That night, though, Jon stayed in the kitchen, deep in meditation: he needed to sort things out so he could have control over the situation. He never acted out of instinct, all his moves were made after a thorough analysis of the different scenarios, pondering possibilities and probabilites, discarding the least likely ones and adding his own intentions. Then he analyzed the consequences to check that he could live with them, until he was one hundred percent sure that what he was going to do was the right thing.
That was of course, if his dick didn’t get in the way.
He started by the obvious: he felt attracted to Frédérique. And she was Richie’s.
Another obvious fact: his wife. He loved her, but that hadn’t prevented him for falling in the past. He knew the effect he caused in women, and the ones they caused in him, so he was unapologetic about indulging in them every once in a while: after all, it hadn’t changed a thing.
Richie had made it easy for Jon in the past by dating women that, though in-your-face attractive, were far from being his type. Frédérique, however, was EXACTLY his type: beautiful and simple, zero bullshit. No starry eyes, no freaking out about the band. A well educated smart woman with an easy-flowing conversation. Last but not least…by the looks of Sambora they were having a more than happy time in the sack.
Jon wanted anything but his friend to be happy: Richie could fuck around with everything that walked within a mile around him, but this wasn’t it - he was truly happy, she was good for him. Then Jon's protective alarms went off: if this didn’t work, Richie would be torn to pieces, and Jon would be the one picking them up.
Hopefully for Richie’s sake, Frédérique was here to stay.
For Jon, though, it would be a pain in the ass. But he could deal with it, yes, he was a strong man. At around 5.20 in the morning Jon was finally satisfied.
Alright, Goddamit. Behave.
…
Next Monday in the afternoon in California, Richie had spent the whole morning at the fashion line’s headquarters while his daughter was at school. He was home and he had a few more hours to spend before he had to go pick her up, he was filling the magic tingling inside, he recognized it, and sat down at the piano with a notepad, a pencil and the guitar on one side: it was time to write.
He had been in California since Friday: the morning he and Frédérique had left Jon’s house, he had received a call from Nikki, and realized that he wouldn’t be able to get her off his back unless he went over. Besides, he missed his daughter, too.
Richie had tried to convince Frédérique to fly with him but hadn’t succeded. “I’m on a roll”, she had said, and he knew what she meant, so he didn’t push. “I’ll still be here when you come back”, Frédérique had said in a seductive voice, “and besides, we haven’t had phone sex, yet”. He smirked at the memory of the previous night's communication.
Richie put his fingers on the piano keys and closed his eyes so he could channel his emotions. He preferred to work on the music first, from the emotion on, while Jon, instead, preferred working on the words, from the title of the song on. Richie was surprised by the notes that came to his years: he hadn’t play that song for many years now, it hurt too much. When he had wrote it he was madly in love with his wife and could have sworn that they’d be together forever. But it hadn’t worked out, though, and he had ended up broken and bruised.
If you should ever leave that would be the end of me
Ha. Well, Richie hadn't ended, and he was still there after she left, alone with nothingness – that’s when he started feeling the sting, and had fallen into his ex wife’s friend’s arms. It was comfortable, familiar, and most of all, he didn’t have to think. It helped at first, but then he just couldn’t do it, and broke down.
The arrest, rehab. Richie’s trail of thoughts was suddenly cut. The tabloids, the internet. He hadn’t talk about that with Frédérique yet, so she probably didn’t know. How long would it be until she read it on the internet or somebody told her? Ow, the sting. It was better if she heard it from him.
Richie did some quick maths regarding the times zones: Frédérique was probably already back home, so he picked up his phone and dialed.
…
That same day, Frédérique was excited to meet with her friend Emilie, who was in NY for business, and took the afternoon off, in order to avoid missing Richie during the weekend she had worked herself to sleep, with the only difference that she had done it at home rather than at the studio.
If there was someone Frédérique could call her best friend, Emilie was that person. They had been friends since the first day of school, but due to Frédérique’s traveling and studies, they didn’t see each other often - sometimes they only got to see each other once or twice a year, but every time it would be as if not a day had passed since they had last met.
During lunch at a restaurant near Central Park, they mostly spoke about their jobs and their families and how Frédérique had adjusted to living in New York
“So tell me, are you seeing anyone?”, she finally asked as they passed under one of the stone bridges.
Frédérique hesitated instinctively: she was very private about her relationships and was used to dealing with her ramblings all by herself, but Emilie’s familiarity and easiness made her relax and open up.
“Yes, I actually am”, she finally said with a smirk. “He’s great”
“OK…go on...how did it start?” Emilie encouraged her with her hand and Frédérique briefed her on the story. When she was done, Emilie took some moments to ponder and finally spoke after they sat on one of the benches:
“Wow, so crazy”
“Yes, but you know how it ends” Frédérique answered with a tone of resignation.
“And why would it end exactly?”
“You know how it ends, Emilie”, Frédérique looked into her friend’s eyes and continued, “and it starts when I tell them”.
“Oh” Emilie remembered what Frédérique had confided her more than ten years ago. "So you haven't told him yet".
“No, it’s too soon” said Frédérique while she shook her head, but smiled to herself remembering the previous days. “I mean, I know it’s going to end, I have wrapped my head around it, I know I can survive. I just don’t want it to be because of this, because of me”.
Frédérique paused before she continued: “I’ll see how far it goes...it may even be over before I tell him”. Then she finished: “So why ruin things now? I don't want this to last a minute less than it's supposed to"
Frédérique was deep inside herself, so Emilie tried to reach in, concern in her voice: “But you need to have faith, honey...there are other options you know".
"That wasn't enough for the others, remember? Why would this one be any different?", Frédérique frowned.
"By what you've told me, he's really special...he might be fine with it", Emilie said and took some moments before she resumed, "And then...what if you fall for him?”.
Frédérique froze and Emilie felt “the wall” come up: it was the end of the conversation, Frédérique wouldn’t talk about that anymore.
After a few moments of silence, Frédérique finally stood up:
“Ever been to a Broadway show?”
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