30 - Ever Been to Calgary?

Jon liked how it felt with Cassidy sitting in his lap.  The way she tucked so comfortably into his chest filled him with an enviable sense of contentment.  It didn’t matter that she reminded him of a little girl, turning her ankle this way and that to admire the red crystal shoes, Cassidy’s presence made things seem less bleak.

“Ever been to Calgary?” Jon wasn’t surprised in the least when she lifted her head to affix him with an inquisitive look.  The question appeared to be totally random in the wake of ruby slippers.

“Canada?  Can’t say as I have.  Is it nice?”

“Nice enough,” he reflected quietly, even though the mere mention of the place could make him break into a cold sweat.  “But I can’t say that I’m looking forward to going back.”

The face that was completely devoid of makeup had all but forgotten the coveted shoes and intelligent eyes perused his features, easily recognizing subtext when she heard it.  “This isn’t casual travelin’ the world talk, is it?” 

“No.”

“Alright.”  She moved to get up but he wouldn’t relinquish his embrace, so all that really happened was that she ineffectually tugged at him.  Cassidy stayed securely wrapped in his arms with her feet dangling over the arm of the chair and Jon used a coaxing hand to tuck her head back into his shoulder.

“Sit still,” he insisted.  “It'll be easier for me to talk if I don't have to see your reaction.”

Cassidy sighed, seeming a little frustrated, but she no longer fought against his hold.  Her petite frame softened a bit, although an underlying tension lingered.  Jon could relate seeing as he had his own underlying tension.

“So tell me about Calgary,” she invited, working her arm around him so that the embrace was mutual instead of a one-sided confinement.  “What happened there?”

One of the most miserable and humiliating nights of my life.

"It was the twenty-third show of the last tour.  April 2, 2013.  First date after the kids' spring break."  The memory was still a little too vivid for his taste but, as he’d become in the habit of doing, Jon pushed aside the paralyzing emotions to focus on the task at hand.  “When it was time for sound check, Richie – my guitarist, friend and songwriting partner – hadn’t shown up and nobody had heard from him.  Not long after, somebody got a text saying that - due to personal reasons - he wasn’t coming.  For that show or any other.”

Her hand snuck up to play in his hair, and the touch was as soft as her voice when murmuring, “Oh honey, I’m so sorry.”

This was why he hadn’t wanted to look at her while he talked.  Even though they were offered without much inflection, the words alone were pity enough; Jon didn’t want to risk seeing it in her eyes.

“Have you heard anything about this?”  Jon inquired, discounting the unwanted sympathy.  He wasn’t egomaniacal but it seemed like the entire free world had known every damn facet of that particular event.  It was reasonable to expect that Cassidy’s head hadn’t been buried under a rock.

“I saw a news blurb about Bon Jovi’s guitarist quittin’.  I don't imagine that scratches the surface of what you experienced.”

Actually, at the time, that single sentence pretty much covered it.  His guitarist quit and Jon didn't allow himself to think beyond that for a couple of days.  

After that, it had been a different ballgame because the cloud of depression blew in and hung over him like the sword of Damocles.  The doctors assured Jon it could be “easily managed” by popping a pill every day and, hating the way he’d felt, he popped them.  They hadn’t given him a fraction of the relief that the Southern Sunshine Girl had, though.

His grasp on her tightened, prompting her to prod, “So what did you do?”

What could he do?  Find a fucking guitarist who had a working knowledge of his songs.  Thank God the stand-in guitarist from last time was available to drop his life at a moment’s notice to help keep the Bon Jovi machine running.  If he hadn’t…

If he hadn’t, you would’ve found someone else.  You would’ve made it work. 

Damn right.  That’s what he was paid to do.

“I took care of business,” Jon responded to her query.  “Called a guy to fill in, but he wasn’t able to get there with two hours’ notice, so we pulled our shit together and figured out which songs could be performed at an acceptable level without a seasoned lead guitarist.  The rhythm guitarist stepped up, we decided who was going to cover vocal harmony and we went on as scheduled.”

“Oh, honey.”

“It was fine,” he disputed calmly, mostly because that’s what he needed to tell himself.  “It was a half-assed embarrassment that I had to apologize to the fine people of Calgary for, but it could’ve been worse.  Although I survived and my hundred grand donation to the city’s homeless foundation kept me from becoming persona non grata, I’m not anxious to go back there anytime soon.  The new guy got up to speed pretty quick, so I was saved from having to make the same apology in any other cities.”

“But…”  She tried to sit up, but Jon gently held her in place.  He still didn’t want to see her face.  Or maybe he didn’t want her to see his.  “Why didn’t you cancel?”

Jesus.  If he had a dollar for every time he’d heard that, Jon could’ve bought two football teams. 

“Tours require a lot of people and those people were counting on the paychecks they’d been promised.  I had an obligation to them, so cancelling was not an option.”

“And all the while your heart was broken.”

The murmured pity almost made him pissed.  It would have if she hadn’t been so genuine with her condolences and, since Cassidy was one of the few who put concern for Jon’s well-being in front of concern for Bon Jovi…  He ignored it without comment.

“We went forward, as scheduled, with eighty-one more shows on six continents.  During the course of that, Tico – my other friend and drummer – needed an emergency appendectomy followed by gall bladder removal, so I had to sub in a drummer for six of those shows.”

“Lord a’mercy,” she marveled.  “I don’t see how you survived.”

He hadn’t.  Not really. 

Never again could he embark upon a tour with the blissful ignorance of exactly how wrong things could go.  Never again would he schedule a tour without a cadre of primed replacement musicians on speed dial. 

“I'm not the same person I was before, so I guess I didn't survive.  But Bon Jovi did and all my crew had jobs.  That was what mattered most to me at the time.”

That was all he’d been able to focus on during the tour.  He’d had to.  Pushing his own feelings aside and looking out for the well-being of his organization was how he’d coped. 

It wasn’t until that New Year’s Eve, when he ushered out the clusterfuck of 2013, that Jon had realized he was ushering in 2014 numb.  That he’d pushed his feelings aside for so long, he may not  even have feelings anymore. 

Yeah, he definitely hadn’t survived.

“You’re not lettin’ me look at you,” she interrupted his mental meanderings.  “So I can’t be real sure, but I’m gettin’ the feelin’ that there’s been a change in what matters.”

“No.  If I had it to do all over again, I’d do the same thing.”  That was the God’s honest truth and he knew it as well as he knew his own name.  He would make all the same choices every single time to keep everybody’s lives together.  “My fucked-up head is a small price to pay.”

The hush that followed was deafening, and Jon almost regretted not seeing her face. It would at least allow him some idea of what thoughts she had filling the silence.

“Well, as I live and breathe,” she finally drawled.  “If it isn’t Jon of Arc.”

Small hands gently, yet resolutely, shoved at his arms.  Once he stopped resisting and allowed her to escape, Cassidy climbed to her feet and turned to plunk her tush on the coffee table, finally making their conversation the face-to-face variety.

Jon’s hackles rose when he got his first look at her features because what he found there was a million miles away from sympathy, condolences or pity.  Not in a good way, either.  Her usual sunny disposition was also glaringly absent, leaving behind a delicate scowl of disapproval.

“Jon of Arc?  What’s that crack supposed to mean?”

“Here I thought you were a smart man, but it turns out you’re just a special kinda stupid,” she sighed before calmly meeting his eyes.  “It means you’re a damn fool for sacrificin’ yourself to the greater good.  For sacrificin’ yourself for anything.” 

What the hell? 

He’d assumed she might have a little sage wisdom to offer him – insight on some finer point that he’d been missing that would help him put the whole fiasco in a better perspective.  That’s why he’d brought up the motherfucking subject.  It had never occurred to him that she would bust his balls.

“My crew-“

She flung a hand up to wordlessly interrupt the head of steam that was trying to bubble up.  “Normally, I would say this is none of my daggone business but, since you’ve effectively made it my business, let me say my piece.”

Jon bit the inside of his jaw to keep from cussing but tersely nodded.  She was right.  He had committed the potentially grave error of making this her business and that entitled her say whatever she wanted. 

He’d give her two minutes.

“Your crew, I’m sure, appreciates the heroic act of selflessness.”  She was being sarcastic.  Who knew the Southern ray of sunshine could be sarcastic?  “But did you ever consider you could keep their jobs and yourself, too?  Why were the two mutually exclusive?  Because you were bein’ a stubborn man who found it easier to pretend you weren’t affected than to deal with how it affected you?”

She shook her head and growled. 

“And because you didn’t deal with it when you should’ve, you dragged everybody else into it, makin’ them worry about you bein’ a damn mess.  David, at least.  I would assume the rest of your friends and family, too, since you said you haven’t been in a sharin’ mood.  What the hell were you thinkin’?”

“I was thinking that, if I had stopped to deal with that shit in the middle of a tour, I couldn’t have put myself out there to perform every night.  That was unacceptable.”

“Right.  Livelihoods and all that.”  Again with the sarcasm.  “Tour’s over, baby doll.  Start dealin’ with your shit.”

“Goddammit!”  He pushed to his feet, annoyed.  Annoyed with the implication that he was a dumbass, annoyed with her unrelenting assessment of the situation, and annoyed that he had to “deal” with this whole thing in the first place.  “If I knew how to do that, do you think I’d be ripping open my guts for your entertainment?”

There was a part of him that anticipated the declaration to elicit a little of her previous compassion.  When he glared down at her, however, he found that crystalline blue eyes were far from compassionate.  They were filled with nothing but a steely resolve that was reinforced by the flat line of her mouth.    

“Are you mad?”  His confusion at the question must’ve been obvious, because she clarified, “Not at me, ‘cause that don’t concern me much right now, and Tico couldn’t hardly help it.  So are you mad at Richie?”

Unwilling to search his mind while she was staring at him, Jon turned away and paced to the ever-faithful window, once again regarding the city of Nashville.  Was he mad?  Had he ever given himself the option?  He remembered mentally cussing Richie that first night, but he couldn’t say he’d been angry at the guitarist.  It had been anger about Jon’s own helplessness to control the situation more than anything.

“Since you don’t seem to know the answer,” her gentler voice came from behind him, sounding as though she’d swiveled her butt on the table to track his progress across the room.  “Lemme tell you, you’re not.  Anger isn’t somethin’ I think a man like you has trouble expressin’.  If I had to guess, I’d say your feelin’s are hurt.”

He was from fucking Jersey.  He’d grown up in the days before political correctness.  Jon’s feelings didn’t get hurt.

But you feel betrayed and isn’t that the same damn thing?

“Honey.”  She slipped up behind him, hugging his waist and resting her cheek against his shoulder blade.  “It only hurts when you pretend it don’t.”

The biggest problem Jon had was the way the whole thing had been handled.  If Richie had told him he didn’t want to do this anymore, they would’ve dealt with it.  Being in a band wasn’t a life sentence.  If he didn’t want to go on tour, they would’ve brought a replacement in with enough time to prepare.  No big deal. 

But to leave him hanging hours before a show...  And then…

“I haven’t seen or talked to him since.”

He felt a soft kiss laid next to his spine.  “Your choice or his?”

“Both, I guess.”

“Ever think about callin’ him?”

Once in a while but he didn’t know what he was supposed to say.  How’s it hanging?  Enjoying your life?  Was gutting me it worth it? 

Not happening.

“I’m not gonna do that.”

“Alright.”  Her arms loosened and she slithered around to put herself between Jon and the window, studying him with interest.  “You think he did it to be malicious?”

Malicious?  No.  Not part of Richie’s vocabulary.  He might look at things a little differently than a lot of people, but he was a genuinely nice person.  One of those free-spirit hippies that liked to chase rainbows and butterflies. 

Now that Jon was actually taking the time to think about it, he could almost visualize the scenario.  

Richie struggled, and had been struggling for a long time, to find something that made him forget that struggle.  Chances were, he’d been chasing a “butterfly” that made him feel good and he hadn’t wanted to interrupt it with something as mundane as work.  And, since the understanding in the band had always been that, if you don’t want to do this anymore, all you have to do is say the word… Richie had said the word.  Simple as that.

“No.  He’s not malicious.  Just a little self-involved at times.”

“Sounds like he might not realize he hurt your feelin’s?”

Stupid as it sounded, it was entirely possible.  Part of Richie’s problem was in not realizing how his actions impacted other people.  It’s why he’d continued to drink far longer than he should have.

“Since I always told him he could leave whenever he wanted, probably not.”

“Then you’re gonna have to figure out a way to accept an apology you ain’t ever gonna get.”

You wanted a fortune cookie, you got one.

“Well, that sounds just fuckin’ hunky dory, but you wanna give me something a little more than a Confederate proverb here?”

Cassidy laid her hands on his chest with a sigh and pushed up on tiptoe to dust a feather-light kiss against the corner of his mouth.  “You wish him well and move on,” she instructed gently.  “Focus on finding happiness again, instead of being hurt.”

Happiness. 

There was only one thing – one person – that came to Jon’s mind when he heard that word and she was standing right in front of him.

“I already found it.  You’re my happiness, Dixie.”

Her eyes clouded, but still she smiled at him with affection.  “That’s very sweet, but I’m talkin’ about in your real life.  I’m only a temporary fix.”

“You don’t have to be.” 

Yes, the idea had been in the back of his mind, but he still didn’t have a sustainable way to execute it.  Jon shouldn’t have even said it.  It was a stupid move made only so that he could gauge her reaction to the idea. 

“Yes, baby doll,” she whispered, easing out of his embrace with a forced grin. “I do.  Now I’m gonna go take a quick shower.  Afterward, we can take a ride out to the cabin to see my big secret, if ya want.”

Well, there’s her reaction.  Did you get a good gauge on that?