Welcome MistressKM! And thank you ALL for the lovely reviews :-) This one's a little bit fun, a little bit drama. It's going to get us to some interesting places.
Nattie!
Alice!
"Did you wanna talk about it?" Sarah was pickled, to be sure, but not so pickled that she couldn't read the expression on Meg's face, half-tipsy, half-puzzling over some Rubik's cube in her mind.
"I'm an over-reactive bitch who has no idea how to maintain meaningful relationships, so I lash out at people. Oh, and I hallucinate stuff, but shh. Don't tell anyone that part." She snorted, dryly, and took another shot off the bottle of tequila.
"Well, either you've been in therapy-"
Another snort, another shot.
"-Or you've become the queen of self-abuse in my absence. Meg, we both fucked up. I was so scared it really was Joe, somehow, because of all the awful shit he did to you, and the fact he couldn't let go of you, and right in front of me was this guy who was ass over teakettle in love with you-"
"Oh, come on, you knew Randy for about three seconds at that point-"
"Shut up before I give you another head injury and smack you a good one with this bottle." Sarah shook the Jack menacingly, and Meg flopped back onto the bed. "As I was saying, fruitcake, the guy was in love with you. Anyone with even one eye woulda been able to see that, and I thought – well, as much thinking as I was doing, my head hurt like a motherfucker – if someone can get me, then they can get you, because all we had were shitty locks on shitty doors, and ninety-nine times out of a hundred, where was your ass for lunch?"
"With your ass. And drunk."
"Yup, and yup. Our collective asses woulda been collective grasses. You saw how tore up the place was."
"Sarah, seriously, though...I came down on you way too hard. If I look back now, I can see what you were doing, and it makes sense. But 'now' is months after the fact, and with a lot of work on his part – and mine – to actively try to not be so..."
"Fucking stupid?" Sarah finished helpfully, and batted her eyelashes.
"Yeah, that. Stupid. Really fucking stupid. And I tried to come up with a good way to say all that when you let me stay with you after I argued with Randy about the whole mess with my leg, but we just kinda orbited around each other."
"I was ready to punch you." Sarah offered. "I mean, not, like, hard. But Jesus Lord, I was mad at you. Not because you were mad at me, but because you were right on the edge of fucking up again. And then I realized I didn't know how hard he was or wasn't pushing you, or what was going on at home, so I needed to keep my mouth shut...and then you were gone again. At least you went back home though, Houdini."
"You called it home." Meg smiled, softly, and rolled into Randy's pillow. "Yeah, I guess I had a lot to learn, didn't I? Sarah, you know me better than anyone but him and maybe Dave. You know I can't put roots down, and it's what he was asking me to do."
"Can't, or didn't know how to?" Sarah gestured to the pillow with her bottle. "'Cause, uh, you seem pretty rooted now, minus the bitching about it." Meg pulled a face, and Sarah gestured for her to wait. "It's a good thing, Meg. Good. It doesn't mean he's breaking your spirit or suffocating your will to live, or some shit. Has he ever told you no, for anything? And has he ever asked you for anything worse than to stay?"
Meg paused, though, drank, and though again. "Well...no."
"Doesn't change you – I mean, the important shit, the you shit, not the superficial stuff. Like, yeah, he asked you to go to a dress-up-tea-party, and those usually aren't your gig...but he's not demanding that you start wearing Prada every day, is he?"
"No, again."
"You still do cheap dates, you cheap date?"
"Yeah..." Meg trailed off, unsure where Sarah was going.
"The nice rental, but not too nice? Swanky vacation, but not too long, or long vacation but not too swanky?"
"Sure...the only really big-big thing he does is get a suite when we're on the road, and that's only if corporate won't spring for one for us. It's feel like it's more for him than for me; like it's got a lot to do with Joe and Jackson...and...this is where I get fucked-off with myself, but a lot of it has to do with me." Meg watched Sarah drink, think, and drink again, but the expression on her face was going from sweet to sloppy.
"Then, Meg, if he's not tryin'a change you, and all he's askin' you for is to put up with his big sorry ass – and sleep on these sheets; these things are fuckin' amazing – what's'a problem? Just stay. He wants you here with'im. It's pretty fuckin' simple if you're not actively tryin'a complicate it, now isn'it?"
"I think you might be done drinking for a minute. Let's get some room service up here before you redecorate the sheets in Jack Daniels."
"Wha'ever, y'know I'm right."
Meg pulled Sarah into a hug, patting down her hair. "Yeah, you are, bitch. I know I'm lucky everyone puts up with my shit. And since when the fuck can I out drink you? Nap it off, I'll order us a tray of something to take the edge off, and you better put your game-liver on, because tonight we have to show them how it's done."
"Y'can have my booze if y'tell me s'thin."
"Okay. What?"
"Wha th'fuck's a hotel suite gotta do w'you?"
Meg sighed and rubbed at her face, still holding her tequila. 'If I can drink this much, I'm a functional alcoholic. At least something about me is functional.' "When he found me in Tampa...after everything Jackson did, and the hospital, we stayed in a suite. That was where he...I guess where he felt like I was safe. When I found him in Blaine – well, we found each other – we stayed at a resort, in a suite, and that was the first time he saw what Jackson and the hospital did to me. When he went back on the road without me, he just kinda kept getting suites. He said they reminded him of me. Of us. Then again...he left me in his suite the night Joe decided he wanted me, too. So I don't know. I guess they...bring him back to where we fell apart and where we fixed it."
Sarah grabbed the front of Meg's shirt and pulled her down, not caring that she was looking at her upside-down and still in her lap. "You listen to me, and you listen real clear – I know I'm drunker'n shit, but that man...you are his world, Magdalena. Don' you ever never fuck that up."
"Jesus Christ, Sarah." Meg tried prying her fingers loose, but was getting nowhere. "Okay. Okay, I hear you."
'"Good. Now hit up tha' room service thingie an' don' forget Chunk." Sarah let go and snuggled deep into Meg's lap, the intensity of her last sentences completely forgotten.
"Tonight, you are going with me. I don't care if you like it, I don't care if you agree with it, you're just going."
"Whatever you want, babygirl." It was Joe's answer of choice, lately, but after his wife's pointed comments earlier in the day about watching him, he figured it was better to appease her now rather than risk being caught sneaking surreptitious glances at Meg. 'I can box up in a booth, she can dance with whatever she wants to dance with, and I'll drag her out once she's thirty degrees past vertical. Works every time.'
Unfortunately and without knowing, it was the same club the girls settled on, though Joe and his wife beat them to it by about 45 minutes. His wife insisted on second level VIP seating, while Meg and her much less recognizable entourage were comfortable bouncing around the main level, lifting drinks off shot trays and generally having a raucously good time. They succeeded in getting half the main floor to bounce around with them, their collective personalities having much to do with the level of energy and fun in the room. Renee needed all the coaching she could get as far as shots were concerned, and by the time she managed to toss one back properly, nearly the whole first floor let out wild screams of approval. Joe, positive he recognized at least one voice, crept to the railing and peered over.
There, still in a pair of black boots – but not a pair that he recognized, these were all laces and eyelets and details too delicious to hide under pants – was Meg, in a get-up that he knew was borrowed from the three girls she was with. A clingy top – all sleeves and no back, a skirt with flare both in style and movement, her hair pinned up and curled, Meg looked far more nymph than nurse, but who was he to judge. His was to stare, and stare he would. The scar on her leg was covered, neither her ribs nor her collarbone showed, and the thin lines of scarred frost from her night against the mirror weren't, from his distance, visible on her back at all – though her back was visible straight down to the top of her skirt. 'I'm honestly surprised Orton hasn't talked her into a tattoo to cover up that mess.' Joe shook his head. 'Mess, really, Joe? That's your bitch talking, and you know it. You used to trace your fingertips along those lines til she shivered.'
"I knew it! I fucking knew it! You're an asshole, just like she said!" One tiny hand slammed into his back, and for a split-second he considered that he'd been caught in someone else's drama of the night, but it was yet another voice he recognized.
Joe knew his wife was behind him, screaming, shoving, but he also knew he hadn't technically been caught at anything. "Knew what? She who? What's wrong?" He turned, trying to look confused, and the alcohol from her bright blue drink splashed directly into his face. 'Maybe I actually am busted. How can I spin this, and fast?'
"You think I don't see Captain Cripple down there? The fuck are you standing here staring at her for? You need to tell me what's going on, Joe, and you need to do it now."
"See who down where? Calm the fuck down, babygirl. What are you talking about? I got up because I wanted to see where you went and if you wanted to dance." 'There. She'll like that.'
"Bullshit. Bull-fucking-shit. And you can stop with the babygirl crap now, that blonde thing down there was right. You're hiding something from me, and don't think I'm not gonna figure out what it is." His wife stabbed him in the chest with her finger, and her nail felt like it was close to drawing blood through his shirt.
"Hopefully you're hiding a towel, because I'm wearing your drink. I just wanted to dance. I didn't see you, so I looked downstairs. Who the fuck has you so pissed off, and what blonde thing are you talking about?" 'Blonde? Tenille? Renee? There's about nine million blondes who work for the company, be a bit more specific about who said what, you dumb bitch. I don't want to have to do more digging; apparently I don't do it nicely.'
"You," She stabbed at his chest, "Were looking at her. That thing. Meg." She pointed downstairs, but Meg was nowhere to be found – along with the rest of the girls. "Why are you still doing this to me? If you weren't over her, you should have just fucking said so! All that shit in Tampa! All that shit at the hotels! Arenas! Why am I here if you want to be there?"
'Thank God. When women go to the bathroom, they ALL go.' "Look, I don't know who you saw. I heard people screaming downstairs, too, but that's it. I'm sorry you're pissed, but can it not ruin a good night? You wanted to go out, so here we are. Did you want to dance, or did you want to go somewhere else, or...tell me what's going on right now. I don't get why you're mad." 'Play dumb, play dumb, maybe this will work as long as Meg stays gone for a minute...'
His wife crossed her arms, eyeing him carefully, tapping her foot, then looked down into the crowd below, not seeing Meg, but not sure she hadn't seen her, either. "Yeah, we're gonna go. Different club. I want to believe you, Joe, I really do. But like I said, I'm watching."
Joe exhaled a breath he didn't know he was holding, grabbed for his wife's hands, and pulled her into a sticky kiss, knowing he'd have to scrub most of her drink off of her face between now and their next destination. 'And we're SO going out the back way. If she really does run in to Meg, I'm sunk. And what the fuck was she talking about, what some blonde said? Which one? Who else is here?'
"Hey, did you see Joe up there?" Sarah shouted to be heard over the music.
"No, love, why? Is he making a scene?" Tenille immediately looked nervous, and nearly dropped Renee off her arm in the process of scanning the upper balcony rail.
"Nah. Maybe I didn't see him either. Just...I coulda swore I did. Don't say anything to Meg. It's probably just me being a dumbfuck. Anyway, more shots!"
Meg fast-pranced her way up to the girls. "Nope, pause on the shots. I found the bathroom. Pee first, shots second. I'm dying here!"
Giggling, they all made their way to the bathroom, Renee swaying precariously between Tenille and Sarah before shouting to nobody in particular, "I'm the Queen of the fucking Vegas strip, bitches!"
Sarah and Tenille looked at Meg, who nearly doubled over laughing before chortling out, "Don't ask. It's a long story, and Jon's gonna have his hands full once we get her back to the hotel. Which, since she can't exactly walk, should probably be sooner than later. And out the back, in case she moves the input into output."
Deciding that one more round before calling for the car couldn't hurt anything, Renee demanded doubles of tequila for everyone. The girls promptly winced, figuring someone would be holding Renee's hair back in the car on the trip back to the hotel, but it was all in good fun. Limes bitten, salt licked, glasses tossed and slammed, the entourage of four made it out the doors and to their car just in time to see Joe and his wife slide into a car of their own, confirming what Sarah had suspected all along – he really had been upstairs, watching them as they partied. Meg, used to the drama that working with Joe entailed, just shrugged and shoved Tenille into the back of the car before her nerves got the better of her. Renee was too drunk to do anything more than clutch her shoes and her purse before face-planting onto the middle row of seats and begging someone to make the world stop spinning, so there was no concern that she'd seen Joe and his wife.
Meg got in next, pulling one of Renee's feet off the seat and putting it on the floor of the car, telling her it was a special trick to make the ground hold still. Renee, shockingly, bought it, and said she felt better. It was in that split second that Sarah took a few steps away from the car, which turned into several steps, which turned into Meg having to get back out of the car and pull Sarah back, telling her loudly that no, everyone had their purses and there was no need to go back inside – all while knowing full well she intended to go over to Joe and his she-devil and give them a piece of her mind. Shoving Sarah inside, Meg nodded politely to the driver, who shrugged and drove off.
Sighing, Meg turned to Sarah. "More liquor than sense. I know you mean well, but the only person who's gonna eat shit on that kind of maneuver is me. If I have to do any explaining tomorrow, I'm not gonna be happy."
"All I was gonna do was tell her staring isn't polite. And they were both already in their car, anyway." Sarah batted her eyes and shrugged, and Meg's attempt to keep her face stern was failing by the second.
"Were you gonna use one or two fists to do it?"
"Aw, shut up, Meg." Sarah's mock-pout was hardly convincing, and soon the girls were all cracking up again.
Meanwhile, Randy in an Oreo-fueled state of bliss, was only paying half-attention to Jon, who was arguing with a commentator on ESPN about something vaguely related to baseball. Possibly. He wasn't sure. His mind bounced from grey weddings to how much chocolate he was sure was stuck in his teeth to how on earth he'd get Renee to help him figure out the jewelry thing – and if it'd even work before their next stop; Meg said she wasn't couth with the idea of second-hand rings when she related her night of bullshit with Joe. 'But these won't be secondhand, not like that. I have to find something with a story attached to it. A story she'll like. Stampformed my ass...I'd never ask her to take that medallion off. Then again, will she even talk about New Orleans anymore? Sometimes with me, but...with Renee? I dunno...' The logistics of what Randy wanted to do braced the bottom of their ladder at 'daunting' and elevated themselves from there.
After his less-than-stellar experience at the jewelry boutique, Randy knew two things for sure. First, he wanted more than anything that Meg should have the rose pendant, all the gems as he imagined them, hung as he imagined it, just above Saint Julian. Second, he knew with a certainty that he wasn't going to get a pendant like that made at a modern boutique. Of course, he could, but there were going to be too many questions, and it was going to be impersonal, and it was going to be custom-without-care, and that wasn't Meg. It was going to be too new, and it would have his feeling behind it, but not the right feeling behind it.
Thus, he had to find old garnets, old diamonds – or diamond chips, but that'd be harder – an old metal to set it in, as long as it wasn't gold, and preferably, an old jeweler who could get into the idea of Meg, all caramel and roses and snuck cigarettes, tequila and moonlight and Catholic relics, voodoo and bayou and by-and-by, toss in a cathedral or two, and the piece would come together.
And all in approximately a week and a half. Their next stop was Biloxi; it wasn't New Orleans but it was close. Now he had to figure out how to disappear, after getting solid intel from Renee, back to Meg's old haunts. And Jon had to help him stay gone, just as soon as he came down enough from his fro-yo induced sugar buzz to be coherent and stop screaming at the television.
"Hey! Hey, Jon." Randy tried to cut through the noise, pushing an Oreo bit through what little was left of the melted dessert. "You game to have a shoulder injury next week? Not major, just tweak it a little?"
"The fuck are you talking about?"
"Not a real one, dumbass, just one bad enough to keep Meg occupied for the night."
"Orton...what stupid-as-fuck thing are you about to do?"
"Go to New Orleans when we're in Biloxi."
Jon threw his spoon at Randy. "And let me guess – by yourself. As in, without Meg. Are you fucking stupid?"
Randy smiled. "Probably. But that's why I need Renee's help, too."
Given how drunk Renee was when she came back, Randy knew he wasn't getting anything helpful out of her that night, and he swore Jon to silence until she was sober enough not to breathe any part of his plan to Meg. She was still declaring herself the newly elected Queen of Las Vegas and deciding who could be president along with her when Meg got her in the door, Sarah and Tenille laughing as they eased through with her.
"I think a shower might help her. You guys have the guest room in the back, so, uh...enjoy?"
"She will, trust me." Jon smirked and guided Renee toward the back of the suite, her head buried against his neck as they walked, her giggles becoming more wild as they moved. Her shoes, then skirt, then top, came flying back out into the main room, earning a roll of the eyes from everyone left standing.
"That's all me, not him, bitches!" Renee howled from the back of the room, followed immediately by Jon's admonishments to put the ribbons down. Meg simply pinched the bridge of her nose and prayed for thick walls, as did the rest of the occupants of the suite.
"I think you created a monster, Meggie." Randy teased, earning an elbow from Meg.
"Anyway," Meg said, clearing her throat pointedly, "Tenille and Sarah, you're behind door number two. I'd tell you to enjoy, but I'm guessing you just want sleep. Long flight, long media day. See you two in the morning?"
Group hugs given, Sarah whispering something to Randy that earned her a genuine smile in return, both girls scampered off to their room, agreeing to rock-paper-scissors to determine who got first dibs on the shower and who got the remote instead.
"Guess that just leaves us, Meg. And before you take anything off, let me see it all on?" Randy didn't know when she'd had time to change again; he and Jon had managed not to bump into the girls all afternoon-into-evening, but it was clear she'd had some help getting ready for the evening. "Tell me nobody hit on you?" 'So I don't have to commit a murder. Just saying.'
"I promise. When I'm out with those three? Please. Not even a second glance."
"Oh, shut up. Meg, you have no idea what you look like." He ran the tip of a finger around the deep open back of her top, stopping over the zipper of her skirt and beginning to slide it down.
"Ran," Meg hissed, pressing her hand over his, "Any of them could come back out here..."
"Shower. C'mon."
Meg let him lead her to the bathroom and into the shower, shedding clothing as they went, kissing him as she could manage to reach while he wrestled with her clothing – 'All these zippers and buttons are gonna be the end of you, and you better not tear anything. And thank you for the boots – these are the first pair I used in my little show of appreciation, aren't they? When you yelled at your ortho for me?' - giggling when she realized he tasted like chocolate. Their shower was simply about him reciprocating what she'd done in the morning – he took the makeup off of her, lavished her with soap and attention, lifted her medallion from her chest more than once, looking carefully at it, smiling ever-so-slightly as he did, rubbing shampoo and conditioner through her hair, leaving nothing undone, Meg smiling the entire time. 'Only one thing would make this better, but not tonight.' Meg lamented, 'The downside of roommates. Not that it's gonna stop Renee, but she'll find a way to make Jon shut up.'
Both finished and in towels, Meg started to pull one of Randy's shirts out of his suitcase, but before she could slip it on, he led her to the bed. "Just...leave it where we can reach it later. C'mere. I missed you all day."
"Randy," Meg's voice was light, cautious, "We can't, seriously..."
"Yes, we can. I can be quiet if you can."
"Honestly...Ran...I'm not sure about that." Meg's voice was nearly a purr.
"Let's test that theory." His smile was devious as he pulled her into bed facing him, legs and arms tangling together, Meg relishing the heat from his skin and Randy unable to stop his sharp gasp at how shockingly cold she felt against him.
"So far, I'm winning." Meg whispered against his lips.
It took – not that Randy was counting, but he had to admit, he enjoyed his ability to bring Meg oh-so-close and then lead her back, letting her do the same to him, even if it was dangerous in this setting, if she did whimper, if he moaned, either cried out – just over an hour before they both broke, her biting blood from her knuckles, followed by him burying his face into a pillow and latching down hard enough to hear some of the threads snap before he felt a brilliantly loud static swirl through him. It was an eternity before the panting stopped, before gravity locked him to the bed firmly enough for him to look at her without coming apart.
Meg was gently flexing her fingers in and out, watching the bruises form, watching the tiny beads of blood blossom up where her skin had peeled under the force of her teeth. Randy winced, wishing she'd aimed for the pillow instead.
"Don't be," Meg said, anticipating his next comment. "You're worth that and more."
They were up first in the morning, ordering room service for the group and standing out on the balcony together with their cups of coffee, burrowed into each others' sides. Tenille crept quietly from her room, trying not to wake Sarah, but in desperate need of the coffee she was positive she could smell, pausing to take in the sight of Randy and Meg together, silhouetted by the early morning sun, talking quietly to each other. She allowed herself a small smile, quietly filled her cup, and retreated to the bedroom she was sharing with Sarah, who was starting to roll out of bed herself.
"You know, they're disgustingly perfect." Tenile blew steam off the rim of the cup, then sipped cautiously.
"Who, dumbass and man-ass?" Sarah, not one for mornings, was trying to paw her hair straight and looking around shifty-eyed for breakfast. "Please tell me it's a short walk for coffee?"
"Yep. On the breakfast cart."
"Food? They got us food? I might consider new nicknames. Maybe." Sarah staggered away from the bed, angling for a cup of coffee of her own, tossing an equally sweet smile in Meg and Randy's general direction.
Renee and Jon emerged next, Renee wrapped in a bed sheet, toga-style, and Jon trying desperately to make sure he stayed tucked in his boxers. Jon, catching sight of Meg and Randy first, pulled Renee back into a tight embrace before she even made it to the coffee, mumbling something to her and slipping back into their room.
Outside, Randy and Meg were aware of the doors opening and closing behind them, and Meg's face showed a gentle smile. Randy, lost in thought, was focused on her fingers dancing up and down his arm while he debated the wisdom of an interstate sneak-job – especially one that involved a city tangled in so much love and hate.
"Two for four."
"Hm?" Randy glanced down at Meg; her fingers hadn't stopped moving along his arm.
"Two of them got coffee. Two of them are getting laid."
"And the two of us?"
"Anything you want, Ran." Meg balanced her coffee cup on the railing of the balcony, and turned to face him under his arm. "Tell me what you need."
Sure that he was unsure about his plan, and sure that he'd never been more sure about another person in his life, he looked down at Meg and found nothing in her eyes that caused him fear, gave him a moment's doubt, or made him wonder what he wanted for her, from her, or why. Randy turned her as he pulled her in front of him, pressing his arms against the railing of the balcony, making sure he was between Meg and the edge.
"I need forever, Meggie."
She smiled as she leaned up to kiss him, feeling her knuckles split open again as she wrapped her fingers around the back of his neck. "I need a forever, too, Ran."
That settled for the moment, they walked back inside the suite with their cups, both packing suitcases, stealing glances, and trying to figure out what that word could possibly mean or be, with only a day between them and Biloxi. 'Three of us have to pull this together in a day, find someone who can pull it together in a week, and get back in time.' Randy leaned over to brush a stray lock of hair away from her face, and she leaned into his hand, cat-like, pressing his palm against her cheek. 'It just needs to work.' Meg turned, barely, her eyes warm and placid. 'And finally, it's like that fog is gone.'
"Packed, ready, and all we need to do is have breakfast in bed."
Randy pulled her up to him. "Nope, better idea. Grab a blanket, head back out to the balcony. We've got time before the car calls for us, right?"
"I think, why?"
"Just leave the door open for me."
Pressing a finger to her lips to hush her and nudging her toward the door they'd just come from, Randy moved toward the breakfast cart, Sarah and Tenille stacked on top of each other, watching him from the crack they'd opened in their door. Randy lifted a carafe of coffee, along with their two cups, and began piling a plate with cut fruit and toast wedges. 'Can I bring you back to when I found you? When you got your medallion back? It's not as warm as Tampa out there, but I'm trying to get you in the right frame of mind for all the stupidity I'm gonna put you through in the next couple days.'
Meg blinked, confused, when Randy returned to the balcony with the plate and coffee, then smiled, reaching to take the cups from him. "You trying to conjure a memory, Sir?"
"Been a while since you called me Sir, intern." Randy winked, and dragged a slice of melon across Meg's lips before kissing her.
"Ask me to call you Sir again later tonight, and see what you get out of me." Meg winked, and offered Randy a slice of plum in much in the same way, the pair continuing until the phone in the room rang, indicating the car for the group was ready.
Saying good-bye at the airport was more difficult for Meg than she anticipated, even though she knew she'd be seeing Sarah again soon. Chunk was irritable and mewling, Meg was tearful, and Sarah was doing her best not to let her own tears flow.
"Promise you're gonna come back? We're okay now, you're not...mad...anymore?"
"Meg..." Sarah smiled, even though it was small, and held Meg's face in her hands. "Even when we were mad, we were okay. It happens. I missed you, bitch. Even the damned cat misses you, and we're not gone yet."
Chunk sent up a yowl, poking a paw through the grate on his carrier, aiming for Meg's boot and missing badly.
"Okay. Just...come back, okay? Please?" Meg's voice continued to get smaller, tighter, and Sarah feared if she kept talking all that would come out would be a howl at the end.
"I will. And tell Randy thank you. I mean, I did, too, but you can probably say it, instead of just make noises."
Meg half-laughed, half-gurgled, and Sarah bent to pick up Chunk, willing the emotion out of her eyes. "Hey...Sarah...what did you say to him last night? You almost had him laughing."
Sarah pulled half a smile, and gave Meg a final hug, hearing her final boarding call on the overhead speakers. "I told him to stick to the story that I was looking for purses, and I didn't lay a hand on the bitch. Yet."
Meg backed away, her hand flying to her mouth, eyes wide. "You didn't."
"I did. And I'll take that, uh, purse to my grave, too." Sarah flicked Meg's nose. "See ya in a while, Meg. Behave."
Meg could only shake her head as she watched Sarah walk through the boarding area and onto the plane, thankful that at least this flight was leaving at a decent hour. Waiting until she was sure she couldn't hear Chunk's pathetic mewls anymore, she walked back to Randy, who had buried himself in a hoodie and was ducked in a corner, doing his best to avoid people and cameras, and to group-text furiously with Renee and Jon, both of who were trying desperately to talk him into staying in Biloxi and out of New Orleans, especially given what his plan could do to Meg if it backfired. Randy, for his part, was unmoved, determined to find a jeweler.
"Thank you." Meg appeared seemingly out of nowhere, startling Randy nearly into dropping his phone.
"If it makes you happy, I'll keep her out here all the time." He worked to cover the screen, managing only to bring up his internet browser, which did him no good – the window opened to information about gem settings.
"It makes me happy, Ran, but I was including 'Not flipping out about Joe and his wife' in that thank you, too." Meg sat sideways in the plastic chair next to him, paying no mind to his phone, closing her eyes and resting her head against his shoulder, feet dangling over the armrest into a third seat. "Really. I'm glad it's just...all dying down, at least with him. Her, I can deal with, though I wish she'd leave Renee alone. And if she thinks she could kick my ass just because I'm in boots, well..." Meg yawned, letting the sentence trail off unfinished.
"Wait, she said that?" Randy half turned, lifting his arm over Meg, pulling her against him and deeper under the crook of his shoulder, looking down at the top of her head.
"Yeah, it was part of the shit she was spewing at Renee. Called me a cripple. It'd be funny shit if she said it to my face, you think?"
Randy snorted, and went back to his phone. "Meg...I like having you with me. No losing your job, okay? Or at least, get her from behind so she doesn't know it's you that tagged her." Closing his browser, he smiled at his text window; Renee had finally agreed to try to talk to Meg about New Orleans, but said that at the first hesitation on Meg's part, she was out of the game. Jon, however, was still on the fence.
Randy frowned, and sent an awkward, one-handed text back.
'All I need is for you to be fake-hurt for one night so she's busy with you. I can run out and she won't notice because she'll be in your room.'
'It's fuckin stupid.'
'If I know exactly where I'm going – and maybe I can set some stuff up by phone – it won't even take that long.'
'Really. Fuckin. Stupid.'
Jon, for once, was being logical. There were too many ways for Meg to bust Randy. She could forget something in their room, leave, and realize he was gone. She could decide that Renee was the only supervision needed, leave, and realize he was gone. She could decide to check Jon in to a hospital for an MRI, leave, and...on and on. While Jon agreed that getting info from Meg would help Randy build a better bauble, he thought the plan was completely idiotic.
His solution was even more idiotic, but Randy did have to admire the amount of balls-out bluntness Jon was advocating.
'If you really want to do this – and it's fuckin stupid – just leave a note sayin you're gonna be gone for a day. And go. Doesn't she owe you after all the disappearing acts she's pulled?'
There was a certain perverted logic to Jon's suggestion. Renee flew into a tirade, saying she wasn't going to clean up a breakdown due to questioning before a collapse due to abandonment once Meg realized Randy had disappeared and then found out where, exactly, he had gone. Jon defended his idea by saying it was the kind of romantic bullshit women were supposed to fall for, both of them dissolving into an argument that had Meg reaching up from Randy's shoulder, without looking, and muting his phone off of vibrate.
"Whatever they're bitching about, let them work it out. That shit's starting to rattle my teeth."
Boarding calls sounding, Meg spun out of her seat and stood, jokingly trying to pull Randy to his feet. She'd barely turned to lift her messenger bag from the floor when a large plastic cup of soda, freezing cold, came flying at her from across the concourse, opening upon impact and sending the icy liquid down Meg's side. All Meg could do was send out a breathy yowl of shock and try to back away from herself, but it was no use – she couldn't escape her own skin. Somewhere beyond the intense chill, she was vaguely aware that a woman was screaming at her to stop fucking with them, stop trying to break them up, leave their marriage alone, drunk ugly bitch, and suddenly Randy was pulling her few layers of clothing off before wrapping her in his own hoodie, pulling her to him, and beginning to yell for security.
Meg was shaking, eyes wide, staring up at Randy, momentarily stunned motionless and completely unsure what had happened. Randy's eyes were hateful stone and fixed on a woman who was now handcuffed and being led away by airport security, still screaming and struggling, down a small hallway. 'You shouldn't have yanked my shirt off like that, you don't know what was in that or who was looking. It could be chemical. It doesn't feel like it hit my face. My hair was down. You panicked. Let go, it hurts. You're holding me too hard. Please let go.' Meg could feel the shaking getting worse, her knees starting to go forward into his legs, eyes still staring blankly up at him, and with the arm that didn't feel like it was sticky and freezing, she pawed at his chest, trying to reach up to his face.
"Bathroom. Water. We both need to wash this off. You shouldn't have touched it."
Carefully, keeping her beverage-soaked side facing out, Randy lifted her up and walked toward the airport bathrooms, reaching for the handle to the family restroom so they could be locked in privately while they both calmed down and inspected the damage.
"Randy, no soap. Start washing your arms. Anything that got wet. You don't know what was in that shit. I know your impulse was to cover me, but now we both might be in trouble if there was more than just a Coke in there." Meg hooked her fingers behind the plastic door on the paper towel dispenser, braced her good leg into the wall, and pulled down as hard as she could, snapping the pins holding it shut and pulling out stacks and stacks of the towels, soaking them in the sink. She stripped his hoodie off, pulled off his shirt, threw them in separate piles on the floor, and set to work blotting his skin, checking for blisters, burns – anything that might indicate some kind of chemical was mixed into the beverage.
"Meg, calm down. What are you thinking? What's going on'?" Randy tried to reach for her hands; Meg was treating him as a medic and not as his girlfriend, and was on the brink of full-blown panic. Her triage bag had been checked as luggage, so she had none of her usual tools to work with. He'd never seen her half-tear a towel dispenser from a wall; she slapped his hands away and forced him to stand still as she treated him, rather than talk to him.
"Your hands are clean now. Here's your phone. Ask Jon if Renee is okay." Meg's voice sounded hollow, but he could see pieces of a puzzle floating behind her eyes.
Cautiously, not sure where Meg was going with her request, and confused as to why she was worried about her friend, he sent the message.
'She's fine. Stopped being pissed at me when I bought her chocolate. Why?'
Randy, still somewhat confused but getting a clearer picture, asked Meg, "Tenille next?"
"Yeah. Please." She inspected Randy's skin one last time, satisfied that nothing was wrong, and began to work on herself, scrubbing far harder on herself than she had on Randy.
One quick text, one quick response, that she'd been moved up to first class on her flight so that she didn't have to listen to the woman behind her continue to beg for an autograph – otherwise, no bothers.
"Now...Sarah?"
"Yes." Meg's voice was absolutely dead.
Again, another reply that everything was fine, minus one crabby cat.
"Meg..." Randy winced as he watched her dig the towels into her skin hard enough to peel layers off of herself, leaving reddened, raw streaks in her wake, but a very clear picture in his mind. "Do you think this has anything to do with..."
"Pull up a dirt sheet and find out. No, not a dirt sheet. That dirt sheet."
There it was, in black and white, a picture of Meg, Sarah, Renee, and Tenille – the other girls, thankfully, had their backs to the camera, lifting things off a shot tray, Meg taking a picture of the three of them with her phone – with the word "Whore" stamped over it – posted on one of the least-fact checked, but most fan-girl frequented and stalker-prone websites dedicated to the men of pro wrestling. It detailed, largely in falsehoods, the girls' night out, stating that Meg had followed Joe and his wife both to and through the club, up to the VIP floor, and attempted to rush into their car when they left – despite arriving at different times, staying on separate levels, leaving in separate cars and not speaking to each other at all that night. The most telling detail was the one indicating Meg had thrown a drink in Joe's face. 'Figure out who really threw a drink at Joe – and I bet it was his wife – and I'll know who made up this bullshit and sold it to the highest bidder. Did they not understand what the fallout could be?'
Meg just sighed. "Three layers of clothing turned out to be a good thing. It didn't soak all the way through on me. And your shirt is dry, but your hoodie is a mess. I can rinse it and get it under the hand dryer if we have time." Turning to face Randy, she slipped his shirt over his head, took his phone from his hands, and set it on the edge of the sink. "I think Joe saw us there, or his wife saw us, and then we left at the same time. Sarah looked like she was walking toward their car, but I turned her around and I know she didn't say or do anything. She walked back to the car, we all got in, and nobody spoke directly to Joe or his wife. Period. I don't understand this."
Randy was still silent, leaning against the door. Security had started to knock, asking if everything was okay, and Meg had to yell that they were fine. 'Okay. Nobody's coming in, at least. Now I have to get him to calm down.' "Everyone else is okay?"
"Everyone said they were fine, but don't think I'm not gonna settle this, Meg. Tenille doesn't have anyone to back her up and she's probably gonna be scared shitless when she finds out. You know what Jon's temper is like, and if that happened to Renee...plus, we probably just missed our flight. And you-" Gently, he turned Meg by the tops of her shoulders, "Meg, what if you were right and that was more than just Coke? If that hit your face? Your eyes? All because you went out with your friends? All I want to do right now is tell you I'll fix it, and I don't even know how to fix it, because I don't know what the fuck that was. I wanted you to have a fun night out, and all I did was-"
Meg turned away from Randy and went back to shaking his hoodie underneath the hand dryer, punching the button to re-start it much harder than was necessary. "I told you, Randy. All I did was break people."
"Meg, don't fucking start that now. Please, not now. That is not what I meant."
"Then what did you mean? I started some drama and I almost got other people caught up in it, just like I always do. And you know what? We don't even know who did this, so don't start with the 'settling shit' spiel. You may not even have anything to settle." Sighing, Meg turned to face him. "Let's go see if we can catch our flight."
"Meg, I didn't mean-"
"Go."
Rather than hold Randy's hand during take off, she took vicodin with a gin and tonic, willing herself to sleep, a slight that hurt him more than he could express. He watched her the entire time they were en route, her head against the window, face contorting into nightmare after nightmare, Randy praying she wouldn't scream or cry. He could only imagine who was calling her a whore; there were now so many options to choose from, and he wanted to break each person in ways that were painfully creative, even for him. His phone had been buzzing non-stop since he'd texted her friends earlier; they'd all wanted to know why he was asking if they were alright. Setting up yet another group message, Randy figured it'd be easier to get it all out of the way at once, and simply pasted the link to the website into the message and pressed send.
It took about five seconds before his phone almost froze from message overload; Sarah saying she'd demand to have her plane diverted to Biloxi to meet them, Tenille asking if she should call ahead for security to meet her at the airport, Jon threatening to break faces and set fires, and Renee and Dave – the only practical voices in the whole ordeal – asking Randy how Meg was holding up. Carefully, turning off the flash on his phone and making sure all of the sound settings were off, he took a picture of her and put it in the message. She looked miserable. The expression on her face indicating the kind of drugged sleep she was enduring, rather than enjoying, Meg looked every inch as ragged as she felt.
'Who did this? Who set her up? Is her leg okay? She looks drugged.' Renee had seen Meg in substance-snooze-mode before; she was concerned that the airport scene had gone beyond just a beverage toss.
'Her leg is – I guess – fine. She won't let me touch her. She's angry. I think she just wanted to shut down.'
'Watch her ass with that shit. Pills. Voice of experience speaking.' Jon, wary, didn't want to see Meg self-destruct any further than she already had.
'She had to get on a plane. She couldn't have a breakdown in a metal tube 30k feet in the air. She's okay. It's not like I'm letting her chew them like candy.' Randy felt his teeth grit.
'Jon's right, Randy. Meg doesn't do anything halfway.' Dave, never thinking he'd ever take Jon's side on anything, had just started looking for flying pigs.
'Nobody went near those two in the club! Nobody talked to them.' Renee, flat, reciting the facts.
'We weren't even sure we saw them til we went outside.' They all could practically hear Tenille fretting as she typed her reply.
'I wasn't even near their car, Meg said we didn't leave any purses behind, she was loud, anyone would know we weren't trying to fuck with them.' Sarah, ever the protective best friend, knew the score.
'Ask their driver! Meg didn't go near their car! I was drunk, but I would remember that!' Renee, angry at the whole situation, had had enough.
Randy could only shake his head and sigh. 'I don't know. I just want you all to be careful. None of your faces were in the picture, but you never know. I'm gonna wake her up. We land soon. Meet at the arena, Dave?'
The airport, eager to cover themselves from any sort of liability, had already contacted the WWE directly, and Talent Relations were over the moon that Meg had managed to walk Randy onto the plane without creating a scene. After the Liability Board had reviewed the security tape, and Media Relations had combed the internet, they'd conferred and decided to meet with Randy and Meg prior to meeting with their next target – Joe.
Meg, groggy upon landing, managed her suitcase and triage bag, leaning heavily on Randy for support, and meeting Jon and Renee at their car, with Renee offering to drive. Helping Meg into the back, Randy chanced pulling her against him, and she curled into his side, whispering an apology up the side of his neck, kissing him just under his jaw before falling over into his lap. He smiled, knowing it was the best her past was going to let her offer up at the moment.
"It's okay, Meggie," he whispered, "We can talk about it later. I'm just glad you're better. I'm still gonna keep you, no worries."
"Good, imma keep you, too." She smiled into his shoulder and fell across his lap, willing away the last of the vicodin and alcohol. It was then that Randy's phone blared into her ear, startling her upright.
"Jesus! Sorry, Meg. Hang on. That's the "I'm in trouble" ringtone. Works whether or not it's set to vibrate." Scrambling for his phone, he tried to offer a greeting, but was cut off before he could get words out.
"Hel – uh, yes, she's fine. We're both fine. How did you – oh. The airport called? Okay..."
The pause was protracted; Meg lifted her eyes not toward his phone, but toward the tic in his jaw, the tension in his wrist from the grip he had around his phone. She reached up and gently rubbed his arm.
"We're on our way. No worries. To be clear, there are no repercussions for either her or me, correct?"There was yet another pause, in which Jon and Renee threw each other pointed looks. "The security footage from the club does not confirm the report on the internet, correct? Meg wasn't throwing drinks or chasing cars, correct? That's what I thought. Thank you." Another pause, this one shorter. "Yes, we'll be down there to review the tapes ourselves. Of course."
Yet another pause, this one followed by the complete flight of tension from Randy's body, the sudden relaxation of his arm, and he pulled the phone away from his face entirely. He looked at it, silent, his face oscillating between stunned and confused.
"Hello? No, I'm here. I, uh...I don't know what to say to that." Randy's body stayed relaxed, and Meg realized it wasn't a release of tension as much as it was an absence of understanding. "Him? No, uh...I don't know that it's any of our business. I can't...I mean, I'll talk to her, but I can almost guess what her answer will be. That decision should be in your hands." Meg trailed her hands along Randy's jaw, and watched his eyes slowly close as he rattled off staccato answers to what she assumed were simple questions. "Yes. Yes. Thank you. Yes. We'll be there. You're welcome. I'll let her know."
Meg laid in his lap, quiet, and both Renee and Jon had turned to face him, the car not having moved an inch.
"Uh, well?" Jon, having had enough of waiting patiently and not one to mince words, was pointed in his tone.
"Airport and club sent the tapes over. Airport wanted to cover its ass; the bitch who threw the Coke at Meg said she read some shit on the internet that made her do it. Corporate went looking, found the shit on the internet, then found the club the girls went to and got the security tapes. It looked like Sarah might have sorta, half-assed staggered toward Joe's car, Meg grabbed her and walked her back to their car."
Renee nodded. "That's exactly what happened. Nothing dramatic. I was drunk, I was in our car, but I don't remember anyone freaking out about anything with Joe."
Randy shook his heaed. "It gets better. I guess the club has audio outside in the valet area, for liability issues – telling drunks not to drive, shit like that – and it picked up that Sarah was both drunk and looking for purses; Joe's driver confirmed the comment. Inside, Joe's wife threw the drink at Joe, not Meg. They were on different floors all night, and Joe was watching them all from the balcony. Plus, Joe got there nearly an hour before the girls did, so neither group had any way of knowing the other way there until Joe spotted Meg. That covers everything in our text, anyway."
"Jesus fucking Christ." Jon was floored. "So Joe made up the whole thing? He had to know what the end result of that shit was gonna be. What the fuck was he thinking?"
"Not quite." Randy continued. "Media relations contacted the dirt sheet, sent a few lawyers, a few cease and desists, a few life-ending threats of lawsuits...and managed to get the name of the source."
Renee threw herself back in her seat. "For fuck's sake, Jon. Not Joe. His wife."
Meg mumbled up from Randy's lap, seemingly unsurprised by any of the news. "So what did corporate want to do to us?"
"They want us to watch the tapes...I guess to verify them? And they want to know if we have an opinion about what to do with Joe."
"Oh no," Meg said, flatly. "I'm not getting in to that. I'm not going to be the backstage whore who ended someone's career. That thing he married? She's doing fine all on her own. They can implode together. And you...Randy, that's not you. I don't want to hide behind you, and you...you're not that guy."
"I know. I told them I didn't think it was any of our business. And once we get there I'm going to make it very clear to them that whatever they decide is going to be made very publicly distant from the two of us."
"Mmm. Smart and sexy." Meg smiled up at Randy. "Remind me I owe you an apology later. I was an ass."
"Gross. Get a fuckin' room." Jon rolled his eyes.
"A fuckin' room?" Meg giggled from the back seat. "You've been holding out on me, Ran. All you ever reserve are the suites."