Chapter 6 – Glamorous

Two weeks later

“G-l-a-m, o-r-ous yeah...”

Melissa smiled as the red-haired woman, donned in her blue waitress shirt and white apron, danced and sang along with the radio in the back next to her as they refilled ketchup bottles and salt shakers mid-shift, just after lunch that day. She loudly smacked her gum as she worked, her enormous hoop earrings swinging with every shake of her hips.

“We flying first class, up in the sky...in a jet plane, livin' the life...”

“Gina, I think it's 'poppin' champagne, livin' the life',” Melissa said, correcting her.

“How do you know?” Gina asked.

“I've heard this song about five million times,” Melissa replied. “Besides, someone once...”

Melissa's smile fell. She had slipped up – she had thought of him.

“...corrected me,” she finished. She cleared her throat and wiped her hands on the dish towel she had stuck in the tie of her apron. “Can you hand me that container of sugar packets, please?”

Gina reached above her head to pull down two Rubbermaid containers filled with regular sugar packets and pink Sweet-N-Low packets, handing them to Melissa as she swayed along with Fergie's voice again. Melissa filled the small ceramic containers to capacity with sugar and Sweet-N-Low packets, replacing what the morning crowd of breakfast diners had used in their coffee.

“I'm not clean, I'm not pristine, I'm no queen, I'm no machine...I still go to Taco Bell, drive through, gross hell...”

“Raw,” Melissa corrected. “Raw as hell, Gina, not 'gross hell'.”

“Don't that sound good, though?” Gina said, smacking her gum, her Arkansas accent thick. “Taco Bell. Hey, how 'bout when we get off at five, we do dinner there? You 'n me. I'm cravin' one 'a those chi-lupas or whatever they call 'em.”

Melissa had to chuckle lightly to herself. It amazed her that only having lived in New York for two years, she could come back to the South and hearing such a thick Southern accent would be a shock.

“I don't really have any money,” she said honestly.

“My treat,” Gina said. “Maybe we can go see a movie, too. Come on, we'll have fun. You need a girls night, ya know?”

Melissa sighed softly. She did need a girls night. That was one of the things she missed the most about New York, aside from Chris – her and Addy's regular girls' nights. Sometimes it was just her and Addy, and they would go to dinner in a fancy restaurant, then walk down Broadway and window shop before it got too dark. Afterward, they would go see the cheesiest chick flick they could find in the theaters, spending most of the time whispering giggles to each other. Other times, Joey and Kelly would babysit Liam and Lance would join the two of them, and he would take them to some wine joint before taking them out to dinner. He would treat them to days on the beach or massage and spa days, just for the hell of it – because that was who he was. They were 'his girls' and he liked to spoil them.

But there was no way that Derek would allow it. Not with Gina – not with someone she could potentially get close to and spill the secret that they weren't as perfect as he portrayed them to be. Not with someone she could spill his dirty little secrets to.

“I was just going to make some fried chicken for dinner,” Melissa lied, knowing that it would be another night of popping a frozen pizza in the oven, because he had drank all their grocery money away. “Then Derek and I were going to rent a couple of movies and maybe have a bottle of wine before we went to bed.”

“You have such a romantic boyfriend,” Gina said, turning up her nose as she leaned against the prep counter next to Melissa. “I'm so jealous. Jason's idea of a romantic night in is ordering buffalo wings, watching UFC and drinking a six-pack of beer while he burps and farts in the recliner.”

Jealous, Mel thought to herself. She was jealous of Gina – watching UFC on the TV would be much better than re-enacting it in your own living room...and being on the losing end.

“Yeah, he's just a peach,” Melissa replied, trying to keep the sarcasm out of her voice.

“Oh well, maybe in a couple weeks,” Gina said, leaning up. “But you tell 'im that he needs to share ya with me at least once. He can't have y' all to himself.”

Unexpectedly, Gina reached out a finger to poke Mel in the ribs with her long fingernail – and Melissa winced and cried out when the pain hit her. Her eyes immediately teared up at the stabbing sensation in her ribs, her hand going to the area, dropping packets of sugar all over the floor.

“Whoa,” Gina said, surprised at the reaction. “What happened?”

Melissa bit back another cry and blinked, trying to dry the tears in her eyes and make the black spots in her vision disappear.

“Nothing,” she said, taking a deep, painful breath. “I uh...hurt myself the other day, that's all. It's still a little sore.”

“Well, what'd ya do? Let me take a look at it...”

“No!”

Melissa surprised even herself when she yelled it, watching Gina take a step back.

“Sorry,” she said. “I just...it's a really gross, ugly bruise. It's embarrassing, you know? It looks disgusting. It's not something you want to see.”

“Melissa, what'd ya do to yourself?” Gina said, becoming serious. “If it's that bad, maybe ya should go to a doctor.”

“No, Gina,” Melissa said, shaking her head. She attempted to carefully lean down to the floor to pick up the packets she had dropped, but only bending an inch or two hurt and she recoiled. “It's not that bad, it's just...the bruise is healing, and it's all yellow and green and stuff. It's really gross.”

“I still think I should look at it.”

“No, Gina...”

Melissa fought against Gina grabbing at her blue shirt, attempting to lift it from its tucked-in place in her apron.

“Girls, what's going on here?”

Both women looked up to see Victoria staring at them.

“Are we having a tickle fight, or are we working?” she asked.

“Melissa's hurt, and she won't let me take a look at it,” Gina said.

“Nark,” Melissa said, looking at her co-worker.

“Is it a work-related injury?” Victoria asked. “Because if it is, ya need to let me know, Mel.”

“I'm fine, Vic,” Melissa said. “Honestly. Gina's overreacting. It's not that bad. I'm such a klutz. I...” She paused. “I tripped and fell into the onion slicer the other day,” she said, pointing at the large piece of machinery on the vegetable prep table in the corner. “The turn handle stabbed me in the ribs, and now I have a bruise. It's sore, that's all. I'm really fine.”

“Mel, I'm gonna need to see that bruise,” Victoria said. “Sorry. If it happened at work, I need to know the details.”

Melissa sighed, feeling the tears come to her eyes again – and this time, they weren't from the pain. She had tried so hard to keep work and home separate. As much as he didn't want anybody to know what went on behind closed doors in their house, neither did she. It was embarrassing. It was humiliating admitting to people that she was so weak, so stupid to let someone control her the way that he did.

She turned around and reluctantly untucked her shirt from her apron, lifting it slowly to reveal the greenish-purple bruise on her side, right below her rib cage.

Both girls audibly gasped, horrified at the sight of the bruise.

“Gina, back to work,” Victoria commanded. “Melissa, in the office. Now.”

Gina stumbled, reluctantly shoving her hands in her apron pockets and walking past Victoria to the lobby of the diner. Without a word, Victoria walked off toward the back.

“The office” was just the code name for the industrial-sized dry food storage area in the back, since the diner didn't really have an “official” office. That was the office – there was a desk wedged against the wall between stacks of boxes of single-serving potato chip bags and stacks of paper towels and toilet paper rolls. That was where George, the owner, and Victoria, the general manager and head waitress, handled all the diner's business. It was humble, but that was what Melissa liked about it.

She turned and followed Victoria into the storage room, feeling much like a little kid that had gotten caught with her hand in the cookie jar and was about to get punished.

“So,” Victoria said, closing the creaky old door as Melissa stepped in behind her, “you sure ya fell into the handle of the onion slicer? You sure ya didn't run into a door? Maybe trip and fall down the stairs? Or trip on your way into the bathroom late at night and run into the counter?”

“No, it was the onion slicer,” Melissa said sheepishly.

“How stupid do ya think I am?” Victoria said.

Melissa hung her head.

“Ya think I haven't seen this before?” Victoria continued. “D'ya think there hasn't been a hundred other waitresses that have come through my diner, covering up the bruises with makeup, telling me how big of a klutz they are and how often they hurt themselves? Nobody hurts themselves so often that they have a new bruise every day, Melissa.”

“It's not like that, Vic,” Melissa said.

“Two days ago, ya had four bruises on your arm in the perfect shape of fingerprints,” Victoria said. “Don't piss on my head and tell me it's raining, girl.”

“I'm not...” Melissa stuttered. “I'm not doing that, Vic. I swear.”

“I wasn't born yesterday,” Victoria said. “I know a woman who's being abused when I see it. Like I said, I've seen hundreds 'a girls come through this diner. Girls just like you – stumbling inside, broke as a joke, ordering a coffee, feet sore from job hunting, jus' wanting an application. No other choice than to work in this greasy spoon on their feet ten hours a day because they have no education, or no skills, or both. D'ya think I woke up one mornin' when I was a girl and said 'I wanna run a greasy diner one day, that's my dream'?”

Melissa shook her head.

“No, I didn't,” Vic said. “I didn't come from a well-ta-do family, couldn't go to college myself. I was one 'a those girls once – one 'a you. Wandered in with five bucks to my name, no job, so tired 'a job hunting I coulda screamed. George gave me a job waitressing, and I been here fifteen years. Managed to put myself through college during that time, too. And ya know what? I don't stay 'cause I'm too stupid to do anything else – I stay 'cause I'm good at this.”

Melissa nodded.

“You, Melissa – you stay because you have no choice. And I can't figure out why.”

Melissa looked up.

“Ya lived in New York for two years,” Victoria said. “Ya put yourself through culinary school and graduated one of the top fifty students in your class. Your professors said ya had some 'a the most amazing food they'd tasted. Said ya could have been a chef at Nobu, or Spago, or any one 'a those fancy-schmancy elite restaurants easily. And here ya are – waiting tables at a diner in downtown Little Rock. Doesn't make any sense.”

Melissa was silent. What could she say? That three weeks ago, she had an apartment in the middle of Brooklyn, a wonderful boyfriend, promising career dreams in one day owning her own restaurant, and was living the glamorous lifestyle that Fergie sang about – until one night while baking a pie, she was ripped from her own home?

“It was an accident,” she said softly. “Derek was working on the truck's tires. I came up behind him, startled him, he jumped and brought his hand back and hit me in the ribs with a tire iron. It was my fault, and he said he was really sorry. I didn't run into the onion slicer – I just didn't want people to think he did it on purpose or anything. I didn't want him to get in trouble. I lied, and I'm sorry.”

Victoria pursed her lips.

“I hope for your sake, you're tellin' the truth,” she finally said. “Better get back to work – Gina's got a crowd 'a hungry people out there.”

Melissa stood in front of Victoria a moment, but quickly shoved her hands in her apron pockets, hanging her head as she walked out.

When the door closed, Victoria shook her head. She could see it as clear as glass – and she didn't believe Mel's lies for a second.

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Addy woke up ten minutes before the alarm was set to go off, feeling a familiar stabbing pressure in her bladder. It was only slightly painful, more uncomfortable than anything.

The last thing she wanted to do was move. She was curled up on her side, the covers pulled up tightly to her chest. Lance's arms were wrapped around her, his nose deeply nuzzled into the back of her neck, his arms pulling her towards him. The temperature in the hotel room was just right, not too hot or too cold for her. She could feel his breathing against her neck. It was perfection – for once.

But the timing was too perfect – ten minutes of quiet, before the alarm would wake Lance up, and he would start getting ready for his long day. She wouldn't get another moment of peace either – she would have to get Liam dressed and ready, which was a task in itself. Inevitably, one of the boys would call her, for toothpaste or deodorant or cologne, because they either forgot to mention they were out or couldn't find them in their bags. Once she got all the boys safely to the venue, she would make her run to the store for whatever supplies; then she would meet with Johnny. By the time all of that was done, it was time for sound check and the boys to get ready for meet and greets. She would try to scarf down dinner or a snack before the show and having to handle things backstage. When the guys finished, she'd be as exhausted as they were.

She reluctantly pulled away from Lance's grasp, preparing to get out of bed, but she was surprised when he grasped her tighter.

“Don't go,” he mumbled, half-asleep.

“Bathroom,” she said, turning her head to whisper it in his ear.

“Aj.”

She smiled, feeling his nose rub against her ear as he said the pet name. Only one person called her AJ, after her initials, and that was Stephanie – and it was rare. But he had taken to calling her “Aj” on occasion, something she only allowed him to call her.

“Don't leave,” he said.

“I really have to go to the bathroom,” she said.

He groaned.

“If I don't get up, I don't think it would be very pretty,” she said.

“Fine,” he said.

“Go back to sleep, get a few more minutes,” she said, turning over to kiss him on the cheek. “You have a long day.”

He loosened his grip as she crawled out of bed, pulling the covers back over him and settling back down into the bed with a sigh.

She waited a few seconds to make sure that he didn't open his eyes back up to look at her. Quietly, she walked over to the corner of the room, to where her “lady bag” sat, as the boys called it – filled with makeup, perfumes, medicines, and feminine products, all things that they wouldn't even go near. She passed by Liam in his pop-up crib on the way, rubbing a hand over his hair as he slept peacefully.

She leaned down and quietly pulled the zipper on the small bag. She rummaged around the compacts of her foundation and eyeshadow until she found the plastic-wrapped tube, pulling it out and grasping it in her hand tightly. She turned around once more to look at Lance, seeing his eyes closed, before walking into the bathroom.

She closed the door and turned on the light, staring at the wrapping. After all this time, she had come to hate this time of the month.

If she thought about it, she wouldn't do it – so without thinking any harder, she ripped open the package, pulling out the stick.

After she had done what she needed to do, she flushed the toilet and sat the stick down on the counter. She washed her hands quickly and leaning against the counter, turning her body away from it. There was too much temptation to look at it before the time was up.

Prayer no longer worked. She had prayed almost all her faith away by now. Every month it was the same thing – for a brief time, she would feel pregnant. She would feel exactly as she had when she was pregnant with Liam; more tired than ever despite getting plenty of sleep, nauseous with everything she ate, and noticeably grouchier than normal. She would get her hopes up when her period was nowhere in sight. Inevitably, days after she would test, that's when it would decide to show up.

They had been trying since before the reunion at the VMAs. Despite their fears about her pregnancies, they agreed that they wanted another baby. She was getting older, having just turned 31 – and already having fertility issues, neither of them wanted to deal with the risks that came with trying to have children after the age of 35. Her biological clock was ticking loudly in her ears, telling her that her window of time to have babies was winding down.

They both thought it would be easy. After all, she got pregnant with Liam without even trying, while she was taking birth control, because of a complete accident. She had done her math and figured out that she was unknowingly unprotected for about six months before she got pregnant. She was hoping it would be the same; she was supposed to be pregnant at the VMAs, in fact, if she had guessed right.

But months had passed, with nothing to show for it. They had been trying for almost a year now. Eleven months in a row, she had waited; eleven months in a row she had taken tests. Eleven months she had been disappointed by clear negatives, or faint marks that could have looked like second lines but only turned out to be her eyes playing tricks on her. And eleven months in a row, she would be crushed a few days later when it would become clear that she definitely was not pregnant.

She didn't expect this time to be any different. In fact, this time she didn't make a big deal of the “taking” of the test. It was no longer exciting – it was no longer an event that she wanted him outside the bathroom, waiting with her, waiting to hopefully be excited by the results. She was only slightly hopeful this time, since she was already three days late – but her instinct told her that her hope was unwarranted; that she was late because of the constant travel and the stress of the tour throwing off her cycle, and the test was only a formality to confirm what she already knew.

The alarm went off from outside the bathroom, and as she heard Lance stir and shut it off, she turned around slowly. She could have cried when she looked at it.

Negative.

“Addy, have you seen Liam's sock monkey?”

She looked up as Lance's voice, tired and as-of-yet un-caffeinated, came her way through the closed door.

“I can't find it anywhere,” he said, his voice loud.

She reached up and wiped away a tear that had inadvertently slipped out without having noticed.

“Um...in my bag, I think?” she said.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“Yeah, I'm fine,” she yelled back. “I'm just having a woman moment.”

“Is that like Bella's human moments in Twilight?” he asked jokingly. “Or do I just want to take the man stance and say I don't want to know?”

As sad as she was, she couldn't help the smile coming to her face, and the giggle escaping.

“I'll be out in just a second,” she yelled back. “Don't worry.”

She picked up the test from the counter, glancing at it once more. At least this time it wasn't a question. There was absolutely no faint second line that could leave her to question whether she had read the test wrong or tested too early.

She threw it into the trash, taking a moment to push it down to the very bottom, hidden by the various other things that had been thrown in there. She wanted to go on with her day normally, without him knowing that she had even taken the test. She wasn't ready to tell him.

Not yet.