61 #StraightUpTruth

David’s reaction was exactly what Teddi had hoped for.  His head shook vehemently back and forth and frown lines emphasized his outraged, “Oh, hell no.  You can’t pull that bullshit on us!”

 

“Why is that?” she asked innocently, the anxiety ebbing to its lowest peak since leaving the house.  “I thought you said I was in the Bon Jovi circle now?  Isn’t ‘secrets to the grave’ a common avoidance tactic within that circle?”

 

“Not from each other!”

 

Teddi leaned forward with interest and a healthy dose of skepticism.  “So, you’re telling me that you don’t have any secrets from Jon?”

 

“Yeah, Lema.  Got any secrets?”

 

Jon didn’t share his friend’s outrage at being denied classified information, likely assuming he could get the details from her later.  That likely would’ve been true, had she planned to actually keep the secret from David.  She’d only uttered that infamous phrase for effect, with every intention of immediately telling the truth, until Jon laid down this gauntlet.  Now she felt obliged to hold her tongue until this scene finished unfolding. 

 

“No more than you’ve got,” he said neutrally without sparing a glance for the man who snorted in response. 

 

“Exactly.  So let her the fuck alone.”

 

“Hmpf.”  The grumble was mild, but he was obviously still bent out of shape when picking up the cocktail pitcher.  “It’s bad manners to leaving people hanging and shit.  I thought you were all about the etiquette, TB.”

 

She laughed as another wave of dancing Gypsy found its way into her glass, thanking him with a nod and deciding that she’d been sufficiently amused at his expense.  “I have my moments of rebellion, and this one has passed.  One of Grandmother’s former staff members worked at the Four Seasons.  She was my nanny for a time, and was fond enough of me to unlock the room and turn a blind eye until I could get inside.”

 

“I could’ve had her fired for that shit, you know,” Jon noted dryly.

 

“You could have, which is why I wouldn’t have told you back in eighty-nine.  Now that Mrs. Coopersmith’s retired, it no longer matters.”

 

“You still keep in touch with her?”

 

“Minimally.  We exchange cards at Christmas.”

 

“Interesting,” their host mused, although his tone didn’t indicate he found it interesting at all.  He’d clearly moved past the fascination with her “secret” and was mulling something else while tapping a thoughtful thumb against his cocktail glass.

 

It was enough to give a heave-ho to her ebbed anxiety and push it in the other direction.  Teddi didn’t enjoy the shift, nor did she enjoy the agony of anticipation. 

 

“You know, I’ve been holding my breath with the idea that I’d be receiving the third-degree here today.  If that’s the case, could we perhaps get it out of the way so that I might stop worrying about it?”

 

“There won’t be any third-degree.”  Jon’s tone was confident, and while the expression behind his sunglasses was indecipherable to Teddi, David had no trouble reading it.  He complied with his friend’s wishes without delivering the same conviction.

 

“Third-degree?  Nah,” he dismissed amiably.  “Just looking for a little backstory so I understand the best way to help out a friend.”

 

Teddi swallowed, somewhat amazed that her throat could be so dry after just taking a drink, didn’t shirk his shielded gaze.  With head held high, just as she’d been trained, she politely inquired, “Assuming I’m the friend in question, why are you so convinced I need help?  I explained to Jon that counseling isn’t particularly helpful for someone who’s trained in the field.”

 

“Well, then it’s a matter of finding something different, because anybody who has to be pried out of the house with a Valium crowbar – who passes out like a cold mackerel when company comes calling – has intense need for help.  In my humble opinion.”

 

“That ‘cold mackerel’ thing you mention was an anomaly,” she contested mildly.  “And there’s nothing wrong with being a homebody who appreciates a bit of notice before hosting a horde of outgoing personalities.”

 

The corners of his mouth pulled down to accompany a slow nod.  “That’s some damn fine justification.  Utter bullshit, of course, but nice to see what your fancy degrees can do.  Were you on the debate team?  No, of course not, because you wouldn’t be able to stay conscious on a stage.”

 

That hit like a sharp arrow, and Jon must’ve sensed it because his hand draped Teddi’s knee for a gentle squeeze while cautioning, “Easy, Lema.”

 

He lifted unbothered fingers of one hand.  “Hey, no judgment.  Just straight up truth.”

 

“I did actually do a semester of debate, although not on a stage.” Taking air in a controlled breath through her nose allowed her to say it evenly.  “My college years weren’t as restrictive as my current life.”

 

“I guess that makes sense since you braved the streets of Boston and snuck into JB’s room.  What changed, then?  What was the defining moment that made you antisocial?”

 

“Tori says it was your husband’s death,” Jon prompted.

 

She a look his direction, and her lips flattened in a passing display of annoyance.  “Tori’s been oversharing again, I see.”

 

Only this time, Tori wasn’t sharing the truth – just her version of it.

 

“You’re socially crippled since Truman died.  You didn’t like going out before, but it was never the ordeal it is now,” Tori had insisted after that one particularly painful Ides of June, when the cousins had resorted to threatss so she would leave the house.  “It’s like fainting at the funeral unlocked your inner scaredy cat.”

 

“No, Victoria.  You simply noticed it more because you were worrying about me being home alone.  I’ve always disliked the limelight.”

 

“Limelight?  It’s friggin’ dinner and drinks with your family.”

 

“Need I remind you about the mangy sea captain’s hat I was made to wear while the waitstaff sang ‘Happy Birthday’?”

 

“We all took turns with the damn hat,” Tori reminded.  “You’re just in denial that Truman’s death turned you into a fearful hermit.”

 

“You are entitled to your perception, but I do not share it, nor do I wish to debate the matter.  We will just have to agree to disagree.”

 

Fortunately, it had been a phone conversation, so when Tori refused to drop the matter, Teddi had simply disconnected the call.   They didn’t speak to one another for some time after that, and when they finally did, it was without mention of her reclusion.  Ever since, it only came up as a light joke here and there; she’d never suffered another confrontation.

 

Until now.

 

“Are you saying your husband’s death was a factor?”  David grilled. 

 

Or perhaps he asked a casual and logical question.  It was difficult to distinguish the difference in her defensive state of mind.

 

“Perhaps a bit, in the fact that I stopped fighting the battle I’d waged my entire life.  There was no one left to appease by going out of the house.  I had only myself to please.”

 

“So you’re saying you can step up if you want to,” David clarified.  “Travel, attend a gala, host a party, and all that shit.” 

 

He might as well have said, “all the things that make up Jon’s life”, because that list would hold all the same highlights.  Teddi had seen enough photos of those travels, galas and parties to know there were more in a year than she could count on both hands – and that he didn’t go alone. 

 

This was why she had been so reluctant to accept that Jon was part of her life.  She knew deep-down that she could never truly be part of his in the way he would expect.  As he’d aptly noted on the way over here, this was her first step into that life, and despite the pool that glittered just feet away, it wasn’t going swimmingly. 

 

The ridges of her fingerprints scraped the texture of filigree with a familiar friction as she stroked it like a genie’s lamp.  She didn’t find a genie granting her magic serenity, but it was a distraction from the reality being presented to her. 

 

“You don’t have to answer, Cookie.”

 

Jon’s quiet words were certainly meant to be reassuring, but they brought no assurance because they weren’t as neutrally beige as they appeared.  There was a faint tint of blue to them – the color of disappointment.  He’d been holding onto the hope that her dysfunction was only a matter of willpower.

 

Is it?  Are you simply being lazy by not going out?  Jon was enough reason for you to “brave the streets of Boston”.  Is he enough for more?

 

David was A curly head cocked at her continued silence, and she wondered if there was pity hiding behind reflective lenses.  There was a good chance, considering his next words weren’t a demand for response but a light, “I hear you’re a big-ass Jovi fan.”

 

Distrustful of the sudden change in topic, her thumb pressed harder into the back of the filigree pendant as she nodded mutely. 

 

“How many shows have you been to?”

 

So much for pity.  He was simply getting more creative in making his point.

 

“None.”

 

With a cluck of his tongue, he swirled his near-empty cocktail glass.  “That’s a damn shame, TB, ‘cause there’s nothing like it. Yeah, the videos are on YouTube or where-the-fuck-ever, but it’s not the same.  Songs take on a different life when you’re experiencing them through the positive energy of twenty thousand people.  And when they’re all so wrapped up in the moment that they’re singing louder than Jon… that’s a moment to measure your life by.”

 

She’d seen the videos.  Jon romanced the audience with his smile and a sly twinkle in his eye.  It would be a lie to say she hadn’t imagined herself on the receiving end of those smiles and twinkles.  What would it be like in person?

 

What does it matter?  You sleep with him.  That’s real, not a stage performance.

 

But to be electrified by the music and share his joy in that moment….

 

“Point taken.”

 

“And?”

 

Having now removed his sunglasses, Teddi was bearing the unfiltered brunt of David’s scrutiny.  He wanted something from her.  Something concrete and definitive.  Something she might not be capable of giving him, even once she found out what it was.

 

“I don’t know what else you want me to say.”

 

The scrutiny held, but it was underscored by a wry twisting of lips and snort that echoed off the pool water.  “Duh.  I want you to say I’m a certified, licensed mind plumber.  That you’ll take all these meaningful prompts to heart and rush to the nearest shrink so they can finish the job.  Then I want your ass sitting front row when we start the American tour leg in February.”

 

Good God, no.  The mere thought of it was enough to dig filigree imprints into Teddi’s fingertips from her fierce grip.

 

“Lema,” Jon cautioned, sucking air through his teeth and giving his arm a gentle shake.  With any luck, she’d realize her nails of her non-necklace hand were digging into him like a scared cat before she drew blood.   A quick flex of had her claws retracted with quiet apology, but she was showing no mercy to the damn necklace.

 

Son of a bitch.  This panicky and defensive thing wasn’t supposed to happen.  He’d trusted that Dave could do this without triggering an episode when he should’ve demanded a detailed plan of action.  So much for being a fucking optimist.

 

“What?  That’s six months away, and front row puts most of the crowd at her back.  It’s doable.”  The eyes that had cut to Jon now found their way back to Teddi.  “If she wants it to be.”

 

“Back off, Dave.  She’s teetering.”

 

“Not teetering.  Practicing,” his buddy corrected.  “She’s getting used to the idea of it.”

 

“Did you ever think I might not want her sitting front row?  I can’t work and worry about her at the same goddamn time.”

 

“Then don’t,” was the blasé motherfucker’s response.  “Her anxiety isn’t lethal.  The worst that happens is she passes out again.  She’ll bring Maggie or Tori along for moral support and cleanup if needed.  It’ll be fine.”

 

“Why are you being an asshole?”

 

“Stop.  Both of you.”

 

The protest was quiet without being weak.  She might be clutching the necklace tight enough to change its shape, and her mouth was definitely puckered tight, but she wasn’t on the verge of a dead faint.  Jon didn’t think she was, anyway, especially since she was easing out of his grasp to stand.

 

“You okay?  Where are you going?”

 

“Fine,” she lied through a smile.  “I’m just in need of a powder room.  Where might I find one?”

 

After he watched her head off in the indicated direction, Jon turned to his friend with annoyance.  “What the fuck, man?  It wasn’t enough that she conceded the point?  You had to keep leaning on her?”

 

“I hadn’t planned to.  It just happened.”

 

“Well, don’t let it happen again,” he growled, his annoyance growing at David’s lack of remorse.  This was not going to the way Jon envisioned, and he jerked the wine cork free to dump half the bottle in his glass.  “You were all about catering to her anxiety when you set this up for today.  ‘Safe, controlled environment’ and all that.   For somebody who didn’t want to see her lose her shit, you’re pushing her toward it awful damn hard.”

 

“Dude.  Calm the fuck down.  A little tough love never killed anyone.”

 

Tough love.  Christ.  Is that what the grandma thought when she was locking young Teddi away in a room?  Probably.

 

“That’s what caused the whole thing in the first friggin’ place.  I can’t go into details, but the grandma that raised her wasn’t a cookie baking kind of broad.  Seems to me she was a stone-cold bitch, although Teddi denies it.”

 

“Well, coddling her isn’t gonna work, and she’s clearly getting worse than better with age.  What do you suggest?”

 

“I don’t know!” The wine stem should’ve snapped with the force he used to set down the glass, but it miraculously held strong.  “I don’t know.”

 

Dave’s shoulders fell a little under his ugly skull-printed shirt, and he leaned forward on his forearms.  “I’m gonna say one more thing, and then you won’t hear another word about it today.”

 

Jon’s gaze skimmed the cool blue of the water to keep from looking at the other man.  With an intro like that, whatever came next was going to piss him off.  They’d known each other too long for him to believe any different – or to believe he could stop it.

 

“Get on with it.”

 

“As much as I like her, if you tell me you’re just fucking this woman to pass the time, then she can live the scared rabbit life without my interference.  But… if you’re viewing this as a relationship, something’s gotta give.  You guys won’t last until Christmas if she doesn’t get a handle on the agoraphobia.  Again… straight up truth.”

 

The air was sticky and still.  Sweat trickled down the back of Jon’s neck and ran between his shoulder blades, courtesy of the late-July afternoon.  At least, that’s what he told himself.  Being powerless and intimidated had nothing to do with it, even though his friend was right.

 

Jon liked Teddi, but there would come a time when liking her wouldn’t be enough.  There would come a time – even if it was only once – when he couldn’t overlook her reclusiveness.  When he would expect the woman in his life to pose at his side for photographers.  To stand in a crowd with him and fend for herself without him.

 

That’s who he was.

 

And a recluse is who she is.  Where’s the compromise?