121- I Feel a Change Comin' On

Richie stretched, grunting with annoyance when he couldn’t straighten his legs. 

When the hell did my bed get so short?

He must have fallen asleep on the couch again.  It happened a lot less now that he didn’t drink, but from time to time he nodded off before making it to the bedroom at night. 

Slitting open his morning-hating eyes, he tried to make sense of the soft landscape painting that was hanging in his line of vision.  It was pretty, but it definitely didn’t belong in his living room.  Face scrunched with consternation, his legs got tangled in a blanket when he tried to sit up.  He frowned down at the fuzzy thing.  Who had taken time to make sure he was covered?

Denny.

The rusty gears started noisily grinding in his aged mind, slowly churning out the details of last night and of why he was sleeping on Denny’s short-ass couch.

He arrived about ten o’clock, pizza and eggplant in hand, with sense of uncertainty.   Inviting himself over had seemed like a good idea at the time – certainly better than being at home alone – but there had been too much opportunity to think during the drive over.

Still pondering her cryptic comments from earlier in the day and Tony’s gruff order to bring her to the wedding, Richie didn’t know what would happen.  It all could go to hell in a hand basket if he made assumptions that were unfounded.  He was going to have to tread carefully and get a better feel for the lay of the land.

All that uncertainty fled the instant she opened the door to her small house with an easy smile. 

This is just Denny.  Same old Denny you’ve always known.

Same old Denny, but Richie took a moment to really look at her.  They were so often together in a business or formal setting that he’d never had much of a chance to see her in her natural habitat, as it were. 

Her hair was doing its best to spill out of one of those clips with all the teeth that she always kept stuck in her bag, and she was comfortably dressed in a soft looking Forty-Niners tee and gray sweats.  She made no attempt to be pretentious, her sunned face devoid of makeup.  Her fingernails were done in one of those French manicures, but the toenails on her slender feet were a vibrant red. 

She was a real woman and made no bones about it.

“Hi, Darlin’,” he greeted, swooping in for a quick kiss on her cheek.  Was it his imagination or did she tense just as his lips touched her skin?

“Hey.  I hope you know it’s not just any famous musician I’m going to let come knocking on my door at ten o’clock at night.”

Following her into the kitchen, he kicked up one corner of his mouth with amusement.  “Just the ones bearing Pollo Alfredo pizza, huh?”

“Got it right in one.  Just put the box down over there.  I’ll find us some plates.”  Denny gestured to the well-used oak table absently.  He had only been to her house a couple of times, in one ‘crisis’ situation or another, but the kitchen table was pretty indicative of what he’d noted in previous visits.  Denny’s house was nice, yet comfortably lived in.  Soft, warm earth tones made their way through the Craftsman style house, inviting its occupants to relax and recharge.

Relaxing and recharging is exactly what I need right now.

“Spring water or Diet Coke?”  she asked, putting the plates next to the pizza box. 

“No Red Bull?”

“No.”  Denny’s frown was very matronly as she stood holding the refrigerator door handle.  “Even if I had it, you staying up all night on an energy buzz seriously reduces the likelihood you’ll make your morning appearance on time.”

Richie winked at her and followed it with his innocent smile.  “You worry too much.”

“That’s why you pay me so well,” she blithely reminded, as she tossed him a cold bottle of water.  “I worry so you don’t have to.”

What had worked so well for them all these years now felt… peculiar.  She was right in the fact that he paid her quite well to keep his shit together, and he didn’t begrudge a penny.  It was all well-earned.  It also put her in a caretaker position, with him being the helpless charge.

It’s true, isn’t it?  At least to a certain degree.  Practical matters are not your thing.

Maybe.  But he couldn’t escape the need to prove himself.

“I worry when it’s necessary.  I’m not helpless.”

“Mm.”  She wasn't biting and wordlessly flipped open the lid of the pizza box.  The scent that drifted through the air had her humming rapturously, and Richie narrowing his eyes. 

“I’m not helpless,” he repeated, popping the staples free on the white carryout bag.  The pizza had been for her, really.  He’d been more in the mood for the eggplant.  And the cheesecake, as much as he hated to admit it.

“I heard you the first time.”  Two thin slices of gooey, white pie were transferred to her plate.  Reaching for a handful of napkins and her own water, she nodded toward the sandwich.  “Bring it into the living room.  We’ll find a movie or something to watch while we eat.”

He didn’t want to watch television, Richie thought churlishly, but he held his tongue.  Charm was where his strength lie, not sniveling like a brat.

Plate and water in hand, he noted that Denny had curled herself like a cat into the oversized armchair.  Feet were tucked under her, and she leaned into the chair’s wide arm, where her plate was resting.  The bottle of water was tucked in next to her hip.

Speaking of cats…

Denny’s orange tabby, Symbiotic –Sym, for short – curled around his ankles, nearly tripping him.  Richie was more of a dog person, but her cat was pretty cool.  He had originally been named OJ, but Denny’s kids had been smaller at the time.  She’d told him she had to continually tell the kids that they had to respect the cat and not pull his tail.  It had to be a symbiotic household.   Eventually, they called the cat symbiotic by association.

“Hey, Sym.  Could you manage not to kill me, big guy?”  Dancing around the big cat, Richie chose the end of the loveseat closest to her chair, parking his food on the heavy wooden end table.  She was carelessly flicking through the channels, and the backlit screen of the flat-panel television hanging over the fireplace brightened the candlelit room.

That was another thing he remembered from being at Denny’s house before.  The candles.  She always had the place glowing softly with the artfully placed flames around the room, and the spicy scent made the atmosphere seem even warmer than the décor.  If he recalled correctly, she’d told him that overhead lights gave her headaches and that she had to deal with enough fluorescent bulbs out in the real world.  At home she wanted soft incandescent lamplight or candles.

He grinned.  She had to be careful about the candles though.  Sym had set himself on fire one time.  It hadn’t been bad.  The cat hadn’t even realized what happened but he'd sidled too close to a candle and 'whoosh'.  Flames had raced along his fur, leaving Denny to frantically blow him out like a hairy birthday candle.  As a result, the candles were now either in deep jars or placed high out of the cat’s reach.

Richie picked up his sandwich and took a bite, his jaw going still when – without looking away from the rapidly changing images on the screen - she asked, “Why do you want me to go Jon’s wedding?”

Taking his time, he finished chewing and then swallowed, wiping his mouth before he responded.  “Tony suggested that I bring you.”

“Did he say why?”  Finally, the channel surfing had stopped with the image of Will Smith and Tommy Lee Jones on the screen.  Men in Black.  Denny had a soft spot for Frank, the ugly little pug dog. It was weird how much he knew about her without realizing it.

“Nah.  He said not to think about it too hard, to just bring you.” He shrugged.  “So I asked.”

She questioningly tipped her head to the side, but lifted her pizza without comment.

“Besides,” he spoke around the insanely good fried eggplant.  “I wanted to talk to you.”

“We talk every day.  Several times.”

Once again, he put his food down, and then unscrewed the top on the Evian.  Swallowing, he pondered the best approach for his query.

“I want to talk about what you said at lunch today.”  He was ready to expand upon that thought when she interrupted excitedly.

“Oh look, this is one my favorite parts!  Will Smith cracks me up every time.”

O-kayyy.  She wasn’t going to be forthcoming.  Why?

“Richie, just take your shoes off, kick back and enjoy the mindlessness of the movie,” she encouraged him kindly.  “Don’t think for a while, okay?  You could use a break.”

He sucked in his bottom lip, distractedly chewing on it.  The desire to push and demand was almost overwhelming.  The only thing – well two things – that stopped him were his natural inclination to be a pacifist… and Denny.  She hated being pushed into a corner and became completely uncooperative when she was.  It had happened more times than he could count, but it was typically reporters and publicists that were the guilty parties.  That wasn’t on list of crimes, and he preferred to keep it that way.

“I may pay your salary, but you’re the boss,” Richie forced a casual tone and smile, reluctantly retreating. 

You know what a bitch Fate is when she’s crossed.  Let it ride, Sambora. The time will come for answers.

So they ate their food companionably and watched Men in Black.

Afterward, he’d tagged along to help set the kitchen back to rights.  Richie was reaching around her for the trash can when she turned unexpectedly, unaware that he was behind her.  They both froze to keep from colliding, leaving their faces to still within inches of one another.

Had she always smelled like spicy vanilla?  He got distracted from the random thought by the warmth of her breath tickling his lips.  It sent a pleasant tingle low into his belly.

I want to kiss her.

Almost reluctant to move, afraid of disrupting Fate’s plan, he inched closer and whispered, “Den?” 

They were on the cusp of something… different than they’d ever known together.  Richie could feel it.  Did she feel it?

“No, Richie.”  A graceful back-step had her out of reach, and she slipped around him to put the leftover pizza away.  “I won’t be that kind of distraction for you.  You can’t use me like you use… her.”

Last night was coming back to bite him in the ass - again.  Nothing good ever came of those encounters.  Why did he persist in trying to make something out of nothing?

“She doesn’t mean anything to me, Denny.  You know that.”

Her lips disappeared under the tightening of her mouth.  “I know.  Listen, it’s late.  If you want to stay here, you can have Michael’s room.  I need to get some sleep.  Somebody’s got me headed out early in the morning.”

With that, she’d swept in to drop a peck on his cheek, said goodnight, and scurried away.

It had left him… wanting.

Not feeling up to the drive back to Westlake – or maybe wanting to hang around ‘just in case’ – Richie had gone back to the television and flipped channels until he fell asleep on the short little loveseat.  He could only assume that she’d come to cover him up at some point during the night.  He wouldn't know since, when he slept, he slept like the dead.

Denny entered the room at just about the same time the sun started to peek through the front windows, and he forced himself into a sitting position.  The Oriental rug tickled his feet as he watched her move through the room.

“Morning, sleepyhead.  You should get home, shower and change.  We’ve only got a couple of hours.” 

At least she was the same Denny this morning.  She was her usual, efficient self, already dressed for work.  His botched attempt at something more hadn’t changed the way she acted toward him.

“Yeah, I know.”  Big feet crammed into the black loafers he’d ben favoring lately, and Richie stood, moving toward the front door.  “You’ll come with the driver to get me?”

“Mm-hmm,” she confirmed, trying to follow him out without stepping on Sym.  “I changed your flight.  You’re going to New York tonight, but I’m not going with you.”

He stopped abruptly, turning to look at her.  Long, blunt-tipped fingers went up to scratch his head and try to put some order to his couch head.  “What do you mean?”

“You asked for an earlier flight, and I should’ve never questioned you.  I made the arrangements, just like you asked.  Make sure you let Jon know you’re coming.  Or do you want me to text him?”

“I’ll do it,” he murmured absently, still confused.  He searched her face for some explanation, but she was wearing her blank professional look.  “But why aren’t you coming?”

“I forgot the kids were coming back tomorrow, not Sunday.”

I can almost see the steam rising off that fresh pile of bullshit.

“I don’t believe that.  You never forget anything.”

“Yeah, well…”  Her long blonde hair was hanging straight around her shoulders and she tucked one half behind her ear and spoke directly to his chin.  “It happens.  As much as I was looking forward to meeting the infamous Petey, this wasn’t a work obligation.  I can’t justify going.”

So much for thinking last night didn’t change anything.