63 - Not One Bit

Jon huffed with frustration and hung up the phone again.  It was the third time he’d tried returning Delaney’s call since leaving O’Toole’s, and she still wasn’t answering.  

Flipping his wrist around revealed that it was a little after six.  He couldn’t remember what time the shop closed, but it was worth calling there on the off-chance she’d left her phone behind again.  That damn watch was turning out to be a wasted effort.  She sure as hell wasn’t any easier to get in touch with now that she had it.

Thumbing through his phone on a quick search for the number was a short task, and it wasn’t long before the line was ringing in New York. 

“Dandelion Dreams.”

“Hi, uh… Marilee?”  He hoped it was her, anyway, because he couldn’t remember anybody else’s name who worked for Delaney.

“Speaking.”  

Score. 

“This is Jon Bon Jovi.  I was trying to get in touch with Delaney and can't get an answer.  Is she there?  Or did she leave her phone there?”

The shop manager’s professional detachment grew icicles that she tossed at him with her clipped, “Delaney and her phone are gone for the day.  Goodbye.”

A glance at the screen confirmed that the call disconnected, and Jon muttered to himself, “What the fuck?” 

The couple of times they’d met, she was friendly enough.  When did she turn into a bitch?

Or is her bitchiness directly related to Delaney?

Maybe his imagination was running wild since discovering today was her daughters’ birthday, but he had a bad feeling about this.  Sure, Delaney called him, but what if the call he declined was the one where she finally reached out to and was willing to talk?   Receiving no answer, she resorted to… what? 

Goddammit. 

He didn’t want to make this some big dramatic event by dragging Petra into it.  That was the last fucking thing he wanted to do, but if Delaney didn’t respond in the next couple of hours, he’d bite the bullet and saddle up his drama llama.

*****

Having drained herself of tears and physically unable to expel anymore grief, Delaney eased from Pearl’s embrace.  Dragging her fists over swollen eyelids, she sniffed, “What are you doing here, anyway?”

Wet eyes rolled as Pearl used harsh fingertips to rub the dampness from her own cheeks.  “Duh.  You’re here.”

“So?  You’ve never come here with me before.”

Petite shoulders shrugged under an old NYU sweatshirt.  “The wounds are raw again.  I thought maybe you’d need somebody, and since JBJ is out of town with Slutty Spice, I figured it wouldn’t be him.”

“Slutty Spice,” she repeated with a watery laugh.  Nobody had a sense of humor like Pearl’s, and right now Delaney was grateful for it.  It was time to climb out of the crypt of despair and humor was a good ladder.  “Did you see the quote with it?”

“About the divorce not being sudden?  Yeah.”

Delaney’s wilted ponytail shook with denial.  “After that.  The name she says he called her.” 

“Maybe.  Something about… a fighter?”

“Beautiful fighter,” she clarified, pushing from the ground to stand and dust away the grass while her heart pinched.  “He calls me that.”

“What?  I thought he called you Mou?”

“That too, but the other… only during sex.”

Outrage was evident in the energy with which Pearl bounced to her feet.  “Oh, hell no!  That fucker did not go there.”

A rueful grin ticked one dimple into play as overwatered eyeballs went gritty from the sudden change in climate.  Pearl always had her back, no matter what.  There was no better friend. 

“I don’t know if he did or not, but Marilee is the only one I ever told about that.”

“Well, where’s your phone?  Let’s call His Royal Dickface and clear this shit up right now, because I don’t care how muscled and ripped and beautiful and hot….  Where was I going with this?  Oh.  Yeah.  I will kick his shapely ass!”

Clearing it up required not only talking but looking into his eyes, and she didn’t have the energy to do either.  Today, she didn’t want to know the truth.  She just wanted to get through it.

“C’mon, tough girl.”  Delaney snugged an arm around her friend’s waist and steered them toward the parking lot.  “I’m too exhausted to deal with it right now.  How about we get drunk instead?”

“I really think you should find out what happened, Lanes.”

“I know I should,” she sighed.  “And I will.  Just not today.”

There wasn’t immediate approval in her friend’s brown eyes, but acceptance did finally work its way in.  “Okay.  Cool.  We’ll pick up booze, go to your place and make a voodoo doll.  We can use stick pins to give him incurable gonorrhea.”

Loyal and vindictive.  She tended to forget about Pearl’s malicious streak, but if she didn’t have the energy to call Jon, Delaney definitely didn’t have enough to tackle a voodoo doll away from Pearl. 

“I have a better idea.  Why don’t you be my wingman at Rocky’s?”

It had been a while since they went to their favorite neighborhood bar, mostly because that’s where Delaney went to pick up guys.  She hadn’t needed a guy since Jon came along, but considering his current placement at the top of her anus list, he wouldn’t be solving her problems tonight. 

Rocky’s was her best shot at combating the loneliness that was moving in to take the place of grief.  With a lot of booze and a little harmless flirting, her flagging spirits would be bolstered in no time. 

“I don’t know, Lanes.  You sure you want to do that?”   

Delaney opened the van door to her phone lying in the seat and lit with an incoming message.  Picking it up, she found three missed calls from Jon, along with just as many text messages – each said nothing more than “call me” – and a couple from Petra.  Her sister had apparently seen Katya’s picture, too, and wanted the scoop.

No scoop today, Petra. 

She needed to have a little fun.  Feel a little pretty and a little less worn.  Find a guy who might make her smile and buy her a drink.   Was that too much to ask?

“Here.”  Delaney pushed the phone at Pearl.  “Go with me and you can be in charge of my phone.  Start a fight with Petra, drunk dial for me.  Anything you want.  I just… need to go out.  Please.”

Her friend solemnly studied Delaney’s face, which must look a mess, because Pearl ended up nodding with slow resignation.  Extending a palm to take the phone, she tucked it in her back pocket and conceded, “Whatever you want, babe.  You deserve it all.”

Two hours after they went their separate ways to clean up and change clothes, Delaney strode up in front of Rocky’s wearing high heels and a deep-cut top to go with her jeans.  The previous ponytail was now in a messy twist, and it was accompanied by a heavy-handed application of make-up that did nothing to disguise bloodshot eyes.  Even an overdose of Visine couldn’t bleach the red out, and it was the first thing Pearl noted.

“You still look like shit, gorgeous girl, but good try.” 

The blunt observation was tempered by a fierce hug that lasted longer than was appropriate for a bar sidewalk embrace, but Delaney didn’t care.  She hadn’t shed the loneliness.  If anything it was worse now than before, and she clung to her friend, only breaking away when the emotion started to stir again. 

“Don’t make my mascara run, you hussy.” 

“Fuck that,” Pearl declared flatly, breaking away to dab at one of her own eyes.  “I didn’t dig out my slut wardrobe and leave Hubster with the Yankees for some damn sob fest.  Been there done that.  I’m here for the booze and to make sure these guys mind their manners, so let’s hit it already.”

The centerpiece of Pearl’s “slut wardrobe” was a skirt that would be obscene on anyone taller than five feet, but it hit her at a respectable mid-thigh.   It was complemented by a pair of strappy heels higher than Delaney’s, a clingy silk tank and oversized jewelry.  She looked ready for anything and was.  This woman would fight the entire bar if Delaney asked her to, using her high heels to mortally wound any eyes and testicles that got in the way.

For the first time she experienced gratitude that Jon was out of town.  He would be the first victim.

“I love your crazy self, Pearl.”

“Of course you do,” came the snorted reply as a guiding arm slung around her waist.  “You forgot your debit card and want me to buy.”

Delaney grabbed a rung on the laughter ladder and took the next step toward hauling herself back among the living.

*****

After hanging up from what had to be at least the fifth unanswered call that evening, Jon grumbled to himself about forgetful women and fired off another text. 

[9:45 PM]JON:  WTF did you actually do with the Apple watch??  You’re obviously not wearing the fucking thing.  Don’t make me call Petra!

The threat was an empty one, but she didn’t have to know that.  Jon had ditched the idea of calling in twin reinforcement when he opened this bottle of wine an hour ago, and he dropped his phone on the hotel couch to lean forward and dump the rest of the rosè into his glass

This was his first bottle, but the way his night was shaping up, it wasn’t going to be his last.

Without his guitar and uninspired to write, there was nothing else to do tonight besides get drunk.  He'd begged off another corporate schmoozing event and sent Jesse on his own.  That left him in the all-too-familiar state of hotel room solitude.  If his ears were ringing, he’d think he was on tour.    

The only thing ringing was the phone lying next to him, with the chime of a text.

What?  Did she finally check her fucking messages? 

[9:47 PM]MOU: Her phone is right here, but she’s busy getting her ass groped by a burly, bearded guy at the bar.

The text was made even more colorful by a middle finger emoji.

What the actual fuck?

[9:48 PM]JON:  Petra?  Pearl?

[9:49 PM]MOU: Like Pet would hang out at a bar that wasn’t solid mahogany.  Please, fucker.

It was definitely Pearl. 

[9:50 PM]JON:  Stop fucking around and tell Delaney to call me.

[9:52 PM]MOU: I’m not the one fucking around.  I told you to treat my girl right JBJ.   Nobody’s impressed with what you’ve done in Chicago.    

Christ.  Had Delaney found out about his visit to Poppy?  How?  Did Poppy call?  Already?  It must not have been a good reunion if Pearl was giving him a ration of shit.  Delaney might actually move her cussing from Sesame Street to Jersey if that was the case.

Fuck.

His thumbs were flying over the compact keyboard with another demand for Delaney to call him when another message arrived.  This one had no scathing text, though.  It was only a picture. 

The photo quality was grainy, like a zoom was used, and the lighting sucked.  Even so, there was no mistaking who it was.  That was Delaney smiling up at the aforementioned bearded guy – whose hand was firmly planted on her ass.

Jon recalled saying very recently that he wasn’t the jealous type.  For fifty-six years, he’d believed that to be the God’s honest truth, and finding that he was wrong sucked balls.  Jealousy had been absent from his life not because Jon was an enlightened being.  He’d just never seen another guy groping what belonged to him. 

And he didn’t like it.  Not one fucking bit.