Ch 74 ~ The Mistress

Two nights later, Bon Jovi took the stage for the second of their two Toronto shows, after which they were scheduled to immediately depart for Louisville, Kentucky for one day off, a show, and then another quick exit to Boston.  Beyond that, Rachel couldn’t remember – or didn’t care to remember, because it didn’t make much difference. 

It didn’t matter much where they were, Rachel thought to herself as the band started the music to “Damned”.  The hotels were basically all the same, as were the food, gym and bar.  It all ran together as far as she was concerned, and she wondered how Jon could keep it all straight.

She fanned herself, mentally correcting that statement, because there was no way she would forget the Toronto shows.  Kid Rock’s fire effects had made Rogers Centre as hot as the edges of Hell last night.  Why they hadn’t opened the dome on the ‘convertible’ arena/stadium she would never know, but tonight hadn’t been as bad.  It was less Hell, more purgatory since they’d toned back the flames in the opening act, yet a droplet of sweat still crept down the valley between her breasts.

Inconspicuously flapping her blouse to generate a breeze, she checked her watch and calculated how long before she could get a cool shower and crawl into bed.  She had just looked up to the stage, figuring she had at least another hour, when Jon unintentionally caught Rachel’s eye.  He was interacting with someone near the front row, and she squinted to get a better look and what was going on.

Kid Rock’s flames have nothing on Jon Bon Jovi.

It was only a moment, but she caught a glimpse of Jonny at his rock star best.  He was sweaty, sexy and cocky, with a glint in his eye that made even her panties melt.  And damned if he didn’t look like he was enjoying himself.  Was that what kept him on the road?  The flirting?  The adulation?  The applause?

She meandered through the crowd, as she had taken to doing during the shows lately, so engrossed in assessing the idol-worshipping gazes of the women around her and trying to see them from Jon’s point of view, that she missed her cue. 

There was a certain spot in the set that she had to get back under the stage if she was going to be in Jon’s quick change room when he ducked in there during his mid-show break.  If she didn’t make her way back to the main stage by that point in the show, she couldn’t get there without accessing the tunnel beneath the circle – and that mean interfering with Matt’s security detail.   

                 

Soooo not a good idea.

So, instead of being in position to give her man a quick kiss and “go get ‘em” pat on the ass, Rachel found herself effectively trapped inside the railing that surrounded the control boards in the middle of the arena floor.  Mentally shrugging, she perched a hip against the steel barrier and resigned herself to being in the perfect spot to enjoy Richie’s solo version of “Lay Your Hands on Me”.

The Richie girls, as always, were vocal in their appreciation of his bluesy-gospel version of the song.  They loved it almost as much as Jon loved the five minute breather the song gave him in the middle of the set.  For her part, Rachel was more partial the stained-glass backdrop they used for Richie’s solo than anything.  While she could see the appeal of his alternative interpretation, she still liked the original version better, she decided as the last notes reverberated and the lights went black. 

This was typically one of the points in the show that she didn’t get to see from a good vantage point.  Granted, Jon’s ass wasn’t a view she would ever complain about having, but it would be nice to see his face when he did the mid-show stint out on the circle in the middle of the audience. 

Wonder what he’s chosen to sing out here tonight…

It would assuredly be one of the ballads, because this was always the time in any show that Jon’s energy seemed to run a little low. 

When the spotlight flared to life, putting a bright halo around Jon, who was practically right in front of her, at the same time the low wail of a saxophone filled the air.  The first thing Rachel noticed was the intensity and fatigue lining her man’s face.  It, in equal parts, frustrated and baffled her.

Why do you do this to yourself night after night, baby?  Why?  What’s worth doing this to yourself?

As the saxophone finished its intro, amazingly enough, Jon saw fit to try and explain.   

On a long and lonesome highway, east of Omaha

You can listen to the engine’s moanin' out their one note song

You can think about the woman, or the girl you had the night before

But your thoughts will soon be wandering, the way they always do

When you're riding sixteen hours and there's nothing much to do

You don't feel much like riding, you just wish the trip was through

Here I am, on the road again

There I am, up on the stage

Here I go, I’m playin’ the star again

There I go, turn the page

He often startled her with the things he revealed about himself when he sang – things he could never put into words without a melody to go with them.   He would tell her a story that would allow her into the deepest parts of him, if she paid close enough attention…

When you walk into a restaurant strung out from the road

And you feel the eyes upon you as you're shaking off the cold

You pretend it does not bother you, you just want to explode

Most times you can't hear 'em talk, other times you can

It’s that same old cliché, is it woman or a man?

You always seem outnumbered, you don't dare make a stand

Here I am, on the road again

There I am, up on the stage

Here I go, playin’ the star again

There I go, turn the page

A pained expression streaked across his face so quickly that it almost hadn’t happened.  If she was pressed to put a name to it…  Well, Rachel could only describe it as… hurt, maybe?  With a touch of underlying bitterness.  It was enough to let her know that the memories of those times – the times he’d had to endure the ‘cliches’, the times he wanted to explode – it hadn’t been all glamour and fame for Jon Bon Jovi.  Sometimes, the whole lifestyle was just a huge pain in the ass. 

Out here in the spotlight it’s a million miles away

Every ounce of energy, you try to give away

As the sweat pours out your body like the music that you play

Later in the evening as you lie awake in bed

With the echoes from those amplifiers ringin' in your head

You smoke the day’s last cigarette, remember what she said

A tightness knotted her chest and tears gathered in the corners of Rachel’s eyes as understanding dawned.  He didn’t stay on the road because he needed the money.  It wasn’t the the applause, the adulation, or any of the other perks that came with the rockstar lifestyle.  In fact, she marveled, it wasn’t even a choice he made.

Jon toured because he had to. 

His mistress demanded it.  All the hours spent on planes, in hotels, meeting with the press were the price he paid to be with her, because she lured him out time and again.  She seduced him, speaking to his soul in a way that no one or nothing else did, and he was powerless to deny her.  How could he? She was as vital to his existence as oxygen.  Without her, he was just a guy from Jersey trying to make it through the day.  

So that’s why he did it all.  For the music.  His true first love.   

 

Here I am, I’m on the road again

There I go, up on the stage

Here I go, I'll be playin’ the star again

There I go… turn the page.

                                                                      ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

His knee ached from being on it two nights in a row.  His face ached from smiling.  His ass even ached from shaking it.  Tonight’s show had drained Jon, and the mildly recuperative flight from Toronto to Louisville had been rendered completely useless as soon as the plane door had swung open.  Jersey was humid in the summertime, but it didn’t hold a candle to stickiness hanging in the Kentucky air at one in the morning – and that was exactly why he avoided scheduling summertime shows in the South.  

He’d heard Rachel muttering, “Holy mother of pearl,” when she came down the jet’s stairs right behind him.  “Isn’t it supposed to get cool when the sun goes down?”

His California girl wasn’t much of a summertime South fan either, it seemed, but she offered no more complaint than that.  In fact, he mused as he lay in bed flexing his knee while waiting for her to join him, she hadn’t said much at all after tonight’s show.

“You’ve been unusually quiet tonight,” he murmured when she finally finished her shower and lotion thing, and pulled the sheet back to slide in beside him.  

“Humidity,” she murmured listlessly, curling into his side and resting a cheek against his chest.  “It sucked away the only iota of energy I had left.”

He looped a loose arm around her, trying to maintain the coolness the sheets had provided without forsaking the comfort of her nakedness against his.  “You were quiet before that.  Are you pissed at me over something again?”

She slid a hand across his stomach, twirling the hair there before squeezing tighter into him, and his cock stirred, instantly erasing the awareness of how his Humpty Dumpty body felt and replacing it with how good she felt. 

“No,” she denied, the simple word blowing an erotic puff of air over his nipple.  “In fact, I’m more in love with you now than I’ve ever been.”

“Oh yeah?” he asked, now legitimately hopeful for an explosive orgasm to help him sleep.  Or any orgasm that he didn’t have to flex his wrist for.  He wasn’t picky.   “Does that mean I might get a little tonight?”

“Anything you want, baby,” she purred amusedly, stifling a yawn.  “Just cover me up when you’re done.”

He chuckled and kissed the top of her head.  “You’ll adjust to the travel schedule, babe, just give it a little time.”

“Mm.”

The softly agreeable grunt didn’t bode well for his orgasm, but he took pity on her by closing his eyes and trying to sleep – for all of five seconds.

“Rach?”

“Yeah?”

“What made you decide you love me more now?”

“You.”

“Well, hell.  Naturally.”  He rolled his eyes toward the ceiling.  “But there are so many things about me to love…  Why don’t you humor me and narrow it down a little?”

She inhaled deeply through her nose and propped up on her elbow to regard him with one squinted eye.  The other remained firmly closed.  “I love you more now because I finally get it.”

“That makes one of us.”

It was her turn to roll her eyes.  “Tonight.  On the circle.  When you sang ‘Turn the Page’, I finally understood why you willingly deal with this hellacious travel schedule night after night, week after week.”

This should be good.  God knew he’d never been able to put it into words, so he was curious to hear about the epiphany she thought she’d had. 

“And why’s that?” 

“Because,” she explained patiently.  “Playing music in a studio isn’t the same as playing to a sold out crowd.  It doesn’t feed your soul the same way, and your soul needs to be fed.  You need this.”

Holy shit.

She was right.  He couldn’t say that he’d ever bothered to sit down and think of it that way, but she was right.  There was an undeniable pull that kept him going, despite the fact that he hated hotel rooms and abhorred the cold of the north and the humidity of the south and the jet lag from zipping from one time zone to another. 

It feeds my soul.

Damn if that wasn’t the truth, but he wasn’t sure how comfortable he felt admitting that out loud, even to Rachel.

“Maybe.”

“No.”  She shook her head in vehement denial.  “Definitely.  When you sang that song tonight, it was like a window into your soul that I’d never been privy to before.  It was weird, but I saw it, Jon.  Surrounded by thousands of people, it felt like one of the most intimate moments I’d ever had with you.”

Was that why he’d chosen that song tonight?  Sometimes he didn’t know why an idea came to him.  Sure, they had a sax player on hand tonight, but maybe he’d subconsciously picked the Seger song because – lately more than ever – he could personally relate to the story it told.  

And Rachel knew that, because she could read him that well.  When was the last time somebody had been able to do that?  Or cared enough to?

“It also made me feel horrible about being a whiny burden on you lately,” she sighed.  “I want you to know I’m sorry, and I’ll try harder to adjust without being a drama queen.” 

Jon flipped to his side and stroked her hip with the hand she wasn’t lying on, completely humbled and amazed that this woman had seen something in him that he hadn’t ever put into words and she got it.  That was…  priceless. 

Hell, he’d buy her a diamond-crusted drama queen tiara if she wanted, because, whiny or not, he was stupid in love with her.    

“Rachel…  You’ve never been a burden to me, in any way, shape or form.”

One delicate shoulder lifted in a half-shrug.  “Okay, so I’m sorry for being whiny.”

“That I’ll take,” he conceded, leaning in for sweet, lingering kiss before doing something he’d sworn to himself – and her – that he would never do again.  “Marry me, Rachel.  Please?”

She chuckled quietly as she pushed him onto his back and straddled his hips.  The silky golden curtain of her hair enclosed them in a private cocoon when she bent forward to kiss him, and he inhaled the scent that he would forever associate with Rachel. 

“I love you, John Bongiovi,” she breathed against his lips.

“Is that a yes?” he breathed back, tongue darting out to savor the taste of her.

“No.”  One corner of her mouth kicked up in a wicked smile as her hips rolled forward.  His cock immediately jumped at the heated friction, eager for attention.  “It’s more like a ‘let me show you just how much I love you’.”

He was so starved for the feel of her body rippling around him that he wasn’t even pissed she’d turned him down.  Again.

Jon curled hard fingers around perfectly curved hips and lifted her from his body just long enough to get in position before he dropped her, the impalement good enough to pull a gut-deep groan from him.  At this particular moment, there was nothing that mattered beyond the feel of his body inside of hers.

Nothing. 

At. 

All.