27 - It's Damn Good to See You

“Who were you on the phone with so for long?” David’s wife, Lexi, inquired when he finally turned back the covers to join her in bed. 

He crawled in beside her, settling himself on his left side while pondering that question.

Who had he been on the phone with?  That was an interesting story. First there was Jon, which wasn’t so much an interesting story as it was flat out interesting.   He’d called just to shoot the breeze. 

Really? 

That never happened.  There was always a reason and it was usually clearly stated within the first five seconds of the conversation.  His friend had a motive and the fact that he wasn’t forthcoming with it was much more revealing than anything he’d said, in David’s humble psychological opinion.   It was significant even without Jon relaying anything of significance.    

Other than telling David to call Cassidy.   

“Jon at first.  Then Obie’s… whatever the hell she is.  Protégé?  Latest project?  We’ll just call her Cassidy to keep things simple.”

David inched his foot forward until he found Lexi’s under the covers, at which point he lazily rubbed up and down her calf.

“Is that the woman you went to Nashville to see?”

“Yeah, that’s her.”

He scooted closer so that he could place an open palm over the plane of his wife's stomach.  She hadn’t nudged him away so far.  Maybe he was about to get lucky. 

“What were you talking to her about this late at night?”

Some of this, some of that.  David had spent a small slice of the conversation doing as Jon had done with him – shooting the breeze.  Why?  Because Jon seemed to believe that, if he would, he’d understand the fascination with “Dixie”. 

Dave wouldn’t necessarily go that far.  The girl was hot, beyond a doubt.  She also seemed sweet, thoughtful, smart and sassy as hell.  None of those were bad qualities, but they weren’t grabbing Dave the same way they did Jon. 

Then there was that other thing.  The slightly weird thing.

“She’s trying to locate somebody her deceased grandmother knew.  Thought I might be able to point her in a direction she hadn’t looked yet.”

“Why?”  Lexi’s lovely features distorted into the same confusion Dave had experienced himself. 

“Because Jon said so” was the reason he’d gotten after presenting that question, which was okay.  Hell, he didn’t mind helping a lovely damsel in distress at any time.  She didn’t even have to be his friend’s “muse”.  He might even go so far as to say he thrived on the white knight thing, particularly when it didn’t require him to break a sweat or a nail. 

This was the interesting part of the story, though. 

Cassidy didn’t want to give up the name of whoever she was looking for so that Dave could check things out a little.  That was, supposedly, because she didn’t want him doing the heavy lifting when it was for her benefit, or some such similar fabrication. 

Seemed a little sketchy to him, but he wasn’t going to browbeat the girl for a name.  He made sure she knew to check property records, white pages, those people search sites and social media.  Beyond that, he was just as dumb as the next guy about stalking. 

He could maybe hook her up with some Bon Jovi fans.... 

“Because I’m a genius, baby.” 

David’s hand crept slowly northward from the plane of her stomach and, when she didn’t smack him for grabbing her boob, he knew he was about to get laid.  Jon and his muse were interesting, but not interesting enough to bypass a sweaty bump and grind. 

Good luck, kiddies.  You’re on your own. 

###

The Town Car slid to a stop in front of the Nashville Omni, and it was one of the few times since the eighties that Jon was glad to see a hotel. 

He had actually resisted calling Cassidy.  Instead, he'd called David when video games with the boys had done nothing but make him feel like a loser.  It hadn’t been intended as a therapy session, but it had been therapeutic just the same.  Amazing how a few minutes of shooting the shit proved to be enough of a distraction that he was able to clean up “Burning Bridges”, the "kiss my ass" song that he had assigned the designation of title track, and “Life is Beautiful”.  Both were now ready to have something besides guitar added to the arrangement and he would recruit help with that later. 

During the course of the conversation with his friend, Jon had also mentioned Cassidy’s missing person search for her grandmother’s acquaintance.  He found out that David hadn’t heard anything from her, so Jon passed along her phone number, requesting that Dave give her a call.  Whether that happened or not he wasn’t sure, seeing as he hadn’t talked to either one of them since.

So maybe that translated to indirect contact with her, but he hadn’t succumbed to the desire to hear her voice. 

Instead he’d found himself lying in bed, unable to sleep, and devising a way to make her a more regular fixture in his life.  There hadn’t been any groundbreaking revelations there, only the standard stereotypical mistress set-up – rent her an apartment and come to Nashville when he could get away. 

Ideal, it was not.  Realistic either, for that matter.  Best-case scenario had him in town a couple of days a month.  That wasn’t exactly regular and recurring contact -  not like he was starting believe he needed.

The Cliff Notes of all that found Jon a little stressed, a little horny and mildly dependent on a Southern ball of sunshine.

His Cassidy itch was in definite need of scratching. 

To that end, he scooped up his duffel, snagged his guitar and eased out of the car with an absent thanks for the driver.  The narrow expanse of sidewalk and cavernous lobby were covered in quick order with purposeful strides, as Jon was now a man on a mission, and his first stop was to acquire another room key.  Cassidy had the original and he didn’t want to knock on his own room door. 

The concierge desk was up next, and he was hopeful that they had good news for him.  The remaining steps required to reach the young man on duty were executed quickly and efficiently and Jon stepped impatiently up to the desk.  

“Good day sir, how may I be of assistance?” the concierge named Chad greeted with a phony smile before regarding Jon like a curious cocker spaniel.  Jon didn’t mind cocker spaniels.  They followed commands well. 

“I’m expecting a package.  Francis, room 1902.” 

It was many years ago when he’d given up on his real name when traveling for pleasure.  It was so much easier to be John Francis in these types of situations.  That way nobody saw his distinctive last name on the reservation list and planned a lobby campout for the day of his arrival.  Yes, it had happened.  More times than he could accurately recall.

“Just a moment, I be-lieeeve…“ Chad’s head disappeared briefly beneath the counter before popping immediately back up again with a satisfied smirk.  “Ah, yes.  Here it is.”

The cheery looking box came to rest on the desk and Jon smiled.  He couldn’t have imagined it more perfectly wrapped and adorned and, if the contents were as good as the exterior, the saleslady in Philly would be getting a nice thank you for arranging this flawless Nashville delivery.

“Now, Mr. Francis…” Chad reached for a logbook of some kind and pushed it toward Jon.  “If I could just get you to sign by the ‘X’ for confirmation of receipt.”

Jon picked up the offered pen, saying, “Sure, but I don’t want to take it with me right now.  Could you have somebody deliver it to my room at…”  He flipped his watch around to find that the current time was twelve-thirty.  “…about two o’clock?  And I need a piece of paper and an envelope to include a note.”

His signature was hastily scrawled on the logbook and Chad magically produced the paper and envelope.

Jon hesitated for just a moment after receiving it.  Coming up with the right words to use was a more difficult task than it should have been.  Then again, what writing task wasn't?  Maybe if he’d already scratched the Cassidy itch he wouldn’t have to be quite so conscientious about conveying casual sincerity.  As it was, he struggled to find the right balance.

Whether the words he chose fit that criteria or not, they were scrawled more carefully than his signature had been.  She should be able to read the damn thing, anyway, and the mission was accomplished to the best of his ability.  The paper was folded and stuffed inside the envelope, and Jon sealed it it before penning “Cassidy Starr” on the outside.    

There was another casual thanks and corresponding gratuity for Chad before Jon was – finally – in the elevator.  Bouncing restlessly on the balls of his feet, he watched the display with anticipation as the car inched toward the nineteenth floor and Cassidy. 

I should’ve sent a text when I landed.  She might not even be there.

Yes, she would.  Anything else was unacceptable and Jon had put her on such a pedestal that unacceptable couldn’t touch her.  Not only would she be there, her face would light up with a big friggin’ sunshine-filled smile when he walked through the damn door. 

###

Cassidy sang softly along to YouTube, as she had been for much of the morning, dutifully working her way through the “short list” of Bon Jovi songs that Jon had supplied.  They were going into the studio tomorrow and she didn’t want to disappoint him – or Obie – due to lack of preparation. 

Right now, she was experimenting with “I’ll Be There For You”.  Richie Sambora’s harmony had established the song’s very identity, and she wasn’t sure whether to simply mirror it or try something different.  It would be Jon’s decision in the end, but she felt like she ought to have more than one option rehearsed to be on the safe side.

And speaking of Jon…

The soft electronic purr of a disengaging door lock brought a wide grin to Cassidy's face. It also had her tummy fluttering just a little, but she was going to chalk that up to not eating anything with her morning coffee. 

And you’re a natural redhead, too. 

Okay, so maybe she and her hoo-ha were kind of excited to see him again.  What woman in her right mind wouldn’t be? 

She pressed her thumb to the YouTube pause button, glancing up to the door just as he stepped through it and the sight had her subtly sucking air.  Lord have mercy the man wore wear jeans and a black t-shirt better than most men wore a tuxedo and, when he added a black leather jacket, lopsided smirk, and twinkly blue eyes…?  

Oh sweet baby Jesus.

How could she have forgotten how handsome he was? 

“Cassidy.” 

The greeting was simple and direct, giving her no idea as to how she should proceed.  Her first instinct was to bound from the sofa cushion, throw her arms around him and plant a luscious kiss that never ended.  Did she want to divulge that much eagerness?  Wasn’t this supposed to be casual?

“Well, look who’s back in Music City,” she drawled with a smile, choosing to keep her seat as he casually tossed his bag through the bedroom door and propped his guitar against the wall.   "How’s it goin’, good lookin’?”

In her yoga pants, tank and ponytail, Cassidy felt atypically dowdy and wished she hadn’t returned from the hotel gym and immediately lost herself in the music.  She should have showered, fixed her hair, applied makeup and dressed in something more appealing than workout clothes.

Nothin' to be done about it now.

“If anybody’s lookin’ good here, it sure as hell ain’t the old gray-headed guy,” was his wry response from the other side of the coffee table with hands pushed into his jacket pockets.  “You gonna get off that fine ass to give me a welcome back kiss or what?”

Cassidy’s phone tumbled to the couch cushions as she expelled a quiet sigh of relief and pushed to her feet.  She was no longer bound by her self-imposed limitations and it turned out that his expectations perfectly aligned with her instincts.  Life was beautiful.  

“Just waitin’ for you to tell me what you want, honey."

She had barely glided one step around the table's edge when he reached to draw her close and curve determined hands over her backside.  His grip on the plumpness was used to propel her hips forward and the hard outline of his belt buckle burrowed into the comparable softness of her belly with a delicious naughtiness that sent her head toppling backward.  

"Safe bet to assume I want you.”

His mouth fell to hers for a soft caress that quickly blossomed into more when the tip of his tongue licked along the seam of her lips, coaxing her to open for him.  Granted the access that he desired, Jon slipped inside to stake his claim. 

Someone groaned.  His arms came up higher to cinch her tight, and she pushed greedy hands beneath the leather jacket to roam his back.  She covetously sought to infuse herself with the heat of his sculpted body, hoping like hell she could hoard it away to warm the cold nights after he was gone for good.

Don’t be maudlin.

His kiss demanded attention and Cassidy mentally stepped from the maudlin cliff to freefall into it and him.  They may have been there for an eternity trying to absorb one another through every touch of every pore, or maybe it was only a few seconds.  Time became meaningless from the moment he walked through that door until the kiss came to a reluctantly clinging end.

Lazy eyelashes fluttered open when his lips deserted her, and Cassidy detected blue eyes studying her.  Denim blue eyes appeared a deeper shade than their usual tint and were awash with something undefinable, yet so very appealing.

Almost as appealing as his husky admission.

“It’s damn good to see you, Dixie.”

26 - Paisley Shade of Gray

The sun had shone all day.  It had shone when Jon got up that Sunday morning.  It had shone during the train ride into Philadelphia with the boys.  It had probably shone while they were watching the Knicks and Sixers play an afternoon game.  It had definitely shone when he executed an impromptu stop at one of the high-end department stores in downtown Philly, and that same sun was still beaming brightly as they found their way back to the house in New Jersey.

All that sunshine in one day. 

Jon should be filled to overflowing with it – and the ability to start a new goddamn motherfucking song.

One would think.

What Cassidy Starr could accomplish in a mere five minutes with her personal brand of Dixie sunshine, Mother Nature couldn’t accomplish in an entire day – or two years, for that matter.  Because here he was again, surrounded by his beautiful home and a state of the art studio equivalent to a musician’s nirvana, and his mind was totally fucking blank.  All these fancy trappings and he’d had it easier as a punk kid scratching lyrics on his bedroom wall. 

“’I’m your man’.  Seriously?  That’s the lyrical genius of a Songwriters’ Hall of Fame inductee?”

That’s all he’d come up with.  Three lousy words.  At best, it was an grossly unfitting song title that suggested he was something of significance – or at least the man for the job.  Neither was further from the truth at the moment.

Call Cassidy.  See if you can channel the happy cloud over the phone. 

No.  He refused.  As much as he appreciated her – hell, as much as he liked and enjoyed her – Jon didn’t like how he was starting to use her as a crutch.  He was his own independent, self-made man in the music business.  He didn’t need Cassidy, he didn’t need Dave – or Tico or John Shanks or Billy Falcon or motherfucking Richie Sambora – to write a friggin’ song.  He could do this on his own.

At least part of that is a lie, and you know it. 

That may very well be, but he wasn’t admitting which part. 

Call her.

As soon as the thought was complete, his phone rang and had Jon briefly considering that she was a mind-reading witch.  Or a voodoo priestess.  They had those in the South, right?  Once you went below the Mason-Dixon Line, the bayous of Louisiana might as well be right next door to Nashville as far as he was concerned. 

He needn’t have worried about Cassidy’s supernatural powers, because hers wasn't the name on the phone's display.  It was Dorothea's.

“Hey,” he answered, grateful for the distraction from himself.  It was strange being in the house without his wife in residence, and he’d been watching the driveway for the last couple of hours.  “I thought you’d be home by now.”

There was also that other thing that had him a little on edge with anticipation.  She’d they would talk when she got home on Sunday evening, and it was almost six o'clock.  Six o’clock seemed a reasonable expectation when given the guideline of "Sunday evening".

“I was actually calling to see what your plans were,” she pleasantly bypassed the statement of his assumption.  “I couldn’t remember you saying whether you were flying out again.”

Since their encounter on Friday was so short, he hadn’t actually said but he’d always planned to go back as soon as he could – meaning Monday.  It would be another frustration for his pile if she was about to put the nix on that.  God knew he would be more productive in Nashville than he was sitting in his personally designed recording studio. 

“I was gonna leave in the morning sometime.”

“Oh good.”  She seemed pleased by his plans instead of eager to quash them, and he took it as a small mercy.  “In that case, I’m going to stay another night.  If you could just get the boys off to school, I’ll be home well before they are.”

In hindsight, Jon would realize that he was more annoyed with himself than he was Dorothea.  It wasn’t like she was asking him to change her plans, but she was effectively leaving him here with himself for another twelve or more hours.  He wasn’t enjoying his own company and, in lieu bitching at himself and sounding like a lunatic, Jon’s annoyance seeped into his response.   

“I thought we were going to talk tonight.”

“I believe we left it at ‘maybe’,” she reminded him with a tone that reeked of tolerance, but also held a modicum of exasperation.  “That conversation has been at least a decade in the making, so I can’t imagine it won’t wait another week or two.”

Well, when she put it like that. 

Did you really want to have it anyway?

Not especially, since ignorance was bliss and all that.  It was just someplace else to direct his frustration besides himself.

“You’re right,” he relented on a sigh.  “Is there anything going on that here that won’t accommodate me being in Nashville for the rest of the week?”

“Not that I can think of.  I’ll call if something comes up.”

“Okay.  I’ll probably be back next weekend then.”  To make amends for his testiness, and because actually did care, he added, “Drive safe, okay?  Watch out for deer and shit.”

“Deer and shit.  Got it.”  The quiet laughter had him glad he’d exerted the effort.  “Have a good trip, Jon.”

He let the phone slide from his hand to the mixing board with a sound of weariness.  Sometimes Jon wondered if he shouldn’t see a shrink to sort out all the shit that stayed stuck in his head.

You did have a recent offer for mental health assistance.

Dave. 

Jon’s eyes slid back to the phone. 

Times were seriously friggin’ desperate if he was willing to make that call.  It would be much more pleasurable to call Cassidy and she would make him feel better than David could.

You’ve had Cassidy. That doesn’t seem to be a permanent solution in any sense of the word.

It was unfortunate that the sanity she afforded him didn’t seem to the be the long-lasting variety.  Things were great as long as she was with him, but when they were apart, Jon’s head was fucked up again within a day or two.   Making arrangements to keep her on a more permanent basis was a solution, but it might not a feasible one. 

Having never had what one could consider a “mistress”, Jon didn’t possess the expertise to know what fine details might make that work.  There had been scattered women he fooled around with once in a while, but none of them had been someone he’d make a special trip to see.  Cassidy was already unique in that respect, so maybe going a step further wouldn’t be so much different?

Think you should consider talking to somebody before you decide to adopt a mistress as a solution to your mental issues?

That prompted an interesting thought.

Cassidy was easy to talk to and she’d been meticulous about keeping their involvement under wraps, so he had no reason to believe she would spill his secrets.  She also had that whole fortune cookie thing going on, which wasn’t as inane as it sounded.  Her Southern wisdom had a certain charm to it and it sure as hell wasn’t all touchy-feely.  Cut and dried views that didn’t hold room for bullshit might be exactly what he needed. 

Or his biggest slice of happiness in years could get just as screwed up as his head. 

“Fuck.”

Putting aside the guitar, he decided that he really was tired of his own company.  Video games were preferable to this shit.

###

Oh Lord

Ooh somebody, ooh somebody

Can anybody find me somebody to love?

(Can anybody find me someone to love)

Got no feel, I got no rhythm

I just keep losing my beat (you just keep losing and losing)

I'm OK, I'm alright (he's alright, he's alright)

I ain't gonna face no defeat (yeah yeah)

I just gotta get out of this prison cell

One day (someday) I'm gonna be free, Lord!

Find me somebody to love

Find me somebody to love

The Queen song was one of Cassidy’s all-time favorites and she had memorized the words to it a good many years ago, enabling her to sing right alongside Freddie Mercury.  She shared his passion and zeal right up until the very last note, at which point she became oddly subdued.

She let loose with a tiny sigh and leaned into the opulent sofa cushions.  When you allowed yourself to become that involved in a song, lyrical meaning became larger than life and  – she, at least – always tried to apply them to her life. 

It wasn’t just the music, of course, that had her opening up a can of introspective worms; it was the seemingly endless journey she found herself on, and the way it was affecting her life. 

On one hand, she was living a dream like no other.  She had an inordinately hot, handsome and sexually gifted man who wanted to share her bed, which was every woman’s fantasy come true.  Top that off with him and his two friends guiding her into the world of professional music and it was something most folks could never imagine.  Those two indescribably exciting facets of her current life were worth the trials that had put her in Tully’s bar.

Then there was that other part.  The trial part.

“Lord,” Cassidy petitioned, closing the radio app on her phone.  “If You have a minute, I could sure use a kind ear.”

She scooted down into the couch, resting her head on one arm and her feet stretching toward the other.  There was something about praying that always compelled her to look up, and lying down this way had her line of sight Heavenward, even if it was obscured by the ceiling. 

“First and foremost, thank You for the blessin’s that continue to find their way to me in the midst of my turmoil.  I realize this isn’t even an ink spot on Your plan for mankind, but sometimes I think I’m drownin’ in that little bitty ink spot. 

“There’s this man, I reckon You know, that makes me feel awful special.  He also makes me feel ‘specially awful with the way I’m havin’ to deceive him.  I tell the truth as much as I can, of course, and I’m actin’ no different than I always have.  I guess what I’m sayin’ is that I’m bein’ me as much as circumstances allow for. 

“The thing is… I’d really like to not have to deceive him anymore.  It would be awful nice to just supply him with what he needs and accept what he wants to give me without a lot of underlyin’ crud.  Do You think that might work its way into Your plan?  Workin’ out all the crud, that is?

“Because I gotta tell Ya, it feels like I’m chasin’ one dead end after another.  Maybe there’s a better way to do this than findin’ Mr. Beasley, but if there is, I surely don’t know what that way would be.  If there’s any possibility of You offerin’ up a sign as to how I can find that man – or providin’ me with a brainstorm in another direction – I’d be much obliged. 

“And, because since I’m bein’ all kinds of selfish, I might as well go whole hog.  If You could work out that thing with the man so that nobody accidentally gets hurt, that would be much appreciated, too.  He seems to be an awful nice guy who’s just in need of a little TLC.  Doesn’t seem fair that he might have to suffer more for that. 

“Anyway, thank You for your time and Your hands upon me and mine.  If you see MeMaw, please tell her I miss her somethin’ awful and that I love her.  Thank You, Lord.  In Jesus’s name, Amen.”

Cassidy knew there was every possibility – maybe even probability – that her prayer went no further than the tiled ceiling above.  Despite the continual efforts of her grandmother, she hadn’t exactly been a good and faithful sheep and wouldn't object if the Lord decided she wasn’t fit for the trouble she was causing.

It wasn’t that she didn’t know the difference between right and wrong, she just didn’t think one was black and the other was white.  They were both more of a paisley-patterned gray, which left a whole lot of room for interpretation, in her opinion.  God probably didn’t share that opinion, though, and might not even appreciate that analysis of His design.  He could be more of a stripes or polka-dot kind of deity instead of paisley.

“Girl, you have fallen completely off your rocker,” she snickered at herself.  “Next thing, you’ll be wishin’ that phone would ring with the answer to your problems.”

Was it entirely too coincidental that her phone did ring at that moment?

Possibly, and if it had been Libby or Calliope – or even Tully – she would consider herself about half a nutcase.  Since it was David Bryan calling, however, Cassidy thought she might still be riding her rocker just fine.

25 - Perception

Jon threw back the covers and climbed into bed, bringing his phone with him. 

Saturday night and you’re climbing in bed at ten o’clock.  Livin’ the rock star life there, old man.

Jake was spending the night with a friend, so that had left Jon to entertain Romeo for most of the evening.  Not that he required much, but they’d gone out for dinner and then Jon had been drafted into several rounds of video games.  He was horrible at those things and, if it weren’t for his boys, he would never touch them.  Dave was the overgrown kid that loved to play shoot ‘em up, also known as “Call of Duty”.

The blankets settled around Jon’s waist as he got comfortable against the pillows.  Leaning back against the headboard, he prepared to reap the delayed gratification of his Cassidy fix.  

[10:07 PM]JON: How’s the weekend treating you?

He hadn’t been in touch with her since the plane yesterday, and that was mostly by design.  The cryptic exchange with Dorothea had prompted him to invest time in mulling over the status his marriage.  He hadn't uncovered any clear-cut feelings on the situation but, seeing as he and his wife could very well be on the same page in the book of extramarital affairs, guilt had been chucked out the window.  If pressed, he'd say that simple restlessness covered it most effectively, joined by uncertainty as to how the situation would play out when they finally talked.  

He’d also been curious to see how the songwriting would go without Cassidy.  There hadn’t been a lot of time to devote to it, but the occasions where he tried were okay.  He was only finishing up things that he’d already started and, apparently, he didn’t need her presence to tweak words or chord progressions.  Since there hadn’t been any attempt at new material, her long-term effect had yet to be determined.

A frown tugged at his mouth.  Ten minutes and she hadn’t responded.  Did he text again to get her attention, or did he let that one stand on its own?  Alone, it was simply casually polite interest in how she was doing.  Multiple messages without response wasn’t casual, it was needy.

Just one more.

[10:19 PM]JON: FYI, couldn’t get studio before Tues.  Obie’s coming then. 

Jon was grateful for that.  Dodging his friends’ presences and adhering to their timetables was a huge pain.  Dave’s presence might be tolerable now that he sort of knew what was going on, but Obie not so much.  The only saving grace there was that Obie was generally in his own hyper little world and oblivious to a lot of things around him. 

[10:22 PM]CASSIDY: Hi.  Was touching up my hair.  Tuesday is fine.  Are you coming with him?

No, and hell no.  He wanted time alone with her before Obie got there and screwed it up.

[10:23 PM]JON:  No.  Should be there Monday abt noon.

[10:24 PM]CASSIDY:  Ok.  How are your boys?

[10:26 PM]JON:  Good.  Typical boys. 

Of course she may not know anything about boys.  Did she have kids?  He didn’t even know if she’d been married.

[10:27 PM]CASSIDY:  I have 2 nephews 10 & 13.  They’re a handful.

[10:28 PM]JON: Mine are 11 & almost 13.  Handful is right.  You have kids?

Kids were easier to ask about than husbands.  Besides, Jon wasn’t interested in mental pictures of another guy groping Cassidy’s curves.  He was even less interested in acknowledging how possessive he felt of those curves. 

[10:29 PM]CASSIDY:  One.  Calliope is in her 3^rd year of med school at Duke.

Holy shit. 

His brain completely fritzed for a second, almost unable to process her response.  Was he so superficial that he didn’t think a bartender could have a daughter in medical school?  Cassidy certainly wasn’t the typical bartender and she seemed to be intelligent.  Why did this surprise him so much?

Because unless the kid is a prodigy, she’s twenty-four or twenty-five years old.

There was no way in hell Cassidy had a daughter that old.

Jon completely bypassed the little electronic keyboard, dismissing it in favor of the “Call” button.

“Hi there,” she laughed in that soft drawl of hers.  “You get tired of typin’?”

“Takes too long to cover everything I want to say,” he informed her shortly before spitting out what was foremost in his mind.  “Medical school? Third year?  I realize I’m about to commit the unpardonable sin, but how old are you?”

The sultry chuckle reminded him of the first day he’d met her, when she’d laughed at Obie asking where she learned to sing.  It carried the same punch now as it had then and he had a passing, yet fierce, desire to have her curled up in his lap laughing like that. 

“I will be forty-two on my birthday.”

“Which is on August fifteenth,” he confirmed, remembering exactly when it was.  He was very good with dates, even without cue cards.

“Yessir.”

“So is she a child prodigy?”

This time the laughter was dry instead of sultry.  “I’ll save you from doin’ the math.  Calliope was born a couple days after my sixteenth birthday.  If you can, please refrain from the redneck and/or hillbilly references that I know are dyin’ to be spoken.  I’ve heard ‘em all.”

Damn if that didn’t beckon a host of other questions that were totally inappropriate to ask.  Why so young?  Who was the dad?  High school sweetheart?  Where was he now?  Or was Calliope the result of something not quite so pretty as young love? 

He was exceedingly curious about all of those things, but didn’t have the right to be a busybody.  Or maybe he just didn’t want to be.  If she wanted to fill him on those personal details, she would offer, and he would prefer that information of that nature be offered instead of extracted.  Until she did offer, he would respectfully choose another subject.

“You must be proud of her.”

Was that a sigh of relief he heard?

“I am.  Very much so.  When she chose my alma mater instead of Johns Hopkins, I cried.  I’m such a girl.”

Holy shit again.  Two or three more times.

The woman he affectionately thought of as Dixie was determined to shock the hell out of him tonight.  It was a toss-up as to which of those statements he wanted to pursue first.  The fact that her daughter had turned down Johns Hopkins, been offered Johns Hopkins in the first place or that Cassidy went to Duke.

There you go stereotyping again. 

“What was your major?”

She snorted softly.  “Why am I tellin’ you all this?  More importantly, why are you interested?”

“I seem to recall saying that you were more than a plaything to me.  That wasn’t bullshit.  I like you.  I’d like to get to know you better.”

“In the interest of there bein’ no misunderstandin’,” the familiar phrase was almost ridiculously drawled out.  “If we were in the same room, you wouldn’t give a tinker’s damn about my college education.”

He didn’t bother denying the accusation.  If they were in the same room, he would likely be more interested in her sexy body and how it felt next to his.  But they weren’t in the same room, so….

“Maybe not, but since you’re not seducing me with curves that never quit…”  He couldn’t help but envision her ass and smiled when his dick stirred the tiniest bit. “I can use some of my blood supply for the big head and have a conversation with you that doesn’t revolve around music or my inability to write it.”

“You can write music, honey.”  Her soft, sincere endorsement was an unexpectedly satisfying stroke to his ego. 

“I wasn’t fishing for compliments.”

“And I wasn’t givin’ ‘em.  Just statin’ facts.”

“Then I guess I’ll say thank you and move on.  So what was your major?”

Cassidy let her head fall back against the headboard, contemplating how much to share with Jon.  While she wasn’t a secretive person by nature, she also didn’t make a point of revealing a lot of personal details to the men who shared her bed.  Add in the fact that her personal details didn’t belong to Cassidy Starr and it was an even more compelling case for keeping her trap shut.

The thing was, Jon had become more than an impersonal lover.  Maybe it made her delusional to consider him a friend, but she did and, if he was curious enough to ask the question, then she wanted to tell him.   

“If you really wanna know, I’ll tell ya,” she relented.  “Just between friends.”

 “Just between friends.”

That delusional part of her thought she heard a smile when he agreed, and it had her a little happier than she had a right to be.   She gave herself a mental kick in the pants and offered up the short version of her educational history. 

 “Originally, I majored in accounting at the junior college. Didn’t quite finish before I went to beauty school and got a cosmetology license.  After that, I decided I wanted more for me and my little girl than bookkeepin’ and hairdressin’ jobs, so I packed us up and moved to Durham, North Carolina.  I got my nursin’ degree from Duke when I was twenty-eight.”

“Holy shit.”  He sounded utterly shell-shocked, and Cassidy bubbled over with laughter.  Considering what he knew of her, he had every right to be shell-shocked.  “What the fuck are you doing at that damn bar?”

Oh, you know.  Just hidin’ out until I can prove my uncle is a lyin’, schemin’ bastard.

“Well, honey,” she sighed, stifling the true answer.  “Yanno how sometimes things go haywire with your phone or computer service, and you can’t use ‘em until somebody figures out how to fix ‘em?  Let’s just say I’m experiencin’ a slight disruption in service right now.”

If only there was a qualified technician working on the problem, she might feel better about that analogy.  She was without a Geek Squad and, subsequently, there was no estimated time for restoration of that service.

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

His immediate and seemingly sincere offer touched Cassidy.  There was always a chance that she wasn’t fully delusion and he considered her a friend, too.

He might actually be able to help, you know.

He might at that.  Cassidy had blisters from figuratively knocking on every lawyer’s office door in town for the past two days, and she still hadn’t seen hide nor hair of Beauregard Beasley.  Nor could she find anyone who had.  Mr. Beasley was her only hope at resuming a normal life and she was quickly running out of ideas on how to find him.

“Nah,” she declined with deliberate nonchalance as she decided to take a chance.  “But I do have a question for ya.  You ever try to find somebody?”

“What do you mean ‘find somebody’?”

“When you have somebody’s name or general location and want to look ‘em up to say hello.”

“Stalking isn’t my area of expertise,” he confessed.  “But I guess online would be your best bet.  Have you tried Google, Facebook and all that?”

She had.  It was the first thing she’d tried, in fact.  What she discovered was that Mr. Beasley was roughly the right age to be God Himself and evidently eschewed anything as new-fangled as technology.   She was reliant strictly upon word of mouth for this needle-in-a-haystack search.

“I did, but no luck.”

“Dave might know of something more technologically sophisticated than Google or Facebook, but I choose to remain ignorant of it.  That’s all I’ve got.”

The pang of disappointment that she felt wasn’t even remotely justified.  Cassidy had known it was a stretch but would’ve kicked herself for not asking. 

“You and me both,” she agreed with a light laugh.

“Who is it you’re looking for?”

Huh.  You probably should’ve planned for that one.  You’d best channel your inner Libby.

“Nobody really.  Just someone who knew my grandmother.”

That wasn’t really a fabrication since it was supposedly true.  Cassidy couldn’t confirm or deny it until she actually found the damn man, though.

“If you really want to find them, I’ve got a guy I know who’s a private investigator.  My brother’s also pretty good at that stuff.”

“Oh heavens, no.”  She didn’t feel right asking him to go out of his way for this, even if it would be incredibly helpful.  “Maybe I’ll just take your suggestion and ask David.”

David had told her to consider him a friend, but screwing up enough gumption to ask for his help was going to be a challenge.  He was helping enough by pretending not to know she was sleeping with his married friend.

“Suit yourself.  He’s got a weird knack for internet shit, so maybe he’ll find something you missed.  You have his number right?  If not I’ll send it to you.”

“If you don’t mind sendin’ it to me that would be great.”  Who knew?  Maybe she’d actually use it. 

If you get desperate enough, you’ll utilize whatever resources you can find.  You must not be desperate enough yet.

“As soon as we hang up, I will,” Jon promised.

“Thank ya.  If I hadn’t already kept you talkin’ so long, I’d ask about your kids.  Seems only fair since you heard all about mine.”

“Next time.  Hey, do you know any Bon Jovi songs?”

He didn’t want to tell her about his kids.  Okay.  She was fine with that.   He’d said there would be a next time and that made her happy.  She’d just go with that.

“I know some, why?”

“Since you don’t have me in your hair this weekend, maybe you could brush up on them.  I want us to try a couple in the studio on Tuesday.”

He was doing another duet with her.  He was pushing her potential music career forward.  Yeah, if he didn’t want to talk about his kids, who was she to say or think squat about it?

“Alright.  Anything in particular?”

He paused for a moment, probably doing a mental perusal of his catalog.  “I’ll text you the short list that comes to mind.  That is, if you still want to do this.  Sorry, I should’ve asked that first.  I mean now that I know a little more about you...”

Funny how people’s perception of you could change based solely on their own knowledge.  Now that he knew she could have a “real” job if she wanted, he was concerned that music was beneath her?  Silly man. 

“You knowin’ I can color my own hair, stitch up a cut, and balance a checkbook doesn’t make me any different than I was before you called.” 

“Fair enough,” he granted with a laugh.  “Does that fortune cookie answer mean you still want to do this?”

“Yes, smarty pants, it does.”  Even if it wasn’t the best idea in the world, she still wanted to do it.  “Text me the list and David’s number.  Please and thank you.”

“Yes ma’am.”  The line went quiet for a minute.  “I really do like you, Dixie.  I’m looking forward to seeing you again.”

Cassidy scooted down in the bed, snuggling herself into “his” pillow with a secret smile.  “Ditto for me.”

24 - Rainbows and Other Cryptic Signs

Jon was gone. 

He’d left about an hour ago.

Cassidy didn’t know precisely what she had expected from him in the way of goodbye, but it was something along the lines of a casual wave and “see ya later”.  She should give up on having expectations, since this was yet another occasion where she’d been wrong.

Once his duffel had been packed, he’d emerged from the bedroom and dropped it to the floor beside one of the chairs.  Cassidy had risen from her spot on the couch, figuring that she could at least walk him to the door.  It was a simple, polite and friendly gesture and shouldn’t carry a hint of undue attachment.  The perfect casual goodbye to your married lover.

Jon’s plans had been a little different, though. 

As soon as her pink high heels had skirted the coffee table and headed toward the door, he had hooked a finger through one of her belt loops and tugged Cassidy close.  For the longest time after that he hadn’t said anything.  He’d linked his arms around her waist and perused her carefully, like he’d been memorizing her features.

It had given her time to do the same.

He hadn’t looked as good as he did the day before.  Yesterday his happiness and relaxation had been very much evident, even creeping their way into bed with them that night.  He had been more playful than usual, with a lot of tickling and the occasional outlandish lyric to go with his silly song.  He’d even composed a dirty limerick for her. 

There once was a girl from the sticks

And bartending was her paid shtick

Then she sang me a song

And it wasn't very long

'Til I had her riding my dick

Jon Bon Jovi couldn’t look bad, but he hadn’t been up to dirty limerick standards this morning.

“If you need anything, bill it to the room and sign my name,” he’d instructed when he was finished studying her face.

She never would, but she had acquiesced anyway, just to be agreeable.  Satisfied with that, he’d dipped his head and taken her mouth in an uncharacteristically sweet kiss – tender, soft and without hunger.  Cassidy’s astonishment at the gentle contact had stolen more breath from her than his kisses usually did and, while she was still slightly dazed, he’d dusted his fingertips over her cheek and said, “I’ll see you Monday.”

Then he’d snagged his duffel and guitar to make a direct line for the door.  Jon didn't look back but, if he had, it would've been to find an ever-so-slightly dumbfounded Cassidy floundering in his wake.

It had taken her a solid five minutes to stop looking for deeper meaning in his departure and remember that she was a muse.  He thought she helped him write music.  Nothing more, nothing less.  Well, other than the phenomenal sex.  No emotions were involved in the making of this muse-dom.

Since that time, she had changed her clothes to trade jeans and a t-shirt for dark slacks and an emerald green blouse that she thought suited her hair.  She then stepped into the most sedate black heels she owned, which were still four-inches high but completely without adornment.  Her makeup was well-applied, but subdued, and her hair was pulled into a sleek bun at the nape of her neck.  The tendrils that wanted to escape were doused with enough hairspray to Turtle Wax her Jeep.

Satisfied that she looked like a respectable member of society, Cassidy slipped her purse over her shoulder and exited the suite that would be “hers” for the next couple of days.   She’d just pushed the button for the elevator when her phone chimed with a message. 

Prob’ly Libby checkin’ in to see if I’m on the Beauregard hunt yet.

The elevator arrived and Cassidy stepped inside, pushing the button for the ground floor before she extracted the phone from her purse.

It wasn’t Libby; it was Jon. 

[9:58 AM]JON: Flying over WVA & thought of you

She couldn’t help but smile and immediately wondered if he’d found himself humming “Somewhere Over the Rainbow” after seeing the miracle of nature.

[10:00 AM]CASSIDY: Did it make you think of the song?

[10:01 AM]JON:  Yes.  You were singing it.

Her smile slipped into a huge grin.  That song was practically Judy Garland’s signature song and, yet, Jon didn’t think of Judy Garland singing it?  He thought of her?  How daggone crazy was that?

Of course, she would never gush like that to him.  Her response was much more subdued.

[10:03 AM]CASSIDY: Thanks for sharing.  Enjoy your weekend.

[10:04 AM]JON: Wait. When’s your bday?

What an odd question. 

[10:05 AM]CASSIDY:  Aug 15.  When’s yours?

Although that was probably information she could find online, Cassidy figured if he was asking for hers, then she ought to reciprocate.  Besides, it would be more like a friendly exchange of information that way and she wouldn’t have to feel like a stalker.

[10:06 AM]JON: Google it ;)

###

Cassidy had been to five different law firms in the last two hours, all with the same result.  No one at the firms of Frost, Brown, Todd, Butler, Snow, Bass, Berry, Sims, Wingo, or Edge had ever heard of Beauregard Beasley.  The only upside to all the disappointing news was that they were in the same building.  Her feet didn’t hurt yet, so she had plenty of energy and shoe leather left to work her way through the other hundred lawyers in Nashville.

She was turning to walk up Third Avenue when she collided with someone who had exited the building behind her and was trying to pass by

“Oh, I’m so sorry!”

Strong hands held her upright when her heels teetered on the pavement.  “Cassidy?”

Once she was steady, she took a look up into the face of the man she’d almost plowed into.  “Clay!  How in the world are ya, honey?”

“I’m good,” he assured her with a smile, pushing hands into the pockets of his Dockers.  “I almost didn’t recognize you.”

“Oh, yeah.”  Cassidy waved a hand down her front with a laugh.  “Not my normal beer slingin’ getup.”

Remembering that she’d never asked Jon about his meeting with Clay, she figured she would approach the subject from the other side. 

“So did you ever get ahold of Jon?’

His pleasant demeanor clouded a bit.  “Yeah, I did.  Things didn’t quite work out the way I’d hoped, but there might be better news on the horizon."

“Oh yeah?”  Maybe that explained part of Jon’s abysmal mood the other day.  “I’m sorry to hear.”

“Yeah, me too.  With any luck, he’ll leave Nashville a little happier next time. Listen, I’ve got to run.”  He patted her lightly on the shoulder with a smile.  “Good seein’ you.”

“You too, honey.  Take care!”

With nothing more than that, he went on his way and she went on hers, but Cassidy was left with a lingering curiosity.  Enough so, that she made another mental note to ask Jon about it – if the proper opening presented itself, of course.

###

Back in New Jersey, Jon entered his home through the family entrance at the side of the house.  It was easier to go through the kitchen and up the back stairs rather than traipsing through the entire house to get to the bedroom.

 There were very few times that he walked through the door here and didn’t feel a significant sense of pride.  This was his.  He’d bought the land.  The house and accompanying structures had been built to his specifications.  It was his hard work that had paid for it and continued to pay for it, which was why the ability to write songs was critical.

Thank you again, Cassidy.

Stepping into the master suite, Jon fell into his usual arrival pattern.  Shaving kit put aside to go in the bathroom while dirty socks, gym clothes and t-shirts fell out of the bag and into the laundry.  He was putting the empty duffel on the shelf when he realized his three-day-old jeans should probably go in the hamper, too, so he kicked off his shoes and unbuckled his belt to make that happen.  They got tossed in along with the socks and shirt he was wearing.

That left him stark naked and in need of something to wear.  He was just turning to find a pair of shorts or track pants when Dorothea’s voice found him.  

“It’s been a long time since you jumped out of your clothes as soon as you hit the door,” she observed with amusement from the doorway of their walk-in closet. 

“Hey.”  He gave her an absent grin and pulled out a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt.  A rapid perusal told him that she was a little more dressed up than usual, seemingly in preparation for the trip with her sisters – or whomever.  “You look nice.”

“Thanks.”  She glanced down at her dark jeans, flowy black blouse and boots, seeming pleased by the compliment.  “I noticed you avoided commenting on the clothes thing.”

Jon frowned.  That had been something he was supposed to comment on?  Yeah, it had been a good while since he’d stripped his way toward the bedroom after a trip, anxious to get in her pants.  About as long as it had been since she’d been waiting on the bed in fancy lingerie.  Was there really a need to point it out? 

“I didn’t avoid it, I just didn’t think you were serious.”  The elastic of the sweatpants settled at his waist and the t-shirt slithered down his torso.  “You really wanna fuck me?  ‘Cause I figured that’s what this Poconos trip was all about.”

He didn’t mean to say it.  Honest to God he didn’t, but it just came casually rolling out of his mouth like some inane commentary on the weather.  She didn’t deserve that.  Hell, they might not have a “normal” marriage anymore, but he still respected her.  He even loved her in some sense of the word, and he’d be surprised if she wasn’t on the verge of smacking the piss out of him.

“I don’t know where the hell that came from, but I never should have said it,” he was quick to apologize.  “I’m sorry, Dorothea.”

 Then again, maybe she wouldn’t smack him.  She appeared to be exceptionally unruffled about the foot in his mouth, as a matter of fact.  Her eyes were clear, her features relaxed.  She was just… Dorothea.

“No need to be sorry,” she offered with a smile, uncrossing the arms that had been folded at her waist.   “I’ve wondered about your trips for a lot of years, and it gives me a warped kind of amusement to see the shoe on the other foot.  It’s just too bad, now that the opportunity has presented itself, that I don’t have the time to discuss it.”

“Wait a minute.”  Jon followed after her when she moved from the closet doorway into the bedroom proper.  Could his pipedream of having their marriage openly inclusive of extracurricular activities possibly come to fruition?  Because he’d really like to discuss that right now.  “You don’t have five minutes to talk about this?”

“No, I really don’t,” she confirmed as she retrieved her overnight bag from the bed and settled it onto her shoulder.  “Don’t forget there’s lacrosse practice for the boys after school, but you don’t have to pick them up.  They have a ride and should be home by five.”

Since he was an obstacle between her and the door, she ultimately wound up standing before him.  “Nashville agrees with you, by the way.”  Dorothea went on tip-toe to press a light kiss to his cheek.  “Hopefully when I get back from my trip, I’ll look as good as you do.”

What?  Wait.  Does that have some hidden meaning?

Maybe it did, maybe it didn’t.  He might never be sure, because she waltzed around him and out the door with only a handful of casual words that had nothing to do with Nashville or hidden meanings. 

“I’ll be home Sunday evening.  Maybe we can talk then.”

23 - Kiss My Grits

Cassidy lounged contentedly on the suite’s sofa, listening to Jon plunk around on his guitar while she used her phone – and the wifi – for some research. 

It was early afternoon of his last day before going home, and she had spent much of the morning sans clothing.  They’d only had sex once, but he seemed to have a thing for her body, so she’d agreeably lain naked in bed while he was propped up against the headboard writing lyrics.  Occasionally, he’d reached over to curl a hand over her thigh or play with her hair, humming bits and pieces until he found what he was looking for.  Then he went back to his notepad to scratch something down.

There had been something remarkably intimate about lying naked with a man while he searched his soul for pieces to give away.  Most people probably didn’t think about how much of a musician’s being was invested in a single song, but Cassidy had been privileged enough to see it first-hand.  Even hours later, she remained humbled by his conviction that it was only possible due to her presence.

When their arrangement was done and over, it would – without a doubt – be the memory she recalled most frequently and fondly.

David’s departure was another memory that would stick with her, although not in quite the same way. 

Jon had told her last night about his talk with David and reassured that he hadn’t shared anything about their physical relationship, just that she was the muse that allowed him to compose.  Even so, she’d immediately suspected that David wasn’t going to be quite so friendly or willing to provide free piano lessons now that he knew.

That suspicion had been somewhat confirmed when he had stopped by on his way out of town with the intent of saying goodbye to Jon.  While he hadn’t been as boisterously charming as he had upon arrival, he hadn’t been cold, either.  Simply more subdued. 

Cassidy, being Cassidy, hadn’t been satisfied with the unspoken undercurrent in the room and had requested that David say whatever he wished, so that there were no misunderstandings between them.  What he’d conveyed was indelibly burned into her mind.

“He doesn’t look like a shell of himself anymore.  Lots of people have tried to make that happen, without success, so I have nothing for you but gratitude.  Unless you’re hiding some deep, dark, ugly secret that could grossly affect my opinion of you, you can consider me a friend for life.  However, as your friend, expect me to offer unsolicited advice – like ‘don’t do anything stupid to get your heart broken’.”

Naturally, she had offered her thanks and assured him – and, indirectly, Jon – that her heart wasn’t involved in the deal.  Accepting her words at face-value, he had then bid them both goodbye and gone on his way.

So Jon’s friend didn’t think her the scourge of the earth.  That was nice but, late at night, when everything was quiet except her mind, that’s not what she would remember.  In those times it would be David’s voice that came back to haunt her. 

“Unless you’re hiding some deep, dark, ugly secret.”

With a sigh, she tossed the phone onto one of the couch cushions and noticed that Jon wasn’t engrossed in his music anymore, but watching her. 

“Hi,” she acknowledged him with a smile.  “Takin’ a break?”

“Kinda.”

“Mind if I make a little conversation while you do?”

“Feel free.”

The guitar was propped into what had become a familiar position at the end of the couch and Jon wiped a hand over his face before slouching down in his chair.  The tail of yet another – or maybe the same – black t-shirt rode high on his back, exposing a sizable band of skin as he propped bare feet on the coffee table.

“Will you tell me a little about this album?  Why is it so important?”

“It’s not,” he denied, scratching his head.  “I owe the goddamn record company one more before I can tell them to kiss me and my album sales goodbye.  It’s just something I need to get out of the way so I can move on to something that does matter.”

She scooched down in a similar pose, feeling her own black t-shirt riding up over her Levis as she propped her feet perpendicular to his.  “Then why are you stressin’ over it?”

“Because….” He dragged his big toe along the arch of her foot.  “Even though I don’t care if it sells a single copy, it will. There are fans who will buy anything that has the Bon Jovi name on it and I owe them some kind of effort.”

“You’ve written a lot of songs in your life, I’d imagine.  Any idea of how many?”

“Hundreds.  Maybe as many as a thousand.”

“All those aren’t on albums, though, are they?”

He swiveled his head so that he was no longer looking their feet, but watching her curiously with that little wrinkle between his eyebrows.  “No.”

“Why can’t you use those?”

“I guess I could.”  One eyebrow arched with interest.  “Are you trying to get out of our deal?”

She shook her head with a little frown.  “No.  Just thinkin’ it would be easier on ya.”

“While I appreciate the thought – and it’s not a bad one – there will eventually be another ‘real’ album that I have to write songs for.  It would be nice to know I still can.”

“Alright, I guess I understand that.  But if it was me and I wasn’t happy with the folks I was doin’ the album for, I’d be sorely tempted to write a ‘don’t let the door hit ya where the good Lord split ya’ song or two.”

Jon threw his head back with a boisterous laugh that made hear heart laugh along with him.  “I realize we’re in Nashville, but that’s not exactly my style.”

“Kiss my grits?” she countered with a grin.  “Later gator?  Adios?  Bon voyage?”   

His feet hit the floor and he grabbed the guitar to hoist it onto his lap, immediately strumming a little hoedown-style music.  “Sayonara, adios, auf wiedersehen, farewell, here’s one last song you can sell.  It’s a singalong as you can tell, feel free to play it for your friends in hell.”

Now Cassidy was the one rearing back with laughter.  There was no way he was serious about the crazy little ditty and that’s what made it so incredibly funny.  Getting way too involved in the silliness, he dragged it out with more and more goofy lyrics until it was just a step short of ridiculous. 

“Oh good Lord,” she giggled as her phone rang.  “You have to write that down.  If nothin’ else, David will appreciate it!”  A quick inspection of who was calling had her rising to her feet.  “It’s my sister.  Pardon me for a minute or two.”

Even when she was ensconced in the bedroom, Jon’s twangy chords remained audible and she was still laughing when the call connected.  “Hey, Sis!  How ya doin’?”

“Well, you sure do sound as fine as frog hair,” Libby remarked, seeming like her normal self instead of the human stressball Cassidy had become used to as of late.  “What’s got you in such a good mood?”

“Oh, Libby.”  She perched on the chair and stretched her feet out until her toes gripped the edge of the bed. “You cannot believe what’s been goin’ on the past few days.”

“Did you find Beauregard Beasley?”

That was enough to wipe the smile from Cassidy’s face.  “No, but I’m gonna spend all day tomorrow lookin’.”

“Well, if not that, then what?”

So Cassidy provided the condensed version of what she thought of as Redneck American Idol, doing much as Jon had done by leaving the physical aspect out but still telling her sister that she was Jon Bon Jovi’s “muse”, that they'd recorded a duet that she couldn’t wait for Libby to hear, and that David Bryan had given her a piano lesson.

“Holy shitsticks, girl!  Who woulda ever dreamed?”

“It’s definitely a far cry from what I’ve spent my life doin’.” 

Then again, so is bartendin’.   

###

Jon chuckled to himself, scribbling away as he took Cassidy’s suggestion to write down the tongue-in-cheek tune that flipped a proverbial bird to his label.  It amused him enough that he was tempted to put it on the album just to see if any of those dipshits at Island would notice.

He was just jotting down a notation about giving them half the publishing when his phone vibrated on the table.  It took only a quick look to bring a grin to his face, because the notification was from Dave – the only man in the world that might appreciate this song as much as Jon.

[1:15 PM]DAVE:  Vampire marks on her neck shared more secrets than u did.

He snorted, perversely pleased that his friend had noticed the hickey on Cassidy’s neck.  After all, he was the reason it had been put there in the first place. 

[1:16 PM]DAVE:  Remember that I’m not the only 1 who knows what a ducking hickey looks like. 

[1:16 PM]DAVE:  FUCKING.  Damn autocorrect.

Jon’s fingers paused in typing a response and laughed.  Did technology gurus really think anybody spent that much time talking about ducks and ducking?

[1:17 PM]JON: HA!  you're the only one who’d connect it to me.

[1:16 PM]DAVE:  Hope u know wtf ur doin. 

Did he?  Not in the grand, masterplan sense of the word, but he knew he felt better at this very moment than he’d felt since...  Hell, way before Richie left.  He remembered feeling this good back in 2010 – that was why he’d gotten a wild hair to throw out a greatest hits album and extend the tour into 2011.  In the five years since then, though…

[1:17 PM]JON: It’s all good.

[1:18 PM]DAVE: Nice girl to get her heart broken.

Break her heart?  It had only been a few hours since Cassidy had flat-out said her heart wasn’t involved.  Dave had been standing right there.  He must have doubts, but that’s because he didn’t know her like Jon did.  She didn’t play games and was meticulous about managing both of their expectations.  No misunderstandings and all that. 

[1:20 PM]JON: She won’t

[1:22 PM]DAVE: How bout u?

What the hell?  That was the trouble with text messages.  Because they were a pain in the ass to type, Dave was intentionally brief to the point of being vague.  He really needed to figure out that voice-to-text feature and use it, because it sure as hell sounded like he thought Jon’s heart was involved.

Happiness, maybe.  Not heart.

[1:24 PM]JON: We’re on the same page

There.  If Dave could be vague as hell, so could he.

[1:25 PM]DAVE: Same book tho?

Jon refused to dignify that stupidity with an answer.  He was going back to the stupidity that would get the label off his back.