150 - It's All Over Now, Baby Blue

I didn't even get a chance to proof read this one.  If you find typos, just leave me a note and I'll fix them.  Thanks!!  :)

“It’s too early to go home, old man!”  David taunted.  “Let’s head down to Atlantic City and gamble.”

It was just Jon, his brothers and his ‘brothers’ still hanging at Asbury Lanes.  The Senator and Henry had excused themselves a couple of hours prior, and his dad had taken the boys home when they’d gotten tired at about the same time.  In Jess’s case it was more like bored.  Obie had even bailed early because Denise had the flu, meaning they likely wouldn’t be at the wedding tomorrow either.

So what now?

He surveyed the crew to find Matt and Tony laughing over the last of their beer, Tico was contentedly – Dave, impatiently – waiting to see what the next move was, and Richie…

Lord, God, Jesus.

Richie was leaned back in one of the hard plastic seats, an ugly bowling shoe clad foot resting on his opposite knee with his cell phone stuck to his head.  He was smiling and gesturing with his free hand in a way that let Jon know he was oozing Sambora charm at whoever was on the other end of the call.

Jon had a gut feeling his friend was schmoozing a woman, and it wasn’t Denny. 

Richie was a live and let live kind of guy, always giving the appearance of allowing everything to roll effortlessly off his back, but Jon had been around long enough to know better.  His friend’s feelings got hurt pretty easily.  God knew he had hurt them enough to attest to that.  Never would Rich tell anybody that though.  He would just stuff it aside and go on in another direction.

Jon’s theory was that Denny being out last night hurt Richie’s feelings when he was trying to point those feelings toward Denny.  The girl – Candace – was about not being left on the short end of the stick. 

“Sambora.  Get off the fuckin’ phone.  Lemma wants to go to A.C.”

It was enough to spur his friend into motion.  Richie dropped his foot to the floor and kicking the ugly bowling shoes off while offering into the phone, “Sorry, Darlin’. I’ve gotta run.  Can I call you later?”  There went the smug pussy-eating grin.  “Awesome.  Talk to you soon.”

“Was that Candace?  Because that shit got me bitched at for, like, twenty minutes.”  Thank God Tony asked before Jon felt beholden to. 

“Yeah, me too,” Richie laughed carelessly.  So much for Jon and Dorothea’s efforts at relationship counseling.  Their advice was being blatantly ignored, and Tony’s question remained unanswered.

“So?  Was it her?”  Why the fuck he felt compelled to push what had been a fun evening in another direction, Jon couldn’t say.  He just did.

“Let it go,” Richie commanded quietly, stuffing his big feet into his street shoes.  “Where we headed?  Borgata?  Caesar’s?  Where you feel like droppin’ your dime, Kidd?”

Nowhere.  He’d really rather go home.  At home he could pretend that Richie didn’t need somebody worrying about him. 

“I don’t wanna go all the way to A.C. tonight,” Tico rumbled around his unlit cigar.  God bless the Cubano.  His boys were looking out for him tonight, whether they knew it or not.  “That’s over an hour down and two hours back to the city for Jonny and Rich.  I don’t wanna work that hard to give away my money.”

David immediately launched into one of his whiny fits, which were sometimes actually amusing, but not tonight.  “What’s the matter ya bunch of old farts?  Do you turn into mouse turds at midnight, Cinderella boys?”

Matt was laughing, since he was easily the youngest of the group. 

“Fuck you, Lemma,” Jon said easily, shucking his own rented shoes and replacing them with his battered boots.  “It’s been a while since we hit the Stone Pony.  Let’s check it out.  Maybe play a couple for the locals.”

David’s curls were bouncing in agreement before the last word had been spoken.  “I could go for that.”  He smacked Tico on the shoulder.  “Whaddaya think Methuselah?”

“I think you’re a dumbass with too much attitude to burn tonight.”  Tico was renowned for being brutally honest.  “But the Pony sounds okay.”

“Thanks for the laughs.  That’s my cue to bow out.”  Tony belted back another slug of beer and plunked the plastic cup down on the little Formica-topped table.  “I’m not down with the rabid fan thing tonight.  Sorry.”

“Aww, come on,” Matt cajoled, putting the remains of his own beer down as well.  “A little extra feminine attention never hurt a guy.”

Jon joined in pinning their younger brother with a look and nodded his support of Tony’s dryly uttered, “From the right woman.” 

“I like to jam, but a little gambling sounded good, too.  What about a poker game?  Like the ones we used to have all the time?”  This from Richie, who was slipping into his coat without regard to the disagreeing siblings.  He’d listened to so much over the years that it was as natural a sound as the wind.  Ironically enough, Jon and Tony were getting along better now than they had in…  Well, ever. 

‘Bout time he got over that hamper thing.

“I’m in for poker.”

“Yeah, that sounds okay,” David added his endorsement on top of Tico’s.

“Hey,” Jon threw up his hands.  “If you all want to hand me your asses around a poker table, I’m all about it.  I’ll buy Petey something nice with your money.”

David was instantly in his face with a threatening finger, vowing, “You’re gonna eat those words, motherfucker.”

“None of you fuckers can play poker worth a damn,” Tico reminded them with a bland chuckle.  Unfortunately, he was marginally correct in that statement.  Compared to him, the rest of them often managed to look like a bunch of rank amateurs.  The older man seemed to have a sixth sense about what was in your hand.  It bordered on creepy and had cost Jon thousands of dollars over the years.  

“You boys in?” Richie asked, looming over Jon’s brothers.

Matt immediately bowed out, saying the pot was always too rich for his blood, but Tony agreed to join them.  They all piled into the limo waiting out front and directed the driver back to Mercer Street. 

Last time I played poker at the house, it was with Petey.

☠ ☢ ☠

“Petey-kins,” Gavin hissed, masking the noise of the elevator doors hissing closed.  “You can’t be a damn tramp and screw him the night before the wedding.  Show some morals!”

The rest of the bachelorette guests had been whisked away to their respective home and/or hotel without too much further incident.  They’d all giggled and guffawed her way through the remainder of Gavin’s questionable party games.  Even Petey, after her little mental lapse, had gotten herself together and rejoined the party, plowing through several more Cosmos with vengeance and purpose. 

Bon Bon Lovey had revealed more than his Slippery panties to Petey when he slithered out of his spandex, and her trip to the ladies’ room had given her a much-needed opportunity to process it.

Why hadn’t she, a supposedly smart woman, realized that her husband would be up there shaking his moneymaker on a regular basis?  And that some of those women weren’t going to be shy about helping him shake it?  Cerebrally, she’d understood it, but until she was faced with faux-Jon, it hadn’t been rocketed onto her plane of reality.  It was….  Disconcerting.

Dorothea had opened her mouth to say something on three separate occasions during Petey’s brutal attack on the Goodship Lollipop, but never actually verbalized anything other than snarkisms about Gavin.  

Drunk as a glittered skunk, Gavin had come home with Petey.  She was using his presence in the guest room as mental justification for climbing into bed with Jon and executing her carefully devised plan.   ‘Careful’ may actually be pushing it, but it was as carefully devised as any plan in a bathroom stall could be.  She was a genius, for fuck’s sake!  She didn’t need environment to think.  Right??

She tippled on her heels and pulled her face into a pucker of concentration as she struggled to get the key in the door.  On the fourth try, it slid right in.

Hell yes, right!

“Listen up, Pimp Gavin…” Her own hiss bounced off the foyer tiles after the door had shut behind them and she disarmed the security system.  She jabbed one blunt finger into his woolen-coated chest.  “This is your fault.  You and your damn pretty-boy strippers.”

A sassy flip of his wrist, and the coat’s zipper went flying down to the bottom.  He only bobbled a little when he wrestled his way out of the belligerent outwear.  “Don’t be blaming your sexual cravings on me, Hormona Heinz.  If you can’t keep it in your pants, then you ass-tastic people should consider a nudist colony, not New York.  I need water.” 

The coat slid uselessly from the hanger as he toddled toward the kitchen. 

Sighing and trying not to plunge headfirst into the closet floor, Petey stooped to get his coat and hang it properly.  Or only a little lopsided.  Whatever.

“I’m not talking about my hormones, you too-tall troublemaker.”  She purposefully tried to keep her voice quiet, but it seemed to echo through the apartment as she bumbled after Gavin.  He was leaning against the stainless steel door of the refrigerator, gulping at a bottle of open water.

“Gawwwwd, that’s good.”  You would think he was in the middle of sex with the way he groaned his appreciation of the water.  “So what’s the problem?  You’re not horny?  Read some porn.  I’m sure you can find some online.  Probably about him, if you looked hard enough.”

Petey’s elbows hit the island counter with a near-painful ‘thunk’.  “No, idiot.  You made me think of my almost-husband as a fucking rock star.  A rock star with hordes of women throwing themselves at him everywhere he goes.  Tempting women!”

With a dramatic roll of his eyes, he shook his head and groaned.  “What-ever!  Why in the hell would he want anybody else?  Look at your cute little ass, and wild ways.  I don’t know, but I would imagine those wild ways extend to the bedroom….”  Perfectly groomed eyebrows lifted, inviting her confirmation or denial.

“None of your business.”

He stifled a disappointed sigh.  “You just can’t toss a single guy a bone, huh?  Or a boner.”  A loud snort rattled her ears and he started cackling at himself, pounding his open palm against the refrigerator.  “Boner!  Ha!  I’m a regular Lucille Ball!”  This snort was even louder.  “HA!  Ball!!!  Ohhhhh,  I slay me….”

“Why, God?” Petey quietly inquired of the ceiling.  “What have I done to deserve this?”

“Ehhhh…”  Gavin was merrily wiping the tears away, and clutching at his sides.  “Stop playing the fucking martyr, Joan of Arc.   Tell him that you have to confess that you’ve had more than one prior identity.  Before you were Patience Heinz, you were Lorena Bobbitt.  Guarantee he won’t be sticking that thing where it doesn’t belong.  Hell, you’ll be lucky if it doesn’t crawl up inside of him and hide like a damn ostrich!”

“Oh for the love of…”  Literally the most outrageous man alive.  Had to be.  “Gavin?  Go to bed!”

“Yeah, yeah.”  He held the half-filled bottle of water aloft.  “Soon as I finish my water.  Can’t get dehydrated.  But, tell me, what are you gonna do?”

She was going to remind Mr. Bon-fucking-Jovi that he was hers, and that he’d better not forget it.

 Next Post:  Saturday, August 18