20 - When We Were Beautiful

The little group of women – or group of little women, more accurately – invaded Jon’s front row half-way through the first song. 

He had every intention of going through rehearsal the same as always, oblivious to everything except his thoughts and the music, but the road to Hell was paved with good intentions and all that.  His subconscious didn’t give a damn about intentions and instantly alerted him to Delaney’s presence. 

He covertly watched her while singing about setting each stone and hammering each nail, pleased to note that she looked infinitely better than in the hospital on Sunday.  With her hair flowing loosely over the shoulders of the same biker jacket she wore to her last soundcheck, and accessorized with the same funky necklace and assortment of rings, she was… the Delaney he knew and had been thinking about.  The Delaney he'd had more than one dirty dream about, but the stage wasn't a place to dwell on those.

It was only her facial expression that was different today, he saw through his lashes as her sister persuaded her into the seat directly in front of him.  Rather than being poised to pop off with a wiseass remark, she was poised on the edge of that seat with enormous solemn eyes.

She was… enamored, he supposed was as good a word as any, and Jon wished he’d paid attention to know how it stacked up to her original reaction.  That day, he hadn’t been striving to create memories and was simply in work mode.  Today’s objective was skewed slightly in favor of the memories.

Ending the first song, he picked up his guitar for “Lost Highway” without directly looking at any of the three women.  Delaney and her friend were sitting so still that it would be like watching statues, and Petra was equally focused on Delaney.

He was going to have to cut the woman some slack.  She truly seemed more interested in what her sister was reaping from this rehearsal than reliving the experience for herself.  A couple of times he’d seen her lean in to whisper in Delaney’s ear, but other than that, Petra was as still as the other two. 

Running through the song from beginning to end, he used the familiar melody to gradually warm and stretch his vocal cords.  He changed up the notes in the odd spot here and there as a personal challenge and was pleased to discover that it was a good day to be a singer.   Everything was working as it should be.

Jon felt pretty damn good about himself and held out the last note longer than usual, playing with his range.  There was no undue strain, and he smothered an arrogant grin while putting the guitar back in its stand.  Some of his youthful cockiness was trying to break free, provoking him to put his balls on the line and do something he rarely ever did anymore – take requests.

Removing his ear monitor, he moved up beside the mic stand and crouched on the stage's front edge.  Jon flicked an index finger to beckon Delaney, at which point she froze like a deer in headlights.

After glancing furtively to her sister and friend, he could barely make out the murmured, “Does he mean me?”

“Yes, dumbass.  He means you,” was loud and clear from Petra, though, and reached all the way to the back of the stage.  His entire band was chuckling, and Dave promised to introduce Phil, the guitarist, to them after rehearsal. 

Delaney’s cheeks billowed like balloons as she blew out a breath and rose.  Even with her short legs, only one step was necessary to have her at the rail and peering uncertainly up at him.  “Hi.”

“Hi, yourself,” he chuckled, resting a forearm on one knee.  “What do you like besides ‘Keep the Faith’?”

“’Hallelujah’!” instantly ripped through the air, and Delaney swung around to dispatch a death glare at her ever-helpful sister. 

“Shut the freep up!”

“Quiet in the peanut gallery.”  Jon backed her up by pointing a chastising finger at Petra before directing his attention and explanation to Delaney. “We’re wrapping rehearsal with that one.  Anything else?”

“I don’t know…”  Tucking a strand of dark behind her ear so that the light reflected its purple sheen, she bounced on her toes and looked from left to right as though the arena fixtures might give her an idea.  Hell, maybe they did.  Something had her decisively snapping her attention back to him and asking, “Anything?”

“Oh, Christ, what have I done?”  That youthful cockiness went back into hiding, leaving Jon stricken with dread.  His chin fell to his chest with a reticent chuckle before he raised it again to squint one eye at her. “Nothing from the first two albums.”

“Oh, no.  It’s not.”

Enjoying the buzz of electricity that arced into his gut from her bright eyes, he nodded.  “Alright, then whatcha got?”

“’When We Were Beautiful’.”

It wasn’t from the first two albums, but the ten-year-old song hadn’t made the set list in half that many years.  He’d purposely left it off the rotation since the tour from hell in 2013.  There were multiple reasons, with the foremost being that it carried memories he didn’t want to indulge.

Yet Delaney wanted it for her memories, so he would indulge her.  How was that for fucking irony? 

“I’ll give it a shot.”  Tucking his ear monitor back into place, he rose and spoke her selection into the mic so that the guys could hear it.

When he stood, Delaney stepped back and sank to her seat slightly dazed and suddenly warm.  She hadn’t expected him to solicit suggestions.  Why would she?  Petra had repeatedly told her that Jon went through soundcheck as though he was alone on that stage. 

She also hadn’t expected the jolt of… something when he looked into her eyes.  Delaney had always thought him handsome but having his undivided attention, even for that brief moment, was like an aphrodisiac. 

“OhmyfreakingGod,” Pearl hissed into her ear while desperately trying to cut off the circulation in Delaney’s left forearm.  “The rock god legit likes you!  If this was 1987, you’d be fucking his brains behind the stage.”

“What?  Pfft!”  She drew back in disbelief as the band made the necessary adjustments to perform the song.  He was a sex symbol playing a role and playing it very well.   “You’re crazy.  I’m the poor woman with amnesia.  A charity case.  That’s all.”

“As much as it pains me, I’m going to have to go with Pearl on this one.” 

Dumbfounded, she turned to her sister.  Petra often referred to Pearl as Delaney’s real twin, saying that the two of them were more alike than biological twins could ever be.  As such, she was at odds with Pearl as often as she was with Delaney and seldom – if ever – shared her point of view.

“He didn’t do this last time,” Petra stressed.  “We might as well have been invisible for all the attention he paid us at the Garden.  He’s different this time – different with you.”

For the last eighteen hours, Delaney had been bombarded with countless references to last week’s soundcheck – the auspicious occasion that she couldn’t remember.  

“This is the outfit you wore last time.” 

“You were exceedingly gracious and polite last time.”

“This is the same protocol as last time.” 

“Matt escorted us last time.” 

“Last time, we had dinner with Matt’s family.” 

“Jon did ‘Hallelujah’ last time.”

“I’m sure this will be as good as last time.  You won’t be missing anything.”

Delaney understood that Petra was trying to create something that Delaney couldn’t recreate for herself, and she’d taken it in stride.  Until now. 

Being stricken with a sudden and overpowering attraction to the man was traumatic enough to have her insides quivering.  Knowing the framework that might put it in context had been taken from her – and having her sister so effortlessly supply pieces of that frame made Delaney want to cry. 

Delaney had never been the crying type, though.  It may be the one and only personality trait she and Petra had in common, but the Giannopoulos sisters didn’t often succumb to tears.  Their negative emotions nearly always manifested in anger.

“Petra, don’t say ‘last time’ to me again,” she warned ominously.  “Continually pointing out what I don’t remember doesn’t freeping help, it makes me feel like crap, so stop it!  Let me enjoy today for today.”

The mouth that was identical to her own went brutally thin-lipped in her standard display of sullenness, but Petra couldn’t stand not to have the last word.  “Fine.  Jon Bon Jovi likes you.  Period, without explanation, because God knows I don’t have one.  Enjoy your fucking day.”

“Hey.”  Pearl leaned forward to speak across Delaney as the guitarist started the intro to the song.  “She knows you mean well, bitch.  Just stop working so damn hard to recreate the scene and enjoy it with her – like you did last time.”

Ruthless gray eyes hit Pearl with the force of a howitzer, and Delaney physically inserted herself into the stare-down with a sigh.  Why did she always have to be the reasonable one? 

“Enough.  We can fight later.  Bon Jovi is playing my song request in a private rehearsal.  That’s the moment we should be living in.  Right?”

She knew Pearl would be the easy sell, and she was, agreeably looping her arm through Delaney’s and saying, “Damn straight, girlfriend.”

Her sister was the harder nut to crack, but Delaney would do it.  She snuck her hand against Petra’s, palm to palm, and laced her unpainted fingers into professionally manicured ones.  When no complaint came, she squeezed tightly and leaned in to murmur, “You think he really likes me, huh?”

Both of them attentively watched the “he” in question ease up to the microphone, and the spotlight became the sunset orange Delaney remembered from previous performances.

“I do.”  Petra let the sweet affirmation hang for a full second before adding, “As a friend.  He’s married, Delaney, and his wife was your good Samaritan.  Don’t forget that.”

That colossally screwed up the moment she wanted to live in, and Delaney let her eyes fall shut for a breath.   It was the only display of disappointment she allowed before whispering, “I won’t.”

“The woorrld iis craacked

The skyy iis torrn

I'm hanng-iing iinn

You're hold-ing onn

I caan't pree-tennd

That noth-inng's chaanged…”