One Hundred Thirty-Three

But I want to.

Richie didn’t say it, but the words had been rattling around in his brain ever since he’d ended the call with Allegra night before last.   They still echoed loudly as he stared out yet another airplane window, this one framing a rapidly approaching Eiffel Tower.

He knew he’d been antisocial more often than not on this leg of the tour, but he figured antisocial was better than asshole and he hated to take his pique out on anyone else.  So he kept to himself and had devoted a big chunk of time to pinpointing the reason why. 

When he climbed those narrow airplane steps in Jersey, it had seemed like leaving Allegra behind was the best thing to do.  She would have plenty of time to delve into the whole school thing and get comfortable with it.  Not to mention that she would also have enough opportunity and rope to hang herself with – from a relationship perspective – if she was going to.  Besides that, he wouldn’t have much time to spend with her until after the fashion show anyway.

All of that made logical sense at the time, and still should, but he was unreasonably irritated that she wasn’t here.  She hadn’t made any indication that she wanted to join them in Europe, so he hadn’t asked.  They talked nearly every night on the phone, but it wasn’t what he wanted.  He wanted to not talk.  He wanted to just hold her and let the scent of berries wash away his stress. 

There were the usual issues with the models and the upcoming show, which were a little more intense this time around, since he was on-site.  Nikki was being incredibly needy for some reason, but even that he could deal with.  It was all those damn phone calls that were grating on his nerves and making him question things he didn’t want to.  Every time he hung up, he craved the numbing effects of alcohol more strongly than he had in a year.

He had to talk to Allegra.

The tires screeched lightly as they hit the runway, and Richie was jostled in his seat, his thoughts interrupted for the time being.  Uncrossing his legs, he leaned forward to stuff the newspaper back into his carryon and check his phone. 

Five missed calls in an hour and a half.  He shook his head, cramming the phone into his pocket and reclining back in the seat until the plane had taxied to a halt.

To top it all off, now they were in Paris.  The most romantic city in the world.  The city where he had his fairytale wedding.  The city he hadn’t set foot in since the divorce.  Hell, he wouldn’t be here now if it weren’t for tonight’s gig.  All the happy memories were a little too much to stomach in light of Heather’s recent – and recurring – Wicked Witch of the West performance.

It was beyond his simple man mind to comprehend what the hell her problem was.  They’d shared an amicable relationship since the divorce, and he would’ve gone so far as to say they were still friends.  He didn’t mind her dating Jack and she’d never offered the first complaint about his girlfriends before.   As much as the press wanted to create a bitter grudge between her and Denise, they’d actually been quite civil to one another on their occasional encounters.  Heather hadn’t shown any animosity toward Jen either.

There was just something about Allegra that drew out the worst in her, even if she wouldn’t admit it. 

“You okay, man?”  David’s hand clapped him on the shoulder as Richie unfastened his seatbelt.  “You’ve been quiet this trip.”

“Yeah, bro, I’m good.” 

Blond curls swayed as he shook his head and rolled his eyes.  “You’re also a lying sack of shit, but I guess that’s your prerogative.”

Richie hefted his bag onto his shoulder with a lopsided grin.  “About time you realized it, Joker.”

The ride to the hotel was quiet among the band members.  Jon was the only one talking, and that was primarily into his phone as he made sure all the necessary arrangements had been made for that night’s appearance. 

They were piling out of the van in front of the hotel when Jon asked Richie, “How’s Allegra doing with school?”

“She doesn’t talk a whole lot about it, but she always seems to be busy and distracted with the homework.  I guess it’s going okay.”

Jon nodded his head in approval as they glided past the front desk to the elevators.  “She always was a smart girl.  Graduated way up at the top of her class in high school.  She’ll kick this thing’s ass in no time,” he said with pride.

Richie smirked at his friend as the elevator ticked off the numbers to the upper floors.  “Don’t get too smug over there, asshole.  She has mentioned talking to you about some changes for the band.”

A tinny chime announced the arrival at the designated floor, where Tico and Dave slid around them to seek out their room assignments.  Richie was on Jon’s heels as he took his turn to exit, but Jon stopped him short.

“You’re up a couple floors,” he informed the guitarist.  “And she can talk all she wants.  I’m still the boss.”  Jon’s megawatt smile flashed as the elevator doors began sliding toward one another.

Richie’s hand reached out to halt their progress.  “Up a couple floors?  You’re the one who usually tries to get away from the rest of us.  Why aren’t you up there?”

Jon pushed Richie’s hand away from the doors, allowing them to move freely.  Just before they sealed shut, his voice filtered through the tiny opening, saying, “Because I got married in Vegas, not Paris.”

His dark head shook in wonder.  Richie wasn’t surprised that his best friend could get in his head that way, but it touched him that he made the effort to do so.  Maybe being in the penthouse would make Paris a little more palatable. 

Checking his watch, he stepped onto the plush carpet of the twenty-sixth floor, rolling his suitcase along behind him.  One o’clock made it still early in Jersey.  Maybe if he caught her early, before she got buried in her computer, she wouldn’t be as distracted today.

The key was just sliding into the door when his phone rang again.  Barely stifling a growl, he fished the damnable device from his jacket pocket.  Swiping his finger across the screen, he crammed the hotel key card in the slot as he answered it with all the patience he could muster.

“Listen, I’m really trying to be nice, but I’ve had about all this shit I’m gonna take.”  Richie swung his suitcase over the threshold and quickly followed it, pushing the door closed.  “Please stop calling me before I have to do something that I’d really rather not.”

The voice on the line hadn’t even bothered to listen to his threats and he tuned out the irrational chatter, even as he kept the phone to his ear and crossed the room to the mini bar.  Pulling open the cabinet he stared long and hard at the offerings lined up beckoning him with their mind-numbing contents.

“I’m hanging up now.  Do yourself a favor and find a way to deal with this, because you’re about two seconds away from a restraining order.”

He disconnected the call and shoved the iPhone into his jacket once again, still mesmerized by the silent siren’s cry emanating from the tiny bottles before him.   They taunted him with their offer of oblivion.  Everything would seem far less chaotic if he took them up on that offer.  At the very least, he wouldn’t care so much.

For a while, anyway.

Then everything he was trying to avoid would come tumbling back with a vengeance, seeming even more urgent and unmanageable than before.

Dammit, he was stronger than this.  Right now he was only feeling vulnerable because he was tired and overworked.  He didn’t really need the booze.

Or the extra problems it created.

The cabinet door closed in unison with his deep sigh. 

“Who was on the phone?”

Richie heart jumped into his throat and he whirled around to locate the source of the question.  It took him only seconds to spot his girlfriend silhouetted in the open doorway that led to the terrace.  He half-wondered if he was hallucinating.  She was supposed to be in New Jersey, not Paris. 

“God dammit, Allegra!  You scared the shit outta me!  What the hell are you doing here?”

The shouting and anger were instinctive reactions that neatly camouflaged the guilt swelling in his stomach.  Putting her on the defensive was the only thing he could think of to keep from being on the defensive.  It sucked that he had wished her here for two weeks and now she’d shown up at the worst possible time. 

Not bothering to close the glass door against the mild Paris temperature and sunshine, she circled silently around the dining table, arms crossed over her chest.  He watched the familiar pony tail swish across the shoulders of her long peasant top, his eyes sweeping downward over leggings in a darker shade of gray than the blouse.  Her bare toes squished into the carpet, red toenails shining out of the creamy pile rug.

“Who was on the phone, Richie?”

She was now standing before him, gazing expectantly into his eyes, worry evident in the set of her brow.

This was not how he wanted to do this.  He didn’t have the mental fortitude or energy to deal with it right now, and it made the temptation to lie all the greater.  He even opened his mouth to do it, ready to offer up Nikki as the scapegoat, but he’d preached honesty so much that his personal integrity wouldn’t allow the fabrication to roll off his tongue.

“What are you doing here?” he repeated, tightly bunched muscles forming a dull ache between his shoulder blades.

“Who was on the phone?”

His anger spiked again.  Her stubbornness and tenacity weren’t cute today.  They were annoying as hell.  She was encroaching on his space.  He’d been counting on a couple hours of peace and quiet to get his head together before the show and didn’t need this crap.  He hadn’t invited her, and she damn well owed him an explanation.

“Stop repeating yourself like a damn parrot!” he snapped.

For once she wasn’t displaying even an inkling of the Bongiovi temper.  No, she was cloaked in an air of eerie calm that looked very strange on her considering the situation.  “Then answer my question.”

“You answer my question first!” 

His own shrill voice finally pierced the fog of irrational anger surrounding him, and mortification quickly set in.  She didn’t know what was going on and just because he didn’t want to tell her…  Well, it didn’t mean she was the enemy.

He continued to mentally berate himself while her eyes rolled over him like a swell of cool, blue water dousing him from head to toe.  What she was seeking he didn’t know, but she must have found something because she, too, relented.

“I came to be whatever you need me to be:  your rock, your punching bag, your sounding board.  I know before the LA fashion show you felt like circumstances were dictating you instead of the other way around.” 

 Allegra placed an open hand on his stomach, lightly skimming up his torso on her mission to curl gentle fingers around his neck.  She rifled the hair there, sifting her fingers through it while holding his eyes captive.

“You needed to exert some authority.  To be in control.  Do you need that now?”

Pulling his head down, she stood on tiptoe, teasing his mouth with a soft kiss before whispering, “Because I’ll gladly submit to you.”