50 - Can't Always Get What You Want

“I don’t want to do that again,” she said quietly.  Jon had untied her, his hands gentle and almost… apologetic when soothing the red marks left behind by the stockings.  She was sitting on the edge of the bed with the sheet wrapped around her, and he was zipping his jeans on the other side of the bed.  “Don’t get me wrong.  I achieved…  satisfaction, but I also felt a little bit like a piece of meat.”  Petey tucked her arms in a little more tightly to her body.  “I didn’t expect that.”

She could tell he wasn’t feeling any better about this encounter than she was, and he hesitated before fastening the waistband of his jeans.  “It won’t happen again,” he assured her gruffly, not meeting her eyes.

“I don’t regret the experience,” she clarified, put off by the tension he was emanating.  She was by no means assigning blame, and wanted to make sure he knew that.  “I just don’t care to repeat it.”

Jon bent to retrieve his shirt.  “I’m sorry.”

“Why are you sorry?”  She wrinkled her forehead in confusion.  “I asked for this.  You did nothing wrong.”

“I’m sorry for a lot of things,” he mumbled, not bothering to tuck in the shirt before looking for his socks.  “I’m sorry that I made you feel like a piece of meat instead of a woman.  I’m sorry that I’m a prick.   I’m  sorry that I agreed to this in the first place."  His voice grew quieter.  "I think I’m sorry I met you.”

She clutched at the sheet more tightly.  He wasn’t angry, but he still managed to say the most hurtful things.  Why did he always try and slice her to ribbons when he was frustrated?

“You fuck with my head, Petey.”  He stuffed his feet into his shoes, glancing over his shoulder.  “I know exactly who I am and what I’m trying to achieve in this world.  Or I did until you came along with your fucking combat boots, historical library and no-strings sex.  Now I don’t know what the hell I’m doing – only that it doesn’t feel right anymore.”

He stood, scooping up his jacket and jamming his arms into the sleeves.  “I can’t do this.  I can’t give you your kinky sex and walk away without a second thought."  His bitter laugh sent chills down her spine.  "Shocking, right?  It should suit an egomaniacal rock star to a tee.” 

Jon paused in the doorway, turning to study her with an unidentifiable emotion glazing his eyes, as though he were committing her to memory.  “Just goes to show you shouldn’t believe everything you read on Google.”

And then he was gone, leaving her to stare after him with her heart in her throat, and disbelief clouding her imp-colored eyes. 

What the hell was that? 

☠ ☢ ☠

“Let me tell him,” Tony cajoled, kicked back in a swivel chair, his feet on the desk.  “I’m the one he’s going to be pissed at, so you shouldn’t have to bear the brunt of it.”

It had been a long-ass Tuesday without Petey here to keep things on an even keel.  Candace had no one to talk to except Bill and Randy, who managed to studiously avoid her all day.  That left him.  And, oh my God, could the woman talk.  He had finally resorted to plugging his ears with headphones when she got onto the subject of her Chihuahua’s worms.

Now, the day was blissfully over, and it was just him in the studio.  He used the opportunity to steal a rare secret moment.

“After Christmas,” Dorothea insisted.  “He will ruin the holiday for everyone if this hits him the wrong way.  You know he will.”

“I know, I know, but I hate this sneaking around shit.  We’re two single adults and we're entitled to go out with anybody we want.”

She chuckled quietly, unperturbed by his pouting.  She was always unperturbed.  A sea of calm in the middle of fucking chaos was Dorothea.  Everything that happened around her, she handled with dignity and grace.  She was the classiest woman he’d ever known.  

“It doesn’t work that way when a hot tempered Italian family is involved, and your family is classic hot-tempered-Italian.  That’s why I should be the one to talk to him.  He does actually listen to me once in a while.”

He hadn’t meant to get involved with his ex-sister-in-law.  Seriously.  Who plans that kind of thing?  It’s a notoriously bad idea all the way around.  Ask anyone. 

It had started out innocently enough. 

Dorothea didn’t need anyone to connect the new gaming system the kids got for Christmas last year.  She was smart enough to do anything she set her mind to.  However, at the end of a long Christmas day filled with rambunctious children and endless family it was the last thing she wanted to deal with. 

So he offered to stay behind and hook it up for her.

It had been a relatively simple task, and in no time cartoon characters were racing across the screen in an effort to collect the most tokens while periodically beating the crap out of each other.  He watched for a while and then indulged Romey and Jake by playing a couple of rounds with them. 

After he’d made them promise not to play too long and ruffled both blonde heads, Tony wandered downstairs to let Dorothea know it was done.  She wasn’t in the kitchen, but everything there was spotless and orderly, letting him know that she had been.  He moved on toward the family room and found her sitting alone with a glass of wine, looking lost in her thoughts as she stared blindly at the Christmas lights while Frank Sinatra crooned softly in the background.

She looked lonely.

“Hey, Babes,” he beckoned softly as he entered the room, so as not to startle her. 

“Hey.”  She lolled her head toward him in the cushiness of her armchair and gave him an affectionate smile.  “Everything working?”

It was a smile just like a hundred others she had given him through the years.  Maybe it was the firelight, the music, or the fact that they were alone, but that smile warmed his belly like a shot of good whiskey.

“Yeah.” Unsure of what to do with himself, he rubbed a quick hand over his goatee then let his palm drop to the center of his chest.  “Jake and Romeo are collecting pieces to a spaceship as we speak.  Steph and Jess went to hole up in their rooms.”

“Mm. Thank you, Tony.  I’ve always been able to count on you when it comes to the kids.”  She lethargically turned her attention back to the tree.  Its branches were heavy with dozens and dozens of ornaments, all of which he knew held sentimental meaning.  They’d either been made by the kids or purchased to commemorate various milestones in their lives.

“You know I love them,” he carelessly allowed her appreciation to roll off of his back, but she was again lost in her thoughts, nostalgia tugging at her.  Tony decided that being alone was the last thing she needed right now.

 “Mind if I have a drink with you before I go?”

“Sure.” 

The Dorothea before him was so unlike the strong woman who fearlessly faced the world every day.  Over the last umpteen years, she had done such a remarkable job of raising her family and dealing with Jon’s shit by herself that…  Well, it was the first time he’d allowed himself to think of her as anything less than invincible.  Tonight though, she looked almost fragile.  Wistful, even.

“I think there’s some of the beer you like in the fridge.  Help yourself.”

That was another thing about her.  Even with four kids and a crazy life, she had always made a point of knowing what visitors to her home drank, and kept it stocked.  He could count the times she’d been without his favorite beer on one hand.  One finger, actually. 

“Bring the wine back with you?” she called after him when he loped down the hallway toward the kitchen.

“Sure thing, Babes.” 

When he returned with a beer in one hand and her wine in the other, it was to find that she was no longer in the chair, but curled up in the corner of the sofa.   With her feet tucked under her, hair in a messy ponytail and wearing glasses, she should have looked plain and boring, but he still thought she was beautiful.  She always had been.

“Sit with me?”

To say he was stunned would have been the biggest understatement of the year, but he did his best to hide it as he circled the coffee table and claimed the far end of the couch as his seat.  There was one wide, cream cushion still separating them, so everything was more than proper.  As it should be. 

“Here.”  Tony set both bottles on the table and gestured for her to give him the empty wineglass.  “I’ll pour you some more.”

She obliged by leaning forward and passing the cut crystal stemware into his grasp.  “You know, I think that’s what I miss more than anything.”

“What’s that?”  The red wine slid gracefully into the crystal and he offered it back to her.  After it was safely back in her delicate grasp, he grabbed his beer and took a healthy swallow.

“Not having to do every damn thing for myself.”  She touched the rim of the glass to her lips and brought it back down again without drinking any of the burgundy beverage.  “He may have never been home, but I always knew I could call him if I needed to.  Granted, I didn’t do it often, but the option was there.  He’d make sure whatever it was got taken care of.”  She finally took her sip of wine, saying thoughtfully, “He was good about that.”

Tony nodded slowly and pushed his glasses up on his face.  His brother knew how to take care of business.  There was no doubt about that.

“You know you could still call him.  Jon’s always going to care about you, and you’re the mother of his kids.”

She snorted softly, burrowing her back into the cushions.  “That’s not how divorce is supposed to go.  I mean, come on, I asked him to leave.  I can’t very well expect him to come running when I don’t feel like dealing with the plumber.”

“Then call me.” 

The soft brown eyes he’d seen a thousand times were hidden in the glare of her eyeglasses, but he thought they got bigger.

“I couldn’t do that.”  Dorothea unfurled her legs, putting her socked feet on the floor, leaning toward the table to deposit her glass.

“Why not?”

He didn’t know why he’d offered, but he was astonished by how much he wanted to be the one she called.  The irony was that he didn’t even keep a girlfriend most of the time, because they were too much responsibility. 

Then again, girlfriends expected things in a relationship.  Dorothea didn’t expect anything from anyone.  That was twice as much reason that she deserved to know someone would be there.

“You’ll always be family, Babes.  Nobody thinks to worry about you because you’re so damn capable.   We should have offered to help sooner.”

“I don’t need help,” she protested, standing, and he stood right alongside her.  “I’ve raised these kids practically by myself while keeping the wholesome family image intact.  I can do this on my own.”

“Yeah, you can.”  Tony side-stepped and put his arm around her shoulders.  “Better than anybody else can, and nobody doubts it for a minute, but…  If you find that you don’t want to always do it on your own?  Call me.  I’ll take care of whatever shit you don’t want to.”

And, miraculously, she had.  The first time about the car, then another time about the tree that fell in the yard.  Then there was the time that Jesse and his hormones were just driving her crazy.

And Tony stepped up and handled everything without batting an eye.   They best part was that, during the course of it all, they talked and got to know each other as more than family.  After a few months, they realized how much they liked one another – as more than family.

Now he was ready to go public with that, but his damn brother was standing center stage and demanding foremost consideration.  As usual.

“Right after Christmas,” he finally relented, on a sigh.  “And we’ll tell him together.  Okay?”

There was a pounding at the studio door that masked her reply and he frowned in annoyance.  Who the hell was banging on his door at seven in the evening?

“Babes, lemme call you back.  Some asshole is pounding down the door.  I hafta go see what’s going on.”  Tapping the screen, he hung up the call and strode toward the all-glass door in the front of the studio. 

It was dark outside, but the lights in the parking lot allowed him to make out the silhouette of the man who had so rudely interrupted his phone call.  He was tall – at least as tall as Matt –  and anorexically skinny,  crowded close to the door and trying to peer inside.  Tony thought him suspicious if for no other reason than the ugly beige trench coat and tweed golf hat.  Who wore those?

The man turned a bit to the side, and his silhouette was highlighted in the light - a face that was as long and angular as his body, sporting an oversized bird’s beak for a nose.  Definitely nobody Tony knew, or likely wanted to know.

He flipped the lock and pulled the door partway open.  “We’re closed, buddy.”

“Yes, of course you are, my fine man.  I can certainly see that.  However, I have a bit of a time-sensitive matter on my hands that could not wait.  I was hoping that you might be able to assist me.”

Big Bird’s smile was creepy and fake.  Tony couldn’t make out his eyes under the shadowy brim of the hat, but he’d bet they were just as creepy.  Or shifty. 

The hair on his neck bristled.  Something was distinctly un-cool here.

“I don’t think so.”  He pushed the door, intending to shut it in the guy’s face, but the pneumatic closer made it too slow.  The man had crammed his very large, black wingtip shoe between the door and the frame, and gave him that damn creepy smile again. 

Tony had no choice but to leave the door open, unless he wanted the bloody stump of the guy’s amputated foot in his studio.

“It will only take but a moment of your valuable time, I assure you.” 

The chilling formality didn’t sit any better with Tony than the fake-ass smile, and he battled with the overwhelming urge to knock Big Bird here on his ass. 

Before he could lose that particular battle with himself, Big Bird cleared his throat delicately and launched into his spiel.  “I am on a desperate search for a woman whom I’ve been led to believe is currently under your employ.  Her last name is…  Diehl.  It’s really quite urgent that I speak with her.  So urgent, in fact, that it’s a matter of life and death.”