64 - Ain't That a Shame

Jon had just slipped his sweatpants back on when his phone began ringing.  Swearing lightly, he dug into the crevices of the chair until he unearthed it from its hiding place. 

“Yeah?”

“Jon, I’m sorry.”

Dorothea.  It would have been nice to get more than two seconds of orgasmic cloudiness, but such was life.  He fell back into the chair with a sigh.  “Dottie, it’s okay.”

“I hate that you found out that way.  We were going to tell you the next day and get everything out in the open.”

“I know.  Tony told me.  It’s okay.”  Petey returned and he held up his index finger, indicating that he would only be a minute.  She nodded, grabbing her boots and sitting on the edge of the couch. 

“Is it?”  Dottie had gone from apologetic to suspicious.  Great.  “Why?  Why didn’t you throw one of your Bongiovi temper tantrums and make us all miserable?”

“Jesus,” he groused.  “You’re actually giving me shit because I didn’t scream and yell?”

“Nooo,” she corrected.  “But you have to admit it’s not like you.  What’s going on, Jon?”

He stood, now too restless to sit still.  Being on the defensive did that to him.  “Nothing!  I stewed about it a couple of days and then called Tony.  That’s it.”  As he paced in front of the bank of windows, his eyes slid to Petey, who, for all intents and purposes, was paying him no attention as she laced up the ugly, scuffed boots. 

“So you quietly brooded your way into a state of acceptance?” Dorothea’s derision grated in his ear.  “Who are you and what have you done with Jon Bon Jovi?”

“I never said I quietly brooded.”  The glass scattered on the other side of the room was evidence to the contrary.  “I was pissed, but I was finally able to get a handle on it.” 

Jon put his back to the skyline and watched Petey evenly part her hair and capture half of the pink and black mess in one hand, securing it with one of those rubber band things.  If she hadn’t been here, God knows how long his pity party would have continued.  Not that he would have succumbed to alcohol poisoning, or something equally melodramatic.  He’d had more consecutive drinks since she walked in the door than he’d had during the entire three days.  She just happened to think she was trying to pickle himself.

“There’s more to this story,” his ex-wife declared with the authority vested in her by her bullshit detector.  “I know there is.”

“Listen.”  His feet began moving again, as he was starting to get irritated.  “I’m sorry I didn’t react the way you thought I should, but there it is.  Can we move on now?  Is Friday night okay for you?  You know, to tell the kids?”

She was silent for a moment, and he thought she was going to belabor the point, but she ended up sighing softly.  “Yes.  Friday night is fine.  I’m glad you’re going to be a part of this.”

“They’re my kids.”  He turned his head, catching a movement in his peripheral vision.  Her hair now restored to its ponytails, Petey shook her pants legs down over the heavy boots.  Crossing to the chair, she bent for her collar and cuffs and snapped them on.  “One of us was bound to find someone eventually, and they need to know it’s okay that we’ve moved on.  Especially considering the circumstances.”

“Yes, they do.”  Jon was just about to say goodbye when she quietly tacked on, “I don’t know what got you to this point, but thank you for not turning this into a train wreck.”

Once again, his eyes found the little imp.  This time all he got was the very nice rear view, as she was disappearing into the kitchen.  She had gotten him to this point.

“Yeah, whatever,” he mumbled.  “I’ll see you at seven on Friday.”

☠ ☢ ☠

When Petey returned to the living room with a dustpan and broom, Jon had finished his phone call and was staring out the window into the deceptively sunny December afternoon.   It wasn’t nearly as warm outside as it looked to be.  She could attest to that from first-hand experience.

He glanced over his shoulder when she began sweeping up the shards of glass.  “Leave it.  The housekeeping service will be here in the morning.”

Shaking her head, she continued with what she was doing.  “It will take two minutes to clean up.  You’re barefoot.  Do you want to spend the evening digging glass out of your feet?”

His desire to argue with her was palpable, but he did an admirable job of restraining it, she thought.  “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.  Now go get your iPad.”

An hour later, Petey was proud that she’d managed to keep everything on a professional level.  She was also proud that he was now able to competently perform a multitude of tasks on his new toy.  Stephanie may have been right – Petey must speak Jon’s language, because she never had to repeat her instructions more than once.  He sometimes executed those instructions two or three times until he was comfortable with it, but he always got the fundamentals of the concept on the first try.

He tossed the tablet to the side, scraping a weary hand over his neck.  “I’m done.  If I don’t know it by now, I don’t need to know it.”

She smiled softly.  “I’d say you’re right.  You did great.”

“Yeah, well I’m not as retarded as they like to make me out to be.”

“I knew that already,” she assured him with a light laugh as she rose to her feet.  She’d had about all of the shoulder to shoulder contact that she could stand.  “It was more a matter of you agreeing to sit still and learn it.”

Propping his feet up on the edge of the coffee table, he looked up at her curiously.  “How is it that you get me so well?”  She must have appeared confused, because he went on to clarify, “My best friend couldn’t have talked me down as well as you did today and, even after nearly thirty years, the band still thinks I’m an idiot.”

“Have you met your band?” she chuckled, picking up their soda glasses from the table and returning them to the bar.  “They’re professional pains in the ass and proud of it.  Dave and Richie, anyway.  They don’t think you’re an idiot, they like making you think you’re an idiot.”

He hoisted himself up from the couch and followed her, offering, “I never figured you for a psychologist in imp’s clothing.  You’re just full of surprises, Ms. Diehl.”  He claimed one of the high stools and leaned against the bar, watching her with intent eyes.

She shrugged, wiping her hands on a bar towel before hanging it up.  “I’ve spent a lot of time people watching during my life.  After a while, you start putting things together.”  Sliding the phone from her pocket, she checked the time.  “I’ve got to go.  Call me when they deliver the jukebox and I’ll come back over.  Just get your list of albums together.”

The Tuesday delivery of the jukebox had fallen through, which was just as well, considering Jon’s frame of mind, and the new delivery date was still up in the air. They’d discussed it, and she didn’t really see a need for him to go through the tedious process of loading hundreds of songs onto the machine’s hard drive.  Instead, he was going to provide her a list of albums and she would do the bulk of it, showing him just the  basics – how to add or delete a single song.  He likely wouldn’t use the skill enough to retain the information, anyway.

It also meant she’d have to spend a lot less time with him, while still honoring her obligation to Stephanie. 

“You’re leaving?”  He actually looked surprised.

“Yes.”

I need some distance.  I need a dose of reality, because this sequestered penthouse is not reality.  It's a place where you let me believe that I live up to your standards.

On the spur of the moment, she decided to conduct her experiment one last time.  “I’m starving.  Do you want to go grab a sandwich with me?  I know this place in the Village that makes a great Italian sub.”

He crossed his arms, and shifted his weight on the stool.  “I’m not exactly dressed to go out.  Why don’t we order in?”

Petey’s tiny bubble of optimism was popped that quickly.  Stuffing her disappointment aside, she gave a last futile effort, just to prove it to herself once and for all.

“It’s a casual place,” she assured him, mindlessly fingering the studs on her dog collar. “Besides, throw on one of those hats of yours and nobody will even recognize you with all the stubble.”

Running a hand over the aforementioned stubble, he looked down at the bar, out the windows…  Everywhere really, except for her eyes.  “I’d just-“  Jon took a moment to clear his throat.  “I’d just rather stay in.  I’m still not feeling very sociable after the whole Dorothea and Tony thing.  There’s an amazing Chinese place just down the street that delivers.  Why don’t you stay and eat with me?  We can make our own dessert,” he offered suggestively.

That was it.  Petey now knew it hadn’t all been in her head.  There was no mistaking his lame excuses and diversionary tactics.  Jon really didn’t want to be seen with her.  She was good enough to screw repeatedly, good enough to help him pull his head out of his ass, and good enough to make him electronically literate, but that’s where it ended.

She smiled through the prickling sensation in the corner of her eyes.

Dammit, you’re not going to cry over him.  You knew this about him before you stupidly fell in love.  This is your own fault.

“I really had my heart set on... the sub,” she said with a shrug, emerging from behind the bar and moving toward the foyer.  “But thanks for the offer.”

"Are you sure?"  He followed behind her being his usual persistent self.

"Yeah."  She opened the closet door, unable to look at him.  "I've got some other stuff to take care of too.  I need to get going."

“I’ll talk to you later though?” he pushed, watching as she tucked her arms into the leather jacket. 

“Text me when the jukebox gets here.  I told you I’d take care of it.”

Petey willed her fingers not to tremble as she tried to fasten the zipper through watery eyes.  Finally, in frustration, she left it unzipped and slung her messenger bag across her body.  The doorknob turned easily under her hand.  "See you later, Jon.”

“Petey…”

She hesitated for a second, one foot on the threshold, breath held.  Was he going to change his mind?  Was he going to step up and be who she thought he was inside?

But no words came, and when he didn’t go on...  She had to. 

Stepping into the hall, she quietly pulled the door closed behind her and hit the elevator call button, holding her breath until it arrived and she was closed safely inside.

“The General Theory of Relativity, which primarily applies to particles as they accelerate, particularly due to…”

Einstein was her new best friend.