25 #SaturdayNight

“Another Saturday night and I ain’t got nobody,” Jon sang quietly and strummed the accompanying chords. “I got some money 'cause I just got paid.  Now, how I wish I had someone to talk to.  I'm in an awful way.”

 

He wasn’t in an awful way, but the Sam Cooke song was an old favorite that had come to mind for other reasons.  It was Saturday night, and he was sitting alone on his terrace by the river.

 

The kids had all gone back to the city; Jesse and Stephanie to their own places, and Jake and Romeo to Dorothea’s.  He’d briefly considered trekking to his own SoHo apartment but ended up rejecting the idea.  There was nothing in New York for the next few days that required his presence, so he’d sent the kids on their way without him. 

 

His next scheduled commitment was dinner with Dr. Cookie.  Gypsy.  With last night still swirling in his mind like a damn kaleidoscope, Jon hardly knew what to call her anymore.  Regardless, she lived in Jersey, so he’d decided to stay put across the river with his guitar and a bottle of wine. 

 

Some nights, he preferred his own company.  Tonight…?  Meh. 

 

A restlessness gnawed at his edges on this muggy summer night.  He’d tried working on a song for the next tour leg, but the disquiet ate away at his attention span.  When he switched to drinking, the thirsty little bastard just drank along and continued to dig at him.  Jon’s psyche was discontented or some damn thing.

 

That’s not your psyche, it’s your dick.

 

His dick should be both thrilled and contented after last night.  It was the best time he’d seen in ages, but then again, maybe that was the problem.  After an embarrassingly long drought of mediocre sex, the romp with Gypsy felt phenomenal.  Definitely a better high than any drug Stephanie could accuse him of using.  Though, since he couldn’t stop thinking about the next hit, it might also be more addictive.

 

Tomorrow night felt like a long damn time away. 

 

She’s just across the river.  Why wait? 

 

That was an excellent question.  Why was he waiting?

 

Because you’re trying not to be a pig.  It won’t kill you to have a meal and a conversation before you get her naked again.

 

Yeah, he’d said they’d “maybe” get back in bed, but that was part of the anti-pig approach.  She wasn’t clingy and she liked to fuck, so in his mind getting naked was a given.  That wasn’t the only reason he was looking forward to seeing her, though.  Even clothed, she was interesting, and Jon was curious how the two mismatched halves of Teddi Montgomery fit together.  Dinner conversation would supply some insight into that enigma.  He’d ask questions.  They’d talk.

 

You could get a head start on that now, yanno.  Then it won’t take as long to get to the naked part.

 

Even the non-pig part of his psyche said that wasn’t a bad idea.  He’d just give her a call, and if it worked itself into an invitation to come visit, all the better.

 

Jon gently placed his guitar in a neighboring chair and slid his phone off the table.

 

Well, lookie there. 

 

While he was crooning about Saturday night, Madame Enigma herself sent a message.  Maybe he wasn’t the only one eager for that encore. 

 

Jon swiped at the screen with a smirk that quickly faded. 

 

[9:10 PM]DRCOOKIE: I must regretly cancel dinner tmrw. Sry. 

 

Okay, so not exactly eager. 

 

"Regretly", though?  Is that even a word?

 

Jon frowned at the communication, unsure of which was more bothersome – the jacked-up grammar and spelling or the broken date.  Neither sat well. 

 

Her messages were always meticulous, from punctuation and spelling.  Even when sending them from her Gypsy alter-ego, they’d never included lazy abbreviations.  And while that niggled at the logic side of his brain, Jon’s inner glutton grieved the treats that were being denied him.   Truth was, he’d been looking forward to raiding her frozen cookie stash again – and her pie. 

 

Maybe she was only cancelling food and not “dessert”? 

 

[9:12 PM]JON: Dinner isn’t necessary.  We can just sip wine and kill time.  Maybe some cookies and a pie?  #peachseason

 

There.  He’d used song lyrics plus a hashtag.  How could she refuse?

  

[9:13 PM]TEDDI: No

 

Pretty damn easily.

 

And with no further explanation. 

 

This was… weird. 

 

Jon knew she’d had a good time last night.  If the screams of pleasure and glow of contentment wasn’t enough to convince him, there was that Instagram post about “being as one” with nature and herself.  That was undeniable woman-speak for satisfaction and made him all the more curious about what was going on here.

 

He allowed another couple of silent minutes to pass, until it became apparent there wouldn’t be more incoming messages.  Then Jon muttered, “Fuck it.” 

 

Tapping the icons that would make the call, he then pressed the phone against his ear.  If she wasn’t going voluntarily offer information, he’d just ask. 

 

It took four rings to get through, but he was finally rewarded with a sluggish, “You called.”

 

“Easier than playing guessing games on text,” he returned with deliberate casualness, sternly telling himself she did not sound like she just got laid.  That her texts weren’t abbreviated because of a guy between her legs.  “Everything okay?  Since you have to cancel and all?”

 

“No.”

 

Annnnddd….. nothing.  Well, other than the same silence that had followed the texted version of that answer. 

 

Not fucking helpful, so he lightly prodded, “Anything I help with?”

 

“You alr’dy did.”

 

Again, just enough to pique his interest without providing any solid information. 

 

“Cookie, I gotta tell ya…  For a woman who usually uses fifty words to say ‘no’, you’re being awful stingy with your side of this conversation.”

 

That earned him a quiet groan, followed by a softly drawn breath that was then slowly released.  “I’m not commun’cating very well.”

 

“No shit.  Tell me something I don’t already know.”

 

“Rough day,” she mumbled.  “I overdid the sedatives.”

 

That had the fine hairs on the back of Jon’s neck rising to attention. “Say again?”

 

Instead of repeating herself, she hissed out a frustrated sigh before carefully enunciating, “I wish I had the energy to explain, but rest assured I’m neither an addict nor suicidal.”

 

Well, that was good to know – and sounded a little closer to normal for Dr. Cookie.  “Nor” wasn’t a regular staple in most people’s vocabulary, but even supposedly overmedicated, she used it correctly.    

 

He was on the verge of making that droll observation when there came a scratching on the line and the sound went muffled.  The timbre of her voice was still audible, but the words were now indistinct.  He almost asked her to speak up when another equally muted voice joined in, causing Jon’s forehead to go wrinkly. 

 

Maybe that thought about a guy between her legs wasn’t so farfetched.  Was her “friend” visiting tonight?  The one she’d fucked in that Gypsy bedroom of hers? 

 

He got a good ninety seconds to stew about that before she finished her background chat and returned with a murmured, “Sorry.”    

 

“No, I’m sorry,” he countered coolly.  “I didn’t realize you had company.” 

 

“I don’t.  I mean I’m not home.”  There was a huff, and she whispered something under her breath that sounded like, “Damnation.”

 

Jon was clueless as to what was happening, or why he truly gave a fuck, but the lack of answers was wearing on him.  Anything that involved this much work should come with a platinum album at the end.  She clearly had someone there to watch over her.  He should just hang up and open another bottle of wine. 

 

“Obviously, I caught you at a bad-”

 

“It was my aunt,” she cut him off wearily.  “Bringing me coffee in her guest room.”

 

Her aunt.  Not the fuck buddy. 

 

It left him slightly less irritated, but very slightly.  Talking to her tonight was like trying to pry open an oyster and finding nothing but a grain of sand inside.  An exercise in frustration. 

 

“Okay.  Well, I just called to make sure you were okay.  Since you are, I’ll mind my own business and let you go.”

 

Teddi swore silently and willed her soused brain cells to sober up and salvage this situation.  Thank God the flight from Newark to Boston was only forty minutes.  Any longer, and she would’ve had three gin and tonics with her medication instead of just two. 

 

Then again… that third one might’ve had her lying in a pool of her own drool right now.  Drool would be better than the disaster she was making of this call. 

 

“Jon, wait.  Please.”

 

He didn’t verbally, but a boat horn bleated in the distance.  He was still there, and she willed him to hold on long enough to sneak a quick slurp of coffee.  At least Aunt Midge had enough guest rooms so that Maggie wasn’t sharing the queen-sized bed with her.  It would be impossible to have this chat if her very intuitive cousin was in the room. 

 

Because, with her good sense sedated, Teddi was about to do something completely out of character – volunteer personal information. 

 

“I’m not trying to be coy here.  I’m just not very clearheaded, and as a rule of thumb, I don’t disclose the details of my personal life.”

 

“That I can relate to.”

 

Undoubtedly.  The man couldn’t cut his hair – or not cut his hair – without a hundred people judging the color, length or thickness.  That’s why she hoped he would grasp the depth of this gesture. 

 

“I thought you might.  And since I’ve nosed into your life as much as anyone legally can, it seems fair to break my rule for you.  If you’re genuinely interested, I will muster up the energy to explain what’s going on.  If you’re asking out of superficial politeness, then I’ll thank you for calling and say goodnight.”

 

In Red Bank, Jon’s eyes aimlessly scanned the shadows of his back yard.  Crickets were chirping somewhere out there, and beyond the grassy knoll, the Navesink glimmered with lights from the shore. Stars twinkled serenely from above.  Tranquility was everywhere but inside him.    

 

Calling her had done nothing to ease his earlier restlessness but hanging up now would only make it worse.  Because hell yes, he wanted to know.  Just not enough to make her “muster up the energy”.  He didn’t need a helping of guilt on top of his fidgetiness.   

 

Maybe she wasn’t as wrung out as she sounded? 

 

Dammit, he should’ve FaceTimed her instead of opting for the voice call.  A quick glimpse of her would make this an easy decision. 

 

So hit the fucking button.

 

“Your silence implies I should say goodbye now, Jon.  Call or message if you wish to reschedule our dinner, but don’t feel obligated.”

 

“We’re having dinner,” he declared with quiet authority.  “That’s non-negotiable.  I just… You mind if we switch this to video?” 

 

There was a lingering beat of hesitation in which he expected her to reject the idea.  He’d known the chances of her agreeing were slim, and Jon was bracing himself for refusal when she took a deep breath and conceded, “Very well.”

 

Just when you think you’ve got a girl figured out, she goes and surprises the hell out of you.

 

He kind of liked that about her.

 

“But,” she added before he could slip the phone away from his ear.  “Remember that I didn’t judge when you didn’t shower or shave for our first business call.  Please extend me the same courtesy.”

 

Jon twisted his mouth into a wry grin, recalling that he’d purposely looked like shit that day.  She probably defined looking like shit as not wearing jewelry.

 

“You sayin’ you’re smelly and stubbly?”

“More or less.  I reek of lavender and look like something the cat dragged in.”

 

Something the cat dragged in, huh?  Well, he’d just see about that.