27 - Old Montreal

“It’s no pain in my ass.” Mike Rew’s lazy assurance came through the phone line as Jon returned from the hotel gym to his room.  “You want B-stage gone for tonight, I’ll have a guy on it.  Only problem with changing things up this late in the game is you’ve got people expecting your ugly ass in the crowd.  You wanna disappoint ‘em?”

Jon laughed at his crew chief and tossed the key card on the desk, feeling better after sweating out five miles on the treadmill.  

His wine indulgence, late night and interrupted sleep had him groggy and out of sorts when he awoke.  Realizing that the taste of Delaney in his mouth was only residue from pornographic dreams didn't improve his humor, but her message of thanks, hearts and laughing smiley faces had. 

She liked the ring and seemed to receive it in the matter which it was intended, which pleased him.  It was one of those things that he'd waffled on, because women perceived jewelry gifts as carrying a certain significance.  He hadn't intended it to be significant.  It was just a lighthearted reminder of this phase in their friendship.  That's why he sent it along as an afterthought rather than making an episode of it.

Mission accomplished, which brought him back around to his current mission.

“Fine.  I’ll fuck things up real good and start the show from the back of the house,” he compromised agreeably. He’d just pick an up-tempo song and stay on the move to keep from violating his promise to Mou.  “That work for you?”

“Hey, it’s your show.  I just make sure your shit’s in the right place.”

“And you do a damn fine job of it, man.  I appreciate you.  Later.”

A single tap ended the call and, as he kicked off his sneakers, Jon fired off a text to his tour manager.  These change-ups were going to necessitate a longer than usual soundcheck, and he needed everybody there early.  After thumbing the send button, he dimmed the screen to go shower, but an incoming message flared it back to life. 

[11:34 AM]PETRA: Hi!  We weren’t invited to soundcheck today, were we?  Just trying to plan our day.

Rolling his eyes at the woman who couldn’t seem to let go of the beat-around-the-bush bullshit, Jon decided his relationship with this twin needed to take a serious downturn.  Another swipe and tap initiated a new call, and he lifted the phone to his ear. 

“Well, hello there,” Delaney answered with an audible smile that drew one out of him, too.  “Are you calling for a wardrobe consultation?”

“No, smartass.  I’m calling to tell you it’s a closed rehearsal today.  Pass that along to your sister, would ya?”

“Oh, for freep’s sake.  She asked, didn’t she?  Sorry.  I swear I didn’t put her up to it.”

“I figured that.”  Jon bent to peel off his socks, remembering his instructions to Matt about concert seating tonight.  “Can you be to the arena by six-thirty tonight?”

“We’re sightseeing in Old Montreal today, but sure, I guess.  Why?”

“Don't miss Notre Dame Basilica,” he recommended, removing the phone from his ear just long enough to yank off his sweaty, smelly t-shirt.  “It’s one of my favorites here.  And as far as why, yesterday’s admission to soundcheck wasn’t completely free.  There are things I wanted in return, and this is one of them.”

“Gee.  Could you make that any more cryptic or ominous, there Dr. Evil?”

“Not ominous, just non-negotiable."  Tossing his shirt toward the bedroom, he didn't even bother trying to suppress a smirk.  He really liked her no-holds-barred approach to their… friendship.  The attitude and wiseass personality were much like those of the guys he’d kept around for so many years, and Jon found the similarity gratifying.  “Hanging with me last night was the first.  Show up at six-thirty and find out the second.”

“Is there a third, fourth or fifth?”

Her wariness took his smirk to a grin.  She was more astute than the guys.  It had taken them months, if not years, to learn that level of suspicion. 

“Anything else would be optional, not a requirement.”

“That's not inspiring a lot of warm fuzzy feelings, but okay.”  She radiated disbelief but let him off the hook to pursue her own agenda.  “Hey, I’m sure you’re busy, but real quick… thank you again for the ring.  A text message just didn’t seem sincere enough.  You didn't have to do it, and I wasn’t expecting anything but it's pretty freeping awesome.”

In some ways, Delaney was just as predictable as her sister and Jon should've anticipated this reaction.  It wasn’t like it was the first time she'd acted as though she unintentionally burdened him into a gift, and as he'd mentioned the other day, Delaney was nothing if not consistent. 

“You said something like that when I gave you maracas, too.”  He hooked a hand over one hip and eyeballed the couch where they kissed last night.  Jon could still envision her lying there looking up at him with sleepy eyes, and that’s who he spoke to when gently justifying, “Last night the after-party was private instead of public, but the idea was replicate your New York memories.  Then and now, you got a trinket I wanted you to have, so not another word.”

On the other end of the call, Delaney was transported from quaint, cobblestoned Saint-Paul Street to someplace else.  Someplace that she didn’t recognize.  Someplace pink.

“It’s just a trinket.”

“You said that to me,” she declared with a flash of insight. “That the maracas were just a trinket.  Didn’t you?”

“I dunno.  Maybe.  Do you remember me saying it?”

As quickly as it had come, the vision was gone, leaving her with blurry impressions rather than a full, clear picture.  It wasn’t much, but she thought it was real and used his words. “I dunno.  Maybe.  Was the place pink?”

He didn't answer right away, but Jon's chuckle told her she was right. She knew it beyond a doubt without his drawled, “It sure as hell was.” 

“Then I guess I do,” Delaney confirmed with a slow smile.  The warmth of his validation settled in her stomach with the same kind of heat as his kiss ignited last night.  Both invited the illusion that she was something more to him than a charity case fan, and she reveled in it as much as her single memory.  She remembered.  “God, please don’t tell Petra, though.  She doesn’t seem so obsessed about it anymore and I don’t want to set her off again.”

"Nobody fucking wants that.  Trust me, your secret’s safe with me.”

She was biting the inside of her jaw and reveling in the sunshine and the man she was starting to think of as a friend when Petra and Pearl emerged from the art gallery.  They'd all been browsing through the place, but when Jon called, Delaney had ducked outside.  She waved to catch their attention and crooked her finger in a silent beckon.

“Thanks. Will I see you before the concert?”

“Probably not.”

A pang of disappointment stole her warmth, but Delaney reminded herself that she’d gotten much more than she deserved.  It wasn’t fair to expect any more special treatment.  She needed to be grateful and not tug on the man’s coattails for attention.

“Okay.  Then have a good show.”

“It’s Montreal on the last night of the tour.  Fuck good.  We’re gonna have a great show.”  The man exuded a confidence that wouldn’t allow for anything less, and all she could do was smile.  “Six-thirty.  Don't forget.”

“I won’t.  Will Call?"

“You got it.  And Delaney?  I’m glad you’re starting to remember.”

“Yeah, me too.”

She disconnected the call thinking that he wasn’t the only one who was glad. 

After last night, there was no longer a gaping hole in her Jon Bon Jovi memories.  He filled that, but it would still be nice to remember how she felt with him before and whether she’d always been this attracted to him – as a person, not a persona. 

“What did Jon want?”

Delaney leveled a harsh look at the sister who strolled up without a care in the world.  “Jon asked me to tell you that rehearsal is closed today.  Stop pestering him.”

“I didn’t!” she insisted over Pearl’s snort of disbelief.  “I merely wanted to make sure our schedule was clear to do other things.”

“Well, whatever you’re doing, quit.”

Her sister’s mouth puckered with annoyance, but she only asked, “I haven’t had enough coffee to compensate hanging out with the alcoholics last night.  We need to rectify that before I become vile.”

Scanning the area, she spotted a café with outdoor seating and Petra headed off with purpose, leaving the other two to trail behind. 

“So, are you like Jon Bon Jovi’s buddy now?” Pearl asked, pushing sunglasses onto her head when they stepped into the shade of the building.  “You’ll talk, text and exchange holiday cards?  Or will you start hanging out in Greenwich Village with him and his family?”

She hadn’t given the first thought to anything past Montreal.  Would he still occasionally call and text or would he move on to his next charitable cause to completely forget her?  It was hard to envision a world where they met up and “did lunch”, but maybe he’d still stop by for flowers for holidays.  She hadn’t been given a reason to hope for anything more.

“He hasn’t mentioned anything, but I’m guessing it all ends tonight.  He’ll change his number to avoid Petra and I’ll never hear from him again.”

An umbrellaed table was just opening up and they slid in to claim it before anyone else had a chance.  Arranging the metal chairs so that they could see the door, Delaney thought it could be true.  She’d never hear from him again, so whatever he wanted at six-thirty tonight, she would give without complaint.

Pearl pulled out her phone and agreed.  “You may be right on that new number thing.  The guys from last night might block her, too.  She’s a little aggressive.”

“What?”  Delaney lifted a curious brow.  “Did she hit on them?  How was it, anyway?”

“She was just Petra – a little uptight for the rocker boys, but they stayed with us the whole time.  Made sure we got back to the room okay.  Dave drinks like a goddamn fish, though.  Seriously.  That dude’s liver has got to be exhausted.” 

“Did you ever find out what ‘Bounce’ was about?”

“No,” she bit out with a disgusted eye roll.  “It was like trying to get a pearl out of a super-glued oyster.  He wasn’t giving up the goods, and Phil said he didn’t know.  Shanks, either.  Hey!  Maybe you could ask Jon.”

“I’m not sure what the plan for tonight’s show is.  If I get a chance, maybe.”

“He hasn’t already hooked you up for after the show?”

“Nope.  His Royal Hotness, as you call him, has decreed our presence at Bell Centre by six-thirty.  That’s all I know.”

“Hm.”  Her friend’s head bent to scroll through text messages, reminding Delaney that she hadn’t checked hers in a while.  When she did, it was to find three from Marilee – all within the last half-hour.

[11:40AM]MARILEE: There’s a guy asking for you.  Since you aren’t here, he wants your phone number.  Says his name is Hugo and he’s been looking for you since Saturday.

Frowning at the screen, she tried to recall something – anything – but came up empty.  Saturday was the day of the accident.  It was hard telling what she’d done on her own before whacking her head, and what memories she might be lacking that no one knew about.

[11:54AM]MARILEE: He’s still here waiting on the verdict.  Won’t let me help him. Says it’s personal.  Paramedic jacket says Langfelder if that helps.  Hugo Langfelder?

The name was meaningless to her, but the jacket triggered something.  There was a cloudy memory of a bald man with a goatee in the back of an ambulance with Dorothea Bongiovi.

“C’mon, Delaney.  Show me those beautiful eyes.”

“You were lookin’ a little dehydrated, there, so I thought I’d buy you a drink.”

Hugo was the name of the guy who handled her emergency care.  He’d strapped her to a board and poked her with a needle, so she didn’t have the fondest recollections, but she thought he might have been pleasantly cruel. 

What could he possibly want?

[12:07PM]MARILEE: Finally gave up, but here’s HIS number.  He’d like you to call.  Oh, and I hired an assistant manager to go with your new designer.  I’m ecstatic but can’t wait to have you back.  It’s not the same without you. 

“Girl.  What the hell are you scowling at?  They don’t call those lines dimples when they’re in your forehead.”

Distracted eyes flicked up to her friend, finding that she watched Delaney with an equivalent scowl.  “Your forehead is full of ‘em, too.”

“Okay, fine.”  Pearl used the fingertips of both hands to literally smooth her forehead and cheeks.  “I am now Botox expressionless.  What’s up on your phone?”

“What you are is mentally unstable.”

“That’s one of my good qualities.  Are you going to tell me what the hell’s going on or do I have to beat it out of you?  I know karate and several other Chinese words.”

“Certifiably insane.”  Delaney’s dimples went full-blown as she laughed at her crazy friend.  “The texts were Marilee.  She said there was a guy in the shop asking for me today.  I think he was the one who took care of me in the ambulance.”

“Well, did she say what he wanted?”

“No, other than my number and that it’s personal.  I’m supposed to call him.”

“Well, well, well…”  Passersby chattered, snippets of the conversation floating in the gorgeous spring air as Pearl propped both elbows on the table and leaned in like a cat spotting a delicious mouse.  “You not only hook Jon Bon Jovi’s interest, but you’ve already got a rebound guy lined up, too.   If I didn’t love you, I’d loathe you.”

“What the freep are you talking about?”

“Delaney.  There’s only one reason a man wants your number for personal reasons, and that’s to ask you out.  Now, what I wanna know is if you were fully clothed during this ambulance ride?”