“Come ON already, man,” Obie said to his friend. “What the hell are you dragging your feet for? You owe Richie.”
“Fuck you, Obe, I was drunk,” Jon said irritably. He stopped just outside the door. “Bets lost while intoxicated shouldn’t count.”
“What, are you in fucking grade school? Man up already. It’s not going to kill you to get out of the damned studio for an hour or two.”
“What about – ” Jon started to ask about Richie, but Obie cut him off.
“Listen, you’re the one being the pain in the ass, not him. You know it. I know it. Richie knows it.” He grinned widely. “Why do you think that he picked tonight to cash in the bet?”
“Because he’s an asshole?” Jon practically growled at Obie.
“Oh come on,” Obie retorted. “You sound like you’re whining and pouting, Diva.”
Jon’s blue eyes turned steely with ire. “You know I hate that fucking nickname, Jetson.”
Obie just laughed at the Bongiovi glare, and the nickname that’d followed him around for more years than he cared to mention. “Yeah, yeah, why do you think I used it? You’re acting like a fucking whiny, first-class prima donna. Besides, you owe Rich. And it’s going to drive him crazy that he didn’t come with you.”
“And how do you figure that?”
“She’s going to be there.”
“She who? And what does some girl have to do with anything?”
“Jesus man, you must have been six kinds of drunk. Don’t you even remember what the bet was about?”
Jon frowned, thinking back. He seemed to recall it was just after Christmas, and the guys were all relaxing and unwinding after spending the holidays with assorted kids and exes. It never got any easier, but none of the guys would trade their time with their kids for anything – even if it meant dealing with their pains-in-the-ass ex wives. He remembered something about porn....
They were shooting pool at Jon’s place, and Richie was telling them about Heather’s latest tirade. Seems that she still had Google Alerts set for her and her very ex-husband, and was mortified at some of the things that popped.
Dirty things.
Porny things.
Wonderfully dirty, porny things.
Richie was in hysterics over his ex-wife’s vanity, and tears of mirth rolled down his face as he tried to describe her jealous huff about some random woman or two who wrote (by their accounts) fictional stories about him. She was particularly irritated that one writer, who called herself The Goddess Hathor, seemed to have enough details right, that Heather was convinced that this girl was one of Richie’s past conquests telling tales out of school.
“Man, you should have seen her,” Richie said, cackling. “I swear, you’d think we were still married and she fucking caught me in bed with this girl. It’s fucking fake for Christ’s sake.”
Jon had just raised an eyebrow, and taken a slug of his third whiskey of the evening. “You mean to tell me you read that shit?”
“Oh hell yeah, and a whole bunch more besides. The girl, uh, Hath, has a whole website dedicated to what she calls ‘Bon Jovi Fan Fiction’. It’s a big fucking list of stories, and they’re all just PORN. Man, some of it’s out there, but some of it’s pretty good. Quite a few women write about you too, bro.”
“’Hath’?” Tico asked. “What kind of name is that?”
Richie shrugged. “A nickname. She goes by ‘The Goddess Hathor’ online.”
David laughed. “You gave her a nickname, and you don’t even know her?”
Richie smiled. “Oh I know her,” he said. “At least as much as she knows me. This stuff is pretty revealing. And besides, all her online readers call her that.”
“You’re pathetic,” Jon said, rolling his eyes, finishing off his drink. There had been no shortage of actual, live women in his best friend’s life since his split with Heather, so for the life of him, Jon couldn’t figure out why Richie was wasting his time. And this wasn’t the first time Richie’d brought up the subject. Whenever he did, Jon closed him down quickly. He had absolutely NO interest in reading more about himself. He had enough to deal with from the real press and the paparazzi without worrying about some fake porno stories that were out there. He went to the bar to refill his highball glass.
“Nah man, I’m not pathetic, just horny,” Richie laughed. He looked over at David. “Hey, D, she has a story about you, too. A long one. T, there are some links for stories about you out there, too.” Richie hadn’t mentioned it before, because it drove Jon nuts. But tonight, Jon was three sheets to the wind, and it was fun to poke at him when he was like that. Richie knew damn well that David and Tico would pick up the gauntlet and help drive Jon bat shit.
They didn’t disappoint.
“Yeah?” David said, his interest piqued. “My story any good?”
“What about mine?” Tico asked, intrigued.
Richie threw empty water bottle at David’s head. “Like I’d read porn about either you. Like I really want images of you assholes naked in my head.” He shivered. “No fucking thanks.”
“Fuck you,” David said good-naturedly.
“You’re just jealous,” Tico said, bursting into laughter. “You know the ladies like a Latin lover…”
David laughed. “Nah, he’s afraid. Worried that he’d figure out he wasn’t the shit after all. Thinks he owns the market. Well guess again buddy.” He threw the water bottle Richie had flipped at him back. “I guess SOME women have good taste if they’re writing about me.”
“I’m jealous and afraid? Of what? You two idiots? Not fucking likely.” Richie laughed when both Teek and David flipped him off, then he turned back to Jon. “Seriously, man, you should relax a little, and this shit will make you relax.” Richie’s eyebrows waggled. “Reeeeeeally relax.”
“Oh yeah, like that’s gonna happen.” Jon knocked back the rest of his drink and went to pour another.
“It’ll be better for you than that whiskey you’re pickling yourself with.” Richie frowned at his friend. He’d been hitting the bottle hard lately.
“Fuck you, bro,” Jon said without heat.
“No thanks,” Richie answered automatically. “Now these porn writers... that’s a whole different story. I’d bet it’d be fun to fuck one of them. Hell, it’d probably be fun to fuck the whole lot of them.” Richie’s eyes focused on something in the distance only he could see. “I wonder if they’re as adventurous in real life as they are in their stories.”
“Jesus, drop it already.” Jon had had just about enough of this topic of conversation.
“You’re a fucking prude,” Richie said. “I’ll bet you that once you start reading that ‘shit’, as you call it, you’ll get hooked on it.”
“No way,” Jon answered, shaking his head. The side-to-side motion left him a little dizzy, and he gripped the bar for support.
“Yes way,” Richie said. He hitched his chin at Jon. “You too much of a pussy to take a bet?”
“What’s the bet?”
“You read one of the stories. Of my choosing. If you don’t like it, and man, I can tell if you’re lying, I’ll come to the studio early all month next month without complaining. And you know what a fucking win that would be for you.”
“And if by some miracle you should win the bet?”
“Oh I’ll win,” Richie said confidently. “When I win, I get to kick you out of the studio when I’m good and pissed at you, and get to choose your blow-off-steam activity.” He held up a hand when Jon looked like he wanted to argue. “Standard rules apply.”
Over the years, they had come up with a list of six immutable, non-negotiable rules for lost bets; just to make sure things didn’t get too far out of control.
“All I have to do is read the story?”
Richie laughed. “That’s all you have to do, but not all you will do. Believe me.”
Jon looked at Obie. “And I did it?”
Obie laughed. “To hear Richie tell it, you not only read whatever it was that he picked out, but you stayed locked in your office for HOURS in front of your computer.”
“Fuck,” Jon swore.
“So man up and get your ass in there.”
Jon thought for a moment. “So I still don’t understand; who’s the ‘she’ that Rich is gonna be sorry he missed?”
Obie smiled. “The woman who wrote the story Rich pointed you at.”
Jon rolled is eyes. “God, he’s an idiot. And just how do you know that the porn girl is even going to be in there?” He still couldn’t believe he was actually considering this. It would have been much easier just to buy Richie a boat or a car or something.
“She emailed me.”
Jon laughed. “The fuck she did. She did not email you.”
“Oh yes she did,” Obie confirmed. “Sent me an invitation to come join a bunch of ‘fans from around the world’ she said, for drinks and crab fries. On her. She didn’t even invite you losers, just me. I’ve read some of her shit, and am intrigued.” Obie chuckled. “It would appear that she knows all of you quite well. She also thinks she’s escaped our radar.”
“She should have escaped your radar,” Jon said, sighing. “I don’t believe you have time for that shit. Obviously I’m not working you hard enough. Alright, I guess we should get this over with,” Jon said petulantly.
“That’s the spirit!” Obie said, cheerfully.
“Fuck.”
Jon donned his sunglasses and they strode through the front door of Chickie’s and Pete’s. The hostess gawped at them and couldn’t get her welcome line out. Obie smiled at her. “We’re here for the private party. Don’t worry, we know the way.” He winked at the girl and led Jon toward the back of the restaurant.
Jon stopped dead when he heard a roomful of women belting out one of his songs to the in-house sound system.
Whoa, we’re halfway there….Whoa-OA, LIVIN’ ON A PRAYER
“Oh fuck no,” Jon said. “Anything but that.”
Obie just grabbed Jon’s arm and propelled him to the door. “Do not make me drag your ass in there,” he said to Jon. “Put on your smile, find your balls, and let’s go, and for fuck’s sake, take off those pretentious sunglasses.”
Jon punched Obie in the arm, but stowed his shades in the breast pocket of his shirt, and put a hand to the door handle. “Here goes nothing,” he said. As he pulled, he heard a soft scream and instinctively put out his arms to catch something that was falling from the other side. He was surprised to find himself looking into the face of a beautiful blonde.
“Well hello there,” he said with a smile.
Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all.
