3 - Three For The Road

Jon only thought he was antsy in Hawaii, but it turned out that he didn’t know what the hell antsy was.  Hawaii was... nothing more than a mosquito bite that needed scratched.  The next week in Seattle, however, could’ve written one of those five-pound, fancy college thesis papers on the topic of antsy.  It brought a whole new level of restless energy to a man who had been drowning in restless energy since birth.  Needless to say, his disposition left a lot to be desired, and his shitty mood was only exacerbated by the dreary weather.

Jon had to find some way to distract himself.  It was only the first official city and his band members and brothers were threatening to stuff him in a road case if he didn’t channel his inner “Mary-fucking-sunshine” and “get his pubes out of a knot”.

WHY had he chosen this dismal, cloud-infested city for the official kick-off to his latest tour?  He had no idea, but he was ready to have it behind him, which meant the shows should have been a welcome relief, but his tumultuous mind wiped out any positivity they brought.  It seemed like every song he sang had some nagging little lyric that reminded him of her.  A word here, a line there...  annoying as all hell, really. 

When he stomped down the stage stairs after the show, he was sweaty and snarling still.  He flung a towel toward the director’s chair in his quick change room and directed his footsteps through the backstage area intent upon getting the hell out of there and indulging in a big bottle of wine. 

That is, until he heard from behind him a sultry, “Great show, Jon.”

It was the cute, overly attentive rep from one of the radio stations.  Even if she hadn’t been undressing him with her eyes when he turned around, Jon could still pick up the vibe of a woman in heat from a mile away. 

He slid his eyes up and down her body with a detached curiosity.  She was hot in a Morticia Adams kind of way – jet black hair,  blacker eyeliner and a skimpy, albeit equally black, leather dress.  Her friend – the beer rep, if he remembered correctly – was offering up her own come-hither smile and was the opposite of Morticia.  This girl was more the down-home type – jeans and a sweater, both of which were painted on her like a second skin.  It had Jon thinking Rebecca-of-Sunnybrook-Farm looked like she belonged rolling around in a hay stack. 

The corners of Jon’s mouth slid up in a wolfish smile.

Ask for a distraction and ye shall receive.  Times two.

The farmer’s daughter and her leather-clad friend provided just enough entertainment to usher in the next morning’s sunrise, but, once he shooed the pair out the door, Jon was once again left alone with his restlessness.  With nothing on the schedule until tomorrow afternoon’s departure for San Jose, he reverted to what he knew best – working himself to the point of exhaustion.

He made phone call after phone call, driving his personal assistant and tour manager crazy with details of the next half-dozen stops before he resorted to seeking out another physical release.  The extra-long run along Puget Sound wore his ass out, but it didn’t cure his ants-in-the-pants problem.  He was pacing his room that evening and edgily flipping through the CNN app on his phone when Matt texted with last minute dinner plans.  He was grateful for the comradeship of his band and brothers as their day off drew to a close. 

In the end, the raucous evening spent in the company of the ever-outrageous Sambora and Bryan left him no time to think or dwell on unwanted thoughts.  As an added bonus, the vats of wine the group consumed enabled him to collapse into a deep, dreamless sleep without further consideration of a certain blonde woman who lived maddeningly near their next stop in California.

                                                                   ~ ~ ~

The plane flew so low over San Jose’s HP Pavilion that Jon could see the crowd already beginning to form.  His first impulse was to wonder if Rachel might be somewhere in that crowd.  After all, Livermore was only thirty or so miles from San Jose.  Less than an hour’s drive. 

Jon lifted his sunglasses to the top of his head, eyes immediately scouring the sea of fans for a familiar blonde head.  She could be there. 

But why would she, dumbfuck?

Because she felt the same undeniable inner disturbance that he’d been subjected to lately?  Knowing that they were this close and unable to resist the pull?

He snorted loud enough for the flight attendant to slide him a curious look and dropped his sunglasses back on his nose.

Yeah, that’s it.  She finds you completely irresistible.  That’s why she blew off a friendly text message.  That’s why she left you to begin with.  Fuck the NFL, you need to buy stock in Harlequin Romances if you believe that shit.

Shaking his head, he bounced his knee impatiently as the tires bounced against the runway.  Rachel Braden needed to stop haunting his thoughts like a damn ghost.  They’d moved past what they had. She was now nothing other than an acquaintance with whom he shared fond memories. 

He shucked the seatbelt as the plane decelerated to a halt and was waiting by the door while the other band members were gathering their carry-on items and Richie’s voice carried easily through the small aircraft.

“Ya know... you’re about the surliest, most impatient fuck lately.  When’s the last time you got laid?  Do you need me to find you some mercy pussy?  I can probably scrounge up something from my throwaways.”

Jon refrained from mentioning his sexual exploits and threw his guitarist a forceful Jersey salute while stepping through the finally-open door.  “For that wise-ass crack, you can crowd into a car with the rest of the guys.  I’m riding to the venue alone!”

“Thank ya, Jesus!” Richie called after him through the laughter of their flight companions. “I don’t want to be stuck in confined quarters with your moody ass, anyway!  And sing something fun tonight, for God’s sake!”

That was easier said than done.

Once he hit the arena, all the usual preparations began and, while he was determined to keep his thoughts away from Rachel, every song he considered for the night’s set list seemed to only remind him of her all the more. 

“When We Were Beautiful”, “Superman Tonight”, “Love’s The Only Rule” and “Thorn In My Side” all made it to the preliminary list – none of which qualified as fun.  For anybody.   It infuriated him that he couldn’t seem to escape her.

Coupled with Richie’s heckling words that still rattled in his head, Jon’s irritability was barely under control as he plopped down on the leather sofa and sunk into the cushions.  

You’d better find some fuckin’ happy place and go to it, rock star.  You’ve got paying customers waiting to see that stupid ass photogenic smile of yours.

Damn Rachel. 

It seemed as the miles between them lessened, the itch to be near her heightened.  Every blonde head that drifted through backstage did nothing but aggravate that itch.  Nothing was going to satisfy him but Rachel.  After barking at everyone who crossed his path – and making one of the new interns get teary-eyed in the process – he finally admitted it. 

Jon gave the Jersey salute to his pride and called her.

Even if she blew him off, her mere voice would soothe the incessant itch that was severe enough to warrant hives.  Right?

After three rings, Jon’s blood pressure was high enough to burst a blood vessel somewhere in his throbbing temple.  The spray would splatter all over the walls just like those CSI shows that Jesse was always watching.  Forensic specialists would come in and determine that he had high levels of testosterone flowing unchecked when the incident occurred and...

I’ve had just about enough of this schoolboy obsession shit!

She was just a woman for fuck’s sake!  In a few hours, he’d be in a room with 18,000 of them.  Each and every one who would happily abandon their boyfriends, husbands, babies or cats to be his willing concubine for an hour.    He didn’t have to sit around pining for a woman –

He had almost reached the point of no return and was easing the phone away from his ear when her voice finally came over the line.

“Hello, Jon.”

Two simple words in that familiar voice and his mental tirade was all but forgotten.  Hell, it might never have existed in the first place.  How would he know?   Politically correct, diplomatic, smooth talking Jon Bon Jovi couldn’t find a single functioning brain cell. 

His tongue and voice were well on their way to joining those non-functioning brain cells when he forcibly hauled them back with an eloquent, “Hey.”

Jesus, you’re a smooth motherfucker, aren’t you, Bongiovi??

In the throes of temporary mental paralysis, his vast grip on the English language had been reduced to a single familiar word.  It was the way they’d always greeted each other, and the simple greeting had been sufficient for every mood shared between them in the past.  It was second nature to start a conversation with Rachel that way.

Apparently, she didn’t share that notion, because she said nothing else.  In fact, the silence seemed to hang in the air like that thick, woolen military blanket his Marine mother had always wanted to put on his bed in winter.  For a solid ten seconds, it lay between them like an itchy, scratchy, uncomfortable barrier before he finally dredged up a coherent continuation.

“Just thought I’d say hi.  I’m in your neck of the woods, if you didn’t know.” 

She either breathed deeply or sighed.  He wasn’t sure which, and it had him holding his own breath.

“Yeah, I know… it’s been all over the radio for days.  You’ll be happy to know your PR people are doing an excellent job,” she sighed.  It was definitely a sigh this time, but there was an amused little smirk in her voice when she admitted, “I couldn’t escape you if I tried!”

The smile that had begun to form on Jon’s face as she spoke went wide at that little tidbit, reaching all the way to the corners of his eyes.  So the little minx knew he was in town.  AND she’d all but admitted she was thinking about him.  This was going to be easier than he expected. 

“Good to know.”  He caught sight of his cocky grin in the mirror and let that billowing self-confidence color his voice.  She liked his arrogance.  As much as she hated it, she liked it and he was certain that it would work in his favor.  “Yanno, Rach, I was thinkin’… You’ve never been to a show.  Why don’t you come tonight, and we can catch up a little?”

She didn’t immediately tell him no, but she didn’t jump in there with a resounding yes, either.  On the upside, he could practically hear the wheels spinning in her brain.  Jon figured that was a good sign.  It meant she was at least thinking about it. 

But Jon needed her to more than think about it; he needed her to say yes.  More than anyone – including himself – realized, he had missed Rachel and all the normalcy that came from being with her.  She wasn’t part of the “Jon Bon Jovi” world, but she’d been part of his world – the part that still had a gaping hole in it, if he was honest.  Even if she’d agree to fill it for part of an evening...  Well, it was a place to start. 

Come on Rach.  Say yes.  Please.  You know you want to.

His lips had just parted to verbalize the encouragement – with the exception of ‘please’ – when she sighed again.  Unfortunately this sigh wasn’t followed by amusement-tinged words.  Her voice was soft and monotone when she justified the prolonged quietness. 

“I’m trying very hard to come up with a kind way of reminding you of what I said when you called me on my birthday, but I don’t know how to do that without just saying what I’ve already said.  Please don’t call me anymore, Jon.  I can’t have contact with you and still heal.”  Her voice was strained and pained, yet unwaveringly firm.  “Please don’t keep doing this to me.  It’s not fair.”

He jerked back as though she had physically slapped him.  Catching a glimpse of his own stunned features in the mirror, he saw that his expression clearly conveyed the “What the fuck?” that had blasted through his mind. 

Not fair?  What the hell wasn’t fair?  He hadn’t begged or pleaded – or shown any emotion at all beyond casual interest.  His request sounded like the same one he’d issued to dozens of friends over the years.  What the hell was her problem?

It was only about two seconds after she spoke, rather than the two minutes it felt like, when Jon regained his composure and responded.  He masked the hurt and insult she’d dished out with words that were frosted with bitter cold ice. 

“I invited you to a rock concert, Rachel, not my bed.  Take care...”

With that, he disconnected the call and felt the bottom fall out of his world. 

Again.

He didn’t even have it in him to be angry as he let the phone drop carelessly to the dressing table and straightened the collar on his half-buttoned shirt, absently noting the lonely dullness of his face and eyes.  He’d have to fix that before he hit the stage – like he always did. 

Because, at the end of every day, even the people who knew and loved him best didn’t fully realize how utterly alone he felt.  He had never let anybody see that. 

Not even Rachel. 

Jon had come to realize that he’d never completely let her into his inner mind and wondered if she’d ever let him into hers, either.  If he had a chance to do it over again, it would be different – HE would be different – but he couldn’t rewrite the past.  Too many things had gone unspoken between them... and it seemed they were destined to remain that way.

He glanced over at the guitar patiently waiting in its customary stand.   That familiar, scarred guitar had proven to be his only true soul mate. 

His guitar had been an unwavering loyal, faithful friend and was the only one who saw the best and worst of him – good and bad, happy and sad.  It kept all his secrets, offered silent support and therapy during the darkest of times, gave him a way to celebrate the happy occasions.  It had seen him through the birth of his kids and then breakup with Dot, when she took all but their family from him.  It had poured out beautiful new creations on the days when Rachel inspired him and commiserated through the dark days after she left.   It was the only thing he could count on to be there for him.

In spite of the façade he wore onstage and in front of his friends and family, Jon was living a lonely existence, and had for most of his life. 

Once upon a time Rachel had taken him out of that place, but now she was gone.  Hell, not only was she gone... she wouldn’t even talk to him. 

You don’t need anybody else.  You never have.  Now, get your shit together!

Show time neared and that meant it was time to put his game face on.  There would be no more thoughts of Rachel, dammit!   He would flash that mega watt smile, shake his money maker and flirt with the ladies in the pit just like he did every show – nobody in the audience would be the wiser. 

After he earned his paycheck, then he would retreat to another cold, soulless hotel room.  A couple bottles of wine and a sleeping pill would give him enough rest to face the morning and start the rock star cycle all over again.

Alone.