7 - No Encores

“She’s damn good.”

Jon cast an absent grin at his brother without looking away from the screen.  They didn’t normally fire up the Bon Jovi video equipment for opening acts, but he’d asked Tony to do it tonight, thinking it would make a nice memento for Cassidy. 

“Honest to God, I knew she would be, but it’s even better than I imagined.”

In a tight pair of Levi’s, her ruby heels and a split-sleeve blouse that sparkled almost the same red, she owned the stage.  Free-flowing waves glinted copper in the stage lighting, and her smile could’ve been a second spotlight with its brightness. 

He and Tony weren’t the only ones impressed, either.  After only two songs, the crowd was eating out of her hand like a starving dog being served filet mignon. He’d never seen anything quite like it.

Yes, Bon Jovi fans felt a certain loyalty to whomever was playing on the heart and dagger stage, but Glory Star Cassidy was born to be there – and he no longer felt the least damn bit bad about pressuring her into it.  He didn’t even (much) resent spending the day apart so she could go shopping for a stage wardrobe with Libby, rehearse with the studio musicians from her album, and do a soundcheck – to which he wasn’t invited. 

Her reasoning?  He’d heard her sing hundreds of times and sung with her half as many.  She saw “no call for him to hang around and make her nervous as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rockin’ chairs”.

Jon didn’t understand why that didn’t pertain to Dave and Obie but didn’t waste time worrying about it.   Last night could’ve gone much worse, and likely would’ve if his relationship partner was anybody but Cassidy.  Only she would accept his “secret keepin’” with the same composure, grace and humor that defined her very character – and make sweet love with him afterward.

The least he could do was not bitch about being ostracized from the arena for a couple of hours.

It didn’t hurt that she’d also agreed to fly to St. Louis with them after the show.  Though she was quick to shake a finger and warn that her agreement was “only because it’s Saturday and the clinic is closed on Sundays”. 

He didn’t give a fuck why she was going as long as she did.  Jon wasn’t ready to be away from her yet, and if the joy lighting both her eyes and Camera 2 was any indication, he might even be able to get her onstage again. 

This time for a duet.

“A Southern drawl doesn’t make me part

    of the country scene

Any more than lovin’ Freddie Mercury

    will crown me a queen

But if you need to label a gal

     with a riff in her soul

You can call me the Dixie Queen

     of Rock and Roll!”

The closing chorus ended, giving way to a roar of audience appreciation that filled Jon with pride.  He was going to have to check with Obie on her iTunes numbers.  The sales on her first single, “Dixie Queen”, should easily triple by morning. 

“I’m no expert, but you’re nuts if you don’t keep her around – for both business and pleasure.”

This time, he gave Tony a look along with the smile. “You’re definitely no expert.” 

He was laughing at the expected middle finger when a third presence entered the confined under-stage video space.  With a clap on the shoulder, David observed brightly, “Dixie Chick is killing it, man!  Or should I say, ‘Dixie Queen’?  ‘Cause that’s what the world will be calling her.”

“You think?”  He hadn’t considered that his Dixie nickname might become a public identity, and Jon wasn’t sure he liked it. 

“Duh.”  The keyboardist bounded up the metal stage stairs, taking with him any opportunity for response. 

“Where the hell is he going?”

Wondering the same thing, Jon could only speculate, “To play for her, I guess.  They mentioned doing ‘In These Arms’.”

Tony shrugged as her husky drawl filtered through the sound system, filling the arena. 

“Ladies and gentlemen, I believe y’all know this man?  David Bryan has graciously agreed to join us for my last song.”

The brothers both zeroed in on the video monitors to see their comrade wave at the sea of cheering faces. 

Well, that answers that.  Please, God, don’t let her do the stripper version.  I’ll lose my damn mind. 

Unaware of his prayer, Cassidy cast an appreciative smile in Dave’s direction, silently thanking him for the stool that now resided at center stage.  She retrieved Ruby from a stand and gracefully climbed upon the black leather seat, twirling it a bit as the guitar curved over her thigh.   It only took a quick tug to position the mic at mouth-level, and she smiled behind it, waggling her fingers at someone in the first few rows.

Jon assumed it was Libby and Wes, who had insisted upon buying “good seats” rather than sitting side stage after their backstage tour.  Then again, it might be the neighbor from across the street who he'd indirectly invited to that same backstage tour.  Laura Jean or something like that.  The one with the flowers.

Whomever it was didn’t hold her attention for long, because Cassidy’s eyes were roaming the sold-out crowd with pleasure when she leaned forward to address them.

“I realize I’m just the op’nin act, so don’t think I’m gettin’ all big-headed and takin’ over the show up here.  Truth is, I just found out about this performance last night.  Mine, not Bon Jovi’s,” she amended with a congenial chuckle.  “A certain someone kept it a secret to the last minute.  I'd like to show him he's not the only one who can keep a secret – if y‘all don’t mind.”

Oh, hell.  What’s she up to?

The melodic tinkle of piano keys melded with applause, and Cassidy’s chin dipped in gratitude. 

“Y’all prob’ly don’t know this, but my upcomin’ album, Castle in the Clouds, has three producers.  All three of 'em are affiliated with Bon Jovi.”

“Her hairy godfathers.”

“That’s right.” She chuckled at Dave’s interjection, accompanying it with both the shake of her head and a strummed chord.  “David here, along with sound man Obie O’Brien and Jon Bon Jovi himself.  They're the ‘hairy godfathers’ that turned my musical dream into somethin’ real by helpin’ me put together an album.” Only…”  She dropped her voice to a stage whisper.  “One of those godfathers hasn’t heard the whole album yet.”

“Because I keep your secrets better than his, Dixie Queen.”

What the hell?  There’s a song I haven’t heard, but motherfucking Lema has?  No wonder they locked me out of soundcheck.

That in itself was enough to irritate him, and he took it out on the brother who was snorting his amusement.  Tony didn’t even flinch under the backhand to his shoulder, lazily pointing out, “Not my fault you got left out of the loop by your girlfriend and your best friends.”

He’d backhand them, too, if they were close enough.  With Obie manning the sound board in the middle of the arena and Dave onstage, he was left nothing to do but grumble, “Shut the fuck up.”

The hypocrite who read him the genteel riot act last night was tossing a playful look over her shoulder.  “Quiet in the peanut gallery, Mr. Bryan.  You’re gonna get me in trouble.”

David immediately gave a humble servant’s bow, earning himself a wink before Cassidy swiveled back to her mic. 

“Anyhow, to make a long story short, Jon’s birthday is in a coupl’a weeks.  You can probably guess how stressful gift shoppin’ for him would be.  I mean how many cars, skulls and houses does a rock star need?”  She paused, allowing time for the laughter to fade.  “Since I was raised to believe homemade gifts were more valuable than what money could buy….  Well, let’s just say I stuck with that.  

"I'm givin' it to him a little earlier than planned, but the last song on my album is for him."

The audience approval was immediate and unmistakable, earning a shy grin from the beauty who hooked her stiletto over a stool rung. 

Okay, now he felt like an ass. 

How could he be expected to stay mad about the secrecy, when the hidden song was for him?  

He couldn’t.  

In fact, for the first time, he kind of understood why women got off on the idea of having a song written for them.  It was their own form of immortality, and while he was canonized enough in his own right, this was different.  Cassidy wanted to immortalize him in a very personal way.  

That made it worth more than a damn Grammy in his book. 

Jon expelled a quiet and calming breath, leaning forward on the desk to scrutinize the monitors. 

Show me what you’ve got, baby.

“Guess I better make sure he’s listenin’ before I unwrap his present, huh?”  Her eyes lifted high, as though offering up one of her prayers, but this time she spoke to the crew instead of God.  “Hey, fellas?  Is Jon within earshot?”

“He was in video when I came up.”

David’s answer was still valid, but Jon wasn’t content to let it stand on its own.  He flipped a mic switch that would reach her ear monitor.  “I’m here, Dix.”

Her face grew visibly brighter at the simple assurance, and he felt his do the same when she spoke to nearest camera.  To him.

“Happy birthday.  I hope ya like it.  One… two… one, two, three…”

The tune was an up-tempo yet gentle one, more adult contemporary than rock.  Not her usual style, but it sounded good, he thought while watching dainty fingers skip over Ruby’s strings.  A light bass beat pulsed beneath the piano intro until, finally, her rough velvet voice provided the missing melody.

“’A man walks… in-to a bar’.

I’d heard that line… all my life,

But this time it wasn’t a joke.

There was no wit-ty punch… line.

Only shadowed blue eyes

That I never would’ve met

But for the grace of God

And deeds any fool… should re-gret.

Well, just call me a fool.

I’ve got no remorse.

To find me and you,

I had to stray off course.

“Someone once told me,

Love is a choice.

One I make with my heart.

One I make with my voice.

Well, I… choose… you…

As my One

I… choose… you…

Until my days are done.

Ev-ery day.

Ev-ery way.”

The song was perfect.  He could objectively evaluate the tempo, rhythm, key and notes, all of which were all perfect for her vocal range and musicianship. 

Her delivery is where he lost all objectivity.  The heartfelt lyrics flowed from her lips like the sweetest honey, directly into Camera 2.  It was as though she knew that's the one Jon was watching, and she was singing for him alone.    

He’d cleared his throat three times already and avoided a nudging elbow from his brother.  Now he was rubbing at a tender spot in his chest, equally impatient to hear the rest and get her off that stage. 

“A lit-tle girl’s heart yearns…

To be the cow… that jumps o-ver the moon,

While a woman’s heart learns…

To settle for wash-ing the dish and the spoon.

I never dreamed I could… have… both,

Then we built our castle on… a… cloud

And now that I’m here

I won’t ev-er come down...

I’ll keep those home fires burn-in’

While you’re on your next jour-ney

And when you come back… a-gain…

You… can burn… with me…

“Someone once told me,

Love is a choice.

One I make with my heart.

One I make with my voice.

Well, I… choose… you…

As my One

I… choose… you…

Until my days are done.

Ev-ery day.

Ev-ery way.

I.

Choose.

You.”

Her eyes had drifted a bit during the last chorus, but for those final three words...  Cassidy was locked into Camera 2 again.  A girl, talking to a guy as though they were the only two people in the world.  He was mesmerized and enchanted, unable to tear his gaze away until the arena went dark following that final chord. 

The audience was right there with him in the spell of her magic.  They hadn’t breathed, much less applauded, but Tony?  He had no trouble splintering the fragile moment. 

“I retract my earlier statement.  You’re not nuts if you don’t keep her around.  You’re a fucking moron.”

“Shut up,” Jon repeated when the cheering crowd jarred him to life.  Cassidy was Blowing kisses as she turned for the stairs, and he pushed out of his chair just in time to meet her at the bottom of the stairs.

“Happy early birthday,” she laughed up at him, handing Ruby off to a crew member.  “Did you like it?”

“No.” 

The wide smile faltered for an instant before picking back up with determination, and he cussed himself for trying to be cute.  For stealing the joy from her even for the seconds it took her to philosophically say, “Well, there’s no returnin’ it, so I guess I’ll just have to promise to do better next year.”

She would’ve escaped his embrace if he hadn’t held tight in the flurry of people making the set change happen.  There were also accolades all around from his crew, band and family, but Jon refused to release Cassidy and bent to her ear. 

“I didn’t like it, Dixie.  I loved it.  I love you.  So damn much."

Radiance seeped back into the curve of her lips, and there was affection in the hand that cupped Jon’s cheek.  “Even though I did the taboo ‘paradin’ our private life out in public’ thing?”

“Well, there is that,” he amended, as though he gave a shit. Privacy was nice, but he wouldn’t trade that performance for it.  However, he wasn’t above dispatching a half-hearted stink-eye to his advantage.  “Sing a duet with me tomorrow night, and I’ll forgive you.”

“Goddammit, stop bogarting the star of the show.”  That was all the warning they had before Cassidy was ripped from Jon’s arms and hauled into David’s.  “Well, the female star of the show, anyway.  You were fan-fucking-tastic, Dixie Queen!”

“You weren’t so bad yourself, hairy godfather, but your manners suck.”

The big goon picked her up for a twirl and sighed over her laughter, “Yeah, yeah.  Tell me something I don’t hear every day.”

“How about ‘you’re fired’?”

The keyboardist met Jon’s scowl without concern but did set Cassidy back on her feet.  “I hear that every other day.  It’s nothing new, either.”

“Your unemployment check might be.”

“Five minutes,” the stage manager announced, cutting through the swarming crowd and effectively putting a stop to the quarrel.  “And wardrobe is looking for you, Jon.  Dawn says you didn’t pick a jacket.”

Sometimes, his job was a pain in the ass.  His show of gratitude, adoration and pride for Cassidy would have to wait until later – just like everything else this weekend had.  He was looking forward to locking them into a St. Louis hotel room in a few hours.

“Yeah, alright.”  Jon hooked Cassidy’s elbow and dropped a pucker against her lips.  “I’ll catch up with you after the show.  Dressing room.”

A mischievous twinkle stole its way into in her baby blues, giving a flavor of innuendo to the seemingly innocent, “Post-show sounds good, baby doll. Real good.”

“I’d like to try sweaty post-show sex sometime.”

The memory came rushing at Jon like a bullet train, evoking a dirty smirk that his dirty girl returned in kind. 

Sorry, Nashville.  No extra encore tonight.