77 - Undiscovered Soul

His productivity evidently didn't spread to the rest of the world.

“What do you mean, you can’t find her?” Jon asked, one hand crudely massaging the tension from his neck as his eyes squinted shut.

The late afternoon sunshine should have improved his disposition, but the glare through his study windows was harsh, and only served to further sour his disposition.  His disposition couldn't sour much further without curdling into cottage cheese.

“She has a fucking cell phone, he needlessly pointed out, yet again.  "Can’t you trace them or some such shit?”

“We did,” Mark, the private investigator, assured him wearily.  “She hasn’t used it since Sunday night.  We tracked the last signal coming from the Pittsburgh regional area, but the phone is now either dead or she has it turned off.  She doesn’t have credit cards, and her debit card hasn’t shown any activity since last week.  It’s making things difficult.”

He sighed with pent up frustration.   Four days.  Five really, if you counted Sunday, that he had exhibited the patience of a saint.  By his standards, anyway.  

After his talk with Stephanie on Sunday, he had rounded up the number for Mark Delossantos, a private investigator who had successfully produced for him on a couple of other occasions.   Jon gave Mark all of the information he personally knew about Petey and, as the result of a long  chat with Tony, he also provided all of the vital statistic info from her employment records.  Two hours later, Mark had confirmation that she had flown to Pittsburgh, but that was it.

It was now Thursday and Jon's sainthood was now set to be revoked.  It was to the point that if he found her, he may kill her for putting him through this.  Didn’t she know what she was doing to him?

No, asshole, because you got sidetracked and didn’t tell her she was more than a fuck buddy.  To top that off, you let her walk away full-well knowing that you didn’t have a way to find her.  You’re a fucking idiot.

“So we’re just dead in the water?" he belligerently demanded of Mark.  "She doesn’t want to be found, so she isn’t going to be?” 

“That’s kind of where we’re at Jon.”

Why was he paying out the nose for this useless piece of fuck?

“Unacceptable.  You have until the morning to get me something useful, or I’ll find somebody who can.”  He disconnected the call with a string of creative obscenities. 

The only thing remotely useful to come out of the last four days was from Matt.  Security footage at his club revealed a tall, skinny male slinking out of the shadows of the building about the time of Petey's incident. They hadn’t made out the license plate out his silver sedan as of yet, but they were working on sharpening the image enough to decipher it.

It didn't matter.  Jon didn’t need the DMV’s help to pin this on the Lone Lover.  Tony’s description of him – tall and skinny with a big nose, calling himself Petey’s fiancé – was enough to know who it was, and his name.  Daniel. 

Although it would be nice to get Daniel’s last name, he thought maliciously.  If he was the one responsible for Petey’s split lip, as they suspected, Jon wanted to be able to hunt the bastard down at his pleasure.  God, it made him furious to think of that guy even touching her. 

I bet he’s not smart enough to hold his own in an argument with my imp.  The only way he can quiet her is to smack her in the mouth.

The thought made his blood boil hotter.  He would either personally visit the putz or send one of his ‘friends’ to teach Daniel the proper way to treat a lady.  Whichever it was, the sexually repressed prig would regret ever touching Petey.

Jon flipped his watch around to check the time.  He had a commitment tonight that he couldn't get out of, no matter how much he'd like to.  When he first scheduled the event, it was something he'd genuinely been looking forward to, but that was a distant lifetime ago - before Petey.  Now the political fundraiser he was obligated to attend seemed more of a pain in the ass than anything, especially since it required a flight to DC.

You wanted your voice heard, Rock Star.  This turns up a lot of hearing aids on the old men in Washington.

Grudgingly, he pushed himself up out of the chair and went to dig out a suit and tie.  If there was a God, they at least wouldn't ask him to sing.

☠ ☢ ☠

Jon slid the wool overcoat down his arms and gave it to the coatroom attendant outside the Carlton Ballroom with an absent smile.  The historic St. Regis Hotel was a prominent landmark in Washington, having been visited by every President since Calvin Coolidge.  Politicians, dignitaries and foreign heads of state were commonplace at the St. Regis, which was located a mere two blocks from the White House.  It personified the political world, making it the ideal locale for tonight's event.

Next, Jon stepped into the line for security, which seemed to take an eternity for a man with no patience.  He understood the precautions and would go through the process without complaint, but he grew antsy while waiting for them to pass him through the metal detector. He just wanted to get in, make his appearance, and get out.

A pang of guilt struck him at the thought.  He should be feeling a buzz of excitement at the potential here tonight.

Senator John Kerry had recently announced that he was tossing his hat into the Presidential ring again, and Jon was here to offer both his money and his moral support.  He had hit the campaign trail with the Senator when he made this same bid back in 2004, but the timing hadn’t been right.  Hopefully, this time would prove more successful for the Massachusetts Democrat.

By the time Jon entered the ballroom with its hundred or so large, round tables, the salads were being served.   An usher helped him locate his table from among the sea of white linen, and he found that he was seated with Kiefer Sutherland and his wife, Gwyneth Paltrow and several other 'public figures' with whom he had at least passing acquaintance.  Jon nodded politely to his table companions and took his chair, not even remotely interested in the meal he’d paid $5,000 for. 

The meal itself went smoothly, and he fell into a pleasant enough conversation with Gwyneth, who was seated on his right.  He asked about a new movie that she was filming, and she returned the interest and inquired about his album.  They were just discussing children – her oldest child, Apple, was the same age as Romeo – when the applause began.  The Senator was taking the platform.

Subtly checking his watch, Jon saw that it was early yet.  He would have to stay and listen to the speech, but he could probably slip out once he’d spoken to Kerry afterward.  He was feeling exceptionally introverted tonight, and lingering until hours to schmooze the politicians held no appeal. 

“Ladies and gentlemen, thank you so much for coming,” the Senator was greeting the audience.  His wife, Teresa Heinz Kerry was standing just behind his right shoulder, beaming at the guests.  “I trust you found that dry piece of chicken was worth the price of admission.”

Obligatory chuckles trickled through the room and he dove directly into his speech, outlining his vision for the campaign.

Half-heartedly listening, Jon’s eyes drifted along the back of the stage, where the Senator’s daughters were positioned with their professional smiles in place.  He’d met them briefly once.  Once had been enough. 

Sliding his attention to their right, he spotted Teresa’s sons Chris and Andre.  He’d had occasion to work with them both on different projects.  They were passionate about what they did, particularly Andre, who was a staunch environmentalist.  He should make a point to speak to them as well. 

To Andre’s right was a taller man with the same dark hair and olive complexion as the two Heinz sons.  Jon had a fleeting curiosity as to whether this was the elusive third, and eldest, son - John Henry Heinz IV.  Henry, as Jon had heard his mother refer to him, preferred to stay out of the limelight and keep his family tucked away with him.  If it truly were Henry on the stage, looking as though he’d rather be anywhere else, it was a major concession to Senator Kerry and his mission.

There was one other figure on the platform that Jon didn’t recognize.  It was a woman.  She was much shorter  and fairer skinned than Henry, whose hand she was clinging to, but they shared the same inky hair.  From this distance, he couldn’t clearly make out anything distinct about her features – until the Senator offered an amusing quip that sent the room into peals laughter.  The woman joined in the laughter and her dimples lit up the stage. 

Jon’s heart clutched in his chest.

Holy shit.

It was Petey.  Four days of absolutely useless searching by paid professionals, and there she was, standing idly in front of hundreds of people as if she hadn’t a care in the world.  She was safe and looking more beautiful than he’d ever seen her, with her hair secured into some kind of elegant twist.

But why was she up there with the Heinzes and Kerrys?

“Is that Henry Heinz on the left?” Jon murmured quietly in Gwyneth’s ear.

She shook her head.  “I’ve never met him.  I couldn’t tell you.”

“So I guess you don’t know who the woman beside him is?”

A smile turned up the corners of Gwyneth’s mouth.  “That’s Patience Heinz, Teresa’s daughter.  She hates these types of events and rarely ever makes an appearance.   I wouldn’t know who she is either, if we hadn’t met at a few MENSA gatherings.”

His gaze was transfixed to the woman whose own eyes, that he now knew were the same color ice blue as her dress, were trained politely on the Senator.

Patience.  No wonder this has been so damn difficult, he thought wrly.

“They must be going all out with the family support,” Gwyneth continued in a low voice, “if they have both Patience and Henry here.”

Jon made a quiet noise of agreement before rudely prodding his seat-mate for more information.  “You said MENSA.  Patience is a MENSA member?”

“Yes.  Has been since she was nine.  She graduated high school at fourteen and went to MIT, where she got her bachelor’s, master’s and Ph.D. by the time she was twenty-one.  Patience is a brilliant woman, and surprisingly sweet.”

The brief dossier was beyond impressive, and while the information was unexpected, he couldn’t say he was shocked to find that his imp was a certified genius.  Tony had always sung praises of her brilliance, and Jon had seen evidence of it on so many occasions. 

“What does she do for a living?”  He figured as long as Gwyneth was willing to talk, it would save him time Googling later.

The beautiful actress’s forehead creased briefly.  “Up until a couple of years ago, she taught at Carnegie-Mellon University.  For some reason, that no one knows, she resigned very suddenly and then fell off the map.  I heard she even left behind a long-term fiancé with no explanation.”

Daniel.  You bastard, I’m so close to finding out who you are that I can taste it.

“Oh?” he feigned casually.  “Any idea who the guy was?”

She shook her head twice, before her eyes lit up.  “Actually yes, now that you mention it.  Daniel Lewis.  I remember thinking that his name brought to mind the actor, Daniel Day Lewis, when I first heard it.”

Your ass is mine, Daniel Lewis.

“One more question and I’ll leave you in peace,” he promised with his most charming smile.  “Do you know what Patience’s area of expertise is?”

It was a totally frivolous question, but he wanted to see if his guess about her being a history professor was right. 

“Her degrees are in engineering, if I remember correctly – both electronics and bio-engineering.   I think she was teaching electronics when she quit, but she’s an expert in just about everything.  One of the benefits of a photographic memory, I suppose.”

Photographic memory?  That explained the variety of material she could recite at will, but Jon would be lying if he said he wasn’t now a little bit intimidated.  He suddenly felt about as gifted as a dyslexic penguin next to Petey’s – Patience’s – documented brilliance. 

Now is not the time to get an inferiority complex, you megalomaniac.

“Thanks for the family history lesson,” he said appreciatively, leaning thoughtfully back in his seat.  The actress nodded and smiled, turning her attention back to the front of the room.

Jon’s eyes never left the stage, but they were trained on Petey, not the Senator's words of hope and promise.  He was drinking her in, and for the first time in days, relaxing just a bit with the knowledge that she was okay.  She still owed him an explanation for all the duplicity about who she was, not to mention the vanishing act, but he would wait until later in the evening to collect those explanations.

First, he had to exchange pleasantries with the Senator and Mrs. Heinz-Kerry.  Maybe they would be so kind as to share their insight of why Petey left New York and quit her job.

Lord knew it couldn't be any more difficult than getting the information out of Petey.

76 - Bounce

“Daddy?”  Stephanie materialized in Jon’s peripheral vision as he pounded out another mile on the treadmill. 

Dottie had sent the kids home with him this afternoon.  She said he needed them and the distraction they would provide, so he wouldn’t brood and pout all day.

He hated that she was always right.

“Yeah, Steph?” he panted, punching the button to start the cool down.

“Can I talk to you?”

Why is it that kids chose the most inopportune time to bond with their parents?  His head was so not into the parenting thing at the moment.  It was stuck on Petey and the dozen unanswered calls and text messages he’d issued.  Jon had the sinking feeling she was going to pull a vanishing act on him.

That’s why Dottie said you needed the kids today. Get your head someplace productive.

“Gimme just a minute.”

His daughter obligingly sat on the weight bench, swinging her crossed leg and staring out into the overcast New Year’s Day.  He felt her eyes on him, and for once, she seemed to be really looking at him, carefully, from head to toe.  It was disconcerting, and he wondered if it was the prelude to what she wanted to talk about.  If so, Jon may not be strong enough to handle what was on her teenage mind.

The treadmill slowly ground to a halt and he lifted the gray terrycloth towel to wipe the sweat from his neck and face.  He then grabbed up the water bottle on the floor, spinning the cap off and taking a deep drink before plunking himself down on the bench next to Stephanie.

“What’s up, kiddo?”

“Do you love Petey?”

Talk about something coming out of left field. 

“Was Mom right when she said that today?  Because I didn’t even know you two were friends.”

Well, hell.  Stephanie had been gone when he and Dottie finished talking, so Jon had assumed she left when Petey did.  Evidently, she’d been lingering in the hall and listening to their conversation – or, rather, his screaming and Dorothea’s conversation.

He bent forward, propping his elbows on his knees as the beads of perspiration rolled down his back under the sweat-soaked t-shirt.

“It’s complicated, honey.”

“How is it complicated?  Either you love her or you don’t.” 

Good Lord, she was her mother’s daughter through and through.  No bullshit tolerance whatsoever.

“I care about her,” he hedged.  “Beyond that, I don’t know.”

“Why didn’t you tell us you were dating her?  At least me,” she pouted with a disgruntled ‘hmpf’.  “ You know I like Petey.”

Because they weren’t dating.  They were doing things he didn’t even want spoken in his baby girl’s presence.  He didn’t even want to think about them in her presence.

“We haven’t been dating.  We’ve just been talking and hanging out.”  If teenagers could make a distinction between hanging out and dating, he wasn’t above exploiting the terminology against one of their own.

“Daddy…”  Stephanie rolled her eyes.  “So do you think you might love her?”

He drained the last of his water and put the bottle next to his foot, buying a piece of time.  “It’s just not that easy, Steph.  I wasn’t just blowing smoke when I said it’s complicated.  She’s not an easy woman to know and we’re so different.”

“But, Dad,” his daughter said plaintively, gripping his forearm.  “It doesn’t matter that she’s all Goth and you’re all… Democrat.  Petey speaks your language.”

Jon twisted his head to the side and looked at his daughter with disdain.  “Is that girl-speak for something that would make sense to an old man?”  

Apparently that was supposed to have made sense to an old man, because Stephanie rolled her eyes at him again.  “How long have you had the entertainment system in the living room?” she demanded, crossing her sweatshirt clad arms over her waist.

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“How long, Daddy?”  His girl was nothing if not tenacious.

“Two or three years.”

“And how many times do you mess it up in a month?”

He scowled at her.  “How did this turn into a forum on my ineptitude?”

“Daddy…”

“A few,” was the only concession he would make.  Jon was still wondering what the hell this had to do with anything.

“And how many times have you messed it up since Petey taught you how to use it?”

Light bulb.  He now saw where she was going.  “None.”

“Exactly!”  She beamed at him proudly.  “Because Petey speaks your language.  Who else could have taught you to use an iPad in an hour?  Seriously.  Because you know it would’ve only taken ten minutes until you were aggravated with me or Jesse.  Even less for Uncle Tony.”

Was it scary that the child was starting to make sense?  She had given him expanded proof of what he’d told Richie – Petey understood him for some damn reason.

The question now was… did he understand her?

Jon quickly ran through what he did understand about Petey.

One:  She didn’t want to be represented by statistics.  She wanted who she was to define her, not her date of birth, hair color, eye color or home town.

Two:  Her confusion.  Her quirky recitations always let him know when she couldn’t make logical sense of someone or something. 

Three:  Her passion.  She shared her body without reserve and argued with that same unbridled passion.

Four:  Her strength.  He knew he’d hurt her feelings more than once, but she’d never let it show.  Petey had only squared her jaw and either given it back to him or walked away with dignity.

Five:  Her kind nature.  His paperweight and Stephanie’s scarf were only small examples.  The way she'd held his hand through Tony and Dorothea thing was a huge one.

Six:  Her playfulness.  Their sex hadn’t been all hot, intense coupling.  He’d found that a playful Petey surfaced from time to time, making him smile and adding to the experience.

Maybe he understood a lot more than he was giving himself credit for. 

Jon looked his daughter up and down, tipping his chin at her.  “When’d you get so smart?”

“Oh, it’s been forever now,” she said carelessly, waving a hand at him.  “So does this mean you love her?”

His face split with laughter.  “Let’s not go rushing things.  Besides, did you ever consider she may not love me?”

Stephanie leapt to her feet, pulling at his arm.  “Well you have to ask her!  Go find her!”

“Whoa.”  Jon held firm to his seat, eyes dulling.  “That’s not as easy as it sounds, Steph.  She’s gone to be with her family, and I don’t know where that is.  Petey hasn’t been answering my calls or texts, so I can’t ask her.  She'll eventually come back to work.  I may have to wait until then to talk to her.”

“Hey, Dad?” 

Jon and Stephanie both swiveled their heads toward Jesse's voice.  He was hovering in the doorway, looking distinctly uncomfortable at interrupting the father/daughter moment.

“Whatcha need, Jess?”  Jon waved him into the room.

“Umm.  Mom texted me and said I should bring your phone to you.” 

The muscles that had been loosened from his run now knotted painfully in Jon’s neck and shoulders.  Whether Jesse knew why he’d received those orders from his mother or not, he was carrying with him an aura of foreboding.    

Accepting the phone with dull eyes, Jon flicked at the screen with both of his teenagers hovering in front of him.

There was a single text message waiting.  From Tony.

[8:30 PM]TONY: PT just quit and isn't taking my calls. I don't think she's coming back, bro.

He stared at the words until they blurred, all the while trying to make them mean something other than the shitty news they really were.  It wasn’t a success.  He still knew exactly what they meant.  The new bottom line read that he was screwed unless she deigned to answer his – or someone’s – calls and give up some information on her whereabouts.

Now what was he supposed to do?

“What’s wrong, Dad?” 

Jess was the one to ask the question, but Jon directed his response to Stephanie.  “Looks like Petey’s not coming back.”

“Well you have to find her then!”  The teen’s response was immediate and fervent.  “Can’t you hire a private detective or something?  You can’t let her just leave, Daddy.  You just can’t!” 

He could hire a private detective, but what did he really have to go on?  A name that he wasn’t entirely sure was real and the huge state of Pennsylvania, if that’s where she really was.  It could take a while.

Isn’t a while better than never?  Do you really think you can let her go now?  After every-damn-body in your life has jumped on your ass in the last twenty-four hours and made you realize there’s more here than you thought?  Coulda, shoulda, woulda isn’t how you roll, Jonny.

“You’re right.”  He pushed to his feet and headed for the door, mentally rifling the Rolodex in his mind.  Who could he call at nine o’clock on a Sunday night?  New Year’s night for that matter.  “I’ll be in my office if you guys need me.”

He stopped suddenly and turned, pulling Stephanie into a tight, sweaty hug and pressing a fierce kiss to her temple.  “I love you.”

She returned the hug without complaint, and grinned up at him when he released her.  “Don’t tell me.  Tell her.”

His laughter echoed off the windows.  Slapping Jesse on the shoulder, he jogged from the room.  “Don’t push me, kid,” he warned playfully over his shoulder.  The playfulness left as soon as he hit the stairs, and a determined gleam took up residence in his eyes.

It felt a whole lot like he was being boxed into a corner and having his life dictated to him.  That had a tendency to piss him off.  He was very productive when he was pissed off.

75 - And I Love Her

“Matt took the news okay.  Now it’s just Mom and Pop left to worry about.”  Tony tipped his head back so that he could look up at her.  They were in Dorothea’s family room, and he was lying on the couch with his head in her lap.  “When do you think we should try and do that?”

“Mm.”  The fingers of her left hand sifted absently through his hair as she stared unseeingly at the twinkling Christmas tree through the semi-darkness.  She liked leaving it up until the day after New Year’s, and Tony told her that he would come and help take it down tomorrow night.  “Whenever you want.”

“Babes?”  He enfolded the feminine hand resting on his chest.  “Where’s your mind been this evening?”

Distant eyes immediately came into focus and she tipped her head with an apologetic frown.  “I’m sorry.  “I just can’t stop thinking about Petey.  And Jon.”

Tony sat up and swung his feet to floor.  “I can’t believe he let her walk away without spilling the truth about what happened.  Jonny is usually as tenacious as a pit bull when it comes to getting what he wants.”

The hand that had been on his chest was now rubbing circles across his shoulder blades, and Dorothea shook her head with the memory.  “You didn’t see her, Tony.  She wasn’t stable.  Petey was calm and in control one minute, then almost waifish with the next breath.  She quoted ‘A Tale of Two Cities’ from some far off place in her mind and then she was back in control.  After what happened at the club, I honestly think he was afraid of pushing too hard, and I can't say I blame him.”

He looked curiously at her over his shoulder.  “You think she’s mentally unstable?  Wouldn’t that be even more reason not to let her go?”

“I said she wasn’t stable, but I didn’t really mean it that way.”  Her brow puckered as she tried to find the words.  “There’s not a doubt in my mind that Petey’s a strong woman.  She brought Jon into line, and I know from experience it’s not a task for the faint of heart.  Whatever happened outside that club shook her to the core and she was fighting like hell to keep the truth of it hidden.”

Her observation was immediately chased by a gentle laugh wafting through the air.  “I don’t know,” she offered her disclaimer.  “Who am I but a meddling busybody?  It’s not normal to have your nose in your ex-husband’s new relationship.”

Scooting back on the sofa cushion, Tony gently tugged her close, so that their faces were almost touching.  He used his fingertips to brush the hair back from her forehead.  “You…  are a woman like no other.  You’re compassionate and kindhearted, always wanting what’s best for people – all people – even when the rest of the world would say you’re nuts for caring.  That’s who you are.  I love you, Dorothea.”

It was the first time she had let him get the words out, and he held his breath in anticipation of her response. 

“Why do you always call me Dorothea?” she whispered, the pads of her fingers just grazing his cheek.  “Not Dot, not Dottie.  Always Dorothea.”

“Because they don’t suit you,” he, too, whispered, only slightly taken aback that she hadn’t immediately echoed his sentiment.  “Those are names for ditzy little girls, not a mature, intelligent woman.”

She snuffled out a soft laugh and breathed across his lips, “I love you, Tony.” 

He claimed her mouth with a quiet growl and the pent up emotion that he’d been forced to stifle for far too long.  Sweet lips fell eagerly open under his probing tongue and he swept inside for the taste he’d become achingly familiar with in the past months. 

That, however, was the only thing he’d become familiar with the taste of.  Their relationship hadn’t been… consummated, as it were.  They had come close on a couple of different occasions, but opportunities were scarce with the kids at her house.  Compounding the problem was the fact that he didn’t own a home on the East Coast.  When he was in this part of the country, he always invaded his parents’ house.  That was a definite no-go. 

There was always the option of a hotel, but neither one of them had wanted to take that route.  It somehow cheapened what they had, and Tony adamantly refused to let her feel anything less than the most important person in his life.

His fingers tunneled through the silkiness of her hair while her arms wove themselves around his neck.   The heat of their bodies warmed his thin cotton shirt and the little mewls of pleasure in the back of her throat warmed much more than that.

“Oh, Babes…”

Her lips kissed a path along his jawline and downward, where she suckled at the tendon standing in taut relief against his neck.   Her hands roamed his chest and she just was before undoing the first button on his shirt when she looked up at him with strikingly dazed eyes.

“Tony?”

Her fingernail flicked back and forth over the placket on his shirtfront and her lips were parted and shining from his kisses.  She was fucking beautiful.

“What is it?”  His hands glided the length of her back, savoring the indentation just above the rounded curve of her butt.

“Stay the night?”

He halted his caresses even as she kissed the corner of his mouth.  The kids had gone to Jon’s for the night.   They were truly alone in this big house, and they no longer bore the burden of being a dirty little secret. 

Don’t get ahead of yourself, man.

“Are you sure?”  He dipped his head to search her face, seeking out signs of any insecurity or doubt, but all he found was Dorothea – calmly confident in what she was doing.

“Don’t you think it’s time?” She had moved on to kissing the opposite corner of his mouth and he maneuvered himself into position for full-lip contact.

“Past time.  So past time,” he mumbled between the steamy, passionate kisses.  “Where, sweetheart?”

She reclined into the arm of the couch, curling her fingers into his shirt and pulling him down on top of her.  “Here.”

His already prominent erection grew painful in its stiffness.  He hadn’t been with anyone in over a year.  Not since he realized it was her he wanted.  He showed a little restraint – very little – when grinding his pelvis into hers, moaning with the bittersweet pleasure of the friction between them.

“Jesus, you feel so good under me…”

Dorothea’s fingers plucked at his shirt, trying vainly to push the buttons through their holes and release the fabric from his chest.  Too eager to wait, he levered back on his knees and pulled the white cotton over his head.  It landed somewhere in the vicinity of the Christmas tree.

“Ohhh,” she purred, agile fingers furrowing through the thick mat of chest hair.  “God, I’ve missed this.  The heat.  The intimacy.”  Hands roamed feverishly up over his shoulders and biceps.  “The touching.”

His hands were just as busy burrowing their way under the clingy brown top of her warmup suit.  His fingers had just molded over her ribcage when he realized what she said.  “Babes?”  His eyes sought hers and waited until she gave them.  “Has there been anybody…”

“Nobody,” she confirmed, cradling his face affectionately.  Her thumbs traced along the edges of his goatee before again roaming the planes of his chest, and Tony dipped in to claim her mouth possessively. 

Tongues clashed, teeth nipped, lips mated and the ragged breaths of both lovers filled the air.  Tony shoved up on the fabric of her shirt, anxious to see her – to feel her skin against his.

“Mmf.. Tony…”  She tore her mouth away from his, holding his anxious hands immobile as she peered directly into his eyes.  “I’m not a young woman.  I’ve had four babies.  Nobody has seen me naked that wasn’t responsible for the stretch marks.”

He smiled tenderly, urging her to release his hands.  “Babes…  I know you’re beautiful – inside and out.” His hands warmed her flesh as he skimmed the shirt over her head to reveal a simple black bra. “So beautiful.” 

He couldn’t get enough of her softness and found his fingers unable to keep from impatiently exploring all of the exposed flesh.  Arms, torso, neck, chest.  Butterfly kisses were rained across her stomach as he reached behind her to unfasten the bra.

The butterfly kisses moved upward across her abdomen and sternum while he gently kneaded the small perfection of her breasts.  Perfect champagne glass breasts.  The thought made them impossible not to taste.   Lovingly stroking the right one with his hand, his lips fluttered across the tawny tip of its mate, drawing the distended tip into his mouth and suckling as he knew her children had once suckled there. 

“Mmmhmmm.”  Agitated fingers danced across his head and she pushed herself into the heat of his mouth, making purring sounds of approval. 

He laved the softness until it glistened with his efforts.  It was so pretty and glossy…  Tony bent forward and caught the beaded nipple between his teeth, rolling it gently back and forth.

“Yessss!”  She held him close to her bosom, reveling in the tender touch.

As she lay writhing against his mouth, he dropped one foot to the floor and leaned back so that his hand could eke its way under the elastic waistband of her pants.  He wanted to feel her slickness, to stoke the heat between her legs.

He groaned against the second breast that he was devouring when he parted the softness and found her drenched.

“Sweetie,” she breathed, restless beneath him.  “We’ve had a year of foreplay.  I don’t know about you, but I’m ready for the main event.”

His chuckle vibrated against her skin.  “I can feel that you are.”  A finger plunged deep into the damp confines.  “I think you really want me.”  The finger eased out and back in again.  “Do you really want me, Dorothea?”

“Yes, Tony,” she assured him on a quiet moan.  “Yes, I want you.”

Her sultry declaration shredded the last of his resolve and the remainder of their clothes melted away in a flurry of impassioned kisses, touches and breaths.  Under her zealous guidance, he sank into the body he’d been aching after for so long and forced a sharp cry from her lungs.

“Okay?”  Tony anxiously searched her features, but found nothing but pleasure in the delicate planes.

“Mmmmm.  Perfect.”  She bumped her hips greedily against him.  “Now, baby.  Now.”

Her impatience ignited him and they both jumped from a slow burn to an all-consuming backdraft of passion.  The heat licked at their skin as he savagely claimed her for his own, driving them both relentlessly to that far-reaching point on the horizon where heaven met earth for a brief instant in time.

His name had never sounded so good on anyone's lips...

Some time later, they were still twined tightly together and Tony was dusting her shoulder with lazy kisses when she gasped, “Oh my God!”

“You said that already,” he teased, nipping at the saltiness of her skin. 

“No, no.”  She pushed at him, struggling to sit up.  “I don’t know why I didn’t realize it before.”  An impatient hand shoved the curtain of hair away from her face.

Tension thrummed from a body that had been pliable with satisfaction only seconds before, and alarming Tony.  His eyes anxiously searched her face for an indication of what was the matter.  “What is it, Babes?” 

She swore softly.  “It’s Petey.  I know what happened last night.” 

A strong hand slid behind her neck, angling her head so that she was forced to look at him.  “Tell me what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t you see?” she implored.  “It has to be that man.  The one who came to the studio.  Didn’t you tell me he was really tall and skinny?”

His forehead wrinkled both with remembrance and concern.  “Yeah.  At least as tall as Matt.  Maybe six-five?”

“Well, I saw a man like that in the parking lot.  I was just getting off the phone with Stephanie when he walked in front of the car, coming from the club.”

It made sense.  It made so much sense that he felt stupid for not immediately considering that possibility.  “Shit!  Why didn’t I think of that?  Did you see what kind of car he got into?”

She shook her head.  “No, I just know it was beyond where we were parked.”

Tony scrambled to get into his pants.  What he was going to do, he didn’t know, but it seemed like he should be at least half-dressed for the occasion. 

“Call her?” Dorothea asked, gathering her own clothes.  “Make sure she’s okay, and see if she’ll admit to it.”

The phone was already in his hand and he hit the button that would bring the screen to life as they fell, side-by-side, onto the couch.    

“Fuck,” he mumbled.

“What is it?”

He turned the screen for her to see.

[8:20 PM]PT: Please consider this my resignation.  I’m sorry.

“Call her,” Dorothea urged, the sense of urgency seeming that much greater now.  “Call her anyway.”

He did, with both of them waiting on the edges of their seats for Petey to answer, but it didn’t happen.  The call went to voicemail.  He disconnected and dialed again with the same result. 

This was not a good sign.

74 - Running Scared

Jon’s eyes were dry and bloodshot behind his three hundred dollar sunglasses, and alcohol was only partly to blame.  There’d be little or no fault attributed to the booze if he weren’t driving in the damn blazing sunshine at ten o’clock in the morning on New Year’s Day – after not sleeping all night. 

He lifted the nearly empty Starbuck’s cup, relishing the last warm slide down his throat.  Petey Diehl was going to be the death of him.   She kept his adrenaline level so jacked up that it was no wonder their chief activities were sex and fighting.  If they didn’t burn off the extra energy between themselves, there would likely be collateral damage to those around them. 

And who would that be? 

Between wondering what the hell had sent Petey into an anxiety attack and wanting to mark her as his, Jon’s night had been long and unproductive.  That’s why he was en route to Red Bank and the source of his turmoil.

[10:07 AM]JON: On my way over.  Be there in 15.

[10:09 AM]DOTTIE: I’ll be in the kitchen.  Just walk in.

He was dying to ask about Petey, but he’d already pushed the boundaries of text and drive.  Tipping the Starbuck’s cup in desperate search of just one more sip of caffeine, he made himself wait, which was a major concession.

Patience was always just beyond Jon's reach, causing him to invariably rush in and barrel through a situation rather than waiting for its natural – and often calmer – conclusion.  When he was feeling arrogant, he thought of it as making his own destiny.  When it bit him in the ass, he thought of it as his Achilles’ heel.  He somehow knew patience was the key to it all.  If he could develop more than a passing acquaintance, his life would somehow magically, effortlessly fall into place.

Rolling up to the gate, he extended his arm through the Escalade’s window and entered the code that Dorothea hadn’t felt the need to change.    It was the little things in life, he supposed.  This tiny detail made him feel less ostracized from his family.

Your kids.  Not your family.  Dorothea’s nothing but a friend and parenting partner now.

He grunted to himself in disgust as his vehicle coasted to a stop in front of the house.  Getting philosophical with himself would require a hell of a lot more caffeine than the little paper cup in the truck had been holding.

The heavy door swung inward under his hand, and well-worn boots echoed on the foyer’s marble tile.  Navigating his way down the corridor that would take him to the private wing, he glanced up at the family photos from throughout the kids’ childhoods.  He and Dorothea and one or more of their children smiled down at him from each of the silver-edged frames.  Emerging on the other side, he was able to acknowledge that they weren’t necessarily mementos of happier times, just different ones.

Sometimes you’ve gotta complete a journey of mediocrity before you can appreciate what happiness really is.  Dorothea’s happy now.  Maybe my time is coming, too.

There was a lyric in there somewhere, but he didn’t bother tying down the elusive thought right then.  He had more important things on his mind.

“Hey,” he greeted his ex-wife, giving her shoulder an affectionate squeeze as he wandered by on his way to the coffee that sweetly beckoned him with its rich fragrance.

“Hey, yourself.”

She sipped her coffee in silence, watching him over the tops of her reading glasses like a crusty old librarian. For some reason, she radiated disapproval this morning.

He quietly fixed his own morning mojo, moving with an easy familiarity as he opened cabinet doors.  Once he’d had another fortifying dose of caffeine, Jon finally broached, “How is she?”

Dot shrugged.  “Other that the fact that I don’t think she slept at all, she seems fine to the casual observer.  The boys came in earlier asking for a scrap of aluminum foil and some chewing gum.   They said she was pimping their remote control cars to go faster.”

Jon smiled.  He bet they loved that.

“As long as she’s engaged in conversation or a specific activity, I don’t see any noticable difference in her.  When she’s not…  She talks to herself.”

He sighed and let his eyes fall closed.  That’s what he’d been afraid of.  “Reciting things?”

“Yes.  Sort of like she was last night, but she stops if you speak to her.”

A weight settled itself on Jon’s shoulders.  He had to find out what happened last night.  It had scared the hell out of him when she went into that other world and wouldn’t come back, and with Richie hauling his ass away in a snit, he hadn’t even gotten to talk to her about it.  What were the chances that Petey was going to let anyone in? 

"Did she tell you anything about what triggered last night's episode?"

He saw the worry etch itself around his ex-wife's mouth as she shook her head.  "Only that she got hot and went outside for air.  That's all she's giving up.  When I tried to pry any more out of her, she started reciting again.  What's that all about?"

“She has anxiety attacks, some worse than others.  Usually it means she’s got something in her head that she can’t figure out.”

Dottie pinned him to the wall with the dart of disapproval she'd been clutching since he got there.  “I know one thing she can’t figure out.”

“What?’

“Why you’re mean to her.  Jesus, Jon.  Mean?  I’ve known you to scream your views to the rafters, but I’ve never seen you purposefully strike out at someone.  You've said some pretty shitty things to her.  Just because you get your feelings hurt doesn’t mean you have to take her down with you.”

"I'm not intentionally mean to her," he defended himself with a frustrated growl.  "I'm always eaten up with guilt and apologize as soon as it's out of my mouth.  I can't explain it, but Petey makes me lose my mind sometimes.  We end up arguing even when it's the last thing I want to do."

She pursed her lips in that way he hated.  That look always meant he was about to get jumped on with both feet.  “She said you two argued last night.”

“Yeah.  I told you, it's not unusual for us.”

“Is it unusual that you hit her?”  Eyes that were typically a warm brown glittered hard with condemnation behind the lenses of her glasses.

His eyebrows winged into his hairline before they slammed down in anger.  “I didn’t hit her!  You should know me better than that!”  The full implication of what she had accused him of settled over his chest.  “Christ!” he breathed.  “I would never lift my hand to a woman.  Why the hell would you say that?”

Dorothea wasn’t backing down.  “That argument was the last thing that happened before I found her outside, lost in her head with a busted lip.”

“What?”  He pushed back his stool, intent upon getting to Petey.  Now.  “Where is she?”

“You really didn’t lay a hand on her?”  She scrutinized his face for any signs of deceit, but she could look all she wanted.  Jon was telling the truth.

“No!  And when I find out who did, they’re going to have more than a busted lip.”  His threat trailed behind him as his legs ate up the distance to the staircase.  “Where is she Dot?”

“The yellow guest room.”

He took the stairs two at a time, his heart pumping from both the exertion and the rage that someone would put a hand to his… to Petey.  One swift knock was all the courtesy he offered before barging into the guest room at the furthest end of the hall.  “Petey?”

Intent on righting the pale yellow bedspread, she spun in surprise at the abrupt intrusion.  “Jon.  What are you doing here?”

He had barely paused at the room's entrance and three long strides had her within arm’s reach.  Jon tipped her chin up so that he could search for the evidence of what he’d been told. 

“Motherfucker,” he murmured, seeing the slight split in her swollen bottom lip.  Rage made his heart beat like thunder against his ribs and his eyes scoured the rest of her, needing to prove to himself that she was okay.  Damn Richie for playing caveman last night.  He should have gotten to the bottom of this shit already.

Petey recoiled, her fatigue-dulled eyes conveying her irritation.  When she did, the light caught something that he’d missed the first time around.  There was a faint shadowing across her throat.  She was bruised.

“Who did this to you?” He struggled to control the venom behind his terse words.  She wasn’t the one who should bear his anger – well, not all of it.  She should have talked to him at the club, but that indiscretion paled in comparison. “What happened outside last night?”

“Nothing.”  She turned to resume her housekeeping tasks.  “I ran into the stall door in the ladies’ room and busted my mouth.  That’s all.”

He gently pulled at her arm, easing her around to face him.  “That doesn’t account for the bruise across your throat.”

Pink eyes grew wide and Petey’s hand flew to curl around her windpipe.

“If you tell us, we can help you,” Dorothea’s soothing voice came from behind Jon, where she stood quietly just inside the door.  “No judgment.”

“Sugar,” Jon echoed the same soothing tone.  “Tell me.  Let me fix it for you.”

Indecision had her gaze flitting back and forth between Jon and Dorothea.  Jon thought that her uncertainty seemed intensified by her appearance.  A scrubbed clean face, messy ponytail, flannel sleep pants and a t-shirt had Petey looking like a young girl who desperately wanted to say something, but was afraid. 

Come on, Baby.  Talk to me.

“It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity…”

The iron curtain came down over the indecision in her eyes, and steel found its way into her backbone, edging out the ambiguity of her posture.  Petey’s features went from uncertain to an icy coldness in the seconds it took to whisper the famous literary passage.    

“Nothing happened,” was her unwavering declaration.

Dammit!  What is she hiding?

“I appreciate the concern, but it’s completely unfounded.”

”The hell it is!”  He fought to contain his frustration.  Raising his voice wouldn’t do anything but incite an unwanted argument.  He didn’t want to fight with her, he wanted to know who had hurt her.  “Sugar,” he spoke calmly and evenly, reaching for her hand.  “You were nearly catatonic with anxiety.  A bathroom stall didn’t do that to you.  Please talk to me.  For once, let me in.”

Her eyes went glassy and she blinked several times in rapid succession while her tongue danced lightly over the split in her lip.  Indecision visibly clawed its way to the forefront once again and Jon could see the desire to share her burden warring with the unnamed need to keep it hidden away and protect... herself?  Protect them?  Or protect some other unknown person?

“Mom!”  Stephanie poked her head into the room, abruptly breaking the tension.  “There’s a taxi out front.  Did you call for one?”

Petey’s eyes cleared and she whirled to snatch up the clothing and boots lying across the foot of the bed.  For the first time, Jon noticed that she was wearing Jake’s scuffed red Chucks.  Her feet were no bigger than his eight year old son’s. 

“It’s mine,” she announced, adding the small handbag into the crook of her arm and draping the velvet cloak over it all.  “Dorothea, I’ll return the clothes as soon as I can.  Thank you for your hospitality.”

The little imp went by Jon without even looking at him.  A quiet, “I’m sorry,” was all he got. 

“Petey,” he called before she could fully make her escape.  “Where are you going?  At least let me take you home.”  It would give him another opportunity to pick at her protective barriers and dig out the truth.

But the ponytail shook vehemently.  “I’m not going home; I have a plane to catch."

"What do you mean you have a plane to catch?  Where the hell are you going?"

Deceitful eyes fell to the clothing she carried.  "My... mother called... with a family crisis.  I have to go home for a few days."

With that load of crap, she scooted past Stephanie, and out of the room as though wild animals were at her heels.

“Goddamit!”  If he’d had something to throw, it would have been shattered against the wall by now.  He glared at Dorothea.  “Do you see?  Do you fucking see why she makes me crazy?  She won’t give a motherfucking inch!”

And Dorothea, of course, was standing there as calmly as if they were discussing the weather.  “What I see is that she’s scared to death and heartbroken.”  She roughly grabbed onto his arm to keep him from pacing a hole in the floor, and looked into his face with complete candor.  “What I also see is the real reason she drives you crazy.  You love her, Jon.  Stop fighting it already."  

73 - Silent Night

“No, Jon,” Dorothea repeated patiently.  “Call Petey’s phone.  If she wants to talk to you, she’ll answer, otherwise she won’t.  I’m not her secretary or yours, and you can tell Richie the same thing.  No…  She’ll be fine at the house tonight.”

Despite herself, Petey smiled.  Dorothea was just so… matter of fact.  She didn’t seem to let anything ruffle her. 

When Jon and Richie left her in the bar with Dorothea and Matt, she’d kind of panicked and started reciting again.  She felt bad about it, particularly considering Daniel’s earlier offensive remarks, but she couldn’t help herself.  It was either recite or have a screaming, hysterical meltdown.  Reciting was definitely the lesser of the evils. 

Upon hearing the murmurs, Dorothea had taken one look into her face and declared that Petey was coming home with her for the night.  She sent Matt to tell Tony they would meet him at the car, and asked him to send their coats along before ushering her toward the door.

Petey had tried to protest, but Dorothea held up a silencing hand.  “Stop.  You clearly don’t need to be alone tonight, and I’m not sending you home with Jon or Richie.  God only knows what they’re ‘talking’ about, but you look like you’ve had enough for one night.  You’ll come home with me, borrow pajamas and sleep in one of the guest rooms.  I won’t take no for an answer.”

Her quiet, efficient commandeering of the situation had been remarkably calming for Petey, who nodded and followed her from the club to Tony’s SUV without offering another protest.  Jon’s phone calls had started shortly after that, along with Richie’s. 

With those horrible pictures still freshly emblazoned on her mind, she let the calls go to voicemail and softly recited Shakespeare’s “King Lear” while prodding at her injured lip.  The dim lighting in the club and the cover of darkness had masked the swelling and delayed the inevitable questions that she hadn't come up with an answer for.

Receiving no response from Petey, Jon had then reverted to calling Dorothea who calmly shut him down by refusing to play secretary.  Matt must have told him that they’d left together.

“Are you warm enough back there, Petey?”  Tony’s voice rose to be heard above the soft rock station playing on the radio.  They were an hour into the nearly two hour drive and she was still huddled into her cloak.  Tony and Dorothea were talking intermittently to one another in the front seat, but they didn’t pressure her to participate in the conversation.

“I’m fine.  Thank you.”

That was the last thing she uttered until they arrived at the house on Navesink River Road.  Tony escorted them both into the front foyer, and Petey turned away as he sweetly kissed Dorothea good night.  “I’ll talk to you tomorrow, Babes,” he murmured when he lifted his face.

“You know if you’ll just point me to the guest room, I’ll leave you two alone,” Petey offered, still keeping her gaze averted.  “I know this is still fairly new for you, and I wouldn’t want to intrude on your time together.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Tony assured her, winking at Dorothea.  “We have plenty of time.  Good night, ladies.”   

The door closed behind him and Dorothea regarded Petey’s profile speculatively for a moment before understanding dawned on her face.  “It was you, wasn’t it?  You were supposed to be there that day.  You’re the reason Jon didn’t bust a blood vessel or scream a string of obscenities at me and Tony.”

Petey ducked her head, feeling the color infuse her cheeks.  “I just tried to make him see things logically,” she said and found herself wrapped in a warm embrace.

“Honey, what you did was equivalent to Moses parting the Red Sea.  It was nothing short of a miracle,” she half-joked, releasing Petey.  “You made things so much easier for everyone involved, and I owe you a huge debt of thanks.”

“A place to spend the night is sufficient.”  She offered a glimpse of dimples, still keeping her minor injury obscured.  “Thanks.”

“In that case, come upstairs with me, and we’ll see about finding something more comfortable than that dress.” 

Petey noted that Dorothea’s own dress had been simple black jersey with silver jewelry.  Classic.  This is the woman Jon was used to escorting – tasteful and elegant.  Those were two things that didn’t come close to describing Petey.

Don’t be bitter just because you didn't choose that path.  She’s been amazingly nice.  She would probably even give you some insight if you asked for it.

“Dorothea?”  Petey asked as their heels made a random cacophony as they climbed the wide, marble staircase.  “Could I ask you a personal question?”

She looked back over her shoulder curiously.  “Sure.”

It was actually more than a little personal and totally none of Petey’s business, but there was no one else to ask, and no better opportunity.  “Was Jon ever mean to you?” she solemnly inquired as the two of them topped the staircase at the mouth of the dimly lit upstairs hall.

Dorothea paused, tilting her head at Petey in confusion, as though the question didn’t quite make sense.  “Mean?  No, not unless you consider inattentiveness mean.”  Her arms crossed over her waist in a gesture of uneasiness.  “Why?  Has he been mean to you?”

“No, of course not,” Petey quickly denied – okay, lied – while pretending to look at the family photographs lined up with military precision along the creamy walls.  “I’ve only been over there the couple of times.  He’s barely spoken to me.  He just seems… harsh.”

A frown of displeasure marred Dorothea’s normally placid face, but she didn’t speak right away, and instead gestured for Petey to follow her.  Two doors down, they stepped into the domain of Dorothea’s master suite, where she flipped the switch that would softly illuminate the room.  She closed them inside and slowly pivoted on the heel of her strappy black shoe.  “You can cut the crap, Petey,” she declared, not unkindly.  “I know you and Jon are involved, so don’t feel like you have to hide it.” 

Glancing awkwardly around the room, Petey found it a sea of soothing, soft green.  The walls were the lightest possible shade and the furniture and bedding were all in varying, darker shades.  It was warm and put together, much like the woman who resided within.

“This feels strange,” she remarked quietly.  “Talking to you about him.”

Dorothea smiled.  “I can only imagine.  Why don’t we sit down for a minute?”  Bypassing the small seating area in the corner, she stepped out of her shoes, folded a leg beneath her and perched on the end of the king-sized bed.  Petey obligingly followed suit, but left her booted feet firmly on the carpet when she chose to sit on Dorothea’s left side, still keeping the swollen lip from her line of vision.

“Would it help to know that I like you?  And that I think you’re probably good for him?”

Petey’s eyes snapped to the other woman’s face, finding nothing but sincerity shining in the warm cocoa eyes.  Those eyes glanced to Petey’s mouth and a shadow crossed through them.  Before she could comment, Petey spontaneously decided that there was no greater authority on Jon.  Why not take advantage of it?

“I guess that does help,” she acquiesced, clasping her hands together in her lap.  “Jon has said some… hurtful things to me.  I try to keep it all in perspective, because it usually happens when he’s frustrated with me, but…  Well, I guess I just wondered if that’s part of how he is.  In general.”

Her long curtain of sable hair swayed with Dorothea’s denial.  “No.  He’s been known to get his point across very loudly, but he doesn’t resort to personal attacks.”  She frowned.  “Or he never has before.  If you don’t mind sharing, what kind of things are we talking about?”

Now feeling ridiculously out of line, Petey was sorry she’d spoken.  She was making more of the situation than there was, and this wasn’t going to do anything but raise more questions.  “It doesn’t matter.”

A comforting hand came to rest upon her shoulder.  “I’d really like to know.”

Petey felt like her sigh worked its way up from the soles of her feet.  There was likely no one else she would reveal this tiny part of her diligently guarded personal life to.  Dorothea just made her feel completely accepted.  


“He called me a whore, implied that I was a slut, and told me he wished he’d never met me.  All at different times,” she clarified, in an attempt to dull the impact.  It sounded more hateful than she'd realized it would.

“Oh, honey…” After a fleeting look of anger swept across Dorothea’s face, Petey could see the wheels turning.  “That’s not a Jon I know.  I can only speculate, but is it possible that you hurt his feelings?  He does like to keep a level playing field.  Although…”  Her head shook with bewilderment.  “I’ve never really seen anybody who could hurt his feelings.  He likes to think of himself as above that kind of thing.”

“It truly doesn’t matter,” she assured her hostess with a rueful smile.  “I'm not trying to solve any of life's great mysteries.  Just chalk the question up to idle curiosity.”

Clearly unsure about how to proceed, and even though she didn't want to let the subject go, Dorothea resigned herself to choosing a different topic.  “Now can I ask you a personal question?”

It only seemed fair that the exchange be reciprocal.  It wasn’t like Petey could decline in good conscience after her own intrusive question. 

“Okay.”

“Why were you huddled outside the club talking to yourself tonight?  What happened to upset you?”

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered weak and weary…

“Jon and I had argued – again.”  She huffed softly.  “It’s what we do.”

“The argument was enough to send you out into the cold without your coat?” Dorothea was not a gullible woman.

“No.  It sent me into the ladies’ room.  I was actually on my way back to find Jon, when…”

God, do I dare tell her?   That thought was immediately chased by, No, you can’t tell her about kinky pictures of you and her ex-husband that your ex-fiance is blackmailing you with.  That’s crossing the line.

“… I got a bit nauseous from the heat in the building.  I stepped outside to get some air.”

“Petey...” Dorothea gently turned her face so that the swollen lip was illuminated in the lamplight.  “Nausea and fresh air don’t bust you in the mouth.”

Between 84 Park and here, Petey had locked the episode away in an isolated compartment of her mind.  She would bring it out later, when she had the time to think about it logically and determine the most effective way to handle the situation.  But she couldn’t do that yet.  She couldn’t relive it now, and bring the uncertainty and confusion to the surface again.

Her lips began moving in self-defense.    

“Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,

And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.

Eagerly I wished the morrow; - vainly I had sought to borrow...”

Warm hands curled around her clammy ones and squeezed.  “Okay.  You don’t have to tell me, but if I can help, all you have to do is ask.”

72 - One Wild Night

Jon was still pissed that those other two women had kept him from following Petey into the bathroom.

That's the only reason he was now watching the door intently, forced to wait for her return to the party.  Because he was specifically looking for Petey, he lifted his head with only mild interest when Matt came barreling in, skidding to an abrupt stop just inside the doorway.  His baby brother was searching the room with an urgency that made Jon’s skin prickle. 

“Matthew,” he called from his seat, putting the heavy highball glass on the table.  “What’s wrong?”

His brother slipped over, voice dropping low and eyes never slowing as they scanned every corner of the partially filled room.  “Where’s Richie?”

“In the can.  Why?”  Richie had stepped out just a minute before, cursing the sparkling grape juice.

“There’s something wrong with Petey.”

“What do you mean something’s wrong with her?”  He wasted no time in shoving his chair back and rising to his feet.  “Where is she?”

“At the bar.”  Jon barely heard Matt tack on, “Dottie’s with her,” as he pushed through the door, lengthening his strides to eat up the stretch of hallway that separated the private room from the bar.

Was she sick?  She’d been fine when she stomped off into the bathroom fifteen minutes ago.  Pissed, but fine. 

“What happened, Matt?”

“I don’t know.”  His brother was genuinely distraught and confused.  “Dottie found her standing outside the club, staring into space like a zombie, mumbling to herself.  She finally got her inside, but Petey won't acknowledge anybody or anything.”

Pausing in the entryway to the main club, Jon’s eyes darted around the room desperately seeking out her small, dark form as the music thumped and the strobe lights flashed.  He could barely hear himself fucking think, and all of the extra stimuli jacked up his heart rate even further.  He was going to have a heart attack before he found her.

Finally.  There.  At the end of the bar.

He barely registered his ex-wife hovering over her as he swooped in.  Even over the pounding music, he could hear the Constitution falling from her lips.  She was having an anxiety attack.

“Dorothea,” he spoke loudly into her ear.  “Have you tried to get her attention?”

Her head bobbed up and down, and between the faint sound of her voice filtering through the music and the movement of her mouth, he could make out, “She won’t answer me.”

Jon nodded and situated himself directly behind Petey, working his hands beneath the curtain of wild, pink-tipped hair and stirring that sweet cotton candy scent.  He soothingly pressed his thumbs into the muscles at her shoulders to slowly knead out the rigidity while he put his lips directly against her ear.  “Petey...  Sugar, it’s okay.  Whatever it is, it’s okay.  You’re okay.”

Her shoulder muscles relaxed only marginally, downgrading from set in cement to being as malleable as cold, wet clay.  Jon didn’t press any harder, but continued his gentle kneading while practically screaming in her ear to be heard.  “Tell me what happened and I’ll fix it.  I promise.  You just have to come back and talk to me, Baby.”

The free fall of historical babble didn’t slow – he felt the hum of her voice through her torso – but her body relaxed enough to lightly rest against his chest.  She wasn’t ready to deal with reality yet, but she was starting to come down.

For the life of him, Jon couldn’t find any magical words that would take away the panic, and after a bit, he quit trying.  Time and everything but Petey faded away as he murmured nonsensical words in her ear while he tried to melt the tension from her neck and shoulders.  There was nothing to be panicked about, he assured her over and over again.  She was okay.

It took far longer than his blood pressure would have liked, but he finally felt the faint vibration of her voice trickle to a halt.  Her body was completely still, the slight weight of her frame now resting fully against him.  Jon couldn’t help but wind his arms around her waist and hold her close as the techno-pop beat of the deafening song launched into its last chorus. 

In the relative quiet that ensued after the final screeching guitar lick, he asked quietly.  “Okay now, Sugar?”

Petey stiffened, realizing whose arms she was in, and pulled away.  Jon was forced to release her from his embrace and take a step backward. 

“I… I’m fine thank you.”

She didn’t even turn to look at him, dammit.  He scrubbed a frustrated hand over his face. 

Now that Petey was back to her normal, belligerent self, the awareness of his brother and ex-wife’s presence seeped back into his consciousness.  Matt’s eyes were darting back and forth between Jon and Petey with curiosity, and a glance at Dorothea got him a knowing, cocked eyebrow.  “Anything but average?” she inquired wryly.

Fuck.

“Petey?” Richie’s voice came from directly behind him. 

Jon spun around to find his friend looking more pissed than he’d seen him since the early nineties. 

Christ.  How long has he been standing there?

“Petey?”  Richie repeated, enraged eyes skimming between her and Jon.  “Is he dipshit?”

Horror filled her face, and Jon frowned as she shook her head in denial.  “No.  Richie, don’t.”

Dipshit?  What did that mean?

He stepped out of the way when Richie pushed toward Petey, putting one hand under her chin and forcing her eyes to his.  “Is it him?” he demanded, and Jon irritably wondered what the hell was going on. 

“No,” she said so quietly that he barely heard her.  The intro to the next song was cuing up and that didn’t help matters any.

“You’re lying.  I can see it.”  Richie dropped his hand and swung around on his heel, grabbing Jon by the arm as he did.  “Matt, we need your office.  Which way?”

“Uh.  Next to the back room.” 

Matty looked like he’d been sucked into the Twilight Zone, and with the resurgence of the thumping music, Jon could relate.  He wasn’t happy about it and shook Richie off in irritation.  Petey was freaking out and he needed to make sure she was okay.  “What the fuck’s your problem?” he demanded. 

Richie’s only response was to give him a shove down the hallway.  “You don’t want to have this conversation here,” he grimly informed Jon.  “Trust me.”

“Richie, no!  It’s not!” Petey called after them, but Dottie’s firm, yet gentle hand kept her seated. 

“They’ll work it out.  They always do.”

☠ ☢ ☠

Richie entered the small, enclosed office just a half-step behind Jon, reminding himself that they had a tour kicking off in a month’s time.  He couldn’t afford to break his hand.  That was the single thought that kept him from breaking his best friend’s jaw.

“You wanna tell me what the hell your problem is, Sambora?”  Fists planted on his hips, Jon doled out his patented look of intimidation – the stink-eye.

It had ceased to impress Richie years ago.

Lifting both hands, he shoved at the smaller man’s shoulders, causing him to stumble into Matt’s desk.  “You are my problem, Mr. High-and-mighty-holier-than-thou-pompous-arrogant-son-of-a-bitch.”  Once Jon had righted himself, Richie shoved him again for good measure.

“Goddammit, you do that again and I’m gonna break your fucking arm!”

“If anything gets broken, it will be your pretty-boy face.”  The office held only a desk and chair, a filing cabinet and one guest chair.  Those minimal furnishings filled it to brimming, leaving not nearly space to contain Richie's temper.  He picked up the guest chair and slung it into the wall.  “What did you do on Wednesday?  Before I got there and we worked on the songs, what did you do?”

Jon’s face was turning beet red with his fury, but Richie didn’t care.  He personally thought anger was a wasted emotion, but was willing to overlook his personal beliefs in this instance.  Jon Bon Jovi needed to be brought to task.

“I talked to my brother and ex-wife about their newfound relationship and worked up a couple of song ideas!  You already knew that!”

“What else?”

Deep creases furrowed his friend’s forehead and, while Jon paused, he gave no appearance of backing down. 

“Dammit, what else?” Richie bellowed.  How could he be friends with this man?  How had John Bongiovi gone from a long-haired kid who thrived on the music and the fans, to the cold, callous bastard that stood before him?

“I got a lesson on how to use an iPad!  What the fuck’s it to you?”

Richie got in his face, using his four-inch height advantage to its full potential.  “A lesson from Petey.”

“So what?” Jon pushed away from him as far as their confines would allow, which wasn't much. 

“I don’t even know what to say to you,” he snarled ominously into Jon’s face.  “Right now, I’m so fucking pissed at you, and who you are, that my heart is about to explode.”

“Goddammit, Sambora, I’m not gonna ask you again – what the fuck is your problem!?”

A mirthless chuckle escaped Richie and he poked one long finger into the center of Jon’s chest.  “My problem is that you can fuck a woman as sweet as Petey and then tear out her heart without a second thought.  The great mother fucking Jon Bon Jovi can take what he wants, whenever he wants, and trample over everyone else in the process, without a second thought.”

Finally.  Finally, there was a flicker of uncertainty in the infamous blue eyes.

“That’s not what happened.”

“The hell it’s not!  Do you know where I spent Wednesday afternoon?  Do you know, Jon?”  The fire was slowly draining out of him at the memory, but he still pushed at his friend.  “I was comforting a sweet, beautiful woman who was sobbing like the world was coming to an end.  She was having some trouble accepting the fact that she’s an embarrassment to the man she’s been involved with.”  

He took a step backward, then turned to rest his hand on the doorknob.  “My best friend never would have done that, but you did, and I hate you for it.”

This time it was Jon grabbing at Richie’s arm to keep him from going.  “Wait.  I… I didn’t know.”

“Didn’t know what?” he asked quietly, releasing the knob and pivoting back into the room.  “That you were ashamed of her, or that she knew you were ashamed?”

Jon’s hands tunneled restlessly through the messy ash-blonde locks that got media attention every time he cut them.  Richie shook his head in disgust. 

“She’s the one who should have been ashamed.  You don’t deserve to know her, you selfish son of a bitch.”

The anguish in Jon’s face translated into a flat, bleak voice.  “It’s not what you think.  I swear to God, it’s not what you think.”

Richie leaned his weight against the door, face contorted with repulsion and arms crossed imposingly over his chest.  “Then what is it?”

Jon fell into the guest chair with a grunt of dismay, knees widespread and hands dangling loosely between them.  “It was just a physical thing.  She was adamant about it.  Still is for that matter.  That’s all it was ever supposed to be.”

“But…?”

He scrubbed both hands up and down his face and leaned forward on his elbows.  “But she makes me feel alive, and Petey was there for me when I needed somebody.  I was in the middle of going apeshit over Dottie and Tony, and she stepped in, talked me down and made it all okay.  She understands me for some goddamn reason.” 

“Well yippy fuckin’ skippy for you,” Richie drawled sarcastically, not at all touched by the supposedly heartfelt admission.  “That doesn’t do a damn thing for her, though.”

Jon’s hands laced together and came to rest atop his head.  “You think I don’t fucking know that?"

"Knowing it and doing something about it are two different things.  I don't care what you know.  What the fuck are you going to do, Jonny Boy?  What the fuck are you going to do to make things right?"

"I've been doing some thinking," he sighed.  "The last three days I've done nothing but re-evaluate my life, trying to decide if it's worth having without her in it."

"Thinking isn't doing.  Try again."

"Dammit, give me a break!  I need some time."  His eyes locked on Richie’s meaningfully.  “But make no mistake about it, she’s mine, Rich, and you can pass that along to Lemma, too.  I need some time to work this out, but she’s mine.”

“You ever think about telling her that, dipshit?”

His eyes fell shut with a groan.  “You don’t tell Petey anything.  You talk to her and hope she sees things your way.”

Richie grinned at the first inkling of sense Jon had shown since the door closed.  “Damn straight.”  He allowed the grin to fade, and pointed a threatening finger at Jon’s face.  “I hate like hell that it’s you she got involved with, and not me, because I don’t think you deserve her.  You’d better prove me wrong, or I’m gonna stomp that perfect ass of yours into the ground. “ 

Jon smirked and Richie felt compelled to reiterate the warning, not wanting him to mistake the gravity of the situation.  “I’m not playing around, Kidd.  You ever make her cry like that again...?  Be damn sure that I’ll beat the living shit out of you and then convince her to be mine.  Get me?”

The smirk fell into a grim line of resentment.  Jon was obviously biting back the urge to tell him to go fuck himself, and it pleased Richie, in a screwed up kind of way.  It meant Jon was taking his threats - promises, actually -  to heart. 

“Yeah,” he finally grunted, pushing to his feet.  "I get you.”