84 - Suspicion

“You don’t think Richie did it?” Lexi inquired from the depths of her walk-in closet. 

David was sitting on the edge of the bed, wrists dangling between his knees, waiting for his wife to get dressed.  They were going out to do some shopping for his birthday, even though it was a couple of weeks away yet.  She insisted that she wanted to find him something “nice” and apparently that required advance scouting. 

“Why?  Do you think he did it?”

He couldn’t say the thought hadn’t crossed his mind at least once a day for the last five days.  The feeling was so strong at one point that he seriously considered picking up the phone to ask Richie if he had spitefully divulged Jon and Sheridan’s news to the vultures as some type of revenge.  Then he remembered who he was dealing with. 

Richie Sambora was genuinely one of the nicest, sweetest guys in the world – certainly one of the sweetest to come out of Jersey.  His feelings might be hurt, and he might be bitter toward the lovely Siren, but he wasn’t vindictive.   And, like the rest of them, he was very close-mouthed about the off-stage lives of the group.

“Honey, I’m just asking.  You’ve known the guy for years.  I’d trust your instincts before mine.”

Instincts, huh? 

His instincts were alive and well, but they weren’t going haywire because of Sambora.  Miz Gracie was the one who was putting a bug up Dave’s butt.  It was all too weirdly coincidental. 

“Nah.  I don’t think he did it, but I’d sure like to ask him a few questions.”

Finally emerging from the closet, Lexi stomped one fashionably booted foot to jostle the leg of her jeans down where she wanted it.  She straightened the hem of the fitted turtleneck and tossed her faux-fur vest on the bed.

“Then call him,” she encouraged, fingers picking at the ends of her hair.  “I won’t be ready for about fifteen minutes.  That gives you time to do it right now.”

“Maybe I will.”  Withdrawing the phone from his pocket, he flipped through the numbers stored in its memory until he found the one he was looking for.  Tapping the number, he thought again how stupid this whole thing was. 

Why couldn’t people just mind their own business?  It was one of the biggest reasons they had such a tight circle of friends.  You just never knew who, with the slightest provocation, was going to be telling your business for a quick buck.

Fame isn’t always all it’s cracked up to be, that’s for damn sure.

“’Lo?”

David tempered his tone and words to be casual and light.  “Rich, baby,  How’s life on the Left Coast?”

“Doin’ alright, man.  How’s Jersey?”

“Can’t complain, can’t complain.”  He rose to stand in front of the window as he talked, staring through the sheers to his snow-dusted lawn.  “Listen, I guess you probably caught wind of what the rags are tossing around.”

“Yeah.”  The guitarists’ voice was neutral, offering no insight as to what he thought about the situation.  “I was surprised JB would announce the wife and the baby in the same breath.”

“He didn’t!” David countered with exasperation.  “That shit came outta left field on him.  That’s what I want to talk to you about.”

“If you’re accusing me of something, have enough balls to just come out and do it.”

“I’m not accusing you of anything, you hyper-sensitive Polack.  But I do want to ask if Grace knew about this before it hit the fan.”

“Grace?  Are you still on that kick?  I told you she wouldn’t do that.  Not to me and, even if she heard me talking about Jon, not to him either.”

It wouldn’t surprise Richie if Sheridan had maybe been the one to go out and blab the information.  Anybody who could come into his house as a guest and play the media mole fit the profile suspect in his book. 

He frowned, annoyed that the betrayal still stung him.  She’d seemed like a nice enough woman.  He never would have suspected that she was skulking around and collecting tabloid fodder while she was under his roof.

You’ve been over this and over this, Sambora.  Sometimes you just have to accept that people aren’t as nice as you want them to be.  She’s just another heartless bitch in your life.

But she shouldn’t be.  Sheridan was his best friend’s girlfriend – now wife.  That meant they were unofficial “in-laws” and, even though Richie and Dorothea hadn’t been extraordinarily close, they still shared an undeniable bond because of Jon.  Admittedly, at the moment, it was more of a bond of aggravation than anything, but he’d still felt comfortable enough to call and commiserate with her over Jon’s questionable behavior as of late.

Maybe he was stupid, but he’d fully expected – at least hoped – to share that kind of relationship with any future Mrs. Bongiovi, too.  It was disappointing to say the least.

“Think about it Richie,” David was persisting in his ear.  “Grace is one of the few people that had access to both pieces of information.”

“And so is the trophy wife,” he snarled more bitterly than intended.  “Who’s to say she didn’t do it herself to find a slice of limelight?”

The bark of disbelieving laughter startled him.  “You’re crazy, man.  They were at my house when the story broke and I’m here to tell ya, she had no fuckin’ idea.”

“Maybe she’s a good actress.”

“What kind of actress can break out in hives on command?  I saw that shit with my own eyes.  And the paps are working overtime, hounding the hell out of them to get an exclusive with the new Mrs. Jovi.  She keeps a stiff upper lip and all that garbage, but Jon said she has to use some homemade herbal relaxation goop before she can leave the apartment.  That sound like somebody who’s jonesing for the limelight?”

The reference to Sheridan’s herbal stuff brought a blurry memory to mind.  She had some kind of lotion with her that night he acted like an ass.  Even though he had offended her, she still massaged his back until he wasn’t writhing in pain. 

Could he have misjudged?

Shaking his head, he replied without replying.  “Grace isn’t a snitch.  Period.”

❧❧❧

“Where are you?”  Jon asked in lieu of an actual greeting. 

His voice brought a smile to her face, but this call also signaled the end of Sheridan’s reprieve.  It was time to get back to the real world.

“At my apartment,” she responded, rolling over in the bed that had just given her the best nap she’d had in almost a week.  “I guess you’re home?”

“Yeah.  My meetings ran way long.  What are you doing there?”

She had a valid reason for being here.  She also had a selfish one.  Which one should she give him?

“I originally came over to clean out the refrigerator since tomorrow is trash day.  Now I’m just hiding.”

He grumbled unintelligibly.  “I told you that you didn’t have to leave the house by yourself until this dies down.  We could’ve gone over together when I got home.”

Lovely in theory, but Jon was a busy man.  He had a very full life outside of her and she wouldn’t allow him to slight his Foundation meetings or his rounds at the Soul Kitchen.  She would get used to it all.  Eventually.

“Yes, but then I wouldn’t have gotten to take such a delightfully decadent nap in...”  In my own bed, was what she’d started to say, but that wasn’t applicable anymore.  She was married.  Beds were no longer a ‘mine’ and ‘yours’ kind of thing.  Consciously putting a little extra warmth into her words, she quickly dropped back and punted with, “...the middle of the day.” 

His soft snort carried a tone of amusement.  “You hate my bed.  I get it.”

“What?  I never said that!”

“You didn’t have to.  You’re dog-tired, but you don’t sleep when you come to bed.  When I found you sacked out on the couch last night, snoring, I put two and two together.”

She wrinkled her nose and wanted to deny it, but her bed was more comfortable.  “I told you I fell asleep reading.”

“Whatever.  I like your bed just fine.  We’ll have it moved over here tomorrow.  I can’t have you dying from exhaustion before we close on the new house.  All you hadda do was say something and it would already be here.”

And have the sleazy men that were left in the dwindling pool of photographers in front of the building take pictures of her bed?  And caption those pictures with even sleazier innuendo?  She’d already worked through that scenario and didn’t like the outcome.  The mere thought gave her hives.

“I don’t want pictures of my mattress in the National Enquirer, accompanied by the speculation of what we’ve done on that mattress.”

His chuckle had her rolling her eyes.  “Now you know how I felt about that damn Cosmo thing.”

The bright pink cover of the latest installment of ‘that damn Cosmo thing’ was staring at her from the dresser.  It hit the stands yesterday.  Bridget had sent her an advance copy, but she hadn’t picked up her mail in a few days.  This morning was the first time she’d seen the printed piece.

“Speaking of which, the new edition is out.”

“Next topic,” he muttered shortly, still not ecstatic over his sex life appearing in black and what for ‘all the horny women of America’ to read. “Are you going to Jake’s concert with me tonight?”

She rubbed her palm over the front of the yoga pants that were already more comfortable than her jeans, even though it was probably just a psychological thing.  Her waistline seemed to be accepting this pregnancy much more easily than she was.  Absently, she wondered if this might be an ovarian cyst gone wild rather than a baby.

He asked you a question, Sheridan.

Right.  Jake’s concert. 

She had no desire to plunge herself into his kids’ school functions.  Their mother would be there and probably be unimpressed with Sheridan’s presence.  Other parents would undoubtedly be curious about Jon’s new wife, even if they hadn’t been subjected to the sensationalist crap that had been thrown around all week.

Unfortunately, her wants and desire had no place here. 

It was her job to go and stand by her husband.  To show her support for the little boy whom she didn’t know very well, yet, but that was now a part of her immediate family.  It was the right thing to do.

“Of course.  What time do we need to leave?”

“About five-thirty.”

Her eyes found the red numbers on the bedside clock.  It was just after three now.  She’d better get her lazy backside out of this bed so she would have time for a shower before she changed. 

“Guess I should head home then, huh?  I’ll be there in just a little while.”

“You want me to come get you?”

“No,” she assured him, standing in front of the dresser mirror and pulling her ponytail loose to refasten it more neatly.  “That’s silly.  I’ll just grab a taxi.”

“Okay, if you’re sure?”

She took a deep breath a nodded at her reflection.  “I’m sure.”

“Alright.  Love you.”

“I love you, too.”

“Hey,” he caught her just before she disconnected the call.  “If you hurry, we’ll have enough time to bid my bed a bon voyage before Jake's concert.  Ya know what I mean?”

The sexy drawl had her skin tingling and Sheridan trotted down the stairs, anxiously seeking out her shoes.   In midday traffic, walking was probably faster than a taxi.  She could be there in ten minutes, tops.  Her comfy boots laced up easily as she mused that powerwalking was probably good for pregnant women, anyway.  She would look that up later.

“I know exactly what you mean, baby.  I’ll be home in ten minutes.  Maybe five.”