LVI

That afternoon on their way to the venue, Richie and Frédérique decided to spend the following two days off - before the show in Paris - in Ireland, a country that Frédérique had always wanted to visit, but somehow was never able to quite make it there. Even when Frédérique was, of course, mostly a wine girl, the idea of pub crawling in Dublin with Richie sounded like a hell of a fun plan.  “One wild night, baby”, Richie had promised, wiggling his eyebrows with a grin.

Richie quickly made all the arrangements and the following day by mid-afternoon they were already having a bath in a luxurious hotel just steps from Temple Bar. They took a walk around the city centre before dinner and even though Richie was the one that had been there before, it was Frédérique the one who seemed to know more about the city’s history and interesting places to visit: before leaving London, in just a few hours she had read and organized all the information and memorized the city map, being able to easily navigate the streets as if she had lived there all her life. However, it was Richie who knew the best pubs to go to, and by 3 a.m. they had visited at least ten of them. They drank beer, danced, saw some live acts and kissed in dark corners of the narrow streets on their way back to the hotel. Frédérique’s jaw hurt from laughing so much: Richie in full-on, self-indulgent, carefree party mode was a side of him she hadn’t yet quite explored, seen or experienced. And he lived up to his promise: definitely one wild night.

They stayed in bed until early afternoon, pillow-talking and lazily having sex until they decided to take a stroll by the Liffey River. Once there, Richie’s phone rang.

“Whatcha doin’?” inquired Jon from the other end of the line. That could mean only two things: Jon was either bored to death again or up to something. Richie explained anyway and shared a couple of experiences of the previous night. “Have you already been to that restaurant by

Merrion Square

?”, was Jon’s second question.

Richie recognized what it meant: definitely up to something. He chuckled throatily. “Welcome back to Dublin, Jon. When did you arrive?”

“We’re on our way to the hotel. So whadda ya say? Wanna double-date for dinner tonight?”

Richie didn’t even ask which hotel Jon meant: of course he knew which one Richie and Frédérique were staying in, and he and his wife were obviously going to stay there as well.

“’Course bro”, Richie answered with a grin, it had been a long time since they’d done it. This was going to be fun.

…

When Jon’s wife got that call from her husband in the middle of the night, she knew what it meant even before she answered: Jon was a strong, powerful man, but every once in a while something that he couldn’t control came his way and he just lost focus. Most of those times he’d consult with her about the possible courses of action to try to solve it. Other times, he’d let her know that something was disturbing him but he solved it silently by himself, then only when he finally found the solution would he open up about it. Then there were those times, when he’d let her know something was upsetting him, but he couldn’t solve it, and he couldn’t - or didn’t want to-, consult with her either. Or tell her when it was solved, she only noticed because she knew him as if she had given birth to him. But she was alright with it, as long as he was able to solve it and their marriage wasn’t at risk, she’d just be there for him, like she always had. This time, it appeared to be one of those times, so after settling into their room, they just got undressed and curled around each other in bed.

Later, they met Richie and Frédérique in the hotel lobby and headed off to the restaurant Jon had suggested. Jon’s wife was glad to see Frédérique again: she was just what Richie needed in his life, he was so happy it was contagious. And it wasn’t euphoric, fantasy kind of happiness, but the honest, heart-warming kind. Jon’s wife had prayed for such a woman to put Richie back on track, she’d known him for so many years she could see no difference between Richie and Jon - Richie was even more a part of Jon than his own biological brothers. And most of all, she was thankful that Richie – and Jon by extension - was staying out of trouble. Jon hadn’t been a saint, of course, but she was alright with it: he tried his best and went back home every time to be a wonderful husband and father.

Jon’s wife had been devastated when Richie and Frédérique had separated, not to mention that her alarm system went off: if Richie went wild - like he had in previous occasions - Jon would probably follow him around and be exposed to Lord knows what sort of scandal. She had been, thus, willing to intervene: she and Frédérique shared a fluent and honest conversation, maybe she’d be able to help – Frédérique was good for him, but Richie wasn’t easy to handle, specially for someone who had nothing to do with showbusiness. Besides, she was heartbroken about her problem with having children, but nonetheless, Jon had insisted that she stayed away, that he’d be able to handle it himself.

At one point, however, when Richie fled to California with Nikki, Jon just gave up and stopped talking about it, and his wife stopped asking about it, too: it was something Jon hadn’t been able to control or solve, so he wouldn’t talk about it anymore. Jon acted a bit strange those days: he was worried about Richie’s situation, but his eyes said something else - that wasn’t all there was to it: there was a sort of excitement in them, the kind of little-boy sparkle his eyes produced when he got what he wanted. But his wife was alright with it: except for the weekend he spent in the New York apartment, in the end, he came back home to her.

During dinner, Richie and Frédérique didn’t seem to be able to get their hands off each other, kissing and sharing long loving glances every two minutes. Jon’s wife noticed how Jon looked away when they did so, or kissed her in response. But she was alright with it, after more than twenty years together she couldn’t expect it to be like that anymore.

“My right hand woman”, Jon called Frédérique at one point after several pints of Guiness, wrapping his arm around her neck and kissing her on the cheek.

But his wife was alright with it: Frédérique was comfortable and at ease around him, and not at all intimidated. Besides, he was her boyfriend’s best friend, it was only natural.

Jon’s behavior towards Frédérique, had, from the beginning, been far from normal. Yes, he wanted to own her, as he liked to own everyone around him. It happened quite often in her presence, obviously, that Jon showed some sort of interest in other women – she knew the effect they had in her husband, he’d usually flirt and charm their panties off, but that was about as far as he got. Then when she wasn’t present, whatever happened she was alright with it, too: in the end, he’d always go back home to her. This time, however, it was different: Frédérique was Richie’s woman, and whatever attraction Jon appeared to feel towards her, he’d craftily disguised under an ambiguous veil of hospitality and friendliness. And that was as far as he'd ever go with her. This, plus the fact that Richie and Frédérique were so head over heels for each other, added to Jon's cover. But his wife noticed, and she was alright with it: Frédérique was adorable, charming, interesting to talk to and just a down-to-earth, overall centered and focused person, no wonder Jon felt some sort of attraction for her. He did, however, comment on how endeared he had become with her - "She's such a sweetie, dontcha think?" -, but that wasn't a surprise: it was so easy to become endeared with her. After all, Jon’s wife hadn’t been the exception: she had grown fond of her as well.

During the course of dinner, the two women arranged to have breakfast together and then some shopping before noon the following day, when they’d be taking their flight to Paris and after dinner, the two couples went over to Jon’s favourite Dublin pub. Once in the VIP section, they sat on a sort of private living-room with blood-red leather sofas arranged in a U shape around a coffee table in the center. Both Jon and Richie were quite, if not drunk, “happy”. There was music playing in the background. Richie stood up and offered his crooked arm to Jon’s wife.

“Shall we? It’s been a long time”, he said pompously with a grin, and Jon’s wife conceded with a warm and tight smile without hesitation.

Jon and Frédérique remained seated and talking for a few minutes, Jon asked her if she’d reconsider giving lectures to the foundation stuff, and she promised to think about it if he asked her again without so much beer in his blood. Jon agreed with a tight smirk. When their feet accidentally touched under the table, they both shared a smile and an apology. Jon slouched back on the sofa and turned his head to look at his wife and his friend dancing, talking and throwing their heads back to laugh.

Then he looked at Frédérique and raised an eyebrow. She looked at them, too. She chuckled softly and smirked.

“Of course”, she replied, shrugging, as he stood up, took her hands and lifted her up.

When Jon’s wife saw them dancing and talking, this time their interaction was different, and something in her changed: had Jon at last been able to fool her into one of his ambiguous plays or was it her that had just gotten all wrong? He and Frédérique interacted like two people that just got along really well, that trusted, admired and honestly cared for each other. A little line drew in her brow: she thought of herself as a strong, independent, confident woman, but had all these years finally gotten the best of her? Had she been so paranoid that she had thought Jon could actually be attracted to Richie’s woman? She found herself beyond confused: it wasn’t possible that she could have read Jon all wrong, it just wasn’t possible. But then she looked at them again. Maybe, just maybe, this time she had made a mistake. Maybe this wasn’t one of those times, maybe Jon had called her because he just missed her and wanted to be with her, like Richie was with Frédérique. Had she been so lost in her self-imposed wifely duties that she’d forgotten that her husband actually loved her? She took a couple of moments to come to terms with the realization. Richie noticed her uneasiness, so he quickly told her a joke and she laughed. When she was finished, her mind was clear of confusion. Yes, she’d made a mistake, it wasn’t possible that Jon was attracted to Frédérique, he was just endeared with her. And his wife was alright with it: everybody else was endeared with her, too. 

After a couple more songs they exchanged couples and Richie and Frédérique immediately melted in a fiery kiss before starting dancing again. Suddenly Richie felt Jon slapping his shoulder. Jon excused himself and his wife and they started saying their goodbyes.

Jon grabbed Frédérique’s waist, gave it a little squeeze and kissed her flat on the cheek. It wasn’t usual for him to do it, but his wife was alright with it:  Frédérique was Richie’s girl, an extension of him. This made her special, of course Jon would act different with her.

On their way back to the hotel Jon ruffled his hair and looked at his wife with a tight smile that carried a hint of resignation.

“I need to have a new haircut”, he told her and kissed her temple.

“Besides shaving, what’s left to do with it?”, she joked and then burst out in laughter when he answered, raising his eyebrows.

“I think I should get a Mohawk”.