8 #ManOnAMission

“You mean the picture or the skull?”

Unlike most snoopers, Jon didn’t jump when caught inspecting her bookshelves. Teddi was more anxious than the rock star whose eyes were slow to shift from Truman’s photo.  When he did turn a lazily arched brow in her direction, she wondered if the utter lack of remorse was due to his Jersey roots or celebrity status.  Either way, arrogance shouldn’t look that good on anyone.

She certainly shouldn’t find it attractive. 

Damnation!  I knew having him here was a bad idea.

Restless fingers whirled her rings like mad, but years of experience enabled her to leisurely turn away from his magnetic gaze.  It was the same discipline which allowed her to settle casually behind the heavy desk when she really wanted to dive behind its solid protection.  The three-foot wide slab of cherry was a fortress that put a safe, professional distance between her and the man who starred in both her darkest and most vivid fantasies. 

“I practice phrenology as a hobby,” Teddi offered, without really answering the skull question.  “Please.  Have a seat.”

“Phrenology?”

“Yes. The study of a skull’s size and shape in relation to an individual’s character and mental abilities.”

She covertly swept the framed photo of him into a drawer in the midst of tidying her desk.   This was difficult enough.  He didn’t need to know she’d spent the last several days staring at his image. 

“I didn’t realize that was a thing.”

“It’s not, really.  There’s very little scientific evidence to support its legitimacy.  I simply find it interesting.”

Not nearly as interesting as the way he physically occupied and owned her guest chair.  The shoulders of his black button-down stretched taut as he leaned to lift a scuffed boot and cross one leg over the other.  His hands tucked into the crease between thick thighs that had provoked a plethora of indecent thoughts, before his head angled with a contemplative smirk. 

“I’m starting to find you interesting, Dr. Montgomery.”

Do not get aroused.  He’s simply using charm to get his way.  You know how he is.

Yes, she knew exactly how he was.  A boyish grin, a sheepish smile, a naughty smirk.  He’d used them all through the decades as a means to bend interviewers to his will.  They’d been manipulated into accepting half-answers and deflections through nothing more than Jersey Jedi mind tricks.

To be fair, he was quite good at it.  When he exerted enough effort, she had to really concentrate to tell whether he was being sincere or playing a role.   Teddi should be flattered that he considered her worthy of the exertion.

Just don't let yourself become too flattered.

She held firm, offering only a bland look of reproach.  “Why are you here?” 

The humor behind his eyes faded, and Teddi caught a glimpse of bitterness before he expertly tucked it away again. 

“Mind if I ask you a question before we get to that?”  Even the knowledge that she was being manipulated didn’t keep Teddi’s chin from dropping in silent permission.  “What’s your favorite Bon Jovi song?”

“I couldn't pinpoint a single one, even from a specific album.”

“Fair enough." The quick and decisive answer obviously pleased him. "Now, why?”

“Why does it matter?”

“Play along here, would ya?  You like the beat?  Find it inspirational?   Maybe there’s a special memory attached?”

Teddi’s rings spun relentlessly around her middle finger.  She wasn’t the type to spill her innermost thoughts to anyone just for the asking.  Privacy was her closest friend.

But to have the song’s creator watching her as if the fate of the world depended up on her answer… 

Sincerity painted his famous baby blues with a mesmerizing brush that both encouraged her honesty and assured she wouldn’t suffer for it.  For whatever reason, her perception mattered to him, and she relaxed just enough to confide, “There are many that speak to me on different levels, depending on my mood or the motivation I'm seeking.”

“How so?”

In all honesty, she liked the ballads for the usual feminine reasons.  'Fingerprints' and 'Amen' were particular boudoir favorites for those softer times, but she also enjoyed 'Damned' when she was feeling edgier.  Bypassing her erotica soundtrack, Teddi chose more socially acceptable examples in her reply.

“’I ain’t gonna be just a face in the crowd. You’re gonna hear my voice when I shout it out loud.’ when I need fortitude to stand my ground.  'Keep the faith' when facing a difficult situation.  As do millions of people, I suppose.”

Delight danced in the crow’s feet that came to life with his grin.  “Considering your credentials, I'm guessin' you’ve been heard, Doc.  But that’s precisely the kind of thing I was hoping you’d say.  I write music as a touchstone to people’s lives.  Inspiration, aspiration, motivation, confirmation… anything that they can identify with and lean on when they need it.”

“Mission accomplished, I’d say.” 

“Most days, I agree with that.  Then there are other days when the validity of my work – and my fans’ opinions of it – gets shit on by people riding a power trip.  I’m tired of that.”

“And this is where I come in?”

“This is where you come in,” he affirmed with a solemn nod.  “I need you to help me cultivate the voice of the people so it can be heard over the pomp and circumstance of fuckers tooting their own horns.”

“Well,” Teddi pondered, both enamored with his passion and entertained by his ability to use words like “fuckers” and “tooting” so grimly.  “It sounds an awfully lot like you’re staging a political coup.”

Jon's hand rocked in a “so-so” gesture.  “Of sorts, yeah.”

“While I’m flattered that you think I might aid in that overthrow of power, it really is a bit beyond the scope of my expertise.”

“See?  Now that’s where you’re wrong,” he disagreed with a pointed finger.  “Ever hear of the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame?”

That piece of the puzzle was an integral one and told Teddi more than anything else he'd said thus far.  Jon wasn’t preparing to do battle against the local, state or federal government.  He had a score to settle with the Hall of Fame. 

“Of course.  They screwed you over back in 2011 because of some mysterious bad blood between you and Jann Wenner.”

What was it about hearing “screwed over” come out of the mouth of a refined woman such as Dr. Theodosia Montgomery?  It was almost as appealing as the cookie scent and totally justified forcing his way into her bland domain.  There might actually be something more to her than beige.

“That’s the gist of it, and rumor has it that we might be back on the ballot this year.”

“Wonderful,” she enthused in the instant before that Ph.D. kicked in and inverted her smile to a frown.  “I don’t mean to be a wet blanket, but who’s to say it’s going to turn out any better this time?  Have you mended fences with Wenner?”

He spared her the string of cussing that would make a Jersey sailor blush, and kept his denial simple. “Nope.  But do you know what happened the year after they screwed us?”

“Well... The band didn’t get nominated again.”

“Besides that.”

Slender honey brows joined thoughtfully, furrowing the classy doctor’s otherwise smooth forehead.

“I'm afraid I don't know.”

Let’s see if she’s as smart as all those diplomas imply.

“They instituted a fan vote.  And every year, the nominee winning that vote has been inducted.”

“Damnation. You’re planning to leverage social media to rally the Jovi fans."  The furrows melted away with understanding and roved those diplomas hadn't come in a Cracker Jack box.  "But that doesn't explain why you've come to me.  Doesn’t the band already employ a social media team?”

“The band does, but I’m not letting those fuckers at the Hall screw me over this time.  I’m not leaving a single stone unturned.  It's been suggested that my personal online presence is a stone to turn.”

“A big stone,” she murmured almost to herself.  Pistons were firing sure and fast behind the shrewd eyes blindly holding his.  “Jon Bon Jovi.  Last guy in the civilized world to use social media.  The fans will eat it up.”

He couldn’t withhold a grimace.  “I can’t decide whether that thrills or terrifies me.”

For the first time since he met her, Teddi laughed.  Not a quiet chuckle but a full, unchecked laugh that distracted her from the jewelry she kept fondling.  Her irises glittered like blue diamonds as she tried to restrain the accompanying smile, but damn if it didn’t look nice on her.

“You can make that decision after the induction ceremony, Mr. Bon Jovi.”

“Call me Jon.  And does that mean your schedule has opened up?”

The corners of her mouth were still slightly tilted, but the twinkle in her eyes dimmed.  “I should really refer you to someone else.  I could recommend several professionals perfectly suited to this project.”

“You’re perfectly suited to it.”

Now she was back to playing with those rings.  “That’s very flattering, but –“

“Baby, that’s not flattery.  Flattery is saying you’ve got pretty eyes.  A nice laugh.  Beautiful smile.”  The tinge of pink creeping into her cheeks was nice, too, but he left that one off the list. “Which is all true, but I’m talking about your unique qualifications for this job.”

“Such as…?”

“You’re a Bon Jovi fan,” he stated as though it should be obvious.  “That gives you a personal stake in making sure this little social experiment succeeds, and that increases my odds of winning.”

She reclined into her chair, and restless fingers went from rolling rings to rubbing the fancy charm at her neck.  Whatever thoughts were stewing in her mind, they had her watching him with a troubled gaze.    

She’s gonna say no.  

Jon opened his mouth to dole out another helping of persuasion, but she beat him to the punch.  Teddi dropped the necklace and leaned earnestly forward to ask, “May I be frank with you, Mr. Bon Jovi?”

“Sure," he acquiesced easily, without correcting her formality.

“The truth is that I’m not a Bon Jovi fan.  Per se.”

With crossed arms Jon scoffed, “Now you don’t really expect me to believe that, do you?  After hearing what your friends said the other night and seeing my picture sitting on your desk?  There’s no need to be coy, Doc.”

“Coy is the furthest thing from my mind right now,” she assured without conceding he’d busted her on the photo that got stashed while his back was turned. “I’m not a Bon Jovi fan.  I’m a Jon Bon Jovi fan.” 

Fuck.  The intensity in her gaze landed in his solar plexus and fisted the muscles there.  He'd filed restraining orders for less, but Jon wasn't reaching to dial his lawyer now.  

This is a bad idea.  You know nothing about her other than she’s educated, has weird hobbies, a beige fetish and colorful companions.  Let her refer you to one of those colleagues.

That was the smart thing to do.

Unfortunately, Jon wasn’t always known for being smart.  He was, however, known for being successful.

“I fail to see the problem with that,” he returned levelly, not breaking eye contact.

“I’m attracted to you.”

His gut spasmed again, this time nudging his dick to get in on the act.  He’d thought her saying “screwed over” was appealing.  This unvarnished declaration went about two steps beyond that, but what the hell was the right answer here? 

An admission that he wouldn’t mind fucking her didn’t seem appropriate – even if it was true – because he didn’t feel propositioned.  She was just laying out the facts. 

Or maybe she meant to scare him on his merry way?  Too bad, if so.  Jon wasn’t willing to walk yet.  Whether that had to do with his desire to get in the Hall or the desire she was stirring….  Well, that remained to be seen. 

“Again, not seeing the problem,” was his equally unvarnished answer.  “You’re still going to work harder for my cause than someone who considers me a random name on their client list.”

“The problem is that I can’t maintain a professional objectivity in this…” Her index finger flicked back and forth between them.  “… setting.  I can barely string a coherent sentence together, much less develop a social media plan.  Because what I would need to focus on and what I want to focus on are two vastly different things.  That’s why I refused this meeting in the first place.  It’s a conflict of interest.”

“Lotta sentences there.  All strung together just fine.”  Her testy little huff had him chuckling, and Jon shifted to ease the pressure in his jeans.  “Look.  I’m not completely unaffected myself, but we're both adults here and one doesn't have anything to do with the other."

Teddi didn't speak but developed a rapt fascination with one of the bookcases behind him.  The only sound in the room was the quiet spa music filtering out of the ceiling speakers, and when the lute got bothersome, Jon gently nudged, "C'mon, Doc.  Help a guy out, would ya?  I'll get your cousin her selfie."

He'd expected at least a smile, but quiet reigned as she continued to grope her rings.  She barely blinked, although those pistons were firing all over the place again.  Was she coming up with a new series of refusals?  Or planning to press him on that "unaffected" statement of his? 

Stupid thing to admit in this situation, but he hadn’t been able to help it.  In the moment, it had felt important to point out he could separate business from pleasure.  There was always a chance he'd shot himself in the foot by doing it.

He night find out if she ever fucking said anything.  

It took another ten seconds, but she did finally release a lengthy sigh and turn her attention back to him.  

“If I agree to this, there will be no further face-to-face meetings," she decreed with a firmly lifted chin.  "Our interactions will take place through social media, email, phone calls, courier service or courier pigeons, if necessary.”

Is she kidding?

“Kind of extreme, don’t ya think?” 

“Extreme or not, those are the conditions.  Work is work, and my ethics won’t allow me to muddy it with… anything else.”

This was the strangest meeting/fan encounter ever.  She practically closed the front door in his face yet had his picture on her desk.  She told him she was attracted, but didn't want to see him again.  She didn't want the job but was going to help him.      

It was a classic woman conundrum, and that meant Jon didn't have a chance in hell of figuring it out.  If he wanted her on his team, all Jon could do was accept it - and since the Hall of Fame was more important than his understanding… 

“Okay, Doc.  I’m in.”

No promises on the muddying thing, though.