Ch 75 ~ Fireworks in the Hamptons

Sitting on an elevated two-acre site with over two hundred feet of direct frontage on Georgica Pond, and adjacent to a seventeen-acre meadow preserve, Charles Hardcastle had one of the most admired estates in all of East Hampton.  He wasn’t only known for owning the one-hundred-year-old mansion designed by noted architected Stanford White, either.  As CEO of First American Bank, he was a prominent figurehead among the Wall Street types who frequented these infamous beaches to which the rich and famous of the East Coast flocked every summer.

He was also Rachel’s boss.

Which is why she and Jon were currently milling beside the pool, and he wore an expression that was perfectly amicable to the untrained eye.  Rachel, however, was professionally trained in reading Jon’s facial expressions, and this one was pissy.  He was not thrilled to be here and was convinced that there was some kind of evil subterfuge afoot.

Objectively, she could see how he might think that, but she was convinced that he was overreacting.

Just because James had arrived on the Hamptons scene shortly – the day after – she and Jon had arrived with the kids at the beginning of August was no reason to be suspicious.  James had bought a home here years before and had often spent weekends there, Rachel recalled, while she was living in New Jersey the last time.  He’d even invited her to join him a time or two, explaining that the business contacts she could make in the Hamptons would be invaluable to her career.

So it wasn’t like he’d purchased a house for the sole purpose of stalking Rachel and Jon.

In fact, when they’d been enjoying some beach time with the kids earlier that day, it hadn’t even fazed Rachel when James had casually sauntered up to them and invited them to Mr. Hardcastle’s party this evening.

Repeat:  It hadn’t fazed her.

Jon, however….

“What?!?!” he had hissed the instant James was out of earshot, clearly unhappy that she had accepted the invitation.  “Why the fuck did you tell that cocksucker that we’d go?”

Rachel was grateful for Jacob and Romeo playing in the surf a couple dozen feet away.  She was convinced that it was only their presence that kept Jon from completely – and loudly – blowing a gasket. 

“I know we were planning on making the most of our alone time, after Dorothea picks up the kids this afternoon,” she sympathized evenly.  Intimacy had definitely taken a back seat to family time for the last few days, and they’d both been counting on this time to raise a little sexual ruckus.  “But I can’t count on my fingers and toes the number of your events I’ve had endure with a smile.  It won’t kill you to endure one for me.”

Rationale and reason had derailed his meltdown, for once, and he only grumbled and cursed under his breath – a couple of times an hour – until he intententionally parked on the street at the end of Charles Hardcastle’s ridiculously long driveway. 

“I don’t wanna wait for some goddamn valet once you give me the green light to go,” he explained, smoothing a hand over his hair and began the hike toward the front door.  “You realize it takes less time to hike Diamond Head than this?”

She had smiled up into his face and winked.  “Maybe next time we’ll use the valet service then.”

His scowl had magically disappeared when the door was opened by a party staffer – and had remained so until now. 

“How long do we have to stay?” he fussed, waiting for the bartender to fill his order.

“Oh honey,” she laughed quietly, patting the small of his back while kissing his cheek. “You know the drill.  We’ll see and be seen, make our appearance, smile with the boss and leave.  In theory, we could be home and writhing around on the bed within the hour.”

“I’m holding you to that.” He turned to lean against the bar and peruse the well-heeled crowd.  “I bet he sucks a mean dick,” Jon observed after his first swallow of wine, dipping his head toward the other side of the pool.

“What?  Who?”  She pivoted with her own glass, trying to see who he would make such a comment about when she spotted Mr. Harcastle – with James at his right hip.  James, who was dressed in navy linen trousers, a white button down shirt and a pink cardigan draped across his shoulders.  “Oh my word.  If you ever put on anything that even resembles what James is wearing, I swear I’ll never have sex with you again.”

“No worries, baby,” he snorted as she latched onto his hand and dragged him along toward the two men.  “You’ll never find anything other than pussy on my lips.”

“JON!  Please behave yourself tonight.”  She was aghast that he’d say something like that out loud in the middle of a crowd.  Well…  She was and she wasn’t.

“You don’t want a well-behaved man, Rachel.  No woman does.”

“Well put those acting classes to good use and pretend you’re one,” she ordered amusedly, under her breath, before stepping into her boss’s space and extending her hand.  “Charles, it’s so nice to see you again, thank you for having us.  This is my better half, Jon Bon Jovi.”

With the introductions made, small talk ensued.  Rachel was pleased to note that, for the most part, Jon and James were civil.  In fact, if she didn’t know better, they almost seemed friendly with one another.  She had no idea that Jon really could act.

“Rachel, your idea to donate the plot of land in California was excellent,” Charles interrupted her profound revelation with shop talk.  “I’d like to talk to you more about that and how we might utilize the concept company-wide in the future.”

“Well, as much as I’d love to take credit for the idea, that little brainstorm belongs to my man here.  Jon is very involved with Habitat for Humanity and, when I mentioned I was struggling to sell that parcel, he immediately suggested we donate it and take the tax credit.”

“We know you’re beautiful, Rachel,” James was quick to compliment, “But I’m sure Jon doesn’t want you to imply he’s the brains and you’re just the beauty.”

Jon had reached his fill of this bullshit.  He had played nice with this asshole as long as he wanted to, and silently willed Rachel to wrap this up with her boss so that they could get the fuck out of Dodge before he nut punched James for the fun of it.

Clenching his fist unobtrusively at his side, Jon flashed his press smile and casually popped of, “Nah, James.  She’s the brains.  I’m the pretty one.”

 “I see,” James responded politely before muttering, “I suppose rock stars don’t have to be humble.”

“Oh, bein’ a rock star has nothing to do with it,” Jon denied, clapping the man whom he considered his adversary on the shoulder with a hearty thump.  “It’s all about Rachel.  My head swelled to the size of a hot air balloon the minute she let me slip that rock on her finger.”

Take that, motherfucker!

“I’d like to hear more about how you became involved with Habitat, Jon,” Charles chimed in, and Jon’s irritation was replaced with an easy calm.

This was something he could engage in.  This was something relevant.  This wasn’t stupid-ass James trying to make himself look good in front of Jon’s woman.

“Well, sir…”  He angled himself so that he was directly facing Charles and putting James out of his line of sight.   “One night in Philadelphia, I looked out my hotel window and saw a homeless man sleeping in front of City Hall.  There I was, surrounded by all the history of our great nation and I thought ‘I don’t think this is what our forefathers had in mind.’  I dug deeper, met up with people in the know and that led me to Habitat.  Habitat for Humanity’s work speaks for itself – you’ve seen it. In the wake of Hurricane Katrina and the Tsunami, for example, Habitat was there – rebuilding lives. And that’s just in response to disaster. In Habitat’s 30 year history, they’ve built more than 200,000 home.  And dreams, by offering families a chance to be first-time homeowners.  It’s a great opportunity for your company to give back.  And, let’s face it, the tax benefits and good press will more than offset any net financial loss.”

Rachel beamed with pride and slipped an arm around Jon’s waist.  His enthusiasm for his passions was contagious, making him an insurmountable ambassador for any cause he chose to take under his wing, and he spoke with such clear insight.  One need only spend mere seconds with him to see he was more than a pretty face.  Much more.

Charles opened his mouth – to agree in Rachel’s mind – but before the CEO could do so, James guffawed rudely.  “That’s a lovely sentiment, Jon, but rock stars don’t have a Board of Directors to account to.  We’re in the business of making money, a profit center, and that’s not conducive to donating our nonperforming assets to the homeless!”

Rachel was ready to jump in with both feet to defend Jon’s position, but before she could get the first word out, Charles took it upon himself to counter James’s opinion.  “I don’t know about your take on this James.   I’m sure Jon is intimately familiar with the profit center concept, and he has an excellent point about the tax and PR benefits.  I’m surprised you don’t see this in the same light.”

“Jon is an excellent businessman, James,” Rachel informed her former lover.  “He’s turned the Bon Jovi brand into a worldwide billion dollar company.  Trust me… he’s forgotten more about making money than you and I combined will ever know.”

Rather than being deterred and moving on to another subject, James didn’t respond to her, choosing instead to continue his conversation with Jon as though she and Charles hadn’t interjected.  “I know you had to have covered profit in college.  It’s in every basic business course.”  He cocked his head to the side inquisitively.  “Where is you went to college again, Jon?”

There was little doubt that the question was pointedly intended to be a dig at Jon’s lack of formal education, and the muscle in his jaw very nearly ached from clenching it until he could pull off a fake casual smile and tone of voice.

“Actually, man, I didn’t go to college.  I was too busy gettin’ rich in the real world.  The sweat on this old collar is my PhD and all that.”

“Oh, well that explains it then…”

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.

Ch 73 ~ Road Warrior

Tour life sucked.

And that was the nicest thing Rachel could say about it.

There wasn’t a single day that had gone by in the past week that she hadn’t longed for the blissful days they’d spent together fucking and frolicking in the house on Navesink River Road.  Hell, she even longed for the times they hadn’t been frolic-ally fucking.

She’d gladly host a thousand Fourth of July barbecues with family and friends.  She’d be thrilled beyond measure to host his parents for months on end in the new house.   She would boat with the kids until she turned green at the gills and had to ingest an entire bottle of Dramamine.  Each and every one of those things, she had genuinely enjoyed and wished to be doing any one of them now.

Instead she was in travel hell.

Rachel flung a zip-loc back full of toiletries onto the bathroom counter, where it landed amongst the other half a dozen bags that were supposed to keep her organized while she traveled.  They had always been her saving grace, but when she’d traveled before, there had always been time to do more than throw her stuff in them and move onto the next city.  Saratoga, Cleveland, Calgary, Edmonton, Winnipeg and now…  Where the hell were they anyway?  Still in Canada.  That much she knew.  Toronto, maybe?

So much for being prepared.

Apparently, she had been delusional in thinking that living in a London hotel suite for a couple of weeks qualified her to travel with this band of gypsies.  Traveling, was…  She had a whole list of adjectives built up at this point, but it was mostly exhausting.  At the third hotel in four nights, she’d given up trying to unpack.   Now that they were on the sixth hotel room in eight days, she’d come to the conclusion that living out of a suitcase completely sucked,, which was why she was currently venting her frustrations on plastic bags.

And they weren’t even halfway through this leg of the tour.  

Even the shows, which should’ve been a bright spot in the travel Underworld, were excruciating.  Summertime heat combined with humidity levels that belonged in the jungles of South America made each and every show seem twice as long as the two and a half hours Jon was customarily on stage.  She dragged around like some kind of exhausted zombie, not knowing if she was coming or going. And it was starting to take a toll on her typically sunshiny demeanor.

Not A toll.  Multiple tolls.  More than the New Jersey Turnpike and the Garden State fucking Parkway combined.

Between her foul mood and Jon’s foul mood, courtesy of the calf injury he sustained during the first New Meadowlands show and the accompanying rehab while he was still trying to get through the shows…  Well, to put it bluntly, their sex life even sucked.

To be fair, he was trying to be patient with Rachel’s floundering attempts to adapt to life on the road, but she could sense he wished she’d just suck it up and deal already.   The more stressed he became over his physical situation – including his struggle with the high notes as of late – the shorter his patience grew.  Only an hour ago he’d snapped at her, barking that he had all he could handle trying to get healthy and she’d have to deal with her PMS on her own.

She’d flipped him the bird, annoyed at the PMS remark, and griped that the only people getting the best from him were the fans each night when he took the stage “playing rock star”.

His reply?  “I hope you get your shit together before we have dinner with Richie tonight.  I’m tired of making excuses for your candy ass bitchiness.”

How could she be expected to do something as Herculean as containing her “candy ass bitchiness” when she couldn’t even find her fucking hairspray??

“Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!”

Why did he willingly chose this lifestyle?  He couldn’t possibly need the money, and he hated virtually everything about touring except those few hours on stage, yet he continued with the insanity of it all.  . 

For the first time, Rachel wondered if she was insane, thinking she could keep up with him.

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

Meanwhile, in the living room of their suite, Jon and Richie were enjoying a pre-dinner cocktail while listening to the sounds of Rachel’s frustration coming from the bathroom.  The rustle of bags and the zing of zippers could be heard along with a repetitive chorus of “Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” and the slamming of the bathroom door as Jon’s lady love stomped from there to the bedroom and swore some more.

“Sounds like your girl needs a drink, Jonny.”

“She needs more than that,” Jon groaned, feeling a headache looming behind his eyes.  It was definitely gonna be an Advil kind of evening.  “I guarantee that whatever the fuck she’s looking for is probably in plain sight.  Mark my words, though, in the next two minutes she’ll ask if I have the missing nail file, bra, tampon or whatever.  You name it, and she’ll accuse me of having it.”

Richie retrieved another couple of beers from the refrigerator, handed one off to Jon and opened one for himself.  “Trouble in paradise, my man?”

“Nah, not really,” he sighed, yet he didn’t hesitate to gratefully accept the beer and flip the tab.  “She’s just acclimating to the traveling circus lifestyle, but it’s no wonder she can’t find her shit.  I swear, she’s got more luggage than you do.  I dunno know why you two can’t get by with a single bag and simplify my life.”

“Because we have incredible fashion sense,” his guitarist retorted with a cheery lift of his can.  “Something you’d know nothing about, Jonny Bravo.  How many days you been wearin’ those jeans now?”

Only a couple, but before Jon could verbalize his response, an agitated Rachel appeared in the doorway, eyes wild with frustration.  “Did you use all my hairspray, Jon?  I can’t find it anywhere!!”

“It’s in my bag,” he reminded her in quiet tone, unsurprised that his prophesy to Richie has been fulfilled.  It was his way of life now.

“Why is it in YOUR bag?” she asked incredulously, as though she didn’t remember stuffing it in there personally, because all of her damn zip-loc bags were crammed to the gills with the rest of her woman shit.

“Because you didn’t have room in yours and you asked me to carry it for you.  Remember, honey?”

“Why don’t you ever unpack?  It would be so much simpler than digging through suitcases every day!  How do you live like this??!!??!!”

And…. she was off again. 

Jon closed his eyes and sighed, wondering if it was always going to be this way.  If so, he was going to need to buy stock in his favorite wine.

“I get that you’re frustrated, but you know what?  If you didn’t have four suitcases and two garment bags you wouldn’t be so fuckin’ frustrated.  You’re gonna have to learn to pack lighter if you’re gonna keep traveling with me.”

Rachel’s eyes rolled to the ceiling, and Jon’s fingers curled more tightly around his beer can.  “Says the man with forty-eleven trucks filled to the gills with his crap.”

“If I had a forty-twelfth one for your hair shit, you still wouldn’t be happy because you can’t unpack the fuckin’ thing every day,” he observed blandly.

“Fuck you, and worry about your own hair,” she tossed off, and he somehow knew she was arguing because it gave her some semblance of control in a world where she felt like she had none.  It was why he didn’t even flinch when she flung out, “And from the look of those gray roots, you should get on that, like, yesterday.”

“Children, Children,” Richie interrupted, rising from the sofa and stepping between them as though he thought they would come to blows.  “Don’t make me send you to bed without your dinner.”

“Wouldn’t be the only thing I’ve gone to bed without in the last week,” she muttered, fixing Jon with a pointed look.

The way she’d been lately, he’d probably get his dick ripped off if he got it close enough.

Sambora, because he knew it to be in his best interest to steer completely away from all-topics sexual with Jon’s woman, took a stride closer to Rachel and put a light hand on her shoulder.  “Rachel, Your hair looks great even without the hairspray.  Let’s make tracks and get a big, stiff drink in you before dinner.”

She ran her fingers through the unsprayed hair, clearly still frustrated, but she grabbed her purse and headed toward the door anyway, eyeing Jon as she walked by.  “Might as well.  God knows that’ll be the only big, stiff thing in me tonight.”

Jesus Christ…

Jon sucked in a deep breath and prayed for patience like he hadn’t prayed since Catholic school.  God must’ve known he was in dire need tonight, because a sick blanket of humor settled over Jon.  It was either laugh or he was going to put his hands around her throat and choke the living shit out of her. 

Chalk one up for the nuns.

“Hey, hey, hey!” Jon replied with a chuckled attempt at levity as he parked his empty beer can on the table and stood.  “Don’t be dissing the size of my dick.  It may not be as big as Sambora’s, but it can stiff you all night long.”

The loud snort found its way over her shoulder and back to him, along with her sarcastic, “I’ve been stiffed, alright…”

Yea though I walk through the valley of evil…..