John Francis

Amanda had her proof. The divorce, like most of the other events connected with this mess, had been handled by the FBI. She wasn’t sure if she was amazed or terrified at the ease in which they could change the lives of people. She had returned to her hotel room after getting the papers.

“Good-bye, Jeremy” were the only words she could manage to utter at the last time she would see her former husband.

Jeremy had tried that morning to ask her questions about Jon, but she had shut him down so hard and fast he hadn’t dared ask anything more.

She wasn’t about to let him know that in addition to the loss of the life she thought she’d had, he’d also lost her the life she was about to have.

Ordering room service, realizing she hadn’t eaten in the last two days, Amanda ate every crumb and then curled up on the bed, eventually sliding into a restless sleep.

~~~

Richie had returned to his home after leaving Amanda’s hotel room, mulling over the papers he had read and her phone call. Sitting in his living room, a glass of wine in his hand, he took the copies he had made and read them again, more slowly this time. It was on the third read thru when he realized that the Mark Russell referred to in the papers was the same man who had taken the shots of Ava that day, the one asking questions about Amanda.

A few hours after initially seeing the contents of the folder and reading them more carefully, Richie began to think about what the papers said versus what Amanda had said. The more he thought about it, the more he became convinced that there just wasn’t something right about this whole situation.

How did she pull off a scam for months? A lot of lying for that. So how’d she do it?

Glancing at his watch he realized it was too late to return to the photo studio, but he would be there tomorrow without fail.

~~~

Mark had left Amanda at the bank after giving her the papers she had wanted. He knew he had hurt her deeply and his belief that he had done the right thing at the time, the only thing considering his son, was shaken. At this point there was nothing he could do for her and he felt regret eat deeply at him.

The tinkle of the studio doorbell brought Mark out of his thoughts to see the customer who had come in. He was more than a little surprised to see Richie Sambora considering they had an appointment for the following day to go over Ava’s photos. Richie strode across the waiting area of the studio directly up to Mark. He spoke to him, his eyes never leaving the other man’s.

“You know who I am and I know who you are. I want some questions answered and I’m not leaving until I get those answers. Understand…Jeremy?”

Mark’s eyes widened at that and took in the man standing in front of him, the unconscious arrogance of an international celebrity and multi-millionaire, someone who could change how he lived in this town with a few choice words.

He nodded.

Richie nodded back, folding his arms across his chest.

“Good fucking choice.”

~~~

An hour later Richie walked out of the studio, his questions answered, his mind rolling with what he had learned.

Inside Jeremy sat quietly, realizing that even if she never knew, there had been something he could do for Amanda.

~~~

Jon had stood there for several minutes just staring at his cell phone after Richie had called, telling him he had found Amanda.

What was she doing in California? How did Richie find her? Did she call him? Why wouldn’t she answer her damn phone?

He fought against himself, wanting to call back, wanting to know what she was doing, what was happening, but his pride, that purely masculine pride that makes a man take a stand even against his own feelings, ruled.

He was Jon Bon Jovi, by God, and he could have any woman he wanted. So what if this one had left, if he wanted he could have a hundred to replace her.

Jon knew he sounded like a petulant child, but even so, he only had to justify his thoughts to himself and right now, with what he knew she had done, that was easy to do.

~~~

Amanda had slept off and on for over a day. It was late in the afternoon on Saturday and she was now so wide awake she couldn’t stay in bed for a single second longer. She moved into the shower, luxuriating in the warm sudsy water until she thought of all the times she had shared these kinds of moments with Jon. She actually clutched her stomach with the flash of pain those memories brought, then quickly finished, anxious now to get out and away from the once welcoming water.

She ordered coffee and a light meal, sitting down to eat, her hair still in a towel, when it arrived. It was 7:30 in the evening in California, her mind automatically converting the time to 10:30 where Jon was in Jersey. It has been nearly a week since she had left and she ached to speak with him, to tell him what had happened, to explain that it was over and she hadn’t known, but images of Jon’s mother and how she could never prove the truth without exposing everything stopped her.

A knock sounded on her door and she scrambled up, surprised, expecting no one. Opening the door, she found Richie standing there. She couldn’t contain the gasp that escaped her parted lips.

“Richie?” She spoke his name as if seeing a ghost.

“May I come in?”