18 - Just Another Day

“Hey you,” Cassidy softly interrupted him from the suite sofa.  Jon was scribbling down another chord notation and didn’t look up right away.  “How is your friend gettin’ from the airport?”

“Huh?”  He flipped his wrist to check the time and saw that Dave’s eleven o’clock flight should be landing about now.  “Hired driver, probably.”

“Okay, just makin’ sure you didn’t need to be someplace.”  Smiling, she set aside the magazine she’d been reading for since she’d gotten back from running a couple of errands and stood, the baby pink t-shirt clinging to her curves almost as perfectly as her faithful Levis.  “I should probably go make sure all my stuff is put away so it doesn’t look like I’m stayin’ here.

“Good idea,” Jon agreed absently, this morning’s melody still bouncing around in his head as he pieced together bits of phrases.  The only thing he had definitively was “life is beautiful” and an up-tempo melody that reminded him a little of Cassidy, seeing as she’d been bopping her head to it as he worked out the chords.  The lyrics though…

“Hey.”  This time she was standing at his left elbow in the Barbie doll high heels that matched her shirt.  “Since I’m gonna have to keep my hands to myself once he gets here, I want a little something to tide me over.”  Cassidy bent at the waist, slender fingers grasping the back of Jon’s neck as she took his lips and immediately slid her tongue inside his mouth. 

Through the songwriting fog, he felt the groan rise from the back of his throat and he pushed her tongue back to take control of the kiss.  The flavors of her earlier breakfast – black coffee and fruit – pervaded his taste buds when he dipped in to sample, and his left hand slipped up to reverently knead her ass. 

Their “friendship” so far had been defined by a flagrant disregard for personal space.  She let him grope, pet and have anything that caught his interest and, in turn, wasn’t shy about climbing onto his lap or burying her face there.  They were definitely in the honeymoon phase of this thing and that would make it challenging to play her off as a mere acquaintance when Dave got here.

Jon would have to consciously remind himself that she was a near stranger as far as the rest of the world was concerned.  To him…  Well, she was his Dixie girl.

“Thanks,” she whispered against his mouth after the kiss broke.  The smile she rained over him was lazy and heavy-lidded, and he knew that she’d welcome his “help” in the bedroom but let her sashay away in favor of finishing a bit more work.

“Don’t screw around in there,” he cautioned.  “With no luggage and a curbside driver, it won’t take him long to get here.”

“Alright.” 

With that, the bedroom door was closed on a muted click, and Jon’s attention went back to the note pad in front of him. 

It had been a productive morning since he separated himself from her warm body at six o’clock, awakened by the melody that was still commanding his attention.  He couldn’t seem to escape the little hook, but the lyrics had been slow to come as he’d tried over and over to channel a scenario that was both appealing and required the reminder that life is beautiful. 

The topic that had ultimately come to the forefront was one that he wouldn’t have chosen on purpose, but his creative vibe felt like it was in a new infancy.  It had him afraid to stifle anything until it had grown stronger and that’s how he found himself delving indirectly into the decline of his marriage.

New gets old, the night gets cold, the sad goodbye, life is beautiful. 

The sky is cracked, we can’t go back, dry your eyes, life is beautiful. 

And, as an explicable byproduct, his current situation bled into that along with his culpability for it. 

I can’t save me from my sins, innocence my long lost friend.

The effort wasn't something that flowed easily, but it felt more real than the fluffy bullshit he’d been trying to pass off as songwriting. It was real enough that he felt the emotional drain of the past few hours pulling at him.

The Tak was put aside and Jon stood to stretch both arms toward the ceiling with a weary groan. 

While he appreciated the progress and was relieved to discover Cassidy’s presence hadn’t been a fluke, he needed a break from himself.  It would be nice to see Dave, listen to his craziness and mentally distance himself from his thoughts for a while.  Then he’d come back here and lose himself in Dixie before going to sleep and starting all over again. 

It was a routine he could get used to. 

Rotating his neck to relieve the stiff muscles, his eyes shot toward the phone on the table when it pealed.  The caller’s name was visible from where he stood and Jon sighed, wondering whether he’d unintentionally summoned her.

“Hello?”

“Hi,” his wife greeted cordially.  “Do you have any idea when you might be coming home?”

Jon meandered toward the Nashville view that had captured his attention last night and absentmindedly inspected the cityscape as he replied, “I dunno.  A week or so? Why?”

“Because my sisters want to do a girls’ weekend and I was hoping you’d be here to stay with the kids.”

“What weekend is it?”

“This weekend, as in two days from now.”

A frustrated hand rubbed across his forehead to ease the phantom headache that could easily develop.  Jon wasn’t ready to leave Nashville.

“What about my parents?  Did you ask them?”

“They’re on a cruise this week, remember?” he was reminded a bit testily.  “The one we got them for Christmas?”

“Yeah, I remember.  It just slipped my mind for a minute.”

He was screwed.  He couldn’t deny her.  She kept the house and his kids together and didn’t bitch when he wandered the globe.  She also didn't ask any questions when he got home. 

And you don’t ask any questions of her.

That sparked an interesting thought.  What if this weekend didn’t involve her sisters at all, but some other guy? 

What if it does?  Did you forget that there’s a sexy Confederate in the next room? 

No, he definitely hadn’t forgotten.  He just optimistically speculated that it might be nice if he and Dorothea didn’t feel obligated to hide their extracurricular activities from each other.  What if they agreed to openly schedule time away from one another, without judgment or ensuing questions? 

It would certainly alleviate what was left of his conscience. 

“Dorothea, can I ask you a question?”

“What?”

Now that he was hovering on the brink of discovery, he hesitated.  Should he stay happily ignorant of any indiscretions she may be having, or did he push with the hope of creating an opportunity for some kind of mutually open relationship that only the public was ignorant to?   

“Where are you and your sisters going?”

“A spa resort in the Poconos.”

His decision to go with ambiguity was a bust because her intended destination told him nothing.  She could be going with her sisters or having a romantic tryst. 

Why are you suddenly so interested in rocking the boat?  The current state of affairs is working just fine.

Because, for the first time, he found himself wondering whether she might want a divorce. 

“Jon?”

“Yeah,” he sighed, deliberately pushing his thoughts away to address her request, which was incredibly bad timing considering his new arrangement with Cassidy.  His kids, however, took priority over everything and that included songwriting.  “When do you need me there?”

“We’re meeting at the resort for happy hour on Friday.  It would be helpful if you could be home by noon.” 

“I’ll see you then.”

“Thank you.  Have a safe trip.”

The phone was just disappearing into his pocket when Cassidy emerged from the bedroom with that little backpack thing slung over her shoulder, as if she’d just arrived.  Her Barbie doll shoes sank into the carpet as she dropped the bag into a chair and turned to offer him a frontal view of her casual ponytail and always impeccable makeup.

“You have a complex about bein’ short?” he asked with a liberal dose of amusement, using his chin to gesture toward her high heels.

“Honey, I just like bein’ a girly girl.”

“Yet you don’t have the blood red nails that most girly girls go for.”

Her shrug was utterly unconcerned.  “Just not somethin’ I ever got into.”

A loud knock on the door alerted them as to the arrival of company, and Jon moved toward the door.  It was only at the last second that he remembered Dorothea’s call and its impact on Cassidy.   

“Hey,” he spoke over his shoulder.  “Change of plans for the weekend.  I’ll fill you in later.”

“Alright.”

With a slight nod, he watched her straighten the magazine on the table and then pulled the door open to greet his friend. 

“Well if it isn’t a Jersey Jew in Nashville,” Jon drawled, pulling David into a brief man hug before stepping aside to allow him entry.

“And if it isn’t a guy who actually looks like Jon Bon Jovi instead of a fucking zombie.  Damn, man, I was starting to think you were never gonna look good again.”

Completely disregarding the commentary about his appearance, Jon turned to extend an arm toward the room’s other occupant.  “Dave, this is Cassidy Starr.  Cassidy, meet David Bryan, idiot extraordinaire.”

A low wolf whistle rent the air. 

“Forget what I said.  You still look like shit next to her.”  David strode forward with his hand outstretched and, when she laughingly offered hers in return, he wrapped it up and brushed a kiss across the knuckles.  “Cassidy, I’m a huge fan of sweet tea, the Confederate flag and professional wrestling, but you could easily be my very favorite thing about the South.”

Her head tipped back with a delighted chortle, and Jon crossed his arms to observe them with a smile.  Women always had this reaction to Dave’s overblown brand of charm.

“Why, I do declare, Mr. Bryan.  You say the most flatterin’ things!”

“He’s so full of shit, his eyes should be brown,” Jon advised in an expressly bored voice.  “I’ve heard that exact line a dozen times.”

David withdrew one hand from her to throw up a middle finger behind his back. 

“And I’m sure it was true every time,” she defended the curly headed one with a flirtatious wink before separating herself to occupy her traditional spot on the near-end of the couch. 

“Not only can she sing, she’s brilliant.  I predict a career that is equally brilliant!”

That copper ponytail tipped to the side with curious interest.  “You’ve heard my singin’, huh?”

“I have, indeed, my lovely Southern belle.”  He moved her bag from the chair closest to him, relocating it to an end table and replacing it with his ass.  With a jerk of his head toward Jon, he praised, “You make this guy sound good.”

“Ahhhhh, fuck.” 

David snorted at the lusty curse.  “You haven’t even listened to it, have you, Jonny boy?”

“I got busy writing and forgot.”  Jon grabbed the Mac and dropped onto the opposite end of the couch.  Between negotiating the vacation deal with her and slaking his need for her body, there hadn’t been time last night.  This morning he had been engrossed in writing.  “You wanna hear us, Cassidy?”

“I believe I do, yes.”

“So tell me all about you, Copper-haired Cutie,” Dave invited, kicking one ankle onto the opposite knee to settle comfortably in the chair. 

To her credit, Cassidy’s eyes rolled at that one, recognizing blatant overkill when she heard it.  “I was born in the woods on a snowy eve and am makin’ my family proud with an illustrious bartendin’ career.  Lord willin’, I’ll be addin’ the deep fryer to my resume soon.  That ‘bout covers it.”

Jon navigated the track list in search of the one he wanted, snorting softly.  It was nice to see the Joker getting a fair dose of bullshit tossed back at him for a change.  “First take or second?  Dixie?”

His keyboardist nailed him with a look of interest.  “Dixie, huh?  I can see it.”

The woman in question made a light, chastising swat at David’s knee while simultaneously throwing a silent “what the hell?” toward Jon.  “Second one is prob’ly better.”

He mentally agreed with her assessment and clicked the last entry on the list.  It took a couple of seconds, but the familiar sound of his Tak was soon flowing through the laptop’s speakers, followed by his own unimpressive vocals.  He’d been half-assing it since Cassidy’s ass had been far more interesting at the time, and he now tuned out the first verse, waiting her contribution to the chorus. 

When it arrived, he selected a random spot on the floor so that he could listen critically, without distraction.  Cassidy’s eyes fell to him at least once, but he kept his attention affixed throughout the chorus and her part of the next verse.   Not wishing to invite an interruption, he maintained that position until the end of the song and, even then, he still didn’t meet the eyes of anyone in the room.  He just paid attention to the Mac and did what was necessary to stop the media player. 

“I meant to ask Obie, but forgot to,” David broke the subsequent silence.  “How much time did you guys put in on that before recording?  As tight as it is, I’m assuming a while?”

Jon finally looked up, seeking out Cassidy, who he found to be a bit shell-shocked.  He couldn’t say that he blamed her.  It wasn’t every day that you discovered how well your voice translated to recording, and hers had translated like the friggin’ Rosetta Stone. 

“That was the second take,” Jon responded to his friend’s question, while his mind raced in many different directions. 

“The second recorded take.”

A shake of his head dispelled that assumption.  “We did that song twice, and it was recorded both times.  No rehearsal.”

“Holy shit.”

For once, Jon wasn’t compelled to bicker with his buddy.  ‘Holy shit’ pretty much summed it up.