XXXVI

Yes, Frédérique knew why Jon was there. Superman. He had come to fix things, to make everything be the way he wanted them to be. And he probably would also interrogate her, of course, and try to get as much information out of her as possible. She held nothing against him, though: he had been nothing but sweet and kind to her, and she felt like retributing his hospitality as well, she would just have to be more alert.

“Take a seat, I’ll be right back”, Frédérique commanded gently as she headed for her bedroom. 

Jon faced all his ventures with the strategies of a businessman, and in that aspect, his mind and Frédérique’s worked pretty much the same way so she knew what lay ahead of her: in the business world, sometimes it all came down to a seduction game, and she knew both how to play it well and how to protect herself from it. Jon would use all of his weapons - specially his charm - to get his way, he’d start by making her feel comfortable and safe and when her guard was down he’d strike and try to reach in. Jon may be stubborn and determined, but so was Frédérique, even when she felt her strength was somewhat diminished by the stir of emotions her brother’s phone call had triggered. Yes, she would stand her ground. It would be tough, but probably also a lot of fun - she liked those kinds of challenges, specially with someone as easy to read as Jon was.

While she put on a pair of coral, loose cotton trousers and a white, broad-sleeved blouse, she could hear Jon picking the guitar strings repeatedly. She returned to the living room and found him sitting on the armchair – the throne, obviously – with the guitar across his lap.

“It’s outta tune”, he said with a solemn tone and a frown without taking his eyes off the instrument, as if it were some kind of sacrilege that it was in that condition.

“Yes, I know, I never seem to...get it right”. Frédérique countered and proceeded to continue with the preparation of the salad.

“Well…it’s just a question of balance…”- Jon explained – “…the strings should be neither too tense nor too loose, ya know?”

Frédérique smiled weakly and spoke over the sound of the running water. “The middle way, right?”.

Jon nodded and strummed a few chords and arpeggios to check the tunning while he checked his motivation. Richie had been held hostage by Nikki in California since Monday night. He and Jon had only spoken briefly twice since and he had assured him that he was doing alright but evaded talking about Frédérique when Jon tried to insert the subject into their conversation. Yes, he was trying to forget her and Jon had disputed that having Nikki by his side during the process was a good idea, but to no avail. All he could do was try to reason with Richie, not make the decisions for him, and as wrong as Jon thought that Richie's choice was, he had made one nonetheless. Even though Richie sounded sad and angry – mostly at himself – he seemed to be weathering it and was apparently staying away from the booze.

But Jon was far from contentment: he still didn’t get Frédérique’s reaction, at least her break up with Richie in California. He could easily understand her reaction after Mohegan Sun, it wasn't Richie's fault that he had been so unbelievably unlucky, but given the circumstances Frédérique’s reaction more or less matched her character. However, the first time didn't quite make sense: they looked so happy and comfortable together, and Frédérique was a calm and reasonable person, it was hard to think that she would freak out so easily. Maybe if he found out exactly what had gone wrong he would be able to untangle the knot.

Regardless of the reason behind Frédérique’s behavior, Jon ultimately cared for her, and most of all, he wasn’t ready to let her go yet. He just wanted to see her and check up on her, at least one last time to make sure she was doing alright. A hunch told him that she needed protection and comfort, and he wanted to be the one to provide that for her. But  Frédérique was also very smart and madly protective of herself and her privacy, so Jon knew he wouldn't have an easy access, he was well aware of the possibility that she would shut down, and consecuentally was planning on being extremely careful in his actions and words in order to find his way in. He knew he would get in, it was just a matter of how and when.

He placed the guitar back in its place and stood up to take a couple steps towards the kitchen, leaning on the wooden bar that separated it from the living room and doubled as dining table. A little flicker of disappointment crossed his mind when he saw she had changed into more decent clothes - the shorts she was wearing when she opened the door made her toned legs look impossibly sexy.

Frédérique was already mixing the tomatoes cut in cubes with the rest of the ingredients in a bowl, adding olive oil and seasoning. Patsy cline’s voice filled the tense silence. When she finished she silently poured wine in a glass and placed it in front of Jon, then took a sip from her own glass. As they both drank their eyes met and neither of them looked away until both had made sure that the other understood that they knew the game was on.

It was a cool night  and Jon was wearing a turtleneck, but as thin and skintight as it was, it appeared a little too much for the temperature inside Frédérique’s apartment.

“Aren’t you hot?” she asked with concern. That didn’t come out quite right, she thought when she heard her own words.

Jon let out a hoarse “Ha Ha” and admitting she was right, stood straight to pull it off, revealing the blue T shirt he was wearing underneath, his chiseled pecs and nipples perfectly evident through the thin fabric. “I used to hear that a lot”, he crooked a satisfied grin with those blinding white teeth exposing the alternate meaning of Frédérique’s question, then tied the turtleneck around his waist, . “Now I’m just fat n’ old”, he sighed with mock resignation. Frédérique burst into a sincere laughter: Jon's comment only made his pride more evident, but she found mock self deprecation totally hilarious.

“If you don’t mind, I need to eat” she consulted sheepishly after taking a deep breath. “I’m starving. Want some? Sorry it’s not too much” she apologized, but then crooked a smirk “I wasn’t expecting any visitors”.

“Alright, I get it, I can work for my food", Jon nodded and put his hands up in mock surrender. "I make some wicked grilled cheese sandwiches, ya know”, Jon offered with a shrug.

“Yes, I…remember”. Frédérique told him with a polite smile - she had always felt so welcome in his house, but tried to be careful not to trip over her own feet by bringing the reason she had been there into the conversation.

“Alright then”, Jon made a gesture of rolling up his sleeves, circled the bar and entered the kitchen. Frédérique stiffened a sideways smile when she recognized his move: he would start by making her feel comfortable. Frédérique was reaching for the bread, cheese and butter when Jon’s delightful smell swept by her and immediately filled the tight space. She instinctively held her breath as if she feared she would get intoxicated by a lethal weapon.

“I would add some goat cheese and cilantro to give them a little punch, if you’re taking any suggestions”, she said carelessly with a shrug and put the additional ingredients on the counter. The atmosphere inside the kitchen felt exactly like a poker game the moment before the contenders call their bets: each one trying to decipher the other one’s hand and concealing their own at the same time, trying to act as naturally as possible so they wouldn’t give away any hints.

Frédérique hummed softly to “I’ve loved and lost again” while she raised herself on her bare toes to reach for the cupboard door were she kept the plates, but suddenly lost her balance and fell back against Jon’s back, who effortlessly resisted Frédérique’s weight. “Oops” she managed giggle softly, as they both looked discretely and briefly over their shoulders.

“So how’s the tour going?” she asked breezily in order to get the conversation moving - by this time the answer to “What brings you here?” was already silently established. Jon was busy cutting the bread and preparing the cheese. “We’ve just had a week off”, he nodded, “we resume next Monday, pacing is important”. Frédérique finished placing the plates, napkins and cutlery on the table and sat on the corner of the sofa with her legs flexed in front of her chest, nursing her glass of wine against her bosom.

Jon paused and frowned as he struggled to turn on the stove, taking a step back and ducking to look at the knobs. A tight smile flashed across Frédérique’s lips at Jon’s reluctance to ask for any kind of help: he was too proud to do that, so she just enjoyed and let him be. When he finally succeeded, he continued telling Frédérique about how pissed he was for the constant sound problems they had been having during the tour. On the background of his mind he debated with himself whether or not he should bring the subject up then or wait. He saw Frédérique take another sip of wine and stare at the ceiling. Yes, he’d wait, maybe until her glass was empty. It was a duel: the winner would be the one who striked better, faster and more accurately at the precise moment. However, he recognized that as much as ready to attack as he was, Frédérique was alert and ready for defense, too.

While he turned the final series of sandwiches over in the pan, he tried to add some levity to the situation by teasing Frédérique. “I’ve never asked you this but maybe now you can tell me why the French hate me”, again that delightful mock modesty. “I mean, I got a French looking house with French furniture, I love French food, but the French don’t like me, why?”, he rolled his eyes and chuckled throatily and cut the sandwiches in triangles before making a pile with them on one of the plates.

Fred walked over to the bar and threw her head back to laugh. “Well, we have some issues with royalty, remember?” she countered.

It was Jon’s time to laugh now as he wiped his hands with the kitchen towel. “Yeah, that must be it”. Then they both sat down and Frédérique served the plates. 

“So Stanley Kowalski, huh? How come?” she asked casually, attacking the salad with her fork before taking the food to her mouth. As they both ate and Jon told her about his admiration for Marlon Brando the conversation derived first into The Godfather and then into cinema in general. They both got so caught up in the easy-going and relaxed conversation that forty minutes flew by. Frédérique then circled the bar and enter the kitchen to pour two cups of coffee and placed one of them in front of Jon without consulting if he wanted to drink some or not. Jon was surprised that he had still found no evidence of the infamous wall Richie had told him about - taking aside her obvious alert state, she was her usual approachable and sweet self.

Frédérique poured three full spoons of sugar in her coffee cup and stirred it. She didn’t offer any to Jon: he took it as it came out of the machine. He complimented her on her coffee and she thanked him with a full smile and a nod before taking a sip. She looked relaxed and comfortable. There was a moment of silence and then Jon lifted his face up to meet Frédérique's eyes. His gut told him it was time. When their gaze finally met, he ventured with a heartfelt and honest voice.

“How have you been, Fred?”

Her body reacted violently when she realized what he had just done and she offered whatever resistance she could manage, but it was too late - she had failed: her eyes told him that his timing and strategy had been flawless - he had hit the bull’s eye and her eyes opened wide at the realization. He was in.