Chapter Fifty Seven

Sleeping late had been a decadently luxurious indulgence, followed by coffee in front of a small fire while they watched the West Coast edition of the ‘Today’ show. Sadly, the ‘snap, crackle, pop’ wasn’t coming from any breakfast cereal, but rather their respective joints.

The floor in front of the fireplace had been their playground. It had seemed like a good idea at the time. However, waking in the middle of the night as cold as the ashes in the long-extinguished fire, Jon and Rachel found their backs stiff and their knees reminiscing about better days.  

Wilfully refusing to acknowledge the aches that marked him as old enough to know better, Jon went for his usual morning run while Rachel showered, anticipating a full day of holiday baking. When she stepped into the hot, steaming shower she moaned as the water hit her aching shoulders, a not-so-subtle reminder she was too old to be rolling around on her family room floor.

Youth. It’s wasted on the young.

Shower complete, she dressed in her usual comfortable jeans and sweater and set about making the bed. It was a quick job this morning, seeing as they'd barely moved once they'd finally gotten into it. Normally, she had to completely remake it because Jon had a way of tearing the sheets loose at the bottom and it made Rachel nuts. She liked the sheets and blankets to be tightly tucked at the bottom.

Jon’s years of living on the road had trained him to sleep anywhere, no matter the conditions surrounding him or the position he was in, so it didn't matter to him if their sexual antics completely thrashed the bedcovers. Sleeping on a bare mattress didn't bother him in the least.

Rachel, on the other hand, needed order in her life – and that included her hospital-cornered sheets.

When her upstairs chores were complete, she made her way to the kitchen. With another cup of coffee at the ready and Christmas music softly playing from the stereo, she immersed herself elbow deep in a batch of pie dough.

She was covered with bits and pieces of that dough when a call from James ran through to her cell phone. Not in the mood to have work interfering with her holiday preparations, she toyed with the idea of ignoring the call. Ultimately, reasoning that she was better off to take care of it sooner rather than later, she haphazardly wiped one finger with a dish towel and tapped to answer the call on speaker phone.

“Hi James.”

“Hello, pretty lady! How are you this fine day?”

“Doing great. How about you? Ready for Thanksgiving?”

Her response was immediate and robotic. So distracted was she by obsessively measuring the precise of amount of flour for her recipe, the flirtatious tone in her boss’s voice went completely over her head.  Bent over the kitchen island, squinting at the recipe card and with her back to the kitchen entrance she never heard the front door close or noticed Jon coming within earshot.

“That’s what I'm calling about. I know your family is all out west. I wondered if you might like to join me for Thanksgiving? It would give us a chance to catch up and, well... I didn’t want you to be alone for the holidays.”

Rachel’s head fell back in laughter. She didn’t know if she was just happy in general or if the predictable behavior of her former lover was what made her cackle. “Oh James, that is SO like you….to wait until the last second just in case something better came along.”

“I’m hurt, Rachel. Truly hurt that you would think such a thing. It’s like a dagger through my heart. I've been on the golf course all afternoon and just now got around to calling.”

“James if you were concerned that I'd be left alone for a major holiday, you wouldn't have waited until the day before to ask me to join you. All these years later you've not changed one bit and if you've been golfing all day, you've been drinking every bit as long.”

If she hadn't been so distracted, she would have noticed the lazy enunciation of his words right away. James had always been a party animal, in addition to being an avid golfer, and the two pleasures had generally gone hand-in-hand during their relationship. A round of golf usually meant James would end up half in the bag before the 9th hole.  

“Sure, there’s been a few drinks, but I think of it as liquid courage,” he countered. “It gives me the guts to ask you to spend the holiday with me. In fact… why don't you come for the weekend? I'll show you around Manhattan – first class all the way. You’ll love it!”

Crap. Is that the third cup of flour or the fourth?

Cooking was one of Rachel’s passions, but baking was not cooking. It was another thing altogether. Baking was scientific and required that exact amounts be carefully measured. There was no room for error and her conversation with James had distracted her enough to lose count.

  

“No can do, my friend. I’m in California. I’ve been working remotely from here and I’m spending the holiday with my family.”

“No kidding? How are your parents? Doing well I hope.”

“Oh yeah, they're great.”

Rachel was attempting to make polite conversation in spite of trying to mentally calculate the amount of ingredients needed to double her recipe. She really wished James would let her get off the phone and get her holiday mojo back on track.

“And your sister? Robin, right?”

“Right….she’s great. In fact we all went to Napa just yesterday.”  

Mentally wondering if there was enough flour to finish this project and lulled by the mindless conversation, she was completely unprepared for the husky turn to James’s tone and his new choice in subject matter.

“Oh hell, remember that little place in Sonoma we went for the weekend? We took the Wine Train…remember? And then the picnic in the vineyard? Not to mention making love all afternoon in that very vineyard…”

Startled eyebrows crashed together in the middle of her face and her head snapped back in distaste. James was lucky she knew that he would never cross that taboo line from business to personal if he hadn’t been ‘playing with the boys’.  

“Nope… don't remember a thing. I'll plead the Fifth on that one. Besides, I’m in the middle of holiday baking so I need to get off the phone.”

“Oh come on sweetheart, no need to get shy on me! There are no secrets between us. You know we had some crazy times together.” James continued his semi-seduction with a lecherous chuckle. “One night with you usually left me with scrapes, bruises and scabs in the MOST unusual places. We were wild, weren't we?”

The unpleasant memory of those days lit her mind’s eye like a Hollywood movie premiere. She'd been very naïve back in the day and James had taken unquestionable advantage of it and her. Rachel had believed that when he offered her the professional opportunity she now enjoyed, he was trying to make amends. Having gotten over him and his shoddy treatment long ago, she'd been grateful for his effort to right the wrongs of the past. She'd been even more grateful for the lifeline he threw her after the accident ripped her world to shreds.  But she certainly felt no attraction to him.  

Particularly now, since he'd somehow managed to take her out of the blissful bubble she’d built with Jon, dragging her back to a dark, ugly past that she had no desire to relive. There was a brief moment of nausea as she recalled the countless times she woke in the middle of the night somehow knowing James was with another woman. The bitterness barked out of her before she could stop herself.   

“Unfortunately, those scabbed over knees were usually from a wild night you spent with somebody else. While I took care of your clients and your business, YOU were usually out on your boat with some title rep bent over the engine cover.”

James wasn't even slightly deterred. “Hey now! I’m unattached, you're unattached… We always were perfect for each other and I've grown up. A wife and kids is my future. All that wild stuff…  It’s in the past, Pup.”

The use of his once-upon-a-time pet name turned Rachel’s attitude from bad to worse. He’d called her ‘Puppy’ saying she was so young and little more than a puppy running with the big dogs of the business world. At the time, she'd foolishly thought it was cute but now she clearly saw it was his passive-aggressive way of holding her back – from building a business of her own outside of him and his world.   

Stunned at his forwardness even with their past history, Rachel angrily turned to pick up her phone and saw Jon standing there propped against the pantry. His jaw was set in a hard, unforgiving line and his arms were crossed over a puffed-out chest. He was not a happy camper.

Well, too bad. Jon wasn't even on her radar.  

Rachel was now a successful business woman in her own right. James might be her boss but he no longer had the same influence over her that he'd had so many years before. And he would damn well know it. “I’m not a pup anymore James" she coldly spat into the phone.  "And I don't ever make the same mistakes twice. I'll speak with you on Monday – when I’m back to WORK.”

A quick tap to the ‘End Call’ button had her former love out of her hair just in time for her current love to crawl into it.  

“WHAT. THE FUCK. WAS THAT?”  Jon’s demanding question was issued with a frown and arms thrown out to his sides in a stance that could've been a billboard for the New Jersey Board of Tourism.

  

Dwelling on the pain of the past wasn't Rachel’s standard operating procedure. She sure wasn't going to ruin her Thanksgiving holiday on something as absurd as James’s comments, inappropriate as they were.  

“Chill out. He’s probably had one too many drinks on the golf course – I'll handle it next week.”

Judging from the vein beginning to bulge in his temple, Jon saw things differently. "YOU haven't been drinking! You had a perfect opportunity to correct his idea that you're ‘unattached’."

She just rolled her eyes, turning back to her recipe card and bowl of ingredients, ready to finish the project the unwanted call had interrupted.  

“I don't owe him an explanation of my relationship status…. ”

“Oh yeah? Well you sure as hell didn't have any problem explaining your relationship status to the girls from MY past! You couldn't shut them down fast enough!” The pitch of his voice was every bit as high as the high notes in ‘Prayer’ ever thought of being. “What the fuck? Sounds to me like your buddy got quite a ride….scabs and all!”

It was such a ludicrous thing for him to be throwing a hissy fit about, that Rachel couldn’t justify being any more than merely annoyed with him. “Are you serious?  That was like…. twenty five years ago, or maybe more. Do you REALLY wanna talk about what YOU were up to twenty five years ago?”

“I don’t currently work for women I used to fuck during an afternoon rendezvous in a vineyard for Chrissake! But if I did and they were hitting on me – I’d make sure they knew I was NOT ‘unattached’.”

This silly battle was one Rachel refused to engage in. She deserved a pat on the back for that AND for stifling the urge to remind Jon that being ‘attached’ had never hindered him in the past. She wiped her hands on a dishtowel and hit the button that would redial James’ phone number before giving Jon the slightest of shrugs. “No problem. I can take care of that right now.”

James’s voice was clear as a bell when he answered on the second ring.

“Hellooooo sweetheart. Change your mind?”

“James, just so you're aware, I have you on speaker.” Her tone was all business. There would be no misinterpreting this phone call. “The man I have been involved with for several months is standing here with me. When you called a few minutes ago, I didn't feel the need to explain that I was NOT unattached because I see our relationship as strictly professional in spite of our personal past.” The death glare she was using on Jon was as icy as her voice when she continued with James. “I assume we will never have a conversation like the phone call you just made to me again. Correct?”

“Rachel – I was just having a little harmless fun - don't be so serious and tell your boyfriend to get a grip, I-“

Before James could finish his thought, Jon reached across the counter and yanked the phone out of Rachel’s hand. He swiftly brought it to his mouth and in a hiss that sounded calmer than he actually was, Jon laid the rules down in one simple sentence.   

“Listen you piece of fuck…  Don’t ever cross the line like that again or your permanent unemployment will be the least of your problems.”

He disconnected the call without waiting for a response and tossed the phone onto the counter before grumbling to Rachel, “ I'm taking a shower.”

He took the stairs two at a time, probably stomping a little more than he had a right to. When the sweaty workout clothes had been tossed into a heap on the floor, he stood at the bathroom mirror shaving. With each swipe of the razor, he tried not to wish he was cutting across that sleazy fuck’s throat and tried to get a handle on what exactly had set him off.  

Not that it took a brain surgeon to figure it out.

The visual of Rachel flailing around in bed with any other man like she did him… had incensed him. Made him positively livid. The fact that it was twenty five years ago was of no consequence. The intimate, even if cross, way that she spoke to the guy on the phone stirred a jealousy in Jon that was irrational and red hot.  

Then there was that other thing…

Hearing another man talk about wanting a wife and kids - with Rachel – had left him even more uneasy if he was going to be honest about it. There was competition sniffing around his turf and offering up things he had refused her. And that made Jon feel just a bit lacking.  

Twisting the shower knobs to a near-scalding temperature, he stood under the hot spray feeling unreasonably pissed off – for something that happened a quarter of a century ago.

You're a jackass, Bongiovi.  

So he stood there, the water slowly cooling and taking the heat of his temper with it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

While most of her aggression had been vented by rolling out enough pie dough to supply a small bakery, there was still an edge of annoyance that Rachel couldn't let go of.  She heard Jon’s boots on the hardwood floors as he came into the kitchen, and  it was one of the only times she recalled wishing he were someplace else – at least until she was ready to deal with him.

When he stood across the kitchen island, watching and waiting for her to acknowledge him, she concentrated more intently on wielding the rolling pin until the dough was too thin to even use. Yet when she felt the heat of his presence at her side, she continued to massage that same dough as though she would be serving the President this pie crust. When he put his hand in the small of her back, she thumped the pin on the counter a little too hard but still offered him no direct response.   

“Oh.” Jon’s single disgust-coated word brushed across her cheek with its accompanying huff. “That’s the way we're gonna do this, huh? I’m gonna get the silent treatment?”

Oh. No. He. Didn’t.

Unable to ignore his nerve-grating presence any longer, Rachel slowly turned to face him, her back against the sink. “So you want to play nice with me now?” She regarded him through narrowed eyes and stubbornly jutted her chin upward. “Guess what? I don’t want to play at the moment. I don’t like the way you snapped at me and this isn't the first time you've blown a gasket and been an ass.”

Arrogantly seeking to resolve things the way they always resolved them, Jon took the two small steps that would have him standing directly in front of her. His feet bracketed hers and his arms snaked around her neck with every intention of pulling her into him to, no doubt, kiss the boo-boo better.  

“Don’t,” she ordered with a deathly quiet tone, her body stiff as granite under his touch. “You can’t treat me like a second class citizen and then put your hands on me to make me forget you were a jerk.”

Jon was over his little snit and ready to resume the thus-far peaceful California existence he’d enjoyed with his girl. He could tell she wasn't really mad, per se…  She was just annoyed. She’d been more than annoyed with him in the past. He'd always managed to charm his way out of the dog house and today would be no different.  

“I did NOT treat you like a second class citizen but I may be guilty of the ‘jerk’ charge.” He playfully cinched his arms and gave her his best come-hither smirk. "I’m sorry. Now c’mere and give me a kiss.”

“I don't WANT to kiss you.”

Her half-assed attempt to break free from his embrace was kind of cute but completely useless. It only served to amuse him and Jon squeezed her tighter as he chuckled quietly down into her face. “Yes you do. Now, c'mere. I may be an ass, but I’m YOUR ass.”

“That remains to be seen. I don't have to keep you, you know.”

The charm was slowly oozing from his pores into hers. He could feel her relax and knew he was making progress. Surely a little grinding into her would complete the transformation, right? It didn’t ‘complete’ the transformation but he counted it a victory that she didn't knee him in the nuts.

“You worked so hard to get me, you wouldn't let me go THAT easily would you?”

“I didn’t work to get you, you moron. I might not have been able to resist you but I didn't try to catch you.”

Jon ignored the jabbing finger that dug into his ribs and bent to nuzzle into her neck. “And now look at you,” he cooed in his best Rachel Whisperer voice. “…..all in love with me and shit.”

“Yeah, at least ONE of us is in love….”

“Hey. You know I love you.”

“You can’t tell me you love me Jon and then lose your temper and act like I’ve been somehow seedy in another life because I had a boyfriend or two before you sauntered into my world!”

He could almost see the charm dissolve in the air between them, his secret weapon becoming nothing more than air. He was done being mad and had honestly expected Rachel to accept his non-madness by falling back into doe-eyed-mode. Why the hell wouldn't she just cooperate before he lost his cool? Again.  

“I said I was sorry….I AM sorry. Can we just move on now?”

“Saying ‘sorry’ doesn't undo the things one has already said….”

Stiffening, he backed off from her and resumed his earlier position propped against the kitchen island. With arms crossed and a cantankerous huff, he offered the explanation he'd hoped to be spared from giving. “When I overheard your phone call… You rolling around with that guy – and him talking about what a wild thing you were…  I got a visual I didn't like, okay??? ”

“Yeah,” she guffawed, mimicking his belligerent pose. “It’s probably similar to the visual I got when your little heiress-slash-socialite told me how you liked it rough. When it comes to sleeping around, trust me Jon, I’m not even in the running. I can count on one hand the number of men I've slept with and have multiple fingers left over. YOU????”  

Her humorless laugh set his teeth on edge.  

“You Jon, would need a couple of Boeing 747’s to transport the women you've slept with… JUST DURING YOUR MARRIED YEARS.”

“You don't seem to mind the experience I've gained with those plane loads of women….which by the way, is a huge exaggeration Rachel.”

“Oh, excuse me for exaggerating the number of women you’ve actually SLEPT with….most of them probably just got to blow you before being sent on their way.”

With his playful mood now swirling in the crapper, Jon could feel the infamous ‘stink eye’ building, just itching to unleash itself. Rachel may have hit the nail on the head but talking about his backstage sexual encounters was a counter-productive detour that he just wasn’t interested in taking.   

Running a restless hand through his hair, he was proud that he managed to keep his eye in check when testily sighing; “Are you finished with your tantrum?”

“MY tantrum? You’re kidding me, right?”

Her righteous indignation went over him like nails on a chalkboard. It was time to put an end to this shit.

“ENOUGH! I've told you why I reacted the way I did and apologized for it. You want one of my balls, too?”

Unimpressed with his Italian temper as always, Rachel rolled her eyes.  “Look…I realize you're used to calling the shots – but don't get all pissy on me and then ask if I’m done with MY tantrum just because you've gotten over your little snit and want to go back to Prince Charming mode.”

“Why do girls always resort to ‘fairy tale’ shit?”  

Jon knew the minute the words slipped through his mouth it was the wrong thing to say but he was backed into a corner. Things just happened when he got forced into being on the defensive.

“Yeah, ‘cause I’m all about the fairy tales, aren’t I Jon?” Throwing up her hands she walked around the opposite side of the island and into the foyer still speaking. “Somebody should’ve told Cinderella to get the hell out of there – nothing good happens after midnight, anyway.”

“Dammit Rachel! Get your ass back here!” His voice was raised only in part because he was mad. Jon could hear Rachel’s departing footsteps escaping the stairs and had bellowed after her as an act of frustrated desperation more than anything else. He followed her to the stairs and watched her deliberately and defiantly climb them one at a time, in spite of his insistence otherwise. “This is bullshit!”

“It sure is, Jon.”

“ I'm so sick of you walking off every time you get bent out of shape!”  

“Right…because it’s better to stand and fight with you.  I'll pass.”

Jon refused to follow her up the stairs like some lovesick schoolboy. Thumping his fist on the bannister, he swore bawdily enough to make a sailor take note and salute, then stalked back into the family room shaking his head every step of the way. He was almost fully inside the room before his sarcastic sonofabitch personality offered him a parting shot and he spun, thundering up at her, “ You're easier to handle when you're naked and on your back!”

Rachel’s tittering laugh and voice carried all the way from the bedroom through the kitchen and clearly  into the family room.  “Good luck getting me THERE, Hotshot!”

Still shaking his head, Jon returned to his favorite leather chair in the family room, plopping down heavily. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he replayed the whole jacked-up interaction behind closed eyelids. As pissed as he’d been – and still was – he couldn't help but wryly laugh at the spunk his girl had shown in hurling her insults.  

“747….. Now THAT’S funny. I’ve gotta remember to tell Sambora that one.”