113 - Dance with the Devil

Hal Bugliotti was tired of his job.  If you could call it a job.  He hung around New York like some kind of Peeping Tom pervert, snapping pictures of celebrities just trying to live their lives.  Did he feel good about it?  No.  But, he was fifty-six years old for God’s sake.  Any chance he’d had at a true journalistic career had long-since past.  Opportunity had never chosen to knock at his door.

Except once.

Sheridan Bongiovi. 

She had offered him a golden opportunity, but he had his doubts.  The woman who had found herself shoved unwillingly into the limelight dangled the proverbial carrot in front of him.  It sounded like a dream come true.  All he had to do was ferret out the rat who was telling tales out of school on the Bongiovi family, and she would give him a story. 

Which was all well and good, but his gut instinct had given him the feeling she wouldn’t come through if he delivered. 

So he hadn’t really tried. 

He saw the media blurbs and photos coming through, knowing that somebody was still running his mouth.  It gave him a twinge of guilt for the woman who had seemed desperate that day on the sidewalk.  She just wanted a normal life, as most people did, but…

You shouldn’t have married a rock star, lady.

Sitting on the sidewalk outside his favorite deli and enjoying the unusually mild April evening, Hal reached into his pocket with only mild interest when his phone rang.  It had been a long day full of nothing useful and chasing another wild goose didn’t appeal to him, but when he saw the number on his phone was blocked, he sat up a little straighter.

He’d received only two other blocked phone calls in recent weeks, and it had been the woman whom he was just thinking about.  Sheridan Bongiovi.  When negotiating her ‘deal’ those weeks ago, she had only provided him with an email address as her contact information, unwilling to provide her private phone number.  What were the chances that this was her again?

“Hal Bugliotti,” he answered in his usual clipped tone.

“Mr. Bugliotti, this is Sheridan Bongiovi.”

Apparently the chances were good.  Maybe he should pick up a lottery ticket tonight. 

“Mrs. Bongiovi.  I don’t have any new information for you.”

“I gathered as much since you haven’t emailed me, but have you seen the latest ‘news’ on me and my family?”

He pushed aside what was left of his Reuben and hunched forward over the table.  “No.  I haven’t caught up on today’s latest yet.”

“Well, when you do catch up, imagine being my mother or mother-in-law and finding out that information from a sleazy tabloid instead of your child – because that’s exactly what happened.  Nobody had been told the results of my ultrasound, yet my mother-in-law got those results from her neighbor, who found out online.”

He sighed and slumped back down in his seat.  Same song, different verse. 

“Look Mrs. Bongiovi, I don’t know what to tell you.”

“No, YOU look Mr. Bugliotti…  I need your help, which you don’t seem all that keen on providing, so obviously I haven’t afforded the right incentive.”

She was sweetening the pot?  Maybe he should have taken her offer a little more seriously.  Was this woman really his ticket out of paparazzi hell?

“I’m listening.”

“I want to know who this informant is, and I want to know very badly.  If you provide the identity, I will put you on the map, Hal.  Protect my privacy and that of my children, and I will use every bit of clout and celebrity that my husband possesses to send your journalistic career soaring.”

Nothing against her, but Hal didn’t trust anybody.  He’d been screwed over too many times to accept a vague promise of sunshine up his ass.  He wanted details. 

“How?”

“I’ve already promised you the exclusive on how we met.  I will also give you an ‘at home with the Bongiovis’ piece after the babies are born.”

He knew there had to be a catch.  “What are the limitations of the interview?”

“There are none.  Questions are limited only to your journalistic creativity, but I would hope you’ll keep things tasteful and relevant.”

No-holds-barred?  With the evasive Jon Bon Jovi?  Hal was finding that a little difficult to believe.  The man had a rote politically and publicly correct answer for every question.  Did he know what his wife was offering up?

“And your husband has agreed to this?”

“My husband is just as anxious for this to stop as I am.  He’s agreed to do as much as it takes to end it.”

A candid, free-for-all interview with Jon Bon Jovi.  One of the most personally reclusive men in music?  The guy could barely stand doing interviews in the name of album promotion.  AND his very attractive wife with their new twins? This could be exactly what he needed to – as Sheridan had said – ‘put him on the map’.  But could he get her to make the deal even sweeter? 

“With photos – including the twins.”

“I’ve already told you I’m not selling my children that way.”

“Then the information isn’t as important to you as I’ve been led to believe.  It’s not like photographers aren’t going to be snapping pictures of them every time you leave your house.”

She huffed and went silent for a moment, considering his counter-offer.

Come on…  Say yes.  You know you want to….

“I suppose having pictures in a controlled environment is better than having photographers hiding in our bushes.  Fine – on one condition,” she decreed in a voice that told him he would meet the condition or lose the prize.  That was fine.  He had no problems with conditions.

“What condition?”

“You deliver the information within the week.  If you can’t, then the deal is off.”

This woman was more than just another pretty face.  She could negotiate, and Hal was grudgingly impressed with her moxie. 

Guess you don’t screw with a mama bear’s cubs.

“So by next Tuesday?”

“The offer expires at midnight on Monday.”

He grinned into the phone.  Yeah, she was a negotiator. 

“Alright.  Let me dig a little deeper and turn over a couple more rocks to see if anything goes scurrying.  I’ll email you in a couple days.”

“No, don’t email,” she directed.  “This is too important to me.  I’ll give you my personal number.” 

Her personal number?  Hal sat up a little straighter in his seat.  This woman wasn’t screwing around.  She really meant business.

 Well, then.  I guess it’s time to get off my ass and make a name for myself.

❧❧❧

Mommy and Me

April 25, 2012

Hello my precious Poppies.  After a long conversation with your daddy this evening, Mommy is feeling a bit philosophical, so bear with me. 

Someday, when you’re older, I want you to know that your mother didn’t know everything from day one.   In fact, Day One was a total disaster and Day Two was only marginally better.  True story.   

But… I’ve spent the last four months learning everything I can.  Not just about you two and what to expect and what to do with you when I got you home.  No, if you can believe it, what Mommy’s been learning has more to do with being a mommy than all that other stuff. 

I’ve been learning that, no matter what I do, I want to be a good role model for you.  I want every action I take to be something I would be proud of YOU for doing in the same situation. 

I’ll be the first to tell you I haven’t always done things to be proud of.  Actually, Daddy would probably be the first, but I would be standing right next to him and agreeing.  J

Tonight, though, your daddy and I have been discussing something I did yesterday.  We aren’t exactly seeing eye-to-eye on the situation.  He tends to think that I’ve sold my soul to the devil, but I disagree.

(By the way, I know for a fact that he’s said he would sell his soul just to be able to sing every day.  He won’t mind me telling you that, since it’s on YouTube.)  Maybe I’m too trusting, but even if I’m wrong and I HAVE ‘sold my soul’, the payoff is worth it.  I can totally justify what I’ve done without batting an eyelash. 

I guess you’re wondering what I did, huh?  You’ll probably want the good dirt on Mom.  Well, rest assured that I wouldn’t have brought the subject up if I didn’t want you to know.  I don’t want to sing like your daddy.  That’s his thing.  My reward is something much more basic.  I want to keep my babies safe – to keep YOU safe. 

You don’t (and probably won’t for a very long time) realize what a huge deal that is, but it is of monumental proportion to Mommy and goes back to what a wise man your daddy can be.  When he kept insisting to me that he wished I hadn’t done what I did, I reminded him of something that he told me back on that marginally better Day Two.

He said that, without even realizing it, I would start putting your needs and wants before mine.   He welcomed me to parenting and told me that I would do all kinds of stuff I’d never considered doing before.  He was right, and when I told him that tonight, he backed down. 

Your daddy says keeping you safe is worth any inconvenient position that I’ve put us in.  I think I made Daddy proud.  Ha ha.

Oh, I never did tell you what I did.  I promised an interview to a man who is going to help me keep you safe.  That’s all.  Just another day in the life of a parent.

Mommy and Daddy love you.

xoxo

❧❧❧

“Thelma and Louise.”

“No.”

“Betty and Wilma.”

“No.”

“Cagney and Lacey.”

“No.”

“Ann and Nancy.”

She finally looked up from her book to where he was looming over the back of the sofa.  “Who?”

David threw up his hands and let out a loud, long snort of disgust.  “Ann and Nancy Wilson!  From Heart?  And you call yourself a child of the 80’s?  Jeez.” 

She rolled her eyes and went back to the hardbound novel resting on her knees.  “Aren’t you supposed to be recording or something?  Isn’t that why you’re here?”

“Yeah, but I told him I hadda take a leak so I could come and offer my consultation services on twin names.  I am experienced, you know.”

She cut him a disbelieving glance.  “Aren’t your twins named Gabrielle and Colton?  That isn’t a famous duo that I’m aware of.”

“Not yet,” he said, holding up his finger with a cocky grin.  “Give them time.”

She stuck her finger between the pages to mark her place and folded the cover closed, smiling sweetly.  “Are you saying that my twins can’t become famous on their own, too?  Their only shot in life is if I name them after pre-existing fame?”

Oh shit.

David backed slowly away from the couch, hands held up in a gesture of innocence.  “You know what?  I think I heard Jon calling me.  Sorry I can’t stay and chat….”

“There you are!  What the hell are you doing?”  Jon stepped around him and bent to kiss his wife’s upturned lips.  “Is he bugging the shit out of you?”

David shook his head vehemently, making a slashing motion across his throat.  He didn’t want his bathroom ploy to be outed.  It would render it an ineffective tool in the future.  Jon and the others were used to the thought that he had a bladder the size of a hamster.  It wouldn’t due to ruin that illusion now.

The delightfully evil siren, smirked at him before looking back to her hubby.  “No.  He was just offering a couple of name suggestions on his way back from the bathroom.  He suggested Betty and Veronica, since their daddy was Jughead.”

David’s eyebrows slammed down over his eyes and his jaw went slack, dropping almost to his chest. 

Holy crap!  She just threw me under the bus! 

He hadn’t expected that – at ALL.  She WAS a siren, luring him in with sweetness and innocence to bash his head against the rocks when push came to shove.

Damn if he didn’t like her.

“If David doesn’t get to work, he’s gonna have plenty of reason to look at the funny papers – the unemployment section.”

Jon didn’t even bother turning to deliver the ‘ominous’ warning.  The threat didn’t carry any heat and it wouldn’t have mattered if it did.  David quit listening to that kind of bullying years ago.

“Could you do me a favor, baby?” he now asked his wife, keyboardist totally dismissed.  “Call Dorothea for me?  She wants to switch weekends or something.  Whatever she wants is fine, just tell her yes?”

The siren didn’t even flinch.  “Sure.  I’ve wanted to talk to her anyway.  You guys go get some work done.”

“Thank you, Kitten.”  Another stolen smooch and his boss had David by the elbow,  dragging him in the general direction of his studio.

David couldn’t let her unexpected treason go unaddressed though.  It would grate against every fiber of his being.  Turning his head as they broached the doorway, he barely had a chance to call over his shoulder. 

“Well played, madam!  I’ll consider you a worthy adversary in the future!”