Chapter 138

“You did fix him,” Jon remarked the moment Allegra seated herself beside him on the next day’s flight to London.

She smiled, fastening her seatbelt.  Whoever fixed who, the ‘fixing’ had lasted until well after the sun came up that morning.   “I don’t know about that, but he seems happier than he did when I got here.”

“Sweet Jesus, please just leave it at that.  I don’t wanna know no mo’!” He threw up his hands with a laugh.

Nudging him with her shoulder, she sniffed.  “Like I’d tell you anyway.”

She looked at Richie seated across the aisle with her heart in her eyes, pulse picking up when he felt her stare and threw a suggestive wink her way.

“You really love him.”

There was no censure in Jon’s voice, no judgment or surprise - just the statement of a simple fact.

“More than I ever thought possible,” she said with heartfelt agreement before locking eyes with her cousin.  “I know you thought I would hurt him, but I’m tellin’ ya Jon, I’d do whatever it takes to see him smile like that.”

“I know you would babydoll, and I’m sorry as hell that I ever thought any different.”  A quick squeeze of her arm, and Jon got down to business.  “Now.  I hear classes are going good and you’ve got some kinda business advice for me.”

With a roll of her eyes, she switched gears right along with him. Jon witnessed the visible change and experienced a moment of pride.  She’d come a long way through a lot of shit in the last six months.  It was about time she had some happiness.  For all the bitching he did, he was glad to have even the tiniest part in making that happen.

“Okay, so I’m doing this social networking thing in class.  Facebook, tumblr, Twitter, and that kind of thing.”

Jon felt his eyes glaze over.  Internet Hell was more like it.  His kids, brothers, employees and everyone else in the free world had been trying to get him on that bandwagon, but he had zero interest.  He liked to keep things simple.

“Jon?  You’ve heard of them before, right?”

“Yeah,” he sighed.  “The band has accounts on at least part of those, but I don’t twit or twat or any of that shit.” 

“Oh my God, you did not just say that,” she groaned, covering her face.

He purposefully schooled his expression so that it was blank and innocent.  “Say what?”

“Oh good grief.” 

He smirked to himself, knowing he would get away with the ‘social networking’ slander mainly because she didn’t want to repeat the word twat.   His recently reformed nun-ish cousin wasn’t quite that reformed yet – at least in front of him, thank God.

“Well, you obviously have some kind of disdain for them,” she jumped back into her spiel, “but they are easily the fastest, cheapest, most up-to-date way to reach your fans.  It doesn’t take two seconds to send a –“ she pinned him with a look that would make Dorothea proud – “tweet telling your fans where you’re at, what you’re doing or just to say hi and that you’re looking forward to the show.  The same thing with Facebook.”

“And why do I want to tell millions of people my every freakin’ move?”  He’d spent his entire adult life trying to keep his private life private.  The public had gotten used to it.  It was part of his shtick.  Why did he want to go inviting a everybody into his business now?.  Naturally, he loved his fans, but they didn’t need to know every time he took a leak.

“Because…”  There was that look again.  “It makes them feel closer to you – more involved.  You could even take song requests for the shows that way.  If they feel close to you guys, then they’re more inclined to buy the tickets and merchandise.”

Damn if that didn’t make at least a little bit of sense.   Sounding vaguely familiar, he wondered if somebody, somewhere had told him that already.   Probably, but he would at least do Allegra the courtesy of listening.   It didn’t mean he had to like it any better, but she was making sense. 

“I have thirty-two and a half million things I have to do before each show,” he told her stubbornly.  “I’m not adding this to the list, especially when I don’t like that shit to start with.”

“Okay, fine.  Then have somebody else do it.  Make guest appearances once in a while so they know you endorse what’s going on, but let Obie or Dawn or Abby or… whoever do it.  I think you’ll be surprised at the fan reaction.”

He didn’t want to.  The fans were loyal and they put on a hell of a live show.  It was enough to keep them happy.

“She’s your cousin and she’s finding her way.  Play nice!”

Jon had been married entirely too long.  The proof was in that he could hear his wife’s bitching – ahem, wise counsel – from across the ocean without the aid of a telephone. 

“Talk to Rew,” he finally grumbled, knowing that he’d end up with the live and in-your-face version of that if he didn’t go along peacefully.  “He can do it or find somebody else.  Whoever gets stuck with it, I want to talk to them personally and set some damn ground rules though.”

His eyes flicked across the aisle.  Richie’s head was tipped  back, a loud snore coming from his open mouth. 

Probably because he didn’t get any sleep last night, the lucky bastard.  At least he doesn’t seem strung tighter than a ukulele anymore.  That should last as long as Nikki kept her claws out of him.

Frowning, he realized that was unavoidable.  She was going to be in London for at least the next ten days. 

So much for Richie’s good mood.

Then, like the brilliant businessman he was, Jon experienced a spark of genius.  No, he couldn’t prevent Nikki from hanging off Richie’s sleeve and aggravating the crap out of him and everyone else – but he knew someone who could.

“Scratch that,” he amended his decision, shifting in his seat and clearing his throat.  “This is your idea.  You do it.”

“What?”

A flash of fear and insecurity swept through her eyes so quickly that he wasn’t sure it had even happened.  He withheld his proud smile.

Thatta girl.  Don’t let ‘em know you’re scared.

“The only stipulation is that you stay on the road with us.”  He was quick to add, “As long as your health permits, with the baby and all.  At the very least until the August break.”

She quirked an eyebrow at him in a show of bravado.  “You realize I have no idea what I’m doing?  And that even if I did, the Internet doesn’t have to be plugged into your butt to work.  It can be done from anywhere in the world.”

“I know that, Miss College Student.”  Damn if family resemblance didn’t suck when it bit you in the ass.  “But you need to be hands on for at least a while to familiarize yourself with the routine a little better.  You can’t tweeter random garbage out there.  Our fans are smarter than that.”

“It’s tweet,” she corrected in exasperation.  “Or Twitter.  Get the terminology right.”

He didn’t care about terminology and waved his hand carelessly.  “Whatever.  That’s my final say.  You do it or it doesn’t get done.”

Allegra narrowed her eyes at him suspiciously and he was afraid the jig was up.  While he appeared calm and collected on the outside, Jon was panicking irrationally on the inside. 

Dot taught her to read my fuckin’ mind.  She knows I want her tagging along to run interference with Nikki.  Now she’s gonna give me six different kinds of hell.  Dammit! 

Well who cared?  He wasn’t going to feel guilty about paying her to keep her boyfriend – and his guitarist – happy.  Although he should probably mention up front that he intended to pay her for services.  Last time he’d unexpectedly thrown money at her, she’d been all kinds of pissed. 

Mentally shrugging, he decided to let it go for the time being.  Richie could handle her temper.

Whatever was going on in her head, she pushed it aside choosing to ask instead, “So what about these ground rules you mentioned?”   A hand slipped into the back pocket of her jeans, and she pulled out her phone.  Thumbs poised over the electronic keyboard, she was ready to take notes.

Jon gave himself a mental high-five and rattled off half a dozen things that he wouldn’t tolerate going out from the Jovi camp – mostly personal and family commentary.

“That’s it for now,” he wrapped up, slapping his hand on his knee.  “Don’t make me regret this.”

Reviewing the list in her hands, she stuck her tongue out at him asked who had the passwords for the existing accounts.  Obtaining the necessary information, she gave a nod and shoved the phone back into her pocket.  “I’ll get started on it later today.  I have two more quick things and then I’ll go muzzle Snoring Beauty over there.”

Jon grinned.  She wasn’t completely blinded by love.  “Go on,” he encouraged with a nod.

“First of all, his birthday’s coming up and he left me an obscene amount of money in my checking account.  I’m going to spend it on a present for him.”

His grin grew even wider.  He was a complete moron for ever discouraging this relationship.  She was exactly what Richie needed.  How many other women would refuse money, then begrudgingly accept it so that they could return it in the form of a gift?

“Whatcha got in mind?”

Allegra looked past him to ensure that Richie was still sleeping soundly.  Seeing that he was, she lowered her voice.  “He got so excited about that guitar shop in London.  I think I want to get him a guitar, but I have no idea what I’m doing or even what he has.  Can you help me?”

“That’s like asking what kind of shoes Imelda Marcos has,” Jon told her with a snicker.  “I’m not into the strings like he  is, so I really couldn’t tell ya.  Talk to Takumi.  If anybody would know what kind of guitar Richie’s lusting after, it would be him.”

“Okay, I can do that.”  She nodded in satisfaction before her mouth tipped toward in a frown.

He would’ve known there was something else on her mind even if she hadn’t forewarned him.  And he didn’t like the vibe that was preceding it –it reminded him of the faint tremors before an earthquake.

“Babydoll?  You said there was something else?”

She shifted around in her seat to face him as much as the seatbelt would allow, folding her hands primly in her lap.  “I’m telling you this because… well, I don’t even know why I’m telling you, but I don’t want you to do anything.  I don’t need anything from you, this is strictly an FYI.”

“Okay, so tell me.”

Her lids fluttered shut as she drew enough oxygen to blurt out her news in one breath.  “Yesterday I found out why Mama’s been acting so strange.  She’s been drinking since I left the cloister and it’s getting progressively worse.  Daddy’s having trouble convincing her to get help, so he’s a mess trying to make sure she doesn’t hurt herself or someone else.  He insists he’s got it under control though, so there’s nothing for anyone else to do.”

Jon digested the flurry of words, studying his cousin carefully, a little concerned that she wouldn’t look at him.  “How did you find out?”

Allegra briefly explained about Therese and Michael’s phone calls to Richie.

“Well, dammit.”  He’d never imagined that giving Richie’s number to Michael would have that kind of fallout.  “I’m sorry, Allegra.” 

“There’s nothing for you to be sorry about,” she assured him with a firm shake of her head.  “She was an alcoholic before she started calling to harass Richie.  I did convince him to block her phone number though.  He shouldn’t have to put up with that.”

“Smart move,” he approved.  “But what about you?  You’re not feeling responsible for this are you?”

Hadn’t he just said she deserved some happiness?  When was she going to catch a break?  Well, if his whack-job aunt had to be forcibly dragged to rehab, he would see to it himself.   He couldn’t muster up any pity for her.  It was time for her to get a grip on her selfishness and worry about somebody else’s happiness for a change.

“Part of me thinks I am responsible – “

This was exactly what he’d feared.  Things were just starting to resemble normal and now she was going to feel like she had to crawl back under her mother’s thumb.  Well, to quote Richie, ‘over his dead damn body’!

“You’re not.  Don’t even think it!  Your mother – “

“You didn’t let me finish,” she interrupted.  “What I was going to say is that there’s a bigger part of me that knows I’m well within my rights to live my life anyway I choose.   I’m sorry she can’t accept that.” 

The metal clicked as she flipped open her seatbelt, bussing his cheek before she stood.  “Like I said, I’m not sure why I told you, but I thought you should know.  Now I’m going to wake Richie up before David starts stuffing marshmallows or something equally juvenile down his throat.”

Jon frowned, uncertain that she was as okay as she seemed.  But if she wanted to pretend, he could let her… for now.

“You don’t have to worry.  I think they ran out of new things to strangle each other with somewhere around 1995.”