John Francis

In the studio in his home in New Jersey, Jon poured another glass of wine that was half gone in two swallows. He set the glass down and turned once again to pace from one end of the room to the other. He stopped at the piano, glanced at it without touching it, moved to his guitar, then the window, and back to the wine glass.

He could not get Richie’s voice of out his head.

What if there was a reason why she left?

The argument that had landed Jon in his current position was still fresh in his mind. Earlier that day he and Richie had been working, trying to put the finish on a song for their new album. Jon had only been one bottle into the day at that point, but lack of food had the wine hitting him faster than he actually knew. He’d barely noticed when Richie had left the studio for a few minutes and was actually dozing off when Richie came back in. He didn’t see his friend stand there, watching him as he half dozed on the couch, the wine glass barely gripped by slackening fingers.

“Jon?” Richie said.

“Hey.” Jon said, stirring awake and clutching the slipping glass.

“Hey yourself. What are ya doin’?”

“Sitting here having a fine pinot noir and thinking.”

“Yeah? Thinking about what?”

The wine sloshed over the rim as Jon raised it to wave in the air.

“Oh, this and that.” A splash punctuated his words.

“Shit! You’re drunk!”

“No, no, not nearly as drunk as I’m gonna get tonight.” The slur in his words was now more evident.

“Jon, this ain’t fuckin’ helping…”

“Oh yeah, it sure as shit is.”

Richie walked over to the couch, standing above the nearly prone figure sprawled there.

“Look, you know you want her back…” He began, then stepped back as Jon suddenly flew up from the couch, the glass crashing into the wall behind Richie’s head.

“Want her back? Are you fucking insane?” He actually took a step toward Richie as he spoke, hands curled into fists at his side.

Richie saw Jon’s clenched hands and then raised his eyes back to the incensed face in front of him.

“What are you gonna do? Huh? You gonna hit me because I’m tellin’ you the truth?” He stood his ground, his eyes filled with a mixture of anger and pity at what he saw.

Jon stared into the eyes of his friend of almost thirty years, the one person he trusted beyond all others. Richie could actually see the anger leak out of Jon as he seemed to deflate in front of him, his shoulders and then his head slumping. Jon turned his head away before he answered.

“I don’t want to love her anymore.”

His voice revealed heartbreak with every word.

“Shit, Jon, it doesn’t work that way. You can’t will it to stop.”

“What if there was a reason why she left? Richie’s voice was soft as Jon raised his full wine glass.

“It wouldn’t matter. She led me along real well and I fell for it. Whatever the reason, it’s not good enough.”

After that, the entire conversation had gone to hell.

He sat down on the edge of the couch, one leg crooked over the arm, the wine glass full once again.

So what if there IS a reason she left?

She’s still married. She still lied about it.

And I’m still right back at square fucking one.

The empty wine glass at his lips had him scowling and rising from the couch with a hand out to steady himself. He walked over to the wine bottle, swearing softly at the few drops that remained. With a disgusted shake of his head, he moved to get the other bottle he had brought with him and tripped over something beside the chair just as his hand reached the wine.

“FUCK!”

Jon’s arms flailed wildly for a moment as he sought to regain his balance, smacking one hand against the wall and scraping his knuckles as he struggled to keep the bottle and the glass from falling.

“God dammit!”

Back against the wall, Jon stood for a moment slowing breath that was suddenly too fast.

“Son of a bitch,” he muttered.

Jon straightened up, thankful the wall had caught his fall. He looked around to see what had made him trip.

Shit. Richie’s bag. Apparently he’d pissed Richie off enough earlier that he’d left without it. Jon grabbed the bag, moving it from the floor before he forgot it was there and crashed over it again. He tossed it on the couch and let loose with another string of cuss words when the contents of the bag spilled across the couch and onto the floor. He closed his eyes, tilted his head upward, and asked once again to be given the gift of patience he so lacked in this lifetime. When he opened his eyes, the bag was still open and the papers were everywhere.

Jon stopped swearing long enough to pour himself another glass of wine and then moved over to begin picking up the contents of Richie’s bag. Taking a sip, he reached for the first scattered sheets. He really had no intention of reading anything, but scan reading happens without conscious thought and bold type letterhead caught his eye.

Davidson Investigations.

Jon stopped in mid-pile as he read those words. Crinkles appeared at the corners of his eyes as he squinted a little to see what was on the page.

“Through various government sources who will not be revealed in this report, it has been determined that Mark Russell is the former Jeremy Matthews, reportedly deceased in a car accident in Miami, Florida, on December 6, 2007.”

… Jeremy Matthews …

Amanda’s husband.

Jon sat down hard on the floor, scrambling to find the rest of the report amongst the scattered papers.

It wasn’t more than a few minutes before he knew the whole story. Not only was Amanda married, her husband was a suspected drug dealer. He searched through the papers again, finally turning Richie’s bag upside down, causing a cascade of the remaining papers to fall out.

He picked up a hand written note, his eyes widening as he read it.

Amanda –

Inside are papers detailing the information my investigator has discovered about you and your husband. The husband you claimed was dead, who is very much alive.

Whatever scam you were planning involving my son is over. You are a married woman and you accepted an engagement with Jon. I don’t know if you wanted money or whether you are like so many today who want their fifteen minutes of fame, but you aren’t getting anything.

I will not permit you to drag my son into the sordidness of your life. Your husband is apparently involved in drugs in some way and the FBI is investigating him. If there was a way to have you arrested for fraud, I would do so.

Instead you are going to get out of his life – immediately! And you are going to do it in such a way that he never wants to see you again. You obviously have a talent for lying and deceiving, I’m sure you’ll think of something.

If you had a conscience, you would be deeply ashamed. But a woman who would plan what you’ve done obviously has no conscience at all.

Carol Bongiovi


Jon reached for the wine bottle as he set the page down. He poured the dregs into his glass and threw them back with one hard swallow. He stood, swaying a little, as he gathered the entire report together, taking it and his empty wine glass into the house.

A short while later, halfway through the third bottle of wine, Jon reached for the phone.

“Mom?”

Carol sounded surprised when she answered.

“Jon?”

“Listen, I wanted to tell you I know what you did and that I don’t blame you.”

Carol couldn’t speak for a moment as her mind raced. What did Jon know and how did he know it?

“Mom?” Jon said.

“Uhm, I’m here Jon. What are you talking about?”

“You had Amanda investigated, right?”

A small gasp met his question.

“Ye…Yes, I did.”

“I’m not mad, Ma, you did me a favor.”

Jon’s words took Carol completely by surprise.

“Jon, no, I didn’t do you a favor. You don’t understand. I was just about to call you…” Carol trailed off as Jon interrupted her.

“Ma, don’t worry about it. S’it’s okay…” Jon’s words slurred a little and on her end of the receiver Carol squinted her eyes in suspicion.

“Jon, are you drinking?”

“Juss a little, Ma, don’t worry about it. ‘nd, donn worry ‘bout Manda anymore either.”

“Jon!”

“Love ya, Ma, bye.”

Carol looked at the cell phone in her hand and then at her husband, who was watching her with worried eyes.

“John, he knows and … he thanked me.”

Her husband rose from his seat and walked to her.

“What did he say, Carol?”

“He said he knew what I did and that I did him a favor…” Carol’s voice trailed off as puzzlement overtook her features. “I don’t understand.”

“Did Richie tell him?” John asked.

“I don’t know!”

“Call Richie. We need to get to the bottom of this.” John said.

“Alright, I will.” Carol said, dialing as she spoke the words.

~~~

The ringing of Richie’s phone found him in mid-stroke in the final moments of the second time he had made love to the woman who was carrying his child.

Understandably, he ignored it.

“Uhh….Richie…uhh… your phone…” Trish gasped, nearing her climax.

“Fuck it…” Richie ground out over her feeble protests.

“Ahhhhhh…god!” They cried out together as Richie thrust one final time, sending them both over the edge.

He slumped over her, resting his weight on his elbows. His eyes sought hers, a grin curving his lips.

“So … we’re having a baby…”

Trish grinned up at Richie.

“Yeah…we are.”

They both forgot about the phone call.