60 #Drive

The afternoon was hot, but the interior of Jon’s Cadillac was cool and utterly silent other than the mellow strains of the classic rock station.  A Queen song ended, making way for The Eagles, and Jon slid his gaze to the passenger seat, where Teddi sat there as though this was a church pew instead of a Cadillac.  Both hands were primly folded on the lap of her flowy beige skirt, and she stared straight ahead, much has she had done in the twenty minutes since they’d pulled out of her driveway.

 

He probably could’ve easily made conversation.  The truth was, he didn’t trust himself not to say something stupid and destroy her cocoon of serenity.  She’d supposedly only taken one of her pills, but considering how chill she was, he wouldn’t have been surprised if it was more.  Not that he was judging.  Fuck no.  Anything that kept her on an even keel for this outing had his full endorsement – including silence after than accepting her compliment about the car when she first got in it.

 

His vehicle of choice had been a toss-up between the Caddy and his classic Chevelle.  In his mind, it would’ve been nice to put the convertible top down for the ride to Dave’s, but the weather didn’t cooperate.  Temperatures in the hottest part of a July afternoon guaranteed there would be a river of sweat flowing down his back.  He could’ve tolerated it since their final destination was a swimming pool, but Teddi probably wouldn’t have been thrilled about being sweaty and windblown.  As particular as she was about her appearance – and damn near everything else – air conditioning and a fancy sound system had been safer choices today.

 

Maybe when he got back from the Hamptons, he’d convince her to take a hair-whipping trip down the shore.  When it was just the two of them with no place to be.  It would be fun to see her happily disheveled by the sun and sea air – or pissed about it.  Either option sounded fun.

 

He took another glance to make sure she was still doing okay and found that her attention was no longer placidly focused out the windshield.  She was turned in his direction, and her sunglasses made it impossible to gauge why. 

 

He had no choice but to break his self-imposed silence to ask, "What?"

 

"Nothing yet everything, if that makes any sense."

 

"Sorry, but no. Doesn't make a damn bit of sense," Jon chuckled.  Women were so philosophically vague sometimes that he wondered if they even understood themselves.

 

It wasn't confusion that wrinkled her nose, however.  There was a touch of embarrassment in her chagrined, "This is going to sound silly."

 

"We're going to hang out with David Bryan.  Whatever you've got to say won't come close to being the silliest thing I hear today, so get on with it."

 

"Alright then," she agreed with amusement before turning thoughtful.  "I've watched you seduce a crowd a million times over.  I can hear the audio for any of your songs and visualize the choreography that goes along with it.  I know when you hold your hand out to the audience, when you sink to your knees, and when you clutch at the air.  I even know how you cross your legs and arms when you're mentally cutting off an interviewer."

 

This was one of those times Jon found her information habit a little unsettling.  Yeah, she'd told him about watching all those hours of video, but hearing it itemized like that was awkward.  Fortunately, he wasn't a guy who was intimidated by awkwardness.  Made uncomfortable, yes, but not intimidated. 

 

"Yeah, we've already established that you're a stalker."

 

Her pristinely twisted hair stayed in place as she shook off his drollness.  "All those hours spent studying your body language, yet I never could've imagined watching you check your blind spot before changing lanes.  You're embarrassingly sexy behind the wheel of a car."

 

"Pretty sure my brother did something of me driving the old neighborhood.  You haven't seen that one?"

 

"Yes, but it's different watching you on video.  Today is the real you, tapping a thumb on the steering wheel in time to the music and driving a little too fast.  This is your life, and I'm finding it a bit surreal to be part of it."

 

Jon took his foot off the gas and signaled for the turn into David's driveway while stealing a quick glance at the passenger's seat.

 

One hand had vacated her lap and was stroking the necklace, but it was more thoughtful than agitated, so he didn't worry too much about it.  Instead, he gradually accelerated up the private drive while noting, "Ever think I feel the same way?"

 

"What do you mean?"

 

"Well, if you stop and think about it, this is the first time you've been part of my life instead of me being part of yours.  Venturing outside your house makes this a whole new ballgame for both of us."

 

He braked by the front door and slipped the gearshift into park as she thoughtfully murmured, "No, I hadn't thought of that.  You'll tire of it eventually, won't you?  Being at my house."

 

Would he?  It was possible.  It was also possible that she might get used to coming out of it with him.  Neither of them knew the answer, and it was too early to expect they would.

 

Reaching for the hand that had gone tense in its rubbing of her pendant, he dropped a kiss against the knuckles before folding her fingers into his.  "Are you looking for the end again, Cookie?"

 

"Just because I'm not looking doesn't mean it's not there."

 

"Just because you are doesn't mean you'll find it," he countered stubbornly.  "We're taking a day at a time, like anybody else does.  Like everybody has to.  Now stop thinking so much and try to enjoy the day.  It might not be high society tea, but I guarantee it'll be memorable."

 

When she hesitated, Jon braced himself for another logical argument on why their relationship was doomed to end but, to his pleasant surprise, there wasn’t one.  She simply gave a slow nod of concession and murmured quietly, "If I reach for your hand more than is appropriate today, please forgive me."

 

Jon eased off his sunglasses, overcome by an ugly mixture disbelief, anger and sympathy.  The poor woman had been so indoctrinated that the world was going to judge her, that she automatically assumed he would, too.  He hated those Peabody fuckers and could only hope his sincerity shone through when assuring, “Appropriate is whatever you need.  If hand-holding isn’t working and you want to leave in the first five minutes, that’s also appropriate.  This isn’t supposed to be torturous.  Well, aside from Lema’s shit sense of humor.” 

 

Was her sigh one of relief or frustration?  Unlike him, Teddi still wore tinted lenses, so it was hard to tell.

 

"Thank you.  I promise I'll make it up to you tonight."

 

No sign of frustration in that.  Good. 

 

Jon reached out to ease the sunglasses up off her nose to expose veiled eyes.  "While I can’t say I completely understand why, I know this is hard for you.  I appreciate you stepping outside your comfort zone for me.”

 

It was the right thing to say, because her expression went soft as she visibly released thoughts of what lie ahead.  Teddi was focused only on him and the little bubble that they shared. 

 

That is, until a curly-headed asshole burst the bubble by knocking on the window and obnoxiously demanding, "What the hell?  Are you guys coming in or not?  I've got a pitcher of Dancing Gypsies getting watery, for fuck's sake!"

 

"Damnation," Teddi exhaled.  "Was he watching out the door for us to arrive?"

 

"Yeah, probably,” Jon sighed, easing her shades back into place.  “You ready for this?"

 

"No, but I'm going to do it, anyway."

 

That's what he wanted to hear.  "Good girl."  

###

  "How's that Dancing Gypsy treating you, TB?" 

 

David was high strung when not distracted by the presence of her Gypsy cousins.  His mouth seldom stopped moving, and even while giving the appearance of relaxation, his enthusiasm hummed in the air.  From his knowing grin upon seeing her hand discreetly wrapped inside Jon's, to his teasing that she'd brought vanillekipferl instead of "nookie cookies", to his pride over the Steinway she'd admired on the way through the house, he was a human conduit for energy. 

 

Teddi should be spinning her ring, rubbing the texture from her necklace, and having a discreet poolside meltdown.

 

Perhaps she would be if Jon's dragon tattoo wasn't kissing her Achilles' tendon beneath the umbrella table.  Their ankles were inconspicuously crossed, and just that sliver of contact made all the difference in the world to Teddi's mindset.  Either that, or the Dancing Gypsy was a magic potion.

 

"It's treating me well, actually.  I can taste the gin, but what else is in there?"

 

"That's jasmine green tea infused gin, thank you very much," he corrected with a sniff of feigned insult.  "Along with a little lime juice, elderflower liqueur and yellow Chartreuse."

 

"I've never heard of Chartreuse."

 

"It's high-brow hippie shit," her host elaborated from the other side of the table laden with "early bird happy hour" cocktails and snacks. "Another liqueur with citrus, violet, honey, anise, licorice and saffron."

 

"How organic."

 

"Grapes are organic," Jon noted and lifted the glass of wine he'd chosen over the gin concoction.

 

"Simpleton."

 

He lifted a lazy middle finger in reply to David's barb.  "Where's Lexi?  She usually keeps your manners on a tighter leash."

 

"Upstairs finishing up some stuff.  I wanted Teddi to have a chance to acclimate before they meet.  She'll be down soon."

 

High-strung or not, the man had a good heart.  "That's very thoughtful, David."

 

"Eh.  I also thought you'd be more comfortable spilling your guts with just the three of us."

 

Teddi's thumb rubbed the short stem of her cocktail glass.  Jon had warned her that his friend wanted to discuss her agoraphobia, but she'd foolishly believed it would come later in the visit.  She'd thought there would be more time to – as David put it – "acclimate".

 

"Maggie told me you're an empath."

 

"Empath?"  Jon turned tinted lenses her way, with one eyebrow jacked above their rim.  "Is that what 'sensitive' means?"

 

"Maggie likes to romanticize things for effect.  I didn't want to use that word."

 

"So, you are the Queen of Cups."

 

In the original reading of the tarot cards, Maggie had assigned that role to Teddi, but it hadn't been a visionary move.  It was done solely for Teddi's entertainment.  The Gypsy version of writing a personalized romance novel.

 

"She did that to humor me.  It wasn't a prophecy."

 

Looking back and forth between them, David's mouth squiggled into a frown.  "Why do I feel like I need subtitles for this sidebar chat?"

 

Jon's head pivoted to his friend.  "I forgot to tell you, man.  She's Naked Tarot Girl."

 

"She's what?"  Whereas only one of Jon's eyebrows had peeked above his sunglasses, both of David's popped up like excited prairie dogs.  "I'm sorry, but how in the fresh hell do you forget to mention something like that?"

 

“My life doesn’t revolve around you, man.”

 

Despite the gruff sentiment, Jon still retold the story Teddi sipped her organic concoction and diligently refused to let it trigger her anxiety.  There was no mention of virginity, and she kept repeating to herself that David wouldn’t turn on her with negativity over a youthful folly.  Why would he judge her for something he must’ve partaken in on a weekly basis during his own youth?

 

He wouldn’t and it, thankfully, didn’t take long for Teddi to get the proof of it. 

 

"TB, my friend," he drawled at the end, while Jon's ankle slowly rubbed against hers.  "I'm impressed, but I gotta ask.  I’ve always wondered how you chicks get past security and locked doors.  You blow a bellboy or pick the lock?  And how did you know which room?"

 

Jon turned on her with a thoughtfully puckered frown, as though that question hadn’t occurred to him before now.  “Yeah.  How did you get in there?

 

Sliding the cocktail glass onto the table, she then leaned back in her chair and let a satisfied grin tip up one corner of her mouth.   Just one time, it might be nice for the men of Bon Jovi to share the same frustration as their information-hungry fans, so she lifted her palms with faux regret.

 

“Sorry, gentlemen.  Secrets to the grave.”