7 - Good and Good For You

“When did you get home?”  Dorothea asked from the doorway of Jon’s office.

He looked up from his seat at the piano, noting that the sun was starting to cast its evening glow into the room, and scribbled a little more on his notepad.  “A couple hours ago.  You were on the phone.”

The road trip from hell had ended about four o’clock when Obie dropped him off with a quick thanks and a promise to talk next week, after Cassidy’s demo was completed.  Jon had tossed his friend a silent wave, his sleep-deprived mind still addled with lyrics that wouldn’t come together, visions of a heart-shaped ass and echoes of a Southern drawl that should supposedly make his teeth sweat.  He had no idea what that actually meant, but the way she’d said it made him smile even now.

A few minutes spent with his younger boys, who were the only children in residence today, and he’d popped his head into the family room to find Dorothea engrossed in a phone conversation.  He presumed she was talking to one of her sisters, but he wasn’t feeling particularly sociable so he didn’t interrupt to find out.  Instead, he’d sought out the quiet solitude of his office in another vain attempt at songwriting.

Two hours later and he had nothing except two words carved into the page – “Burning Bridges”.  As apathetic as he was about this whole project, it might wind up being as much effort as he cared to invest in cover art.

 “Good trip?” his wife inquired.

Good? 

His first instinct was to emphatically declare that he hated any road trip that was more than two hours, and would never do it again unless there was a huge paycheck attached.  Add to that his intention to never accept another call from Obie again, and that pretty much covered his gut reaction, but that might be just because his ass was still numb from the rumble of the tires against the road.

There had been bright spots in the trip…

“It was okay.  I met one of the Tennessee Titans’ owners.”

“Oh, yeah?”  She leaned against the doorway and feigned a polite interest in something she couldn’t care less about.  “You convince him to sell his part of the team yet?”

That was one of the hazards of living with the same person for so long.  She was often able to pinpoint his instincts before he could figure them out for himself, and she was usually right.  If it wasn’t a family owned team, he would be investing an unhealthy amount of time into finding the guy’s soft spot and taking advantage of it.  Jon wanted a football team, dammit.

“No, but it’s a good contact to have.”

Dorothea nodded toward his scratchings on the notepad atop the piano.  “The trip inspire you to do some writing?”

She knew that he had to pull some songs together for an album, but was completely unaware of his struggle to do so.  He had very deliberately kept that hidden from her and everyone else, staunchly believing that, if he gave voice to his writer’s block, he would no longer be able to bullshit himself into believing it didn’t exist.  

Her question was, again, nothing more than polite interest, but he was impulsively compelled to take the opening that it presented. 

“Not like Nashville has in the past.  We weren’t there long enough.”

Enough said.  Anything more would be overkill and, besides, he didn’t really have a good reason to plant this suggestion in Dorothea’s mind.  A girl with a nice ass had flirted with him.  So what?  It’s not like it was the first time, and it definitely wouldn’t be the last.  That single statement summarized a huge chunk of his life, in fact, making Cassidy Starr one of a million.

As nice as it was, her ass isn’t what held your interest past the first five minutes. 

Her derriere and face were both patently memorable, but they weren’t the first things that came to mind when Jon recalled the sassy redhead.  That distinction belonged to her… Hell, he couldn’t even put a name to it.  Aura?  Glow?  Cloud of happy?  Whatever it was, the contact buzz he’d gotten from just being near her had made him envious.

“Maybe you should go spend a few days,” Dorothea thoughtfully interrupted his mental return trip to backwoods Tennessee.  “See if you can’t finish up the songs you need.”

Jon studied his wife curiously. 

It was great that she was on board with him making another trip to Nashville, if that’s what he decided to do.  Her reaction actually couldn’t have been scripted any more perfectly, but it still brought with it a twinge of suspicion. 

From time to time he had a passing curiosity as to whether there was another man waiting in the wings for those days when he was out of town, but he’d never gotten obsessed with the idea.  This happened to be one of those times only because he found himself intrigued by a woman.  It had him speculating that Dorothea had someone, too.  

Whether she did or she didn’t was really of no consequence.  As long as the kids were clueless, he’d happily stay the same way.  That’s why he always gave her plenty of warning before he came home.

“Obie’s going back Monday for a project.  Maybe I’ll go with him and stay a few days.”

“Good,” she approved, stepping to the piano for a quick kiss to the cheek.  “This will be good for you.  I can feel it.”

Funny, he could feel it, too.

###

“Well, if you don’t look like somethin’ that cat done drug in.”

Merlene was the other bartender – alcohol liaison – at Tully’s.  Technically, there was a part-timer named Zack, but he didn’t work very often and never with Cassidy.  She and Merlene were usually the ones passing the barkeep baton, working an occasional couple of hours together when their shifts overlapped or they expected a busy weekend night.

The woman was in no position to pass judgment on anyone’s appearance, in Cassidy’s ever so humble opinion.  She was sixty-eight and, while she didn’t look quite that old, her personal style pretty much stamped a birthdate on her forehead.  Fluffy, bleach blonde hair was subjected to hot rollers every day, and Merlene’s favorite eye and lip shades were “Ice Blue” and “Frosted Berry”.  Her collection of denim mini skirts, plaid shirts and cowboy boots would rival those of the original country music queens. 

Cassidy just put her little backpack under the bar and laughed at the older woman, offering a cheery, “And you’re lookin’ quite nice yourself, Merlene.”

“Havin’ bags like that under yer eyes, at least tell me ya got laid.”

She most definitely had not gotten laid, even in her dreams.  Sexy rock stars and their equally sexy laughs had not seen fit to grace her short, dreamless sleep.

“Why, Merlene!”  Cassidy gave her co-worker an over-exaggerated wink.  “It wouldn’t be fittin’ to tell.”

“Hmpf.  It weren’t worth doin’ if it weren’t worth tellin’ about.”

If she was ever blessed with the opportunity to “do” Jon Bon Jovi, she certainly wouldn’t be sharing the details with Merlene.  Libby, maybe, but not Merlene.

There was no need to tell the woman that, though, and Cassidy tied on a bar apron, singing quietly to herself. 

“Tully said you sung for some folks yesterday.”

Point in case why Merlene would never hear anything about what went on in Cassidy’s bed - she was a gossiping busybody.  However, it didn’t mean she was necessarily a bad person, so Cassidy kept things light and friendly.

“I sing for folks here all the time, it’s just usually after my shift instead of the middle of the day.”

“Who was they?  North’ners, Tully said.”

“Just a couple of men, and I didn’t ask where they were from.”  That much was true.  She hadn’t asked, because she hadn’t needed to.  Once she realized who the patrons were, their New Jersey affiliation was already well known.

“Well, if’n it was me, I’d a least ways finagled a good tip outta ‘em.”

No finagling required.  Jon had left a hundred to cover his ten dollars’ worth of beer.  Obie wasn’t quite so generous, but he’d also paid twenty dollars for his songs, so Cassidy could hardly complain.  His tip still exceeded twenty percent of his tab – by a lot. 

“Merlene, I’m real thankful to have this job.  I sure wouldn’t wanna get fired for strong armin’ the customers.”

The bar door opened, and Cassidy stepped aside, giving Merlene wide berth to serve the new patron.  During her very first shift at Tully's, she'd found out that, if she didn’t, Merlene would pout and take the tips for herself anyway.  It was less frustrating for Cassidy to clean the kitchen or bar than quibble over quarters.

“Well, I do declare, if it ain’t the most handsome man in all of Tennessee.”

Could you possibly lay it on any thicker for the rich guy, Mer?

“Hi Merlene,” Clay greeted cordially, pulling up a barstool.  “Just a Coke, please.  Cassidy, do you have a minute?”

Ignoring the scowl from her territorial co-worker, Cassidy gave Clay a sincerely warm smile.  Rich man or poor, he had been nothing but incredibly kind and she liked him.  He also wasn’t too hard on the eyes with his dark hair and eyes.  Lucky for him she wasn’t the cougar type, so the man who was probably fifteen years her junior didn’t have to worry about her hitting on him.

“Sure, hon.” She crossed her forearms on the bar top and leaned forward to meet his cocoa eyes with interest.  “What’s up?”

“I gave Jon my number yesterday, but didn’t get his.  Since you introduced us, I was wondering if you knew how to get in touch with him?”

Cassidy’s fingers slipped into the back pocket of Levi's that fit her like a second skin at the same time Merlene delivered Clay’s Coke.  “Gimme a minute and I can probably help you out.”

[4:30 PM]CASSIDY:  Obie, it’s Cassidy Starr.  Clay Adams is asking for Jon’s contact info. 

“Seems like you’re a little wound up about this, Clay.  What’s got you in a lather?”  The phone was placed between them on the bar so they’d both know when the reply came through. 

“I just have some information he may be interested in.”

He’d no more spoken the words when the message from Obie arrived – with Jon’s cell phone number.

Good things happen to good people.  If I’m gettin’ Jon Bon Jovi’s cell number, I must be very good indeed!  Thank Ya, Lord!

She was a grown woman with manners and couth belying her geographic location, so she would never use that number for her own selfish purposes.  It wouldn’t be appropriate to use his number when he hadn’t been the one to provide it, and he would likely frown upon the uninvited intrusion.  

But I’m damn sure savin’ it to my contacts!