Two

Cheryl was trying to have a good time, she really was. She had been looking forward to this get together since Christmas, when she had planned it with her friends Samantha and Hath. Looking around the room, she smiled to herself. A good 50 women, and one lone husband, were joined in the name of the Bon Jovi Sisterhood. They came from everywhere... from as far away as Australia and as close by as South Philly. Hath said she had even gotten a ‘maybe’ from Obie.

The liquor was flowing, Charlie the bartender was seeing to that. The food was good, the company even better, so why was she feeling so melancholy? Before she could even finish the thought, she knew the reason.

”Where are you going all dressed up like that?” Bryan had demanded, barely glancing up from the hockey game he was watching on TV.

“I told you I had girlfriends coming in this week, right? They’re all settled at the beach house, and we’re meeting for drinks tonight? Is any of this remotely familiar to you?” Cheryl fluffed her hair in the entryway mirror, and grabbed a soft, supple purple leather jacket from the closet. She settled it around her and grabbed her bag.

“Didn’t you just go out with these so-called friends the other night? You’re going out again?”

Stifling a sigh, she turned to her husband. “That’s different, B, the other night was a concert with a couple of girls. This is a party of sorts with a ton of other friends.” Cheryl turned back to the window and flipped the curtains back. Nope, the car wasn’t here yet. “I told you all about this weeks ago, don’t you remember?”

Bryan rolled his eyes, choosing to ignore her question. “Friends? You don’t even know these women. I hardly think they qualify as ‘friends’.”

Cheryl took a deep breath and prayed for patience. Again. “Look, we’ve had this discussion before. Just because I haven’t met all of them doesn’t mean –”

“I know, I know, you think you know them and that they’re your friends.”

“No, I DO know them, and they absolutely are my friends. They flew out here to visit, didn’t they?”

Cheryl was really tired of having this conversation with her husband.

“Whatever,” Bryan sneered. “I just don’t see why you give a shit what you look like to go hang with strangers.”

The only thing that saved Cheryl from lobbing something at his head was the fact that her friends’ husbands all thought the same way. It was some failing in the male chromosome that made them incapable of understanding the bonds of feminine friendship.

That, and the car had finally arrived.

Cheryl called out, “The car’s here; I’m going now; I’ll see you this weekend.”

Bryan didn’t even look up from the game.

She had to snap herself out of it. Her arguments with her husband had no place here. He didn’t understand why she felt the pull to spend time with these women. He didn’t understand that these women were truly her friends – they cared about her and knew her sometimes better than she knew herself. They had shared experiences and interests, even outside the world of Bon Jovi, and if they had met through something other than the shared love of this band, they still would have been friends.

Bryan had scoffed at her desire to dress up to ‘hang with strangers’ as he put it. Cheryl guessed that was as close to a compliment as he was capable of when he was in a mood. She looked at her reflection in the mirror behind the bar. She thought she looked damned good, if she did say so herself. Her purple print sundress dipped daringly low in the front, cinched in at her waist, and flowed to mid-calf. It looked like it was made for her body. The chunky jewelry she wore turned the dress from formal to playful, and her strappy shoes were impractical for February in Philly, but hell, they went PERFECTLY with the dress. Besides, they hadn’t had to walk more than 20 feet from the limo to the door.

Her husband could go fuck himself.

Cheryl got distracted from her annoyance when she heard the first strains of ‘Prayer’ come through the speakers. What could be more perfect than hanging at Chickie’s and Pete’s with Bon Jovi on the stereo? She chuckled to herself. “Hanging at Chickie’s and Pete’s with Bon Jovi,” she said under her breath. She sang her way through the first verse, but her heart wasn’t in it. Something was really wrong if Jovi couldn’t lift her mood.

Snagging another drink from Charlie, she downed it quickly before turning from the bar. She grabbed her purple clutch bag and peeked inside to make sure everything was in order. “I’m gonna get some air,” she said to Samantha. “I’ll be back.”

Cheryl tucked her bag under her arm and pushed through the door, but it was much lighter than she remembered. Or she was much stronger than she remembered. Either way, it took her by surprise, and she let out a little squeak. She found herself falling, and thought, “fan-fucking-tastic” at the idea of winding up in a heap on the floor, then found herself hitting something solid, yet softer than the hardwood she expected, and looked up into the bluest eyes on the face of the planet.

“Well hello there,” Jon said, smiling. “And who might you be?”

“Oh GOD, I’m so sorry,” Cheryl said, staring wide-eyed at Jon. She would have been mortified to have fallen into anybody’s arms, but HIS? She didn’t know whether to try to stand up or to fling herself backwards to the floor and make him tumble on top of her.

“Nice catch,” Obie said, laughing. “Are you Hath?” When Cheryl shook her head, Obie gave Jon a pointed look. “See you in there,” he said as he stepped over Cheryl’s long legs to join the party. “Where the hell is Hath?” he called out, as the door shut behind him.

Jon made no move to straighten up with the woman in his arms. She was draped over his forearm, clinging to his biceps to keep from falling backwards. Her chest was heaving in embarrassment, and a flush was creeping over the top of her breasts – breasts that were very nearly spilling out of her dress. In fact, if he shifted just a little...

But before Jon could put his subtle but pervy plan into action, Cheryl found her legs, and managed to get them under her. She straightened, and smoothed out imaginary wrinkles on her dress. “I am so sorry, but thank you for catching me.” She wanted to ask him what he was doing there, but he smiled at her, and all coherent thought fled.

“My pleasure, baby,” Jon answered, turning on the charm. He gave her a subtle once-over and smiled at her name tag. “’Willow’ is a very interesting name,” he said. “How’d you come by it?”

Cheryl turned red and stripped the tag from her dress. There was no way in hell he was going to get the whole truth on that one. “I wanted an anonymous name for the fan boards and chat rooms, and it’s an old nickname I dug out.”

“Is there a real name you want to share?” Jon’s smile was infectious, and Cheryl couldn’t help but smile back at him.

“There is a real name, but I think I’ll stick with ‘Willow’ until I’m sure I won’t embarrass myself any more.” She let out a nervous giggle, and fidgeted with the end of her hair. Realizing what she was doing, she dropped her hands, but had no idea where to put them.

Sensing her discomfort at the relative silence, Jon offered, “So, where you headed? Surely the party can’t be all that bad; karaoke aside.” He chuckled at Cheryl’s expression.

“Hell NO, you heard that?” She groaned and put her hands to her head as if staving off a headache. “Shoot me now,” she muttered under her breath.

Jon laughed. “Oh it wasn’t all that bad,” he said, his mood lightening. “So? Where were you headed before I swept you off your feet?”

Cheryl laughed softly. “I needed some air,” she said. “And a cigarette.” She hadn’t told her friends she had taken up the nervous habit again.

“Ah, a kindred spirit,” Jon said. “Mind if I join you?”

Cheryl just stared at him. “Uh, no, of course not,” she said. “I just have to find my...” she said, scanning the ground. “Bag,” she finished weakly. Of course her traitorous bag had landed smack in between Jon’s legs. “Uh, excuse me,” she said, hoping he’d take a step back so it didn’t look like she was going to service him right here in the bar. A few more drinks, and she wouldn’t care what it looked like, but she wasn’t there yet. She gulped when he didn’t move right away, and started to gracefully bend down to retrieve it.

Jon saw the bag at his feet at the same time Cheryl started to move. “No, I got it,” he said, as he too, bent to retrieve it.

They bumped foreheads. “Ow! Dammit!” Cheryl said, rubbing her forehead. She very nearly lost her balance, but Jon grabbed her arms at the last moment. She took one look at Jon and burst out laughing. “Oh God, could this night get any more strange?” she groaned.

Jon chuckled and helped Cheryl to her feet, handing her the clutch. “Here you go, Willow,” he said. “Now how about that smoke?”

“Oh hell yes,” she answered, digging into her purse for the slim case she kept there. She turned her back on Jon and quickly made her way through the room.