113 - Shop Around

“I love you,” he grated just before he kissed her goodbye.  “Keep the security guy with you at all times.  Promise?”

Petey smiled against his mouth.  “Promise.  So you’re not going anywhere at all today?”

“Nope.  I’m not leaving the building.  I’ve got a ton of phone calls to keep me busy right here.”  Stealing one last kiss, he opened the front door of the apartment for her, where said ‘security guy’ – Rocco – was waiting patiently.  “You’re going to Gavin’s and then where?”

“I don’t know.  He’s driving this thing today.  I’m sure we’ll hit the big department stores but other than that, I don’t have any idea.  Don't forget that Mom has arranged a car from the airport and should be here around four.  I plan on being back by then, though.”

“Okay.  Have fun and find a dress that you love.”  His broad hand landed on her bottom with a light smack and then squeezed.  “I’ll be here when you get home.”

Petey grinned.  Seemed like she was doing a lot of that lately, in spite of the dire circumstances they were dealing with.  She couldn’t help it though.  Jon and his penthouse being referred to as 'home' gave her reason to smile.

“Love you, Jonny.”  It was the first time she’d used the familiarization of his name that was usually reserved for family members and close friends, and she was almost taken aback to hear it roll off her tongue so effortlessly.  It wasn’t something she’d contemplated ever calling him, but it fit.  It was an endearment without being overly sweet.  

Jon lifted a curious brow, but didn't comment, only chortling softly, “Love you too, Baby.” 

One more peck on the lips, and she and Rocco were whisked down in the elevator to Mercer Street where a hired car waited. 

Nodding her thanks when Rocco held the door, she slipped in the back seat, scooting all the way over to make room for him.

“I’ll just ride in the front with the driver, ma’am.”

Rocco looked exactly like what a man named Rocco should look like  - dark eyes and hair, olive skin, stocky and muscle bound.  Petey would be astonished if he weren’t some type of ‘special’ security that Jon had called in.  Considering the exploits of the last crew, she wouldn’t put it past him to hand pick who was watching out for her and the kids.  There had been two carbon copies of Rocco stationed at Dorothea's house yesterday.


Probably Guido and Vito, she thought wryly.

Petey nodded her acceptance with a polite smile and was safely sealed into the back of the car with the heavy black door.  Deciding that the short ride to Gavin’s would be well spent multitasking, she pulled the phone from her pocket, checking for missed messages.


Nothing.  Richie still hadn’t replied to any of her texts. 

That was fine.  It wouldn’t detract her from bugging the life out of him until he relented on his ridiculous boycott.  He would be there if she had to go get him herself.

[9:47 AM]PT: Ignoring me isn’t going to make me stop hounding you.  Please don't disappoint him.  Us.  

With a glint of determination in her eye, she tapped the Send button.  He would come for the wedding if for no other reason than to shut her up.  She planned to bombard him with messages until he got his head out of his ass.  If that didn't work, she would resort to phone calls and anything else she deemed necessary.


Tucking her wool coat around her, she pushed her hands and the phone into its pockets and happily wondered if Gavin knew where to find a black wedding dress.

☠ ☢ ☠

Richie dropped the phone back on the bedside table with a groan.  Petey had definitely reached the point of hounding, and it wasn’t helping the way he felt.  The only saving grace this morning was that he hadn’t fallen off the wagon, and that he’d had enough good sense to send his booty call home before she could fall asleep.  He had no interest in waking up in the same bed with her.  She gave good head, but he wanted her to swallow and get out.

Sexual tension had been released, but still felt like shit. 

Damn you, Petey.

The one time in his life he didn't bend to everyone else's will, and they wouldn’t even leave him to do it in peace.  One text message from yesterday, in particular, had been haunting him:   "Are you jealous?"

Haunting him because, fuck yes, he was jealous. 

He’d been divorced longer than Jon and actively taking applications for a replacement - with no luck.  Jon didn’t care about dating and presumably didn’t even care about getting laid.  Then what happens?  Ms. Perfect walks in Jon Bon fucking Jovi’s front door and offers herself to him.  Well, he didn’t know if that’s exactly what happened, but it may as well have.  The end result was the same.

Everything was handed to Jon on a fucking silver platter.  Dorothea had been a model wife and now he had Petey head-over-heels in love with him.  Two amazing women in a lifetime and Richie could barely find one.

Was it so much to ask that he have someone to grow old with?  Someone that he could enjoy the simple things with?  A California sunset, a heartfelt piece of music, or just a nice meal?

Jealous covered it pretty well.  Jealous and lonely.

That’s not their fault.  You know she’s right about the regret.  You’ve always supported him before, whether you agreed with what he was doing or not.  He sees things differently, but always makes it work.  He’s your best fucking friend.

Richie snarled as the phone vibrated again.

Leave me alone Petey.

But it wasn’t Petey, it was his assistant and good friend, Denise Salazar. 

[7:01 AM]DENNY: We got things 2 do 2day sweet cheeks. Lunch mtg?

Denny was the only woman who’d been there for him through all the ups and downs, playing the role of his quiet, yet staunch, champion.   Maybe she would let him use her as a sounding board to clear his head.

[7:02 AM]RICH: Lunch is good. Usual place n time?

[7:03 AM]DENNY: Ya. C U there. xx

Denny had been his rock during that last long haul in rehab.  She kept the real world pressures at bay, only allowing good news in and filtering the rest of the shit out until he'd had enough time to heal his soul. 

He smiled fondly. 

She’d even managed to sweet talk them into letting him have a guitar when it was against the rules.

Yeah.  If anybody could straighten his ass out, it was Denny. 

☠ ☢ ☠

“So where are we going, Fairy Gaymother?” Petey all but chirped when he slid into the back seat of the car. 

Beneath a dramatic full-body shiver, Gavin moaned, “Preferably someplace where it isn’t colder than a witch’s tit!”  Eyes prominently fixed on the front passenger’s seat, he added under his breath, “But if that muscle-bound Mafioso gets close enough, I’m sure my body temperature will compensate for Mother Nature – the frigid bitch.”

Petey clucked her tongue with disdain.  “Gavin, he’s a married man.  I don’t think his wife and two daughters would appreciate you hitting on him.”

“Pfft!”  He waved an unconcerned hand in her direction.  “I didn’t say I wanted him, I said he’s hot.  Two totally different things, Dollface.  I can appreciate a kitchen door even if it doesn’t swing the right way.”

She saw the driver grimace in the rearview mirror and was thankful she couldn’t see Rocco’s face.  Laughing quietly, she reminded her friend, “It’s helpful if the driver has someplace to drive us.  Do you have someplace for us to start this adventure?”

“Oh, honey, do I have a place to start!  Purple Passion is having a mid-week trunk show.  They don’t normally open until noon, but they’re making an exception today, because oh… my… God!”  A classic Gavin squeal pierced the confines of the vehicle and Rocco unobtrusively stuck a finger in his ear.

Purple Passion was one of the stores where she shopped semi-regularly, but she didn’t recall them ever having anything worth oohing and ahhing over in the way of Goth formal-wear. 

She told the driver to head for West Twentieth and slapped a hand down on the seat.  “What?  'Oh my God', what?” she demanded, knowing that the drama queen must have something good or he wouldn’t be bleeding it quite so heavily.  “Who’s doing the trunk show?”

“You are so gonna get me a Fairy Gaymother tiara for this one,” he said with a smug toss of his head.  “Because....... Directly from London...... with her debut trunk show is…...  The Fairy Gothmother!”

An audible gasp sucked the air from her lungs.  Petey didn’t really want to be that girl, but she was going to be.  “No way!  How did you find out?” 

Fairy Gothmother was an amazing designer based out of London, who did couture pieces - much like Gavin said Richie’s company was doing at the moment.  Petey only had one of her outfits – the black velvet that Jon liked so much from that first booty call – but it was incredible quality and style.  Their website had such fabulous Goth garmentry, that she visited it often just to ‘Windows’ shop. 

The most ironic thing was that it was one of FG’s dresses that she was carrying in the back of her mind as a model for the perfect wedding dress.  Petey hadn’t dreamed of having a shot at an actual Fairy Gothmother original.

Exasperation flooded Gavin’s features and his tone was haughty.  “Honey, I’m a gay salon owner in SoHo.  They bring flyers for this kinda shit by the shop every day.  Most of the time I don’t bother littering my window with them, but since I have a little Goth Tinkerella in my circle of friends, I took special notice of this one.”

“Pick a tiara and it’s yours,” she sighed with glee. 

Yes, she realized she was a highly educated and intelligent woman who shouldn’t be acting like a teenage girl over a damn frou frou dress, but she’d never gotten to be a teenager.  There had been no Homecoming or Prom dates, and she’d been fairly certain until very recently that she would never have a wedding.  This was it.  This was all her girly dress-up occasions rolled into one event, and Petey had every intention of making it count!

☠ ☢ ☠

Phone calls had been made, he’d made himself a salad for lunch, and now he was wasting time plunking around on his old black Takamine.  Well, not necessarily wasting time.  More like experimenting. 

Jon had a song he couldn’t get out of his head and it was annoying as hell.  There was no great mystery as to why it was on his mind, but it had been there several days now.  Since he couldn’t seem to exorcise it by sheer dismissal, he decided to put it to good use and looked up the lyrics. 

Since then, he’d been picking out the chords until he could perform song without disgracing himself.  Once upon a time, he’d probably known all the words, as it was pretty popular back in the day, but that was a lot of years ago.  Besides, if was going to do this, he wanted to put his own spin on it.

He strummed with a little more force, finding the soul of the song.

“Was a time when I wasn't sure
But you set my mind at ease
There is no doubt you're in my heart now”

It wasn’t even in the top one hundred on the romantic song list, and thereby out of place at a wedding, but he couldn’t dismiss the appropriateness of it.  Romantic wasn’t really his thing, and she knew that.  Hopefully, she’d see his gesture for what it was meant to be.

The doorbell interrupted the second chorus and the metal strings rasped squeakily when his fingers screeched to an abrupt halt.  Jon flipped his wrist around to check the face of the big, stainless steel watch.  Almost four o’clock.  Teresa must be running a little early.

With a  soft groan, he hauled his old butt up off of the couch and quickly stretched his legs before leaning the guitar against the wall.  Sex with Petey was addictive, but it was also starting to take its toll.  He wasn’t twenty-five anymore, able to go all night long every night of the week with no ill effects.  Tonight may have to be a 'make love' night instead of a 'screw' night so that he could recuperate without admitting his limitations.

He pulled at the hem of his Henley and ran a quick hand through already tousled hair, glancing down to the frayed hem of the jeans he was wearing.  Jon’s future mother-in-law had never seen him in anything but a suit.  Guess it was time for her to meet at-home Jon.

Turning the knob, his smile froze in place when he didn’t find Teresa Heinz Kerry waiting in the hallway, but a tall man in blue coveralls.  There was a box at his feet and a garment bag draped over one arm. 

“Yeah?”

“Uh. Yes.”  He cleared his throat and rubbed at the bandage on the bridge of his exceptionally big nose.  “I have some packages from Macy’s for Ms. Diehl.  She said someone would be here to receive them.”

Jon looked the guy up and down thinking he was awfully scrawny to be a delivery guy.  He would be suspicious if Petey hadn’t twice asked about his plans for the day.  She and Gavin must’ve found more than they planned on and sent part of it ahead so they didn’t have to haul it around Manhattan.  Oh well.  He supposed you didn't have to be built like a linebacker to deliver a dress.

“Yeah, okay.”  He was just about to take a step back when he felt two piercing stabs in the center of his chest and there was the scream of a wounded animal echoing in his ears.  The apartment tilted crazily, scrambling his brain before he realized he was the one screaming.

What the hell is going on?

About that time, he lost all control of his limbs and hit the foyer floor with a jarring impact.  Jon registered the feel of cold tile against his face as he spasmed against its hard surface, flopping like a hundred and fifty pound marlin on the deck of the fishing boat he'd chartered last summer.

The room was bending in strange places and he wondered where the hell the funhouse mirrors had come from.  He was pretty sure the penthouse was falling into the middle of Mercer Street when the lights began to fade, dark shadows crowding in around the periphery of his vision.  


He fought to keep his wits about him, but it was no use.  He was going to black out. 


The last thing Jon remembered hearing before he lost consciousness was, “A doctorate in electronics can make even the most innocent Taser gun deadly.”