3 - Change of Plans

“For Christ’s sake, Dave,” Jon lamely griped from the back of his hired car.  “I just saw you last night.  Why the fuck are you calling me?”

“In case nobody’s mentioned it lately, your acting sucks balls.  Since pretending to be pissed is out of your reach, I’ll assume you got laid.”

What choice did he have but to laugh?  The man was right.  Jon had gotten a much-needed dose of happy from his favorite dealer and it kept him from working up a believable annoyance.

“None of your damn business.”

“Fine,” the Jersey keyboardist sighed boredly.  “I’d rather have sex with her than hear about it, anyway.”

“Lem-aaa…”

The chortle that rattled the phone was pure fucking evil.  “Now that’s the surly sonofabitch I share a plane with.  This Jekyll and Hyde thing she inspires in you is a riot, man.”

“You have exactly three seconds before I hang up on your psychotic ass.” 

Sadly, it had more to do with Jon’s arrival at his destination than anger.  He was in too good of a mood to let the juvenile antics get under his skin.  Besides, he had it on excellent authority that Dixie wouldn’t fuck Dave “even if his tallywhacker twirled like one of those electronic Jack Rabbit things”.

Someday, he was going to give his buddy that direct quote, but he was waiting for the perfect occasion.  Today wasn’t it. 

“Okay, okay.  I wanted to talk to the Dixie Diva, but I’m not getting an answer on the house phone or her cell.  She with you?”

“No,” Jon answered while ignoring the intentional dropping of the “Dixie” nickname that Dave was expressly forbidden to use.  Drawing attention to it only fed the rebellion.  “She’s working until noon.”

“What the fuck is with her and this work thing?  Her first single has already dropped, and the album goes full-blown in a couple weeks.  She should be reveling, not working a menial job.”

Jon rolled his eyes at the flurry of snow swirling around the car and crammed one fist into a pocket on his leather jacket.  “She’s a fucking medical professional.  Hardly a menial job.”

“Whatever.  You know what I mean.”

Yes, Jon knew what he meant.  He also knew that his Dixie was the most goddamn independent woman on the planet.  It was hell even finding her a gift that she didn’t consider extravagant.  Her ruby Takamine had been a tough sell last Christmas, and it cost under a thousand dollars.  That’s how he ended up gifting her with his time this Christmas – by helping with the album.

The woman liked personal things, not expensive ones.  It’s why, after only giving her a call for Valentine’s Day, his car was sliding up in front of the artisan shop where he’d once gotten leather bracelets made.

Gesturing to the driver to give him a minute, he said into the phone, “She isn’t going to quit at the clinic until she’s banked two years’ salary from the album.  That’s what she said last time I tried to suggest quitting, anyway.”

“Well,” David preened.  “With elite producers like you, me and Obie on the liner notes, that won’t take long.”

“I hope not.  She works eighteen hours a day.”

“After tomorrow’s show, I think her tune will change.  You did tell her about the show, right?”

“There hasn’t been a chance,” Jon defended against the accusing question, without explaining that he didn’t get in until two and she left for work at six-thirty.   What was the point?

He knew that no amount of justification would deter his friend’s sarcastic, “There hasn’t been a chance in six months?  Because that’s how long I’ve known where Nashville fell on the tour schedule.  You knew before that and still haven’t found a chance to invite your girlfriend onstage?  Douchebag.”

“It’s not that easy.”

“Sure, it is!  ‘Sing with us in Nashville, Dixie.’  Six words.  Not even remotely fucking hard.”

“Listen, fucktard.  Do you know how long she fought having my name on those liner notes you mentioned?” Jon demanded with frustration.  “I had to make my participation a fucking Christmas gift before she’d let me near the studio.  Cassidy wants to ride or die because of her talent, not who she fucks.”

“Which brings me to another point that I’ve been politely biting my tongue about.  When the hell are you gonna ask that girl to be more than a serial fuck buddy?”

Oh, for the love of God!

“What are you, her father?”

“Since she doesn’t have one, I don’t mind stepping in,” the voice on the other end obliged easily.  “She deserves to be more than your dose of Valium.  At least move in together, for fuck’s sake, so the tabloids will stop calling her your ‘Nashville mistress’.”

Jesus, Mary and Joseph.  Why had David Bryan chosen to make Cassidy his cause of the day?  Today, of all days, when the only thing Jon wanted to do was make up for time lost over the last three weeks.  Was it so much to ask that he get to simply enjoy his goddamn girlfriend without the interference of meddling busybodies?

“I’m not even acknowledging that bullshit with a response.  Good-bye, David.”

“Wait!”  For reasons only God could understand, Jon did. “I wanna see the Dixie Diva while I’m in town, outside of the show.  Dinner tonight – Merchants or her house?”

If they had to do this, Jon’s preference was the place he considered home in Nashville.  He could be truly comfortable there and Cassidy wouldn’t feel compelled to make herself up for the paparazzi.  She was beautiful fresh out of the shower, but according to her, going out required an extra thirty minutes of primping so that she was “fit to be photographed with such a pretty man”. 

He thought it was utter bullshit and told her to go as she was, but as in everything else, his girlfriend was quietly stubborn and did as she saw fit.  Staying in would save her the trouble, and he was on the verge of saying so when a thought occurred to him. 

David wouldn’t be as easy to get out of Dixie’s cozy house as he would a restaurant.  Not with three extra bedrooms available.  Hell, he’d probably spend the night, and while Jon loved the guy….

“Make reservations at Merchants.  Seven o’clock.”

At least he and Cassidy would get the afternoon together. 

♫♫♫♫♫

[11:50AM]CASSIDY:  After I told our other doctor to go skiing for the weekend, my relief called in with the flu.  I’m stuck at the clinic until 6.  ☹

[11:52AM]JON:  Fuck.  Ok.

Cassidy didn’t hear anything more from him throughout the afternoon, nor had she expected to.  Jon tolerated her job with the same resigned acceptance that she showed his busy life.  They had to do what they had to do, and neither wasted time engineering pointless guilt trips. 

This time around, Cassidy felt guilty enough all on her own, anyway.  She should’ve taken the whole day off to begin with.  There wasn’t a lot of time for this visit, and as each patient passed through, she grew unnaturally resentful at being there.   Her only consolation was sneaking in ten minutes this morning to take care of an unplanned task.  

[5:26PM]JON: I promised Dave we’d meet him for dinner at 7.  Merchants.  You want me to cancel?

Honestly, yes.  Their hours together were already at a minimum, but the string of unanswered text messages from Jon’s friend reflected such excitement at seeing her that Cassidy couldn’t do it.  Besides, it wasn’t like Jon wouldn’t be there, too.  They’d still be together, just not naked and alone together.

[5:28PM]CASSIDY: You do and he’ll just turn up at the house.  I’ll meet y’all there as soon as I can.

[5:29PM]JON: We’ll go together.  See you when you get home.

Home. 

It wasn’t like he was referring to it as his home, because it wasn’t.  He didn’t view it that way.  Time and again, he’d called it her house or her place, and it never bothered her before.  Why did it give her a twinge this afternoon?

Because of that damn meddling sister of yours. 

“The last patient just cancelled,” the meddler herself announced from the doorway.  “You best get outta here while the gettin’s good.”

Cassidy let her phone drop to the desk in the tiny doctor’s office and glared at her sister.  “I’m still mad at you.”

“Gee, really?”  The woman who couldn’t care less rolled huge blue eyes toward her strawberry-blonde hairline.  “The way you’ve cut me to ribbons every time our paths crossed today never woulda clued me in.   And as far as I’m concerned, be as mad as you want but do it on the way outta here.  No sense wastin’ your five minutes of normal relationship time on me.  I’ll still be here when he’s gone again.”

Hating that what Libby said was the truth, Cassidy nonetheless rose and shed her white medical coat, hanging it on the coat rack by the window. 

Outside it, evening had settled into the murky winter gray that descended just before nightfall, and the hue alone was enough to create a chill.  A light flurry of snowflakes dancing under the streetlight made her grateful for the down jacket that was far warmer than her long-sleeved t-shirt and scrub top.  

Annoyance was also warming and prompted her to deliver a caustic, “Just because you’re happily married now don’t make you a relationship expert.”

“Bein’ happily married also don’t make me blind.  Too bad I can’t say the same for you, ‘cause you’re blinder ‘n a bat when it comes to that man, Glory Star.  I adore him, but he needs to do right by you.”

After one last check for text messages, she shoved her phone into the purse taken from a desk drawer and zipped it with more force than necessary.  “Mind your own beeswax, Libby.  Your definition of right ain’t the only one.”

“Maybe not,” the feistier of the two sisters agreed with unnerving calm.  It was even more unnerving when she crossed both arms over her chest to softly add, “But it’s the same as yours – if you’d stop lyin’ to yourself.”

The girl’s right, Glory, and if the Good Lord hadn’t needed me here so’s you could meet that Jon of yours, I’d be havin’ me a talk with that boy.

Great.  Now her grandmother was chiming in from Heaven, when all Cassidy wanted to do was enjoy living in the moments she was given. 

Slinging the strap of her mini backpack onto a shoulder, she cut her sister another withering look.  “I’m done talkin’ about this, Liberty.  And if you and Wes still want to go backstage with me tomorrow night, you’re done with it, too.  Do I make myself clear?”

“I reckon.”

One eyebrow arched damningly in a move she’d used for decades to intimidate her little sister.  “You mention so much as one single word about my relationship with Jon, and I’ll have his brother escort you outta that arena so fast your head will spin.  Then I’ll march right to the music store and buy Judson that banjo you keep talkin’ him out of.”

Libby winced as though she’d been struck.  “Lord a’mercy, spare us all the pain of a banjo.  How did I raise a boy who likes bluegrass music?”

It was the first time today that Cassidy cracked a smile at the younger woman.  “MeMaw henpecked the Lord into it as payback for your hellion ways.”

The soul-deep sigh was the purest admission of defeat.  “Prob’ly so.  And she’d probably find him a band to join if I piss you off, so I’ll be sweet as honey to Jon and keep my trap shut.”

“See that you do.”