1 - The Greenhouse

Jon stepped from the back of the the hired Escalade, slamming the door and executing a slow sprint from the dark street to the front of the club.  Typically, he would have walked the short distance from his SoHo apartment.  It was only eight blocks or so to the Greenhouse, but the cold, December drizzle had encouraged him to indulge in a driver.

Under the shelter of the leafy awning, he shook the moisture from his sleeve onto the uniquely shaped bush standing at the entrance.  Each sculpted segment was draped with little white lights in deference to the holiday season.

With a quick shake of his head and shoulders, more of the droplets were dislodged from his wool coat.  Feeling it was as dry as he was going to get, he sighed and grabbed the door handle. 

I’d rather be home tonight.

That desire was moot, though.  He’d been invited to a book launch party by an old friend, and there was no way he could back out now.  The RSVP had been returned just after Labor Day, and Karl had contacted him earlier this week to reconfirm. 

At least I don’t have to sing for my supper this time around.

Glancing around the wildly lit first floor of the club, he searched for the signs that would point him to the lower level, where the private event was being held.  It only took about ten seconds to give up and ask a waitress. 

Jon ducked his head and moved unnoticed through the small, Sunday night crowd.  The dark-headed girl had told him he would find the staircase in the far corner, and she was right.   It was only a dozen or so steps until he arrived in the lush tunnel of leaves. 

The Greenhouse took its eco-friendly status seriously, and the biggest part of the décor down here was plant based.  There were leaf covered walls and ceiling, and a dozen or so cocktail tables with mossy stumps inside.  The bar was similarly designed.

He’d just given his wine order to a passing server when Karl emerged from the sea of guests, his face alight with a genuine smile

“Jon!” he greeted with a hearty handshake.  “You made it!”

“Karl, buddy, how ya doin’?” He gestured to the fairly thick crowd milling about.  There were probably a hundred and fifty people or better gathered in clumps of different sizes along the length of the room..  “Looks like a nice turnout.  Are you pleased?”

The other man’s salt and pepper head bobbed enthusiastically.  “Yeah, yeah, thrilled!  Isn’t this place great?  I thought it was the perfect complement to the book.”

Jon had a vague recollection that the book was a fiction piece set in the jungle somewhere.  Some kind of mercenary action novel, if remembered rightly.  That was not his brand of reading material, but Karl was clearly excited about it, and he’d known the guy for years. 

Karl Fenning had worked for one of the big entertainment magazines back in the day.  It hadn’t been one of the cheesy ones like Tiger Beat or Teen Idol, but it wasn’t Rolling Stone either.  Circus was a magazine that had been dedicated to rock music, and Jon’s band was fortunate enough to be featured in its pages a time or two.

On one of those occasions, Karl had been the reporter doing the article, and they’d hit it off pretty well.  The interview itself had been an enjoyable one for a change, seeing as the questions hadn’t been centered on his hair styling regime or the color of his spandex pants.  Karl had actually wanted to talk music, and he was one of the few reporters at that point in Jon’s career who did.

When the article had published, Jon had been so pleased with the outcome, that he gave Karl a call and took him out for a beer.  They’d been in touch off and on through the years since then.

When Circus shut down in 2006, Karl decided to try his hand at fiction.  To date, he’d had three or four books on the New York Times bestseller list, all based upon the adventures of a mercenary.  It was the same mercenary who would be appearing in the new book.

“Yeah,” Jon agreed, accepting his wine with a nod of thanks as the waitress turned sideways to work her way back to the bar.  “I’ve been here a couple of times.  It’s a cool place.”

“Honey?”  An chic redhead brought her hand to rest on Karl’s shoulder, with an apologetic smile to Jon.  “You have people asking for you.”

“Gimme just a minute.”  Karl’s eyes rolled to the ceiling.  “Jon, I don’t think you’ve met my wife, Suzanne.  Sweetheart, this is Jon.”

Her smile went from apologetic to polite and she offered a hand.  “Hello.  It’s a pleasure to meet you.” 

Jon barely had time to murmur a polite response before Suzanne was insistently prodding her husband.  “There’s a group of men over here that want to talk to you about the book.”

“Sweetheart, I’m about to be in the middle of an important discussion here.”  Bushy eyebrows lifted and he gave her a look so pointed, Jon was surprised it didn’t bring blood. 

“Honey… I can ask about their kids, but I can’t talk about pipe bombs and assassins.  Please talk to them.”  Again, she flashed the politely detached smile.  “You’ll excuse him for a moment, won’t you Jon?”

Having been on the receiving end of that type of ‘nudging’ more than once, Karl had his sympathy.  He crinkled his forehead with sincerity, knowing it didn’t do anybody any good to piss off a man’s wife.  “Sure.  Take all the time you need.”  He held up the still-full glass of Pinot Grigio.  “I’m just going to enjoy this glass of wine and head out.”

“No!”  Why did his friend look so horrified?  “Please promise me you’re gonna stay for a while.  I have something I wanted to talk to you about.”

Afraid that he knew exactly what Karl wanted to talk about, Jon inwardly cringed.  “Yeah, okay.  I’ll hang around.”  What else could he say?  Suzanne was damn-near glaring daggers at him, trying to break her husband away.

“Great!  I’ll be back in just a minute or two.”  He gestured toward Jon’s glass with animated hands.  “Drink up!  Relax and enjoy!”

Because spending the evening in a room of people I don’t know, but who know me is the way I wanna spend my Sunday evening.

Of course, he didn’t say that out loud. He just lifted his wine in salute and took a drink.  A big drink.  Then he signaled the waitress for another while he found an inconspicuous corner to disappear into.

Draping his coat over the back of a booth, he leaned against it and stared unseeingly into the crowd.

He had a feeling he knew what Karl wanted to talk about, and wasn’t looking forward to the conversation.  The last time they’d spoken, Karl had casually asked Jon if he would ever consider doing an authorized biography. 

The answer was no.  Hell no.  The televised Biography thing had been bad enough.  The only redeeming qualities were that it wasn’t Jon doing all the talking.  He could call bullshit and refuse to answer and they moved on to talking to his brothers, parents and the band.

An actual biography was out of the question.  It had been a lot of years since anyone got that deeply immersed in his life.  He had no interest in opening The Circle for membership again.

Trading an empty glass for full, Jon again nodded his thanks at the waitress and tucked one hand into the pocket of his dark-washed jeans.  Black t-shirt, jeans and boots was about as formal as he’d felt like going tonight.  Being a musician afforded him a pass on the suits and ties for most events.  Tonight, he took the pass.

Unlike the majority of the women in this room.  They were decked out in all the varied degrees of ultra-feminine finery, like it was some kind of fancy ball instead of a book launch party.  A book launch party in the basement of a nightclub, at that. 

Mature women and young girls alike proudly displayed their short, short skirts and clingy dresses bedazzled with an abundance of sparkles and shimmers.  All of their finer assets were on display and Jon felt a dormant desire begin to stir.  A man would have to be dead not to have a physical reaction to the blonde in the red sequins.

The only notable exception to the ‘do me’ dress policy seemed to be Suzanne and the blonde she was talking to. 

Suzanne was wearing a modest cocktail dress that was neat and tasteful in its muted shade of merlot.  The woman she was with wore an inky black dress that flared out around her calves.  It had a very retro feel to it – timelessly classic with its short black jacket.  He couldn’t see the front of her, or the dress, but he assumed it discreetly covered everything of importance.  The only dash of flamboyance was her blood-red high heels. 

He drained his second serving of wine, placing the empty glass with a passing server and requesting another.

Those blood-red heels reminded him of some blood-red fingertips that had inflicted some damage on him a few months ago.

Sheridan.

He still couldn’t think about that hot little hellcat without a wicked smile.  Temptation haunted him for days and weeks after their tropical interlude.  How could he forget?  Every rainstorm throughout the fall was a reminder. 

He could have bribed the hotel to find out the contact information, or at least the last name, of his penthouse neighbor, but he hadn’t.  It had been an incredible night, after which she vanished without a trace.  Karma hadn’t seen fit to intervene, so Jon chalked it up to a pleasant memory and left the woman with her privacy intact. 

“Jon!”  Karl rushed up beside him, disrupting the memory before pausing to order himself another drink from the server who delivered Jon’s drink.  Karl always seemed to be bundles of barely contained energy, making Jon understand why he made people nervous.  “Sorry that took so long.  I know you’re a busy man, and I appreciate you taking the time to stop by tonight.” 

“Nah, man, that’s cool.  I always like to support my friends in their projects.”

Bad choice of words, Jon.

“I’m really glad to hear you say that,” Karl bull-rushed into the opening Jon had left.  “You know I kind of asked you about a biography.”

The white wine swirled in the glass while Jon dug for his cache of diplomacy.  “Yeah, Karl, about that…”

“I think it would be a great thing for you to do, especially during this spot before you hit the recording studio again.  You’ve got a little down time, and you know those fans of yours would go nuts over this kind of thing.  Inside the secret ‘Circle’.”  Karl actually used the air quotes and lifted his eyebrows like it was all some high school joke. 

“I’m paid very well to live in the public eye, Karl, and I do it without resentment.  But… that also makes me a man who values the private side of his life more than most.  I thought you were happy with your mercenary fiction?”

“Me?”  The other  man’s palms went to his chest in a gesture of surprise before snatching his drink and tossing back a quick guzzle of gin and tonic.  “I’m not asking for me.  There’s a woman I know.  A personal crisis and whatnot has caused her to toss aside her very lucrative business.  She’s picked up a couple of hobbies, but now she’s looking into becoming a writer.  She’s very good.  Fresh, honest, engaging.  Exactly the type of person you would want on this project.”

“There is no ‘this project’,” Jon reminded him.  “No offense, but if I were to consider it, it sure as hell wouldn’t be with a rookie writer.  Since when do you pimp out other authors, anyway?”

He swallowed with a grimace.  “Truthfully, she’s Suzanne’s best friend from college and just moved to the city.  My lovely wife has been all over my ass, ‘encouraging me’ to help get her started on this path.  I swear Jon, I’ve read a couple of her pieces.  She really is good.”

“Mnnhh….  I’m sorry about your wife being on your ass, but I can’t see it happening, man.  Not even with an established writer.”

“Christ.”  His friend let loose with a gusty sigh of defeat.  “It was worth a shot.  Hey.”  Bushy eyebrows shot up with inspiration.  “Would you at least meet her and pretend to consider it?  Like you haven’t already done enough by just being here, but this would really be a huge favor to me.”

What could it hurt?  He played nice with strangers all the time.  What was one more mini meet and greet before he crawled off to the solitude of his Mercer Street penthouse.

“Yeah.  Yeah, sure,” he conceded with a reasonably sincere smile.

It was enough to earn him a series of hearty thumps on the shoulder.  “You’re the best, Bongiovi.  Seriously.  She’s right over here talking to Suzanne.  It won’t take just a minute and will keep me out of the dog house, if you know what I mean.”

“Mm.”  Jon snagged his coat and trailed willingly behind the other man.  It was ironic that, of all the women in attendance, he was being led to the woman in the modest black dress, shining like an elegant beacon in the room.

Allowing himself to lag a bit behind, Jon waited for Karl to step between the two women with a cheery, “Sheri, I’ve got someone I want to introduce you to.”

Almost in slow motion, the woman in black pivoted on one heel to face Karl.  With the next breath, she gracefully swiveled her head to meet Jon’s eyes. 

He knew the instant she recognized him.  The greeting died with a pitiful squeak on her lips and her classically beautiful features froze in astonishment.  If that weren’t enough, her neck and chest flushed a shade that nearly matched her blood-red shoes.

Karma.  I missed you. It’s good to see you again, baby.

“Sheridan King, meet Jon Bon Jovi,” Karl made the introductions, completely unaware that the lady was flabbergasted.  Or maybe he was aware.  Maybe he thought that’s how all women reacted to meeting a rock star.  “Jon, this is the writer I was telling you about.  Sheridan King.”

A slow grin curled Jon’s lips, heated memories stoking a fire that had been banked for four long months. 

His evening had just gotten infinitely more exciting.

“Hello, Sheridan…”

New chapters will post on Monday and Thursday.  Next update: Thursday, September 27!