Chapter 56

The doorman obviously wasn’t into the Wall Street Journal, but preferred less highbrow publications, and the gossip rag he was reading was turned to the ‘seen and heard’ section, showing a full colour picture of Jon, Sara and Richie, taken the previous night, with a blazing headline which read ‘Is this Bon Jovi’s Dirty Little Secret?’. The photo had been taken from a low angle, making Sara’s dress look damn near indecent, although Jon actually thought it was a pretty hot photo. There was a sub-heading, which they couldn’t quite read at this angle, and Jon gripped Sara’s hand tightly as they walked toward the doorman.

Now Jon could see the other words on the page, and he angled his shoulders, keeping Sara on the far side from the desk to prevent her reading any more. What he managed to read as they passed angered him enough - ‘Looks like the two leading men of rock band Bon Jovi share more than a passion for music. Seen here, Jon Bon Jovi and Richie Sambora, arriving at Matthew McConaughey’s party with their joint date for the night.’ - there was more, but he wasn’t interested. He’d been the subject of enough of these stories that he was hardened to it, but Sara was a different matter.

“Goodbye.” The doorman called, and Jon didn’t even turn as he replied, his sarcasm lost on the guy.

“Yeah. Have a nice day!”

They stepped out into the sunlight, climbing into the Chevelle and driving away quickly. Sara was quiet, and Jon looked over.

“You okay, baby?”

“I guess so. Just a bit surprised to see myself in print, that’s all. Anyway,” she turned in the seat to poke Jon’s leg, “You said they’d be looking at you two, not me.”

“Actually, babe, I think you said that. Hell, in that dress, I’m surprised Richie and I made it into the picture at all. Ignoring the headline, you looked amazing, sweetheart.”

“Well, thank you, kind sir.”

Traffic had thinned as they edged out of the city, and the wind was whipping through the Chevelle, tearing strands of Sara’s hair loose until she gave up and pulled the velvet scrunchie out, letting her hair whip in the breeze.

“Did I mention that I love this car?” She asked dreamily, her head resting back in the seat.

“I think you did. I’m glad, because I love her, too. So - studio or home?”

Sara felt lethargic, and really couldn’t face the studio today. Since she was the boss, she decided to declare today a work-free day.

“Home. I’ll work tomorrow.”

“Home it is.” Jon said, pleased that he’d guessed right when he made his phone call earlier.

Jon made a turn, heading for Sara’s home, and impressing the hell out of her - no way Sara could’ve so easily worked out which way to go home from the city. They drove on, and Sara finally started to see places she recognised as they got closer to her home. She was surprised when Jon pulled in at the kerb on a quiet street, putting the car in park and unclipping his seat belt.

“Where are you going?” She asked as he got out of the car and walked around to her door.

“I’m getting in here.” He told her, opening the door with a broad smile. “Slide over. You can drive the rest of the way.”

“Really? I can drive her?”

“Yeah. Budge over and let me in.”

Sara quickly took off her seat belt and manoeuvred herself over into the driver’s seat, adjusting the position slightly as Jon got in beside her. Checking there was no other traffic, Sara shifted into drive and pulled cautiously out, trying to get a feel for the old muscle car. Jon kept quiet, letting her get accustomed to the different style of driving - no power steering, a monstrously powerful engine and a car which was at least half as long again as what she normally drove. She quickly got the knack of the best way to drive the big car, using the engine’s power to bring the Chevelle around corners smoothly, and feeling the torque through the steering wheel, letting it dictate the pressure she applied to the gas pedal. Jon saw her relax more, enjoying the experience, and she was confident enough now to take her eyes momentarily off the road to flash him a smile.

Too soon for Sara, they reached her street, and she parked the Chevelle neatly outside, braking to a halt and switching off the engine.

“Jon, thank you so much! She’s an amazing car. Thank you for letting me drive her.”

“You’re very welcome, baby. Let’s go inside, and you can thank me some more.”

They got out of the car, Sara running her fingers lingeringly along the blue paint as she walked to the back to get her bag from the trunk. She lifted the bag out, but Jon took it out of her hand, carrying it up to the house for her as Sara went ahead of him so she could unlock the door. Pushing the door open, Sara kicked a small pile of mail out of the way, letting Jon into the house, then she scooped up the mail as she closed the door, dropping the pile carelessly on the hall table.

Jon laid her bag on the couch and went through into the kitchen, sneaking a look out the window and grinning to himself in satisfaction. He heard Sara behind him, and turned to open the fridge.

“Still no beer, I see.” He said, looking inside.

“You’re driving anyway. No drinking and…..” she glanced out of the window, “….what the…..?”

Sara unlocked the back door and stepped outside, Jon close behind her. Just outside the window stood an array of enormous vases, each one crammed with roses, no two vases holding the same colour. Jon slid his arms around her waist from behind as she stared.

“You said nobody’d given you a rose before.”

“Nobody’s given me flowers before. Oh my God, Jon, they’re gorgeous. Thank you.” There was a quaver in her voice, and Jon felt the hot splash of a tear on his arm.

“Hey, hey, come on - it was supposed to make you happy.”

She twisted her head to look at him. “It does. You do. Thank you, Jon.”

Sara tilted her face to him, and Jon willingly took the invitation of her parted lips, dropping a soft kiss onto her lower lip, then brushing his lips across her upper lip, before settling his mouth onto hers. Their tongues caressed tenderly, without the urgency of some of their kisses, not goading each other into arousal, but each leisurely enjoying the other. When they finally drew apart, they were both smiling, and Jon laid his cheek against Sara’s as she looked out at the roses again, hugging her tightly. She brought one hand up to the side of his face, the other stroking against the soft hair on his forearm where it wrapped across her, both of them content to stand there, gazing at the display of vibrant colours.

After a while - neither of them was sure how long - Sara moved in Jon’s arms, breaking the spell.

“Jon, where am I going to put all those roses?” She asked, but it was a rhetorical question, and Jon just kissed her cheek as he released her.

“Will we bring them inside?” He suggested.

“Yeah - at least they’re in vases, so I don’t need to try to find any.”

Between them, they carried the vases inside, making various trips until the flowers were distributed around the house. The bedroom got two vases - one of blood red roses, one of yellow, and the sitting room got the pale pink and the white along with an interesting apricot colour. The deep pink went into the hall, with the final vase, filled with strange pale blue roses, went into the kitchen, taking pride of place on the table.

“D’you want coffee or something?” She asked, toying with a rose petal as they stood in the kitchen.

“I’ll take a coke if you’ve got it.”

“Oh, you can pretty much guarantee there’s always diet coke in my fridge. Coke, coffee and chocolate - three staples here.”

She opened the fridge and pulled out a couple of cans, handing one to Jon. He popped the top open as they walked through to the sitting room, getting comfy on the couch - once Sara had tossed her bag onto the floor. They sat at opposite ends, Sara kicking off her shoes to put her feet on Jon’s lap, and he gently rubbed her feet as they sat, caressing her skin absently as though he was stroking a favourite pet. Sara picked up a remote and switched on the stereo, starting a CD playing low, and Jon grinned as he heard Bob Dylan’s nasal twang.


Back at the hotel, Richie had spent a lazy day, playing around with the song he and Jon had written, and working up one or two more as inspiration hit. Around seven pm, he became aware of the time, and laid the guitar aside to go shower for his date. By seven thirty, he was dressed in faded jeans and his favourite black shirt - only half buttoned as usual - and ready to go. To kill some time, he poured himself a juice and sat back down to drink.

Linda had ended up leaving work on time but, considering the amount of overtime she did, that still meant she felt like she’d left early. The whole drive home, she tried to figure out what to wear, but she couldn’t make up her mind, and arrived home still undecided. After she’d showered and dried her hair, she had a look in the closet, finally settling on black trousers with high-heeled boots and a shimmering red top that went nicely with her blonde hair. Smart, sexy in an understated way, and not screaming “I’m a fan! I’m a fan!”. Perfect. A light touch of makeup and she was ready, heading out to the car just after seven for the drive into the city.

Traffic was a bitch, even at that time, and she pulled into a parking space just before eight, relieved that she’d managed to find a spot near the hotel. Locking the car, she quickly checked her hair in the reflection in the car window then walked along to the hotel door.

Richie had come down from the suite at quarter to eight, getting himself a drink from the bar and taking it out into the foyer to wait for Linda. As his watch ticked around toward eight, he started to worry that she wasn’t coming, then the door swung open and he saw her. He got to his feet with a wide grin and walked toward her, taking her hand and kissing her on the cheek.

“Hi Linda. I was starting to think you’d stood me up!”

Linda bit down hard on the answer that rose to her lips, just smiling sweetly.

“Of course not. You been waiting long?”

“Naw. I’m starving though - let’s go through to the restaurant.”

He had kept hold of her hand, and he now tucked it into the crook of his elbow to lead her to the restaurant.