XXX

By three in the afternoon and after 3 full cups of strong black coffee together with 2 gallons of mineral water, Richie finally managed to get himself together. Both he and Nikki had stayed at Jon’s house after the first show in Uncasville so the two of them and Jon would be taken in a van to the venue. He took a shower and had something to eat in the kitchen where he was accompanied by Jon, his wife and Nikki.

He still looked like shit, and felt like shit, but positively not as much as some hours before. He had a sense of deja vu. There it was, the story was repeating itself: alcohol made the sting disappear, and now that the effects were gone, the sting was there again, hurting and pulsing harder than ever. And someone was there for him, too, to help him cope with his pain. No. He wasn’t going to let it happen again, this time he’d get it right, he wanted to get it right. He was losing Frédérique and he had to do something. Now. But what? If he knew her at all, she was a determined woman - and a frustratingly stubborn one - and when decisions were taken, there was no turning back. She had made one and was sticking to it.

“Ready to go?” asked Jon and snapped Richie out of his reflections.

“Yeah, yeah”, he said with a sigh after getting up and heading for the van.

It was only after they arrived at the venue that Jon was able to get him alone and talk to him in his dressing room. Jon had previously arranged for his assistant to take his clothes to Richie’s dressing room so they could talk in private while they changed for the show.

“Fight for her, Richie, don’t let her go”, commanded Jon while he buttoned up his light blue shirt, then stood with his hands on his waist and tilted his head to one side, waiting for his friend’s eyes to meet his.

Richie sat down on the black armchair in front of the mirror and combed his hair with his fingers. He let out a blow.

“OK smartass, how?”

“Why don’t you start by calling her?”, asked Jon carelessly.

“Where have you been these past few weeks, Jon?”, Richie answered, chuckling sarcastically.

“Then go to the studio, go to her house, have her listen to you, spank her, whatever, but do somethin'” said Jon in one single breath, his voice firm and convincing.

“She’ll run away, Jon, she’ll disappear and I’ll never see her again”, Richie shook his head in resignation as he reminded Jon of the reasons behind his actions by repeating  his words from the previous day.

“We’ll you’re wrong” said Jon with frustration, “If you don’t want to do anything, then go ahead and loose her, it’s your life” – he said waving his hand at his friend and frowning – “But if you do something there’s always a chance”, he finished in a warmer way. 

Richie remained mute. When Jon finally perceived that his words had effectively entered his friend’s ears, he turned towards the door. “Fight for her, Richie”, he repeated his mantra in a low voice before walking out the door.

Richie sat for some minutes. Jon was a stubborn bastard, and that wouldn’t be that bad if it wasn’t for the fact that he was always right. But taking aside Jon’s words, what really got to Richie was Jon’s impulse and drive: he had been able to channel Richie’s own frustration, and like a clear mirror, had exposed what Richie had been unable to see under the cloud of fear, sadness and pain. “Start by calling her”.

…

That same morning Frédérique woke up fairly late: she had caught up with sleep that night and felt somewhat numb, she always did when she slept that much. She felt, however, the same uneasiness that she had felt since meeting Richie at the office. The sting was hurting. Bad. She looked around the house to see if there was something of Richie’s she hadn’t gotten rid of that might be unconsciously reminding her of his presence in her life. Nothing, she had erased every little evidence. She sat on the sofa with her guitar across her lap and strummed a C note. Yes, it was out of tune again.

Frédérique put on a pair of slim-fit black jeans, round-tip black flats and a loose long-sleeve white shirt with a nice embroidery work on the hem that gave it a gypsy vibe. She combed her hair and put on minimum makeup.

These last few weeks Gaby had increased her presence at Frédérique’s office and despite Frédérique’s reluctance to talk about Richie, their conversations on different subjects had rendered them closer and their meetings outside the office had also increased. It was Saturday and the girls were meeting for brunch at Rockefeller Center, then they would go to Coney Island, a place Frédérique hadn’t visited yet and Gaby promised would be extremely fun. Frédérique grabbed her purse and a brown thin wool jacket and walked out the door. That’s it.

Frédérique remembered she hadn’t changed the code to her door. She paused for a few moments in front of the device: it meant more than just changing the code to her door: it was the last brick that was missing on the wall she had built to keep Richie away. Was she ready? She had to be, for his sake. However, her hands were shaking as she pressed the buttons.

At around 6 in the afternoon Frédérique and Gaby were taking a walk down Riegelmann Boulevard, a hot dog in their hands each: it had been a more than fun day,  Frédérique hadn't laughed so hard for weeks. Gaby told Frédérique about her family and the guy she was dating, but didn't try to get Frédérique to talk to her: she knew the answer she was going to get.  Gaby was telling  Frédérique how the last night's dinner with the new man in her life had gone, when she saw Frédérique reach for her cell phone, stare at the screen while it rang with a frown, and then put it back in her purse when it stopped ringing.

“You’re not answering his calls, are you?”, Gaby accused, then stopped the walk and stood in front of Frédérique. Gaby was 2 inches taller than Frédérique, so she had to lower her head to look into her eyes, but Frédérique’s wouldn’t meet her glance.

Gaby continued with a severe tone in her voice: “Why are you doing this to yourself Frédérique?”, then changed to concern, “What did he do to you?”.

Frédérique wouldn’t answer.

“Look, I’m tired of this”, Gaby continued, frustrated. “Cut the crap, Frédérique”.

Frédérique was still silent, but threw what was left of her hot dog in a trash bin.

“OK”, Gaby sighed and paused to think about her strategy. “Since you won’t talk about it, I don’t know if he did something or not and it’s none of my business”. She paused again and changed to a more conciliatory, soft tone. “What I do know is what I saw, and he loves you,  Frédérique” – Gaby repeated her name constantly as a call out to the person behind the wall – “And you love him”. Gaby waited for Frédérique’s reaction: nothing.

“So unless he did something so terrible that you should be calling the police right now, I don’t see why you can’t work things out”, Gaby’s voice was stern now. “You love each other, Frédérique. That’s all that really matters”. She waited for Frédérique's reaction again.

“I want to go home”, were Frédérique’s only words.