Chapter 5
S lowly but surely, Amelia was building a clientele. The waiting list for an appointment with her grew steadily longer. She felt as if she were climbing her way up the DC social ladder, one client at a time. At first she had started with a few Congressional aids and then, as word spread, a few Congressman and lobbyists. Next week she had an appointment with a Senator. She wasn’t sure where to go after that. Would the president’s wife one day make an appointment? Doubtful, but a girl could dream.
DC was an image-based city, and that worked out well for a stylist who made her living based on helping people with their image. Amelia swore to herself when she finally began to arrive, she would be frank with people, telling them honestly when she thought a desired look wouldn’t work for them. It wasn’t always easy, but she found people appreciated her input. No one wanted to look bad, and if she could somehow stop that from happening, they were willing to pay for her services.
This morning’s client was new to the salon and had been waiting for two months to get in. Amelia didn’t have much information on her other than the fact that her husband did something with the military. Like everything in DC, it was classified and therefore an open secret. For instance, Amelia wasn’t supposed to know her brother-in-law and sister were spies, but she did. Likewise Ethan had also recently delved into the world of espionage. Amelia knew what his job was, despite the fact that he pretended he worked for a private indexing firm, but she’d never called him on it.
When her client arrived, five minutes early, she turned heads, mostly because she was massively pregnant, so large she looked ready to pop. No wonder she’d been in such a mad rush to get in. Amelia greeted her warmly, offering a hot beverage or cold-pressed juice from the bar.
“No, thank you,” the woman, Jordan, said.
Amelia seated her and pulled up a chair beside her so they were face to face. The salon made a big point about individual attention. Each client got the stylist’s undivided devotion for as long as the appointment lasted so there was no feeling of being rushed, only of being valued and pampered. “Would you prefer I call you Mrs. Peterson?” Amelia asked.
“Call me Jordan, please,” the woman said.
“Jordan, what did you have in mind today? What would you like to have happen in our session?”
“Ideally I’d like some color, but,” she paused and pressed her palm to her swollen belly. “That’s going to have to wait a bit, according to my doctor. I guess what I’d most like is to feel pretty, despite the bloat and water retention. I need a refresh, a perk. I’ve gained sixty pounds this pregnancy, and my self-image is taking a beating.”
“Hmm,” Amelia said, nodding in sympathy. She wasn’t faking her pathos; she genuinely couldn’t imagine how difficult it would be to gain so much weight in such a short amount of time. “You carry it well, it’s all baby. I would never have guessed how much you’ve gained unless you told me.”
“I’m not sure I believe you, but at least it’s for a good cause,” Jordan said, wincing and groaning as she shifted.
“Are you feeling all right? Can I get you a pillow or prop your feet to make you more comfortable?”
“I don’t think anything is going to help at this point. The contractions are seven minutes apart.”
Amelia froze. “You’re in labor?”
Jordan nodded. “But I’ve been waiting so long to get in, and I want to look good in the post-baby pictures, you know?”
“Are you sure you want to do this? I could rearrange my schedule to get you in post-baby. I’ll even come in on my day off,” Amelia said. She didn’t do well with people who were sick or in pain. And bodily fluids? Forget about it. It was the number one reason she hadn’t gone into medicine in college.
“I’m totally fine,” Jordan said. She gripped the edges of the chair and breathed deeply as another contraction took her.
That was way less than seven minutes apart, Amelia thought. But who was she to argue with a pregnant woman? “Let’s get started,” Amelia said. Her tone sounded rushed, but she couldn’t help it. The thought of someone having a baby in her chair terrified her. She washed Jordan’s hair, sweating as she tried to maneuver around the woman’s giant bump, wincing every time Jordan groaned and gripped the chair. A few surreptitious glances at the clock showed the contractions approximately three minutes apart, at least by Amelia’s calculations.
“Is this your first baby?” Amelia asked as she massaged Jordan’s hands with oil.
“Mm, hm,” Jordan said, breathing heavily through her nose as another contraction hit.
The hand massage portion of things was supposed to take a luxurious half hour, but Amelia only gave each hand five minutes. And at that her own hands were shaking.
“Do you have a name yet?” she asked as she stood and began to gently comb Jordan’s hair.
“Yes, but we’re not sharing until after he’s born,” Jordan said, teeth gritted.
Amelia was mirroring her tension. She felt as if everything inside her was clenched and in pain. This was by far the most stressful client encounter she’d ever had, and it had barely begun.
As the session continued, so did Amelia’s nerves and so did Jordan’s misery. Eventually she gave up on conversation completely and doubled over, moaning in agony. Amelia glanced around the salon uncertainly, hoping for a rescue, but no one seemed to notice what was happening, no one but her supervisor who motioned her over, an angry expression on her face.
“Amelia, what is happening with your client?” Petra snapped.
“She’s in labor. I seriously think she’s about to have her baby right here,” Amelia said. “Can I call an ambulance for her and force her to go?”
“Are you joking? How would that look if word gets out that we force our clients into an ambulance against their will? Just keep her happy, and keep her quiet.”
“But she’s in labor ,” Amelia said.
“Look, you’re new here, but I’m telling you that if she leaves here by any means but the door and with anything but a smile on her face, your head is going to be on the platter,” Petra said and turned her back, effectively ending the conversation.
The little talk did nothing to ease Amelia’s anxiety. In fact it inched up exponentially to the point she could barely hold the hair dryer and brush for shaking. And it was nearly impossible to dry the hair of a woman who was doubled over panting.
Suddenly Jordan sat up. “Uh-oh.”
“Uh-oh what?” Amelia asked, her voice quaking.
“Pretty sure my water just broke,” Jordan said. Amelia didn’t want to look, but she couldn’t help but see the liquid seeping all over the floor. She glanced at Petra for direction, but Petra made a slicing motion across her throat.
“Um, Jordan, I really think maybe you should go to the hospital now.” Amelia reached for her water bottle and sipped it, fighting her gag reflex. She really, really, really didn’t do well with bodily fluids. Spots appeared before her eyes, and she fought the urge to black out. She sat, fanning herself. “Please,” she added weakly.
Jordan began doing the Lamaze pant. She reached out and gripped Amelia’s hand, hard. “I’m going to go, but I want you to know the baby’s name, in case things go bad at the hospital. Someone needs to tell the doctor.”
“But I won’t be there,” Amelia said.
Jordan’s eyes popped open. “You’re not coming with me? But my husband is out of town. I have no one else. I don’t want to go alone, please.”
“Okay, sure,” Amelia said. She had no idea how she’d get out of work, but maybe she was fired after this anyway. The room started to spin. She closed her eyes and put her head between her legs.
“The baby’s name,” Jordan paused and squeezed her hand, breathing hard, “Is Ethan, Jr.”
Amelia froze, opened her eyes, and sat up. “What did you say?”
Jordan was now sitting normally and smiling. She pointed to the window of the salon. Amelia turned to look and saw Ethan standing against his motorcycle. He kissed his fingers and waved at her. “It was all fake?” she asked, turning to stare at Jordan in shock.
“I really am pregnant, but I’m not due for another couple of months. And I really did want the appointment with you.”
“But you called two months ago,” Amelia said. That was way before she pulled her prank on Ethan by stealing all his clothes.
“Ethan’s an elaborate game player. The jokes he and my husband used to play on each other are legendary,” Jordan said.
“Who is your husband?” Amelia asked.
“Shimmer,” Jordan said.
Amelia had heard the name; he was one of Ridge’s friends, another former SEAL team member. “I think I might be sick,” Amelia said, but she was half laughing. He had gotten her; he had gotten her good.
Petra came over and hugged her shoulders. “I’m sorry, Amelia, but he made it sound so fun when he called to run it by me. Don’t hate me.”
“I don’t hate you,” Amelia said, returning her hug. She was immensely relieved that Ethan had run it by her boss first. As long as she wasn’t in trouble at work, she could take whatever he threw at her.
She turned toward the front window again to confront Ethan, but he was already gone.
“I’ve never known Ethan to prank a girl before. You must be something special,” Jordan said. Amelia snapped to attention and resumed working on her hair.
“We’re friends,” Amelia insisted.
“Are you married?” Jordan asked. Amelia shook her head. “I’ve never known Ethan to be friends with a woman who wasn’t married to one of his friends.”
“You know his name’s not actually Ethan,” Amelia said for lack of a better response as Jordan continued to stare speculatively at her in the mirror.
“I know, but no one knows what it actually is. It’s kind of become a joke. Not even my husband knows. Maybe Ridge does, but he’s never told anyone.”
“No one knows?”
Jordan shook her head. “He doesn’t like it, thinks it’s girly, so he’s always gone by Ethan for as long as any of them have known him.”
“Wow,” Amelia said. She had no idea his real name was a secret; she was glad she hadn’t blurted it. The rest of the session was pleasant, now that Amelia knew she wasn’t going to have to deliver a baby and the substance in her chair was harmless water. She liked Jordan, and the two agreed to meet for coffee sometime.
“We might as well become friends if our guys are,” Jordan noted.
“Ethan and I aren’t together,” Amelia reminded her.
Jordan smiled. “I’ve known Ethan a long time. Trust me when I tell you I think we’ll be seeing more of each other.”