9 - Party Flight

“All right, you loud fuckers quiet down!”  David ordered, filling the last shot glass on the private plan that was soaring toward the Midwest. “I know this isn’t the liver-pickling poison of choice for some of you, but tough shit.  Our girl likes the hard stuff, and this night is all about her.”

A low-key grin tipped Jon’s lips at an angle, and a glance across the table found it mirrored on Cassidy’s bemused face. 

He’d rather have her at his side, but she made it perfectly clear before boarding that she didn’t want everyone thinking of her just as a tag-along girlfriend.  Jon was going to put her onstage, she wanted the Jovi gang to treat her as a peer. 

That’s why Dave was sitting next to her and winding up for what would like likely be an outrageous toast.

Their friend was often over-the-top crazy, but tonight Jon welcomed the insanity.  The beautiful guest of honor on this Bon Jovi flight deserved to have a crazy man toasting her with expensive booze.  She deserved a hell of a lot more than that, but her contented amusement would suffice for this hour-long flight. 

“Dixie Queen,” the self-appointed master of ceremonies launched. “You knocked it out of the park tonight.  Every woman in that damn arena wanted to be you.  Some because you were born to perform and have the voice of a goddess.  Others because you’re boning their pretend boyfriend.”

There was an explosion of predictable laughter, because this gaggle of jackasses still had teenage mentalities.  They didn’t need to dwell on sex.  Not with his girlfriend being one of only two women on board. 

“Get on with it,” Jon ordered dryly from the side of his mouth, and Cassidy readily supported him. 

“Please.  I’d rather talk about singin’ than who I’m sleepin’ with.”

David deliberately twisted his head to waggle bushy eyebrows her direction.  “And I appreciate your discretion, country cutie.  It keeps Jonny from trying to kick my ass.”

A collective “ooooh” filled the cabin, but Jon didn’t rise to the bait.  Things always rolled off him more easily when Cassidy was around, but tonight he wasn’t even tempted to bite back.  Why would he be?  She’d taken a written profession of love and performed it for him in front of thousands.  Only a moron would question her commitment.

Although after that goddamn picture from today, she could easily doubt his commitment. 

He cursed himself for that again.  Years of being an unsuspecting photo subject had given Jon a sixth sense about cameras.  It didn’t matter if they were telephoto lens Nikons or attached to cheap cell phones.  He always knew when someone was snapping pictures. 

When he’d folded Tamara into his arms today, though….  Well, emotion had him oblivious to whomever was documenting the moment.    

You better figure out how to spin that, so you don’t fuck up everything.

Swearing silently, he vowed that this would not be a problem.  He preferred to avoid the subject altogether, but if he had to, Jon would spin it like a damn merry-go-round.  Cassidy was too important to let something like this ruin things.

“Well, that was a dud.”  Dave’s sigh was laden with disgust at Jon’s non-reaction, but as he shook it off easily.  “No matter.  This is about Beauty, not the Beast.”

“And I’m sure the Beauty wants her shot of bourbon, already,” the normally quiet Tico pointed out. 

“The minute I heard her sing, I knew she was an angel,” the curly-headed toastmaster waxed poetic, refusing to be rushed.  “The thirty minutes it took her to learn guitar and piano told me she was a virtuoso.  The eighteen jobs she juggles speak of relentless determination.  The arsonist tendencies say she’s fearless.”

Because everyone had heard the story at least a dozen times, they chuckled with appreciation at the arsonist crack. 

Matt was brave enough to toss out over the ruckus, “Are we sure we shouldn’t be calling her ‘Fire Bug’ instead of ‘Dixie Queen’?” 

When Cassidy hiked an eyebrow at Jon’s bodyguard brother and flicked an imaginary lighter, the laughter only multiplied. 

Although he was smiling, Obie wasn’t quite as entertained by the side-commentary and complained, “Shut the fuck up and let the loudmouth Jew finish.  I’m having a proud papa moment here, and you people are pissing all over it.”

“Wow.”  Dave’s eyes were as wide as the woman’s who sat beside him.  “It’s kind of a turn-on when you’re defending me, Obie Wan.”

“Stick it in your ass.”

“Okay, okay!  Erection averted.  Damn, that was close!”  There wouldn’t be a shot in hell of getting everyone quiet after that, so David lifted a sincere voice above the masses.  “All of those things I just said plus her charm, sweetness and smile are going to make for a kick-ass music career.  This is only the first step, so enjoy it before you get drunk, stumble and break a leg, sweetheart.  To Cassidy!”

“To Cassidy!” the group of a dozen men echoed and turned up their shot glasses to drain them with a gulp. 

The woman of the hour, however….  She chose to sip from her shot glass, allowing the taste to fully permeate her tongue before thoughtfully narrowing dark-lashed eyes.    

“Well, I believe this might be better than what The Liquor Barn has to offer, so thank ya David.” 

With that, she threw back the slug of bourbon and grinned.  “And thank y’all.  You’re very sweet.  Even the bully who pushed me onstage.  Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to make room for another shot.  Pour me another, would ya?”

She patted David on the shoulder when she rose, and the glass was refilled before ruby stilettos found the bathroom in the back of the plane.   

Jon watched her go and set his glass on the table with a smirk.  Even if the rest of this night went to hell in a handbasket, he’d achieved something positive by being a “bully”.

“I wouldn’t have thought being publicly serenaded would agree with you so well.”

Cutting his gaze from Cassidy’s ass to the man seated beside him.  Jon started to ask Tico what he meant, but Dave decided to supply his own answer.

“Dude, that woman can do no wrong.  If she took the entire front row out with an assault rifle, this guy would just order a clean-up crew and tell her what good aim she has.  He is absolutely pussy-whipped.”

Jon could admit to that, but it wasn’t her pussy that had him whipped.  It was her, and it had been from the beginning.  The same initially captivating aura of happiness still held the power to calm, heal, and just make every-fucking-thing better.  

“If she took out the front row, I’m sure there’d be a good reason for it,” he justified with a grin and checked his watch before drawing the phone from his pocket.  It was after midnight, meaning it was now his eldest son’s birthday.  “I gotta call Jesse.”

Under orders to offer birthday wishes from all those sitting around him, Jon tapped the icon that would dial his son.  There was no worry about waking the boy.  For a twenty-two-year-old, the night was just starting. 

“Hey, Dad.”

“Hey.  Happy birthday.”

“Thanks.”

He’d expected there to be club noise in the background, but Jon didn’t hear much of anything.  “You out celebrating?”

“Nah, we’re going out tomorrow night.  Just chillin’ at home tonight with a couple of buddies at a good bottle of whiskey.”

“Whiskey?”  That was a surprise.  Jesse had been up to his eyes in nothing but rosè wine for the last few months, trying to get a business venture off the ground.  That aside, Jon thought the kid was more of a vodka drinker. 

“Yeah.  Cassidy sent it for my birthday.”

Whiskey made perfect sense in that case, but he didn’t think she’d ever sent his kids birthday gifts before.   It had him asking, “Did you mention whiskey when you saw her over the holidays?”

“No.  I was kind of overwhelmed with wine at the time.  Guess that’s why she sent this.”

“I’m not following you, Jess.  How does wine lead to whiskey?”  Jon was beginning to understand why the woman accepting a shot glass and perching her ass on the arm of Phil’s seat sometimes found brevity frustrating.

She tossed back the bourbon and delivered a lazy wink his way as Jesse explained, “The card said to stop and enjoy the roses along with the rosès.  It’s Four Roses Bourbon.”

That’s my Confederate fortune cookie.

“Ah.  Is it any good?” he asked with a smile that carried through the phone.

“Yeah.  You’re with her now, aren’t you?”

Snapping his eyes from the curvaceous redhead laughing with his friends to darkness outside the window, Jon diverted, “Why do you ask?”

“I don’t know.  Because you sound different – you are different – when she’s around.”

Cassidy and his kids got along okay, but there wasn’t a lot of natural affection.  The two oldest – Jesse and Stephanie – had been resentful, viewing her as the reason for their parents’ divorce.  The younger boys had followed their lead, even though he’d repeatedly said not to blame Cassidy for something that was already broken.

They claimed to understand, but – while they were never unkind – they hadn’t gone out of their way to welcome Cassidy into the Bongiovi fold. 

It had him responding to Jesse’s observation with a cautious, “That a good thing or a bad thing?”

The pause was long – long enough to reach the verge of discomfort before finally answered with a quiet, “Good.”

“In that case, yes.  She’s on the plane to St. Louis with us.” 

A deep breath filled Jon’s ear.  “Later, I’ll blame this on the booze, but I have to tell you we haven’t been very nice to her.  And I feel bad about it.” 

“Anything specific you wanna confess to?” 

The incident Jon had in mind took place when he’d been stuck at the studio on a day when Cassidy was in New York.  There was a movie playing that the kids were all going to meet for and, not wanting her to be left all on her own, he suggested that Cassidy go with them.  The idea wasn’t met with a great deal of enthusiasm by anyone in the group, but they all agreed. 

When he got home, the apartment was unexpectedly empty, so Jon texted Cassidy to find out where everyone was.  She hadn’t known where the kids were, because they’d “accidentally” gotten separated after the movie.  She also didn’t have a key to his apartment or want to bother him at the studio, so she spent the afternoon and evening wandering the city alone in a “grand adventure” that she was grateful to experience. 

It turned out that the younger kids went to their mother’s and the older two went to their respective Manhattan apartments – all without checking on Cassidy, since nobody had her cell number.  He hadn’t wanted to believe they would ditch anyone in an unfamiliar city, but the whole thing smelled fishy to him.  Cassidy swore the whole incident was nothing but an innocent mix-up and insisted that he not say a word to them. 

So, he hadn’t said anything.  He sent a group text stating that he would kick all their asses if he found out it wasn’t an accident, or if it happened again. 

“No confessions,” his son declined to incriminate himself.  “But I’m sorry.  We all are.”

“I’m not the one you should be apologizing to.”

“I know, and I will.  I just wanted to tell you we’re done being immature assholes.”

“Nice to know,” Jon commended dryly while sending up a silent prayer of thanks.  He’d known they would come around eventually.  “Since I hope she’s going to be around for a long time.”     

“Okay by me.  I like this mellow version of you.  Means you’ll live longer.”

A melodic laugh caught Jon’s ear, and he turned his head to find Cassidy’s copper head tipped back with mirth at whatever shit Dave was talking.  Rosy cheeks were flushed with delight and top-shelf bourbon, while stars danced in her eyes.  That happy aura of hers was glowing brighter than a lighthouse and, as always, its beam touched a spot deep inside him. 

“At this rate, I might outlive you, kid.”