John Francis

Whatever flu bug had latched onto Amanda was a nasty one. She barely remembered Jon leaving when she woke a little later that morning. She drifted in and out of sleep, waking at the urging of her still violent stomach, and then barely making it back into the bed before sleep once again consumed her.

Jon’s flight had arrived in London on schedule and after meeting the car and driver, he called his house. The phone rang several times before it was answered.

A throat cleared as the phone answered. “hmm…hello…?”

“Manda? Hey, baby. How’re you doing?”

“Hey, Jon … I’m okay … a little better.”

He gave a soft chuckle. “Sure you are.”

Amanda breathed out in answer. “No, really…you alright?”

A smile crossed Jon’s face. “Yeah, got here fine. Listen, go back to sleep. I’ll call you tomorrow…”

Amanda’s eyes were already starting to close.

“… uhm hmmm … tomorrow …”

“Bye, baby.” He closed his phone, a thoughtful look on his face.

Amanda lay sound asleep, the phone slipping to the floor as she turned over.

~~~

Tuesday morning arrived and with it another day of grinding nausea and full on flu symptoms for Amanda.

One mid-day trip down the kitchen brought up enough ginger ale for three sick people, along with some crackers for when she thought her stomach could handle it. It was about one that afternoon when the phone rang.

“Hey babe! How’re you feeling?”

Amanda managed a slight smile even though Jon couldn’t see it.

“I’m here…”

“Barely. I can hear it in your voice.” He gave a small chuckle at how pitiful she sounded.

“How’s the movie?”

Jon waited until she finished coughing before he answered.

“Would you believe production may be on hold? Looks like I might have made this trip for nothing.”

“Oh! I’m sorry to hear that. Damn, baby, wish you were here…” Amanda tried, but failed to keep the note of self-pity out of her voice.

“I know…shit, I know! Do you want me to send someone over? I can call Linda or hell, even Dorothea would come…”

Amanda gave a small laugh, Jon’s plaintive tone taking her mind off her aches and pains.

“No…I just need to rest. I promise.”

Pacing in the small trailer that had been arranged for his use on the set, Jon sighed heavily, readying himself to over-rule her. The knock on the door caught him open mouthed.

“Hang on, Amanda … Yeah?”

She heard his voice yell not quite far enough from the phone.

“Okay … I’ll be there in just a sec.” Jon’s barely muffled voice came through loudly on the phone.

Amanda winced, moving the phone a bit from her ear.

“Honey? I’ve gotta go. Looks like things are moving ahead. Can I call you later?”

“Sure … I’m gonna sleep some more. Just call when you can.”

Jon’s voice came through a little hurriedly and she could hear the distraction in his tone.

“Love you, babe. Bye.” The phone clicked.

Amanda spoke into the empty phone.

“Love you.”

~~~

It was later that afternoon when Amanda was woken out of a restless sleep by hearing her name called. The room was dark and she turned on a light to see Jon’s mother standing in the doorway. The flu medicine she had taken, along with the fever she was running, had her blinking her eyes to focus on the woman in front of her.

Carol took in the woman in her son’s bed, seeing the tissues beside her, a mug of what looked like tea, and the bucket on the side in case she couldn’t make it to the bathroom. She tapped a folder against the side of her leg while she waited for Amanda to wake up enough to listen.

Sitting half upright in the bed, Amanda pulled the covers up as a chill overtook her. She sneezed abruptly and then looked again at Jon’s mother.

“Mrs. Bongiovi?” She asked softly.

“Yes, Amanda, it’s me.” Carol’s voice was calm and clear, waiting patiently for her moment.

“Uhm, Jon’s not here…” Amanda spoke, her confusion evident.

“I know that, dear. He’s in London. I came to see you.” The woman’s voice was now a near purr.

Amanda tried to answer, but started coughing. A drink of her tea calmed her throat and she turned questioning eyes to Carol.

Settling herself comfortably on the end of the bed, a folder on her lap, Carol looked Amanda up and down, then glanced at her own fingernails as if checking her manicure.

“Tell me, dear, how long did you think you would get away with it?”

“Get away with what?” Amanda shook her head as she answered. She had no idea what she was being asked.

“You’re very good, I must admit. You fooled everyone around you and my son was certainly taken in by your act.”

“What act? Mrs. Bongiovi, I don’t know what you’re talking about?” The hoarseness in her voice from her illness became more pronounced.

“Oh please! I know all about you. Did you really think you could hide something like this for very long? I had you investigated.” Carol’s voice seemed to purr from her throat.

“You had me … investigated?” Amanda shook her head slightly as she tried to make sense of what Jon’s mother was saying.

Carol practically snorted in derision.

“Of course I did. I have to give you credit though, you managed to hide your tracks pretty well. Fortunately, I can afford to hire the best investigators and this …” she raised the folder in her hand, “… tells a completely different story than you’ve told.”

Still shaking her head, Amanda looked from the folder to Mrs. Bongiovi’s face, trying to get some idea of what had been found out about her.

Her voice rising as her anger came to the forefront, Carol started in.

“I want to know where you got the nerve to do what you’ve done! How DARE you trap my son! How dare you accept a marriage proposal from him! You have to be the most cold-hearted bitch I’ve ever met!”

The shock of the words thrown at her combined with the seriousness of her illness had Amanda speechless, unable to even defend herself against the accusations coming like bullets.

“I will NOT let you drag my son through the press like some fool! You are going to leave this house and leave his life and never come back! Do you understand me?” Carol stood at these last words, brandishing the folder as if it were a weapon.

Finding her voice, Amanda broke through her paralysis, standing as best she could, swaying a little with dizziness.

“Why are you doing this? What did I do?” She finished in as near a shout as she could.

Carol just looked at her.

Grasping the footboard for support Amanda croaked throatily. “I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

Tossing the folder on the bed, Carol drew herself up, a sneer crossing her face.

“I’m talking about your husband, Amanda dear…” Carol spat out.

“He’s alive.”