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.