6 #DrMontgomery

June 18, 2017

Sunday

Jon tipped back the Herman Miller office chair and gently parked one of his heels on the edge of the soundboard.  Crossing his other ankle over it, he stared blindly at his home studio ceiling while speaking into the phone. 

“Not gonna lie.  It’s on my mind.”

“Well, no shit,” came the droll response of his keyboardist.  David Bryan was the king of dry witticisms, but when their drummer, Tico Torres, encouraged him by adding a bass chuckle to the mix, Jon knew he was in trouble. 

Maybe he should’ve kept the nomination gossip to himself, but these were the only two guys who had been there since day one – and were still beside him on this journey.  God knew he’d given them enough temper and bad news along the way.  It didn’t seem fair to hoard the (potentially) good news, so he’d dialed them into a three-way call and relayed the conversation with Irv.

“You’ve had your eye on this prize for years,” Tico added in his rumbling voice of reason.  “And now it’s being dangled out there like a gold-plated carrot.  Of course it’s on your mind.  You’re also probably feeling like you should do something to make it happen.”

His friends knew him.  They knew he held that quarterback mentality, and with the end zone in sight, he was the one who wanted to be calling the plays.  Not those fuckers at the Hall. 

“Exactly Teek, which is why I’m confused as hell about fighting Irv on this…  Who is she again, Jon?”

“Springsteen’s neighbor and a pain in my ass,” he supplied with distaste. 

“Besides that.”

Dropping his feet to the floor with a huff, Jon now leaned one forearm against the soundboard.  “A social media consultant.”

“Right.  That’s legitimately doing something and yet you’re balking.  What the fuck?”

He grunted with agitation.  “Bruce may think she’s the greatest thing since sliced bread, but I don’t see how Dr. Theodosia Montgomery is going to make any goddamn difference in my Hall of Fame bid.”

“The Twitter tutor is Dr. Theodosia Montgomery?  Wow.  Do you have to pay extra for the stick up her ass, or is that included in the price?”

Sarcastic son of a bitch or not, Dave said exactly what Jon thought when reading Irv’s email with the details.  The first thing he’d done was scoff at the pompous sounding name of a woman whose expertise was in motherfucking Facebook.  The second thing was to Google her. 

What he found was that Dr. Montgomery possessed an undergraduate degree and two masters – communications and psychology – from Boston University.  Her Ph.D. in communications came from Columbia, because B.U. didn’t have any such program until recently.  They’d launched their doctoral in Emerging Media Studies two years ago, due to her active championing of the program. 

In addition to enough sheepskin to choke a sheep, she’d also authored several highly praised books in the field of communication.  Subjects included communication style, the psychology of communication, social media psychology, and leveraging social media as a positive influencer.

The woman was qualified to use a social media app, but for Christ’s sake....  Why would she want to? 

He couldn’t imagine this stodgy woman educating a Jersey guy like him on any subject – or him liking it. She probably didn’t even speak the same English he did, and every high-browed "tutorial" would go right over his head. 

It would piss him off if someone tried making him feel too dumb to comprehend the dumbing down of society.

Throwing his right hand up in the air as though this was an in-person discussion rather than a conference call, he sought to explain his stance to the guys.  “My point exactly.  You really believe a woman named Theodosia has her thumb on the pulse of pop culture, modern music, and the political rock and roll bullshit I’m trying to navigate here?  ‘Cause I ain’t buyin’ it.”

“How old is this lady, anyway?”

She had all those damn college degrees, so she was above the age of consent.  Beyond that, he was unable to answer Dave’s question.  

Googling simple information was something Jon could do, but he lacked the stalking gene some of his fans possessed.  As far as he could tell, there were no photographs nor a birthdate out there for the woman.  This Dr. Montgomery could be twenty-five or a hundred and twenty-five.

“Old enough to be a Ph.D., it seems.”

“In my case, that would be Methuselah years old, ‘cause I’ll never be one,” David wryly predicted.  “I still can’t believe she makes a living showing people how to use these apps.  Isn’t that why we have teenagers?”

“My kids already think they know everything.  I’m not gonna ask ‘em to prove it.”  Jon’s laughing response faded to a more serious, “She writes books on the shit, too.  Maybe that’s where the money is.”

“Meh.  I guess it could be.”

“Uh, hello?  Who gives a fuck?” Tico interrupted with boredom.  “Lemme ask you a real question, Jonny boy.  You’re fond of saying you don’t live your life with ‘coulda, woulda, shoulda’.  If the Hall snubs us again… will passing up the good doctor’s help fall into that category?”

Would it?  What if they got the short end of the stick again?  Would Jon repeatedly kick his own ass for blowing off an opportunity to tip the scales in their favor?  No matter how farfetched it seemed?

You know you would.  Live life with no regrets.  That’s the deal.

“Tico, man,” Jon sighed.  “You may not talk much, but you’re a wise motherfucker when you do.”

# # # # #

June 19, 2017

Monday

“I can’t believe I missed that dinner for a frigging dance recital,” Victoria – or Tori, as she preferred to be called – bemoaned for the third time.  Sandy hair swung into a disgusted face as she reached for another cookie from Grandmother Peabody’s pastry stand.

There was only a single tea lace cookie and one strawberry lingering on the three china tiers.  It left the country rose pattern plainly visible, but Teddi wasn’t compelled to re-cover it with goodies.  She and her cousin had enjoyed a belated but hearty birthday meal of beef Wellington and beet salad, followed by a pretty assortment of fruit and baked treats.  

Sipping tea would be sufficient for the duration of their visit, she decided when lifting the china pot that bore the same pattern as the pastry stand. 

“More?”  Receiving a nod of approval, she poured and noted with amusement, “You wouldn’t skip one of Shea’s performances for anything.  That includes Jon Bon Jovi.”

Over lunch, Tori received an Ides of June recap, complete with its celebrity encounter.  Teddi’s excitement should’ve dulled by now, but his charm and cookie commentary were still alive and well in in her fertile fantasies, even after four days. 

“Ohhh, I woulda willingly missed Justin Bieber choreography for JBJ,” dissented the woman with confident eyes that were brown to Teddi’s Peabody blue.  Tori was adopted into the family and loved to blame her Irish/Italian birth heritage for the outrageousness she refused to bottle. 

“The pictures and autograph were an accurate recap.  You didn’t miss anything, really.”

“Ha!” came the derisive snort before it was chased with apologetic assurance.  “Those are great and all, but seeing you breathe the same air as Jon Bon Jovi?  iPhone, Instagram, Memorex or Kodak can’t make up for missing that.  I still can’t believe you didn’t melt into a puddle of hormonal goo.  I might’ve, even if he was wearing that ugly friggin' hat!”

Settling against the linen cushion of her living room sofa, Teddi smiled over the fragile teacup rim.  Her cousin’s disdain for Jon’s black cap was passionate, to say the least.  The amount of loathing she held for it was either unhealthy or therapeutic.  Teddi hadn’t decided which yet, but she’d heard enough over the years to purposely detour around the subject.

“I kept my hormones from melting, and truthfully… who would’ve noticed if I hadn’t?  My cousins tend to command the limelight, in case you’ve forgotten.”

An unladylike splutter overrode the ambient meditation music flowing from ceiling speakers.  “Oh, I haven’t forgotten.  It’s another reason I hate to have missed it.  Cat, Kizzy and Maggie circling Jon Bon Jovi like a school of great white sharks while he’s whispering dirty dessert double-entendres in your ear.  Priceless!  Did you tell them what he said?”

“No.”  That hadn’t even been a consideration.  “Can you imagine what they would’ve done?  The poor man would’ve been drawn into an inconceivable fan hell, filled with wild gypsy innuendo.  I like him too much for that.”

“Or you’re afraid of where it could’ve gone.”

That was preposterous, considering how far Teddi’s imagination had taken it in the days and nights since, but she didn’t bother disputing the claim.  Fantasies were restricted to the boudoir and not to be discussed while sipping from an heirloom teacup.  

“Deliberate change of topic,” she announced pleasantly while crossing one khaki-clad leg over the other.  “You’ve hardly mentioned your family today.  What are the plans for summer?  Beach house?”

Tori and her husband owned an ocean-front home in Long Beach and typically spent a good portion of the summer there with their daughter Shea, who was now seventeen.    

“Shea is teaching a couple dance camps for toddlers.  We rented it out those weeks, but we’ll be down there off and on the rest of the time.”  Her answer was given carelessly, but Tori’s mouth tugged into a frown as thoughtful as the gaze she put upon Teddi.  “I debated telling you this, but since you mentioned family… I guess I should.”

“What is it?”

“I talked to my mom today.”  There was a hesitation and absent adjustment of dark-rimmed eyeglasses.  “She said your dad isn’t doing well.  They’re not expecting him to live much longer.”

In Teddi’s heart there was nothing but dead space where parental love should reside, and she blinked without emotion.  “How unfortunate.  I’m sure his children are beside themselves.”

“Ha!  As if.  Your brother has been hovering like a damn vulture, waiting to inherit the company, and your sister already has decorators scheduled for a complete overhaul of the house.”

Calling Endicott Peabody and Deidre Peabody Davenport her siblings… 

Well, it was a bit like saying a duck-billed platypus was part swan, and Teddi was the platypus in this scenario.  Her half-brother and half-sister were most assuredly the swans.  Dear old Dad had seen to that when Teddi was only five years old. 

“Warmth and compassion aren’t adjectives that have ever been used to describe Deidre or Endicott.  I’m hardly surprised.”

“I think ‘bitch’ and ‘dickhead’ are more common.”

Respect for her dead grandmother kept Teddi from laughing out loud, but she cocked a smirk at her chuckling cousin.  “I might’ve been guilty of using those a time or two.”

“Between us, I’d say it was closer to a hundred times.”  Leaning forward to pilfer the last cookie, the sassy woman peered over her shoulder.  “Will you go to Boston for the funeral?”

“Absolutely not.  No one wants me there, including me.  I’m sure half the state will be in attendance.”

“Probably,” Tori agreed.  “But Dad was the one wondering if you’d go, so I had to ask.  I got the impression he hoped you would, since he and Mom haven’t seen you in ages.”

She liked Tori's parents.  Uncle Warner was only true male influence in her early life, and he’d sometimes taken her along on vacations with his own children.  He and Aunt Midge were the only Peabodys who had included her out of kindness instead of obligation.

But flying to Boston…

Making her way through two major airports like Newark and Boston – and the thousands of travelers passing through both – was enough to spur Teddi’s left thumb into action.  It mindlessly flicked at the meditation rings seated on the middle finger of that hand, spinning them in a soothing repetition.

Sorry Uncle Warner. That won’t be happening. 

“I’ll give Aunt Midge a call later today.  Perhaps they’d like to come visit New Jersey.”

“They might.”  Tori’s eyebrows slammed down as a series of chimes pealed over the lute and harp music.  “Was that your doorbell?”

Placing both beige linen espadrilles on the rug, Teddi slid her cup and saucer onto the table while returning the look of bewilderment. Unexpected guests didn’t just come ringing her bell.  Invitations to her home were scarce – and always planned well in advance – but there was no mistaking that peal. 

She rose, frowning with annoyance at herself.  “I must’ve forgotten to close the gates after you arrived.”

“Who in the hell would be ringing your doorbell, gates or not?”

With a glance at her sleek gold watch, Teddi found that it was two o’clock.  This luncheon visit was the only appointment on her calendar today.  Julia had cancelled the other meeting – the one with Jon Bon Jovi.

Damnation.  She did cancel it, didn’t she? 

Teddi was wearing khaki capris and a fitted white tee, with hair hanging loosely around her face and shoulders.  Hardly appropriate business attire, and even less appropriate for a meeting with Jon Bon Jovi. 

Julia always does as she says.  Without fail. 

The appointment had been cancelled. 

Then who is at the door?