50 - Sacrifice & the Status Quo

Water sluiced down Cassidy’s back, so near scalding that she momentarily considered dialing back the temperature, but decided against it in the end.  The little bit of discomfort was a nice distraction from the rat’s maze that her mind was rolling through like last week’s dust bunnies.

She was sorry that Jon was out there making an obligatory call to his wife because those pictures made it look like he was drooling over Cassidy’s boobs.  That being said, she supposed that there should be some sort of sacrifice when one consciously chooses adultery, and maybe this was his. 

He would, no doubt, survive it.

The person she felt bad for was the woman on the other end of the line.  As far as Cassidy knew, his wife hadn’t asked for this – even if she suspected that it was happening.  Vague suppositions about the nameless, faceless women whom her husband may or may not be dipping his wick into could be easily dismissed.  Being force-fed a visual that seemingly provided confirmation was something else entirely, and Cassidy sympathized with Dorothea Bongiovi. 

Don’t you think you have enough of your own worries without takin’ on hers?  Their marriage is none of your beeswax. 

Cassidy’s head rolled back and forth on her neck as she begged the muscles to unknot beneath the brimstone shower spray. 

Managing the details of her trials and tribulations wasn’t something that usually daunted Cassidy.  She wasn’t daunted now, in fact – she just didn’t want to do it.   Avoidance was much less taxing than trying to slog through the swampland of tedious practicalities that had to be addressed.   

Coffee would boost her willingness to take on the unwanted chores of choosing a fresh hair color, adopting an alternate name, locating a different town and acquiring another job that paid cash so that she wasn’t required to supply a Social Security number.  Oh, and digging up the damn gold.  She couldn’t forget that.

Easy, peasy, right? 

The groan of disgust echoed off the glass and tile shower. 

Damn you, Uncle Stanley, for being a greedy SOB.

Then there was this thing with Jon – and her faux music career.  The option of continuing either had been taken from her with the click of the shutter and she regretted the loss more than was appropriate.  There was no way they could maintain a secret relationship since those photos had surfaced and insinuated things that were true.

You’re not a stupid bubble head.  You knew all along that those weren’t goin’ anywhere, so don’t you dare mourn a selfish indulgence that you’ve thoroughly enjoyed. 

Mourning was not on her itinerary but the reminder to herself wasn’t unwanted.  Like Jon, she had no regrets and didn’t want sadness to taint the irreplaceable memories that had come with meeting him.  Cassidy wanted to covet her mental pictures and videos of this time so that she could indulgently revisit them whenever she needed a happy brainwave.

Her family be damned, this was going to be a period in her life which she remembered fondly.

Family. 

Libby. 

It wasn’t likely that her sister had seen the pictures, considering she wasn’t much of an internet surfer, but Cassidy should probably tell her anyway.  Perhaps she’d get the picture from Jon and send it.  At the very least, it would be nice to have the photo for herself.

Maybe that seemed a little like acquiring the gun that a shooter had used in an assassination attempt, but the remark about getting a selfie with him wasn’t completely facetious.  It had occurred to her sometime during the past couple of days that she would appreciate having a photograph, and she wouldn’t turn her nose up at one that blatantly showcased his desire.  It was, after all, the basis of their… friendship.

With her hair washed and body bathed, Cassidy took just a moment to rest her forehead against the tile wall and savor the pelting water.  Once she stepped out the glass shower door, she would have to start corralling ducks and putting them in order whether she felt like doing it or not. 

An extra hand in choosing their order would be much welcomed. 

Lord, it’s me again.  I reckon You already know what’s goin’ on with those photos.  I’m gonna trust that You have this under control for whatever suits You, but I’d appreciate a little direction for myself.  Where am I gonna go to find another job that won’t ask for ID?  Where is Beauregard Beasley?  Why can’t this be over?  And if You could smooth things over for the Bongiovis that’d be nice, too.  Sorry for bein’ so needy today.  Some days are just a little more challengin’ than others, as I expect You know.  Thanks for lendin’ an ear and keepin’ things from goin’ too crazy.  In Jesus’s name, Amen.

###

Jon stood, once again, in front of the window and gazed out up on the view of Nashville with the nubby carpet digging at the soles of his bare feet.  He’d put on athletic shorts and a sleeveless t-shirt to receive coffee from room service and held a steaming cup of it in his left hand while waiting for Dorothea to answer the phone. 

“Good morning.”  Her tone was so friendly that it was hard for him to believe she had an agenda that included ripping him a new ass. 

“Good morning,” he returned cordially, twisting to park his coffee on the dining table before crossing an arm over his waist and returning to the view.

“Sleep well last night?”

Was that sarcasm?  Or his conscience superimposing a layer of derision over an innocent question?

“I slept okay,” he provided neutrally, electing to take the question at face value.  “How are the boys?” 

Jesse had returned to Notre Dame after Spring Break a couple of weeks ago and Stephanie had her own apartment in New York.  With their two oldest living a mostly independent life, the two younger boys were the only ones still underfoot.  Although at eleven and thirteen, they weren’t really small enough to be classified as “underfoot”.  They were around and required reining in from time to time.

“They’re fine.  Jake is supposed to ask a girl to the spring dance today and he’s a little nervous about it.  Romeo has decided he wants to play soccer or baseball this summer, so I’m trying to find a league.  Nothing earth shattering.  The most excitement here has been my phone blowing up with those damn pictures.”

The emergence of the topic that he’d been expecting had Jon turning away from the city and taking a seat at the desk to restlessly tap his thumb against it.  On a positive note, she didn’t seem angry. 

“You know those aren’t what they look like.”

“They never are,” she observed dryly.  “Who is she?”

God, he hated having to downplay who Cassidy was – who she was to him – even to his wife.  Temptation enticed him to give up the truth, but he didn’t possess a precise enough definition of what the truth was.  She was still just… Cassidy and he didn’t think that answer was going to fly. Even so, it was best to keep it simple.

“Cassidy. Obie’s newfound talent.” 

“And where was Obie?”

Jon had no goddamn idea.  He didn’t even know if Obie was still in Nashville when those pictures were taken or if he was fucking around with hot rods in Jersey.  Admitting that wasn’t high on his priority list and, to avoid doing it, he provided the reason for Cassidy’s presence.

“I had a business meeting and Cassidy is friends with the guy, so she joined us.  You remember me telling you I met one of the Titans’ owners?  She’s the one who introduced me, annnndd…”  He created a dramatic pause and mental drumroll.  “… last night he offered me first bid on the Titans – sole ownership.”

There.  That should put the spotlight on something he actually wanted to talk about.

“Wow.”  The quietly lackluster response was as far removed from Cassidy’s reaction as an ant was from an elephant.  “This is the opportunity you’ve been waiting for.”

“Damn right.” 

His chest puffed figuratively out as he waited for the expected pat on the back.  She might not be excited about it, but she would commend his accomplishment.  Dorothea was great about acknowledging that kind of shit.

“Well… congratulations.  When are you planning to come home?”

His figurative chest deflated. 

Okay, this was weird, even for her.  After being at his side for the two decades he’d been lusting after a football team, it was finally within his grasp and she wasn’t even trying to act like she cared.  That was out of character. 

“I hadn’t thought about it.  Why?”

She sighed quietly.  “I mentioned that it was time to have that talk and I’d rather have it in person.”

Jon’s gut roiled and he pushed himself out of the desk chair to retrieve his cup.  Her unusual behavior had him dreading the talk that he hadn’t been dreading before and, if his stomach was going to churn like a washing machine, there should be something in it.

“Okay.  When?” he asked after taking in a swig of coffee that wasn’t cold but far from hot.

He had no idea where their talk was going to take things, but a change of some kind would inevitably follow and change wasn’t his favorite thing.  The familiarity of the status quo made him comfortable and this conversation wasn’t going to end with him keeping his quo. 

Stop being a pussy.  You were the one who wanted to have this talk in the first place, remember?  Open marriage and all that? 

He had, but now that Dorothea was the one driving it…?  After seeing his picture with Cassidy…?  Jon was no longer confident that the final destination was one where he wanted to arrive. 

“Today.”

He detected movement in his peripheral vision and turned to find Cassidy on the verge of stepping into the living room.  Her hair was freshly dried, but she wore no makeup – only his white button-down shirt and a frown.  While the vision of her bare legs beneath the tail of his shirt provided new insight on its appeal, the frown didn’t belong and he wasn’t going anywhere until it was erased.

Seeing the phone pressed to his ear, Cassidy put her hands up in silent apology and started to backpedal to the bedroom, but Jon stopped her with a shake of his head.  He pointed toward the room service cart in a mute offering of coffee, and she nodded her acquiescence before moving in that direction.

No.  There was no way he was leaving Cassidy today – or maybe tomorrow either.  He wouldn’t board a plane for Jersey until they found a definite solution to the problem of her unwanted exposure.   There were “complicated” things she needed to explain to him, and then they would formulate a game plan that would keep her off her family’s radar until the gold situation was resolved. 

The exact details of “resolved” needed laid out for him, too.  Running a race was fine, as long as there was a concrete finish line somewhere in the distance, and he needed to know where it was.  Without that understanding, he couldn’t gauge how close they were to the end of the race.

“I can’t get away today.  How about Saturday?”

“Tomorrow.”

Fuck.  Negotiating with Dorothea had never been easy once her mind was set.  He knew that, but it had been so long since they’d engaged in it that her demanding counter-offer surprised him. 

Leaning his ass against the edge of the desk, Jon’s eyes locked on the beautiful redhead who noiselessly sipped her coffee.  She had taken up his spot at the window to survey what he assumed was pedestrian traffic on the sidewalk in front of the hotel and, even with the frown, she radiated a serenity that he envied.

“Night.  Tomorrow night,” he firmly declared to his wife, hoping like hell she’d accept that without further debate.  He wanted this phone call finished, but tomorrow night was his final offer.

“Fine.” 

“I’ll text an ETA when I board,” was what he offered in lieu of gratitude for her consent.   It was just as well that he didn’t verbalize it, because her next statement incited enough annoyance to blow his gratitude to Hell.

“I’d appreciate if you could manage to stay out of the tabloids in the meantime.”