6 - Lemme Tell You Somethin'

 “I’m not a fan of the silent treatment.”

Cassidy didn’t turn from hanging her jacket in the hall closet but did stick out a hand to take Jon’s.  She was busy pushing a hanger into the black leather shoulders when correcting, “I’m not givin’ you the silent treatment.”

“Sure as fuck feels like it.  You haven’t spoken a word to me in almost two hours.”

Thinking back, she mentally acknowledged that her dinner conversation had taken place mostly with Obie and David, but that was because they turned talk to her album.  They were as excited about the upcoming release as she, considering how much time they’d invested in both it and her.  She – looking for any topic that didn’t involve tomorrow night’s Bon Jovi show – teasingly referred to herself as Cinderella and them as her fairy godfathers.

David, being David, had taken faux offense and wasted no time in correcting her.  “Hairy godfathers” was apparently less offensive to his manhood and Jersey heritage, so hairy godfathers it was.  She had no quarrels with a name tag that provided her only genuine laugh of the evening.

But she hadn’t ignored Jon intentionally. 

“No silent treatment,” she repeated, stepping back from the coats.  “Just waitin’ for the right time to talk.”

The lines around his mouth were deep with a weighty frown, and folded arms had biceps straining at the black cashmere encasing them. 

“Now.”

“Since you asked so nicely…”  She rolled her eyes as the closet door clicked shut, and then spun on a heel.  He could wait another thirty seconds until they got upstairs to the bedroom.  After all, he’d waited an untold number of months to talk to her.

And he still didn’t.  Obie’s the one that let the cat outta the bag.

Unfortunately for the man she breezed past, the memory caused a fresh surge of temper.  When he used a sharp tug to keep her from climbing the stairs, Cassidy pointedly glared at the fingers shackling her wrist and lifted heated eyes to the man who owned them. 

“I’d think twice before layin’ a hand on me right now.”

A shadow of frustration had lurked in his eyes at the restaurant, but it now faded under a wash of pure anger.  “Goddammit, I’m not going to hurt you!”

It was unfortunate that having a bug up his butt made him cute as a baby bunny.  Because she just could not keep herself from taunting that bug, even though Cassidy knew it made her a bad person.   

Lord, I promise to repent real sincerely later. 

“Oh, make no mistake, darlin’.  It’s your safety that’s in question, not mine.” 

The manufactured sweetness was exactly the right blend of saccharine and sugar to get that mad little bug dancing a jig, but Jon just clenched his cheeks and ignored the sassily laid trap.

“What the fuck happened to your ‘in the interest of there being no misunderstanding’?  Huh?  I’ve never known you to do this game-playing thing, and I don’t fucking like it.”

“Seem to me you were the one playin’,” she observed simply when pivoting on the ball of her foot and proceeding up the stairs. 

He growled in a way that wasn’t good for his vocal cords but didn’t bother trying to reason his way out of that logic chokehold.  That was two traps he’d neatly avoided.

Then again, nobody ever accused him of being a dumb man. 

Perturbed footsteps landed heavily enough to reveal both his ire and the fact that he was following her to the bedroom, and Cassidy let him stew in silence for the duration of their commute.  The short length of hallway to the bedroom would give him a chance to stifle his attitude and remember that he was the one who’d done wrong here, not her. 

Flicking the wall switch that had the bedside lamps glowing, Cassidy stepped out of her heels and scooped them up.  It only took a moment to pop into the walk-in and return them to their designated spot in the shoe rack, which was also accomplished in silence. 

When padding out of the closet, however, she found him at the foot of the bed in a wide stance.  His mouth wasn’t yet moving but, with hands hitched on both hips, his glowering eyes spoke volumes. 

Pissed-off volumes. 

“How ‘bout you stop lookin’ like you sucked a pickle?” she suggested, unbothered, when moving the throw blanket on the corner chair and taking a seat.  “And tell me what the hell you were thinkin’ with this grand plan of yours?  And you might wanna keep in mind I’m operatin’ on about two hours sleep, so my bullshit tolerance is in short supply.”

“How ‘bout you not talk to me like a fucking toddler?”

He was madder than a wet cat, but Cassidy fearlessly held the gaze that had frosted from denim to cadet blue.

“Soon as you act like a grown-ass man, I will.”

“Jesus Christ,” he spat and kicked out a defiant chin.  “You already know I want you to open for me.”

“Mhm.  I got that part – from Obie.” 

“It’s not my fault that Dave has a sick fucking sense of humor.  He promised not to say anything, so he dragged Obie along to do it.”

“Don’t be bringin’ them into this.”  An accusatory finger stabbed the air.  “You’re the one that should’ve told me, long before they ever had the chance.”

“You would’ve said no!”

“And this shit show presentation makes you think I’m gonna say yes?” she challenged. “I told you from the beginning I wasn’t going to use our relationship to advance myself.  I want to do this on my own.”

“That’s the problem!  You want to do everything on your own!  You’re too fucking independent!”

“As I recall, you’ve always liked an independent woman!”

“I still do!”  His roar seemed to rattle the windows, prompting him to swear before softly repeating, “I still do.  It’d just be nice if you trusted me for something beyond an orgasm.”

Cassidy drew back as if he’d slapped her, eyes widening with shock.  She was going to have to take back that earlier thought about him not being dumb, because only a deaf, dumb and blind fool could believe that nonsense. 

“I’m sorry.  What did you just say?” 

“You heard me,” he muttered, mouth slashing into an ugly frown as both hands dug into his back pockets. 

Turning toward the dresser, he gave her his back to skate blind eyes over the feminine clutter.  It was a classic Jon move to avoid eye contact when preparing to speak words that would expose hidden thoughts.  He didn’t want to see her reaction and had admitted as much when delivering the tale of Richie’s departure. 

If there was any doubt of her interpretation of his body language, it was removed by the monologue he delivered to her hairbrush and perfume. 

“Ya know, I get that I’m not the guy you want changing the oil or fixing a leaky sink.  Hell, nobody would.  My domestic side doesn’t extend past dish washing,” he snorted with self-deprecation.  “But goddammit, I know the music business, Dixie.”

Jon’s mouth was drawn into a flat line when casting a quick look over his shoulder.  “I’ve spent thirty-five years learning it the hard way.”

“Nobody’s denyin’ that, baby doll.” 

“Then trust me to fucking teach it to you," he grumped.  "Stop being so fucking stubborn and let me save you some of the hard knocks.”

Is your Southern pride worth discountin’ the value of his experience?  

No.  It wasn’t, but there was more than her pride at play here.  His reputation was also on the line. 

“What will the fans think about your girlfriend prancin’ around on stage?”

Now his body turned.  He was no longer hiding his eyes, nor was he hiding from hers.  Jon was fully open and confident when saying, “That it’s my fuckin’ stage.  That you’re talented as hell.  That I’m a lucky son of a bitch.”

“Jon,” she sighed, despite his conviction.  Yes, it was an unprecedented opportunity, but the man was a shrewd businessman and renowned musician.  Cassidy couldn’t understand his willingness to compromise those reputations when she’d never performed at anything bigger than a county fair, for crying out loud. 

“Hey.”  A gentle knuckle bumped under her chin, tilting it so that she could see the sincerity in his, “I’m not doing it for them.  I’m doing it for you.”

It’s not your job to understand why he wants to do this.  It’s your job to make him understand how much trust you put in him.  Now, do it.

“Okay.”

“Okay?” Skepticism sent sandy brows shooting upward.  “Seriously?  That’s it?  No more argument?  You’ll sing tomorrow?”

“No more argument.”  This wasn’t going to be the only heartfelt lesson he got in trust, however, and she scooted her bare feet in between his boots to get closer.  “But I wanna tell you somethin’.”

“Ah, shit.  I knew it was too easy.  You didn’t even yell.”

“I don’t yell, darlin’,  I burn shit to the ground,” she reminded with a lazy wink before turning serious.  “Now, lemme tell you somethin’ about how much I trust you.”

“Let’s just forget I said that.”

Discomfort had his eyes shifting toward the bathroom but she side-stepped back into his line of vision with a dismissive, “Not happenin’.  Because I've obviously done a poor job of relayin' the very unique role you have in my life."

"I know you love me."

"That's fine and dandy, but what you really need to know is that you carry my heart outta this house every… single… time you walk out the front door.  I trust that you’re gonna bring it back unbroken.  I trust that you're not gonna go out and replace me with another mistress.  I trust that every mornin’ you’ll wake up and make the decision to love me.  I trust-“

“Okay, okay.  I get it."

She lifted a hand to his stubbled jaw and smiled gently.  "Do you really?  Do you get that you're the only person I've ever put that level of trust in?  The only one, Jon."

"Yeah, I really get it," he breathed, blue eyes warming with real understanding and a hint of embarrassment.  "And I'm sorry for being a dumbass by not telling you sooner.  I just..."

When he couldn't find the right words to finish his thought, Cassidy decided she didn't need them, anyway.  His bruised ego was soothed, meaning he wouldn't make the same mistake again.  That's all that mattered. 

Right now she only wanted happiness crinkling the corners of his eyes.   

“Don’t be sorry, honey.  Be grateful I’m not after the career boost you can give me, like some gold digger.” She leaned back with a cheeky grin.  “Well, I am a gold digger, but just the one time.  And it was my gold.”

The silliness had his beautiful smile tipping into place, just as she – and God – had intended.  Because no matter how cute she found his anger, a frown simply didn’t suit him.  The world was a better place when Jon Bon Jovi smiled, and she would do anything to make sure he did.

Including spending the rest of her life as his mistress.

So kiss my grits, Libby.