LVIII

Richie leaned against the kitchen counter holding a cup of coffee in his hand. He looked at his suitcase and sighed: in a few hours he’d be on his way to Zagreb to start the final leg of the tour. What a ride it had been.

Frédérique was still asleep upstairs, but he wanted to let her sleep a little bit longer. She was going to take him to the airport, but Richie hated leaving her like this - she hadn’t been feeling very well these last few days and didn’t want to travel in that condition. Though it was common for her to feel this bad when she had got period, and as hard as she tried to suck it up, this time it seemed worse. Richie convinced her to stay in New York, at least Gaby would be there to take care of her if it got even worse, which he thought hardly possible.

Richie walked into the living room and looked around, then through the windows to the green hills outside. The corner of his lips curled up a little bit with satisfaction. Home. Then, he took a step towards the fireplace and fidgeted with the lower buttons of his black cotton shirt as he stared at the pictures Frédérique had hung over it. He took a sip from his cup.

There was a “Richie-side” and a “Frédérique” side, then a column in the middle with pictures of both of them. On Richie’s side, there was one that showed him and Jon bent over a console in the studio during the recording of These Days. Frédérique had mentioned that she loved how longer hair suited him so he was thinking about letting it grow a little bit. She was the one that picked that photograph: “You both look so pretty in this one”. A much more recent one that was taken by Frédérique herself showed the band in a bar in Memphis after the last show in the last North American leg of the tour. Then a third one of Richie and his daughter that was also taken by Frédérique when they spent Christmas in California. Of course a black and white picture of Frank and Dean just had to be there.

On Frédérique’s side, there was one of Frédérique and Gaby discussing over a splayed blueprint during the construction of the house. Among pictures with Emilie and her brothers, there was one of Frédérique and Keith Urban. Sonofabitch. Richie contained a chuckle: he had never seen Frédérique so surprised as the time he supposedly took her out to dinner “at a friend’s house” in California. Of course she’d asked who it was, but Richie told her that she wouldn’t know who it was if he told her, and only advised her to “dress up” since it was someone important. Later he’d regretted it: she looked so stunningly beautiful that he feared he’d spend the whole evening imagining different ways of making love to her in that dress. Only when they were standing in front of the door of the house had Richie joked with a mischievous grin: “Promise to be a good girl…and I better not catch you laying your hands on his banjo”. Frédérique’s face: priceless. There was a minute of shock but she managed to recover and become her usual charming and lovable self, just before the door opened.

Not even Richie had imagined how productive that dinner and the Urbans’ company would be: they had also struggled to have babies and were quite experienced on the methods and possibilities, as well as the risks. Frédérique remained alert during the conversation anyway, but during a second dinner with the couple – only this time at Richie’s house – Frédérique felt more relaxed about the subject, and Richie had perceived a hint of hope in her, but he’d give her time - it had to be her call.

In the center, there was a picture of Frédérique’s family in front of the chateau during Jean’s wedding. Thiage had had it framed and given it to Richie and Frédérique as a present. She was wearing her ruffled turquoise skirt and sleeveless whit turtleneck. Richie could never stop from chuckling when he saw what Thiage had done to the picture: a read, hand-drawn arrow coming from Frédérique’s bedroom window pointed to a cloud-shaped picture of Richie that Thiage had downloaded from the internet: it showed him sleeping on a plane seat, with all his 80’s hair sticking up, his plump lips half parted.

There was another one on top of it, again with the complete Balbé family that actually included Richie in person, and also his daughter and mother when they spent New Year’s in France. Richie’s heart fluttered: he’d never imagined he’d be this happy in his life. Everything was so easy and uncomplicated when she was around. How had he gotten so lucky? Next to it he could see another picture of his daughter, him and Frédérique on the red carpet of a movie premiere they had attended in California. The other young stars on the red carpet had nothing on Frédérique that night, and the press had gone berserk over her and the clothes she was wearing, Richie admired how she’d kept her cool through all that mayhem.

Most of all, he admired how she behaved towards Nikki despite her attitude. Boy, Nikki hadn’t given up easily. He should have known that the whole album thing was a kind of trap, but he was trying so hard to do things right and prevent anyone from getting hurt that he’d gone along with it. She had been anything but discrete in her moves, explicitly trying to seduce him. And she was good at it: under any other circumstances he’d have been caught in her game - she was beautiful and talented - but Richie was in love with Frédérique, and he wouldn’t let anything or anyone have a chance at ruining what they had. He hated having to do it, but after a few days of constant pushing, he had to be harsh with Nikki, or else she’d never stop. It was a pain in the ass having to keep his guard up with her, but it was necessary at first. By the time the CD was done, luckily enough things were pretty much the same as they’d always been.

He lifted his head up just enough to look at the picture on top of all the others, his favorite one. How could he forget that day? When he first thought about it he knew that there was a possibility that Frédérique would kick his sorry old ass for doing it so publicly, but he just couldn’t help it: he wanted to see her face when she read what he’d written on the back of his guitar.  It was scorching hot in New Orleans during Jazz Fest, and Richie knew Frédérique was in the crowd but he could hardly tell one person from the other because of the sweat that clouded his eyes. There were a bunch of girls in the front rows wearing T-shirts with different phrases: a brunette wore one that read “NEXTEX” – another unfortunate slip of his tongue -, then another one “RICHIEGIRL”, a third one with short hair wore one that read “RICHIE MARRY ME”, and there was even a blonde one wearing one that read “MRS. SAMBORA”. Ha. Yeah, he’d seen it before, on another blonde.

He secretly smiled to himself: those girls always cracked him up, their fans were definitely the best, and he couldn’t deny he enjoyed their attention. The next time he looked their way, he noticed that the girl wearing the “RICHIE MARRY ME” T-shirt was gone. Suddenly at some point during the encore in the middle of Wanted, someone lifted a girl up on their shoulders and Richie looked her way, if it hadn’t been because his fingers could play that song by themselves even if he was in a coma, he’d have fucked up. Big time. There was another girl wearing the “RICHIE MARRY ME” T-shirt this time, a long-haired girl: Frédérique. He blinked quickly a couple of times to make sure the heat wasn’t making him imagine things. He wasn’t, it was real. Richie grinned and nodded, then blew her a kiss and after the final chord, when him and Jon raised their fists in the air, Richie turned his guitar over to show the back: it read “Epouser moi, Frédérique”. When Jon saw what was written on it, the expression on his face surprised Richie: even if he hadn’t told him, Jon should have seen it coming, why was he so startled?

They shared a tight hug and Jon congratulated him against his ear. Over Jon’s shoulder Richie looked for Frédérique’s face and she smiled back at him, then blew him a kiss, too. Then the other members of the band quickly signaled, thumbs-upped him or slapped his hand to congratulate him. All Richie wanted was for the show to end and meet Frédérique backstage, but they still hadn’t played Prayer, so he conceded and saw how she was lowered and then disappeared before the final chorus. Jon understood, and didn’t push the encore further. After the final bows Richie ran to his dressing room, where he found Frédérique waiting for him, with a Tiffany box in her hand.

“Were you looking for this?”, she had asked mischievously with a sideways smirk.

“You just can’t quit the habit of stealing my things, can you?”, Richie had asked before he took her in his arms for a kiss. At that moment he felt the universe was going to implode: it wasn’t possible for someone to feel so happy, it just wasn’t fair.

And there they were in the picture that David had taken of them backstage, Frédérique wearing her T-shirt and a wide smile with sparkly eyes, Richie showing the back of his guitar, his face all dimples.

Richie finished his cup of coffee and looked at the time: he’d wake Frédérique up in a few minutes. As he was washing the cup, however, he heard the bedroom door open.

“I’ll be right down in a minute, baby!”, Frédérique yelled from upstairs. Only a few moments later he heard her steps down the stairs, a delicious cloud of coconut and vanilla preceding her. He poured her a cup of coffee with three full spoons of sugar and waited at the landing, when she arrived, he took her hand and kissed the back.

“Good morning”, she said with still sleepy eyes and a smile before encircling his neck with her arms and pulling him for a soft kiss.

“Mornin’, gorgeous”, Richie replied tenderly as he offered her the coffee cup. She took the it and had a couple of quick sips, they quickly went through their plans for the following weeks as she finished it and washed the cup.

“Ready to go?”, she asked with excitement to try to disguise her sadness – she thought that one day she’d get used to letting him go, but she missed him as much – if not more – every time. He’d see him again in more than a month, in Athens, but then she’d stay with him until the end of the tour.

“Let’s go, baby”, Richie gave her a smooch and a pat on her butt, “or I’ll just never leave”

LVII

Wednesday, 3 am. Frédérique woke up to the sound of the crackle of the gravel road that lead to the studio. She had her face on Richie’s chest, one flexed leg rested on his stomach, while his hand was splayed on her thigh. It could only be one person at that hour of the night: Jon. She moaned softly and turned to lay on her stomach, Richie put his arm across her back, then kissed her shoulder. Less than a minute later, they both fell asleep again.

It had been Frédérique’s idea to spend the two weeks off before the European leg of the tour in the newly built Pennsylvannia house so Richie could rest, but instead, he spent almost all day holed up in the studio with Obie and other sound technicians working on, installing and checking the equipment. Practically every other day Jon would also come and work with them, sometimes alone, other times he brought his wife or his children. Richie’s studio had become “Jon and Richie’s new love nest”, as Frédérique teased them.

She herself had been working non-stop since the construction had finished in mid-February, decorating the interiors, buying and arranging the furniture and supervising the gardening around the house. She and Richie had “officially” moved in after Jazz Fest, a date that Frédérique had marked as one of the happiest in her life. Richie’s daughter had spent a couple of weeks there with her while the band toured North America and Canada: whenever Richie had a couple or some days off, he’d come home and stay with them as well, or the two would fly over to see a show. There were still some details to finish here and there but it was coming out like they wanted it to. Richie was thinking about putting the Philadelphia apartment back on the market and Frédérique didn’t want to let go of her New York one, but had finally decided to buy a bigger one so his daughter could stay with them when she came to the East Coast.

They used it only every once in a while, anyway, she’d take care of properly remodeling it once the tour was finally over in July. God, that would be strange: their relationship had developed, fallen apart and thrived again during the duration of that monster tour, she felt a sort of melancholy when she thought about its ending, but it was mixed with excitement - she wondered what their lives would be once it was over. For starters they had planned to pay an extended visit to her family in France, maybe even take Richie's daughter and mom with them. Then Richie reminded Frédérique of her promise to let him kidnap her – with the tour and the construction they just hadn’t found the time to do it yet. Her stomach fluttered with excitement as she thought about that in her dreams. 

Frédérique woke up again and turned off the alarm. 9.30. She stretched a little bit and managed to open her eyes. Out of habit she turned to look for Richie but then remembered he’d gotten up a few hours before, so he was probably working with Jon at the studio. She got up and put on her exercise clothes and running shoes, then walked down the stairs towards the kitchen. There were still unopened boxes of appliances scattered all over and also the box containing the pictures she had framed to hang over the fireplace. She made a mental note of hanging them in the afternoon. She knew she should have finished days ago, but she recognized she’d been a little lazy, just enjoying and spending time with Richie - except when he was at the studio with Jon, time that she used to catch up with her own work.

She started the coffee machine and arranged a big tray with different items for breakfast (cheese, fruits, yogurt, cereal, etc.): Richie and Jon had probably forgotten what food was by now. Carrying the tray with both her hands, she walked the wooden footpath that joined the house and the studio, surrounding the pond so that the two blocks were visually separated by the willow trees on the perimeter of the pond. It was a beautiful, sunny, but chilling and slightly humid day.

Richie was in one of the cabins surrounded by at least twenty of his guitars, while Jon held his head with his hand, resting his elbow on the console, and worked the controls loosely with his other hand. They were so concentrated they didn’t hear her walking in, but Jon was the first to react when he was invaded by the pleasurable smell of freshly ground coffee. Richie kept plucking the chords and asked Jon a question without looking up - only when Jon didn’t answer he lifted his face and saw that Frédérique had brought them breakfast. Sweet woman. His expression turned from solemn concentration to pure happiness and relaxation when he saw her. She replied back with a wide smile and blew him a kiss.

The two men wolfed down whatever was on the tray, while Frédérique only took some coffee and a green apple. Jon noticed her working-out attire.

“Alright, now that you’ve made me all fat I need to burn out the calories”, Jon said patting his flat stomach. “Mind if I join ya?”.

“Of course not”, she replied. “Wanna come, baby?”, she asked Richie as she massaged his back, trying her Jersey accent with a grin. Richie and Jon laughed out loud: she’d been trying to pull it off for months but to no avail, it only made her French accent even cuter. Richie took her hand and pulled her to his lap, kissed her neck and hugged her. Richie had been working out really hard, he had installed a small gym in a corner of the spacious living-room downstairs, facing the huge picture windows that opened up to the beautiful surroundings, and they usually went running around the winding roads surrounded by the green hills nearby. Sometimes he’d run with Jon, others, Frédérique would join them. He was leaner and trimmer than he had been in years and he felt and looked great and healthy.  

“I’m gonna take a nap. Kidd’s been whipping my ass for hours”, he replied with a deep, tired voice.

The three of them exited the studio: while Frédérique washed the dishes, Richie crawled into bed and Jon changed into his working out clothes. She was about to finish when she heard Jon’s steps down the stairs, then his distinct smell when he stood in the space that separated the kitchen from the dining-room, as he finished placing his baseball cap on.

“Ready?”

Frédérique wiped her hands with the kitchen towel and hung it on a hook on the wall.

“I am now”, she smiled.

They ran for more than an hour, the humidity and exercise damping their clothes and hair. From time to time Frédérique would pick up the pace only to tease Jon, and he’d laugh with his mouth wide open, before she’d let him catch up. She never let what had happened between them take a forefront position in her thoughts - she was never worried that Jon wouldn’t keep his promise, and he had proved that he could. She still didn’t regret what had happened: she knew how much she had appreciated his comfort and attention in a dark hour for her. If there was anything she’d done that night that she had had trouble forgiving herself for doing, was the fact that Jon was married to a woman she deeply admired and cared for, but now she had come to terms with it: that was what the promise was for - what had happened between them had never been meant to happen, and no good could come out of their loved ones ever knowing about it.

Frédérique counted her blessings: not only had she finally been able to settle down (at least partially) in her favorite city in the world, a vibrant city with everything she could every imagine, but was also able to enjoy a house out in the countryside that reminded her of her family house in Bordeaux, a house where to lead a simple and more carefree life with the sweetest, most beautiful and talented man she’d ever met. And she was lucky enough that he had chosen her to share his life, and his friends: she felt also blessed to count Jon amongst her dear friends and to be treated as a part of the family by the other band members and their families. She felt honored by the trust Jon had put in her and her work in the foundation and working shoulder to shoulder with him had been a more than enriching experience. Besides, she had been able to keep practicing architecture and design, taking up interesting projects here and there and was already on her way to achieving quite a reputation in the world of design contest.

Yes, being able to travel the world with one of the best live acts there was did bring a certain amount of excitement to her life, but it only made her admiration for those men grow bigger: she herself couldn’t stand more than two or three nights of shows and after parties in a row. The press, the paparazzi, the fans, the celebrity world (specially the Hollywood one)…it just wasn’t for her, but for Richie she tried her best not to let her discomfort show, and was there to accompany him whenever he asked her to. That’s why she had decided to finally let their relationship come to light even before the construction was over, it was more important to be available and free to be there for Richie when he needed her to be. She was shocked by how excited (even her bosses) were about the news, some of her coworkers confessed they had secretly wished something between them would happen.

Being around Nikki was hard at first, mostly because of Nikki’s attitude, but Frédérique reminded herself that Nikki was a part of Richie’s life, and she trusted him enough not to let it cast any sort of shadow on their relationship. She had even made the effort of listening to their CD a couple of times, trying to make sure that the fact that she didn’t like the final product wasn’t related to a prejudgment. Whatever the reason of her dislike was, anyway, and no matter how many times Richie tried to explain the Eurythmics influence, she just didn’t get the concept.  She was also alright with Nikki being the one in the spotlight with Richie when they presented their collection. In the end, by force of Frédérique’s persistence and patience, Nikki had mellowed down and at least they shared polite conversations. From time to time an item would call Frédérique’s attention and she’d wear it. Richie, in turn, had taken some inspiration from her, creating pieces that were more hippie-ish, far from their usual black leather and lace image.

On their walk back to the house, as he heard Frédérique comment on the book she was reading, Jon pondered how at ease he finally felt after all these months. Behaving hadn’t been easy. At all. But for Richie’s sake, he’d been strong. Maybe during some after party or city tour around a South American city he had gotten a little too “affectionate” towards her - Only a little more than normal, Jesus - and had received one or two “What the fuck?” looks from Richie - or his wife if she was present – and Frédérique was too considerate to make him feel uncomfortable by reprimanding him. He damn knew then that he was stepping on the line, but sometimes he just felt overly confident that no one would notice and that he’d get away with it. Only then did he realize he seriously had to behave. Goddamnit.

That’s when Jon started focusing on how much and how honestly he cared for Frédérique, how much he enjoyed talking to her and being around her. He started to cherish those moments over his humanly desires: he realized that if he ever made her feel uncomfortable, he’d loose her trust forever and therefore loose that friendship and intimacy they shared. He knew that she had only agreed to working in the Foundation because she trusted him and his intentions, and she was really making a difference, he couldn’t risk loosing that, either. Yes, maybe his intentions weren’t the best at first, but they had to be at some point, for everyone’s sake.

They helped each other stretch at the wooden gate of the field and walked towards the reclaimed wood main façade of the house. They climbed the stairs up to the first floor and said their goodbyes with a tight hug: after taking a shower Jon would drive back home to Jersey. Frédérique entered hers and Richie’s bedroom – where he was still sleeping – and Jon entered his to have a shower.

It hadn't been easy, but now Jon felt at peace. Richie was happy. Frédérique was happy. Jon was happy. His wife was happy.

Yes, he’d done the right thing. Everything was as it should have always been before his dick got in the way.

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”.