17 - Generosity

[3:19 PM]PETRA: Do you have time to talk?

Jon reared back at the control board with a sigh. 

It had been three days since the discovery of Delaney’s memory lapse, and during that time, the doctors and her family had worked together to determine that it was a good news/bad news scenario.  The good news was that there was only about a week of her life she didn’t remember living.  The bad news was that she lost a week of her life. 

Medical professionals adamantly insisted it wasn’t that unusual given the severity of the blow to her head.  Oftentimes with mild brain trauma, the mind lost information that was in transit from short-term to long-term memory.  It was just "one of those things", and she may or may not regain that which was lost.  It was all up to Delaney and the way her brain healed. 

Other than the inconvenience of having missed a slice of her life, she was declared to be fit and mentally sound.  She had the ability to retain post-accident information and the headache was controlled with over the counter medication, so they released her the day after Jon and Dorothea visited the hospital.  Her only instructions were to take it easy and spend a couple of days with a friend or family member - just in case.

Jon gathered that the duty fell to Petra more than anyone, since she’d been diligent in providing him with periodic text message updates.  Some he responded to, like "good news" for one that said the headaches finally seemed to be gone.  Others, he didn’t even acknowledge receipt of.   There were only so many times he could say he was sorry, and besides that, his ego was irrationally bruised. 

Seconds after consciously deciding he wanted to be more than a casual acquaintance with Delaney, she revealed that she didn’t even know they were acquaintances.   The week she lost from her memory encompassed his flower delivery and everything that followed, leaving her with zero recollection of having met, spoken to or spent time with him.

Aside from the bullshit wounded male pride, this crazy twist of fate also forced him to reconsider what the fuck he was doing.  

What he knew about Delaney….  Hell, he still didn’t even know her last name.  What he did know might fill a single shot glass.  She oozed self-confidence, would try to charm a charging rhino and had a mysterious life tragedy that was referenced again at the hospital on Sunday when Petra said something about blessings in disguise making this Mother’s Day worse yet better. 

Jon purposely didn’t ask for clarification of the cryptic remark.

He actually felt like he knew more about Petra, even though he’d gained that knowledge against his will.  The more polished twin always made a point of never crossing the line of impropriety when it came to him.  He was certain she would never ask him outright for anything, but she was a fucking pro at dropping bait that lead in the direction she wanted him to go.  

So far, he hadn’t seen anything genuine from the woman that Delaney didn’t inspire – specifically, embarrassment and aggravation  – and it made Jon hesitant to talk to her today.  Not knowing what was on her agenda meant he'd by flying blind and that was not his favorite thing.

He'd almost consider blocking her if she wasn't his only link to Delaney.  

It made more sense to just get Delaney’s number and use it to check on her recovery first-hand.  He acknowledged that, and if she even vaguely remembered that they knew one another, he might have gone that route.  Under the circumstances, it made him feel like a fucking stalker and it turned out he didn’t like being a stalker any more than he liked being a stalkee.     

That left him stuck with Petra to get the information he wanted.

As such, he checked his watch and found it was the exact time John Shanks should be arriving, which meant it would be twenty minutes before he arrived fashionably late.  Jon was alone in his Jersey studio and not feeling particularly inspired to write, so he stabbed his phone screen to see what Petra wanted.

“Jon.  Thank you for calling."

“Sure,” he responded neutrally to the chipper greeting.  “What’s up?”

“Can you give me just two seconds?  Let me grab my Starbucks order and I'll find a quiet corner.”

“Yeah.”

He tapped his heel to a silent tune that had been haunting him as of late, leaning his head back to look at the ceiling.

“Sorry about that,” she apologized.  "Ma's been staying with Delaney this afternoon, and they wanted me to bring something back.”

“It's fine.  What's up?”  Yes, Jon was repeating himself, but idle phone chitchat wasn't his thing and he'd like to move this along.

“Well... I've had some time to think this afternoon.”  The connection must be bad, because Petra sounded strangely unsure of herself.  “The doctors say if Delaney's going to recover her memory, it will probably happen sooner rather than later.  Not that she cares.  Time is marching on and so is she, happily making clay pots while her employees take care of the shop for a few days.   As she says, ‘it’s only one week out of thousands’.  My idiot sister might not realize she’s lost something priceless, but I do and it’s killing me.”

Okay, so it wasn’t a bad connection.  The fragility to her voice was actually a real and new thing that had him leaning leaning forward to fidget uncomfortably with slides on the board.

“Not to be an insensitive asshole, but what’s this got to do with me?”

The pause was brief but pregnant before she shed the vulnerability in favor of her usual poise.  “I had a brainstorm that might coax Delaney’s memory back, but it relies on your generosity.”

There went the idea that she’d never ask him for anything outright.  Oh, well.  This was more familiar footing, anyway, and Jon abandoned the assortment of controls to recline in his chair and hook an arm over its back. 

“How much generosity?”

The second hand on his wall clock ticked three times – almost four – before the answer came.

“Can she go to another soundcheck?  Just her, not me,” came the hurried clarification.  “I still have my memories, but my thought is that the setting might stir something for her.  The experience was so distinctive and surreal that, if she’s put in the situation again, her brain is bound to have an ‘a-ha!’ moment and unlock the vault.”

“Again, not to be an asshole, but what if there is no ‘a-ha!’ moment?”

The rich sigh suggested Petra didn’t really want to consider the option and she thought him an asshole for making her do it.  That was okay by him.  He didn’t mind being the bad guy, because she needed to be prepared for the possibility.  Doing it now was better than the inevitable drama that would unfold when his damn rehearsal turned out to be just another rehearsal instead of a séance for dead memories.

“If there isn’t, then so be it.  At least she’ll have one priceless experience to relive in her old age.”

Jon put an ankle on the opposite knee and used the leverage of his foot to rock in the ergonomic chair while he pondered her request. 

It appealed to him on multiple levels, the first and foremost being that it gave him non-stalker access to Delaney.  He needed that chance re-establish himself as a person instead of a celebrity, because his inner barbarian didn't care about the measly shot glass of knowledge they had about her.  His baser self was still fully on board for claiming the little florist in the most elemental way, and it presented a problem since civilized Jon had no interest in fucking a random fan.  Sadly, that’s all Delaney was in her current state. 

He’d long ago lost interest in having sex with women who referred to him by his full name or were eager to perform unnatural sex acts just to get in his bed.  It was fun for a while, but being a status symbol got old about the time he heard a woman was selling his pubic hair to the highest bidder.     

It was okay if a girl liked Bon Jovi and was a fan of his work, but catching Jon’s interest nowadays involved more than having big tits and a tight ass.  His turn-ons included someone who thought of him not as "JonBonJovi" but  "Jon" and saw him as a man as opposed to a fancy fuck toy.  Most importantly, she would be open and honest before, during and after orgasm.  No games. 

He believed Delaney fit that bill.  She did last week, anyway, and indulging her sister’s plan would provide the opportunity to re-establish that notion.   Jon would like to not only grant that opportunity but also take it a step further in pursuit of his personal agenda.

“Hello?  Jon?”

“My tour’s almost over,” he reminded shortly.

“Yes, I know.  Two shows in Montreal.  That’s why I felt a sense of urgency in asking.” 

Jon’s foot dropped to the floor so that he could lean on the padded rail around the control board.  This deal might suit his purposes as well as it did hers, but it was time to get real with Delaney’s sister and call a spade a spade.

“Tell me why you’re really asking, Petra.  Is this some backhanded way of getting an all-expenses paid trip and VIP experience?  You think I’ll offer up a private plane, hotel and all that because you mention Delaney’s accident and ask for soundcheck?”

“No!”  The heat of her denial was authentic enough and only got hotter.  “Believe any goddamn thing you want about me, Mister Bon Jovi.  Call me a gold digger, an opportunist or a motherfucking vulture – see if I give a rat’s rosy red ass.  The one thing you’d better believe is that I love my sister more than anything else in this godforsaken world. 

“Do I want to kill her?  Does she make me crazy?  Hell, yes!   Every day, but she’s mine, and for one night in Madison Square Garden, she was Cinderella at the freeping ball!  I’m a cold-hearted bitch, but not cold-hearted enough to let her leave that memory behind without a fight. 

“Take soundcheck and go fuck yourself with it, as far as I’m concerned.  Just don’t be a prick and deny Delaney because you don’t like me.”

Well, I like Pottymouth Petra a helluva lot better than Piranha Petra.

“’Cinderella at the freeping ball’?” Jon drawled with amusement, feeling more at ease now that the smoke and mirrors were gone. 

Petra, however, didn’t share that sense of ease and tersely bit, “Her words, not mine.”

“No fucking kidding.  Why doesn’t she cuss like the rest of New York?”

“Because she’s a nutty little kook,” Delaney’s sister huffed before sniffling quietly.  Jesus Christ, was she actually crying?  He would’ve said yes until she spouted off with a gruff, “Listen, what’s the deal here?  I lose my shit and suddenly you want to chat?”

“You say ‘lose your shit’, I say ‘act like a real goddamn person’.  Don’t give me the politician’s wife routine anymore, alright?  I hate that phony bullshit.”

“I…  Uh…  O-okay.”

In truth, even if he didn't like the way she operated, Petra managed to pluck at Jon's conscience.  Delaney had thanked him for giving her memories on at least three separate occasions.  Hell, he'd dedicated a song to her about making a memory because of those references.  Now she was without all of it.

Well, fuck that.  He might not be in a position to solve the problem, but he could sure as hell alleviate it.

“Good.”  He spun the chair and stretched out to grab the notebook at the other end of the board.  A pen came out of the coffee cup in the windowsill, and he switched ears to be able to write.  “Now that we’ve dispensed with the polite façades, let’s talk logistics.”

“Logistics?”

“Yeah.”  She was shell-shocked or some fucking thing, he guessed.  “I assume it’s not a good idea for Delaney to travel alone?”

“It would make me feel better if she didn’t.”

“You and me both,” he agreed.  Head injuries weren’t something to be fucked around with and putting her in danger wasn’t on the program.  “Delaney’s friend of Asian heritage.  The one who came to the first show.  You get along with her?”

“I get along with everyone,” Petra informed him flatly.  “But Pearl thinks I have a stick up my ass.”

Jon just became a fan of Pearl, whose name he jotted down.  “Sorry, lady, but she’s right.  Think Pearl could make the trip to Montreal?”

“I don’t have any idea, but I can ask.”

“Do that.  Assuming she can, will transportation be an issue?”

“No,” she instantly assured.  “I’ll pay to send them first-class if that’s what it takes.”

So that whole “just her, not me” thing wasn’t just lip service.  

“Then here’s the offer.  The three of you arrange your own transportation, and I’ll have somebody take care of the hotel for Thursday and Friday night.”  That was for his convenience, not theirs, and he scratched it down under Pearl’s name along with the next item for his convenience.  “I can’t promise you show tickets.  You can try and find some or watch from side-stage.”

“This all isn’t necessary, you know.  I only asked for-“

“No politically correct bullshit, remember?”

“Uh, right.”  She cleared her throat and tried again.  “This is fucking amazing.”

“Better,” Jon chuckled, thinking that he might end up liking the potty-mouthed twin yet.  “Sandy will be in touch about soundcheck.”

“I still have her number.”

Of course she did.  “That’s it, then.  Hotel, two nights side-stage, one soundcheck.”

“It’s more than anyone could hope for.  Thank you.  Truly.  Thank you.”

“Yeah, well, don’t be too grateful,” he advised, tossing down the pen and leaning back in his chair.  “I’m going to be asking for a couple of things in return.”

“Oh.”  That one had thrown Petra for an obvious loop, but she recovered quickly, as he’d known she would.  “Okay, sure.  Ask away.”

All but one of Jon’s meager demands weren’t of immediate importance nor were they negotiable.  They could be put aside until he was ready to collect in Montreal.  For today, though…

“There’s only one for now,” Jon quietly informed her.  “I want you to tell Delaney something for me…”