6 - Hooked

Jon hesitated, taking a moment to decide whether she was being suggestive, because it was nothing like the open way she’d thrown out that “lusty look” crack yesterday.  There was almost a predatory undertone to it, and if she’d spoken to Jake that way, he would’ve called her a cougar on the prowl. 

Cue the press smile and public appearance persona that he hadn’t expected to need.  “Hi.  I almost didn't recognize you.”

She stuck out a hand to shake, and the accompanying flash of pearly whites didn’t carry the same spunk he remembered.  There was no electricity. 

“We actually haven’t met, but I’ve been a fan for a long time.  I’m Petra.”

“Petra,” he repeated while accepting a grip that was as firm as any man’s.  “Always a pleasure to meet a fan.”

Her smile spread as she stayed a little too close for comfort with hands folded in front of her.  “Yes, I’d heard that about you.  That you tolerate fan encounters well.”

His public relations people wouldn’t be thrilled by that assessment, but he couldn’t disagree with it.  Toleration was as good as it got some days. 

“Listen, uh.  If you didn’t bring me flowers yesterday…”

“Oh, that was my sister, Delaney.  We’re twins.  Obviously.”

Thank ya, Jesus.

There was no electricity because this was a different woman, and his press smile eased into a more natural one.  He wasn’t going nuts nor had he lost his ability to read people. 

“Well, I gotta tell you that’s a relief.  I was over here tryin’ to decide if she had multiple personalities or was a method actor who assumes different characters every day.”

“Neither, that I’m aware of.  Delaney is her own character.”

The smile she tilted up at him was a rueful one, as though she was embarrassed by her unabashedly real sister.  Personally, he couldn’t understand why.  He was as guilty as the next guy/celebrity about sometimes hiding behind a carefully structured façade, but the world would be a better place if everybody could just be themselves. 

Then again, he’d met the woman for all of five minutes.  Maybe Jon was only seeing what he wanted. 

“Is she out on a delivery?”

Petra’s mind had wandered someplace while she conducted a quick but thorough inspection of his person.  He had a feeling that if he was kidnapped on the way home, this woman would be able to provide a thoroughly detailed description for the police.  She didn't lift her gaze until all the threads in his shoestrings had been counted.

“Hmm?  No.  No delivery.  She’s in back, working on an arrangement.  You know, my sister told me about your… introduction yesterday, and I’d like to apologize on her behalf.  She has a good heart but isn’t always socially conventional.”

That confirmed the embarrassment vibe he’d gotten, and Jon uncomfortably pushed both hands into the pockets of his jeans.  “No apology necessary, but I’d like to talk to her.  If she can take a break.”

Cosmetically darkened lashes slowly fluttered a couple of times, and he’d swear she was trying to figure out a way to refuse him.  She was even working up to a regretful expression, but when her mouth opened to deliver those regrets, the yellow curtain behind her parted to reveal the woman he remembered from yesterday. 

“Hey, Petra.  You think Mom would like these?” The breezy entrance skidded to a halt when her attention lifted from the pot of flowers and locked onto him.  “Oh.  Hi.”

The spark flaring between them this time was somewhere between the lightning and static from their previous meetings.  He savored the little sizzle while he took in the makeup-free face, careless hairstyle and casual attire that had him wagering the only similarity between these two women was a shared womb and DNA.

In terms of New York geography, Petra was the Upper West Side and Delaney was Greenwich Village.  The Upper West Side was nice, but Jon felt more at home in The Village. 

“Hey,” he returned warmly to the Village girl.  “Got a minute?”

“Uh, sure.  Let me just put this in the cooler.”

“I’ll take it.”  Petra swooped in and efficiently ferried the flowers over to a glass-fronted refrigeration unit along the wall.  After they were stowed carefully inside, she waved in their direction and gravitated toward Jake, who was now the only other person in the store.  The earlier customer was gone.

Flashing back to his cougar thought a moment ago, Jon asked Delaney, “She isn’t going to proposition my kid, is she?”

Her air of unease at seeing him vanished, leaving behind merriment as she glanced over at the other two.  “Your kid is safe.  Even though he’ll end up better looking than you.  And taller.”

“Maybe I should be asking if you’re gonna proposition my kid?  If so, I’ll let him order the fucking flowers online like he wanted to.”

She threw back her head, just like at the show last night, and her unbridled peal of delight turned heads.  Jake, Petra and the new female just walking through the door all looked their way with interest, but Delaney was oblivious to it.  

“In the interest of securing a new customer, I’ll keep my relationship with Tall-Jon-and-Handsome on a strictly professional level.  IF…"  Her twinkling eyes were stuck on him as she tipped a ringed index finger his way.  "You actually give me a song tonight.” 

And there it was.  She'd created the necessary opening for him to carry out his mission in coming here, and Jon scrubbed a harsh hand across the back of his neck. “Yeah… About last night...”

“I seriously hope you’re here for flowers and not to apologize for blowing off a stranger you expected to never see again.”  

The charming chuckle was so much more genuine than her sister’s laughter, and it washed over him like the surf on his favorite beach.  She called him out with insight worthy of those in his inner circle, inspiring him to toss his stilted apology out the window and speak with equal candor.

“I did not blow you off.  I just didn’t think you’d be at the show.  Once I realized you were actually in the audience, I tried to pony up.  I just did a shitty job of it.”

The twinkle didn't fade as she drifted a few steps back to take up residence behind the counter and start tidying the surface.  Receipts and papers were shuffled into a neat pile while he watched, and she didn't look up from her decluttering.   

“Truth?” She shrugged with both shoulders and the corner of her mouth that tucked tight for an instant.  “I was impressed that you tried at all.”

“Yeah, well.  Just goes to show I’m not a complete asshole.”

Be glib.  Be cute.  Be a wiseacre.

Delaney tried to convince herself to stick to what she knew, but it wasn’t working.  Lifting a thoughtful gaze, she watched his eyes drift aimlessly from the wreath over her head to the credit card machine and then to the bulletin board behind her as he fiddled with the sunglasses tucked in his neckline.  She’d always viewed him as arrogantly confident, yet his current body language told a different story. 

“You’re as far from it as you can get,” was her quiet observation before flashing a breezy smile and giving a dismissive flip of the wrist to keep things light.  “In my limited experience with public figures, anyway. You made a memory for me when you didn’t have to, and nobody could ask for anything more.”

Except Petra.

Over Jon’s shoulder, she found that her sister had turned away from the younger Bongiovi to mouth… something.  Delaney caught only the last word, which was enunciated so carefully that she would’ve had to have been blind to miss, “Soundcheck”.  She glared at Petra and gave a terse shake of her head, but the fiercer twin just glared right back. 

The very real facts were that Delaney could either casually work soundcheck the conversation or spend the next twenty years reliving this “missed opportunity” at her sister’s bitter hands.  With those as the only foreseeable options, and since she was still catching hell for killing a beloved goldfish in high school, she bit the bullet.

“Of course, Petra thinks I need an entire Bon Jovi-themed Make-a-Wish trip, also known as soundcheck, since it’s more priceless than ruby nipple rings.  But first I think I’m supposed ask you to bend over so I can chap my lips on your revered rump.  I get confused on the protocol.”

His drifting eyes crinkled at the corners as they found their way back to Delaney.  “I haven’t priced ruby nipple rings lately, but I’m guessing that makes my soundcheck a hot ticket?”

“That’s the rumor.”

“Well, then, I guess the only question is whether it’s Petra making the wish or you?”

His multi-million-dollar smile hit Delaney with the force of a Mack truck and made her question every word she’d ever spoken in his presence.  What was she doing?  No matter how easy he was to talk to, or how average his jeans and plain t-shirt made him appear, this was not just some random guy who’d come seeking her out with his unnecessary apology.

This was a very rich, very good-looking celebrity whose career she’d followed for decades.  Who knew Presidents, royalty, demigods and goddesses.  Who was a demigod in his own right, belonging to more halls of fame than she even knew existed. 

A pile of sentiment cards slipped from her hands and rained across the counter. 

“Delaney?” he prompted quietly.

Reaching for a rogue card that flung itself to the other end of the counter, she hazarded a glance and found that his Smithsonian-worthy smile had faded to something subtler as he watched her with genuine regard.

Like a camera flash, the overwhelming perception of him as a higher being went as quickly as it came.  Maybe he should intimidate her, but it was hard to be intimidated when - in this moment, at least - he wasn't a rock star commanding the attention of audience.  He was just a man who had a legitimate interest in her answer.

“When I got to the Garden yesterday, I was actually hoping to hear a little bit of soundcheck,” she confessed, scraping her card stock mess into a neater pile.  “I’m sure there’s like a gajillion people in there, but it carries this mystique, you know?  Like some great, intimate secret.”  

Broad shoulders lifted with negligence as broad fingertips burrowed into his pockets.  “It’s just the crew working or waiting to work, and we don’t normally have a lot of spectators.  Only on special occasions.”

“Then you’re telling me it is some great intimate secret.” 

“No, I’m telling you it’s work.” 

With the talk of intimacy, his quiet rumble of laughter made Delaney’s toes curl, but curly toes weren't an engraved or even an implied invitation to soundcheck.  She expressed an interest, yet he wasn't offering her the chance to come and check it out. 

Oh, well.  At least Petra wouldn’t be on her back for disregarding the bigger picture.   Now it was time to assume the role of business owner. 

“So…  What kind of flowers does your cougar-bait – I mean son – want?”

Jon snorted with understated humor and shot her a dirty look before turning to call over his shoulder, “Jake!  You find anything?”

“No.  All this stuff looks like Grandma.”

Since she’d reached her own pink and yellow limit earlier, she could hardly fault the boy’s assessment of the traditional Mother’s Day offerings and that was good.  She’d probably have fun making something that suited him.  All she had to do was pick the kid's brain to find out what that might be. 

With Jon following silently along, she joined Jake and Petra on the other side of the shop, tucking both hands into her back pockets and smiling.  “Hi Jake, I’m Delaney.  Did you have something specific in mind?  What’s the occasion?”

“Jake was just telling me that his siblings nominated him to choose the Mother’s Day gift for their mom.” 

Petra’s words carried an undertone that suggested there was hidden meaning in what she was saying, but Delaney couldn’t fathom what it might be, so she kept business as her focus.  “Okay.  I’m guessing your mom isn’t the traditional type, since you don’t like what’s sitting out here.  Did you check the cooler?  I just finished something a little different you might like.”

Smirking, Jon stayed put while his son and the flower guru trekked to the other side of the room.   She was so damn little.  Putting her next to just an average person would emphasize her height deficiency, and since Jake shot past average about six months ago, she looked like a pixie in comparison.  

As would the pixie-clone who was sidling up to Jon.

The top of Petra’s auburn head came just above his shoulder, and she tilted it back to remark, “We’re looking forward to your show tonight.” 

“Yeah?  I'll try to make it worth your while.”

“Oh, I’m sure you will.  I’ve never been to a bad Bon Jovi concert.  You’re the consummate showman.”

Angling his eyes to meet hers, he wondered if this was casual conversation or if she was on a mission.  “Thank you.”

“Does all that come naturally to you?”

Now it did.  In the beginning, he’d spent hours and hours studying his performances, looking for ways to make them better.  He would analyze each move, making a point not to repeat the ones that made him look like a dumbass.  On the opposite end of the spectrum, he subtly built on the ones that the audience liked until he created a formula that worked for him:  he shook his ass, stuck out his tongue, made eye contact and smiled like a motherfucker. 

“More or less,” was the simplified reply he gave Petra.

“You’ve taken a natural gift and developed it into an astounding career.  Kudos to you.”

“Thanks.”

Jake and Delaney were poring over the blue and green variety of blooms she’d removed from refrigerated storage, with her taking out a piece here and there.  Each bit of floral garnish was held up for Jake’s inspection while she talked, asked questions and listened to what the kid had to say.  

Seeing how good she was at this, Jon somehow couldn’t believe she was just the delivery girl around here. 

“You said Delaney was working on arrangement earlier?  What else does she do here?”

Petra tracked his line of vision to her sister, laughing lightly.  “Everything.  Ordering, designing, delivery, sales, and million things more things I don’t even know…  You name it, she does it.  Owning this place has been an all-consuming blessing the last few years.  It’s been both her livelihood and her solace.”

“Mm.”

He couldn’t see any indication that Delaney needed solace.  Bright eyes and a cheerfully open expression bore no shadows, and he knew from experience that running a successful business required grit and determination.  If she was battling something, she’d become an expert in managing it. 

“Oh, she’s doing better now,” Petra rushed to assure, evidently interpreting his noncommittal reply as skepticism.  “Good days and bad, like everybody.  Being twins, I guess it’s just harder for me to forget the bad ones, you know?  After meeting you yesterday and seeing you again today…  Well, she’s walking on Cloud 9 right now, so thank you for that.  Seriously.”

Natural human curiosity had him wondering what caused those bad days, but he kept that curiosity to himself.  Gossip and speculation were the bane of his existence, and he wouldn’t engage in it, but Jon liked the Cloud 9 version of Delaney.  

“She said she’s coming to the show tonight.  Do you know if she’s got the same seats?”

“Oh, no.”  Petra’s smile seemed genuine for the first time since meeting her.  “We’re third row center.”

That location certified that Jon would see her even if she did nothing but stand and listen to the music.  With her dance moves and enthusiasm, he suspected she’d draw his attention as soon as the lights went up.  Her brand of energy would fuel him and practically guaranteed a good show night. 

“You’re joining her this time?”

“Yes.  I should’ve been there last night, but my husband dragged me to a political function at the governor’s mansion, so Delaney took a friend.”

Petra’s connection to the New York political scene explained a lot about her.  If she’d been in it any time at all, she was conditioned to mold even the most casual social interaction to her benefit.  No wonder she classified Delaney as socially unorthodox.   

Opportunistic sister aside, he impulsively reached into his back pocket for his phone.  “You think you guys could get to the arena a little early?  Around 4:30?”

“I don’t think that should be a problem,” she spoke leisurely but her eyes were dancing at the pleasure of hooking her fish. 

Lady, nobody hooks me unless I fucking want to be hooked.  This has got nothing to do with you and everything to do with your unorthodox sister.

“Give me your cell number.”

She recited it without hesitation and waited until he’d fired off the message to his ticket manager before inquiring oh-so-casually, “Mind if I ask why we’re arriving early?”

The combination of Jake and Delaney’s laughter drew Jon's gaze, as he confirmed what Petra was hoping to hear. 

“Soundcheck.  Someone will be in touch with the details.”

Next post: Thursday, August 9th