20 - Tread Lightly

“I’ve been involved with books and reading my whole life,” Sheridan spoke into the microphone.  “It breaks my heart to think that there might be children who can’t enjoy the pleasure of sitting down on a rainy afternoon and getting lost in a fantasy world of their choosing.  The fact that I can be part of an event to incorporate that with a child’s love and trust of animals…  Well, what better way is there to spend a Saturday morning?”

“That’s Sheridan King, former owner of The Same Old Story chain of bookstores and library volunteer, talking about the ‘Come, Sit, Read’ program here at the 96^th Street Library in Manhattan.  Thank you Ms. King.”

 ‘Come, Sit, Read’ was geared toward getting children to improve their reading skills by reading out loud to therapy dogs.  The premise was that animals were non-judgmental and non-threatening, making it a less stressful setting for the child.  So far there had been limited results with the program, but it was still fairly new.

She nodded and smiled at the reporter, grateful when the spotlight on the television camera went black. 

Sheridan volunteered at the library on a regular basis, and had adopted the 96^th Street branch as her ‘home base’ because…

“Aunt Sheri!  I read to that big black dog and he liked it!  His name is Licorice and he licked me face when I said ‘the end’!”

Because of its close proximity to Suzy and Karl’s apartment.  Their precocious seven-year-old daughter Madison was a regular visitor and, if Sheridan was going to encourage anyone’s love of reading, it should be her best friend’s daughter.

Young, gangly arms were looped around Sheridan’s waist and she, in turn, looped her arms around Madison’s shoulders.  “I saw you reading over there, but Licorice shushed me when I asked what story it was.”

Her silliness had Madison giggling.  “I was reading ‘Ladybug Girl’!”

“And you did a great job, Princess!”

“Why don’t you go find a couple of books to take home while I talk to Aunt Sheri?” Suzanne suggested gently to her daughter while giving Sheridan a meaningful look.  She hadn’t called her friend yesterday as promised.  In fact, she’d even ignored Suzy’s incoming phone calls. 

“Okay, Mommy.  I’m gonna see how many Ladybug Girl books I can find!”

“Doesn’t seem like there’s any after-effects of last weekend’s ear ache,” Sheridan observed congenially, dreading this conversation.

Her friend’s green eyes were snapping with either exasperation or excitement.  The flat set of her mouth as she flipped fiery hair over her shoulder had Sheridan thinking it was probably exasperation. 

“There aren’t.  She’s been perfectly healthy since Tuesday.  Now cut the crap and tell me about your date Thursday night.”

She didn’t want to talk about him.  No matter how she tried to put it out of her mind, she was still stinging over his ready dismissal.  It was why she avoided Suzy yesterday.  Why she avoided nearly everyone. 

After her meeting with Rick, she went to Macy’s and Nordstrom’s in search of something new to wear – something with a high neck to conceal the hickeys.  She didn’t find anything she liked, so she went for a massage and highlights, hoping to put a little ‘oomph’ into her self-esteem.  That she managed to do.  Enough so, that when she got home, she called building maintenance and had them come get the little refrigerator and the remaining contents, wishing them happy holidays.

The rest of the evening was spent painting her fingernails and toenails a pearl pink, and ignoring her phone while reading the latest James Patterson novel. 

Today, though, the luxury of hiding her head in the sand was no longer an option.  In effort for a little privacy, she led her notoriously temperamental friend to the windows at the far side of the room. 

“There was no date.” Sheridan staunchly stuck to the original story, picking at piece of fuzz on her burgundy turtleneck sweater, before brazenly locking eyes with Suzanne.  “It was an obligatory dinner on his part.  We talked about business.”

“Business.  You went out with…”  She glanced around to make sure no one was nearby before hissing, “…Jon Bon Jovi for a strictly business dinner?”

“Yes.”

Suzy tipped her chin up and challenged, “Then what did he say about doing the biography?”

Creative truths.  Keep it as honest as possible.

“He didn’t agree to it.”

“Oh yeah?  Why?”

“You’ve seen the press on him.  He’s a private man when at all possible.”

Mouth puckering into an unhappy frown, Suzanne couldn’t find anything left to dispute, so she switched to another track.  A matchmaking track.  “Do you like him?”

“I don’t know him well enough to say.  I think he’s polite, attentive and funny.  Does that mean I like him?”

“Don’t make me ask middle school girl questions, Sheri,” Suzanne huffed.  “Do you find him attractive?  Do you want to go on a date with him?  You haven’t been on a single date that I know of since you split up with Ian.  He would be an amazing one to break your dry spell.”

“Keep your voice down.”  She looked to make sure that no one was paying them any attention.  As a regular volunteer here, she didn’t need these people having in-depth knowledge of her personal life.  “He isn’t likely to ask me out, and it doesn’t matter anyway.  My dry spell is over.  I have a date tonight.”

“What?!”  Suzy clutched at her biceps and practically squealed like the middle school girl she referenced a moment before.  “Who?  How?  Where?”

Laughingly easing out of her friend’s grip, she admitted,  “It’s Rick Ellington.”

“The massage instructor?  The dirty hot massage instructor?”

Suzy had been introduced to Rick a couple of months ago when she stopped by after class.  At the time, she told Sheridan she didn’t know how any of the students kept from flat-out groping the man instead of using him for a massage ‘dummy’.

“Since when do you use terms like ‘dirty hot’?” Sheridan scolded with a furrow etched between her brows. 

“Hey.  I watch Grey’s Anatomy.  That guy is McSteamy hot.”

Someone, somewhere took pity on her at that moment, because Madison rejoined them with her arms overflowing with books.

“Oh my goodness, Princess!  How many books have you found?”

“Five, Aunt Sheri!  I found all the Ladybug Girl books they have.”  She turned to hand them all to her mother, but Suzanne was shaking her head in reprimand.

“Madison Marie, you cannot take all those books at one time!  Just take two and leave some for another little girl, honey.”

“It’s okay, Princess,” Sheridan whispered in an aside.  “I’ll go Barnes & Noble and buy them for you.  You’ll have your very own.”

The girl’s gap-toothed grin in her freckled face melted Sheridan’s heart.  Smoothing the messy ponytail that was the exact shade of copper as Suzanne’s, she smiled with a touch of melancholy.  It was times like this that she regretted not having children.

❧❧❧

It was times like this that he regretted having children.  Not really, but still…

Jon cringed at the slamming of Jake and Romeo’s bedroom door before yelling, “Romeo! Come back out here and close that door with a little more respect!”

Yes, his youngest was unhappy and upset, but he couldn’t let the boy get away with that kind of behavior. 

The door slowly opened and closed again, much more gently this time, without Romeo making an appearance outside of his room.  The instant the knob clicked into place, however, there was a loud ‘bang’ that set the door to shaking.  Jon would bet anything that the little bugger had just kicked the shit out of it.  He groaned with quiet frustration, choosing his battles and deciding that one wasn’t worth fighting.

Happy fucking Saturday.

“Dad!  Your cell phone is ringing!” Jesse called from the living room where he was watching the Notre Dame game on the big flat-panel television mounted to the wall.

“Well, answer it!”  It wasn’t like Jon had some secret life he kept from his kids.  The sixteen-year-old should know that he could answer the damn phone and, if nothing else, take a message.

“He already hung up!  It was Uncle Mook.”

Richie?  That was a surprise, considering he’d been here less than two days ago.  He frowned, scuffling to the living room in his bare feet and snagging the phone from the chair arm.

“Next time, answer it?”

His son shrugged with a careless, “Yeah, okay,” jacking up Jon’s frustration a little further. 

“I’m going up to my office and call Richie back.  You think you could make sure your brothers don’t escape or kill each other?”

“I’ll make sure they don’t escape.”

He cuffed the teenager in the back of the head, grinning down into a smile that was much like his own.  “At least yell at me if you hear any suspicious gunshots or screams.”

After receiving his oldest son’s laughing agreement, Jon padded upstairs to hide in the sanctuary of his office.    

Sometimes it was nice being an all-guys’ weekend, but he missed Stephanie when she was away at college.  She was much better at keeping the younger two in line than Jesse was when Jon was tied up for a bit.   It would be good to see her next week when the semester ended.

He collapsed into the high-back leather chair and tapped the button for Rich’s number, leaning his elbows on the edge of his desk.  The near-dusk sky made the room shadowy as he waited for his friend to answer.

“Hey.  You screening your calls nowadays?”

“Nah,” he grumbled, pleased to hear that Richie sounded like his usual happy-go-lucky self.  Jon still had those moments of worry for his friend’s health and emotional well-being.   It was hard to let go of it. “What’s up, man?”

“Better yet, what’s up with you?  Sounds like you’ve been kicked in the balls and left to die.”

That made Jon laugh.  “It’s not quite that bad.  Romey’s having a little trouble with the concept of a divorced Christmas and, so far, everything I’ve said has just made it worse.”

“Dude, I’m sorry.  There’s nothing worse than a kid upset over divorce shit.  Been there, done that, got the rehab to prove it.”

“I know you can empathize and I appreciate it.”  He kicked his feet up on the desk and crossed his ankles, blowing away the tension with a gusty exhale.  “So…  What’s up?”

“Well…”  Richie hesitated.  “After what you just told me, I’m kinda ashamed to admit why I called.”

“Unless you’re gonna starting dating Dorothea, forget about being ashamed.  Why’d  you call?”

“I’m definitely not dating the woman who called me Satan.  Or at least that woman who called me Satan,” he amended with a chuckle.  “Was just wondering about Tropical Storm Sheridan and the ‘honey’-glazed donuts.  You get any of those yet?”

Jon’s bark of laughter felt good bursting out of his chest.  Trust Richie to be  worried about the lack of kink in his sex life. 

“Naw, I can’t say that I have.  We parted ways the other day.”

“What?  Already?  After the way you talked about that chick, I thought she would end up with a permanent position as your ball girl.”

Jon groaned, not understanding why he found himself surprised by Richie’s crudely phrased commentary.  “Christ, I continue to be amazed at the amount of pussy you can get with your brand of poetry.”

“Hello?  Like I’m gonna say that shit to a chick.  I only play dumb, Dumbass.  So what happened?”

What happened?  It was something he’d wondered about off and on since he left her place yesterday morning.  His body was still undeniably affected by the mere memory of those desire-dazed green eyes, but there was something else.  Thoughts of her made him itch under his skin in an uncomfortable way.

“Nothing happened.  I like to move on before things get complicated.  You know that.”

Richie snorted.  “I’m tellin’ ya, if she was all that, I woulda stuck around for a little complicated.  Unless she’s one of those that only serves one purpose.  You know.  Somebody you keep around to suck your dick, but wouldn’t dare take out in public.  That gets old after a while.”

Jon’s feet hit the floor with a muffled ‘plop’ when he sat abruptly upright.  That wasn’t Sheridan.  At all.

“Watch your mouth, Sambora,” he warned softly.  “She’s not like that.  Classy doesn’t begin to describe her.”

“Then what’s the problem?  You afraid to kill your newly-reclaimed reputation as a free-swinging dick?”

What was the problem exactly?  Suddenly Jon couldn’t remember why it had been so important to cut himself off from her.  He’d had a good reason, though.  He was sure of it.

Damn Richie for messing around in his head.