112 - As Much As It Takes

Mommy and Me

April 22, 2012

It’s been quite the blissful little weekend at home, my sweet pink Poppies.  Your brothers came for the weekend and we went bowling again, but this time Mommy just watched.  She’s not bending so well at the waist these days.

I’m still tickled pink to know that I have two little girls that I get to be a mommy to.  I didn’t realize how much I wanted you to be girls until I found out that you were.  Your Aunt Suzy and Aunt Riley are going to go insane buying frilly little dresses, shoes and headbands.  I just know they are.

But they will have to wait a while.  Daddy and I have decided to keep this news to ourselves for the time being.  We’re going to have another family get-together here at the house next month for Memorial Day and Stephanie’s birthday, so we will invite everyone and share the news with them then.  That still gives them all three months to go on their shopping frenzies.

In the meantime, I’m shopping online for pink stuffed bunnies.  They’ll be so cute in your beds.

xoxo

(PS: Daddy’s names of the day are Laverne and Shirley.  No, he doesn’t hate you.  He just likes jerking Mommy’s chain.)

❧❧❧

Beth sighed, her fingers tapping thoughtfully on the mouse in front of her on Monday morning.   The means she’d found to pay off those delinquent bills had become too tempting as an additional resource to pay off her current ones – the ones that never went away.  Those were the ones that came every single month and seemed to get larger with each billing. 

Those bills are what had driven her to call her buddy at TMZ about Jon Stewart’s marital problems.  They’d also spurred her into divulging Mariah Carey’s failed attempts at pregnancy.  Now…

Haven’t you preyed on this family enough?

Yes, she probably had, but it was almost a compulsion now.  Double-clicking the file, she made a quick persual of the contents.  Yes, her contact would pay for this information.  She was sure of it.

I’m sorry.  If you only knew, you’d understand.

❧❧❧

 

“Okay, that’s cool.  I’ll be out on Thursday then,” David Bryan assured Jon amiably.  His boss had called him to schedule a studio session on one of the new songs.  Seeing as today was Tuesday, it was kind of short notice, but that’s the way Jon rolled.  He got an itch and he wanted it scratched yesterday.  It kept life interesting

A chorus of horns blared in David’s ear as he opened his mouth to ask about Sheridan.  It sounded like Jon was in the middle of the Indy 500.  “Where the hell are you, man?”

“Ah, traffic coming out of New York is shitty this afternoon.  I’m stuck in gridlock just outside the Lincoln Tunnel.”

David absently checked the second hand on his watch. 

“Oh good, you’ve got time to chitchat then.  So how’s the siren?  And the seedling sirens?  Did you find if the kids have indoor or outdoor plumbing yet?”  He had developed a game over the years to see how quickly he could get Jon to say ‘shut up’.  So far his personal best had been thirty seconds, but he had aspirations for a much better time. 

His friend groaned.  “Why the hell did you say that?  Like I need to think about the possibility of having two siren daughters?  Horny boys are only after one thing as it is.”

“Might as well get used to it, old man.  The way Sheridan looks and the way women drop their panties in front of you…  Sailors are going to be lined up around the block for a crack at your daughters.  Probably even some smarmy old fucks mixed in with the Justin Beiber clones wantin’ to get lucky.”

“Shut the fuck up, Lemma,” Jon snarled crankily, making David grin like a buffoon. 

He checked his watch.

Fifteen seconds.  Damn, I’m good.

“Who says you’re having girls, anyway?  Maybe Stephanie is destined to be your only princess.  You got a fifty-fifty shot.”

“My odds aren’t quite that good, I’m afraid.  Fuck man, we’re finally going into the tunnel.  I’m gonna lose my cell signal, so I’ll see you on Thursday.”

“Alright.  Later.”  David hung up shaking his head and mentally plotted a way to trump his new fifteen second record.

❧❧❧

 

Jeri hit the disconnect button with a growl of frustration when the call once again went straight to voicemail.  Wherever her boss was, he wasn’t answering his phone.  She’d been trying repeatedly for the last ten minutes to reach him with no success.

Now she had a choice to make.  Did she call Sheridan or wait until she actually spoke to Jon?  Jon was her actual employer, but Jeri wasn’t crazy about letting Sheridan find out about this on her own.  She had developed a friendship of sorts with the woman and she felt she owed this to her.

Jeri tapped the screen and dialed the new house on the Navesink.

If Jon gets mad, he gets mad.

❧❧❧

 

When she heard the phone begin to ring, Sheridan punched the button that would slow the treadmill from a brisk walk to a more sedate pace and answered the cordless handset with a breathless, “Hello?”

These daily walks were getting harder and hard to do.  She knew they would benefit her, but it didn’t take any time at all for the twins to start shoving on either her lungs or her bladder.  If she could keep from peeing all over the treadmill between now and her due date, she would consider it a major coup.

“Sheridan, it’s Jeri.  I’ve been trying to reach Jon, but can’t get an answer.  Would he happen to be at home?”

“No.  I think he should be on his way, though.  He had some meetings in the city today.  Do you want me to have him call you when he gets here?”

The other woman drew in a deep breath and Sheridan knew whatever she wanted to talk to Jon about couldn’t be good.  “He can if he wants to, and I’m sure he will, but I’ll go ahead get my answer from you if that’s okay.”

One more push of the control panel had the treadmill coming to a complete standstill and Sheridan stepped off of it and sat on one of the lightly padded benches.  What kind of question could she possibly answer for Jon’s assistant?

She frowned at the wall of mirrors reflecting her image.  “I guess it is.” 

“Please know that I’m very sorry and I hate to be the one to do this to you...”  The hair on the back of Sheridan’s neck prickled at Jeri’s hesitation.  “...but TMZ would like a comment on the ultrasound results.  Are you excited about having two girls, or were you hoping for boys?”

Impulsively, she draped her forearm over her stomach to protect her daughters

“No comment.  I’m not telling them anything,” was her terse stance as the phone beeped in her ear, signaling another incoming call.  It was the same answer Jon had provided every other time this had happened and she knew it was what he would want to reply yet again.  “The other line is ringing, Jeri.  I’ll tell Jon you called – and why.”

“I really am sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.  Goodbye, Jeri.”  Tapping the correct button the handset, she picked up the other call, hoping that it was Jon.  “Hello?”

“Sheridan, this is Carol.  May I speak to Jon, please?”

Her mother-in-law.  And she didn’t sound happy.

Well, welcome to the club.  What’s YOUR problem?

She admirably stifled her attitude and regretfully told Jon’s mother, “No, I’m sorry he’s not, Carol.  Can I take a message or have him call you when he gets in?”

“Well, then, maybe you can tell me why I had to find out that I’m expecting twin granddaughters from Betty Carlson next door.  That was very awkward and I don’t appreciate it.”

Sheridan’s fury hit a whole new level.  She was pissed beyond all measure. 

God give me strength not to take my anger out on her.

“I don’t appreciate it either, Carol.  Jon and I hadn’t told anyone, but somehow the press got hold of the information.  I assure you that we never intended to slight you in any way.  We had planned to let everyone know at Memorial Day.”

“Sheridan!”  Jon’s voice found its way down the stairs.  “Where the hell are you?”

Oh, thank you.  Thank you, thank you.

“In the gym!” she called out, placing her hand over the mouthpiece before doing so.

“Is that Jon?  Could I speak to him, please?”

Not until I do.

Uncovering the receiver, she spoke again directly to her mother-in-law.  “I’d be happy to have him call you back in a few minutes, but I think I need to bring him up to speed first.  Fifteen minutes, tops.  I promise.”

Sheridan disconnected the call and rose to her feet, greeting her husband with a stony and silent stare. 

“Hey...baby...?”  His pretty blue eyes were puzzled at the cold reception.  “What’s wrong?”

What was wrong?  Her two innocent little girls had been forced to endure this paparazzi bullshit almost from the moment of their conception.  That’s what was wrong!

Was this the life she had to look forward to her for her children?  Their every step would be dogged?  Every secret spilled out before the world so that Conan O’Brien or Craig Ferguson could speculate on it during their nightly monologues?

No.  Hell, no. 

She pushed the telephone into his chest.  “Where the hell have you been and why didn’t you answer your phone?”

“I got stuck in the tunnel.  No signal.  What the fuck are you so mad about?”

“I’m mad because Jeri couldn’t get in touch with you.  I’m mad because your mother couldn’t get in touch with you.  I’m MAD because I’m tired of this shit!”

He threw the phone on the bench and gave her a look of exasperation.  “Calm the fuck down and tell me what’s going on!”

“The same thing that always goes on; TMZ is broadcasting our private lives!”  She shook herself free from his grasp.  “Your mother is insulted that she found out about her granddaughters from the neighbor and I can’t say that I blame her!”

“Goddammit!”  He hit the wall with his fist hard enough to rattle the adjacent floor-to-ceiling mirrors.  “What did Jeri say?”

“She asked me for a comment,” Sheridan spat at him.  “Was I happy with girls, or did I want boys?”

“And you told her ‘no comment’, right?”

“Yes,” she barked out with humorless laughter.  “I know the drill by now.  I’m not doing this, Jon.  My daughters – my sweet little girls – shouldn’t have to live like this!  It’s bad enough that we are, but how can they ever be expected to lead normal lives with these vultures hanging around?  Tell me that!”

“Stop flipping the fuck out!  Jesus!  Take a deep breath and get a grip on yourself!”

She thumped her open palms into his shoulders.  “These are my babies.  MY babies, not some celebrity progeny!  I want them to stay the hell away from my babies.  Do you hear me?”

“I hear you,” he growled, snatching her wrist and hauling her in to stand only inches in front of him.  “Now you hear me...  This is new right now – we’re new.  Our lives are exciting and fresh and have their interest.  When the babies are born and the press realizes we’re just going to lead a very normal, non-celebrity lifestyle, they’ll get bored and go away.  I’ve raised four kids in a fairly normal way and I promise our girls will be, too.”

He had a point.  But was that his doing or Dorothea’s?  Sheridan might not necessarily want to, but she thought she was going to have to talk to Jon’s ex.  Perhaps it would give her some peace.

In the meantime...

“Well, I tell you what,” she told her husband with a stubborn tilt to her chin.  “I’m going to find out who’s leaking this personal information if it kills me.  And you’re going to give me your wholehearted support, regardless of what I ask.  Got it?”

“Whoa.  You oughta know by now that I don’t make blind promises.  What are you going to ask for?”

She couldn’t answer him specifically, because that had yet to be determined.  It may be very little, or it may be a lot.  She would have to wait and see.

“I’ll ask for as much as it takes.”

111 - Tickled Pink

Mommy and Me

April 10, 2012

Today was Mommy’s monthly check-up at the doctor, and I’m not very happy with the two of you. 

I’ve gained ten pounds already!  The doctor says I’m right where I should be at 17 weeks, but that I can expect to gain another 1 ½ pounds every week!  Do you realize how much weight that is?  Well, I haven’t gotten out the calculator to figure it out yet, but it’s a LOT.  She tells me she wants me to gain at least 30 pounds and I should TRY to put on weight in the next 7 weeks. That way you’ll be bigger, healthier babies even if you come earlier than we’re expecting.  

I understand that, but STILL!  Yes, my Poppies, your mother’s streak of vanity is wider than I realized, and I think it’s going to grow in proportion to my backside!

Your daddy thinks it’s hilarious that I’m freaking out over my weight, but that’s okay.  I’m going to make him eat what I eat and DARE him to go near the gym.  I think some sympathy weight gain is in order here.  Don’t you agree??

❧❧❧

Mommy and Me

April 16, 2012

Daddy has started finding reasons to eat out.  He comes home from meetings in the city, or from running errands, saying that so-and-so bought him lunch.  He’s onto my sympathy weight plan.  No one could ever accuse your father of being a dumb man. 

He adores having his hands on my belly now that he can feel you moving.  I think his hands are there more often than my hands and that’s fine, in theory.  But when he starts poking at you and telling you to move, it loses the cute factor and becomes annoying. 

I finally told him that if his hands are going to be there, he should be doing something useful besides badgering his children.  That’s why you’ve been getting the lovely, scented massages lately.  Daddy is rubbing Mommy’s special homemade lotion all over my belly so I don’t get stretch marks.  It might be a losing battle, but the massage is nice and the scent relaxes me – and THAT relaxes you.  It’s a win-win situation all the way around. 

Daddy’s not the only one around here who isn’t dumb, my sweet Poppies. 

❧❧❧

Mommy and Me

April 17, 2012

Your Uncle Richie just left.  Did I tell you he spent the weekend with us?  He and Daddy were working on songs for either the band album or Uncle Richie’s new album.  I’m not sure which, but his were the really long fingers poking at you a little while ago.  It took him the entire three days that he was here to convince me to let him feel you move.  Nothing personal against Uncle Richie, but bellies should be kept to oneself.

Mommy isn’t sure about this whole moving thing, Poppies.  People are starting to walk up to me and touch my belly, hoping to feel you move – sometimes even people I don’t know.   Your daddy is well within his rights to touch whenever he likes since you belong to him as much as you do me, but the lady in line at Shop Rite who rubbed my belly like I was Buddha?  Not so much.

It turns out that Mommy REALLY likes her personal space.

I’ve found out lots of new information in my latest bout of research.  I know you’re just dying to hear all about it, so I’ll tell you…

This heartburn I’ve been having supposedly means at least one of you has lots of hair.  That’s what they call an old wives’ tale, Poppies.  There is no scientific foundation for that assumption, just speculation.  The scientific explanation is that you’re trying to build a two-person pyramid down there and shoving Mommy’s stomach into her esophagus.  Could you refrain from these activities until you can walk on your own?  Please and thank you.  J

I’ve also discovered that the secret to an easy delivery seems to be walking.  Lots of walking.  Daddy might as well plan on buying an extra treadmill right now, because I fully intend to wear out the one we have.  The logistics of having a baby are not something a mother should discuss with her children, but let’s just say that Mother Nature is amazing.  I have no idea how this is going to work, but I’m going to help it along as much as I can.

Friday is our next ultrasound.  Have I told you how excited I am to see you again?  Dr. Orbuch said, this time, we might be able to tell whether you’re boys, girls or one of each.  Daddy still says boys, but Mommy thinks there are enough Bongiovi boys running around.  I’m holding out for a girl. 

Once we find out…  Then the great name debate begins in earnest.  Daddy’s had the best time making me crazy with names, by the way.  He keeps making suggestions that I think are ridiculous and threatening to sign the birth certificate while I’m asleep.  Examples?  Oh yes, you should have this documented for posterity’s sake.  Definitely.

Mick and Keith  (from The Rolling Stones)

Jagger and Richards (The Rolling Stones… again)

Paul and Ringo (Two of The Beatles)

Steven and Joe (Aerosmith)

Are you catching the theme here?  Yeah.  Your father thinks he’s cute and Uncle Richie doesn’t do anything but encourage him.  HIS suggestion?  Kermit and Fozzie.  (They’re Muppets, my little moppets.  A frog and a bear to be exact. )  

I can’t IMAGINE what your Uncle David would come up with.

Do you see why I need one of you to be a girl?  I love Daddy with all my heart, but Mommy needs backup here!

❧❧❧

Jon leaned forward in the institutional-style chair, his hands loosely clasped between his knees.  Grinning up at his wife, who was seated on an elevated table, he asked, “You ready to meet our boys?”

They were back in the same ultrasound room where they’d received a life-altering shock only seven weeks ago.  Since that time they’d both come to terms with the fact that, in a few short months, they would be parents to a set of twins.

Jon had struggled a bit longer with the fact that he was going to have a total of six children.  Six.  Thoughts of developing a fledgling family football team had eventually brought a fun, bright side to that number.  The whole way into the city, he had teased Sheridan mercilessly about adding to his personal Bongiovi football team.  After these two, so he only needed five more, he assured her.  She could do that in short order if she was popping them out two at a time, right?

His wife was not amused. 

“I told you,” she repeated with a slight huff, straightening the diamond pendant on her necklace.  “I have to have a girl.  Riley’s speaking to me again on the condition that one of these babies is named after her.”

In truth, her sister had finally realized what a dumbass she was being, but she took her sweet time figuring it out.  It was just yesterday that the woman had turned up on their doorstep with a basket of baby care supplies and a bunch of other stuff Jon didn’t recognize.  All she said when Sheridan answered the door was, “I had to make sure you were stocking the right kind of supplies for my namesake.  Let me see what you’ve done with the nursery.”

And that had been that.  No apologies were exchanged as far as he was aware, but Riley stayed for dinner that night and, from his perspective, it was like nothing had ever happened.   That’s just the way it was with siblings sometimes, he supposed.  Lord knew he’d experienced it often enough with his brothers through the years.

“Riley’s totally unisex,” he contended now.  “It’s a good, strong football player name.”

Humorless green eyes slid to him, her look saying what a thousand words couldn’t.  She no longer found his jibes entertaining.  “The horse is dead, Jon.  Stop beating the poor thing already.”

“Good morning!”  The entrance of the ultrasound tech saved him from sticking his foot in his mouth by making a lewd beating comment.  She set the chart aside and pulled on a pair of rubbery gloves, her light brown ponytail swinging around her shoulders as she introduced herself.  “My name is Emily and I’m going to show you your babies today.  Congratulations on twins, by the way.”

Did all ultrasound girls have to be obscenely perky, Jon wondered as he moved to stand by the exam table.  Was that a job requirement?

“Thank you,” his wife responded politely while he was blinded by the young woman's over-large smile.  “We’re excited to see the babies again… and maybe put an end to our argument about boys versus girls.”

Emily giggled in a way that made her seem slightly insane.  Sweet, but insane.  “You’d be surprised how many parents have that very argument in this room.  So, in the interest of peace and matrimonial harmony, I won’t waste any time.”

And, true to her word, not another bit of fluff perked out of her mouth.  The smile morphed into an expression of focused intent as she slathered Sheridan’s belly with iridescent goo and got down to business.   

His wife's first sharply indrawn breath was because of the gel's coolnesss against her warm skin.  That one quickly faded, to be immediately replaced by another.  The second was attributed to...

“Look, Jon!  There’s one of their heads.”  Her hand slid off the table, blindly reaching for his and gripping it tight. 

Grinning, he gripped right back, as riveted to the monitor as she was.  This shit never got old.  If he could have a Baby Cam hooked to her, he probably would.  Between that and CNN he might actually sit still for more than five minutes at a time.

The magic ultrasound wand moved slowly over each inch of stretched skin, slowly inspecting and measuring.  As she went along, Emily pointed out the arms, legs and heartbeat of the first baby  – which was a girl.

“It’s a girl!  I get a girl!”

Sheridan’s head swung toward him, sheer joy illuminating her pretty features.  How could he be unhappy about that – or his first baby girl in twenty years?

“Looks like Riley’s gonna keep speaking to you,” he mused with a chuckle, dropping a kiss on top of her head.  “Although I think Johnette would be a great name.  Or Johnna.”

The glee dimmed only a by a fraction when she wryly ordered, “Don’t you dare ruin this for me.  Give me my moment before you start with the stupid names, okay?”

“Yes, dear.” 

His amused compliance met the side of her head as they both turned back to the screen with rapt attention.  Emily had located the second baby and all its pertinent parts, pointing out the highlights as she measured its head, arms and legs. 

“The babies are fraternal, it looks like,” she told them.  “I’m almost positive that I see a second placenta in there, so you shouldn’t have any trouble telling your babies apart.”

“Ha!  I’m still getting a boy,” he crowed softly into his wife’s temple.

“Well…  I hate to disappoint you, Daddy, but….”  Emily frowned, swishing back and forth for a good shot.  “This baby is bigger than her sister, but she’s a girl, too.”

“Two girls?”  Sheridan couldn’t rip her watery eyes away from the screen.  She had started getting a bit emotional lately.  Just a little, tearing up at weird little things as pregnant women sometimes did, but he didn’t consider this weird.  Mommy hormones should be in full swing at these events, in his personal opinion.  “I’m going to have two daughters?”

“Not you.  Us,” he corrected gently, twining his fingers more tightly into hers.  “We’re having two daughters.”

“Yes, but they’re not coming out of your hoo-ha.”

Emily covered her laughter with a cough as she finished up, wiping down the wand and printing a second set of ‘pictures’ for the chart. 

“Okay, I’m not having them.  I’ll give ya that, but I’ll have them for the rest of our lives.”

Sheridan accepted the ultrasound photos, sitting up after her stomach had been wiped dry.  Her nose buried in them, she touched a single fingertip to the one that had been spliced to show both babies in the same picture. 

“They’re girls.  My Poppies are pink little girls.”

He ran an open hand over her back, looking at the shadowy shots with a deep smile creased into his face. 

Daughters.  Lord, God, Jesus.  TWO daughters. 

“They are.  Unless I turn them into tomboys,” he teased.  “Then I think that makes them lavender.”

“Stop it.”  She bumped her shoulder into his chest as Emily wished them a good day, telling them to take their time as she slid out of the room.  “These are going to be true girls.  Tea parties, hair bows, ballet lessons…  all the things that I did when I was a little girl.  I can just see their little chubby legs sticking out from under a tutu.”

He tipped her chin up so that she would look at him instead of the papery photos in her hand.  “And they’ll be just as beautiful as their mama.  I love you.”

“I love you, too, but are you heartbroken that I’m not giving you boys?” 

Heartbroken?  No.  If he were honest, there was the tiniest bit of disappointment and a whole lot of fear, but in the end it didn’t matter what gender his kids were.  They were his kids.  He would love them come hell or high water, no matter what.

“Nah.  I like Lucy and Ethel just fine for names.”

Jon just cackled with delight when she blew a raspberry in his face.  Naming these girls was going to be fun.

110 - No Boundaries

Mommy and Me

April 5, 2012

Just a quick note this time around while Mommy waits for Daddy to get out of the shower.  We just got back from having a casual dinner in the hotel restaurant, where we played something Daddy calls ‘Game Face’ while we ate.  It’s an activity that he made up on our first actual date and, for some reason, he thought it would be fun to play it again this evening. 

‘Game Face’ is a lot like acting school, I guess you would say.  The basic premise is to not let your facial expression reveal what your actual conversation is about.  It can be very useful if you’re having an argument that you don’t want anyone to know about, but you’re stuck in a crowd.  Don’t worry though, we weren’t arguing.  Daddy was just being silly.  He thinks he’s much better at the game than I am.  He is, but I’m improving so I’d rather not admit that to him. 

Overall, it’s been another nice day on vacation.  Santa Monica Pier was fun.  Your brothers flew like trapeze artists, played in the arcade and even did a bit of fishing off the pier.  Your daddy was such a good sport about indulging Mommy in what SHE wanted to do that she’s going to have to be extra nice to him tonight.

“What the hell?  You had better not be leaving our sexual exploits as your ‘legacy’ for the twins.”

Sheridan’s ink pen slid across the page in an ugly blue mark as she jerked with a surprised gasp.  Spinning around as far as the cozy armchair would allow, she scowled at the man who had just snuck up behind her.

“Jesus, Jon!  You scared me!”

“When are you going to let me read that thing?  I’m suddenly a little concerned at what you’ve been writing in there.”

If his tone had been accusatory or sharp, she would have bristled and snapped at him, but it wasn’t.  His face was relaxed as his tone and his eyes carried a spark of benign curiosity. 

“Whenever you want.”  She offered him the open book.  “You can have it right now.”

He never glanced toward the journal.  His attention remained fixated on the front of her shirt, where the journal had been.  It hid the femininely pink scrawl across her new white night shirt.

“Later.  What’s the shirt say?  I will do …what?”

She bit the inside of her mouth as she closed the journal, putting it on the chair-side table as her feet slid from the chair’s seat cushion to the floor.  Taking a step back, she held her arms out so that he could read the oversized garment that fell to the top of her thighs. 

I will do all manner of depraved,

dirty, slutty and shameful things

to be your “good girl”

His right eyebrow crept up his forehead and she noticed for the first time that he was wearing nothing but a pair of gym shorts.  Hands propping on hips that were just short of being left bare by the drooping waistband of those shorts, he drawled, “Well, now I know what prompted that little scene at the fortune teller’s stand.”

“You like it?” she asked innocently, exercising full authority over her facial expression in an effort not to grin with delight. 

For his part, he chose to remain aloof, folding his arms over the pectoral muscles that she knew were well defined under the coating of salt-and-pepper chest hair.  “It’s just a t-shirt, baby.”

“Oh.”  She rearranged her arms to mimic his pose.  He liked it.  She could see the wickedness seeping from his pores as he mulled over a thousand ways to make her live up to the promise.  “Then I assume you’re not interested in my offer.  That’s probably for the best.  I’m pretty tired, so I’ll just go on to bed.”

His arm shot out like Indiana Jones’s bullwhip, curling into the crook of her elbow and reeling her into the muscle-laden confinement of his arms.  “Don’t even think about it,” he cautioned.  “I’ll sue you for false-advertising and breach of promise.  You owe me depraved, dirty, slutty and shameful, Mrs. Bongiovi.”

Lifting her chin, she adopted a look of boredom.  “It’s just a t-shirt, baby.”

“Okay, fine.  It’s hot as hell.  You’re a sex kitten, but I’ve never thought of you as dirty or slutty – or willing to go with depraved or shameful.”  He bumped his hips forward, pushing the tell-tale hardness of his interest into her leg.  “It’s opened up the kinky Pandora’s box of my mind.”

“You’re an idiot,” she observed affectionately, resting her forearms atop his shoulders and pushing her thigh into his erection.  “I’ve told you what it does to me when you say ‘good girl’ during sex.  For YOU and that rush, I’d be all of those things every single night.”

A muscle in his jaw jumped in time with the much harder muscle she was now rubbing with her leg. “So long as I tell you what a good girl you are, you’d wear fishnet hose, stilettos and shiny vampire-red lipstick?  Then drop to your knees and beg to suck my cock for the sole pleasure of tasting my cum?”

For him, she would do that and more. 

“Yes.”

His hands slid below the swell of her buttocks and he forced his thigh between hers.  The hard muscles rippled against her satin-sheathed mound as he demanded, “You’d lick every inch of my balls while humming ‘Let’s Get It On’?  You’d hump my leg, begging me to fuck you and, when I refuse, you’d get yourself off while I watch?”

Her panties should not be damp.  She was a refined woman.  She had higher morals and standards than to degrade herself like this.  And if it were anybody else in the world speaking to her in such a manner, she would walk away without a second thought.  She might have even walked away from him for saying those things at one point.

But not now.  When he put the wedding ring on her finger, she gave herself over to him and the cocoon of their marriage completely.  His words weren’t degrading, and she knew that he never intended for them to be.  

Her body was his.  His body was hers.  The two of them together were free to explore without judgment or remorse.  To test their boundaries.

Even though she’d tied herself to this one man for the rest of her life, somehow she’d never felt so free.

“Call me your good girl and I’ll do anything you want,” she breathed, another rush of desire assailing her when his eyes dilated.  “Anything.”

“And you will.” 

His wide hands pushed through the sides of her hair, sifting it through blunt-tipped fingers.  Heavy lids nearly cloaked his eyes as he singed her skin with a mere look. 

“Tell me, then.”  Her voice was a tiny sound, like a breeze blowing through the French doors.  “What can I do to please you, love?”

Fingers that were splayed clenched into fists and he tipped her head back, bending to nip at the cord in her neck.  He used his knee to the soft cotton tail of the suggestive shirt higher up her thigh and she shivered at the coarse hair assaulting her smooth leg.

“You call those damn articles of yours erotic fiction.”  Even though his breath was hot, it felt unreasonably cool against her damp skin.  “I wanna know what that erotic mind of yours can come up with when true porn is your objective.  Tell me a bedtime story, Kitten.”

“As you please, but shouldn’t we be in bed for that?”

He was silent, staring at her with barely restrained lust in his eyes for a long moment before bending at the waist and scooping her up, striding into the bedroom and dropping her lightly on the bed.  “Get naked.  I want you to act out the story too.  Be my own private porn star.”

The nipples of her swollen breasts hardened painfully at the mental picture painted by that decree.  There was no testing boundaries tonight.  There were no boundaries – not in her mind anyway.

She stripped away the shirt as he dropped his shorts to the floor and crawled onto the bed.  Leaning himself against the headboard, Jon wrapped a loose fist around his cock and stroked once, swiping the bead of moisture from its tip. 

Her breasts swayed heavily as she crept slowly toward him on her hands and knees.  She saw that his face was a study in concentration as he kept close tabs on her every move when she slunk closer and closer, finally rising part-way to her knees.

“Once upon a time,” she began, cupping the weight of one breast in her hand and pushing the rigid tip between his lips.  “There was a rock star...”

Even, white teeth nibbled at it as the denial came from a deep grunt in his chest.  “No,” he mumbled around his treat.  “No rock star.”

Everyone else’s fantasy was his reality.  That was okay, she got it. 

“There was a wealthy old man...”  She gasped when he bit down a little harder.  “...who liked having sex with younger women.”

He released the nipple, leaving it glistening as he protested.  “Fucking younger women.  This is porn, baby.  Use the nasty words.”

“He looooved fucking hot, young women,” she obliged, pushing the other nipple in his mouth and heating up at the deliciously dirty dialogue that was building in her mind.  “When he didn’t have one in his bed, he jacked off thinking about their tight, wet... pussies.”

“And mouths.”

“And mouths.”  Her fingernails traced down the center of his chest, following the happy trail of hair down to his straining erection.  “He loved their mouths almost as much as their pussies, especially when...” 

She gently disengaged herself from his lips and scooted around on her knees, bowing to kiss the bulging purple tip. 

“... they sucked his stiff cock into their mouths and ran their tongues up the silky shaft...”  Hers took a corresponding swipe up his underside.  “...and licked that salty drop from the slit.  Mmmmm........”  The clear pearl of arousal disappeared with one lash of her tongue. 

His head fell back briefly when he groaned, “Fuck, yeah.  Keep going.”

“There was one younger woman in particular that caught his fancy.  He loved to mark her as his by biting every inch of her creamy skin...” 

On and on she went, outlining the life of a sexual addict for whom enough was never enough until he met his match in a beautiful erotica writer.  She would engage the man in concentrated research for each and every one of her sex scenes, doing it over and over again until it was exactly the way she wanted it to be.

It was unlike anything they’d done before.  There were no reservations, only trust and pleasure that built, mounted, and expanded until he finally rasped, “God, you’re such a good girl.  You’re my good girl, aren’t you, Kitten?”

That sent her into another dimension, dragging a growling, snarling Jon with her.  The intensity of her release might be attributed to the fact they hadn’t been alone together in days, but she felt more sated than she could ever recall. 

Jon must be feeling pretty good himself, she thought when he curled around her back, snugging his arm up under her breasts.

“Do you know how much I love you?”

She chuckled softly, glancing over her shoulder at him.  “A good orgasm makes you romantic.”

“I’m serious, Sheridan.”  He scooted back, encouraging her to roll toward him.  There was still a sheen of sweat on his forehead, and the hair there was soaked, but he wasn’t thinking about how he looked.  He was looking at her and she was a little surprised to see his heart in his eyes.  “This life of ours is all kinds of fucked up and it didn’t really start out the way I would’ve wanted.  I wanna know that you aren’t keeping some crazy idea tucked in the back of your head, thinking that this was about the babies and not you.”

Gently pushing on his shoulder, she continued to push until he was on his back and she could climb up and straddle his hips.  Sheridan found her balance and laced her fingers through his, pressing their palms together against his chest. 

“I know you love me,” she assured him with a soft smile.  “You’re a very persuasive man, but even you couldn’t have convinced me to marry you without knowing that.  Do you know how much I love you?”

His reciprocal smile was warm enough to melt better.  “I only act like a self-involved schmuck.  I realize you gave up life as you knew it to be with me.”

“Good.  I’d hate to think I married a moron.”  Feeling a hard flutter in her abdomen she grinned and brought his hands to cradle her belly.  “Can you feel that?”

Sparkling eyes danced with subdued excitement and he wiggled his palm just a little to resituate it.  “I’ll be damned.  I can finally tell they’re moving.”

“That’s their way of saying they love you, too, Daddy.”

109 - Gypsies, Tramps and...Kittens

“What’s up with that?” Tony asked when Sheridan’s head whipped toward the five of them as they approached the fortune teller setup.  Her eyes were as big as some of those cartoons Romeo and Jake watched, and Jon wouldn’t be surprised if they bugged out like he’d seen some of those animated characters do.

“Ya got me,” Jon murmured, a little unease settling between his shoulders.  “Keep the boys with you while I find out.”

“Alright.”  Raising his voice, Tony addressed the younger Bongiovis.  “Guys, let’s go hit the arcade.  I’m pretty sure I can kick all of your butts at skee-ball.”

“But that’s a gypsy,” Jake needlessly informed them, pointing at the woman Jon remembered to be Madame Zizska.  However, it wasn’t she that Sheridan was having an animated conversation with; it was that college kid… Zee.  “I wanna go see if she has a crystal ball.”

“She doesn’t have a crystal ball – now go to the arcade with Tony.  I’ll be there in a couple minutes.”

Jon had infused his voice with an authority that he typically reserved for the times when he meant real business.  Clearly his children were unfamiliar with this tone and the reason for it.  He was going to have to use it more often.

“How do you know she doesn’t?” Romeo chimed in, immediately followed by Jesse quietly asking if everything was okay.

Things were okay, Jon was sure.  The fledgling psychic and her matriarch weren’t exactly ominous, but whatever the conversation… it had his wife wigging out.  Her arms were crossed protectively over the babies when her hands weren’t whizzing agitatedly through the air and her stance indicated she wasn’t anywhere near finished with the conversation.

“I just know,” he bit out, trying to keep his annoyance in check.  Why couldn’t kids just do what they were told instead of questioning everything like he’d taught them to?  “And everything’s fine.  I’m going to get Sheridan and we’ll meet you in the arcade.  G’wan.”

Grumbling ensued, but Tony managed to convince them that there was an oversized animal of some sort waiting to be won with their combined Bongiovi skill and ingenuity.  Hand at his side, Jon threw a couple of fingers up in thanks to his brother.

Now to see what had his wife bent out of shape.

“You’re sure?” she was quizzing like a seasoned interrogator when he stepped up to the table and stood beside her.  Sparing him no more than a glance when he settled his hand into the small of her back with an inquisitive look, she focused all of her attention on getting answers out of the young woman. 

Jon nodded a silent greeting to the actual gypsy of the tent, who was watching the exchange between her granddaughter and Sheridan as she unwrapped what looked to be a pita sandwich.  It was almost as though she’d bought a ticket to a show.

Or she’s supervising.

“I’m very sure,” Zee insisted, flipping one of her two braids back over her shoulder.  “He is the one I saw.  He’s the one who started the turmoil that’s been following you.”

“Who?”  Jon had his own fair share of interrogation skills.

Now Sheridan turned to give him her full, discontented attention.  Her mouth was  pursed into an unpleasant pucker when flatly stating, “Romeo.”

“No.”  His denial came vehemently without hesitation.  “Huh-uh.  Absolutely not.  There’s no way.”

“I’ll tell you what I told your wife:  Your lack of belief has no impact on the truth.  I’m sorry if this displeases you, but it is what it is.”

He wasn’t buying it.  There was no way in hell that his son called TMZ and gave them a lead on anything.  The boy didn’t know half the information that had been leaked.  Sarcasm dripped from his lips along with the words.  “Because Romeo knew about Madison and the twins, right?”

Sheridan sighed with frustration at either the truth or his sarcasm.  Jon wasn't sure which.  “No.  He didn’t.”

“Would you like Zelda to give you another reading?”

The quiet offer came from Madame Zizska, who had now re-wrapped her unfinished sandwich and tucked it into a bag on her lap. Husband and wife both looked to her, but their expressions couldn’t have been any more different.  Whereas Sheridan was intrigued by the idea, wondering if it might help solve their problem, Jon was ready to tell the woman exactly what the teenager could do with her reading.

His refusal was overridden by the determined blonde at his side, whose, “Would you, please?” drowned out his, “Not in this lifetime.”

“Grandmother, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

Well at least the kid is on my side.

“Why not, Zelda?  I can tell that you already sense things.  Why not share them with her?”

One doleful look at Jon and the reason was obvious to everyone – including Jon, who didn’t really care that he was be perceived as the bad guy.  He didn’t want to know what she ‘sensed’, especially if it was more dire gloom and doom. 

Life wasn’t intended to be lived in advance.  The current moment gave you the strength to get through the next one.  There was a logical order to things.  Good times built you up enough to cope with the bad and, if they had gloom and doom ahead, they also had a right to live in blissful ignorance until then. 

His wife, however, saw things a little differently.

Pulling at his elbow until he was facing away from the fortune teller’s table, she brought her face close to his and whispered, “I want to do this.”

“And I think it’s borrowing trouble,” he replied, not bothering to whisper.

“I’m not asking your permission, Jon.  She’s going to give me the reading, but I am asking you to let her give you one, too.  And if you do…  I will reward you handsomely.”  Her hand slid up the front of his t-shirt, scratching at his chest through the thin fabric.  “Until you beg me not to.”

He felt his eyebrows shoot up beneath the brim of his cap and he pulled his sunglasses down to look directly into her eyes.   Now he opted to whisper, keeping their deliberation on a personal level. “You’re bribing me with sex?  Sex I was already gonna get?  Not very effective negotiating.”

She stood on her toes, sliding a hand around the nape of his neck to pull him close.  Her next words tickled both his ear and his libido with their breathiness.  “Not just sex.  I will do all manner of depraved, dirty, slutty and shameful things just to be your ‘good girl’.”

His dick jumped in his pants and Jon almost forgot where they were.  “Jesus, woman.  Where the hell did that come from?  You’ve got some screwed up timing.”

Pulling back, she smirked at him.  “But can I negotiate?”

How the hell could he deny her anything?  She’d just pulled the rug completely out from under him, to the point he didn’t give a rat’s ass who read what as long as they did it quickly and Shutters had a room ready as soon as they hit the front door. 

Jon rolled his eyes in an effort to appear aloof and unimpressed with her tactics, but an unbidden smile twitched at the corners of his mouth.   “Yeah, you can negotiate.  Now sit your ass down and let’s get this over with.”

She didn’t waste any time moving the bags out of the chair and Madame Zizska relinquished her seat to Zee, who still didn’t appear all that excited about the turn her day had taken.  Her face was very guarded as she sat and held up an open palm, silently requesting Sheridan’s hand.

Draping himself over the second chair, he leaned back and unobtrusively checked his watch.  Jon vainly hoped this wouldn’t take more than a few minutes.  He’d rather be playing skee-ball with his kids.  Hell, he’d rather be having a root canal.

“Sir, you’re clouding your wife’s energy with your negativity,” Zee spoke mildly.  “It would be helpful if you could try and keep an open mind.”

Sheridan’s sandaled foot came into hard contact with his.  He was outnumbered.  The only solution he could find to his negativity was to start imagining what types of dirty, slutty things his wife might actually do tonight.  That was infinitely more pleasant than a palm reading – although it could make his palm red under the right circumstances.

“That’s better.  Thank you.”  The girl slowly rotated Sheridan’s crimson-tipped hand over, and then reversed the movement to return it to its original position.  Her palm stroked gently across its surface and she took a deep breath before saying softly, “There is a cloudy residue that surrounds you.  Remnants of unpleasantness that you have endured in past weeks.   This unpleasantness is not finished, but the end will come with a bittersweet victory.  It will not bring the satisfaction you want.  It will only bring more discord.”

The deep furrowing of her forehead had Jon paying closer attention than he felt inclined to, but the kid had a presence about her that commanded attention. 

“So this is the rest of my life.  Unpleasantness and discord.”

“I can’t speak for the rest of your life,” the girl qualified, her bespectacled eyes finding Sheridan’s.  “But for the short-term… perhaps.  True happiness will find you through…  This is very strange, but I’m sensing that you’re going to find purpose and soul-deep peace with… kittens.”

The way his wife’s face lit up when she pivoted toward him made this painful endeavor worth his time.  The kid had basically just told her that she was going to be a good mother, which is all she’d ever wanted to know since January.  It didn’t matter that he, her parents, his parents, her sister, her best friend and the rest of their collective families and friends had repeatedly told her the same thing.  This preppy little psychic’s prediction was what made her face glow.

“That’s it,” Sheridan declared, gently withdrawing her hand.  “I don’t want to know any more.  I can be content with nothing more than that.  Thank you.  Now it’s your turn, Jon.”

She was nudging his elbow in a wordless directive to give the mini-mystic his palm, but now he had a whole new reason not to want to do it.  This girl actually saw something.  Maybe it was only miniscule snippets here and there, but there was at least some truth behind her ‘visions’.   Those kittens were way too strange a coincidence otherwise.

When Sheridan kicked him again, he swallowed a sigh and scooted to the edge of the chair to obediently present his hand.

Zelda seemed almost as reluctant to accept it as he was to give it.  Her touch was feather light when palming his knuckles and she barely grazed the surface of his skin when pulling unpolished fingertip along the grooves of his palm.

“I see that you are a man who loves his family.”

“Don’t most people?”

She cut her eyes up at him, but didn’t otherwise acknowledge the wiseass commentary.  Sarcasm was one of his self-defense mechanisms when he was uncomfortable.  Not that Jon would ever admit the little witch made him nervous.  

“You trust too easily, though most wouldn’t believe it of you.  You trust until you are given a reason not to.  Many people have broken that trust, some intentionally and some not.  Some that you are even unaware of.”

He did…not…like this shit.  It took a mental reminder of sexual favors and his wife’s glowing face to convince him to leave his hand where it was.

“I see objects that are significant,” she continued thoughtfully, concentrating on his flesh as though she saw them there.  “There’s a dagger with wings… two snakes… and a microphone.”

If he were to fully buy into this he would hypothesize that the microphone was a no brainer since he sang for a living.  Not that he was a complete egomaniac, but there was better than a fair chance that this girl knew who he was.  That explanation also covered the dagger and wings, seeing as it pretty well described the band’s logo.  The two snakes, he chose not to focus on.  There were too many implications there that he didn’t like. 

“Okay, thank ya very much.”   Jon withdrew his hand and procured his press smile to bestow upon Zee and her grandmother.  With his sunglasses on, they would never be able to tell that it didn’t reach his eyes.  “I think I’ve heard enough now.  I appreciate your time, as does my wife I’m sure, but we need to catch up with the rest of our family.  What do I owe ya for the readings?”

The diminutive gypsy’s chin lifted as though he had insulted her.  “Money, I don’t want.  You can pay by showing mercy when the time comes for it.”

108 - Pier Pressure

The mere sight of Santa Monica Pier filled Sheridan with a sunshine as bright as that which bounced off the Pacific Ocean.  Circling around to the front of Tony’s truck, she couldn’t see Jon’s eyes through the tinted lenses of his sunglasses, but the way he squeezed her hand when the met at the front grill told her he was sharing some of her fond memories.

“Fifty dollars,” he told her as they waited for the rest of the Bongiovi males to arrive.  The boys had kept on until Uncle Tony had agreed to bring them to The Pier in his convertible Camaro while Jon and Sheridan drove his truck to Santa Monica.  Traffic had separated the two vehicles, but the others couldn’t be far behind.  “I bet ya fifty bucks Romeo goes straight for that trapeze thing, straight outta the gate.”

She grinned up at him, adjusting the oversized sunglasses that were perched upon her own nose.  “Yeah?  Not the ferris wheel or the roller coaster?  Or the arcade?”

“Nope.”  Her husband was clearly convinced of his son’s ways.  “They have those on the Jersey Shore.  Don’t get me wrong...  He loves ‘em, but he’s gonna be all about the trapeze.”

This week had given Sheridan a new insight into the man she’d married and his skills as a parent.  Prior to this trip, she had never spent more than a couple of days together with him and his children, but after day three, things got real. 

Jon loved his kids without reservation.  That was obvious to see, and Tony was almost as bad.  Jon loved to give the boys not necessarily things, but experiences.  It was almost to the point of being overindulgent, but he somehow knew when he approached that line, because he would then rein them in with an iron fist.  Not only was he raising children, he was raising good, decent human beings that helped with chores around the house and thought of someone else besides themselves.

There was no doubt in her mind that she could raise her babies by herself if she had to.  But she was very glad that he would be the one doing it with her – even if he would be away for long periods of time during tours. 

Briefly, she wondered what that was going to be like.  She hadn’t had to deal with an absentee husband for more than a few hours at a time as of yet.  July would give her a taste of life without him, she supposed, seeing as he had several shows scheduled.  Sheridan had no reason to believe she wouldn’t be fine, but it was going to be different, she was sure.

Alone in that big house by myself.

“Dad!”  After practically leaping from the white Camaro, Jon’s youngest skidded to a stop in front of him while his brothers brought up the rear at a more leisurely pace.  Tony had stayed behind to put the top up on the car.  “Did you see?  They have a trapeze school!  It says ‘The Trapeze School of New York’.  Can I go there when we get back?  After I go here?”

“You owe me,” Jon gloated at her with a smug smile.

“Technically, I didn’t bet you,” she reminded her spouse archly.  “But, despite that, I’m sure I’ll find a satisfactory way to work off any debt you feel is owed to you.”

“Don’t start,” was all that he muttered under his breath before addressing the child that was close to exploding with energy.  “As for you...  Why don’t we make sure you don’t throw up all over the pier before we jerk you out of Poly Prep for a career with the Flying Wallendas?”

Romeo’s face screwed up in a most unpleasant way.  “The flying who?”

Sheridan found herself choking back a giggle as Jon huffed and pulled the ever-present black cap down over his forehead.  “Nevermind.  Let’s go see about flying.”

By that point, Jesse, Jake and Tony had fallen in with them and the group moved as a single unit past Bubba Gump’s and onto the pier. 

“What’s he pissed about?” her brother-in-law quietly inquired at her shoulder.

She shot a conspiratorial smile to the man who’d gone from being a no more than a name occasionally mentioned by Jon’s family to someone she considered a friend.  It was really too bad she didn’t have any single friends to set him up with.  He’d make some lucky girl a great husband. 

“Romeo doesn’t know who the Flying Wallendas are.”

“Ah,” the darkest of the elder Bongiovi brothers intoned with understanding.  “The ‘old’ card was thrown in his face.  He likes to think of himself as timeless and classic, but the kids didn’t get the memo.”

“And ‘he’ can hear you.  Shut up.”

Sheridan leaned into him, laughing without remorse as the boys’ enthusiasm had them going ahead.  Even Jesse was staring with interest into the distance.  “You’re cute when you’re grumpy.  You know that?”

“You probably spend your entire life thinking he’s friggin’ adorable then,” Tony snorted.  “He’s always grumpy.”

That observation earned him a stink eye that cut through tinted, polarized lenses in a single glare.  “Now I remember why you and I live on opposite coasts.”

“Yet you insist upon dragging my ass around the globe with you.  Go figure.”

She suddenly hoped that one of their babies was a girl.  There was no doubt that she adored all of these Bongiovi ‘boys’, but sometimes being the only female in a rowdy group of guys was tiring.  Some extra softness and femininity would be much welcome from time to time.

“I think I’m going to stick my head in that little shop while you guys fly.  Okay?” 

The shop was nothing more than a kitschy little hole-in-the-wall full of souvenirs, t-shirts, hats and sunglasses, but it grabbed her attention anyway.  It might be nice to do a little shopping.  Maybe she could find Jon a new hat so that he could retire the one he was wearing. 

Her husband gave the place no more than a cursory glance before his attention reverted back to his sons, who were already accosting the attendant at the trapeze school.  “Yeah, baby.  Plant yourself on a bench someplace and rest afterward.  We’ll find you when we’re finished.”

After a quick kiss, the guys were gone and she was left by herself for a bit of girl time.

Shopping wasn’t her greatest passion.  Far from it, really.  She preferred engaging her mind or her senses to opening her wallet.  That’s why she’d indulged in a selfish moment before they left home. 

With Jon’s encouragement, she had made arrangements to take part of the at-home gym that he’d said was bigger than he needed, and make a small aromatherapy workshop.  Not quite as big as the spare bedroom she’d used in her old apartment, it was still sufficient space for the worktable and apothecary cabinet. 

Since they didn’t have any ‘staff’ at the house as of yet, Jeri was graciously overseeing the work that was to be completed by the time they returned from this trip. 

Sheridan was eager to get back and see the finished product, because she desperately needed to conjure up something that would keep her stretch marks to a minimum and still soothe both her and the babies.  It had been so long since she’d experimented in her ‘lab’ that she was itching to delve into the assortment of scents and make something new.

Flipping through a rack of tees in search of something that might suffice as a nightshirt and not be constrictive against her growing bump, Sheridan’s fingers froze. 

The message was scrawled in hot pink on the front of a white shirt and was ordinarily not her thing.  At all.  She didn’t wear logo or message shirts, even if she thought they were cute.  That just wasn’t her style, but this one hit a little too close to home for her to pass by.  She would wear this one – for Jon and Jon alone.

With a secret grin, she folded it over her arm so that none of the other shoppers could catch a glimpse of her selection, and moved to the wall of hats.  Finding something nondescript that she thought Jon might like, she impulsively picked up a Harley one for Tony, since that seemed to be his t-shirt logo of preference. 

Of course, that now meant she needed to find the boys something, too, so she backtracked to the shirts.  Satisfied with the choices of distressed Route 66 shirts, she chose them in varying colors for her stepsons – olive green for Romeo, navy for Jake and brown for Jesse. 

Walking out of the shop with an oversized bag of Santa Monica pier merchandise was a very touristy thing to do, but all the added items meant that her shirt hadn’t garnered any undue attention.  A small price to pay, she thought.  Depending on Jon’s reaction to said shirt, she likely wouldn’t regret hefting a bag twice that size out of the shop. 

She guided her footsteps in the general direction of the trapeze school, looking for a vacant bench along the way.  It seemed as though Spring Break was in full swing this midday, as teens and college students alike were milling about.  There was a bench just freeing up and was in the process of swooping in to claim it for herself when something else caught her eye.

MaDaME ZizsKa KnoWs aLL

The fortune teller was still working the pier.

Glancing toward the trapeze school, she thought she could see Romeo as the one in the harness, flying high above the pier.  With him still in the air, Sheridan had at least a few more minutes before they would come looking for.  She took a sharp turn to the right and directed her feet to the familiar canopy and the pier’s resident psychic.

She pushed her purse up onto her shoulder, switching the bag from her right hand to her left as she approached the makeshift business-front.  It brought back memories that seemed like they were from another life, not just four months ago.

“The good news is… that which you desire will be yours.  The bad news is that it will not be an easily travelled path.  Roadblocks and trials will come in many forms, testing you and your heart along the way, the most significant of which is that of an innocent child.  I can’t shake the overwhelming presence of a child in your life.”

That was the day she let her mind first entertain the thought that she might want more with Jon than a casual fling.  That she wanted him as a part of her life, if not forever, then at least for a long time.  Well, she’d gotten her wish and it hadn’t been an easily travelled path so far.  As for the child in her life, it was more like two – or six, counting her stepchildren. 

Today, however, the gypsy that provided that prophecy was nowhere in sight.  It was her grandmother, Madame Zizska, who was stationed behind the draped table, fastidiously crafting a piece of needlework.  As Sheridan approached, reluctant to disturb the woman, a set of razor-sharp brown eyes met hers over the top of Zizska’s reading glasses.  The look seared beyond Sheridan’s eyes, almost stealing her breath with its intensity.

“Good day.”  The needlework was set aside and the diminutive gypsy put her glasses with it, rising to greet her potential customer.  Her waist-length salt and pepper hair was fastened into a single braid that trailed forward over her shoulder, much as her granddaughter’s had on that day in December.

“Madame,” Sheridan greeted with a slight smile and an incline of her chin.  “I was here a few months ago-“

The woman’s bony sliced through the air dismissing the remainder of her sentence.  “I remember you.  I have been waiting for you to come back.”

The quiet assertion took Sheridan by surprise.  How many people must walk this pier every day?  Why would this woman choose to remember her, much less be waiting for her return?

“That might have been a very long wait, seeing as I live on the East Coast.”

An inky, drawn-on eyebrow lifted as though she were speaking nothing more than nonsensical gibberish. “Yet you are here now.”

The point was irrefutable and the woman with her arms crossed over her flowing tunic knew it, so Sheridan had no choice but to concede, “Yes.  I suppose I am.”

“What is it which you seek today?”

“Your granddaughter, actually.  I was hoping to speak with her and let her know that I understand the predictions she made back then.  That they came true.”

The old woman shook her head sadly.  “Please understand that I intend no disrespect, but I do not believe that you could possibly understand.”

Of course she understood.  Why wouldn’t she?  The things she’d been told had happened just as young Zelda had indicated.  She was a smart woman.  She could see it quite plainly.

“And please understand that I, too, intend no disrespect, but how could you say that with any type of confidence?  It was your granddaughter who gave me the reading.  She was actually the one I was hoping to see today.”

Lips pursed contemplatively, Madame Zizska didn’t speak for a moment, apparently considering her thoughts before she voiced them.  “Zelda is not usually here, as she is a full-time college student.”

“Oh.”  At least Sheridan’s of perception weren’t completely off-base.  The girl may very well go to Harvard, as she’d first speculated.  “I’m sorry to have missed her.  Please give her my best and my thanks.”

She had pivoted almost a full one-hundred and eighty degrees, fully prepared to leave when the quietly lilting voice continued, “But she is on Spring Break this week.  She’s coming up the pier now, bringing my lunch.”

Reversing her pivot, Sheridan could see the preppy girl that she remembered approaching.  It only took a millisecond before she saw that Zelda recognized her, too.

“I brought your lunch, Grandmother,” she said quietly, all the while sweeping her eyes up and down Sheridan’s frame.  From the long-sleeved, scoop-neck top to the jean capris and sandals, the girls eyes danced over her with full recognition, coming to pause on the distended abdomen.

“Hello, Zelda.  I don’t know if you remember me...”

The braid that so closely resembled her grandmother’s bobbed along with her head.  “I do.  You had the grouchy boyfriend.”

“I did,” Sheridan laughed lightly.  “He’s now my grouchy husband.  I’m very glad to see you.  I’d like to speak with you for just a moment, if I may.”

The girl immediately became guarded, folding her arms at her waist.  “I don’t make the future, I just deliver what I see.  I’m sorry if you’re not happy with what’s happened, but that’s really not my fault.”

“I would never dream of blaming you for anything.”  Sheridan put her bags in one of the client chairs facing the table and frowned.  “I just wanted to tell you how accurate your reading was and that I understand it now.”

“You do?”  Zee didn’t look any more convinced than Madame Zizska had been.  “Because I still don’t understand it all.”

“Well...  I know that it hasn’t been an easily travelled path, and that friends have appeared as enemies for a time.  And the child that you sensed in my life – the one that belongs to my husband...”  She laid a palm across her belly.  “...is actually two.”

The young woman’s face contorted into a bewildered pucker.  “I never saw you carrying a child.  There is a child who is responsible for much of your turmoil, but it isn’t those babies.”  Her eyes flicked to a point somewhere over Sheridan’s right shoulder and she followed it up with a nod of her head.  “That’s the child I saw.  The man’s son.”

~ Keep an eye out for bonus posts on both Friday and Saturday this week!  :o)