15 - Life Is Beautiful

Jon washed his hands and grabbed one of the hand towels, marveling at the mysteries of the world.

He had fucked literally countless women during the last four decades.  There weren’t a lot that he remembered, and even fewer whose names he knew – had ever known.  Divide that by half for the number who had given him anything he’d remembered past the point of his dick going soft.

His dick was soft now, and Cassidy lay in his bed with an exclusive membership to the group of women that he would not only remember, but that he would never forget.  How could he forget the woman who raised him from the dead, twice within a day?  How could he forget the woman that hovered on the verge of becoming his missing muse? 

All stemming from a chance encounter in a place he never should’ve been.  Whether that was some freak stroke of luck or God finally taking pity on him, Jon had no idea.  He was just glad it had happened.

You’re a pussy.

No, he was so tired of feeling like a used sponge that any spark of creativity was cause for celebration, even if it involved hokey shit like resurrection and muses. 

“Are you takin’ up residence in there?” the muse in question called out.  “Because I seem to recall promises of food.”

He flipped his watch around to check the time and emerged from the bathroom.  Jon was feeling cocky and knew the grin on his face didn’t hide the fact.

“Food in half an hour, vegetarian impersonator.”

Hell, she can impersonate anything she wants looking like that.

Cassidy was sprawled on the bed clearly not giving a thought to modesty, and self-confident enough to let him look his fill without embarrassment.  He liked that about her.  A lot, in fact.  Almost as much as he liked not worrying about whether she was going to get off during sex.  She would.  Cassidy would make sure of that.

He also liked that she didn’t draw away when he climbed onto the bed and slicked a finger between her open legs.  Since the moment she'd chosen to drop her pants for him, she had provided him full, unrestricted access to her body.  

Well, except for earlier, and that didn’t count.  And the back door thing, but that didn't interest him anyway.

Settling between her thighs, he rested on his elbows and dropped a lazy kiss against her mouth.

“Hey,” she murmured, one hand cupping his jaw.  “You’re lookin’ a little happier than when I got here.”

“Only a little?  Because I feel fuckin’ fantastic.”

“I can attest to that,” she concurred, both hands tunneling into his hair with a lethargic smile that told of a woman well-satisfied.   

He rolled onto his side, taking her with him and tangling their legs together.  “I’m sorry,” he murmured, using fingertips to brush the hair from her forehead.

“Past is gone, let it die.”

“Okay.”  The same fingertips trailed along her cheek.  “Then thank you.”

“Mmm…” Her lethargic smile found a little more life.  “It’s my hoo-ha that oughta be thankin’ you.  Not every man believes in multiple orgasms.”

“I believe a woman should have all she can handle, and then one more for good measure.”

There was keen interest in her subtly arched eyebrow.  “I say you should practice your beliefs.  Most folks do that on Sunday.  Sunday good for you?”

Jon laughed, welcoming the buoyancy she brought to him.  “Today’s only Tuesday.  What about the rest of the week?”

“The finer things in life in life require a little sacrificin’.”

The muscles in his face relaxed, letting the smile slide into neutrality.  “I’ve done my sacrifice.”

“I’m sure you have darlin’.”  She leaned forward to dust his lips.  “Success is a telltale sign of sacrifice.”

That day, at Tully’s, he remembered thinking she had the ass of an angel and a face not far behind.  Never had Jon considered – or cared – about what went on behind the pretty face.  She probably hadn't thought anything about what went on behind his, either, considering that humans were superficial creatures.

Then why did he have the irrepressible urge to share something meaningful with her?

“My head is fucked up,” he softly divulged.  “You should probably know that.”

She offered him a lopsided smirk, completely unconcerned about the tumultuous state of his mind.  “Honey, whose head ain’t?”

“You seem like you’ve pretty much got your shit together.”

The full-bodied laugh startled him, coming from deep down inside her until she was forced to turn her face into the pillow and wipe the tears away. 

“That’s funny,” she snuffled with another giggle when she was again capable of speech.

“Obviously.” 

The tip of her little finger wiped at the outside corner of her eye, dabbing away the moisture.  “My shit is so far from bein’ together that I probably have three colons.  I just keep remindin’ myself that life is beautiful whether I’m in a position to appreciate it or not.”

Life is beautiful.

“So do you have a book of Confederate fortunes memorized, or is that all you?”

“Unfortunately, that’s just me,” she sighed, bringing her head back to rest on his shoulder.  “With a little of my grandmother tossed in from time to time.”

“You close to your grandmother?”

“Was, yes.  She passed a couple months back.”

He hated the shadows that invaded her eyes.  “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, me too.”  The shadows skittered away, and her eyes filled with happier thoughts.  “MeMaw took me and my sister in just before I turned ten and, for that birthday, she made me a Wizard of Oz quilt.  I’ve been grateful to have it lately.”

Wizard of Oz…

“So your fascination isn’t with rainbows or Judy Garland, but the Wizard of Oz?”

“Yep.  Had at least three dogs named Toto and a couple named Dorothy.  Even one we called Kansas.”

The vision of a young girl infatuated with witches, munchkins and flying monkeys amused Jon.  His daughter, Stephanie, had been the same way with Cinderella when she was four, in perpetual search of fancy dresses and glass slippers.

“Did you have ruby slippers like Dorothy?”

“I wish.”  Her dreamy-eyed response had his mouth tightening to keep from laughing at her.  “There were three Christmases in a row that I asked for them, but MeMaw could just barely keep me and Libby properly clothed and fed.  Frivolous things didn’t often find a way into the house.”

“Libby?  Is that your sister?”  Jon purposefully chose the conversational trail leading away from ruby slippers.

“Yeah.”  There was nothing but pure love shining from Cassidy.  “Liberty.  She’s six years younger than me and has always been a hellcat.”

“Liberty?  Unusual name.”

Her snort told him there was more to that story.  “Her birth certificate says ‘Liberty Belle’, but it’s spelled like the belle of the ball instead of the actual Liberty Bell.  How’s that for unusual?” 

“Okayy.”  He wasn’t sure if laughter would be construed as an insult, so he assumed a neutral tone when inquiring, “Why such an odd name, when yours is pretty average?”

There was another shadow.  This time it didn’t stop at the edges of her eyes, but bled out to cover her entire face. 

“Daddy was very patriotic, but bein’ a good Southern boy, his allegiance was torn between the United States proper and the Confederacy.  Libby’s name was his compromise.”

“I, uh, noticed that you speak of him in past tense.  Is that the reason you went to live with your grandmother?”

“Mhm.  We lost Mama and Daddy in a car wreck.”

“No wonder you were on my ass about bad days.”

She leaned up feather a kiss across his cheek and slid out of both his arms and the bed.  “I’ve had my share, and they tend to change the way you look at things.  Guess that’s what turned me into a fortune cookie.”

The shine on her cloud of happiness had gone dull, which didn’t impress him much.  She wasn’t made to be melancholy, so Jon berated himself for asking about her father’s death and driving her away.

Cassidy foraged in her overnight bag, bringing out a handful of clothes that he presumed she was going to wear.  That also didn’t impress him much and he leaned over to search the floor, ultimately reaching for the heap of white cotton he’d been wearing earlier. 

“Here.”  The t-shirt was tossed in her direction.  “Put this on.  It should be big enough to make you feel dressed.”

Good hand-eye coordination had her plucking it easily out of the air, with an amused smirk.  “I have clothes, you know.”

There was a knock at the suite door, alerting him that room service had arrived and, since social niceties dictated that he should not answer the door in the buff, he slipped into his jeans and zipped up.  Without bothering to fasten the button at the top, he stepped up beside Cassidy and hooked a finger under her chin. 

“And I like you without clothes.  My shirt is a compromise.  Slip it on and meet me in the living room.”

The bedroom door closed quietly behind him when he went to retrieve their dinner.

###

This was… different now.  Cassidy wasn’t entirely certain as to the reason why, but there had been a definite shift in the dynamic between them tonight.

Maybe because you started talkin’ about yourself.

The hem of his shirt slipped past her head to settle atop her thighs, and she acknowledged that the potentially revealing chit chat had been a mistake, but most of her life had been spent as an open book.  She wasn’t well-versed in subterfuge and distraction, and couldn’t say she much cared for either.

Fortunately, she wasn’t required to like her circumstances to survive them, and she pulled on a pair of panties to go with the shirt.

Stick to him.  He admitted his head is messed up.  You should’ve let him do the talkin’.

Should have, yes.  If that dynamic shift hadn’t happened, she likely would have, but Jon had progressed beyond being a casual lay.  Cassidy was finding that she not only had sympathy for him, but that he actually wasn’t as emotionally detached from the world as she’d first suspected.  Who in tarnation would have expected him to come back to bed and cuddle, of all things? 

He was looking at her like a real, relevant person and she couldn’t help but recognize that she was starting to view him the same way. 

“Dixie, get your sexy ass out here.”

Pushing a hand through her hair, she shook it from the roots outward and felt it settle around her shoulders as she reached for the doorknob. 

“Veggies are served?” she inquired with a sassy smile. 

“Veggies are served.” 

He was at the dining table beside the far window, removing plastic from a dinner salad.  From the looks of it, there were two – one for each of them. 

“You havin’ salad too?”  The fabric of the chair seat was rough against her nearly bare bottom and she rose, tugging the heathered cotton of his shirt to use as a shield. 

“I can be a pretend vegetarian with the best of ‘em.” 

The lines in his face were still there, but they weren’t cutting deep anymore when he speared the greens in a salad that was more undressed than he was.  The subtle remnants only reflected his age, instead of the troubles he’d been carrying. 

Not interested in eating unadorned greens, Cassidy selected what she believed to be a vinaigrette from the assortment of ramekins and drizzled it over the veggies. 

“In the interest of there being no misunderstanding…” he broached with a subtle wink.  “You’re staying all night, correct?”

Having just popped a forkful of greens in her mouth, she smiled around her food and nodded her head.  It had been a good while since she’d had regular sex and her body was starting to remember how pleasurable it was.  Call her a hussy, but she already craved the feel of his hard, hairy body covering hers again.

“Obie brought me the raw tracks from last night.”  He held up a wine bottle, with a questioning look.  When she nodded, he splashed a portion into the glass at her right hand.  “I thought you might want to take a listen.”

Her nose scrunched and she gave a slight shake of the head. “Not especially.”

“Well, I promised him I would listen to ‘Hurts So Good’, so I need to at least do that.”

That was a little different than listening to her own voice, and she was interested to know how it turned out.  “That one I'd like to hear.”

“Good,” he approved.  “You should know that he’s trying to sell me on putting you in my band.”

That little tomato she’d just swallowed stuck in her throat, and Cassidy went into an impromptu coughing fit.  She’d moved from living a lie to having hallucinations, because she couldn’t have heard him correctly. 

“’Scuse me?”

“Apparently bed isn’t the only place we’re compatible.”  Flirtatious eyebrows waggled up and down, and she couldn’t help but think how this lightness suited him so much more than the gray cloak of crap.  “It’s supposedly the Holy Grail of duets or something like that.  You know how hyper he is, so take it with a grain of salt.”

“What does that have to do with me and your band?”

One sinewy shoulder lifted in a shrug.  “I’m assuming he thinks your presence and voice are going to fill a void.”

The words were a paltry cover for something more significant, she could tell.  Was this part of his head being messed up?  Dare she ask?

He didn’t give her the chance. 

“Don’t get your hopes up too high, though.  I’m very much a creature of habit, and a superstitious son of a bitch on top of that.  When I find something that works, I don’t fuck with it, and a woman’s presence – any woman – on my stage is a definite example of fucking with it.”

Forget him and his superstition.  Cassidy’s existence wouldn’t survive being on his stage.  It screamed of nothing but bona fide disaster, and there was no way in the world she could entertain the idea even if it was offered to her on a sexy silver-haired platter.

Her fork came to rest across the top of her plate, and she touched the napkin to her mouth.  “They'll be sellin' mittens in Hell before I step foot on your stage."


From the look of insult that streaked across his features, Cassidy knew she had just told a proud papa that his baby was ugly as homemade sin.