19 - Quick Rundown

“Okay, quick rundown,” Jon told the band members assembled in his Montreal dressing room.  “At one of the Garden shows, I had guests here for soundcheck.  Twin sisters.”

“Bounce and Hall of Fame,” was Dave’s helpful contribution to the impromptu meeting, reinforcing Jon’s decision to wait until the five minutes before soundcheck to do this.  Even Matt didn’t find out until a couple minutes ago, when he was sent to fetch Delaney and company from Will Call.

Hitting the keyboardist with a withering glance, Jon corrected, “Delaney and Petra.  They’ll be here for tonight’s soundcheck along with another woman.  Since I’m not sure exactly who they talked to last time, I’m telling you all…  Delaney – the dark-haired twin – had an accident and doesn’t remember it, so don’t expect her to.  Now, let’s go to work.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!  Gidget One doesn’t remember?”

“No,” was all David’s theatrical interruption earned as Jon turned his back to gather a couple of personal items from the table.

Not only hadn’t he given anyone advance notice of his guests tonight, he also hadn’t disclosed the after effects of Delaney’s accident before now.  Matt asked about her before the D.C. show a couple days ago but got only the bare facts – she was home and doing fine.  Jon wasn’t in the habit of over-sharing and didn’t feel compelled to start.

“What the fuuuck?”

He turned from picking up his insulated coffee cup to find not only an incredulous David but the rest of band still in the room. 

“What?”

“I didn’t meet the girl, but I’m nosy enough to be interested in hearing a little more.”  Tico, whom he could normally count on to just roll with the punches, was now standing with his gloved hands notched onto his hips and waiting expectantly. 

Fuck.  It’ll be faster to tell them than to fend them off.

So, Jon gave them the shortest version possible of Delaney’s accident, the ramifications, and Petra’s eventual request.  “Can we get the fuck to work now?”

Most of the guys just nodded and headed for the stage, but Dave and Tico hung behind and didn’t look inclined to move anytime soon. 

“Well, you’re gonna have to do ‘Hallelujah’ again tonight,” was Dave’s flat proclamation.  “Those girls just about pissed their pants last time.  The way their jaws dropped had me thinking Magic Mike had taken over the stage.”

“Lema’s right.”

“Jesus, Teek,” Jon groused, a little pissed by his willingness to jump on the crazy train.  “Why the hell are you encouraging him?”

Bulky drummer’s shoulders lifted with indifference.  “Those girls were the only ones in the house that night and they’re better lookin’ than your ass in dad jeans.  I watched ‘em almost piss their pants.”

If the old man, and most sensible of the group, was petitioning for “Hallelujah” on Delaney’s behalf, then it looked like Jon would be doing fucking “Hallelujah” for soundcheck.  There was a little voice deep inside chastising him for not paying attention to the twins last time, but Jon’s common sense and ethics put a muzzle on the voice.  This was work, not a charity gig.

“I’ll think about,” was his only promise when pushing past the only other original members of the band.  “Now let’s go.”

“Hey!” 

Jon looked down at the hand gripping his arm and traced it back to the owner’s face.  “What, Lema?”

“I wanna take ‘em on a tour after soundcheck again.”

“And?  You didn’t ask my fucking permission last time.”

“I’m not asking this time,” the blonde man clarified, releasing Jon’s arm.  “I’m telling.  I’m also telling you that, if you don’t do something nice for them after the show, I will.”

That actually worked out perfectly for Jon, but there would only be two women to entertain, not three.  He had other plans for Delaney. 

“Suit yourself.” 

{{{

There were only smattering of personnel and eager concertgoers wandering the Scotiabank Arena foyer at almost four hours prior to showtime.  Delaney, Petra and Pearl were among those eager concertgoers – or soundcheck-goers, more accurately – but their contact person had been impatiently tapping her toe when they arrived. 

The flight out of JFK was significantly delayed due to mechanical difficulties and only touched down in Montreal forty minutes ago, putting them way behind schedule and giving Petra hives.  The three women changed clothes in the airport bathroom and had no choice but to touch up hives, hair and makeup in the taxi.  For a hefty tip, the cabbie promised to deliver their luggage to the hotel, and they were desperate enough to chance it.

The contact person – Sandy – had barely given them a chance to apologize before bestowing guest credentials and hurrying away with assurance that their escort would be along shortly.  Delaney fingered an edge of the octagonal sticker on her chest while her sister assured them this was the very same protocol they went through Madison Square Garden a week ago. 

This was also a two-night stand like the Garden shows that Delaney could no longer recall, but at least last night’s semi-sleepless night had given her the chance watch to the YouTube videos.  Jon had been in a good mood, delivering an energy that even translated through a phone screen, and she hoped Montreal was like New York in that respect, too.   

Unlike the Garden shows, however, her seats for these shows sucked.  Bon Jovi was even more popular here than in New York and tickets were scarce.  They’d been forced to use the legalized scalping websites selling nothing but a selection of seats behind the stage or in the rafters – for twice the face value.

“I still don’t see how a rock star can’t manage to find a couple extra seats for his own concert,” Pearl mused, tugging at the hem of her metallic cold-shoulder blouse.  “Hypothetically, he could point at someone in the front row and tell them to move.  It’s his show.”

Busily scouring the area for their chaperone, Petra blew out an impatient breath.  “Those seats sold months ago for a lot of money.  The man isn’t going to screw over fans that pay big bucks, and once you’ve been to soundcheck, you won’t care where your seats are.  Trust me.”

A noncommittal hum indicated that Pearl was still skeptical, but Petra had reached her limit of patience with the subject and directed her lecture series elsewhere.  “Delaney, don’t forget to be gracious and well-mannered.  That’s what drew Jon’s attention in the first place.”

Delaney had already received her instructions on how to behave – twice – and maybe she’d even follow them.  The guy she’d talked to on the phone yesterday didn’t seem like he’d be a stickler about gracious and well-mannered, but he may be different in person.  She planned to play it by ear.

“Uh, that’s not what got His Royal Hotness’s attention,” Pearl scoffed rudely.  “And the only ones buying your story are you and the leopards who died to make that shirt.”

“This is a synthetic blend.”

“Okay.  So no leopards, then.  Just you.”

“You two give it a rest or I’m skipping this whole thing and going back to the hotel.”  The threat wasn’t serious but could escalate if it turned out Petra was trying to make her dance like a marionette.  “Pearl, what do you think-“

An abrupt swat to Delaney’s shoulder aborted the remainder of the question, and her sister directed a pointed look down the hall

“That’s Matt,” she coached under her breath before straightening to paste on a smile for the ridiculously large man who drew near.  “He’s Jon’s brother and bodyguard.  He escorted us to soundcheck last time, too, and we later had dinner with his wife and kids.”

Pearl’s almond-shaped eyes sent round at that bit of information and cut Delaney to ribbons with a single look.  “I’m just going to tell you one more time how pissed I am that you didn’t give me every detail before losing your damn memory.”

“Oh shut it.  You know as much as I do now.”

“Both of you stifle.” Petra’s command came through unmoving lips only a split second before she dispensed an over bright, “Matt!  It’s so good to see you again.”

“Hey.”  His close-cropped head dipped in greeting, and he presented an outstretched hand to Delaney.  It was a massive paw that her hand whole, but the grip was surprisingly gentle.  “Delaney.  I’m Matt.  Sorry you don’t remember your last visit with us, but it’s nice to have you back.  Who’s your friend?”

Blinking up at the skyscraper of a man whose mouth held at a neutral angle, she was astonished to find a warmth in his eyes.  What did he know about her?  What did she know about him other than what Petra just said? 

I don’t mind not having the memories.  What I hate is not knowing the memories people have of me.

“Ah, thanks.  This is Pearl.”

“Pearl.”  There was another short nod and one side of his mouth lifted.  “You got any normal-sized friends?”

Glancing at two women who weren’t any taller than her own five-feet, she dryly quipped, “These are the only people I see eye-to-eye with.”

The other side of Matt’s slid up to match the first.  “Cute.  Ready to ride, midget posse?”

“Now I see why you called him Sasquatch,” Pearl remarked in a tone that could be heard by Matt a couple of steps ahead of them, as well everyone else in a twenty-foot radius. She was the most height-sensitive of the group. 

“Oh for freep’s sake!  I called him what?” 

This Bon Jovi reenactment wasn’t helping her memory, it was just emphasizing the void and embarrassing her in the process.  Delaney wasn’t going to create the new, blissful memories that Petra insisted were the only acceptable substitute for the lost ones.  She was going to come out of this emotionally scarred.

Never one to be bashful, Pearl obligingly repeated herself as they came upon the elevator.  “You called him Sasquatch.  He’s not that hairy, but the size is a good match.   Mofo is like a mountain.  Think I could sit on his shoulders for the show?”

It would definitely be a better seat than the nosebleeds they’d ended up with, but she spoke as if the man was deaf, and Petra was mortified.   Her heated glare should’ve singed a hole in the side of Pearl’s head, but Pearl wasn’t the reason Delaney was uncomfortable.  She was more upset by her own assessment of their escort who, strangely enough, didn’t seem bothered by it in the least.

Holding the elevator door until they were all in the car, Matt punched a button that set them in motion.  If there was any emotion at all hiding in his facial features, it would be amusement. 

“We didn’t meet under pleasant circumstances, and you called me worse than that to my face.  No worries, but nobody’s sitting on my shoulders.  Sorry, not sorry.”

A slow smile engaged her dimples and only spread wider when he winked down at her.  No matter what unflattering pet names she’d previously assigned him, Delaney liked Jon’s brother.  Anybody who was that blunt couldn’t be all bad.  In fact, sometimes they could be very good.

“Hey, Matt?  Does Jon invite charity cases to soundcheck very often?”

“Delaney!  Gracious and well-mannered, remember?”  Petra was thoroughly appalled, thereby making Delaney’s day complete. 

If she’d had memories of initially meeting him, there would be no reason to get her sister’s panties in a twist.  The chain of events would provide the answers.  Without those memories, the whole thing seemed somewhat bizarre, and she simply wanted the explanation she didn’t remember. 

“Charity cases?  No.”  Matt stood rigidly with his hands folded in front of him and no intention of elaborating.   He silently studied the changing floor numbers above the door, perhaps believing that avoiding her gaze was the key to avoiding her curiosity.

He was wrong. 

“Then why is he doing it now?  Or last week?”

“Couldn’t tell you.”

A brassy chime signaled the elevator’s arrival at their destination, and when the doors slid back, he courteously inserted his arm to keep them parted for exit.  Pearl and Petra took the cue to step out, but Delaney wasn’t quite done with this chat.  She didn’t think she was asking anything all that complicated.

“You don’t know why, then.”

His neutral expression slipped into the semblance of a scowl at her unwillingness to accept his non-answer, and with their pronounced height difference, he virtually loomed over her like a gargantuan vulture.  Delaney probably should’ve been intimidated, but she didn’t budge. 

“What I know or don’t doesn’t matter.  Your question’s for Jon, not me.”

He’d transitioned from nice guy to bodyguard, and she intuitively knew it was pointless to try and dig any further.  Matt had said all he intended to say on the subject.

“Okay,” she conceded easily, shrugging her shoulders inside the black leather moto jacket she couldn’t recall buying but loved.  “Will I get to talk to him tonight?”

“Probably.”

She had a sneaking suspicion that his “probably” was a more definite affirmation than most people’s “absolutely”, and Delaney accepted it as such.  Shooting him her most charming smile, she enthused, “Great.  Now which way to soundcheck?”