158 - Final Countdown

“Give me that,” Gavin ordered as Petey grinned foolishly at the screen of her phone.  “Get your cute little tush wiggled into that dress so you can make that damn sappy face at him instead of your phone.  Gawd.  Who knew you two would turn out to be romantic?”

Gavin could have the damn phone.  Those two, simple electronic words had gone a long way toward calming her frayed nerves.  The insecurity bubbled just a bit below the surface, but it wasn't boiling over anymore.

Teresa efficiently unzipped the garment bag that was lying across the sunshine yellow comforter, saying calmly, “Everyone needs a little romance in their lives.  Even geniuses and arrogant rock stars.”

Unzipping her hoodie, she draped it over a chair and pulled a face at her mother.  “Like we’re some uncultured sub-species.  Thanks, Mom.”

“Stop that.  You know what I meant.  Even if it seems you don’t need or want the softer side of love, a little bit of romance is good for the soul.  That’s why I never begrudged your father his little… romantic tryst.”

So as not to disturb Gavin’s hair styling efforts, Petey carefully stripped the tank top over her head and put it with the hoodie. 

“Condiment King had a little fling?”  Gavin trilled as he fluffed at the pink ostrich feather trim that was interwoven with three blushing roses and matching sheer ribbon on the back rim of her hat.  “How did that turn out?”

The rustling satin of the gown quieted abruptly.  Teresa and Petey exchanged a look, and Teresa shrugged a shoulder as though to tell Petey it was up to her.

“It turned out to be a Tinkerhell.”

He gripped the brim of the hat with both hands, jaw going slack with disbelief. “Shut. UP!  You’re a bastard love genius?”

Satin rustled once again as Teresa shook out the gown’s skirt.  “Have you ever had a filter between your brain and your mouth, young man?”

“Once upon a time, in a closet far away.  I left it behind when I came out.”  He shook the black top hat and gave a single nod of approval at the delicate feathery flutter.  “So, Papa was a rolling stone…?”

Petey knew she was going to eventually regret this, but as she kicked her shoes and socks aside, unzipped her jeans and fastened her garter belt to her stockings, she filled Gavin in on the details.  She briefly told him of her father’s indiscretion, her birth mother’s death and Teresa’s commitment to keeping it all in the family – including Petey. 

“Jesus, you really are Mother Teresa,” he drawled, a glimmer of respect lighting his eyes. 

“Hardly, but none of it was any fault of Patience.  Every child deserves to be loved.”

“Oh Gawd, stop with the Hallmark moment.  You two are wreaking havoc on my guy-liner!”

With an affectionate wink for her mother, Petey smirked at Gavin.  “That’s twice today.  Your reputation is going to be in shambles before the day is over.  Accept it.”

“What.  Ever.”  Tossing his head, he sniffled and sassed back with, “Blue lingerie?  Not pink?  He’s not gonna recognize you, girlfriend.”

Embarrassment made her cheeks hot.  Stepping into the skirt, she shimmied it up over her hips and mumbled, “Heterosexual wedding traditions.”

“What?”

Her mother’s laugh tinkled in the air as she pulled up the short zipper.  “Your ‘something blue’?”

Petey nodded and tipped her chin defiantly.  “The bride is supposed to have ‘something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue’.”

“Honey, I know that.  I’m just amazed that you know it, Goth Mistress Geek.”

“Patience…  Your corset.”  Teresa held out the top half of her wedding-dress, and Petey gave Gavin her back so that she could slip out of her bra and step into the stiff garment.  She spun and waited patiently for her mother to complete the tedious process of lacing up the back.  Once cinched around her torso, the corset created an impressive display of cleavage and a fair amount of bust spilling out the top. 

“I’m not totally out of the loop on social conformities.  Most of the time, I just don’t care to adhere to them.”

“Your snobby, educated vocabulary is wasted on me, Dollface.  I ain’t impressed.”  He stretched out his hands and ran them along the garment’s steel boning.  “However, this…?  This impresses me.  Your girls are enough to make a straight man drool in this corset.  Seeing as I bat for the other team, I just have breast envy.”

Her laugh was cut short with an especially sharp tug on the laces.  “Mom!  I need to breathe enough to say I do!”

“When you walk down the aisle and Jon’s eyes are bulging out of his head, you’ll appreciate this.”

“Well, you’re going to have to put my boots on me.  There’s no way I can bend over with it trussed that tight!”

“The dress is new,” Gavin recited, foraging in her duffel for the mid-calf Victorian boots.  “So are these.”  The light shone through the black lace insets as the shoes dangled from his fingers.  “And your hat and choker for that matter.  What about old?”

“Gloves.”

“Ah yes.”  Another trip into the bag produced a pair of black satin opera-length gloves, which he tossed to the side.  “We’ve established that the panties  and garter belt are blue.  What about borrowed?”

“Borrowed is a problem.  I don’t have anything.”  She sucked a breath in through her teeth and glared over her shoulder.  “Are you about finished redesigning my rib cage back there?”

One more series of tugs and her mother said, “Yes, smart mouth, I’m done.  Gavin, help her with the shoes while I go scrounge up something borrowed, find your bouquet and tell Henry it’s almost time.”  Petey’s oldest brother would be walking her down the aisle.

“You don’t have some treasured heirloom to lend your daughter?  I thought we were going to have another Hallmark moment here?”

“Thank you for pointing out my maternal shortcomings, but, really, all I need you to do is put on her shoes.”

“Ooh,” Gavin breathed after the door slammed shut.  “Mama T is a little touchy.”

“And you’re a little bit of a monumental pain in the ass.”

☠ ☢ ☠

Jon took a deep breath, smiled, and stuck a hand out to Henry.  “Hey, man.  I see you’re no worse for wear after getting your ass kicked last night.”  He had already made his rounds of the other guests and made sure his guitar was tuned.  After tuning his own guitar, Richie now practically had his hand in Candace’s lap.  Denny pretended not to notice or care as she talked to Tico’s wife, while Dave conspired with Teek. 

So, he stood near the altar by himself with no further way of avoiding Petey’s oldest brother. 

He didn’t have anything against Henry, except for the big bruiser’s determination to be an overbearing protector of his sister.  The incident with Daniel hadn’t proved to be a bonding experience for them, and he’d been a little bit of an arrogant ass last night.  At least until Richie and Dave had kicked his ass at bowling.  Then he’d paid to cover his wager on the game, grumbled and left with the Senator.

“Jon.”

His attitude hadn’t softened any overnight. 

“Petey said she asked you to be the one to give her away.”

“Yeah.”

Jon felt his mouth go stiff and he knew if Bergman was snapping any candid photos right now, he would see that smile his mother had bitched at him about for years.  “You look like you’re gritting your teeth.  People can tell.  Stop it.”

Well, he was gritting his teeth. 

“Are you gonna give her away or kidnap her so she doesn’t marry me?”

Henry looked down his nose at Jon.  “What do you think I should do?”

“Me, personally?  I think you should get over yourself.”  He kept his tone light and his smile as friendly as he could manage.  “She’s mine.  She wants to be mine.  I’m going to take better care of her than anybody else in her life has, and that includes you.”

Anger radiated from Henry’s body.  “Are you saying I didn’t take good care of my sister?”

“Probably better than anybody else.”

“But not as good as you can?” he scoffed.

Jon lifted a casual shoulder and absently straightened his tie.  Fucking around with his tie was a distraction from both Henry and the fact that it was a quarter ‘til four. 

“Listen, man.  You’ve got a wife.  Think about it.  You don’t love her like I do.  Simple as that.  Can we get over this pissing contest now?”

“Excuse me.”  Teresa’s voice stopped Henry from verbally replying, but he offered Jon a begrudging nod.  If he wasn’t mistaken, that might even be the faintest tinge of respect in the big man’s eyes.  “This is an odd question, but does anyone have a skull of some kind we could borrow for the ceremony?”

“Bossman, I’m not versed in the wedding rituals of the Satanic church,” David called from across the room, his hands thrown up.

“Shut your piehole, Bryan.”

David always had to have a wise ass comment.  Jon wasn’t looking forward to a reception with both him and Gavin.  He had a very real fear that it would end up being a duel to the death, with wit as their weapons.

“Teresa... I’ve got this.”  Richie unglued himself from Candace long enough to stand and pull back his jacket sleeve.  Displayed there was a bracelet Jon knew his friend had owned for years.  He hadn’t seen the heavy, silver bracelet of skulls in a while though.

He must have thought it appropriate for this particular wedding, Jon thought with a silent chuckle. 

“Perfect, Richie.”  She held out a flat palm and wiggled her fingers , silently ordering him to give it up.

“Your big goon arms are twice the size of Tink’s.  She can’t wear your bracelet.”

Teresa flapped her hand at him.  “Then she’ll wear it as an anklet.  She needs something borrowed and I think she’d appreciate skulls, since she’s the only one in the wedding party not wearing them.”  Her fingers curled around the heavy metal he deposited in her palm and she smiled.  “Thank you, Richie.” 

Bending to brush a kiss against the Senator’s cheek, the elegant older woman allowed the guitarist to reclaim his seat before rising and regarding her eldest son.  “Henry, bring Patience’s bouquet and come with me.”

Jon’s gut clenched and he straightened the soft pink rose sitting on his lapel.  It was almost game time. 

“Jon….”  Teresa’s commanding voice captured his attention.  “You’ve got ten minutes.  Are you ready?”

He had a song.  Richie had a song.  They had their monkey suits on, with the accompany boutonnieres.  He sort of knew what he wanted to say.  There was no fighting amongst the guests for the moment.  The kids were being docile.  Bergman was here for pictures, and Lemma was…  Well, Jon thought he had given Lemma enough direction and threats to keep it reasonable. 

All he needed was a bright-eyed imp to make it complete. 

Jon shook out his jacket sleeves a bit nervously and inhaled the scent of all the roses and lilies scattered around the room.    

Jesus.  He was really doing this.

“Yes, ma’am.  I’m ready.”

You are cordially invited to a wedding….

Tuesday, September 4

Twelve noon EDT

157 - I'm Yours

“Tinkerhell,” David greeted as she stepped out of the limo and slung a duffel bag over her shoulder.  “How are you?  You look demonically beautiful, as always.”

Petey smiled and lifted her cheek to receive his kiss. “Hi, David.  Thanks.”  Taking in his long, black coat and dark slacks, she said, “You look quite dapper, yourself.”

“Hello, Goldilocks,” Gavin drawled, materializing from the depths of the vehicle with her dress  bag and a hatbox.

“Hey, Gavin.” 

That was pretty amusing.  David wasn’t giving it back to Gavin like he did everyone else.  He must be unsure as to how far he could push her Fairy Gaymother.

“Ready for your big day, Tink?” 

She readily turned over her duffel when he offered to take it, and tucked chilled hands in the over-sized pocket of her hoodie.  January in Jersey was cold.   Here, on the edge of the Navesink River, it was quite reminiscent of Pittsburgh and the cool, damp air that would blow off of the Allegheny and Monongahela Rivers.  Nostalgia aside, it might be nice to spend January in a warm climate for a change, someday. 

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

Aside from the neurotic fit she’d permitted to consume her the entire way?  After she’d quoted the third literary work highlighting a tragic romance, Gavin had threatened to gag her.  He swore he would have, but he’d be damned if would ruin his cosmetic skillfulness by smudging her lip gloss with a sock.

“I don’t know.  That whole ball and chain thing I guess.  It freaks some people out.”

“Oh, not our precious Peteykins.  She’s got the chains and a brass set of balls to go with them, isn’t that right Ms. Bronte?”

Thick eyebrows knit together and David’s eyes darted back and forth between her and Gavin, trying to find the right dose of sarcasm for the moment.  There must not have been a right dose.

“Um, ok.”  He zeroed in on Petey, Gavin clearly putting him out of his element.  “ Tink?  I’ve been meaning to ask.  Did you and Jon write your own vows, or should I stick with the traditional ones?  I have a few words of my own…”

The toe of Petey’s sparkly pink tennis shoe bumped against the first step of the stoop and she didn’t move any further.    She hadn’t thought about vows.  At all. 

You’re an idiot.  The ceremony that seals the rest of your life to another person and you haven’t given the first thought to what you’re going to promise him?

What was significant, yet appropriate to set the foundation for a marriage like theirs?

An excerpt from One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest?

What vows could possibly outline the depths of her insecurity at this moment?  What if she sucked as a wife?  Was he going to decide to hook up with a mistress in every city?  Someone who understood him better than she did?  And how could she be expected to know him?  They’d only met weeks ago.  Did he feel an obligation because of her haywire life and occasional psychological instability?  What was it going to be like when sex wasn’t the focal point of their relationship?  Would they have anything to talk about?

“I'm not asking you to forgive me. I'll never understand or forgive myself. And if a bullet gets me, so help me, I'll laugh at myself for being an idiot.”

Gavin threw his head back and blew a visible breath straight up into the cold air.  “Christ.  Here we go again….  Where the hell is that man of hers?  Somebody get him.  Now!”

David darted that same befuddled look at Gavin as he had before, but he spoke to Petey.  “What are you talking about, a bullet?”

“She’s reciting some romantic literary tragedy,” Gavin spat, breezing past her to throw open Dorothea’s front door without so much as a perfunctory knock.  “Where the hell is Jon Bon Jovi?”

She heard it all going on around her, but she was helpless to do anything but let her mind drive itself on autopilot.  It was the only thing keeping her from disintegrating into a babbling puddle of nonsense on the front steps of the big house. 

“There's one thing I do know... and that is that I love you, Scarlett. In spite of you and me and the whole silly world going to pieces around us, I love you.”

“Is… Is that Gone With the Wind?”

“How many Scarletts do you know, Curly?” Gavin threw back over his shoulder before drawing up short.  He’d almost barreled his chest into Dorothea’s face. 

“Gavin what are you screaming about?”

“Her,” he huffed.  “She’s been reciting for damn-near two hours.  She’s completely freaked out about this marriage gig.  Jon has to talk to her.”

“I just sent him upstairs and told him he couldn’t see her before the wedding.”

“Patience?”  Her mother sidled through the door, her arm slipping around Petey’s shoulders.  She gently urged, “Come inside, dear.  We’ll find Henry.  You know he always soothes you.”

“Aren’t you listening to me, Mother Teresa?”  Gavin twice snapped his fingers next to her ear.  “Need JBJ.  Stat.”  He whirled on Dorothea, who still stood inside the doorway.  “And you, Snarkalicious…  I think a bridal meltdown trumps your heterosexual wedding traditions.” 

There was going to be a brawl on the stoop and Petey was helpless to referee.  The card-carrying genius that she was could only mutter, “Because we're alike. Bad lots, both of us. Selfish and shrewd. But able to look things in the eyes as we call them by their right names.”

At her mother’s persistent urging, she finally dragged her scuffed shoes up and over the two steps that stood between her and the marble foyer.  The others trooped in behind her, shutting the cold out with a slam of the massive door.  She tentatively permitted her thoughts to stray away from Margaret Mitchell’s saga and back to her own life, but not to Jon.  To her state of attire.

“Dorothea, where can Patience change into her gown?”

“One of the guest rooms upstairs.  I’ll show you the way.”

“Petey?  What’s wrong?  Are you sick?” 

Candace.  The high-pitched, slightly whiny question pushed away any remaining fog and demanded that Petey be lucid. 

I can’t let her see me like this.

She commanded her lips to curve upward and, in the process, reclaimed her customary critical thinking skills.  Easing out from under her mother’s concerned arm, she took a deep breath and called up an affable, “Hi, Candace.  I’m glad you could come.”

“Oh?  So this is Candace?” Gavin gave her a thorough once-over before presenting his hand.  “I’m the maid of honor, but you may call me Gavin.  And you may call me at my salon tomorrow to fix that botched dye-job.”

Candace dropped his hand like a hot potato and drew back.  Her appalled gasp was overshadowed by Dorothea’s outright and David’s choked laughter. 

“Delightful little ensemble you’re wearing, there girlfriend.  Especially those thigh-high boots.  Classy.”  He cocked his head and asked with curious innocence, “So I guess you’re going to work after this?  Couldn’t find anybody to cover your corner tonight?”

“Gavin!” 

Petey needn’t have worried.  Candace didn’t get the viciously pointed barb.  Her face contorted into a bewildered rumple, and she offered a breathy, “Huh?  Tony didn’t tell me anything about working tonight.    I know you’ve been out a while, but you’re not working tonight, are you Petey?  It’s your wedding night.” 

I should let Gavin devour her like the shark he is. Survival of the fittest and all that.

But she just smiled as though Candace had asked the most natural, reasonable question in the world.  “No, I’m not.  But I am going to be late for my own wedding if I don’t get dressed.  I’ll see you after the ceremony Candace.”

“Petey, you can have the yellow guest room,” Dorothea managed while smothering a grin.  “The one you stayed in at New Year’s.  Can you find it okay?”

“Sure.  Thanks, Dorothea.”   With that, she and her wedding party – her mother and Gavin – trouped up the staircase. 

Behind them, Dorothea was doling out instructions for the remaining guests in the foyer.  “David, Tico is in the living room, or Jon and Richie are in the big blue bedroom.  Take your pick.  Candace, you can come with me.  I’ll introduce you to the other guests.”

Dorothea was getting a big thank you gift.  Huge, in fact.  Maybe a car?

☠ ☢ ☠

“Dammit, Jon, don’t lecture me!  I’m not a fuckin’ kid and this is not your concern.”  Richie shrugged angrily into his jacket and glared at Jon. The pink tie with the black skulls was perfectly tied – without Jon or Tony’s assistance.  In fact, Tony, sensing the direction the wind was blowing, had bailed before they ever reached the guest room.  Something about Candace was offered up as a lame excuse.

Having more than had his fill of this whole cockamamie situation, Jon threw his hands into the air. 

“You know what?  That’s cool.  This is my wedding day – which is in the week following Hell freezing over on a calendar – and I’m not going to stress over your damn love life.  Do what you wanna do, but when it’s over, just remember that Denny and I are the ones who will be there to pick up the pieces.  We always are.”

Richie’s mouth flew open to offer a few more choice words, but Lemma’s barreling in the door cut him short. 

He copped a dramatic pose and rattled off, “Okay, I know I heard about it, but that’s the first time I’ve ever seen her do that reciting shit.  It’s  a little bit creepy.”

Jon and Richie both snapped their eyes toward Dave, but Jon found his voice first.  “Petey’s reciting?  Why?  What’s wrong?”

Blond curls shook along with his head and his eyebrows lifted high.  “You got me, man.  Gavin said she’d been doing it for the last couple of hours and was freaked out about getting married.  He was on his way to get you when D stopped him.”

Stopped him?  The one time Petey’s friend had done something Jon wholeheartedly approved of and Dottie had tried to stop him?  To hell with that.

He strode toward the door, his hand wrapped around the knob before David could grab his shoulder and drag him to a halt.  “Wait.  She’s okay now.  I mean, at least, she seemed to be.  She talked to Candace for a minute, yelled at Gavin, and then came upstairs to get dressed.”

Okay.  That was good, but…  Dammit.

This was exactly what he’d been afraid of earlier.  She was thinking too much again, and worrying about shit.    How was he going to convince her of that with Doberman Dottie running the halls? Starting a fight with his ex was not going to create blissful wedding memories.  For anybody.

Scrambling for an answer, last night popped into his head.  The way she’d been so adamantly possessive.  Could that be it? 

Please let it be that simple.

He whipped the phone out of his pocket while his two friends looked on.  Even if it didn’t address every issue going through that overachiever brain of hers, he hoped it would be enough to temporarily stave off the anxiety until he could get to her.  Until he could convince her he truly meant it.

[3:30 PM]JON: I’m yours.

 

 Next post:  Thursday, August 30

156 - Train Kept a Rollin'

“Stop staring out the window.  She’ll be here.” 

Jon pushed impatient hands into the pockets of his slacks and ignored Tony, who had just rejoined him in the guest room.  Jon was wearing his groom’s attire of pink dress shirt, black tie with skulls and most of his suit.  The black jacket lay draped across the guest bed, awaiting the witching hour.   As that hour ticked closer, he glowered at the front gate and driveway, willing a car to appear.  So far, he’d seen all of Petey’s family arrive, his parents with the boys, and Matt and Tico with their families

“I’m not looking for her.  I’m looking for Richie.  He should have been here already.”

Which was true.  He just happened to be looking for both of them.  Her text messages had given him a crazy feeling in the pit of his stomach.  They were clipped, and she left him hanging in both exchanges.  Even with the damn emoticon that he’d broken down and used.  Now he had it stuck in his head that she was either pissed over the whole Richie/Denny/Candace thing, or in the middle of an anxiety attack.

When the hell had he become so damn ‘sensitive’?  He took things at face value, analyzed, assessed, fixed, and moved on.  He didn’t create drama where there was none.  It found him often enough of its own accord.  Yet, here he was, imagining that she was less than the excited bride.  Idiot.

“He isn’t worried about this at all, huh?”  Tony had taken up a post next to him, another sentry at the window, surveying the activity – or lack thereof – at the front gate.

“That’s what he said.  He sounded a little tweaked over it, I thought, but he’s determined to do that thing he does.”

Crossing arms over the front of his blue dress-shirt and tie, Tony asked curiously, “What thing?”

“The thing where he pretends things aren’t going to hell around him.  He smiles and rolls right on, in complete fucking denial.”

His brother’s dark head dipped toward the window.  “There he is.”

Jon shifted his weight toward the balls of his feet with anticipation.  Good.  They  could get all this squared away before Petey ever got here.  Then he got a better look at the vehicle gliding down the driveway.   It was a sporty little black Porsche.   He leaned back onto his heels. “Nah, that’s Lemma, unless Rich borrowed one of his cars.”

“Then maybe that’s him.”

There was a black Town Car rolling in right behind the Porsche. 

“Or Petey.  Coming with me?”

Didn’t matter who it was, he was going down to greet them.  He couldn’t stand here for another hour.  The boys had just gone tearing down the hallway.  If nothing else, he’d spend some time with them. 

“Yeah, sure.”

The two eldest Bongiovi sons descended the staircase to the trill of Stephanie’s pleasant, “Hi, Uncle Mookie!”

“Hey, baby girl.  You’re more and more beautiful every day.”  He bent to kiss Steph’s cheek, arm stretched out behind him.  Whomever he was holding onto was still hidden by the open door.  “D,” Richie greeted Dorothea, who was standing close behind Stephanie.    His mouth and Dottie’s both tightened, and he pulled his right hand forward, bringing the Amazonian Candace into the foyer and allowing the door to close.  “This is my date, the lovely Candace.  She works for TBJ.”

The lovely Candace looked like she just stepped off of a runway as Richie peeled away her girly-girl coat to reveal a short, tight turtleneck dress.  He had to look twice to see if the deep-red garment had been sprayed on, but she tugged at the long sleeves, so it must actually be a dress.   The over-the-knee boots with platform-fuck-me-heels elevated her a good two inches taller than Richie.

Lord, God, Jesus, he thought as Stephanie took their coats and wisely disappeared down the hallway, where the rest of the guests were visiting with one another.

Jon couldn’t believe Petey worked with this chick.  She didn’t look like she could plug in a hair dryer without assistance, much less do all the video geeking that came as second nature to Tony and Petey. 

“Candace, it’s nice to meet you.  I hope Tony isn’t a tyrant to work for.”  Classy Dottie, the consummate hostess.  She could always make anyone – including blonde cockroaches – comfortable in a social setting.  It had been a God-send to him during hundreds of public appearances. 

“Hey, don’t be talking bad about me,” Tony chided, the sole of his shoe tapping the foyer tile as he walked off the final step, leaving Jon behind.  “I’m right here.”  He snaked an arm Dorothea’s waist and smiled at the new arrivals.  “Hi, Candace.  Rich.”

Pale, perfectly groomed eyebrows contorted with perplexity, and Candace stared blatantly at their intimate stance.  Swishing her long, blonde hair behind her shoulders, unabashedly greeted  Dorothea with, “Hi.  So you’re Jon Bon Jovi’s ex-wife?”

Dottie’s mouth went even tighter, clearly unimpressed with the blatant lack of tact.  “I answer more readily to Dorothea, but yes.”

Jon was jostled to the side, and a faint breeze of vanilla wafted by with a feminine strut down the stairs. 

“It would probably be more kind to refer to her as Tony’s fiancée than Jon’s ex.”

Fuck!  When did Denny come upstairs?  And how much of this has she heard?

But, as the saying went, a picture was worth a thousand words, and the picture of Richie’s fingers curled into Candace’s….  He was betting it was good for at least two thousand to a smart girl like Denny.

“Hey, Den.  What are you doing here?”  Richie’s smile was easy to the casual observer, but Jon could see the strain in his eyes.   He was certain Denny could see the same. 

“Richie.”  Her golden blonde – compared to Amazon’s platinum – head bobbed in a casual greeting.  “I brought your suit.  Tony took it upstairs and put it in one of the guest rooms for you.  Tony…?” 

“Yeah, it’s in the big blue bedroom.”

“You didn’t have to come all the way to Jersey for that.  I could have gotten it myself.”  Now his friend was feeling like a little bit of a shit.

Denny’s smile was plastic, not quite reaching her eyes.  “That’s no problem.  You paid for the plane ticket.  Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to go and speak to Tico and Alejandra.  Seems like forever since I’ve seen them.”

Jon immediately set off after her.  Richie had known what he was walking into.  He allowed this to happen.  Denny didn’t, and he wanted to make sure she was okay.

They’d taken a dozen steps down the hall before he was able to grasp her elbow.  “Denny…”

She pivoted around to give him the same plastic smile, eyes darting past his shoulder to the two couples in the foyer.  The smile never faltered, but her softly uttered words were anything but happy.  “If you’re going to say something to me about Richie, please don’t.”

Frowning, he dropped his hand.  “I only wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“I’m fine.”  The smile slipped a bit, but she didn’t allow it to fade away.  “Thank you.”

“Kidd, your woman is being harassed in the driveway by your keyboardist!”

“Thank God,” he mumbled before issuing his earnest plea to Denny.  “You know Rich.  You know how he is.  Talk to him for God’s sake.”

“Jon…”  This time it was her touching his elbow.  “Richie and I are the same as we’ve always been and always will be.  It’s your wedding day.  Go and be happy.” 

Was he making a bigger deal out of this than it needed to be?  Petey had mentioned that maybe it wasn’t a problem.  Fine.  He would let it go.  Denny was right.  This was his wedding day.

“Okay, but if you need-“

“I won’t,” she assured him.

What else was there for him to say?  Denny went on her way to the other part of the house, so Jon turned reluctantly away.  He ran smack into Dottie, palms out like stop signs that hit firmly against his chest.  

“Where you do you think you’re going, mister?”

“You heard Rich.  I’m going to rescue her from David.”  He glanced pointedly at her restraining hands, fully expecting her to step out of the way.

“No you’re not.  You’re going into the other room and tell Teresa that Petey’s here.  Then you’re going up the back staircase to help Richie get ready.  While doing that, I sincerely hope that you overcompensate on tying his Windsor knot and give him an uppercut to the jaw.  Bonehead deserves to be knocked unconscious.” 

Ex-wife bossing him around on his wedding day.  There was something intrinsically screwed up about that.  He didn’t have to stand for her dictatorial ways.  Forget that he’d poached her house for the event.  “And why in the hell do you think I’m going to do that?”

“Because,” she sighed, hands falling away.  “You’re not supposed to see the bride before the wedding, dipshit.”

“Oh.”  He wasn’t well-versed in this wedding ritual stuff.  That’s why he and Dottie had flown to Vegas in the middle of the night.   It was pretty weird that Dottie was the one schooling him in it now, though.  She was one-of-a-kind.  He hoped she would be happy with Tony.

“Tony,” she called over her shoulder.  “Come here and go with Jon.  Bring Richie with you and make sure you help him with his tie.”

The front door opened and Dottie spun him around before he could catch a glimpse of Petey.  “Go.  Tony and Richie will be right behind you.”

“I can’t just leave Candace,” Richie objected behind him. 

“You’re probably right,” was Dottie’s muttered agreement.  “Gavin will eat her alive.”

Next post:  Thursday, August 30

155 - Get Ready

"It would degrade me to marry Heathcliff now; so he shall never know how I love him: and that, not because he's handsome, Nelly, but because he's more myself than I am.”

“Jesus, woman, what are you going off on a psychotic quoting fit about,” Gavin demanded, and Petey flinched at the harsh abruptness. 

She hadn’t realized she was doing a recitation.  Or realized she was teetering on the verge of panic.  Her bare heel tapped agitatedly against the cold tile of Gavin’s bathroom floor.

He ran his pinky along the outer corner of her eye, expertly smudging the dark kohl eyeliner.  “There's no need to freak out.  You’re about to marry rock royalty and one of the sexiest men on the planet.  Just ask People Magazine.”

So casually spoken.  As though there was no pressure involved with that.  Marrying Jon was one thing, but it was finally sinking in that she was marrying a very public figure.  Not that she wasn’t used to the whole public arena.  This was just a very different type of public. 

Delusional women staking imaginary claims on her husband may take some getting used to.  It would also take some getting used to the ones who would undoubtedly throw themselves at him.  Those were whole new ballgames for her.  Senators didn’t typically draw that kind of following.

“Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same; and Linton's is as different as a moonbeam from lightning, or frost from fire."

“You might be whispering, but I still hear you,” he huffed with a roll of his eyes.  Tossing the eyeliner into the cosmetics box, he asked, “What the hell is that you’re quoting anyway?  I don’t recognize it.  Then again… if it don’t come out of Cosmo or an entertainment mag, I don’t have much interest in it.”

“Wuthering Heights,” she murmured, batting thick, subtly-glittered eyelashes at her reflection in the mirror.  Gavin had done a magical job of transforming what she considered boring blue eyes into an exotic-slash-fun-slash-sophisticated artistry.

“And that relates to the situation how?”  A fine eyeliner brush was dipped first in water, then a jar of pink glitter.  With a steady hand, he accented each of the three lazy-S designs that were acting as exotic crow’s feet, bracketing both eyes.  The glitter was complementary to the shimmery pink eyeshadow coating her lids.

“Tragic romance.”

He flicked the diamond bar adorning her eyebrow with annoyance.  “It’s not tragic, for Chrissake.  It’s a dream come true!”

 “I know that!” The near-screech stunned Gavin as much as it did her.  The anxiety was trying to manifest itself in an embarrassing display.  She had to get a lid on it.

"If all else perished, and he remained, I should still continue to be; and if all else remained, and he were annihilated, the universe would turn to a mighty stranger: I should not seem a part of it."

Scowling, she reluctantly put her face back within his reach.  If they didn’t finish soon, she was going to be late to her own wedding.  With a look of determined consternation from Gavin, the little brush acquired another layer of fairy dust. 

“Dollface, what’s got you freaking out?”

Petey was grateful that she couldn’t turn her head.  It meant that she didn’t have to look him in the eye.  She didn’t know if she could bear to see the man who’d just spoken with uncharacteristic gentleness and concern.  Her head was in a weird place, and it was embarrassing.  Maybe she could clear out the ‘crazy’ cobwebs if she admitted it out loud.

“I’m just scared.”

“What’s to be scared of?  He’s the same guy you crawled in bed with last night.  He didn’t change in the time we’ve been here.”  He dropped the brush and leaned away from her with a patronizing frown.  “It would take magic for that to happen, and even a fairy gaymother isn’t gonna mess with his mojo.”

Still keeping her gaze straight ahead, Petey’s lips twitched with amusement.  As Gavin started the embellishment process on her right eye, she blandly gave voice to her real fear. 

“I’m a little crazy, Gavin.  There may come a time when he gets tired of crazy.”

“And there may come a time when an Irish man joins Alcoholics Anonymous, but it ain’t likely.”  He tapped the end of her nose with a bony fingertip.   “From what I can tell about your sex life, it’s off the charts good.  A man doesn’t walk away from good nookie.”

Her lids fluttered shut.  Sometimes he really was over-the-top.  “Marriages don’t survive on sex alone.  Not when sex is on every corner, throwing itself at you.”

“No, but good sex will keep a man from straying.  My God, Doll.”  He clicked the flat iron together in front of her face, nearly nipping her nose in the process.  “You’re a rich, beautiful genius.  You’ve got it all.  And…”  The first pass of the iron across her hair sent steam up into the air and left behind a strip of smooth, glossy black.  “…you aren’t afraid of him and his over-big persona and prick tendencies.”

“Gavin,” she scolded.

“Hey.”  Narrow shoulders hunched upward, and he continued with the next section of locks.  “He’s beautiful and has an ass from God, but facts are facts.”

The chime of a text message coming from her jeans’ pocket interrupted the half-hearted reprimand she’d been prepared to launch into. 

“Easy, there!” Gavin warned when she dipped her head, looking at the screen.  “You’ll make me singe your ear.  Can’t have Bro Jo coming along and shooting my ass for frying the sweet Pete-tato.”

“You’re a sarcastic smartass.”

His pithy, “Well let’s get CNN on the line for that groundbreaking discovery,” melted into the background as she read the text.

[2:15 PM]JON: I wish we were in bed right now.

Her insides warmed, and a secretive smile gave an alluring curve to her glossy lips.  He was going to be outrageously inappropriate.  It had only been a dozen hours since they’d been wrapped around one another in a screaming orgasm, yet he was going to start in with racy innuendo.  His voracious appetite and stamina continued to amaze her.

[2:15 PM]PT: Why?

[2:16 PM]JON: Cuz I wouldn’t b here waiting for a train wreck.

Her sexual self-esteem took a nosedive.  Jon wasn’t suffering from an insatiable desire for her, he was managing a crisis. 

[2:16 PM]PT: Still can’t reach Richie?

[2:17 PM]JON: I talked to him.  He doesn’t see a problem.  Dumbass.

“What are you sucking air for, Dollface?”

She winced as Gavin tugged her hair into a tight, low ponytail, unaware that she’d drawn such a noticeable breath. 

“Richie doesn’t see a problem with Denny being there.  I guess he isn’t worried about showing up with his date.”

“Maybe it isn’t a problem.”

“True…”

[2:18 PM]PT: Maybe it isn’t a problem.

[2:19 PM]JON: Hope so.  Jerry Springer is NOT on the guest list.

“That’s it, my stunning Tinkerella. You’re done except for the couture.”

Tucking the phone back into her pocket, Petey glanced into the mirror.  Glossy hair had been tamed into a sleek, sophisticated ponytail.  Eyes were blah-blue, but adorned with enough black and glitzy pizzazz to make it work.  The rest of her face was smooth as porcelain, and her lips were the same subtle cotton-candy pink as her wedding gown.  He’d done well.  She was a tasteful blend of showgirl, vampire and bride. 

“And lotion.”  There was no way she could walk down that aisle without carrying the delicate, sugary fragrance that Jon had been so enamored with from day one.  This was as good as it was going to get.  She smiled up at her friend.  “Thank you, Gavin.  The circumstances were less than desirable, but I’m really glad we became friends.  I haven’t had a lot of that in my life.”

His face puckered and he fanned an agitated hand in front of his face.  “Stop that!  You’ll make my guy-liner run, you evil bitch.”

The melodramatic man was a God-send for her pre-wedding jitters.  She may not have resolved her insecurity, but she surely didn’t have time to dwell on it.  Dimples digging deeply into her cheeks, Petey couldn’t resist teasing him a little.  “I can’t have you looking prettier than me on my wedding day.  That’s just gauche.”

“Dammit, Dollface, I’m trying to tone it down, but….”  He swept his hands down the length of his body with a Vanna White-worthy flourish.  “…you can only stifle this so much.”

She laughed out loud, only to laugh harder when he pouted as though she’d crushed his will to live.  It was sheer luck that she heard the text chime.

“Don’t play the injured party with me,” she laughed, retrieving the phone from her pocket once again.  “You did that on purpose, and you know it.  You’re not the cold-hearted bitch you pretend to be.”

His nose curled with disgust.  “Oh please.  Don’t be spreading that vicious rumor.  I have an image and a business to uphold.  People’s livelihoods depend upon my cold-hearted-bitchiness.”

[2:25 PM]JON:  Are you almost here?

“Jon’s wondering where I am.  We’ve got to get moving.”  Her mother would likely be calling in the next two seconds as well.  They had spoken a couple of hours ago, and at that point, Teresa was already worrying Petey was going to be late.  The only thing that had kept her from calling every ten minutes was Gavin snatching the phone away and informing ‘Mother Teresa’ that things would move a lot faster if the phone weren’t attached to the side of Petey’s head. 

[2:25 PM]PT: Still at Gavin’s.  Getting ready to go now.

[2:26 PM]JON: :-(

Did he really just send a frowny face?  David must have his phone.  Had to.

“Dress here or there?” Gavin intervened in her confusion.

“I can’t breathe in that thing for an hour-long car ride.  I’ll get dressed there.”  The gown was gorgeous, but it wasn’t designed with lounging in mind.  Or sitting.  Or deep breaths, for that matter.

“Then get your shit together and let’s go, girlfriend.  The man will think you’re leaving him standing at the altar.  Besides, I wanna see what’s going down in Tramp Town.”

Next Post:  tentatively, definitely Tuesday, August 28.  No later than Wednesday, August 29 

154 - Here Comes Trouble

Caterers were swarming the kitchen with food, beverages and glasses.  The black, lace-draped cake was prominently perched on the center island.  Rental companies had taken over both the living room and dining room with their chairs, tables and sea of pink and black linen.  They were fighting for dominance with the florists’ pink flowers and black feathers. 

“We’re not doing this,” Dorothea told Tony, dodging a young man carrying a crate of glasses.  “I don’t want to do this.  I want small and simple.  Just family.”

He chuckled around the piece of bagel he’d just popped in his mouth.  Nothing like breakfast at two in the afternoon.   With Stephanie the only child in residence last night, they’d gotten up later than planned.  They might still be holed up in bed if Jon’s wedding preparations hadn’t come knocking at the gate around eleven. 

“Babes, this is just family.”

She allowed the cupboard door to swing shut and filled a glass with water.  “Thank God for that.”

Watching her swallow the water, he dusted the crumbs from his hands before bringing them to rest upon her shoulders.  “She’s never been married before.  She should have the wedding she wants, right?”

“Of course she should!”  She frowned at him like he’d said something stupid.  He probably had.  “I’m just saying it’s not what I want.”

Tony took the glass from her, put it in the sink and settled his hands at her waist.  “What do you want?”

With a pointed look out the window, where snow was starting to swirl in the air, she dryly wished for, “Warmth.  Sunshine.”

“So we get married in the summer.  August?  You know I’d always be home for our anniversary.  Jon is religious about his August vacation.”

“I don’t know if I want to wait that long.”

He curled his lips over his teeth to physically bite back the smile.  That answer made him happy.  Of course, he’d be happy if Dave married them in the living room right now, but he would wait as long as Dorothea wanted.

“Then name a date.”

Cognac eyes darted to all points on his face in an effort to determine if he was serious or just making an off-handed comment.  “You wanna do this now?”

“What? Get married or pick a date?”

That caused her to pull a frown.  Yeah.  He’d definitely said something stupid that time.  “Pick a date, of course.  I’m not getting married at the same time as Jon.  That’s screwed up on so many levels that I can’t count them all.”

He shrugged and repeated, “Okay. Then name a date.”

“You’re serious?  You’re asking me to pick a random date out of thin air?”

“What?” he squeezed her hip with a grin.  “You don’t want to put a ring on my finger and make an honest man of me?  The sooner the better, as far as I’m concerned.”

Again, she studied his eyes, trying to gauge what he was thinking.  He could’ve saved her the trouble.  The words may have been teasing, but he’d said exactly what was on his mind.

“The band is going to Athens.  I want us to get married on a Greek beach.”  Her demanding tone was belied by the following of a soft, “What do you think?”

He shifted his hands from her hips to her face, cradling it in both palms, and the slight dip of his head had their lips brushing in sweet kiss.  “I think we’re getting married on the beach in May.”

“May?  We’re on tour in May, little brother,” Jon announced his presence in the kitchen, interrupting the intimate moment. 

Both the words and the interruption had Tony bristling at his famous brother for the first time in weeks, but he managed to keep his tone light.  After another quick peck of the lips, he released Dorothea and sarcastically drawled, “Really?  I wondered why the hell I was going to be in Greece.” 

That’s when he noticed the feminine blonde head appear over Jon’s left shoulder. 

“Denny,” Dorothea peered around her ex and greeted Richie’s assistant with surprise.  “It’s so good to see you!  I didn’t know you were coming.”

Tony’s eyes snapped to his brother’s with, what he hoped was, the clear message of ‘what the fuck’ flashing like a neon stripper sign in them.

What in the hell was Denny doing here?  Less than an hour ago, he’d heard Richie was still bringing Candace as his wedding date.  And seeing as Rich hadn’t been real forthcoming about the situation with Denny, Tony couldn’t be sure this development wouldn’t turn into a train wreck of epic proportions.

If it does, at least it’s just family here today.  No tabloid worries.

Head popping above Jon’s inconspicuously shrugging shoulder, Denny juggled a leather garment bag and returned Dorothea’s greeting with genuine pleasure.  “It’s good to see you, too, D.  Congratulations on your engagement.”  She stepped around Jon and lightly touched Tony’s elbow with her free hand.  “You, too, Tony.”

His smile was more fake than Pam Anderson’s breasts, but he managed to mumble a few polite words of thanks and gave her a light one-armed hug.  “So you finally caved in and accepted the wedding invitation?  Funny that Rich didn’t mention it.”

“He doesn’t know,” Jon supplied with raised brows.  With Denny now in front of him, he had the freedom to lift his eyes to the ceiling and point a finger-pistol at his temple.

Happy wedding day, Bro.

She held the garment bag aloft.  “My schedule freed up and he needed delivery service, so I decided to come and handle it myself.   Although, I have to admit that I’m looking forward to meeting Petey, too.”

“Oh?”  Dorothea cocked her eyebrow at Jon. “She didn’t ride out with you and Jon?”

“She’d already gone to Gavin’s when Denny got there,” he explained a bit defensively.  “Fairy Gaymother is on the clock today and they’re doing all the prep work at his place.  I was told that Tinkerhell will arrive at the appointed hour.”

Denny’s eyebrows slammed down and she whirled on him.  “Tinkerhell?”

Tony laughed and came to his brother’s defense.  “Blame Dave, not Jon.  He’s the one who first called her Tinkerhell.  She’s a petite little thing with black hair, always dressed in black.”

“And pink,” Jon added.

“Some things never change, Denny,”  Dorothea sighed.  “You know how David is.  She’s quiet at first, but Petey’s very likable once you get to know her.”

“I’m really surprised that you have been so…  accepting of her.”  She glanced awkwardly at each of them in turn.

Looking in from the outside, it probably was a pretty screwed up situation.  It made him dread the day that the Jovi fans found out about this whole deal.  How many would paint him as the evil wife-screwing brother who was the real cause of their divorce. 

Worrying about it wouldn’t solve anything though.  He couldn’t control what anybody thought, and anybody who really knew him wouldn’t believe that shit.  Well, not since his mother had finally come to her senses.

But that didn’t keep Denny from asking without really asking.  And how did his girl handle a potentially awkward-as-hell situation?

His Dorothea just laughed and slipped an arm around his waist.  “We’re all doing a lot of accepting.  It’s a a lot less stressful than being pissed off.”  Smiling at Richie’s assistant, she gently inquired, “So how long are you here for?”

Denny shifted the garment bag again.  Thinking that it must be getting heavy  for her– and planning his escape so that he and Jon could talk damage control – Tony reached for it.  She readily relinquished it with a grateful smile.  “Just for the day.  I’ll head back to L.A. this evening.”

“Bro, where’s your suit?”  He asked pointedly of Jon, draping the bag over his shoulder.

“Front closet,” Jon said carefully. 

“Let’s go grab it and put both of them upstairs.”

He practically dragged Jon out of the room, down the hall and to the front foyer.  “What the fuck are we going to do?  This is not cool, man.  Dorothea will shit if there’s a catfight in the living room.”

“Dottie?”  Jon snorted as Tony wrenched open the closet door.  “What do you think Petey will do?  It’s her goddamn wedding day!”  His brother dragged an agitated hand over his nape.  “I couldn’t very well call with Denny in the car, but I texted Richie half a dozen times.  He’s not answering me.”

Shoving the garment bag holding Jon’s suit toward him, Tony laughed mirthlessly.  “His phone is dead.  No charger, since he wasn’t expecting to sleep over at Lemma’s and Dave has an Android, not an iPhone.”

Clamping the bag against his chest, Jon demanded, “How do you know?”

“Because the stupid mook had to borrow a phone to call me and get Candace’s number again.  He was gonna tell her what time he was picking her up.  And that should be…”  Flipping his wrist around, he checked the time.  “Oh, about now.”

Side by side, they mounted the staircase that would lead them to the upper level of the house, and the guest rooms.

“So you’re telling me we’re – he’s – screwed?”

Tony shot his brother a look.  “I’m thinking it would be a little awkward for me to call Candace and uninvited her two hours before the wedding.”

“God, no, you don’t wanna do that.  But you can call and ask to speak to Rich.  We’ve got to at least give him a heads up.”

Tossing open the door of the first blue bedroom, Tony stepped inside and laid Richie’s suit across the bed.  He stuffed a hand in his pocket and fished for his phone, presenting it to his brother on an open palm.  “Be my guest.  He’s your best friend.  I’ve already caught enough hell over this date of his.”

Next post: Sunday, August 26

153 - Wedding Day

“Oh Gawddddd.  I fucking HATE cotton candy,” Gavin moaned, weaving unsteadily through the penthouse kitchen and nearly knocking a bare-chested Jon over in his quest to reach the refrigerator.  “Water.  I need water.” 

Jon grinned and shook his head as the large, stainless steel appliance shuddered when his guest slammed it closed.  He hadn’t known Gavin had stayed over but it explained – well, was another explanation – why Petey slept with Jon last night.

“Smiling?  At… “  Bloodshot eyes sought the clock on the microwave, before glaring at Jon accusingly.  “Nine o’clock in the morning?  You’re one of those damn morning people aren’t you?  I don’t know if even a perfect chest can make up for that.”

Jon grinned wider as the younger man cracked the plastic lid from the bottle and took, for all appearances, was a life-giving swallow of water.  Knowing he should feel guilty reveling in the hang-over pain of Petey’s friend, he couldn’t quite muster the appropriate remorse.  Sometimes Karma was a bitch, and it looked like Gavin was on the last train to Karma this morning. 

“And those day-glo teeth.”   A bony hand rose to shield his eyes and he shrank into the far corner of the cabinets away from Jon, who was sitting at the island with his coffee and laptop.  “ Jesus, Bon Bon, put a dimmer switch on those things.  You’re blinding my sensitive eyes.  I thought you were a friggin’ humanitarian??  Where the hell is the number for ET?  That Nancy O’Dell needs to do an ex-po-say on your Satanistic ways.”

Downgrading his smile to a wry twisting of lips, Jon folded his arms on the counter and regarded the drama queen curiously.  “Bon Bon?  Please tell me you’re not going to eat me.”

“Christ, man.”  Folding his long legs, he climbed onto the stool opposite Jon.  “A fork and a can of whipped cream…”  The words incited a full-body convulsion that made Jon want to laugh out loud.  “…couldn’t entice me to eat you this morning.  Bon Bon was your retro-self stripper from last night.”

Yeah.  He definitely didn’t want to know.  What he did want to know, if Petey’s BFF would tell him…  “Is that what set Petey off?”

Bloodshot slits of gray stared back at him in such a way that told Jon he was barking up the wrong tree.  The tree in question turned out to be an exotic nut tree – perhaps a Chest-Nut – because he didn’t ignore or skirt the question.

“Yes.”  Squinting one eye closed, he pointed the open mouth of the nearly-empty water bottle at Jon’s face.  “Keep it in your pants, Rockstar, or I will find a way to infest your crotch-fur with the fleas of a thousand camels AND the most raging case of crabs you’ve ever scratched your way through.  Don’t play my girl that way, you got me?”

Jon rolled his eyes.  “Put the stiletto back in your pocket before you hurt somebody.  It’s all good, Friendzilla.”

A soft feminine chuckle came from behind him, and he turned to find her, still tousled from the bed, standing in the kitchen doorway.  The hem of her pink flannel pajama pants trailed the floor and she had, yet again, swiped one of his t-shirts.

 “Morning, Baby,” he greeted her, holding an arm wide to invite her close.  When she sidled up against him, he touched her cheek with a light kiss.  “Feel like gettin’ married or are you too hung over?”

“Only a little hung over,” she murmured sheepishly, rubbing a hand up and down his thigh.  “I’ll be recuperated shortly, though.”  Peeking over into his mug, she asked, “Is there more coffee?”

He nodded his head toward the pot and put his feet on the floor.  “I’ve only had one cup.  You get the cream and sugar, and I’ll pour you some.”

“Blechhhhh,” Gavin gagged.  “You two…” He pointed the mouth of his water bottle first at one, then the other.  “You two are enough to put a queasy stomach over the edge.”  He stood and tossed the empty container in the recycle bin and announced, “I’m going home.  Peee-tay, what are the travel arrangements to Joisey?”

“Jon?” She deferred to him as she gathered her coffee enhancers. 

Gavin’s lips puckered like a stuffy librarian. “He can’t ride out with us.  It’s bad enough you screwed his brains out and then woke up in his bed this morning.  At least create the illusion of tradition, girlfriend.” 

”Cryin’ shame that two people are about to be married and want each other,” Jon drawled.    The carafe clinked against the heavy mug and steam rose from its center.  “I can see why you’re so bent out of shape.”

Gavin glared “Don’t make me throw a hissy fit.  A hung-over, gay man hissy fit is equivalent to a PMS-ing Wonder Woman:  Super Bitch.”

Petey smiled while she was adding an unhealthy amount of sugar and milk to her coffee, and Jon couldn’t help but indulge in a tiny, inconspicuous smile, too.  He was kinda getting used to Gavin.  The trick was to realize Gavin really just liked to hear himself talk.  Lemma was that way when he was drunk.  Not quite as … flamboyant, but just as mouthy. 

“I’ll call – “  His solution to the problem was interrupted when the house phone rang.  Any more, it was such an odd occurrence that Jon just stared as it pealed out from where it was hanging on the wall.  His cell phone could blow up all day long, but this line was almost obsolete. 

“Are you gonna answer that, or are you waiting on an assistant to pop outta the pantry and do it for you, Your Royal Hotness?” 

“Go to hell, Gavin.”

“My ticket’s already booked, but thanks for your concern.”

Petey sighed, plunking her mug back on the counter and gracing them both with a glare of feigned annoyance.   It was a fine line between amusement and aggravation at the squabbling that strongly resembled an old married couple.  Neither would appreciate the analogy.    “I’ll answer it while you two bicker.”  Punching the button on the cordless handset, it emitted a high-pitched, electronic beep.  “Hello?”

There was a drawn breath at the other end, and Petey repeated, “Hello?”

“Uh, yes.  This is Denise Salazar.  Is this… Petey?”

“Yes…?”  She didn’t recognize the name.  “Denise Salazar, you said?”

“Denny,” Jon supplied, having resumed his perch at the counter.  “Richie’s PA.”  He held out a hand for the phone.  “I’ll talk to her.”

“Actually…”  He had spoken loudly enough for Denny to hear.  “I’d like to talk to you, if I could, Petey.”

“Sure, you can talk to me.”  She shrugged with bafflement at the men who were closely watching her.  “What can I do for you?”

“First of all, congratulations.  I understand you’re getting married today.”

“Yes, we are.  Thank you.”

“Secondly, I wanted to say that I saw about the shooting on the news.  I hope everyone from Camp Jovi is handling it all okay.”

“Thank you for that, too.”  Petey meandered back to the counter and her coffee cup.  She needed caffeine to make sure she didn’t miss the reason behind this conversation.  “We’re doing our best to put it behind us and focus on the good things.”

“What a great attitude.  I’ve known Jon quite a few years, and admit I was curious about the woman who could convince him to walk the aisle a second time.”

The sweet, creamy mixture slid down Petey’s throat, warming her from mouth to stomach.  “Mm.  He actually convinced me.”

“Now I’m even more curious.”

Having never seen, and heard very little about Richie’s assistant, Petey could only gauge that she wasn’t a young girl and that she was amused at the thought of Jon persuading someone into marriage.  Oh, yeah, and that everybody thought Richie should be seeing her as more than an assistant.

“Then why aren’t you joining us?” 

If she had turned around, she would’ve seen Jon grimace harshly.   Beside her, Gavin folded his arms and regarded her with nosy interest. 

“I… uh, I thought I had other commitments.  That was actually the other thing I wanted to ask you about.   Do you have room for one extra at the wedding?”

 “Of course.  We would love to have you at the wedding, and I’m sure Richie would, too.”

“Petey, no,” Jon hissed, but she waved him away.  Whatever his objection, the woman was in California and the wedding was in six hours.  She would never make it, even if Petey did find that regrettable.

Denny laughed nervously, making the hair stand up on the back of Petey’s neck.  “That’s a relief.  It means I didn’t waste a flight to New York.”

Sugary coffee sloshed over the edge when Petey sat her mug heavily on the counter. 

Hope Jon didn’t have any real objections to that invitation.  

“Oh, you’re here?  In the city?”

“Sonofabitch,” Jon muttered and carried his coffee cup to the sink. 

Gavin wasn’t the least disgruntled, and was fairly quivering with interest.  She would be lucky to finish the call before he started pouncing like a curious, overgrown cat.

“Yes.  Richie needed someone to bring his clothes for the wedding to New Jersey.”

Petey’s brow furrowed.  “What?  You flew from California to ferry his suit from New York to Red Bank?  And why isn’t he in the city?”

If she hadn’t, as Gavin so eloquently put it, ‘screwed Jon’s brains out’ and promptly passed out, she might know more about what the bachelors had done last night. 

“He and David went to Atlantic City from what he said, and didn’t want to make the extra hour’s trip back to New York last night.  I promised him I’d find someone to bring his suit, but it was just easier to come and do it myself.  I haven’t seen the band for a while and… Richie said he may be staying out here a while.”

Staying out here a while?  When had that come about?

“Well… great, then.  If Richie’s already in New Jersey, that leaves Jon riding alone.  If you can grab a taxi by here in the next couple of hours, you  can go with him.  My…” She wrinkled her nose.  “…maid of honor doesn’t think the bride and groom should share a car before the wedding.  I’m sure Jon would appreciate the company.”

“That’s very generous of you.  I think I’ll take you up on it, if you don’t mind.  I’m going to swing by his hotel to pick up the suit and I’ll come by Jon’s – your – place after.”

“That sounds fine.  I look forward to meeting you, Denny.”

“And I you, Petey.”

The electronic beep of the phone was still lingering in her ears when Jon groaned and shoved a hand through his hair.  “Sugar, you can invite anybody you want to our wedding, but this is not going to play out well.  Richie’s bringing a date with him.”

“What?  I didn’t know Richie was going out with anybody.”

Gavin placed a consoling pat on her shoulder as Jon wandered back and forth from the sink to the refrigerator and back to the coffee pot.

“Honey, from the way your man is pacing, I’d say Mr. Slam-bora isn’t dating, he’s schtupping.”

Next post: Friday, August 24