53 - Wednesday Night Waltz

Today is the last post for this week.  I have to head out of town again for a couple of days and will have absolutely no opportunity to write.  As I've mentioned, the cupboard has dwindled significantly in the last couple of weeks.  So, yes, this is your official notice.  You've been cut off for the weekend.  Next post goes up on Monday.  Have a great weekend my dear readers!!
__________________________________________

Petey smiled politely at Jon’s doorman, who barely spared her a second glance.  She’d scarred him enough in the last month so that he barely acknowledged her anymore.  Gliding into the elevator car, she punched the button for the penthouse.

Today had been… interesting. 

After talking to Richie last night, she hadn’t mustered up the energy to call Tony about making alternate work arrangements, so she’d had to do that this morning.  He was accommodating, saying that he understood her reluctance and that he was perfectly willing to call the police to keep “Big Bird” – she had no idea where that nickname came from – at bay.  He only relented when Petey pointed out that they wouldn’t care, because Big Bird had only asked to speak with her, not threatened her.

“Seriously, Petey.  Who is this guy?”

She crumpled a little inside, fervently wishing that the past could stay dead and buried where it belonged.   Her conscience wouldn’t allow it though.  Tony had put up with the crap, he deserved to know something. 

“I’m only telling you this because you had to deal with him,” she sighed.  “And I would appreciate you keeping it just between us.  Please?”

“I hate making blind promises, especially after meeting this guy, but yeah.  Okay, it’s just between us.”

“Thank you.”  She rubbed absently at her right contact, which was bothering her today for some reason.  That’s what she got for wearing the imp ones out of spite, she supposed.  “Big Bird’s name is Daniel and we were… involved, for lack of a better term.  I don’t know what he wants…” She crossed her fingers.  “…but I want nothing more to do with him.  Ever.”

“Did he hurt you?”

Like she’d told Jon, not in the way that he thought.  “No.  I just want the past to stay in the past.  That’s all.”

And with that, he’d agreed to let her work from home until after Christmas.  He really needed her in the studio, but conceded to wait and discuss it again after the holiday.  Hopefully, everyone would be more comfortable with the situation then.

Petey had diligently worked on her song list, calling in for consultations a couple of times through the day, working through what would normally be her lunch hour.  Thus far, Tony had been pleased with her ideas, and given her the go ahead to do the work-ups on them.

Around three o’clock, she decided it was time to call it a day, and hit the streets of New York to put the finishing touches on her Christmas shopping.  Coincidentally, on her sojourn through the city, she spotted something in a window that caught her interest.

Smiling, she’d slipped inside the store to investigate a little more closely, finding the gift absolutely perfect for Jon.  It hadn’t been her intention to get him a Christmas gift at all, but this just spoke to her.

I should probably get it for me, not him.

With that thought, she picked up another.  He would never have to know she had one, too, and it gave her the extra incentive to force the whole contract issue. 

A sweater for her brother Andre, a purse for her mother, a pretty tie for her step-dad, and some books for the kids and she was happily done.  Well… until she saw a beautiful fuzzy blue scarf at Nieman Marcus.  It was just the color of Jon’s eyes and would look beautiful on Stephanie. 

She bit her lip in consternation.  How completely awkward would that be after only meeting her twice?  It was as surprising to her as anyone, but it turned out she had a little soft spot for the girl.  With a careless shrug, she bought the scarf anyway.  Tony might need a gift for his niece.

It was seven o’clock when she arrived home, offering her just enough time to shower and primp before going to Jon’s.

Yes, she knew he told her the day before he couldn’t do this anymore.  That’s why she only waited for his driver until fifteen minutes past eight before hailing a taxi.  Petey had known there was a good chance he meant what he said, especially since he’d made no effort to contact her since he’d walked out yesterday.

That’s okay, Mr. Bongiovi.  You’re a businessman.  I’m sure you’ll understand why I’m here and realize the obligation you have.

She stepped from the elevator waging an internal debate.  Petey fingered the buttons on her knee-length wool coat.  Did she take the coat off now, or did she wait?  She knew she’d made perfect choice in clothing for her mission tonight - beneath the coat she had on the same outfit she’d worn on that first booty call – the velvet corset, micro-skirt, high heels and choker.  He’d been immediately affected when he saw her in it.

With a shake of her beautifully waved – thank you, Gavin – head, she unbuttoned the coat, but didn’t take it off.  It was the best compromise she could come up with.  Taking a deep breath, she blinked moisture back into the gray – another compromise – contact lenses and rang the bell.

Jon belted  back another shot of Jack and flipped the channel on the television.  There was nothing to watch, as usual. 

Damn reality television, he thought bitterly.  How many times could they do the Survivor thing without beating it into the ground?  Weren’t they all basically the same?

And such was the way his day had been.  He’d finally finished his Christmas shopping, ending up getting each of the kids an iPad and iTunes gift card, plus all the ‘necessary’ accessories.  That had cost him more than he’d expected to spend, but it was only money.  Why did he have it if not to spend on his kids?

And whomever else he wanted.

He’d stumbled across something that he thought perfect for Petey when he was looking through the teenage clothing stores, searching for something that spoke of Stephanie.  Yes, he was through with Petey, but that little voice inside him wouldn’t let him walk away from this particular item, so he bought it.  Jon had no idea what to do with it now, but it was upstairs in a bag until he could figure it out.

He uncrossed his ankles on the table and re-crossed them the other way, slipping a hand underneath his decrepit Beatles t-shirt to scratch his stomach.

A dozen times today, he’d reached for his phone to text Petey and apologize.  Or to talk about what the hell was going on between them.  Every time, he ended up putting the phone away without searching out her number.  There was no point.  He couldn’t make himself use and abuse her the way she wanted and, after that fiasco yesterday, he was fairly certain she was over the whole thing anyway. 

He cringed and took another numbing swallow of Tennessee’s finest sour mash whiskey. 

Yesterday was further than he’d ever meant to take it.  He surely never meant to make her feel like a piece of meat.  She just made him so damn mad!  It had stoked his determination to show her exactly what she was asking for, in stark, brutal detail.  Then he ended up losing all sense of everything but the sparks they fired off of one another.

“You’re an idiot.  Step away from the crazy imp,” he mumbled as the doorbell rang.

Curious as to who would be ringing his bell at 8:30 on a Wednesday night, he pushed the glass onto the table and went to check it out.

Jesus, no, he moaned quietly.  What is she doing here?

It was Petey staring back at him through the peep hole, her wildly ruffled hair an array of pink and black waves.

He set his mouth into a grim line and released the locks.

“Hi.”  The dimples were at Defcon Five, so deep was their intensity.  He didn’t know this perky, cheerleader-type woman. 

“What do you want?”

She smiled indulgently at him, reaching up to cup his jaw.  “You seem to be asking me that a lot lately.  Fortunately, this time I come prepared with an answer.” 

He drew back with an even darker frown. “I’m waiting.”

“Well…”  She carefully pushed past him with a coquettish blink of rhinestone eyelashes.  “You didn’t send a driver tonight, and at first I was offended.” 

The bulky wool coat slid easily from her arms, and he fought tooth and nail to keep his eyes lodged within their sockets when she went to hang it up.  The globes of her bottom were readily visible below the hem of the microscopic skirt, and the effect smacked him in the solar plexus just as firmly as it had the first time he saw this little costume.

“Then I realized it must have been an honest miscommunication.  Things were a little…”  Her eyebrow arced dramatically as she peered back at him from the depths of the closet.  “… unusual last time we spoke, and I must have misunderstood the transportation arrangement.  Because I’m positive that you wouldn’t try to weasel your way out of our contract.”

The closet closed quietly and she twirled to face him, pressing her back into the mahogany door. 

“Isn’t that right, Jon?”

He ordered himself to stand still.

No fidgeting!  She doesn’t affect you that much.

“I don’t want to do this, Petey.”

She pressed her index finger against the shiny red gloss of her bottom lip, as though deep in thought.  “You’re a liar, Jon Bon Jovi.”  Her eyes zeroed in on the crotch of his lounge pants.  “That tent in your pants is telling the truth.”

He stalked away, intent upon returning back to his pressing date with Survivor, briefly pondering whether or not he would be one.  “Go home, Petey.”

The couch was still several steps away when the resistance slowed him down.  Whirling around, he saw that she’d latched onto the tail of his shirt. 

“No, Jon.  We have a verbal contract and you will honor it.”  Her heels were dug in and the stubborn set of her jaw was…  classically Petey.

“Don’t be ridiculous.  We don’t have a contract.”

“The hell we don’t.”  His eyes were drawn like magnets to the glittery fingers that trailed down her neck to the swell of her bosom.  “You pushed me into a seven night commitment, and I’m well within my rights to demand every last one of them, but all I’m asking for is two more – tonight and tomorrow night.”

He cleared his throat, forcing his eyes back up to hers and setting his mouth in an uncompromising line. 

“You can demand all you want, I’m not doing this.”

Diminutive feet clicked with the three baby steps it took to close the gap between them, and her hands slid beneath his well-worn t-shirt to stroke across his stomach.  Jon sucked in his breath in an effort to elude her touch, even for a second, because it immediately set him on fire.

“Yes you are.  A verbal contract is still a contract,” she purred huskily, her eyes never straying from his.  “And if you don’t hold up…”  One petite hand snuck between his legs and cupped his traitorous erection.  “…your end, Mr. Businesman, I will sling mud across your sterling reputation and tell everyone that you don’t honor your deals.”

Amused lips were twitching as fiercely as the package in her hand, and for the first time in twenty-four hours, his tension was not settled between his shoulder blades.  Damn imp.

She was determined to have her way, was she?  Just how far was she willing to go?