The days leading up to the New Orleans Jazzfest had at
least fifty hours in them that were packed with exhausting rehearsals that
weren’t fun for anyone involved. Rachel
watched the men of Bon Jovi trudge through each somber session, working out how
to cover this guitar part and that harmony so that there weren’t any
holes.
As well as being physically and emotionally trying, the
endless rehearsals limited the amount of time Jon and Rachel spent alone, which
meant he had no opportunity to disconnect from work and recharge. She saw him staring off into space between
songs, his face set in lined stone as he struggled with the sole responsibility
of filling the hole left by Richie’s stage presence. That was something no one else in the band
could do, and from the looks of it, Jon was trying to convince himself he could.
It had him as stressed as she’d ever seen him, and Rachel
repeatedly tried to absorb the stress as her own – without success. There was no budging it from his shoulders
because he perceived it to be his cross to bear, and that left her able to do
nothing but stand by and watch him trudge along.
Her only solace was that he seemed to take solace
in her mere presence, as surprising as that was. It was subtle, but for a woman who knew
everything about the man she loved, the evidence was there.
When she would leave the studio to go home and do some
work or fix the guys a meal, he wouldn’t let her out the door without asking
when she’d be back. At night, he collapsed into bed while barely
speaking but pulled her close, holding tight with nothing more than the release
of a long, tension-filled breath against her ear. If she happened to scoot away during the
night, it was only moments before he followed, folding her close.
Rachel thought maybe she could distract him from his
thoughts with something more physical, but her one attempt at seduction proved
to be an utter failure. He simply
captured her wandering hands, stilling them to mutter that even his dick had
let him down.
By the time they left for Louisiana, there had been little
or no improvement. The entire flight
found him either holding her hand, curving tight fingers around her thigh or
just leaning close enough to make contact.
His touch was constant, as was his clenched jaw.
There were moments when Rachel would swear she could hear
his teeth grinding, and all of it together felt like the oppressive heat
preceding a summer storm. She didn’t
know if the dark cloud of his mood would result in only a low rumble of thunder
or more destructive lighting, hail and torrential downpour, but she knew
something was coming.
Her man was on the verge of losing his carefully
cultivated cool, and she was afraid for him – and everyone around him.
Immediately after the plane touched down, they were
herded into a chauffeured vehicle and ferried to the Jazz Fest venue. As he always did, Jon wanted to make sure
everything was properly set up and do a sound check, but that wasn’t the way
this gig was structured to go.
Multiple acts were using this same stage throughout the
day, making the usual soundcheck impossible, but Jon was assured – repeatedly –
that the equipment was working properly.
After asking for the third time and receiving the same answer, he had no
choice but to take the technician’s word for it and hope the young guy was right.
That left him at loose ends while he waited for Bon
Jovi’s turn, and he filled the time by flexing his hands, cracking and rubbing
his knuckles, rubbing his temple and restlessly tapping a thumb against his leg
until Rachel was as agitated as he was. She
couldn't wait to get this thing over with so they could race back to the plane and
home to the peace of the Navesink River.
She was not a fan of New Orleans.
It was hot, sticky and unbearably humid. The air was so oppressively heavy that it was
hard for Rachel to breathe, and even minimal movement had her neck and forehead
damp with perspiration. Jon, though,
didn’t seem to notice. In spite of the
sauna-like weather, he dressed for the stage like the quintessential rocker in
leather, blue jeans and a pair of mirrored aviator sunglasses that only he
could make sexy.
When showtime finally arrived, they walked hand in hand
to the backstage area, which was abuzz with activity. He was squeezing her fingers so tightly that
they were numb from lack of circulation, but she didn’t say a word as the rest
of the band took to the stage.
She only watched on, wiggling her tingling fingers as
Jon’s guitar was slung over his neck, and when he turned to her, Rachel tenderly wiped the sweat from his
forehead. Tico counted off the song and
the intro music bled into the thick air when Rachel cupped his cheek to assure
her love, “You’ve got this, baby. It’s
just another day at the office, and I’ll be here waiting when you’re done.”
He offered nothing beyond the staccato lift of his chin
in acknowledgement before bending to push a hard kiss against her lips. With that, Jon walked around the curtain and
took a very different stage than what he was used to.
Rachel blew out a breath and moved to the side stage. She wasn’t conspicuous to the audience, but
there was a clear line of vision between her and Jon and that’s precisely what
she had in mind. If he could find any
moral support in her at all, she wanted him to have it.
Blood on Blood was the show opener and while the guys
seemed perfectly happy performing it, this was one of those songs that Rachel
wasn’t crazy about. Considering the
circumstances, she also found it an odd choice for this particular set list,
but it had gone well in rehearsal and Jon loved it.
With that beaming smile as he belted out the lyrics, nobody
but her ever would’ve detected the edge he took to the stage with him.
The fans would notice nothing but their rock star, in all his glory.
If it was possible to fall more in love with this man,
Rachel had just done it. Who wouldn’t
fall in love with a man who possessed that kind of work ethic and dedication to
his audience? There was no one who took
his job more seriously, even on those occasions where he was smiling and
flirting with half the front row.
At the launch of the second song, she was relieved to see
him begin to loosen up. She was even
more relieved to hear that his recent intimacy with pack after pack of
cigarettes and a week’s worth of lost sleep wasn’t affecting his voice. His vocals were rock solid.
That relief wavered a bit when Rachel noticed that there
was some kind of issue going on with his guitar pedals. She wasn’t privy as to they operated, so it
was impossible to tell whether they were sticking or not holding, but Obie was
ripping a crew member’s ass during a burst of frantic activity at the
soundboard. It seemed to get resolved in
short order, and Jon’s soft smile in direction after the song, eased some of
the tension from Rachel’s shoulders.
He was going to make it through this. They all were.
The mirrored sunglasses were tossed aside at the onset of
“It’s My Life” as the crowd roared its approval, and Rachel's smile found her
face for the first time in days. Whereas “Blood on Blood” wasn’t one of
her favorites, this one got her adrenaline pumping, and with her man claiming
full ownership of that stage, she shared the same excitement as his throng of
fans. Fist raised high in the muggy air
to beat time right along with Tico, she sang in unison with Jon, “It's my
liiiiiiiife, it's now or never!"
She was still beaming when David hit the intro to “Runaway”.
It was one of those songs that always stirred something
in Rachel. The music itself was part of
it, but she loved the associated history, too and couldn’t help but give a
mental "fuck you" to Richie because he hated playing the song that
started their journey. She gave him another when Jon got totally lost in
the guitar solo, because it was the first time in nearly a week that tension didn’t
cut harsh lines in his face.
The show progressed as naturally as any other, and Rachel
found herself forgetting that this wasn’t a normal show. The guitar player filling in for Richie was
holding his own and Jon had found his groove. Even the air felt less
stifling.
And then... Jon
stuttered while leading the crowd into the opening of “Bad Medicine”.
Both hands came up to press into his ears, and his scowl
of confusion quickly shifted into an ominous display of Stink Eye. The monitors in his ears obviously weren’t
doing what was expected, and he became immediately pissy, flipping a middle
finger at the same sound tech who managed not to wither in under the heat of
the infamous Stink Eye.
To the casual observer, this was nothing more than a blip
on the radar, but Jon’s easy demeanor was now shadowed with renewed dark clouds
as he stalked the stage. Rachel was on
edge because he was on edge, and she wished fervently for a Xanax or some
tequila to lower her rising blood pressure.
He had to find himself again and get through this show
without crumbling under the pressure.
The silent pep talk she gave went unheard because the
Stink Eye hovered just below the surface.
It stayed safely sheathed when looking out at the crowd, but he drew it
like a switchblade to slice the off-stage technicians who weren’t living up to
his standards today.
Rachel was close enough to feel the sting, and air that
had become almost breathable was once again oppressive and stagnant, heavy with
the tension of the Bon Jovi crew on and around that stage. Sweat streamed down Jon’s face, and feeling
the dampness building in her underarms, she would’ve given half a year’s salary
for a fan big enough to blow it all away.
"Lord, God, Jesus,” she whispered as somebody missed
a chord in the guitar solo. “Just let them
get through this without embarrassing themselves."
Jon seemed to be struggling as they went into what Rachel
referred to the “The Jukebox Striptease” in the middle of “Bad Medicine”, but
nobody in the audience seemed to notice.
They were the lucky ones, because she couldn’t see anything but her
man’s struggle, and she leaned forward as though her intense concentration was
enough to put him to rights.
Maybe that worked, because things seemed to even out a
bit during "Pretty Woman". She
was just about to accuse herself of overreacting to her own anxiety when Tico
missed his cue back into “Bad Medicine”.
And that, as they say, was the straw that broke the
camel’s back.
"GOD DAMN!" Jon shouted at Tico under the cover
of the music, so that only those on the business end of Bon Jovi could hear. "DO YOUR FUCKING JOB!"
With the heartbreaking realization that this week’s
burden was causing her man of steel to rust away in the Louisiana humidity,
Rachel was on the verge of a full-blown panic attack. Her heart raced and she pressed hard
fingertips to her mouth, wondering what was next.
The thought had no more crossed her mind when Jon kicked
one of the amps with enough force to knock over the cup that sat atop it. Tea splattered everywhere in a ten-foot
radius in a display of his foul mood, and Rachel was torn between wanting to
whisk him back to New Jersey and the desire to slap some sense back into
him.
In the end, all she could do was stand by and watch as
the love of her life came undone in front of fifty thousand people.
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