10 - Adrenaline Rediscovered

Delaney was exhausted. 

A girl could only survive on an adrenaline high for so long, and it turned out that her limit was six hours.  During those hours, she was hyped for the religious soundcheck experience, stoked for the surreal backstage tour in the company of David Bryan, and jazzed about dinner in Catering with Matt (who turned out to be Jon’s brother) and his family.  That was all before she spent two euphoric hours rocking her booty off at the actual concert. 

Adrenaline and Hampton Water floated her through to the end, but when those stage lights went dark for the final time, Delaney’s adrenaline faded right along with them.  It was only seconds later they were replaced by house lights that prompted the mass exodus of concert-goers, but those few seconds were enough for all her physical defects to converge on her at once.

She was hot and sweaty.  Her hair was a matted mess at the nape of her neck.  Both feet ached thanks to torturous high heels.  The small of her back was painfully knotted as a result standing on concrete in those heels.  Her head throbbed from the lethal combination of a roaring crowd, three glasses of wine and a thumping bass drum that she could still feel vibrating behind her breastbone.

Face facts.  You’re getting old.

“I’m so freeping tired that may not make it back to Queens.  Give me those freepin’ sandals,” she bemoaned when they took a moment to sit before fighting the crowd.  Off came the offensive heels to provide at least a smidgeon of relief.  “Can I spend the night with you?”

“Girl.  If I remember where the hell I live.” Her normally put together sister looked as drained as Delaney felt.  “Can you believe this fucking night?  We were on that goddamn stage fondling the white mic stand.  David fucking Bryan took a picture of you groping the maracas you have a fetish for!”

Petra brought her face close enough for Delaney to smell the Hampton Water wine on her breath.  “Do you realize that we sat in the third row of Madison Square Garden for this concert and nobody even scanned our fucking tickets?  Son of a bitch.  That’s how exclusive this whole deal was, Delaney.  How do you wake up from that shit and go back to real life?”

It was a valid question that Delaney had no answer for, nor was she inclined to try and come up with one.  It was all she could do to slump back in the seat next to her equally slumped sister.  Tomorrow was going to be the Mondayest Friday ever.    

“I guess now we’ll know how Cinderella felt the morning after the ball.”

“Yeah, suicidal.”

Fatigue couldn’t keep her from laughing at Petra’s dire prediction, and after seeing the mascara-smudged eyes that laughed back, she wiped a pinky along her lower lid.  If Petra looked disheveled, Delaney must be a train wreck.

“You have a ponytail holder in that bottomless purse?”

“Of course.” 

While she dipped inside the Coach, Delaney gathered her hair into a bundle.  “You know what I think the weirdest part was for me?”

“Jon Bon Jovi asking you in song if you want to make a fucking memory?”

Delaney accepted the elastic band thinking that wasn’t weird, it was…  An incredible memory.

When the lights had gone down at the end of the main set, her mind raced with thoughts of what the encore might bring.  The possibilities were endless, but she didn’t dare speculate about specific song titles and set herself up for disappointment.  Whatever the next song, Jon Bon Blessed Jovi had chosen it for her.

That was good enough for her, and Delaney had shifted restlessly from one foot to other while the crowd fired up their cell phones to illuminate the darkness.  They were all becoming antsy by the time the band took the stage and the spotlight hit Jon, creating a roar of approval.

He was the modern Man in Black, with a long-sleeved black t-shirt, black jeans, black shoes.  Even the guitar he strummed fit the color-scheme, and when it resonated its first, repetitive plunking notes, Petra jabbed her with a sharp elbow.

They had both instantly recognized "her" song as “You Want to Make a Memory”. 

She’d thanked him twice today for memories, and his soft smile during the intro – the one that reached all the way into his eyes – told her he hadn't forgotten.  Their gazes only connected one other time during the song, but it was as deliberate as that smile.  Delaney was convinced of it.

She was also convinced that the lyrics he crooned were hers, so she sang right along with him.

“You wanna maaake a mem-or-yyy?

You wanna steal… a piece of tiiime?”

That was her stolen piece of time with Jon Bon Jovi.  Because, even with thousands of people surrounding them, it was the only time she’d ever been alone with him.

“I swear to God, if that man wasn’t married, I’d say he wanted in your pants.”

She’d had the same wistful thought, but Jon bought Mother’s Day flowers for his wife today.  He was very married, and that’s what led her ignore Petra's observation in favor of finishing her initial thought. 

“It was weird for me seeing them as ordinary people.   Don’t get me wrong.  I felt like a kid in a candy shop all night long, but it was a little bit like Dorothy peeking behind the curtain to find that the Wizard of Oz was just a man.”

“I guess I can understand that, but damn if another part of me isn’t even more amazed by the dedication and tenacity of those 'just' men.  Thirty-five fucking years, Delaney.  They’ve lived on that same hamster wheel for nearly thirty-five year and they still do this.  That’s astounding.”

“Yeah.”  Her hair was up and the crowd was starting to thin, so she nudged Petra.  “We’d better get out of here while we can still move.”

“Sad, but true,” her sister lamented and pushed out of the chair with a sigh.  “Hey.  Do you think Dave’s right in the head?  He must’ve worked ‘bounce’ into the conversation at least a dozen times.  That’s not normal.”

“It is a little peculiar, but as you pointed out, he took a picture of me with the maracas.  I don’t care how nuts he is.”

Though many of the concert-goers had made their exit, there were still lines on the stairs, and the sisters had to wait their turn to climb from the floor to the main concourse.  A dozen people were waiting in front of them when a looming black shadow appeared at Delaney’s side.  If she’d had any energy left, the unexpectedness of it would've had her jumping.  Instead, she merely looked up into the blue eyes that had become familiar through the course of her evening. 

“Hey, Matt.”

“Hey.  You wanna go to a party?”

The big man was undeniably married, since she’d had dinner with his wife and kids.  That meant he couldn’t be asking her out on a date.  Didn’t it?    

She blinked stupidly, trying to make the pieces connect, but it just wasn’t happening. 

“You’re gonna have to help me out here, because I’m a little punch drunk and regular drunk at this stage of the game.  Say what?”

The man she’d likened to Lucifer actually smiled and laughed.  “There’s a little party scheduled in the J.P. Morgan Club.  Jon sent me to invite you and Petra.”

Holy flatulent cow in the Hindenberg.

She now had new evidence to contradict that six-hour adrenaline study.  Apparently, even after six hours, the human body could produce another burst that was capable of dragging her away from the edge of exhaustion and/or death while simultaneously eliminating all thought of aches and pains. 

“I think she swallowed her tongue, so allow me to accept on her behalf.”

For once, Petra’s interference was both welcome and appreciated.  “Yeah.  What she said.”

“Cool.  Then let’s go.”

Receiving several curious stares as they stepped out of line, they accompanied him through the barrier that marked the line between backstage and the arena floor. 

“Do you think we might make a stop at the nearest ladies’ room?” Petra casually posed.  “It was a long show and I drank a lot of wine.”

“Yeah, sure.”  If he was bothered by the delay, nobody would ever know it.  The smile had faded back into the same stoic expression that Delaney had come to associate with Matt Bongiovi, and he pointed them in the right direction with, “I’ll meet you at Catering.  You can find it, right?”

“Oh, I don’t need to-“

“We can find it,” Petra cut off Delaney’s denial that she needed to visit the ladies' room and latched onto her arm, practically dragging her toward them.  “Thanks, Matt.  We won’t be a minute.”

“I don’t have to pee and my feet hurt.  Why couldn’t you go by yourself?” Delaney complained as she was pushed through the doorway.  

“I don’t have to pee either, but you’re not going to an after-party looking like that.”

Delaney peered into the huge mirror that her sister pointed to and immediately conceded the point.  A few minutes ago, she’d only thought she looked like a train wreck.  Now she had proof. 

“Take down that ponytail.”

She didn’t even argue with Petra before pulling at the elastic band.  “Do you have anything in the bag that will help?”

“Of course.” 

That seemed to be her standard answer when quizzed on the contents of her purse, and it was confirmed when she plunked down a cosmetic bag the size of most people’s handbags.  Inside was nearly the same arsenal of cosmetics that was pushed on Delaney when they were getting ready this afternoon.  

“Your purse scares me.”

Petra didn’t pause in blotting the shine from her face.  “Don’t waste your energy talking when it’ll take all you’ve got to look presentable.”

{{{

Jon smiled and laughed at the man whose name he couldn’t recall.  Normally, talking to someone he couldn’t identify would be bothersome, but tonight he didn’t care.  There was no need to remember this guy, because Jesse had all that under control.  Jon’s role was to pimp the Hampton Water wine and do some glad-handing.  His eldest son was responsible for all the heavy lifting by getting these wine industry connections to the show and subsequent party.

In reality, it wasn’t so much a party as a networking opportunity.  The aesthetically neutral J.P. Morgan Club was accessorized with strategically placed pink linens and flowers, ornate ice buckets packed with wine, and an ice sculpture of the Hampton Water logo.  Tonight’s concert was simply a convenient opening for Jesse to work his marketing juju.

The kid was good, and Jon had no qualms about playing second fiddle to him in this endeavor.

“But, really… is rosè ever out of season?  It’s not in my world,” he emphasized to the nameless man while covertly scanning the room.

There were a couple of Jon's friends in attendance, along with a few family members, but that was it for his portion of the guest list.  Even his band had gone their separate ways.  In fact, Dave was having his own party somewhere else in the building, after yammering in Jon’s ear all frigging night about the Gidget twins.

“Delaney is one of those maracas girls, so shake ‘em good tonight, Boss.” 

“Who knew twins could be so different?” 

“Damn, it’s funny to watch them bitch at each other.” 

“I introduced them to Gabby.  She’s going to work them into her stand-up routine.” 

“What color are their eyes anyway?” 

“They’re having a good time out there, huh?”

“I bet she’d be a helluva rebound girl.  Sure you don’t wanna give her a test bounce?”

On and on he went before, during and after the show until Jon almost duct taped his mouth shut.  He would have if they hadn’t needed the backing vocals, but it turned out that taping his mouth shut wouldn’t have mattered much. 

“Oh, yeah,” Dave had said oh-so-casually during the break before encore, as though he’d remembered something of importance.  When Jon's head popped through the neck hole of a fresh shirt, it was to find a phone screen hovering in front of him.  “I did mention she’s a maracas girl, didn't I?”

What he waved so deliberately in Jon’s face was a picture of Delaney with the maracas.  She cradled the handles like a lover’s face, but only half of her face was visible in the photo – because she’d turned in profile to kiss the damn things.

Such a blatant display of fandom would ordinarily either amuse him or repulse him.  It was always a toss-up and depended upon his mood of the moment. With Delaney’s single ambiguously colored eye shining above her deep-cut dimple, it was neither.

Jon’s reaction was actually more of a discovery.  His Ben Franklin moment revealed that a digital image of her could electrocute him almost as acutely as the live version.  

The realization was both intriguing and bothersome, and before he could convince himself differently, it had coaxed him to indulge in some Delaney-esque impulsiveness.   While everyone else climbed back onstage for the encore, he dawdled just long enough to recruit Matt’s help in carrying out that impulse.

It had seemed simple enough until his bodyguard brother shadowed him all the way to the dressing room after the show.  Matt wasn't quite as big a fan of impulsiveness as Delaney and Jon were.  

“I can't remember the last time you invited a girl backstage after the show, so I'm gonna ask.  Why?  Because I'm just bustin' your chops with the "Hall of Fame" thing.  Do we even know if she's married?”

Stripping his shirt off, Jon had considered the question.  All those rings she wore told him nothing about her marital status, but he knew more about his own marital status than Matt did.  The bottom line was that it didn’t matter if there was a husband waiting at home, because Jon wasn’t going to act on the electricity between himself and Delaney. 

That didn’t change his desire to know the little florist.

He'd like to spend five uninterrupted minutes alone together, just to find out if her intrigue carried beyond a superficial level.   That wouldn’t happen tonight, and he knew it.  Regardless, he still had his reasons for wanting to see her and wouldn't explain them.  

All Matt got was a blunt, “Because I want to.”

Next post: Thursday, August 16