Anyone still out there? Anyone? I love my readers! Cookies! I promise you all cookies!
Nattiebroskette and AliceJericho, all the love in the world - for those of you who are still reading, consider Fade to Black and Can You Help Me Heal? - both are fantastic reads by fantastic authors!
Onward! - And I fully expect some coo-ing and high-fives after this one... ;-)
Touching the paper as though it was talking to her, Meg closed her eyes and really felt the paper, trying to pull it from memory. 'All of this should be familiar. This feels right, but from where?' Renee, now sitting in Jon's lap, smiled against his cheek and whispered to him.
"You held on to that through the entire dinner?"
"Nah. Passed it to Dave. I was gonna lose it; he stashed it in his bag."
"Lose it, or spill a drink on it?" Renee ruffled Jon's hair. "You're only a little tipsy, hon."
"Keep yappin', and you're only gonna enjoy it a little, later." Jon pinched Renee's ass and winked.
Dave had passed the box to Sarah during one of the night's dozen speeches, and she'd palmed it to Tenille as soon as the tiramisu and wine had arrived, the group agreeing to scoot to one side of the table in order to give Meg and Randy some space while she opened the box. Tenille arranged their plates and glasses around the gift, fussing much more than was necessary before Sarah hauled her firmly back into her seat, spotting Randy leading Meg back from the balcony, her steps more confident as they returned. On his arm, matching him stride for stride, Meg's cream-white skin flashing through the high slit of her gown, an occasional spark of red visible against the dark grey charcoal of her gown, the crowds of people milling about the floor parted for them as though they were royalty who owned the room, both Meg and Randy nodding and offering small smiles as they moved back to the table.
"Goddamn. She's impressive, isn't she?" Sarah was announcing the sentiment loudly and somewhat drunkenly to nobody in particular; it drew a chuckle from Vince and Paul at their table nearby, and certainly wasn't lost on Joe, who had watched Tenille's antics with the plates and box using what he hoped was enough subtlety to avoid any dramatics from his wife. She was still carrying on about what she wanted to do to the idiot who'd set up the seating chart, followed by raving about not understanding why they weren't further at the front where they'd be closer to the people who spoke and thus, in more of the photographs. Staring down into his bourbon, he gestured the tumbler at a server, who nodded and ran to the bar to fetch another.
Arriving at the table, Randy pulled out Meg's chair and helped her into it, scooting her close to the table before pressing a kiss to the top of her head and gently squeezing her shoulder. 'Please understand, Meg. You understood every argument, every broken phone, every birthday, every mistake I ever made, and I understand every burner phone, extra pill, nightmare...we're home now, Meg. This is home. Let's just stay home.'
It registered that Meg had asked him a question, and he stammered his way through an answer, pushing the box gently toward her. Watching her fingers trail over the paper, he could imagine her leaning over Alvin's counters, passing him croissants and newspapers, doodling swirls and lines across his rolled-out paper as the thick New Orleans sunlight filled the room til he swatted her away and took his pencils back. 'I should have asked him if he ever drew anything special for you. Maybe if we go back, I can find out. They'd all love to see you, Meg. Even the cat. Especially the cat; there's probably a trick to getting him – her? – to like you, isn't there?' His imagination carried him further into Alvin's shop, walking the floor with Meg as she slipped on bracelets and tried on earrings, delicately pinned mother-of-pearl and ivory cameos into her summer scarves, fresh paint hiding the Katrina flood-stains on Alvin's walls, his shelves free of the sediment that followed, new velvet lining each case and his face finally free of the worry and tension that plagued it, solder and roses competing for space in the air. He allowed himself a small smile before wrapping his arm around Meg and pulling her gently against him, breathing her in. 'Please, please...understand this. Please understand this.'
Loosening the paper and gently folding it away from the box, Randy watched Meg's eyes widen in recognition as her hands flew back, then gently light against the surface of the box. Cautiously, and with a small smile of her own, Meg looked up at Randy. "You...found Alvin? He's still there?"
"Still there, still remembers your newspapers and when you got lost after late rosary. He said he waited with you for a taxi – I wasn't surprised, Meg. You draw people to you." He nudged a forkful of tiramisu at her lips, oblivious to the other people at the table. "And...I remember Blaine. I know the wine is different – this isn't what we had – but I remember how happy you were after dinner. You said you could remember that, instead of the...instead of the past. This...could be a better way to remember New Orleans."
Meg's lips parted around the bite of dessert, her hands occupied tracing the lines of the box and the jewels on its lid, her eyes never leaving his. 'It could be a lot of things, Randy. What are you trying to tell me? Before I open the box, what am I supposed to be guessing at?' Her mind flew in a thousand directions, from Blaine down to New Orleans, over to Glasgow and the disaster with Joe that had set her whole strange journey in motion, and then to the Hagia Sophia, where her mind placed each jewel from the box in front of her into the mural of the Virgin and Child, being sure to mentally crown the archangels protecting Mary. Lost in thought and Randy's eyes, she contented herself with the prospect of the unknown.
Joe leaned back in his chair, trying to hear Meg's words. Her back was to him and her voice was nearly a whisper from emotion. 'What is he doing, Meg? A box? A ring? I just told you I was here for you! What are you doing? Weren't you listening?' The server returned with his bourbon, which Joe downed in one motion, turning to replace the tumbler on the server's tray before he left. His movement came just as Meg's lips parted around the forkful of dessert Randy offered and he felt his temper flare; the mouthful of pastry wasn't going to help his ear-hustle any, either. Growling, he told the server to bring the bottle of bourbon to the table, along with a bottle of whatever his wife wanted, gesturing to her dismissively. Squealing, she said something about fancy champagne, and then dove back into her phone. Joe edged back a bit farther toward Meg's seat, knowing his wife would be occupied texting about her treat for the next few minutes. 'What are you doing, Meg? Is this because I never took you to one of these? You never said you wanted to go! You always said it was uncomfortable and you didn't fit in with it...and you look like you walked out of a dream. Don't you remember the night I came back to you? When I left a gala for you? Can't you leave him? And what the fuck is he doing?'
Renee, Tenille, and Sarah, taking pictures the whole time, smiled and offered up lovey sighs at Randy's gesture with the dessert. "It's like wedding cake!" Nell whispered to Sarah, who gasped and threw Nell into a dramatic hug, prompting Renee to turn her phone on them.
"All for posterity, ladies. It's not like you're going to remember much of tonight at the rate you're drinking, anyway. And I do believe you're starting to catch some attention, Sarah." A sly smile crept across Renee's face as she whispered; several of the men of NXT were beginning to huddle at the bar and give her appreciative looks, especially as she clung to Tenille.
Gently lifting the lid of the box, the aroma of pebbly frankincense and myrrh, along with coarsely ground coffee, filled the air around the table, in perfect synchrony with the coffee liqueur of the tiramisu. Meg leaned in, seeing the tail of what appeared to be a necklace, but closed her eyes and focused on breathing in the scent pouring from the box. Randy leaned in, trying to place the scent himself, then realized it was from the church and the cafe. 'Remy, you're brilliant. And now I understand why you said not to open it. I wanted to bring her home, and this is part of it, and you finally agreed with me – New Orleans really wasn't broken for her. You really, actually, finally agreed with me.'
"Do you remember those, Meg? Those places?" The surprise of the filler in the box was almost too much for Randy; his voice had dropped to an urgent whisper, praying that Meg's memory could continue filing and shuffling things in ways that would make sense to her, keep her in the moment, keep her off Jackson's edge.
"Anthony of Padua...my church...the church smells like that. It's the frankincense and myrrh. The priest burns it during mass, after communion...he walks the aisles and swings the thurible. The rest of the time, this burns in the censer." Meg dipped her fingers into the crumbles inside the box; if she pressed hard enough the bits from the church were lightly sticky. The darker pieces were coarse and sharp, refusing to cling to Meg's fingers. Her eyes were closed, almost as though she was seeing the places and people again in her mind.
"Tell me the other one, Meg."
"It's...coffee. Coffee! The cafe. It's like walking backwards." Meg smiled wistfully, and Randy laughed.
"Yeah, actually...this is my day, only in reverse. Thank God for Remy. The cafe owner called you 'ma peche,' and I don't think her cat liked me. And the priest remembered you playing Pinochle with him. That's how Remy helped me find Alvin." 'I didn't have time to ask what table you liked at the cafe, or what you put on your croissants or in your coffee, but I know you remember. Somewhere in there, you still know. I bet the cat remembers you, too – I was so edgy that it was afraid of me. Remy never explained what intuitive meant, about that woman, but it's something that just goes with that city. You could tell me, couldn't you, Meg? Can we go back there? I want you to show me what to do in your church. Where you sat, what to do with those little basins of water, what the alcove with the candles was for...Remy went in there for a while, before he talked to the priest, but that was all in French. Would you tell me what to do with a rosary? Was there a reason you were out at night – like, it's a night-only thing – or was it a holiday?'
"Remy...he's the one who called you, when I was in the hospital? Right after the accident?" Meg's voice was dazed, as though she was fighting off a dream that she was conflicted about being in.
"He helped me bring you home, Meg." Another bite of dessert, a sip of wine, a gentle kiss. 'Please understand this...I need you to stay home.'
Joe hadn't ever rotated away from the position he was in when he took his tumbler from the server; it afforded him a perfect view of the goings-on at Meg's table, and he felt his stomach turn as he watched Randy kiss her. 'Why the fuck would you want her to go back there? Why the fuck did you go back there? She left us BOTH for that shitheap. Don't you remember what I called it? The flats, the downs, the bottoms? Jackson was there. Why the fuck would you take her back there and make her live that all again? She doesn't want that!'
At the next table, Paul and Stephanie shared a kiss of their own, which Renee surreptitiously caught on her phone, before they began to whisper to each other, Stephanie occasionally arching an eyebrow, Paul quirking the corner of his mouth, both of them flirty and amused with each other. Further back, Brianna and Nicole started to lean forward and up, nudging Colby with them, sensing something was going on toward the front of the room, elbowing their friends and men to pay attention. Below the edge of the table, Jon sent a short text message to Colby, who showed his phone to Brianna and Nicole. They cooed and smiled, quickly sending out text messages of their own, creating a ripple effect in the room.
Slowly lifting the chain of the necklace, it came up from the pebbly substance in the box with the charm folded into a small section of newspaper, earning a smile from Randy. "Forgot that. You always bought a paper before you got your coffee. I stayed upstairs, over that bookstore. The balcony was small, and the wallpaper was unbelievable. There was a chair in the corner of the room, and it was like I could see you there. You just fit. The air was cinnamon and salt and butter, and I heard frogs. I don't think I've ever heard frogs like that."
Meg, the necklace and its charm still dangling unwrapped from her fingers, smiled and offered him a forkful of tiramisu, giggling as she pictured Randy entranced by bayou frogsong. Gently, she loosened the newspaper and placed it in the box, not willing to leave a single piece of the city behind, and then began to study the charm in earnest, feeling the ground fall away from her and the ceiling crash onto her at the same time. Set in silver, with black antiquing rubbed into the metal, sat what, to her eyes, could have been thousands of garnets and black diamonds, all crafted into petals that formed a perfect Moroccan rose, a single sparkling sapphire set in its center. Alvin, remembering Meg's tiny frame, had kept the pendant small enough to fit the hollow of her collarbones, yet made it tall enough to suit the depth of the space perfectly; the rose would look almost as though it had sprung up seamlessly from her body.
"Your birthstone, my birthstone, and my traditional birthstone...but really, that sapphire is there because it's blue like the bay, and I wanted you to have something that reminded you of it. That lady at the cafe – Remy called her intuitive – said you would spend a lot of time by the water, so it seemed right. All of the stones are from old French pieces that Alvin took apart and recut, but he promised me there was no – what you say, bad juju on them. The chain and the setting are made out of a sugar spoon. Alvin thought you'd get a kick out of that – said you were sweet and thorny. And the rose because it's...it's just you, Meg. It's part of what I think of, when I think of you."
'Stop fucking thinking. Stop fucking talking, Randy. How about that? You're decorating her like a goddamned Christmas tree. What the fuck is this about? What are you doing?' Joe's mind spun; his hands shook as he refilled his bourbon. He'd lost track of how much he drank, but was sure he didn't care.
Overwhelmed, Meg couldn't take in all the detail at once; she was teary, memories of her better times and close friends in New Orleans were flooding into her mind, and Randy's cologne had somehow wrapped itself around her in silky tendrils while she sat, mingling with the scents of New Orleans and pulling closely against her. Fumbling, she held the necklace up, trying to aim for her neckline, but realized halfway through the motion that she wouldn't be able to coordinate it. The skin between her shoulders twinged for a second; Meg remembered the glass from the broken mirror and the blood that followed, and promptly shivered. 'Not now, Jackson. Not ever again.'
"Help me?" Meg's eyes flew up to meet Randy's, and it was obvious to everyone how horribly her hands were shaking. 'This is what I almost didn't live to see...how much he loves me. Meg...no more. No more of that shit, ever. Sarah was...is...right. I can't ever do that to him again.' Renee caught Meg's eyes in a photo as they met Randy's and smiled again, showing the photo to Jon. He pulled her in closer, having ideas of his own.
Figuring Randy would be more nervous than he let on in the store, Alvin was kind enough to leave large loops along the tail of the chain, and gave the necklace a simple hook for a closure. Leaning over Meg, she dropped her head slightly as he draped the rose exactly where he wanted it, higher than Saint Julian, and then gently began to work the ends of the chain together, his hands no more coordinated than Meg's. While her eyes were downcast, she studied the box, noticing a second necklace chain dangling out from the lining of the lid. Cautiously, she tugged at it, feeling it slide easily out from behind the crushed velvet until whatever charm was attached to it caught against the seam where the lining met the lid. Carefully, she slid the box closer to her and peeled at the edge of the lining, opening just enough space to ease the charm through.
Just as hers had been wrapped in paper, so was this one, though it was much smaller than hers. The paper was more of the plain butcher block variety that Alvin used to wrap her box; Meg gently peeled it away from the charm and worked to suppress the jolt of surprise that threatened to rip through her. Looking back at her was Saint Anthony of Padua on a small medallion, the chain clearly sized to fit Randy. Squinting at the paper, in neat block writing, was a small note written in dark black ink: 'Meg – you two have found each other. Remind him of this, and stay. R.' Knowing only that this part of her gift was from someone Randy had met who was fond of them both, Meg palmed it and snagged the chain high on the gauze of her sash, knowing the necklace would disappear into the folds of her dress. Her gesture hadn't gone unnoticed by Renee, but she said nothing.
Finally, Randy seemed satisfied with his work and eased her back in her chair, resulting in smiles from everyone at the table, as well as the flash from several phones. Meg's hand flew up to make sure the necklace was really on her. Again, the occupants of several other tables were cooing and pointing; still others had pulled out cell phones to take pictures. 'Maybe someone can send a picture to us? Hopefully he looks happy right now.' Joe was scowling, an expression not lost on Renee, who smiled broadly, waved, and aimed her phone directly at him, zooming in and taking a photo, which she promptly showed to Jon, who dissolved into laughter so consuming she had to stand from his lap lest she fall from it instead. Jon stood after her, trying to contain himself, wrapping an arm around Renee's waist, sniffling and chuckling while he walked her out to the dance floor. Renee looked confused; Jon never wanted to dance, but he urged her forward and she was only too happy to go along with it and show off her dress.
"Can I talk you into a dance, Meg?" 'You didn't say it, yet. I did it wrong, didn't I? Please, Meg, say it. Please, please, say it. I don't know how else to do this, because it's us, and it's not supposed to go right.'
Struck mute, Meg nodded, and Renee watched as Meg checked, then double-checked the hidden necklace where she'd hooked it to her sash, following Randy out to the dance floor. Jon chuckled lowly, and Renee turned her attention to back him.
"What's so funny? You're drunk, but you're still way too sober for random laughing."
"I hope you wanna be a bridesmaid, babe."
"What the hell are you talking about?"
"Just watch. These two don't do fuckin' anything the right way. She didn't get it, yet."
The band continued their trend of slow yet danceable songs; Randy and Meg both smiled as they recognized the one currently being played as an instrumental version of a sappy-yet-currently-popular radio hit.
"Good timing, I think." Randy slipped one arm around Meg's waist and one hand into hers, and she couldn't resist a teasing smile – especially when she realized he hadn't seen the small pendant that dangled from her waist. Quickly, she tugged it loose and brought it up to his shoulder, hoping he didn't notice the motion.
"You think? Not feeling romantic?" She leaned up and pressed a chaste kiss to his lips. "Randy...thank you. The necklace is beautiful. I don't know how you found all those people, or knew what to put in that box, or..." Meg trailed off into a smile. "It's perfect. You were right, Randy, I can go back there. It's not broken. But..."
"But what, Meggie?"
Meg half-smiled, unsure of how to say what she wanted, or ask if she was even on the right path. "Ran...New Orleans is one thing, but...you're home, for me, now."
"Then...stay home forever, Meg."
Both slowly and quickly, a thousand things occurred to Meg, not the least of which was the conversation they'd drunkenly had in bed so long ago where he'd asked her how they'd have forever, where he'd said he wanted to see cathedrals with her, that the necklace he gave her was not made of gold, it wasn't a ring, he had been to her church, found her people, and she was holding a medallion that had been hidden in a box he didn't open and thus, he couldn't have known what Remy had or hadn't put in there. Carefully, she led his hands to her waist, then drew the medallion in front of him, showing him Saint Anthony.
"There was one more thing in the box, Ran. I'm guessing you didn't know it was there, either. Remy, I think, wrapped a note around the medallion. It said we found each other, and that I should stay."
Time stood still for Randy, frozen on those words. 'Please, Meg, stay home. Say yes. No more running, no more trying to leave. For either of us.'
Meg reached around him to clasp the chain together before gently tucking the medallion under his collar and letting her cool fingers halo around his neck. "You found me, Randy. You kept me. There's nowhere else I want to be. I'm saying yes."
Relief flooded Randy; he felt lightheaded with it and had to steady himself against her even though he knew if he fell he was taking her down with him. Pulling her hips against him, finding an intensity of motion he wasn't sure he needed, he stared down at her. "Promise, Meg. Promise me forever."
Offering up a small smile, understanding his fear completely, Meg gently rubbed at the back of his neck, trying to ease the tension out of him. "Yes, Randy. Yes, I promise you forever."
His fingers trailed up, along her waist, to her shoulders, then following the chain of the old sugar spoon to where it became their rose, before he lifted her chin up and kissed her possessively, now secure in the knowledge that they were a they, not just him and a her, and nothing could touch them. There was nothing left for him to do beyond free-fall with her when she needed him to, and stand with her through the rest of it – just as she'd done for him. 'She said yes! She promised. Meg promised.' They'd long since stopped moving with the music, as had nearly everyone else on the dance floor – though Randy had no idea when they'd all come out to dance, or that he had Jon to thank for it. Everyone save for Joe and his wife were clapping for them, understanding that some oddly wonderful thing had happened, Meg had said yes to something, even if he'd never taken a knee to ask her for anything in particular. Whatever it was, all eyes in the room were on Meg and Randy, waiting for the first sign that it had all gone as he'd hoped.
Joe, however, was stock still in the middle of the dance floor, fuming. First, his wife had bitched and complained through the entirety of hor's d'oeuvres, speeches, and dinner, simply because their table was next to Meg's table. Joe's wife and Meg were seated on opposite sides of each of their tables, so Meg was unaware of his wife's constant verbal vitriol, but Joe was ready to paste her mouth shut using hot wax from the candle display in the middle of the centerpiece. Then, the complaints about not being near enough to the photographers. Then, the expensive champagne he'd had to put on a separate tab just to distract her long enough to find out what was going on with Meg at her table, which turned into having to take his wife out to the dance floor simply because everyone else had gone out there – Joe hadn't been included in the wave of texts – which turned into an absolute, mind-melting disaster.
"Why the fuck is everyone clapping?" Her voice was so shrill it made his eyes hurt, never mind his ears. "They're all so surprised the cripple made it out here upright, is that it?"
"They're really doing it." Joe's voice was a whisper, deflated and lifeless. "He really did it."
"When the fuck did he do what? Did you see him do anything? Because I didn't see him do anything. Just pass her some ugly as shit gothy-looking necklace. When you do jewelery, you do it right. You got me a real ring, baby. So, like I said, why is everyone clapping?"
"Because they're happy. Everyone's happy." Joe, crestfallen, led his wife off the dance floor. "Babe, why don't you go grab yourself a drink from the bar? Don't stress out about her. You look great, go walk around and show it off." 'Just get the fuck away from me. Go get drunk and shake your ass, it's all you're good for.'
"Really?" Her eyes went wide, and she squealed as she pounced on Joe in an overzealous hug. "You are the best! I'm gonna go see if that photographer is still here – maybe we can get some with Stephanie and Paul!"
Joe glanced over to the dance floor; the event photographer, along with Stephanie and Paul, were already circling Meg and Randy, hugs and handshakes being handed out all around, Meg's group of close friends organizing poses and groupings, Randy barely able to keep his hands off of Meg. 'Just like the day she came back to the company. Afraid if he lets go, it won't be real anymore and she'll just disappear.' "Yeah, baby, you go do that. Go get one of those blue things you like, see what the band will play so you can dance, and then see where that photographer went. Have some fun tonight." 'Just go the fuck away. I don't want you. I didn't ever want you, you sub-par fucking placeholder.'
One of those blue drinks turned into more than she could keep count of, her fury building when the photographer refused her requests for photographs; he'd been directed to keep himself occupied with the newly engaged twosome floating through the room. The band, when she approached them, told her that not only did they not take requests, but that her requests were highly improper for the event – and besides, they'd been directed to focus on keeping the happy couple moving comfortably on the dance floor, not getting her to 'shake' anything. Word of her behavior began to filter through the ranks, leading to some pointed looks directed to Joe from company VIPs. Sighing, Joe saw it as his cue to at least steer her toward a bathroom, in the hopes she'd throw up, sober up, and they could head up to their hotel room.
"Babygirl...c'mere. You've gotta settle it down a bit." Joe met his wife at the bar, where she was in a heated, raised-voice argument with the bartender, who had just cut her off.
"I don't fucking have to do anything! You tell him to get me a drink now. Doesn't he know who we are?" Randy crept up on the other side of her, a few bar stools away, quietly asking for two tumblers of tequila, Meg joining him at his side moments later. The bartender was only too glad to abandon the lover's quarrel in front of him and move to the other, calmer, couple, encouraging them to follow him. Shrugging, Randy took Meg's hand and led her down the bar.
"Thank God you guys showed up. They're a disaster I want no part of."
Chuckling wryly, Meg and Randy glanced at each other, sharing a knowing look. Meg sighed lightly, and smiled at the bartender. "After a while...you kinda get used to it. And you find good places to hide." She winked at Randy, and bumped him gently with her hip.
Back at the other end of the bar, the argument continued, with Joe finally ushering his wife down the hallway toward the bathrooms, shoving her through the door into the women's room with directions to throw up or sober up, but not come out until she figured out how to calm down, telling her he would be at their table waiting for her. Inside, she rested her head against the outside of the dividers between the stalls, not realizing Sarah was inside.
"Fucking bitch. I don't even see why the fuck she's here, she can't walk, she's fucking ugly as shit, and he's only acting like a dick because he thinks they're getting maaaa-riiiied, or some shit." She bumped her head against the divider, still outside the stalls, trying to think. "I should be in those pictures, everyone should be happy about me. And Joe. Yeah, about me and Joe. We're pretty, and he's rich, and who the fuck is she? Just some white trash redneck southern piece of shit who thinks she's something because she's fucking a has-been." Another bump of her head, this time, harder.
Inside her stall, Sarah shifted, quiet as death. She recognized the voice; Meg might not have been seated near Joe's wife throughout the evening, but she had, and thus had the unfortunate pleasure of listening to her complain about everything from soup to nuts, literally – in the catered meal – and metaphorically. Now, listening to her go on and on about Meg and Randy, on what should have been a happy occasion – and still reeling emotionally after finding out about Meg's decision to test out the limits of alcohol and pills – Sarah was ready to snap. The thumping was giving her an idea, and she'd had enough drinks brought to her by the cadre of men following her and Tenille around that the idea suddenly seemed intelligent and passable.
"Stupid." Thump. "Fucking." Thump. "Bitch!" Thump. "Why can't she just stay the fuck away from these things? They're not for people like her. She's dragging it down with all that cripple gothy shit. Maybe she could have sat in a corner with April and Saraya and been all depressed and crazy where nobody would notice." Thump. The final thump drew a retch up from her throat, and she scrambled to open the door of the stall she was next to, trying desperately to get to a toilet before she threw up. She made it, laying exhausted across the rim of the bowl when she was finished.
Joe's wife, unaware of Sarah towering over her from behind, had no idea who slammed her face down into the vomit and water filling the toilet bowl, less of an idea who then snapped her head back so hard she felt her neck pop, and not the slightest clue who banged her forehead off of the metal water pipe attached to the back of the toilet before dropping her back into the water. Unconsciousness was sweet relief, and she welcomed it.
Pulling the stall door shut behind her and using her fingernails to spin the slit on the circular lock shut from the outside, Sarah quickly washed her hands and peeked out the door. Nobody was coming, and nobody appeared to be watching. 'Good. She shouldn't have thumped her head so hard. Dizzy, drunk, slipped, fell, puked on herself, or so the story is gonna go. Poor Joe is gonna have a mess on his hands tonight.' Snickering, she returned to the table just in time to be hauled back to her feet by Tenille, who wanted to dance.
"There you are, love! Come on, our boys are waiting!"
"Sorry for the hold-up. Just had to...fix a wardrobe malfunction." Tenille looked panicked, and began to look for the problem with Sarah's outfit. "No, dipshit. Not me. My clothes are fine. You'll...hear about it later, I think."
"Is this anything like the purses?" Tenille looked nervously excited, and began to hop up and down while she clutched at Sarah's hands.
"Oh, honey. Let's just say she didn't know my picture was next to "White trash southern redneck piece of shit," in the dictionary. Now, dance time!"
Fifteen minutes passed, then twenty-five, and Joe began to wonder if his wife had fallen asleep in the restroom, or somehow slipped out without his noticing. Stopping a female server, he asked her to go into the restroom and see if anyone fitting his wife's description was inside. Rushing back out, the server told him she was in there, but it appeared she had vomited, slipped somehow, and landed in the toilet – after locking the stall door. She patted the small radio attached to her belt, and smiled up at Joe.
"Not to worry, sir. I've called medical and maintenance. They'll have her out in a jiffy."
Groaning, Joe spun away from the girl, who quickly understood she'd done the wrong thing. "Do you understand what you did? That she's gonna get hauled out in front of my boss?"
"Sir, it's a safety issue. I don't have a choice except to-"
"Just go somewhere. Away." Joe began to walk off, knowing he had to get ahead of the situation and find Vince. Or Stephanie. Anyone. And pray that Meg and Randy wouldn't be watching when shit went down.
Minutes later, covered in toilet water and vomit, blood from a nasty gash on her head crusting into her hair, and alternating between moaning and hurling profanity at the EMTs who had come to help her, Joe's wife was rolled out of the bathroom. Joe was nowhere to be found, having retreated out to the balcony, refusing to claim his wife as his own and accompany her to the hospital. He was given a free pass by Vince, after he explained that he'd had no hand in what his wife had done that night, and had in fact tried to get her to go up to their hotel room – a blatant lie, but one that Vince was pickled enough to believe. He was also so focused on Randy and Meg's announcement, and the potential it held for the company, that he cared about little else.
Randy and Meg meandered through the ballroom, talking, dancing, drinking casually, pausing now and again to share a kiss and a dance, and also not caring one iota about Joe, his wife, her histrionics, or his misery. The gala was slow to wind down, but Randy was eying Meg carefully for signs of pain or fatigue – he knew she'd stand there all night if he asked her to – and was prepared to whisk her off to their room to continue their celebration privately the second he'd thought she'd had enough. He'd taken care of Sarah's room for the night, which was just as well – she'd left earlier with Tenille, men in tow, on their way upstairs to play quarters. Meg barely managed to stifle a yawn, and he caught her shifting her weight off of her right leg, trying to subtly roll her ankle and stretch without calling attention to herself.
"You ready, Meggie?" He leaned down to kiss the top of her head, his fingers unconsciously tracing the chain of her necklace for the thousandth time that night.
"Ready for you? Always. Forever, remember?"
Sliding his hand down her back, Randy guided her forward, making a final trek through the room to say good-bye to everyone before heading out to the elevators. Alone inside the boxcar, he kissed her as though it might be the last thing he'd ever do. She grasped at him desperately, sliding her hands under the jacket of his tuxedo, digging her nails into him, wishing the elevator would speed up and they'd be in their room.
"I know what I'm doing for you when we get there," Meg panted out, as Randy kissed and bit a trail down her bare shoulder.
"Hm?" He pulled her hands from under his jacket and pinned her wrists above her head, a silent question and request all tied in one.
"Oh, that too." She slipped her wrists away from him, pulling at the button at the front of his pants, sliding her fingers lower over him, trailing his zipper, then pulling his hips against her. "But...I'm going to take the sash off...then the dress...the bra...the panties...order some wine...open the curtains across the balcony...and-"
"Mmm. Shoes stay on." Randy's voice was a low growl, and the elevator doors slid open. He picked her up, carried her from the elevator to their room, and refused to put her down until they were at the foot of their bed, kissing her the entire way.
"Of course the shoes stay on. Shoes, necklaces, and nothing else." She worked her sash loose at the waist, shivering her dress to the floor before moving to the balcony and pushing the curtains as far open as they'd go.
"Let's stay home, Meg."
"Nowhere else I'd rather be, Ran. Ever."
Reeling from the headache, stitches, and stark realization that Joe hadn't shown up to get her, his wife slammed the door to the cab and stomped inside the hotel, shoes in hand, headed directly for the elevators. 'Fuck him. Fuck him for not coming to get me. I bet he spent the whole night hanging out with that stupid Meg or Maude or Melissa or whatever the fuck her name is. I got rid of her phone number, I got rid of her wallpaper, what the fuck am I missing?' Slapping the call button for the elevator repeatedly, she then stabbed the button for her floor, content in the moment to at least be able to retire to her suite. Even if she'd also be making sure his ass was in a different bed from hers.
Joe barely managed to slip the photograph of Meg and Sarah back into the liner of his suitcase, right between the police and ambulance reports, before his wife flew in from the hallway, screaming about abandonment and reeking of jasmine perfume. He'd been tracing his fingers along Meg's collarbones and down the one necklace she wore when Sarah took that picture. 'Shit. Shit! All she needs to do is see this, and I'll be fucked.'
The air in the hotel grew tense and dry, and smiling, that omnipresent malevolent energy they'd all felt so many times coiled tighter, flared one evil tendril out into the world, and decided that would be enough for now.
