16 - A Friend Indeed

"They'll be sellin' mittens in Hell before I step foot on your stage."

The out-of-character bitchiness – coupled with the look of utter disdain – hit him completely the wrong way.

“You might wait to be asked before refusing so strongly,” he recommended with a barely restrained sarcasm. 

“Shit,” she sighed.  “I knew as soon as I heard that come out of my mouth it wasn’t gonna be well received.  I didn’t mean it the way it sounded.”

“No?”  Jon knew his eyes were wide in that weird way that managed to take three inches off the height of his forehead.  “You didn’t mean that my stage was about three steps down from the shitty little thing at Tully’s?”

“Lord a’mighty, no!”  Incredulous baby blues rolled toward the ceiling.  “Let me try this again, please?”

Why the fuck would you immediately assume the worst of a girl who’s shown you nothing but sweetness and light?  Dial back the attitude and re-evaluate.

“Sure.” 

Cassidy leaned across the table, gently relieved him of his fork, and blanketed his hand with hers.  Sincerity oozed from her eyes, touch and words when clarifying, “Obie’s opinion of my abilities is very flatterin’, but I’m not qualified enough – or able – to perform at a level that can do anything but dull your stage.”

See?  It’s not you, it’s her. 

Wait.  That sounded like… 

Jon shook his head to physically derail that train of thought.  “I get a little touchy when I think my life’s work is being disparaged – God please don’t ever bring up the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame – so I’m sorry for getting my…  What did you call it?  Shorts in a wad?”

“Mhm.  It’s particularly mystifyin’ how that comes so easy for you, seein’ as you don’t even wear shorts.”

Her thumb stroked languidly over his knuckles, unbelievably awakening his dick.  How in the hell could he want her again soon, especially considering that she’d basically pissed him off thirty seconds ago?

Because she’s all out.  No secrets, no games.  What you see is what you get.  Oh, and her ass is spectacular.

“It’s been a long time since I met somebody like you.”

Her lips broke on a smile, and the flowing laughter tinkled like a motherfucking bell.  “You mean an outspoken country girl who is brazen enough to give you what you ask for, and most of what you want, in bed?”

What he actually meant, but would never confess, was that he hadn’t been this attracted to someone in a very long time.  Couldn’t actually pinpoint the last woman who’d retained his interest past one orgasm, much less a full night.  Cassidy was well into the second and, as of right now, he couldn’t see his interest waning anytime soon.

Again, all things he would never admit to.

“All those are admirable qualities,” he conceded with a grin.  “But I was talking about somebody who is happy enough for three people.  Somebody who at least acts like she doesn’t give a fuck who I am and what I might do for her.”

“Oh, but that’s where you’re wrong, darlin’.”  Removing her touch, she stood and crossed to the opposite side of the table, running light fingers through his hair as she leered down at him.  “I’m very interested in what you can do for me.  You were gonna convert me to your belief system, weren’t you?  All the orgasms I can stand, and one to grow on?”

He was overcome with the urge to sit her very fine ass on the table and eat her with an enthusiasm the salad hadn’t warranted.  To drag those orgasms out of her one-at-a-pleasurable-time until it was physically impossible for her to leave his bed.  Then he wanted her to stay in that bed and sleep while he wrote a dozen number one songs.

“Dixie…”

His words were interrupted by a melodic ringtone that was inordinately infuriating.  Whoever was calling had lousy timing, and he fully intended to ignore them in favor of the far more interesting things going on in his life right now.  Because if he answered that call to find his wife – or Obie – on the other end of the line, it was going to put a serious damper on his evening.

“You better get that, darlin’.” Cassidy gracefully slipped away to fetch the phone he’d left face-down on one of the end tables, returning to press a kiss to his mouth at the same time she pressed the phone into his hand.  “I’m just gonna go to the little girls’ room and give you some privacy.”

Jon glanced down at the screen and, seeing who the caller was, assured her, “You don’t have to do that.”

“Mm.  I think I should.  Holler when you’re done.”  She touched his cheek with a soft stroke and drifted away, closing the bedroom door behind her.

He wasn’t just attracted to her, and didn’t just consider her the key to his creativity.  He liked her.

“Yeah,” Jon brusquely answered the call, aggravated at the interruption.

“Well hello to you, too, asshole,” David Bryan’s voice drawled sarcastically.  “This is the thanks I get for ignoring your birthday last month, when I really wanted to throw a surprise party and invite all of Jersey?  I see how you are.”

A reluctant smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.  His old friend was so outrageous that there was no choice but to be amused by him.  It was either that or have a stroke, and Jon couldn’t afford the time off a stroke would necessitate.

“You and Rodney Dangerfield.  No respect.”

“Exactly!  Jesus!”  Dave huffed like a petulant child.  “Fortunately, I have the perfect way for you to make it up to me.”

“Which means you’re gonna move forward in asking for whatever you wanted in the first place, you stupid fucker.”

“Geeeeee...  That keen insight makes me think we've known each other for, what, forty years?”

“Damn near.”

“With that kind of history you should know by now to treat me like another wife.  Just nod and smile, because you’re going to give me what I want anyway.”

David wasn’t quite as hyper as Obie, but he was every bit as exhausting.  The man’s mind went a million random miles an hour, and he was insistent upon dragging everyone in the vicinity along for the ride.

“Ya wanna get to the point before I get old enough for a nursing home?”

“That’s sad, man,” Jon’s keyboardist lamented at the pissy attitude he received.  “I keep hoping you’ll get the stick outta your ass that Sambora put up there, but you seem pretty attached to it.” 

If Jon was lax about his definition of “intervention”, this would make the fifth one David had tried to enact since their guitarist’s departure almost – Jon looked at the date on his watch – make that a full two years ago - plus ten days.

“What do you want, Lema?” Jon sighed.  He’d really like to get this over with before he lost what was left of his Cassidy buzz. 

Finally –  finally – David dropped his Joker routine and turned serious.  “I just called to say hi and see how things were going.  If you wanna talk, that’s up to you.”

Because, as motherfucking annoying as David Bryan could be, he was a good friend.  He’d tried staging only five interventions in two years, but calls “just to say hi”  came every two or three weeks, disguised in various forms. Sometimes he was bitching about his kids never being home.  Other times, it was his wife’s shopping habits and yet others, it was to ask Jon’s opinion about some trumped up subject. 

“Things are goin’ okay,” Jon was able to legitimately reassure his friend for the first time since these calls had started.  “Songs are startin’ to come together for the album.”

Kind of.  At least I have one started, and an idea for another.

“Cool.  Job security, right?”  David and the drummer, Tico, had both put their feet down after the last tour, saying they wanted two years off before they’d consider it again.  Seeing as Jon wasn’t interested in losing any more band members, or touring himself, they were skipping the road show with this album.  “Hey, sounds like Obie thinks he found the next Bonnie Raitt down there.  Said you recorded a track with her.  What’d you think?”

“He seems to think she’s going to fill Sambora’s vocal shoes.”

“I didn’t ask what Obie thought.”

I was too interested in having sex with her – both during the actual recording and tonight – to pay attention, so I don’t have an opinion. 

“She’s good, but I haven’t listened to the track he's so nuts about.  I’m gonna do that in a few minutes.  Maybe I’ll have an opinion then.”

“I heard it,” Dave offered. 

“So what did you think?”

“Depending on how stubborn you wanna be, I’d say the band might be getting a makeover.”

That meant Obie was right.  It was good, and Jon was going to have to listen to the damn thing to see what the big deal was. 

Dave, being Dave, wasn’t content with just offering his prediction of the situation - he had to stir more shit.  “Wanna know what else Obie said?”

“I don’t particularly give a fuck, no.”

“Fine by me.  I’m still gonna ask for the favor.”

Oh God, they were back to that now.  Maybe he’d never find out the real reason behind this call.

“Two damn days later we come full circle,” Jon complained.  “What is it you want, already?”

“Since you asked so nicely…”  The idiot actually blew a raspberry into the phone.  How old was he?  Seven??  “I’m headed that way tomorrow.  You know her and how to find her.  Introduce me."

She’s more or less naked in my bedroom as we speak but there’s no way in hell I'm telling you that.

“Why?”

“Because I hear she’s drop dead gorgeous, can sing and has the disposition of an angel,” David recited very slowly, as if Jon was an idiot.  “My wife will forgive me if I wanna see this shit.”

“Goddamit, Bryan-"

“Oh, and because Obie asked me to beef up her piano chops.  Apparently, I’m ‘sitting on my dead ass doing nothing else, so I should do something productive’.  That’s a direct quote, by the way.”

That last part was an important piece of Dave’s explanation – very important.  It was the only thing that actually prevented Jon from telling his oldest friend to keep his ass in Jersey because Nashville didn’t need him.  Both fortunately and un-fortunately, the guy was amazing with eighty-eight piano keys and his tutelage could be priceless to Cassidy.  She did okay, considering she had zero training, but there wasn’t a doubt in Jon’s mind that she would benefit from Dave’s years of experience.

“I’ll see if she’s up for it,” Jon conceded.  “Her work schedule is crazy, though.  She’s on two weeks straight or something.”

“What is she, a nurse?”

“Bartender.”

Crickets would have been appropriate for the silence that ensued. 

“Sooo…”  David finally ventured.  “Since nobody's life depends on her working, is there a reason somebody’s not arranging a paid leave of absence to do this shit?”

Paid leave of absence. 

That would enable Cassidy to be on full-time muse duty, lounging naked in his suite while his creativity – and dick – overflowed.  David really was a motherfucking genius and Jon was thrilled he’d blown off med school to join the band. 

“Yeah.  A little paid vacation might be worth looking into.”