one of you would have an idea?" Randy looked hopefully at Renee. "Okay...I actually hoped Renee would have an idea and you'd just be moral support."
"If she feels that strongly about it, you really might be better off letting it go. What is it that she's worried about, just not being able to walk? Dance?" Renee crossed her arms and waited for an explanation.
Randy sighed, unsure how much he should say. "She's...uh...she was in a bad car wreck. I think she's worried about what people would see. Say. I don't know. I just want her to say yes to going. Then I can worry about dealing with her panicking over a dress or whatever the fuck else you women deal with."
Renee laughed. "Okay...well, lemme see what I can get out of her over lunch? No promises, though. She's tough. Stubborn. Bull-headed. Actually...maybe that's why you two work so well."
"Well let me just coo, or some shit. Did you actually need me for anything, or can I go put my gear down at my locker? This shit's heavy, Orton, and it's not getting lighter." Jon's impatience was starting to show.
"Chill out, asshat, I still need your help, too. But not in front of her, she'd go running to Meg." Randy pointed dramatically at Renee and winked. "Thanks, Renee. Really. Let me know – and if she really doesn't want to, it's fine. Don't feel like you've gotta lay into her about it." He nudged Jon down the hallway, Jon grousing the entire way about his bag until Randy finally snatched it from his hand.
"There, whiny bitch. It's not even that heavy."
"Yeah, but I got you to carry it. So who's the bitch now?" Jon dodged Randy's half-hearted attempt to swing the bag at him, though Randy did let it go, effectively tossing it down the hallway for Jon to retrieve. "Seriously, though, what did you want to ask me? If it's something you can't say in front of Renee, it's gotta be good."
"I want to get Meg a-"
"Don't propose. Too soon."
"No! No. Not that. I don't think the engagement ring bullshit will ever be us, anyway. Don't ask me why; it's just not her thing. But that's kinda where I was going – she doesn't wear rings, they fuck up her exam gloves. But...we have this thing for red and grey."
"I don't wanna know."
"No, it's not...kinky...or whatever. She wraps my birthday presents in red and grey. I bought her some scarves and gloves over the winter, and they were all red and grey. It wasn't ever something we meant to do, and then it was just kind of...us. But anyway, back to the point."
"You had a point?"
"Jesus Christ, Jon. ADHD much? Short story shorter, I want to get her a necklace. I know she'll wear it, she wears that Saint Julian medallion all the time. But...I wasn't sure what to do. Like, what to get. So I was gonna ask you, do you ever get Renee stuff like that? What does she like?"
"Didn't you ever buy Sam shit like that?"
Randy cringed at the mention of his ex's name. "Yeah, and for her it was 'big, expensive, and diamonds,' in that order." He ticked the requirements off on his fingers as he went. "Oh, and gold. Always gold. And that doesn't suit Meg. The medallion looks almost bronze. The chain it's on now is platinum."
"Platinum? She didn't pick that out, she looks like she has an orgasm every time we drive by a Salvation Army store when we're on the shuttle bus."
"No...it's a long story. When she was gone, I kinda held on to it for her." Randy shuffled his feet. "Well...I wore it. But I had to have the chain resized; the one she had it on wasn't exactly gonna fit. So I went with platinum. She had it on something silvery when she wore it. She never changed it back to her original, but I don't think she knows what it is now, either."
"Stop smiling. You look dopey."
"Anyway, you didn't answer me. You ever get Renee shit like that? I kinda have an idea, and now I have two weeks to decide if it's smart or stupid."
"Some stuff, yeah, but nothing...personal. Shit that comes put together. She'll walk by a store, look at something a little too long, and I'll call back later and have them send pictures til they get it right. Then, boom. They send it over, I'm the hero. Ain't had shit, like, made for her, though."
"So basically, you're no help at all."
"Fuck you."
"Not my style."
Both men snorted at each other before Randy turned to reach for the doorknob to the locker room, Jon barely stopping him in time to keep the door shut. "But...okay...you got me interested. What kinda stupid shit are you thinking about doing? Y'know, just so I can call you a dumbass officially."
Randy rolled his eyes, but took his hand off the door. "Something small, so she doesn't flip about the cost. Her birthday was in January, and we didn't do anything to celebrate. Garnets are her birthstone, and she wears rose perfume..."
"Get to the shit, Orton, you're buying jewelry, not writing a book..."
"Okay, okay. A small rose, in garnets and black diamond chips. When they're chippy, they look grey. Technically, diamonds are my birthstone, but I did some reading and traditionally, it used to be sapphire. Hers has always been garnet. So I was going to set a sapphire at the center of the rose. Like...a Moroccan rose."
"Does the phrase 'pussy whipped' mean anything to you?"
Randy opened the door to the locker room. "When you signed your contract, did you read the clause for dental?"
"Fuck if I know, why? The fuck does that have to do with-"
"Because I'm gonna take your fucking teeth out of your head."
"Okay, okay, relax. It sounds like a good idea. Seriously." Jon threw his bag down next to a bench, knocking someone else's things entirely onto the floor and shrugging in response. "Look...you've known her forever. You know what shit has meaning to her, what she's gonna like, what she's gonna hate...just make sure it doesn't clash with that little Jesus-guy she wears, because she never takes that thing off. Well, except for when you had it. But...don't make her pick, you know what I mean?"
"Fuck, I didn't even think of that." Randy dropped his head. "See, now I don't think it's such a good idea."
"No, dumbass, that's where you go talk to a jeweler and find out how to make it work with the little dude. There's probably not, like, a Catholic law where she can't wear both. Renee has these little charm bracelet things – they fucking drive me nuts, they rattle all the goddamn time – but they have beads in between each thing. Maybe there's something you can stick between her little God-dude and your rose thingie?"
Randy snorted. "I'll be sure to ask if there are any God-dude beads in stock."
"Man, shut the fuck up and lace up. Forty-five minutes til we go, and your ass is nowhere near warmed up."
"You gonna warm my ass up for me, Jon?"
Jon whipped a shampoo bottle at Randy's head, narrowly missing. "Just FYI, Jon, shampoo is not supposed to be effective for that kind of a warm up..." Randy winked and headed to the back of the locker room to change, leaving Jon both cringing and shaking his head.
"You're not getting any warm-up until you put more lipstick on!" 'Two can play that game, asshole. Ew.'
Renee moved through her interviews with a vibrant sense of energy and purpose, eager to get to lunch with Meg – even if lunch would only be whatever half-edible dreck they could dig out of catering – and both Jon and Randy had warned her, no chicken salad. Popping into triage after her last segment, Bellas versus Paige, Renee looked around the room but found only Dave.
"Looking for your girl? Something about Colby's ribs. I sent her out with some self-stick. And before you ask, no I didn't tell her she had to go and yes, she threatened me with great bodily harm if I didn't let her handle it. I'm not gonna fuck with Meg in those shoes. Boots. Lethal Terminator gear. Whatever." Dave snorted. "Last time I checked, he had a semi-private near the mains thanks to all that internet drama. Talent Relations wants to keep a...mothering eye...on him. I think she felt bad for him and wanted to make sure he's doing okay."
"Ah. Gotcha." Renee couldn't help but feel for the guy; she'd been through some nasty breakups herself, both sides, but her bits and pieces had remained clothed throughout. "I'd text her, but if her she's occupied...oh, fuck it. I'm just gonna walk."
Dave smiled. "You really have been spending time with her, Princess Potty-Mouth."
Renee smiled and was out the door, sending Meg a text anyway, on the off-chance she was en-route to a different call and had finished with Colby. She lightened her footsteps and crept past Joe's door, convinced she would choke on the jasmine fumes that had clouded outside of it, or die of nausea from them if such a thing were possible. She was convinced she could hear him having sex with – well, presumably his wife, she hoped it was his wife – behind the door. Enough grunted 'Oh, baby, right there' 's, and she could get the picture, not that she wanted to. Renee had to work to swallow down wild giggles the more the image developed in her mind, his wife applying lipstick or spritzing perfume as Joe worked at her, checking her phone, looking completely disinterested, maybe a leg over his shoulder if she was tall enough, Joe wrapping his wrists in black ring tape, reading his script over her shoulder, and then throwing in a Samoan battle cry right before he finished. By the time Renee made it to Colby's locker room, she was in tears from stifled laughter. Trying to quiet herself, she was sure she could hear tears through the door as well, but for an entirely different reason. Muffled, Meg's voice barely carried into the hall, and Renee tried not to eavesdrop, though she felt awkward about knocking, as well – so she waited, a respectful distance away, deciding to text Randy and tell him she might need a little more time than they anticipated to put their plan in motion.
"Look, Col...if they took me back after all the shit I went through...you'll be fine. It hurts, it's embarrassing, it feels like your whole life's out on display for the world to pick apart..but you're going to make it. Close ranks with your friends. With the people you know you can trust."
"And how do I know who that is? I thought that was her!"
"Nobody's innocent here, and you know it. I'm not saying that to hurt you, either. I'm gonna tell you what I told Randy. If you were really happy, you wouldn't need to do what you were doing. You'd just be happy. What you had would be enough. So don't feel like you have to tell yourself that lie. It's pretty busted, anyway. As for the people you can trust...that's harder. The people you can trust are the ones who have nothing to gain from you, no matter what other shit is going on."
"So you and Randy..."
"Yeah. Completely. What can we take from each other? If everything else around us goes to shit – and let's just talk practicalities – I can't take anything from him. I don't have the resources to do it, and I wouldn't know where to begin. And I have nothing – literally nothing – that's of any value to him. I don't have any money. I'd never touch his relationship with his daughter. Do we know things about each other – just like you and Lei – that are damning? Sure. But I'd get shut down so fast it'd be pointless, and I'm a nobody. I'd be yesterday's porn so fast it'd be pointless. So, we trust. You need to find that, and you'll be happy. Or at least, have a better shot."
"Yeah. Makes sense."
"You gonna be okay for a bit, now? Buspar won't pop on a screening, and Dave is gonna write a script for you anyway. NP status and all that. One pill. You've gotta take the edge off, or you're gonna lose your little Cross-Fitty mind. You're too much energy as it is. I'll see if I can get the powers that be to spring you, as long as you agree to stay in triage. We can keep an eye on you, and it's less claustrophobic."
"You think they're gonna go for it?"
"No. But it's me, and I can do puppy-dog eyes with the best of them."
Colby sighed, heavily. "Okay. I owe you, Meg."
"No, you don't. Just try to keep yourself together, okay? Don't dwell on it. You can't control it, anyway. Let the company handle it, and you just put a big sorry 'Aw Shucks' look on your face. It works."
"I'll try. It's just...Meg, it's so hard right now. I know you know, but it's so hard right now."
"You hang tight in here. No phone, right?" She could feel her heart breaking for Colby, and as much as she wanted to backhand him upside the head for not being able to tuck himself in his pants and behave, it wasn't as though Leighla had done much better in this situation. 'What did I say about blood on everyone's hands? This business breaks people. I really, really want to go find Randy. Tell him what, I don't know. Show him.'
Colby sighed. "Right."
"Bummer. I'll work on it, okay? Just...try. I don't know what, but try. Breathe. It's gonna take time, but eventually, it ends." She smiled weakly, squeezed his shoulder, and let herself out, turning to find Renee leaning on the wall a few feet down the hallway. Meg quickly held her finger up to her mouth in a signal to be quiet, and Renee nodded. Once Meg was closer, Renee looped their arms together and whispered, "Lunch. And don't worry, I'm not gonna breathe a word. He's got enough shit to deal with on his own right now."
"Deal, on lunch. But I gotta do two things before we eat. First, see Dave for a quickie Buspar script."
"Okay, what's the second?"
"We have to agree not to even look at the chicken salad. It's a long story."
Renee laughed the entire way to triage, having a hard time remembering when she'd last enjoyed herself so much backstage – or at work, period.
"Okay, so, wait," Meg said, around a mouthful of not-too-wilted salad, "So you're walking past his locker room and they're going at it loud enough to be heard in the hallway?" She made a face. "Dude. Ew. Everyone knows if you're gonna do that, you go to the back of the locker room. The echo is worse, but at least your ass isn't banging right on the door while you're fucking, either."
Renee almost choked on her broccoli spear, eyes wide. "Jesus, Meg!"
"What, like you've never." Meg winked. "Besides, you two are smart. You'd at least get in the shower. You're about as big a fan of sweat as I am." She wrinkled her nose and went back in for more salad after picking through the leaves for the least-offensive ones in the bowl, and making a mental note to thank whomever in Talent Relations had decided to let Dave retrieve Colby from the near-closet they'd locked him in. He was shuffling, head hung low, but he was at least moving toward triage. 'A little man-to-man advice might do him some good. And some space, too.'
"Speaking of going, I was gonna ask you-"
"Randy wanted you to ask me if I was gonna go with him to the Make-A-Wish gala that's actually two weeks away, instead of next week?"
"Subtle like a brick, those men." Renee rolled her eyes. "Remind me to smack him and give him a lesson in how not to drop hints that he needs help with a girlfriend issue." She grabbed for Meg's left hand. "Yeah, girlfriend issue, though that's something else we gotta work on, since you two have been together, like, fucking forever. Joe doesn't count."
"Okay, tell me he didn't ask you to ask me about that, because I'm gonna seriously die if-"
"Nope, just the gala. No engagement rings, but if you had ideas, I can always-"
Meg breathed out a little too heavily for Renee's taste, and she made a mental note to corner her and ask about that later, over several drinks. "Look..." Meg began to slide a crouton from one side of her plate to the other. "I'd love to go. I'd love to go. I've always wanted to go to one of those things. When Jackson took me out, it was always, 'Dip face in bucket of makeup, dress like five-dollar-hooker, have horrible sex that ends in getting the shit beat out of you,' lather, rinse, repeat. And Joe never took me out to this stuff, period. But...this is a Company thing. It's their major charity. He's a major star. I'm some backstage schlep who never sees the light of day, and I look like shit. I can't even walk."
"Whoa, hold on a tick. I'm, like, functionally decades behind the times on what happened, even though I know it hasn't been that long. I'm not gonna pry, but...what are you talking about?" Renee looked genuinely confused. "We all heard rumors – stuff about a car accident, stuff about Jackson being an asshole, stuff about Joe being an asshole – but-"
Meg scanned the catering area; it was mostly empty and the few techs and crew members that were present were engrossed in their scripts and clipboards. She grabbed the collar of her blouse and jacket, and pulled them down. "Massive shoulder hickey notwithstanding, because that's why I lipsticked Randy this morning, you see my collarbone? It wasn't just an accident. It killed Jackson. It should have killed me." She adjusted her collar, then leaned back and lifted up the bottom of her blouse to show her ribs. "This, too. Same wreck." Tucking her blouse back into the waist of her pants, she leaned down to unzip her boot. "And I can't walk because the fucking hospital mangled my leg after the dashboard mangled my leg. I'd make the argument it's hard to see through the stockings, but it's not. It's just that bad. And that obvious. No boots? No walking." Renee managed to keep a relatively flat face through all of it until she was sure all of Meg's clothing and footwear was back in place. Then, she dove over her half of the table to wrap her in a hug, thrilled Meg had come back to the company, but now for entirely different reasons. Neither one of them saw Joe's wife slink to the beverage table across the room, grab a bottle of water, watching Meg half-strip and re-dress, and slink away.
"You can walk. And if you don't want anyone to see your leg, or your collarbone, we can do that. Meg, I'm not gonna push you to go...but it would mean the world to him if you did. Even if you just showed up, took a picture or two, and then stayed at a table while he schmoozed. I can almost guarantee Jon would stay with you the whole time, he hates these things."
"I don't have a dress. I can't wear normal shoes – you have no idea what Randy had to get done to these boots just so I can walk in them. They're not normal boots. Makeup is a complete mystery to me. I don't-"
"So, can I help you? Tenille, too, I'm sure she'd love to – you know how girly she gets about this sort of thing."
"I didn't even say yes!"
"You said you always wanted to go." Renee pointed at her with her fork. "And I'm not letting you miss out on the second – okay, well, like, the third – biggest event of the year just because you don't think you can find a dress that'll cover up the things you want covered. Do the words 'Asymmetrical one-shoulder high slit organza runway gown' mean anything to you?"
Meg fixed with with a completely blank look, startling when Tenille popped up behind her. 'Who else points with a fork? I've got to talk to Sarah. This has gone on too long, and I have a promise to make good on.'
"Ooh! Does Badgley Mischka have their Winter Collection in? I'm dying to go, and that frozen yogurt place we both like is just across from the shop – did you make the call-aheads, so we can get our fittings, or do you want me to do it? For once, it's right city, right time! We're actually going to be there, next city!"
Renee looked from Tenille back down to Meg. "Sorry, my back of the house friend. You are back of the house no more. And also outnumbered."
Meg put her head down on the table and threw her crouton over her shoulder at Tenille. "You two are fucking conspirators." 'There is not gonna be enough alcohol in the world for this. Wait. Wait! Did I even say yes to going?'
As if reading her mind, Renee rested her hand on Meg's, still sitting near her plate. "Yes, you're going. Shopping, and to the gala. Go tell Randy. If you don't, we will. And tell him to expect this to be an all-day thing. You need new everything."
"No, I thought you said I needed a dress? And, like, maybe shoes?"
Tenille bounced up and down behind Meg. "Oh, no no no! Dress, shoes, underpinnings, accessories, makeup, perfume, nail color – you've got to get everything picked out, then you've got to pick out what stylists you're using, get your choices sent to your stylists, go through a test run to make sure it all looks right, plus fittings, then you've got the actual big night, then pre-event photos, then-"
"Nope, I'm out. Randy said he would plan an alterna-date and skip the gala. That's officially what we're doing."
Renee whipped a stalk of broccoli at Tenille. "First things first. Let's just look at dresses and hit the fro-yo place."
"No, really...I'm out. That's just too much. And I'm not going through fittings and trying things on and...just no." Meg had frozen up; she really hadn't realized so much would go into the event, and now that Tenille had given her a much more accurate picture of what it took, she knew she couldn't handle it. "I'll go with you guys if you want to pick out dresses and hit up dessert, but...no. Not me. I stick to the back of the house for a reason." 'I don't want to change my perfume, and I don't wear nail polish, and both of us hate me in a ton of makeup, and me 'doing' my hair is putting it in a ponytail...who am I kidding, this shit isn't for me.'
The look Renee gave Tenille could have killed. "Meg...we'll talk about it. Please?" 'Well, I feel like an asshole. Randy said don't push her, I had her convinced – granted, I kinda left out all the details – but then there goes Nell with her big fucking mouth and now Meg's drowning in the idea.'
"I gotta get back to triage. I'll catch you guys later. Plus...uh...I have to call a friend." Meg left her salad where it sat, and staggered back toward the triage bay, her feet unsteady beneath her. Renee waited til Meg was a safe distance away, and then pelted Tenille with every available vegetable left on her plate.
"You are such a twat!"
"The fuck did I do? She's going to the gala, isn't she? And it's her first – she's gonna have to buy everything new and get it customized, it's not like she can pull things off the rack and just go, it's not like it's a prom and-"
"No, Nell, it's more complicated than that for her." Renee sighed; she wasn't breathing a word about Meg's scars and she knew full-well that the idea of a dress that could expose her, plus fittings that would expose her, was overwhelming. "You just went zero-to-sixty on her, and it was too much."
"Well, tough for her. She's going with us and getting a dress."
Renee shook her head. "She's going back to triage; I'm going to talk to Randy. As for you...give her some space and lay off the dress thing. I don't think we're calling for reservations today, put it like that." 'Overbearing, immature. Check, and check. Your heart was in the right place, and your head was firmly up your ass. And I need to chill out on you, because it's not like you know what her issue is. Jesus, Renee, stop being a bitch.' "Why don't we...call tomorrow? We can get up early and set it up before we have to hit the airport." Renee struggled to take some of the sting out of her words, knowing she'd upset Tenille if she kept on the way she was going.
"Well...okay? I don't know what I-"
"Don't worry about it, hon. It's not you, I promise. She said she had to call a friend anyway; maybe she wants some girlfriend support?"
"Well, toss that. She's got us now." Tenille sniffled, feigning a hurt look.
Renee tossed her plate along with Meg's, then hightailed it down to the men's locker rooms, hoping to catch either Randy or Jon, but she'd missed them both and ended up watching their match on the monitors near gorilla. 'At least it's a good match – they both put on a show.' Knowing that Randy would be headed toward triage after he was done, and figuring Meg would need a good deal of support from him, she opted to leave them alone and talk to Jon instead. Her curiosity was piqued from their conversation earlier, and she hoped to get him to spill what it was he'd talked about with Randy. As she expected, the men headed in opposite directions after their match, promising to catch up at the hotel, but intending to find their women first. Jon practically tripped over Renee; Meg would take a little more walking to find.
"We have to talk," Renee hissed at Jon, "Because you're gonna have a long night with Randy."
"I'd rather have a long night with you, sugartits."
"Split the difference, you can have whatever you want with me as long as you don't bail on Randy tonight."
Jon sighed as they began walking toward the locker rooms. "Okay, what happened? I thought you were convincing Cinderella to not be a lemon, or some shit?"
"Yeah, and she was all set to be a rosebud, to continue your oh-so-stupid metaphor, until Tenille completely overwhelmed her with the details. Now she's scared out of her mind because it's actually a pretty involved process to get a custom dress done, and she's...she's..." Renee stopped, bringing Jon to a halt with her. "She's not comfortable with it, put it that way."
"She looks fine. I mean – shit, I'm gonna talk myself into a corner on this one. You know what I mean, right? Like, a dress shouldn't be a problem for her."
"I'm trying to come up with a way to get her to go anyhow; you should have seen her face talking about it. It really was like Cinderella – she just lit up. Until she realized how much went into it. You know how it is."
"No, because I rent a tux. It shows up, it fits, you show up looking amazing, I drink too much, and you make me behave anyway."
Renee sighed. "Look. Just...I have a feeling Randy's gonna want to talk to you. Please just be nice to him, okay?"
Randy opened the door to triage, fully expecting Meg to toss an ice cube at him, or snap him with a towel, before kissing him hello and walking back to the showers with him, but instead he found her tilted forward over the sink, knuckles white from gripping the edge, arms shaking, Dave standing quietly in a corner, watching her but not doing much else to help, Colby sitting quietly beside him.
"Meggles? Kiddo, what happened?" 'I'll kill him. I'm going to break every bone in his body and then they can fire me if they want. But I don't smell that perfume, either...'
"We dunno, Randy." Colby's voice was low and quiet. "She came in here fast, hit the sink, and just...stopped. Won't talk." He tried to disappear back into the table, not sure if he should have spoken at all.
Randy came up behind her, reached for a towel and dried off as best he could, then gently laid his hand over hers on the edge of the sink. Slowly, Meg turned her head, clearly on the verge of crying. She looked first at his face, and then at his arms – it was always her test for herself, he knew that by now – and then slammed her eyes shut, yanking her hands away. 'Oh no...no, no, come on, this isn't fair, we had such a good morning, everything was fun and normal and now you're upset and seeing shit again.'
"Meg, it's just me. Everything was fine this morning, everything's gonna stay fine. Try again, okay? Just one more time. I'm right here." Colby looked curiously at Dave, who set his lips in a firm line and shook his head, directing Colby's attention back to the scene in front of him.
Cautiously, Meg turned, felt for Randy and found his hands, and she took a steadying breath. Her eyes cracked open, barely, closed, and she exhaled shakily before looking up at him fully. "I'm sorry. I just...I got into a conversation I shouldn't have."
"What did Joe do?" Meg felt his hands tense underneath her, and she grabbed at him.
"No, Ran. Not him. C'mon...let's go get you a shower. I can explain. I'm fine now. Really." She turned to face Dave and Colby. "And...I'm sorry about that. Dave, I've got the triage phone."
Slowly, and with Randy's arm firmly around her shoulders, Randy and Meg meandered toward the locker rooms. "Whenever you're ready, Meggie."
"Ran...I really want to make you happy. You know that. I know you want me to go with you to that gala or fundraiser or whatever. And I told Renee that I would, but-"
"You said yes? That's great!" 'That's fucking amazing! Renee, you worked a miracle, and I owe you big time."
"You didn't let me finish. I did say yes. But I...don't think I understood what it meant. Like...what you have to do to actually go to one of those things. Tenille was talking about fittings and makeup and new perfume and it's just too much." Meg lifted his arm from her shoulders and turned to face him, stopping them both in the hallway. "Randy...there are no dresses that are going to cover up everything. None. No shoes that I can walk in. I don't wear makeup like that, and I don't wear perfume. I mean, other perfume, just my rose stuff. Even if I did find a dress I liked, someone's going to have to cut it apart around me to make it fit, make it look right, and...the more people look, the more people ask. The more I have to explain. The more I sit there saying, 'Oh, just a car accident, just some surgery, I know, I'm so lucky, thanks!' It's...it's..." Randy watched her eyes glaze over as she talked, and she looked completely unaware that she'd started to cry. "And I promised Sarah that I'd find a way to take her with me to one of these, and we're not even talking anymore, and that's all my fault, too." Somewhere behind them, a door opened and closed, a throat cleared, and it took a minute for the powerful floral smell of jasmine to crawl down the hallway towards them.
Meg's display of her scars in the catering area hadn't gone unnoticed by Joe's wife when she scavenged for a bottle of water. She sped back to Joe's dressing room and dug through the small suitcase she brought with her, then went to costuming and made ridiculous demands that ended with, "And he's really important to the company, so you need to do this for me!" ultimately coming away with tottery high heels, a ridiculously short skirt, and a cropped, boatneck shirt – all of which revealed her tan shoulders, her unscarred sides, and the smooth skin of her legs. She turned to wave at Meg and Randy before starting a runway-perfect walk down the hall, the height of the heels clearly not a factor in the steadiness of her gait. A strangled, yowling sound caught in Meg's throat, and she knew she'd been had earlier in the day.
All Randy could do was wrap her back in his arms and wait for her to calm before they continued toward the showers. He undressed her and let her stand in the hot water for several minutes before joining her, simply letting her cry, knowing the sound would be drowned out by the running water.
'How do you still manage to break her when you don't even come near her? She wanted to come back here so bad, and all it does – no – she wanted to be where I was. Maybe I don't need to be here. Maybe that's the answer.' Randy rubbed rose-soap-scented circles over her shoulders and mulled the idea of an extended, or permanent, vacation – for the both of them. 'But, not before you upstage both those bitches. Then, we can talk about a next step. Together. I'm not going to let them make you cry anymore. The first time I stood in front of your apartment door, I promised myself that if you ever wanted a change – for me to leave, for us to move, whatever – I would give that to you. Now just might be that time.' He slid his arms around her from behind and pulled her against him, the low volume and deep tone of his promises lost in the roar of the shower spray. It was just as well; in that moment, Meg would only have trusted the voices telling her to leave and not look back.