Moral of the Story

When her phone pealed out a familiar tune, Rachel looked up from the listing she was putting together with a smile.  She couldn’t keep track of the time difference between California and Australia, but she knew that – up until today – Jon had been calling well before her clock read its current eleven in the morning.

They must have had a label party or something that ran late.

“Hey you,” she answered lightly.  “I was starting to wonder if you’d gotten drunk and passed-“

“I have a plane waiting for you to bring you to Australia.  I don’t want a big discussion – I just want you on it.”

Her eyebrows immediately knit together, but not as tightly as her stomach knotted.  Even if his snapped orders hadn’t grabbed her attention, the underlying tension in his voice had set off all kind of alarm bells inside of her.

“Wait, what?  Why?  What’s wrong?”

“I want you here.”

Sitting on the edge of her seat, she waited for something more.  Something that would clarify the emergency so dire that she had to drop her entire life and come running to Australia during the busiest weeks of the year in the real estate world.

All she got was, “Are you on your way?”

She cocked her head to the side, narrowing her eyes in concentration, as though that would help her more quickly puzzle out what was going on here.

“Nooo…  I’m waiting for you tell me what’s happened.”

And if she thought he’d snapped at her before, it was nothing compared to his barked, “I’m sick of you being on one continent and me on another.  And beyond that – I’m sick of pretending I’m not fucking sick of it.  I want you where I can get to you, not all the way on the other side of the fucking globe playing Monopoly with other people’s money!”

It took every iota of self-restraint she possessed for Rachel not to hang up on him – after telling him to go fuck his pompous, arrogant self – but she managed.  Barely.  However, her molars were now missing a layer of enamel thanks to the grinding that they were currently being subjected to.

You know how he is when he’s upset.  He becomes irrational and pious.  Ignore the insults and stay calm.

“I’m going to ignore that, since you’re obviously really upset about something that has nothing to do with my career choice.  Talk to me, Jon.  Use your words, not your attitude.”

“Don’t talk to me like I’m a goddamn toddler throwing a temper tantrum!”

She inhaled through her nose, pushing back the growing annoyance with behavior that pretty well mirrored a toddler temper tantrum.  “Then stop acting like one,” she suggested reasonably.  “And tell me what has your non-existent panties in a twist.”

There was a harsh exhalation on the other end of the line, and she would almost bet there was a cloud of smoke around his head as a result.  Since she’d known him, Jon had been very conscientious about not smoking, but there were times when he remarked that he was hovering between smoking a cigarette or killing somebody.  This morning – tonight, whatever – it sounded like maybe the cigarette had won.

“Jon…” she prompted.  “Are you going to tell me what’s going on, or should I roll my dice and collect two hundred dollars for passing Go?”

His snort was probably an indication that he found her Monopoly reference amusing, but he didn’t want to.

“I’m going to fuck this up if you don’t get over here.”

“Excuse me?”  His words had been so quiet that she wasn’t sure she’d heard him correctly.  “What exactly is it that you’re going to fuck up?”

The pent up breath he released this time wasn’t so much harsh as it was… weary?

“Us.  I’m going to fuck us up.”

And they say women are confusing...

“You’re gonna have to be more specific, baby.  I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

There was a prolonged pause before he said, “I love you, Rachel.  I know I don’t say it very much, but I do.  As much or more than I’ve ever loved anybody.  I need you to know that.”

The knots in her stomach grew thorns.  If he had to preface this with a declaration of love, then whatever he had to say wasn't good.  And if it wasn't good, she wasn’t sure was ready to hear it even though she'd die if he didn't say something and put her out of her misery already.

“I do know,” she responded evenly, with no outward evidence of her inner turmoil seeping through.  This should be the point where she reiterated that she loved him, too, or assured  him that whatever it was would be just fine.

But she couldn’t make herself. 

All she could do was silently wait for the other shoe to drop, and drop it did.

“Rach, there was this reporter before the show.  Then she came to the show.  And, after the show, I invited her back to my room.”

Naturally the other shoe is a mother-fucking stiletto heel.

A million thoughts and emotions fought for attention in Rachel’s mind, but all she could catch were snippets of each.  Anger, hurt, nausea, indignation and insult all clawed at one another, trying to be dominant, even as reason tried to poke at the pile of negativity with a pitchfork.

He doesn’t have to tell you this.  He has more clandestine skeletons in his closet than half the free world combined.  He could have fucked her night after night and you never would’ve known.

Okay, then.  So why was he telling her?  To ease his own guilty conscience by making her feel like yesterday’s news?  If so, she hoped he choked on his guilty, immature conscience.  Was he ever going to grow up, or did he plan to always perpetuate the rockstar dream of fucking the most beautiful girl in the crowd - just because he could?

The logical thing would’ve been to ask one of those questions, but she wasn't feeling all that logical so she launched a semi-sarcastic, "I hope you wore a rubber.”

“No, no!" he jumped in with both feet, anxious to vindicate himself.  "That’s not what happened - I didn’t fuck her!  I swear to God, Rach, I didn’t!”

Because his response was so immediate and vehement that Rachel's first instinct was to believe him.  Did that make her naïve and gullible or simply in tune with her man?  

If you'd been soooo in tune with him, you'd have known he was chasing someone else's skirt.

“If you didn't fuck her, then explain to me why we are having this conversation.”

Another sigh echoed across the oceans, and she hoped it was one with disgust at himself.  God knew she was pretty well disgusted.  Her hope was affirmed with the tone of self-loathing when he quietly admitted, “Because I wanted to.”

Great.  Not only did she hate every word he was uttering, she had to drag it out of him in sentences that were as short and stubby as his fingers.

“Oh for God’s sake, just tell me already,” she demanded, this time letting the tiniest bit of annoyance to creep into her words. She was trying to be the 'cool' girlfriend here and not blow a gasket or - God forbid - have a crying jag, but he was pushing the boundaries of her patience.

“I wanted to fuck her,” he expounded. “I got caught up in the euphoria of the stage and there was just something that kept drawing me to her.   I swear nothing like this has ever happened when we’re apart, but tonight  -  I just lost it somehow.  I can claim Richie’s drinking is stressing me to the breaking point or I can tell you I’m so horny I can’t see straight or that I just miss you like crazy, but I know none of that makes any difference.  I was wrong.  And I don’t want to screw this up between you and me.  I love you…and I’m sorry.  I’m so sorry, Rach.”

Relief seeped into her bloodstream and her stiffened back and shoulders relaxed.  She was still annoyed, but his groveling monologue gave her hope that maybe - just maybe - he wasn't going to be a rockstar Lothario his whole life.  

"Are you telling me that nothing at all happened with her?"

"No! God, I don't know.  Maybe.   I mean…I kissed her."

She swallowed a lump of what she presumed was bile lodged in her throat. The lips that she was so intimately familiar with - that had been so intimate with her - had been plastered against those of a woman he'd wanted to have sex with.

"I assume I don't have to tell you how shitty that makes me feel?"

"No shittier than I feel!  Jesus, Rach, do you see why I want you with me?  I don't wanna be all pussy about it, but I'm not sure I can do this monogamy thing without you."

Okay, now she was just pissed.  Seriously?  The man was almost fifty years old and just now experiencing the ramifications of monogamy?  That was just pathetic.  

"Well, you're going to have to figure it out, buddy, because I can't - won't - shame you into being faithful.  You either want to or you don't."

"This would be a hell of a lot easier if you'd just marry me,"he groused.

"Did that make any difference with Dorothea?  You said it yourself – a marriage certificate is just a piece of paper. All the rings and ceremonies in the world aren't going to stop you from screwing around if you want to.”

"Well, I don't want to! I want you for the rest of my life, but this is all kinda new to me. I know I destroyed my family and marriage with Dorothea because I wasn’t faithful.  I get that and acknowledge women are my Achilles heel, but I'd like to get a steel-heeled boot or something, because I don’t want to do that anymore.  That's not who I wanna be anymore."

And he meant it.  The sincerity in his voice was completely unmistakable.  This was NFL franchise serious to him.  Yeah, he was confused by the fact that he felt like a piece of dog crap about wanting a woman, but he was adamant that he didn't want to feel that  way again.  

The hurt, anger and disgust Rachel had felt with Jon’s admission he’d desired another woman began to dissipate and was replaced with love.  This was huge for him, and took them to a whole new level of trust and commitment.   

One which mandated she put her hurt aside, be thankful he was able to talk to her about this, and reassure him that he was on the right track.

“You aren’t that man anymore, baby.  If you were, you’d be rolling around between the sheets with Lois Lane.  Instead, you called me."

“You’re the one, Rach.  Without any doubt, you’re the only one.”

Yes.  A skanky Australian reporter was a milestone in their relationship.  A good milestone.  Who would've thought?

“Good answer.  Now....  The moral of this story is….?”

“That your ass should be on tour with me, so that when I’m horny I can fuck you blind and go to sleep instead of being up half the night arranging flights to get you here.”

Rachel laughed, knowing in her heart that she'd made the right decision in not freaking out.  He may not be perfect, but he was hers.

“No, honey, the moral of the story is that Superman has morals.  Enough sexual morals not to fuck Lois Lane.  I understand that’s something new and different for you, so it may take a while before you get used to not whipping out the Rod of Steel on a whim, but I’m confident you’ll master it.  Eventually.”

It was a little overwhelming, Rachel thought, the whole love thing.  When you let yourself give into it and allowed another human being to hold your heart so completely and fully, you also gave that person permission to drag you from the highest heavenly cloud to the depths of hell while trusting that they’d lift you up again when it was all over.  So far Jon hadn’t violated that trust.  He may have made some questionable choices, but he’d ultimately done the right thing and, no matter if they were in heaven or hell, Rachel was right there beside him.