5 - There Are No Stupid Questions

“Well, it’s about time,” Joanna harrumphed from the other side of the ocean.  “I thought you were going to waste an entire trip and never speak to the man.”

It was three a.m. in Ireland, but only ten p.m. in the Eastern half of the United States.  More specifically, it was ten p.m. in Lexington, Kentucky, where her best friend lived.  Seeing as it had been a couple of days since she checked in with Jo, she felt obligated to give her a call.  If she didn’t make contact at least every other day, Joanna got worried.

Lilah almost wished she hadn’t revealed her encounter with Tony.  The happy shine she’d carried back to the hotel had been dulled by her friend’s reaction. 

“You already think it’s a huge waste, anyway.”

No matter how many different ways Lilah tried to explain it, Joanna just didn’t get the fascination with Anthony Bongiovi.  It would have been frivolous enough to go traipsing off on a European jaunt in chase of a world-renowned rock band such as Bon Jovi – or even Richie Sambora, whom Lilah had been crushing on for years.  Yet still, either of those things made more sense to Joanna than to chase after a video guy.

“I never said that,” the protest came over the line. 

You didn’t have to.

“I can’t believe you went and left me behind, but since you did, you should at least do what you went to do.  Why else spend all the time and money?”

“That’s true, I guess,” Lilah agreed quietly, pulling back the covers of her hotel bed.    

“So when is he going to ask Jon?”

“I don’t know.”

“He is going to ask isn’t he?  How are you supposed to find out when he does?  Did you get his phone number?”

“I assume he will.  I…  don’t know.  I didn’t ask for a way to contact him.  I jus' figured he would let me know.”

Lilah could almost see the open-mouthed look of wonder on her friend’s face.  It’s not that Lilah was stupid.  She had simply been so relieved to get a snippet of something positive that she’d forgotten to be more assertive in getting hard, firm details. 

That, and the fact that you kissed him.

Which she wasn’t mentioning.

“You got that far and didn’t actually make him say he was going to ask?  Li-liahhhh…”  Joanna’s disappointment was evident.

That whole ‘social savvy of a retarded hyena’ thing she’d mentioned to Tony hadn’t been much of an exaggeration.

Of the two of them, Joanna definitely had the more outgoing personality.  She would ask anything of anyone with little or no hesitation.  Her philosophy was that ‘no’ would be the worst possible outcome.

Lilah’s philosophy had always been that, if good fortune was going to come her way, it would find her in its own due course.  She shouldn’t have to go beating the bushes for it, or browbeat promises from the likes of Anthony Bongiovi.

That philosophy has gotten you such great things so far, hasn’t it?  You’re supposed to be taking charge of your own destiny now.  Remember??

“He… flustered me.  I was jus' so glad he agreed, that I didn’t think to make him give me a blood oath of his intentions.”

“Don’t get snippy.  I’m only saying that if he didn’t commit to it, he’s not going to do it.  You’re going to have to ask Jon yourself.”

This European adventure may seem like a wild and crazy idea to some people, but, really, it was nothing compared to some of the ideas Joanna came up with.  At the drop of a hat, she could decide they were going to take kabuki lessons.  Or build a tree house.  Or learn to pole dance.

Not anymore. 

Each of those ‘brainstorms’ had made Lilah cringe at the time.  However, they were nothing compared to the outrageous proclamation that was now being carelessly tossed on the table.

“What?  I can’t do that!”  The very thought almost had her reaching for a sedative.

“Well, why not?”

“Gee, I don’t know…” Lilah reverted to a tone of nasty sarcasm, as she was prone to do when one of these cockamamie plans was shoved down her throat.  “Because the man’s harder to get close to than the friggin’ Pope?”

“It’s not like you have to stake out his hotel room for Heaven’s sake!”

“What is it you expect me to do, Joanna?”

“You’re going to the Fan Club Q&A tomorrow.  Ask that as your question.  He’s not gonna say no in front of all those people.  Jon Bon Jovi is way too conscious of his image to do that, especially to a visibly wounded woman.  Wear your hair up so everybody can see your scars.”

“Oh, for God’s sake!”  She would not exploit a few minimal scars to get…

To get the experience you’ve been dreaming about for almost a year. 

“I’m telling you…  It’s all in how you play it,” her friend counseled.

The very idea made her feel like a sleazy used-car salesman.  Her first husband had sold used cars – and vacuum cleaners, encyclopedias, vending machines and every other thing coming and going.  That is, when he wasn’t drawing unemployment.  Needless to say, Lilah did not care for salesmen.

“No.  I am not gonna play the pity card.”

“Why not?  You almost died getting those scars.  You deserve something for it.”

“Not from him!  He didn’t cause them!”

Good grief.  Lilah was going to have a stroke before this phone call was finished.

“Fine,” Joanna sighed with resignation.  “Do what you wanna do, but I still say you should ask him.  Tony's probably going to spend the rest of the tour hiding from you now, which means you'll come home and fall into this big depression for who knows how long.  But, hey, what do I know?"

✧ ✧ ✧

Lilah couldn’t really enjoy the Fan Club event.  Yes, she’d managed to eat her dinner – at least partly.  She had also managed to enjoy more drinks than was wise while smiling politely and half-listening to her the chatter of the women at her table.  Fortunately, in this kind of setting, the drinks had more fruit juice than alcohol, so she wasn’t smashed.   

When Jon walked in almost an hour late for the Q&A session, it was abundantly clear that she wasn’t anywhere near smashed.  Her pulse started fluttering at the base of her rapidly coloring throat.  The only thing left on the table was her napkin, and she pulled it into her lap.  Nervously alternating between creasing the linen and smoothing it again, she fiercely wished for another drink – this one of pure courage.

About six this morning, she had decided Joanna was right.  Not about the scar exploitation – she’d purposefully worn her hair loose to cover her neck – but about asking Jon.  Tony hadn’t said he would ask his brother, just that he would go along with it if Jon told him to.  That left her going to the source on her own.  It also seriously limited the time she had to get used to the idea, which sucked.

 Lilah couldn’t do anything until she had time to mentally justify it to herself.  This particular task had been a quick, hard sell that she still wasn’t comfortable with.

Never, in all her planning for this trip, had she expected to be ‘forced’ to talk to Jon, but there was really no other alternative.  Joanna was likely right about Tony's keeping out of sight for the remainder of the tour.  That left Lilah here, screwing up her courage as this Q&A event was winding down.  When else was she going to be able to gain an audience with the illustrious Jon Bon Jovi?

“We’ve got time for one more question…”

It’s now or never Lilah Jane.

She stood abruptly, making an embarrassing clatter and nearly knocking over her seat.  Darting a grateful smile at the woman who had kept the chair from taking a nose dive, Lilah put her hand in the air. 

As though you need to draw any more attention to yourself after all of that commotion...

Jon’s eyes lit on her as Michael Martocci nodded his head in acknowledgement.  He wove his way through the tables to reach her with the microphone.

I’m going to throw up.

She fought to swallow her nervousness, wiping her hands on her denim pant legs, and fervently prayed her neck and chest weren’t the same shade of fuchsia as her top. 

The microphone was passed into her sweaty hands, which were trembling so much that she nearly dropped the damn thing.  It was only Michael’s quick hand that kept it from bouncing onto the tabletop. 

“Sorry,” Lilah murmured, cheeks flaming . 

To his credit, Michael was very nice about it.  He just smiled and offered it to her again, announcing to the crowd, “That thing is slippery!”

Holding it in a much firmer grip this time, she lifted it to the vicinity of her mouth and followed the same protocol she’d observed from the other women.  “Hi, Jon.”  She cleared her throat to chase the tremors from her voice.  “My name is Lilah, and I have a question that’s a little bit different.”

Jon’s polite smile went tight at the corners, likely not looking forward to something ‘different’.  He had his stash of pat answers and seemed to prefer to stick to them when he could.  Nonetheless, he gave her a brief nod.  “Okay, Lilah.”

“The backstage crew.  Do all the crew members have to be approved by you?  Specifically the video crew?”

His brow furrowed with confusion, and he glanced around the room, directing his answer more toward the back wall than her.  “On the road, my focus is on promo and the music.  My iPhone and Mac are as much tech as I want to deal with.”  Cue the self-deprecating smile that had the Jonny girls tittering.  “I leave the video crew up to the discretion of the video director.” 

Not willing to be dismissed with something so vague, she clung tight to the microphone when Michael tried to retrieve it and demanded, “By video director, you mean your brother, Tony, right?  He has full discretion of what video crew is backstage during the show?  With your blessing?”

The lines of confusion multiplied, spreading southward and framing his mouth.  His infamous blue eyes flicked toward the right wall of the room, the ceiling, and then finally locked on hers for half a second before dropping to the scuffed biker boots he was wearing.  “That’s right.  It’s Tony’s crew.”

Ho.  Lee.  Cow!  You did it Lilah!

“Thank you.”  She was just about to relinquish the microphone with a satisfied grin, when she thought of one other thing.  Snatching the mic back with an apologetic smile at Michael, Lilah added, “Oh, and would you please tell Tony I’ll be looking for him?”