LII

A little more than a week into the O2 shows in London, during the wee hours of the morning and Sinatra playing on the background, Jon sat on the loveseat of his suite with a glass of Balbé wine in his hand, one bare foot on the coffee table in front of him next to an empty bottle. It was the last one, and what was left of the glass was the last he’d ever taste of Frédérique.

He went back to before he met her. Be careful what you wish for. Ha. Jon - and his wife, too - had always prayed for a good woman to sweep Richie off his feet and make him walk the line, and she had arrived, only Jon would have never in a million years imagined what he would feel about her. It had been a bumpy road to where they were standing now, but that only seemed to have been a test so they realized they were really meant for each other. No, Frédérique had never been meant for Jon, and he couldn’t be happier for Richie – she was perfect. He knew that. First hand. Just for one night.  He hadn’t seen Frédérique since then, and now it was only a matter of hours until she arrived in London. To be with Richie.

And Richie had been beyond inspired during these shows. Woo-hoo. Like burst-into-flames-smoke-coming-from-guitarstrings kind of inspired. Each night Richie had the crowd eating from the palm of his hands, jaws dropped, heads bowing in respect. The King of Swing was back full-on mode. Yeah, baby. Yup, that was his friend: guitar player extraordinaire and Jon was more than proud, even when Richie had stolen his thunder a little bit.

The only thing everyone complained about was that "the devil" Sambora had been tamed now and partying on tour had become more - a lot more - innocent. Bummer.

His thoughts then turned to his first conversation on the phone with Richie after returning from California. Richie, Richie, Richie. Jon pursed his lips. If he had ever hoped that Richie would, at some point, realize that most of his mistakes and bad choices in life came from the fact that he was in the end just too good of a guy, now he was one hundred percent positive that it was never going to happen. Richie had told Jon about his conversation with Nikki and that she had of course denied having anything to do with the Mohegan and subsequent events. That wasn’t a surprise at all. But Richie had told him that he still felt a little sad for her, for having let her go that far when he was vulnerable and hurting. He cared for her and trusted her in the end: their summer-spring collection was on their way and she’d been putting all of her talent on it despite their “situation” and it was turning out really good. So in order to make it up to her – as if everything had been HIS fault - sweet Richie had agreed to help her produce a music record. Jon secretively rolled his eyes and let out a sharp sigh. Only the Lord knew what could come out of that, but Richie assured him that in a way it made him feel better. It wasn't that Jon didn't trust Richie's musical talent, but feared it wouldn't be enough to make up for Nikki's lack of it.

But at least Richie was happy, focused, healthy and inspired. That was all that mattered. Jon took the last sip of wine, held it between his tongue and his palate and slowly swallowed it, enjoying the subtle and delicious aftertaste. Bienvenue back, Fred.

…

At around noon the following day he was already in his jogging clothes, baseball cap on, and on his way out of his hotel suite, but as he opened the door he heard Frédérique’s distinct throaty laughter and giggles mixed with Richie’s husky growls coming from the other end of the corridor. He froze to the spot but kept the door ajar. Richie’s suite was across the corridor from Jon’s, only a few yards closer to the elevator. Then there was some husky whispering and again giggles as a suitcase bumped against the door, then a magnetic card was slid into the electric lock followed by a beep. Some more bumping, giggling and groans…even a little whimper. He was about to finally exit when he realized the door hadn’t closed back. “Jesus Christ”. Jon mumbled and rolled his eyes, then smirked. “Close the door, Sambora for Christ’s sake”.

As though they’d heard him, the door was slammed close and Jon walked out and down the corridor towards the elevator. There was no doubt that was the last he’d see of them until the following day. When he passed by Richie’s door again he heard  Frédérique’s laughter turn into a deep moan, and he shook his head as it hung from his neck, his lips holding the sideways smirk. In the elevator he found two slip-on black sandals. Frédérique’s size. He took them and strode back to his room, put them in the cupboard and strode back to the elevator door. Once in, he let out a puff of air upwards and leaned against the mirror with his hands on his waist. Oh Lord. The elevator was packed with her scent.

…

Frédérique remained, covered in sweat, on top of Richie’s also sweaty body, catching her breath with her face on Richie’s chest as it rose and fell…rose and fell, her hands still clutched at his shoulders as his fingertips lazily ran up and down her back. They were still on the carpet of the suite’s living-room, they hadn’t even made it to the bedroom.

“I’ve missed you so much”, she whispered and kissed his chest softly, letting the tip of her tongue taste his salty skin, then moved to kiss his lips.

“Not as much as I did you”, he told her after breaking the kiss and pulled her into his arms again. The following moments they spent devouring their mouths and rolling over the carpet, hands all over each other until Richie broke the kiss with a gasp, then swallowed and growled.

“Time to show ya the bedroom”

…

It took most of the afternoon for them to finally finish tasting every inch of each other’s body, as if making sure that the image they had held in their minds for a week was accurate. During the bath Frédérique started dozing off in Richie’s arms and he suggested she ate something before going to bed, so they walked out and put on their robes. As Richie called room service to have an early dinner delivered to their suite, Frédérique started gathering the different items of clothing scattered all over the living room, among which was her burgundy wrap dress that she had worn at Richie’s request, putting all of them in a laundry bag.

Then she frowned and put her wet hair behind her ears. Where are the sandals? She smiled secretively to herself: she remembered taking them off as soon as she got into the elevator, her feet were a little bit swollen from the flight and her feet hurt. But then she had gotten “distracted” when Richie, in a sudden movement had jerked the straps that held the dress together and exposed her body to him before slamming her against the mirror. They only stopped grinding against each other when they heard a beep indicating that they had arrived at their floor, so she had wrapped the dress together again.

She told Richie about that between laughs and then called the front desk to see if any member of the staff had found them. The answer was negative and she shrugged. No problem at all. Things come and go, that’s the way it is.

From her suitcase she took Keith Urban’s CD “Defying gravity” and put it on the CD player in the living room, then started humming the song and walked to the window to regard the wonderful views of London. She’d been there lots of times before, after all, it was just “across the pond”, but now it seemed even more beautiful.

Well I know there’s a reason

And I know there’s a rhyme

We were meant to be together

And that’s why…

She felt Richie’s hands untie, with a couple quick jerks, the belt of her robe and slide his hands under it as he nipped at her earlobe. With mock jealousy he teased her.

“Ya know, he let me play with his banjo once”

Frédérique chortled sharply when a certain image flashed through her mind. “Excuse me?!”, she exclaimed. “He let you ‘play with his banjo’?”

Richie chuckled and the doorbell rang. He wiggled his eyebrows and teased her again with a wide grin. “It’s always good to know what turns my girl on”. Then he gave her a smooch and Frédérique tied her robe back as Richie walked towards the door.

While they fed each other on the loveseat of the living room, they went through their schedule for the following day: in the morning Richie and Tico would be interviewed by different radios and local newspapers in Richie's suite.

“You can stay if you want”, he told her carelessly, “and make sure I don’t speak any nonsense”. She just smiled and shook her head. “I need to run. I’ve been sitting in front of the computer for 12 hours a day to make up for all the work I won’t be doing these days”, she explained and finished with an arched brow and a mischievous smirk.

Then in the afternoon they’d go to the venue a little earlier so Richie would show Frédérique around: she had already visited the Millenium dome back in 2000 when it hosted a series of pavilions designed by different famous architects, but hadn’t set foot on it since. Plus, she was ultra excited to see Richie perform again. And use that talkbox. It seemed like ages since she’d last been to a concert.