68 - Call to Arms

The inky blackness of night still enshrouding her room, Jeri Daniels groped blindly on her bedside table, searching for the phone emitting a distinctive call-to-arms ringtone.  In her slightly off-beat world, she considered it her version of the Bat Phone – only Jon Bon Jovi was her Commissioner Gordon and, if he was calling before the sun had cracked the horizon, it wasn’t a good thing.  It usually indicated a bad thing.

A very bad thing.

“Jesus….” Ken, her boyfriend of fifteen years, groaned as she threw him off like an unwanted  cover.  “What the hell could be so important at six in the morning when there’s not even an album in the works?”

The question was rhetorical and Jeri treated it as such.  Anything could be going on, but experience led her to believe it was crisis management.  These early-morning/late-night calls generally indicated something that required the proverbial circling of the wagons.  Maybe not bad news, per se, but news that nobody outside of Camp Jovi would discover – or at least discover the real truth about.

Jeri would make sure of that. 

Jon paid her very well to make sure of that.

She snapped the lamp switch on, flooding the room in a pool of soft light over Ken’s groan of protest.  While he buried his head under the pillow she brought the phone to her ear and automatically reached for the ever-present note pad and pen.

“Good morning, Jon,” she  greeted crisply and professionally, as though she hadn’t been sound asleep mere seconds ago.  “What can I do for you?”

The last few calls from him had been easy enough – token gifts for a new woman in his life.  The ‘urgent’ tasks had required no more than ten minutes out of her day.  Even the gag order surrounding the latest Richie-drama had been fairly routine, requiring only an immediate call to the PR firm with the mandate that there would be no official statement from Bon Jovi.

She couldn’t say she always agreed with her boss’s decisions in these situations – there were times when it would be better to say something rather than to let public speculation run rampant – but it was his band, family, friends and business.  She was merely another worker bee on the payroll.

“Jeri.”  The short, terse salutation had the fine hair at the nape of her neck standing with anticipation.  “I hope your calendar is clear, because it’s going to be a busy day.  Ready?”

Ballpoint tip poised over the paper. 

“Ready.”

“You remember that little resort in Jamaica I went to this summer?  I want you to book it for me again.”

That was easy enough.  She had the name and number in her electronic Rolodex.  It looked like a great place to honeymoon, if she and Ken ever decided to make this a conventional relationship.  Barring that, a vacation trip, someday.

“For the weekend?  Friday to Sunday?”

“No.  Today.   After I get a laundry-list of shit done.”

“Okay.  Any idea how long you’d like to stay?”

“Let’s plan on two or three days.”

“Done.  What time should I tell the pilot to have your plane ready?”

“No earlier than four.   Have him prep for two passengers.”

“The second passenger?”

“Sheridan King.” 

Nothing earth-shattering.  So far it was simply a getaway with the new woman in his life. 

Of course, being the ever-efficient assistant, Jeri had done her research on Ms. King the minute Jon had started gifting the woman with refrigerators and telephones.  It was her job to know everything about everything, and that included basic facts on all of his friends and acquaintances. 

She knew the wildly successful business woman had practically dropped off the map this fall after allowing her chain of stores to be absorbed by Barnes and Noble.  Forty, and divorced, Sheridan was still an active volunteer in the New York library system and a regular contributor to many of the same charities that Jon supported – with the notable exception of the odd Republican campaign contribution.

I bet this doesn’t last long when he discovers that little tidbit of information.

“Got it.  Next?”

“Get me in with my lawyer, preferably as my last stop before the airfield.  Three or four o’clock.  Better yet, have him meet me at the airfield.  It’ll be more efficient that way.”

“Can I tell him what it’s regarding?”

There was only the slightest hesitation before he briskly supplied his one-word answer.  “Prenup.  Standard-issue.  What do you know about planning a wedding, Jeri?”

She lost control of the pen and it skidded off the edge of the notepad, leaving an ugly black line in its wake. 

Holy shit.  He’s marrying her?

Jeri Daniels was the consummate professional.  In the seven years she’d worked for Jon, she couldn’t think of a single phone call that had rattled her.  She took care of his business with an air of impartiality and detachment, regarding the tasks put before her nothing but items on a check-list.  

Nothing flustered her.  Nothing surprised her.

This… 

Clearing her throat, she righted the pen and once again donned the cloak of unflappable efficiency, which had flapped – for just a second.

“I can know anything you need me to know.”

“Never had a doubt.”  There was a faint smile in his voice.  “Find out what kind of waiting period, blood tests, whatever that are required in Jamaica.  Find out if it’s even legally recognized in the States.  I need a simple, private ceremony.  Classic, elegant, tasteful.  Find a suitable venue.  And did I mention private?  Nobody is to know about this until I’m ready, Jeri.  Nobody.  I assume I don’t need to repeat myself?”

There was no one who loved or demanded their privacy the way Jon did.  There was a customary Secret Squirrel routine in effect, no matter what he did.  Yes, the paparazzi and fans still found him, but usually only when he didn’t mind being found.  Even so, to be on the safe side, she’d beef things up this time.

“No.  You don’t.  I’ll take all the usual precautions and double them.”

“Good.  If anybody can make this happen, I know you can.  Thanks, Jeri.  Call me if you have any questions.”

“Wait. I have questions.”  Her pen had been furiously scribbling while her mind raced with the minute details that had to be addressed for a wedding.  “Flowers and jewelry for the cermony?  Rings?”

“Oh, I almost forgot...  Piaget has a line of jewelry called Possession.  Arrange for somebody to bring a selection of rings to the private hangar at the airfield before takeoff.  Both men’s and women’s.  Flowers….  Something to do with cats?  Are there cat flowers?  Leopard?”

There are tiger lilies and pussy willows.  But leopards?  Ugh.

“I’ll see what I can come up with.”

§§§

Jon stealthily crept up the stairs so as not to spill the two steaming mugs of coffee he’d prepared.  It was still relatively early at only eight in the morning, but there was so much to be done that he didn’t dare let Sheridan sleep too much longer.  With any luck his caffeinated offering would dull the sting of the new day. 

God knew he didn’t want to rock the boat.  He was so proud of her and pleased with how last night had ended, that he was feeling the inclination to coddle her a bit.  That’s why he had slipped quietly out of bed at six, leaving her softly snoring while he slipped downstairs to make his phone calls. 

Really, there were only two calls – the one to Jeri and another to Dot.  Without a single feeling of remorse, he’d ‘cheated’ on the Dot call by targeting the house phone at a time when he knew she would be out.  She took the kids to school every morning at seven-thirty, and that was when he chose to leave a voicemail on the answering system.  Jon had no desire to actually speak to her, but she needed to know he would be out of town for a couple of days and would collect the kids on Friday.  They would spend the weekend in the city with him.

And their step-mother.  And their in-utero sibling.

That was going to be an ugly revelation, he feared, but not one that was scheduled for today’s docket.   Today his fiancée’s happiness took priority over anything to do with his ex-wife.  He would navigate those piranha-infested waters after the wedding.

Quietly placing the two mugs on his side of the bed, he tucked a leg under him and settled carefully onto the mattress.  Sheridan was face-down, her left cheek buried into the pillow with a rumpled sheet of golden hair obscuring her other cheek.  Puckered lips were parted prettily, deep breaths sighing between them.   

My wife. 

Yeah, he knew it was for the best and he didn’t regret the decision.  If he had to, he would engage in last night’s town hall debate all over again to sway her toward his line of reasoning, but still… 

Jon hadn’t expected to be looming on the doorstep of matrimony again this soon.   Logic and an innate need for control over his life had thrown him into autopilot, allowing him to readily plow through the necessary preparations, but his head still wasn’t really wrapped around this wife and baby thing.  It was like a news headline, not his life. 

But it will be.  One foot in front of the other until it’s just as natural as breathing. 

Until it was, he wouldn’t allow her see him sweat.  It was a husband’s job to provide a sense of security, and he took his job – all of them – very seriously.  He had to be the one with the clear vision and determination so that, when her feet started getting cold after stepping into her wedding dress, he could reassure her that everything was going to be alright. 

Better than alright. 

Perfect.

Or he would die trying.

Jon put a light palm in the graceful indentation of her lower back, gradually increasing the pressure until he was dragging his fingertips in rousing circles.  When she snuffled and pushed her face further into the pillow, he smiled. 

She really was beautiful. 

“Kitten?  It’s time to get moving, baby, unless you trust me to pick out your wedding dress.”

The fine skin of her forehead furrowed into an uncountable mass of wrinkles beneath disheveled locks of hair.  One bleary eye peered up at him, a pot of foggy confusion simmering in its mossy iris.

“I brought you some coffee,” he cajoled, the waistband of his jeans folding when he bent to brush a kiss over her temple. 

His ace in the hole brought nothing but more furrows, this time laced with disgust.

“At least now I know why I have an aversion to coffee lately,” she muttered and flipped onto her back while simultaneously sweeping the curtain of hair from her face. 

“The baby doesn’t like coffee?”  Tracing her cheek with the knuckle of his index finger, Jon winked playfully.  “Are you sure this is my kid?”

The smooth motion of his knuckle stuttered with an abrupt realization.

Never once had Jon questioned the baby’s paternity.  He’d been all over accusing her of a deliberate pregnancy attempt, but not one time did he think to ask if he was the father.  That was how much he trusted and respected Sheridan.  In his heart, that trust and respect were simply two more reasons this family would thrive, despite its unscheduled beginning.

“I’ve resorted to tea for my caffeine fix.”  Another sleepy frown as she completely dismissed his flippant question.  “I don’t think pregnant women are supposed to have caffeine.  I’m going to have to look that up – along with everything else.  I did figure one thing out on my own, though.  December plus nine months is September.”

She let the ‘nine months’ reference hang there, unqualified, without actually labeling September as her due-date. 

In an abstract way, Jon had been through four pregnancies.  If he was having trouble wrapping his head around it, he had no idea how firm her grasp could possibly be.  She might freak out once this became ‘real’ for her.  Staving that off until after the wedding might not be a bad idea.

To that end, he rattled off a bunch of other things to muddle her mind until she sorted through them.

“Lots of stuff to do before September.  Lots of stuff to do today, for that matter.  You need to find a wedding dress , dig out your passport and throw some shit in a suitcase.  Make sure you pack that yellow and black bathing suit.  Then it’s off to meet the lawyer for the prenup, we’ll pick out rings and be in the air by six o’clock this evening.”

 

“Slow down,” she demanded, sliding to a seated position and drawing the covers higher up on her naked breasts.  “I’m still not awake.  Go through it again.”

So Jon repeated her chore-list, more slowly this time, adding, “I thought we’d go back to Jamaica and get married there.  Since you didn’t seem to care.”

“Jamaica?  Really?  Not at the same…?”

“Same resort,” Jon confirmed the unfinished question.  “Same room, even.  That okay?”

He grinned at both the sparkle that suddenly lit her eyes and the smile impatiently itching to dance over her mouth.  It was the first sign of true happiness she’d displayed since that fateful doctor’s appointment and a renewed sense of peace settled right behind his sternum.  He’d made the right decision. 

“Yes. That’s very much okay.  Thank you for being so thoughtful.”

Lifting the limp hand from her lap to his mouth, he glanced a kiss over her knuckles before knitting their fingers together and bringing them to rest on his knee.  With a reproachful eye, he cautioned, “No honor bar this time, Tequila Tillie.  You’re stuck getting drunk on me.”

“Really?  Nothing but you, huh?”  Her pitiful sigh was negated by the twinkle that had immediately shone sunnier at the impromptu nickname.  “Damn kid is already ruining my life.”