9 - Gidgets

Swearing at himself, Jon descended the steep, metal stairs that would take him off the stage.  There would be no need to add “Hallelujah” to the audible list, or “Have a Nice Day” for that matter.  Both songs just gave his voice a reason to not cooperate, so they were on his shit list. 

God, he hated getting old. 

That wasn’t really true.  Aging wasn’t so bad.  What he actually hated was the lack of appreciation he’d had for his vocal ability back in the day.  He’d used and abused his cords as if they would last forever, and now…

He shook his head and emerged from the backstage area, loathing that his mind wanted to engage him in the “coulda, woulda, shoulda” game.  It was pointless and unproductive on a good day, and in the hours before a show, it mind-fucked him in the worst possible way.  He needed to be in full egomaniac mode before showtime and would’ve argued with himself all the way to the dressing room if it wasn’t for someone calling his name.

“Jon!”

Turning to find a frowning Matt stalking him, Jon returned the frown and upped the ante with a scowl.  “What?”

“You asked David Bergman to take a crew picture.  They need you on the stage in a black shirt.”

Oh.  Right. 

Since their official photographer wasn’t traveling with them this time, it had seemed like a good idea to hook up with him for a photo op while they were in town.  Jon liked documenting each tour with a group picture for posterity’s sake, and nobody was better at this shit than Bergman.

“Okay.”  This would keep him from dwelling on things he couldn’t do a fucking thing about, anyway.  He forced a harsh breath out his nose to expel the tormenting thoughts.  “I’ll change and be back.”

“What do you want me to do with Hall of Fame and Bounce?”

Shit.  He’d forgotten they were here.   Somebody flashed a “Have a Nice Day” smirk at the stage, but that person’s identity melted into the haze of his work-fogged consciousness.  In hindsight, it had to have been one of the sisters. 

“I don’t know and stop calling her – them – that,” he grumbled, scrubbing an impatient hand over the back of his neck. 

In his current frame of mind, he regretted inviting them here.  If the sister hadn’t been swimming around him like a blood-sniffing shark, he might not have been so willing to do it.  Petra’s social shrewdness combined with Delaney’s quirky charm had created a soft spot in his brain, and now he had to live with the consequences.

In reality, Jon didn't need to provide them anything further.  He knew that.  Soundcheck fulfilled his commitment, but if the sisters didn’t disrupt his pre-show shit, he supposed there was no harm in them staying. 

“Have ‘em sit tight until after the picture.  Then see if they want to hang out in back until showtime.”

“Okay.  You still want me to babysit?”

The question was intentionally devoid of any emotion or inflection.  Matt would do whatever was asked of him, but Jon knew guest relations wasn’t his brother’s favorite thing.  It was hard to play nice guy one minute and shift to bad-ass enforcer the next. 

“Nah.  You can hand 'em off to whoever is doing the VIP thing tonight.”

You should go talk to them.

His conscience was absolutely correct.  Jon should and would talk to them - later, when he was able to play host without being a dick.

Ten minutes was all it took for him to jot down the final setlist, change shirts and find a marginally better attitude.   At least he wasn’t quite so hell-bent on kicking his own ass now, but when he approached the quick-change room to find David chatting his ass off with the twin visitors…  He could be convinced to kick his ass. 

Both women were peering up into his goofy face as though he were the most interesting man in the world.  The way they hung onto every sarcastic word did not bode well for Jon, since David liked to stir shit for his sole amusement and was particularly fond of stirring Jon’s shit. 

“Lema.”

“Ah, here is.”  Blue eyes gleamed with mischief as the curly-headed fuck grinned at him, clearly up to no good.  “Hall… Ahem.  Hall-ooo our fearless leader!  Delaney was just bouncing around here asking about you.”

Those goddamn nicknames.

He needed come up with a threat subtly veiled enough the sisters remained unaware of the imminent danger to Dave’s balls yet obvious enough that Dave didn't. 

Something along the line of bouncing balls, maybe? 

Drawing to a gradual halt as he approached the trio, Jon was on the verge of going with that when Delaney’s head swiveled in his direction.  When she immediately took two steps to invade his personal space, whatever he’d been about to say was obliterated by the faint squeak of leather.  Her little arms cinched around him for a rib-creaking hug that made his mind go completely fucking blank.

He barely had a chance to register what was going on – or the heat of her body aligned with his – before she back-pedaled to resume her spot between Dave and Petra.  She didn't say a goddamn word, but the enigmatic smile striking starlight in her eyes implied that she held some great secret the he'd love to know.  Jon thought she was on the verge of sharing it when Petra interjected.

“Jesus Christ, Delaney,” she muttered, glaring at her sister before turning apologetic eyes on Jon.  “I told you she wasn’t socially conventional.  Her impulsiveness can be… awkward.”

“Bite me, Petra.”  The little woman whose social skills were being raked over the coals didn’t even glance at her accuser.  “A simple thank you wasn’t enough, and that was way less awkward than gushing over something that’s as normal as breathing for him.  Keep talking about me like I’m an untrained dog, and I’ll stick my tongue down his throat just to watch you turn purple.”

Dave cackled like an old woman at a strip club while Petra’s eyes flashed with the same lightning fury Jon had seen in her sister yesterday.  It was funny, and under any other circumstances, he'd be laughing at the latest episode of “Delaney Unfiltered”, too.  The power of suggestion overpowered th instinct, though, and goaded him into thinking about that sharp tongue down his throat.

Clearing that throat to remove the imaginary tickle, he rejected the notion with a sharp dip of his chin.  “You’re welcome.  I see you met my organ grinding monkey.”

“Monkey, huh?”  David raised a hand and made a show of peeling away all the fingers but the middle one.  “I got your banana right here.”

Either good manners or the mere nature of sibling squabbles dispelled the tension as quickly as it came, and it washed away in a duet of female laughter.

“Mr. Bryan was just offering to show us around backstage.” 

Dave’s villainous eyes cut toward Jon before answering, “None of that ‘mister’ shit is required, lovely Petra.  It’s just Dave, and we can follow that tour up with the finest five-star dining in the building.  Rumor has it that Catering is serving sushi and London broil tonight instead of Hamburger Helper.”

There wasn’t a doubt in Jon’s mind that the offer was extended just to push his buttons, and it was confirmed when the wicked fucker coughed, “Hall of Fame.”

“Now, we don’t want to be any trouble.  Dave.”

Jon had to give it to her.  The politician’s wife was a pro at making it look like she was offering an escape clause when actually going in for the kill.  She practically vibrated with excitement at the opportunity to nose around, but it was gauche to jump on it with both high heels, so she batted innocent eyes and waited for Dave to do the jumping. 

“Pfft!  No trouble at all.  I’ve got spare time on my hands.”

Lema might have met his match in this one.

“You okay with that?” Jon asked

A glance at Delaney found unreadable features gazing back at him.  Both hands were tucked into her back pockets, which parted the sides of a cool leather jacket and revealed that the blouse underneath was cut to hug her figure.  Yesterday’s shirt had only suggested at pin-up-worthy curves.  Today’s hug and wardrobe confirmed that every inch of her limited height was put to good use.

Very good use.

A long blink took her eyes from unreadable to warm, and she shrugged.  “Sure, I'm okay with it.  I’m socially uncivilized, not stupid.”   

“Jon!  Dave!  Where the hell are you?”

The bellowing from above overrode Jon's chuckle.  Seeing that no one else remained in the backstage area, he presumed his entire crew was onstage waiting for them to take the photo. 

“Jesus Murphy, man.  Calm the hell down!  We’re coming!”  With a melodramatic huff, Dave turned to the twins.  “Okay, Gidgets.  Don’t touch any knobs, strings or buttons.  I’ll be back in a flash  – a camera flash.  Ha.”

The photography humor wouldn't have been funny to a bunch of kindergartners, but Jon did smirk at the Gidget reference.  He wondered if the twins were familiar with the term that originated from a series of sixties' movies of the same name.  The main character earned the nickname from her guy friends because she was a girl midget – a “Gidget”. 

It was cute and sassy like Delaney, whose smirk confirmed she got the reference, but Petra was singularly unimpressed.  She’d either heard it a million times or wasn’t a fan of short jokes, and since Dave was already climbing the stairs, she wasn't obligated to feign amusement.

“I gotta go," Jon told them both. "Enjoy the tour and show.”

“Hey.”  He had one foot on the first step when a small hand lightly gripped his forearm.  The rings removed any need to look up and confirm it was Delaney, but Jon sought her eyes anyway.  He was starting to like the spark of electricity that he found there.  “Thank you for the incredible memories.  Seriously.”

Nodding as her fingers slid away, he continued up the steps only to pause at the top.  

When he added the song to his setlist, Jon hadn’t planned to tell her she was the reason.  All his experience with women told him it was safer to let her make her own assumptions.  If left to her own devices, she would latch onto the song that made her happiest and assume that's what he'd chosen in her honor.  It put him in the enviable position of not being wrong even if he wasn’t right. 

That was the best possible scenario a man could hope for, and he was about to fuck himself out of it.

“Tonight’s first encore song is yours, Delaney.”

With that, he immersed himself into the noisy fray of crew members, not bothering to turn and see which sister blurted, “Holy shit!”

Next post:  Tuesday, August 14