152 - Sentimental Me

Dorothea hadn’t imagined that she would be out until two in the morning – especially considering the company she’d been keeping that night.  But when John had called and told Carol he was keeping the boys for the night, her Mommy obligation had been removed and, along with it, any imagined curfew. 

Reluctantly, she admitted that, during the course of events – and after a couple of Cosmos – Gavin had grown on her.  He encouraged her to bitch at him, and then tried to trump her.  It had kept her mind sharp and a sardonic smile on her face all night long. How much fun was that?

“I’m so tiiiired,” Stephanie moaned as the heavy front door closed behind them. 

She commiserated with her daughter as they wobbled their way through the corridors of the house’s lower level.  Only having about four of the Cosmos, the alcohol had faded a while back.  Her unsure footsteps were from fatigue and a never-ending conga line.  With strippers.  That looked like Jon and Richie.

What.  The.  Hell.

Back in the day it would’ve been mildly amusing and never fazed her.  Tonight, though, it was just… weird.  The sense of déjà vu, that is.  It was like she’d been transported back about twenty-five years to when those paying tribute to Bon Jovi by trying to be Bon Jovi had been a commonplace occurrence.

Rolling her shoulders, she shook it off.  That was another life.  Another person. 

The male lead in her current life should be hanging out in the family room, waiting for them to get home, according to the text she’d gotten about an hour ago.  Evidently the wild men were old and lame – and didn’t have an over-excitable Gavin coordinating their event.  They’d bowled, drank, played a little poker and gone to their respective homes – except for the two single men. They’d opted for a trip down to Atlantic City.

Richie and David in Atlantic City alone on a Saturday night.  The potential for trouble is staggering.

Stephanie nudged her as they approached the family room, nodding toward the sofa.

Following her daughter’s line of sight, she found Tony sitting on the end of the couch, his head fallen back into the cushions.  There was a half-empty beer bottle on the table in front of him, but it was long-since neglected.  As was the action movie on television.  He was sound asleep.  Almost on the verge of snoring, yet it could still be classified as deep breathing.

There was a funny little squeeze in the center of her chest and she couldn’t stem the softly amused smile that curled her mouth. 

“Go on to bed,” she instructed her daughter quietly.  “I’ll see you in the morning.”

The teen put up no argument, only supplying a soft, “G’night, Mom,” before she vanished up the stairs.

Dorothea soundlessly edged up behind the sofa, hesitant to disturb him.  He looked comfortable now, but she knew his neck would be stiff if he slept this way for very long.  Gentle fingertips came to brush at the side of his hair.  “Honey?”

“Mmm…”  From her vantage point behind him, his face was upside down, making his smile look like a frown.  A strong set of fingers came up to circle her wrist, holding it still so he could turn his head and press a kiss into the center of her palm.  “You’re home,” he mumbled without opening the eyes that were firmly shut behind his glasses.

“I am.”

Without bothering to escape his grip, she rounded the end of the sofa and stopped to stand between his splayed knees.  Tugging on their joined wrists, she convinced him to at least lift his head and open his eyes.  “Time for bed,” she quietly informed him as bleary, blue eyes endeavored to focus.  Seeing him blink sleepily, her chest did that squeezing thing again and sent corresponding shockwaves down into her stomach. 

“My bed or yours?”  The sleep-roughened question caused seismic aftershocks to ripple low in her belly.  Such a short time ago, he’d been her favorite brother.  The one with the ready smile and easy laugh, who always had his face stuck behind a camera.

Again… Another lifetime, another person.

There were no mistakes in the past, only experiences to build and learn from.  This experience – Tony – was softening her callous, independent heart more every day. 

She had been fully prepared to spend the rest of her life as only a mother, sister and daughter.  Never again as another half of a whole.  Never trusting someone enough to allow them to make her whole.    

Then… there he was – a quiet presence who demanded that she didn’t have to do it all alone.  He staunchly ignored her objections and reservations.  No, he just took whatever burden she was holding and made it his until she finally accepted that he was there for her.  That he wanted to be there for her.

Tony had gently and unobtrusively established himself as her partner in life.

Her eyes misted and there was a creaking as her sternum and ribs strained to contain her swelled heart. 

“Hey…  What’s the matter, Babes?”

She brought her free hand up to cup his cheek, stroking her thumb along the edge of his goatee.  “Nothing.  I drank enough to make me sappy, I guess.”

“Yeah?”  Warm fingers curled around her hips, guiding her to plant her bottom in his lap.  Settling more firmly into the engulfing cushions, he urged her to curl into him and pressed soft lips to her temple.  “What’cha sappy about?”

Dorothea couldn’t tell him where her mind had been.  He wouldn’t see his actions – the way he was – as a big deal.  Tony was a man who did what he did, without expectation – or need – of thanks and recognition.  Both embarrassed him, in fact.  Effusive praise and appreciation were about the only things that could make this tough Jersey boy blush.

“You.”  Being in his lap wasn’t enough contact.  Her fingers immediately sought the gap left by several open buttons on his shirt and burrowed into the soft plane of hair covering his chest.  “Do you know how much I love you?”

“Mm.”  A heavy hand rubbed at her thigh and warmed the dark denim there.  “I hope as much as I love you.”

Tucking her hair behind her ear, she inclined her mouth until it almost touched his.  Their lips were so close that she could smell the beer on his breath.  His whiskers tickled her chin. “More,” she whispered and proceeded to show him with the soft loving of her mouth against his.

Strong arms banded around her torso and held her tight as his moan vibrated against her lips.  She suckled the combined flavors of beer and smoke from his tongue until she found the flavor that could ignite her – the flavor of Tony.  Despite the cigarettes and whatever he’d been drinking, he had an underlying taste that was uniquely him, and she couldn’t get enough of it.  Craved it, in fact.

“Babes,” he exhaled against her cheek, hands restlessly roaming her body.  “I want you.  God, I want you.”

Dorothea peppered kisses along his cheek to the underside of his jaw, where she bit down carefully and sucked.  Not hard enough to leave a mark, but hard enough to make him…. harder.  “And I want you.  Let’s go to bed.”

☠ ☢ ☠

Richie crawled between the sheets of David’s guest room naked.  It had been a shorter trip back to David’s house than the city.  Besides, this made him only about twenty minutes away from Dorothea’s house.  It saved him an hour tonight and an hour tomorrow.  The only problem?  His clothes for the wedding.

He probably should have considered that when he was fucking around talking to and texting Candace all night.  There wasn’t a doubt in his mind that they would be hooking up after the wedding tomorrow.  She was more into him than his proctologist, and his ego could stand a little pumping.

His ego was going to be the least of his worries if he didn’t figure out a way to get those wedding duds to D’s house.  Petey would kill him and Jon would probably help her.  So what did he do?

The covers fell to his waist,, his defeated sigh filling the silence of the gender-neutral guest accommodations.  Same thing he always did. 

Flaring to life, the mini-screen pierced the darkness with its backlight and, without his glasses, Richie held it at arm’s length. 

Three in the morning.  Midnight in L.A.  Will she kill me?

Probably, but he didn’t know what else to do.  She was the one who took care of the kinds of things for him.  It’s what he paid her to do, and he paid her well.  Late night calls weren’t unheard of.

A long finger tapped into his Favorites and found her number near the top.  He tapped it almost defiantly.  It only took two rings before her voice greeted him.  “Richie, what’s wrong?”

It didn’t sound like he’d woken her.  Had he ‘interrupted’ something that had kept her from going to sleep yet?  “Hey, Den.  Who said anything was wrong?”

“It’s three in the morning.  You don’t call to chat at three in the morning.”

“I do sometimes.”  The occasional bout of insomnia had not been uncommon at the height of his struggles.  Rather, the height of his demon-battling.  She had been one of the few he could turn to, no matter what his frame of mind. 

“Not in a long time,” she remarked quietly, before assuming a more brusque, business-like tone.  “If nothing’s wrong, then what do you need?”

“I…”  Priorities.  There were priorities that needed dealt with.  “I need clothes from my hotel brought to David’s or Dorothea’s.  Can you find somebody to do that?”

“I’m sure I can.”  She hesitated and he recognized the hesitation – the natural inclination to ask why – and wondered if she actually would.   The way things were going with them lately, it was hard to guess.  Ultimately, she stuck with normal and asked.  “But why didn’t you get back to the hotel?”

“Bachelor party.  Lemma and I ended up in Atlantic City after the rest of them went home.  It was easier to come here than go back into the city, and the wedding is at Dorothea’s tomorrow.   It just saves me a trip in and back down in the morning.”

“I see.”  It was amazing what a woman could pack into two simple words.  His conscience surely wasn’t responsible for the condemnation that was trying wrap around him with the sharp pricks of an Iron Maiden.

“Don’t judge, Denny.  Did I judge you last night?”

“Richie –“

“No.  This is a professional call to my assistant.  Period.”  He scraped an agitated hand through his hair.  “My clothes?”

There was a delicate clearing of her throat.  “If you don’t have a preference, I’ll send them to Dorothea’s.  Your suit and black shirt, I assume?”

“Yeah.”

“Fine.  What time?”

“The wedding’s at four.”

“The clothes will be there by noon.  Is there anything else?”  Thrown off her game at first, brisk, efficient Denny was now on the job.

“No.  Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.  And…”  The attitude leaked out of her tone and was replaced with the sincerity that was a truer representation of who Denny really was.  “Please pass along my concern and good thoughts for Jon, Petey and Tony.  I saw on the news that there was a shooting.”

He didn’t want to talk about it now.  Last night, yes, he would’ve relished the chance to clear his head over the matter, but not tonight.  Tonight, he was mentally channeling the Amazonian legs of one Candace.  Desperately so.

“I will, thanks.  Later, Den.”

Before she could say goodbye, he disconnected the call and tossed his phone onto the adjoining pillow.  Would his life ever cease to be a convoluted clusterfuck?

 Next post:  Wednesday, August 22