29 - Material Girl

“Oh my God, did you hear?” Candace hissed in Petey’s ear.  Brainiac Barbie tended to be a little dramatic, so Petey didn’t bother looking up from the video footage she was editing.

“Hear what?” 

“About the party!” Candace was gushing.  That was probably one of her most annoying traits.  Not that Petey judged anyone, it was just a clashing personality kind of thing.  Gushing was…  not Petey.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, so I guess not.”  There.  That section was spliced together perfectly.

Now.  Let’s see what else we’ve got to work with.

“Jon Bon Jovi’s Christmas party on Saturday!  All of us have been invited.  It’s a welcome aboard party for the tour.”

Oh.  That.  Jon had mentioned it that one day, but she hadn’t heard anything from Tony.  Didn’t really matter since she wasn’t going.  She’d successfully kept her libido in check for two weeks now, and by all evidence, so had Jon.  He hadn’t placed a booty call and she hadn’t come knocking on his door, so now Petey had the distance she should have kept all along.  Their not-so-torrid affair had fizzled out.

“But you’re not going on the tour.”  At least last she’d heard, Candace wasn’t.  Tony was likely afraid she’d be too busy wiring the dressing rooms with live video feed to do any actual work.

“Well.  No.”  Candace couldn’t understand why Petey was focusing on semantics.  “But Tony said I could go anyway.”

After you brow beat the poor man into it so you could get close to his brother?

Considering that she had been in his bed, Petey smirked evilly to herself and hit fast forward on the footage.  Candace would die at that little factoid.  “I’m sure you’ll have a nice time.”

“Uh.  Hello?  You have to go, too.” 

Petey knew she could be a social dimwit, but Candace was socially condescending.  It pissed Petey off and got her back up.  “Why is that?”

“Oh come on, girl!  The men of Bon Jovi will be there.  Jon, Richie Sambora…”  Petey abstained from mentioning that she’d been out on two dates with Richie.  “… David Bryan and that adorable little Cuban drummer.”

“Tico Torres.”  Little to the six-foot tall Candace, but just an average sized guy to Petey.  Someone not quite as physically overpowering as some men.  Him, she was kind of looking forward to meeting.

But she would have plenty of time for that once the tour got underway.

“Exactly!  So you have to go.”

Petey paused the footage and gave Candace a look she typically reserved for her brothers when they were being moronic asses.  “I fail to see how that mandates my attendance.”

Candace dramatically – imagine that – threw her hands in the air and lifted her face to the ceiling.  “You cannot send me into this party by myself, Petey.”

“Tony, Randy and Bill will all be there,” she pointed out reasonably, as though speaking to a small child.  Seriously.  How did this woman know a coaxial cable from a telephone line?  Autism?

“Yes, but they’re men.”  Candace was speaking to her in the same tone.  Petey was beyond annoyed now.  For the first time she felt an inkling of Jon’s frustration at her one word answers.

“Candace could you cut to the chase here?  WHY is it that you think I need to be there?  Be specific.”

She gave a dramatic – yes, dramatic – put upon sigh.  “Guys can grunt and bump fists and they’re best friends.  Tony already knows most everyone.  Bill and Randy will testosterone bond with anybody over one drink.  Women are going to be the minority at this thing, so I would like to wade into the celebrity waters with a female friend at my side.  Is that specific enough?”

Oh.  She considered Petey a friend.  That was… a revelation.

Petey narrowed her eyes suspiciously.  “You want a female friend, or a female freak to look stunning alongside?”

“Oh, get over yourself,” Candace snorted.  “No matter how much you try and make it so, your eclectic appearance is not the focal point of everything.”

Shocked by the brutal honesty, Petey blinked at the other woman, weighing the truth in her words.  Did she try and make herself the focal point?  She took a moment for an impromptu self-psychoanalysis, but came up with nothing new or unusual in her psyche.  She didn’t want attention, she wanted to do what she wanted to do.  Period.  If that drew attention, it was an unfortunate byproduct.

Not wanting to argue with her any more, Petey mumbled, “I’ll think about it,” and returned to her work.

“You have to do more than think about it,” Candace persisted.  “It’s two days away, Petey.  I need a firm commitment.”

Fortunately, Petey’s phone buzzed about that time with an incoming call.  Without looking at the screen, she slid out of her seat with a shrug, “Sorry, I have to take this.”

Stepping outside the studio and into the hallway, she pulled the phone from her pocket and saw that it was Richie. 

That’s odd.

“Hello?”

“Hey darlin’,” his deep voice came over the line.  “How are ya?”

“Are you psychic?  Somebody I work with was just talking about you,” she asked teasingly, pleased to hear from him.  Unlike Candace, she actually considered Richie a friend.  He and Gavin both, which was odd considering she’d only spoken to Gavin a handful of times and she no longer lived across the hall from him.  Facing a break-in together must have bonding properties.

“I’ve been called that before,” he admitted with amusement.  “But this time I just wanted to talk to you.  I haven’t heard from you since I left New York.  Did you decide a bi-coastal relationship wouldn’t work?”

“Stop.  You know you weren’t serious about that.”

“Hey, I don’t kid about that kinda thing.  It gets me in trouble.”

“Kind of like you are now?” she asked menacingly.

“Ouch.  Okay, no bi-coastal relationship.  Since you’ve crushed my heart and stolen my will to live, you can at least go out with me next time I’m in town, can’t you?”

She looked toward the ceiling with a barely contained groan.  “The whole dramatic thing is working more against you than for you, since I’ve been dealing with drama all afternoon.  But yes, next time you’re in town, I’d love to see you.”

“Outstanding.  I’ve got a new dress design I want to bring you.  Will you wear it?”

She was immediately skeptical.  “You’ve seen my taste in clothing.  Are you sure it’s something I’ll like?”

“Yeah, baby, it’s all you, I promise.  Wear it for me.”

He was so excited about it, she was hard pressed to tell him no.  But there was still that little part of her that wasn’t so sure.

“Tell me about it,” she hedged, searching for a diplomatic compromise.

He chuckled, reading her like a book.  “Don’t trust me to design something edgy enough for you, P?”

“I didn’t say that.  I just want to know what I’m committing to.”

“Ahhhh.  Commitment issues.  Everybody’s got ‘em anymore.  It’s a damn shame,” he sighed sorrowfully and was silent for a beat before perking back up.  “Okay, fine.   Here’s the skinny on the dress.  It’s a short, black suede number that should hit your pixie legs about mid-thigh, if I’ve calculated correctly.  It zips up the front from hem to plunging neckline and has long, flowing chiffon sleeves, a la Morticia Addams.  From bust to shoulder on either side of the neckline is a spider web of leather.”

It sounded remarkable.  Exactly like something she’d get for herself.  How had he pegged her so perfectly in such a short time?

“It sounds amazing.  You designed this?”

“Yes, my lovely dark angel, with you in mind.”

“You can’t be serious!”  He’d designed a dress specifically for her?  She was flabbergasted at the lack of rationality.  They’d only met a handful of times.  What did he hope to accomplish by doing this?

“I’m very serious.”

“You designed a dress.  For me.”  It was still incomprehensible, and beyond anything else she’d ever been on the receiving end of.  There had to be something she was missing.  Some underlying motive...  “Wait.”  She thought she had it now.  “Do you want sex?”

A whiskey-rough chuckle resonated in her ear, sending a shiver down her spine.  “I’m a man.  I always want sex, but that’s not the reason for the dress.  You kicked my fashion creativity into a different gear and made me think of some new ideas.  This is my way of saying thank you.”

“Oh.  Well, in that case, thank you and I’m in.  What kind of shoes should I wear with this Sambora original?”

“The sexiest suede boots you can find, baby.”  It sounded like he snapped his fingers before saying, “I tell ya what…  I know the perfect ones.  Tell me your shoe size and I’ll bring them too.”

“Richie, you’re not bringing me boots.  It’s too much already and, besides, that’s borderline kinky.”

“Darlin’,” he cooed in a drawl intended to melt a woman’s bones, “You have no idea about the kinky things I can pack in my bag, but these boots aren’t on the list.  Now give me your damn shoe size.”

She felt the heat rush into her face.  The man had a voice that promised sex, and when that voice was talking about kinky things?  We-eeell….

“Five.  I wear a size five.”

“Excellent, my tiny footed beauty.”  She could hear him grinning through the phone.  “Consider yourself costumed.”

She found herself grinning right alongside him.  “If I might be so bold, Mr. Sambora, do you have any idea when this Cinderella date is going to take place?  My calendar fills up pretty quickly, you know.”

“Why yes, Ms. Diehl I did have a specific date in mind, now that you mention it.  I’m going to a little soiree on Saturday night that, I understand from Tony, you’re also invited to.  I’d like it very much if you’d accompany me.”

That damn party again.

“You mean Jon Bon Jovi’s crew party?”  She knew it was a stupid question.  It wasn’t like she’d been invited to any other parties.

“The one and same.  You’ll get to meet the rest of the band, who will likely be loud and obnoxious – well, except for Tico and Hugh.  Well, really just David, but they’re all good guys.  I think you’ll enjoy them.”

First Candace and now Richie.  It looked like she wasn’t going to escape this particular social obligation, so she may as well get on board and enjoy it.

“Any chance you can hook me up with a black Santa hat, too?”