69 - Bonuses and Brillo Pads

“You look like hell and you didn’t bring her.”

Tony laughed lightly and dropped his bag on the floor, then followed it up with a kiss on his sister-in-law’s cheek.   The taxi was pulling out of the driveway, completing its mission to transport him and his small stash of belongings from the airport to Jon and Dorothea’s house in the Hamptons. 

“I just came from a motorcycle rally.  I’m supposed to look like hell.  And I don’t know who you’re talking about, but no…  I didn’t bring anybody.”

“You know exactly who I’m talking about,” Dorothea countered, peevishly using the backs of her fingers to thwack his shoulder, left bare by the new black wife-beater he’d gotten in Sturgis. 

The smack of flesh on flesh was quiet, but he overdramatized it to distract her.  “Ow!  Damn, Sensei.  Take it easy on a soft biker boy, will ya?”

“Soft is the key word there, little brother.”  She poked at his middle with a saucily arched eyebrow.  “Jon said you had slimmed down the last few weeks, but I’m not seeing it.”

He laughed again, not finding her bluntness offensive in the least as he followed her through the living area and out to the patio.  Jon was in residence there, rock star shades perched beneath his ratty black cap, kicked back with a bottle of water and a book.  His brother threw up a hand in a silent greeting, which Tony returned while blowing off her subtle slam.  

“Sturgis is beer, burgers, barbecue and bikes.  All of those things are done sitting on your ass, in case you didn’t know.  So, yeah, I picked up a couple pounds.”

“Mm.  I also heard you’d pretty well quit smoking.”

Offensive or not, she could quit with the pointed remarks any time now.  “I was busy before.  Now I’m not.  Jesus.  Did you get appointed Surgeon General or something?”

“Let ‘im alone, Dot,” Jon ordered lazily over the top of the book.  “He just walked in the friggin’ door.”

“He walked in the friggin’ door alone, when I thought he was going to bring Lilah.”  She frowned at both men with equal annoyance, taking up the seat and iced tea she had abandoned to answer the door.  

Even if she hadn’t specifically said Lilah’s name, the iced tea would’ve brought her to Tony’s mind.  How could it not?  The woman had drunk gallons and gallons of it in Europe.  There likely wouldn’t be a glass of tea anywhere in his future – ever – that didn’t stir the memory of Lilah Bennett.

Yeah.  Tea is why you’ll remember her.  Not because she said she loved you.

But she didn’t.

Part of the reason he’d stood there like a – Tony mentally rolled his eyes – retarded hyena when she told him was that he didn’t believe her.  Well, he believed her, but he didn’t believe she knew her mind.  She was a woman.  Despite all of her statements to the contrary, women were romantic at heart.  He’d been a little protective of her and God knew the two of them had spent plenty enough time in close proximity to cultivate some romantic notions. 

In his guy-brain it was like Stockholm Syndrome.  She’d been confined with her protective ‘captor’ for so long that she thought she was in love.  Throw in some unparalleled sex and of course she was convinced of it.

Romantic?  You sure about that, man?  She said she didn’t ever want to get married again.

Romance and marriage were two completely different topics.  Tony was living proof that one could exist without the other quite easily and, in his experience, it often did nowadays.  It was more of a novelty for the two to co-habitate in peaceful harmony.

“I dunno why you would think that,” he mused disinterestedly while staking claim on one of the cushioned chairs angled around the table.  “Lilah and I aren’t a couple.  We were independently together for a short period of time, but that’s all.”

Freezing in the midst of curling one leg beneath her and crossing the other over it, Dorothea looked at him like he was exactly three-quarters of a step above primordial ooze on the food chain.  “You haven’t talked to her since Lisbon? “

“No.”

“You didn’t even make sure she got home okay?  Jesus, I thought your mother raised you better than that.”

What the hell was he supposed to say?  ‘You back in Kentucky?  Sorry I don’t believe you love me?  Sorry I stood there like a moron?’.  Yeah, right.  Silence had been the best option for everyone involved.  No doubt about it.

“Don’t be bringing Mom into this,” he growled with displeasure, kicking one leg over the other and digging for the pack of Newports in his pocket.  “There’s nothing wrong with the way I was raised.  Lilah knew our thing was over when the tour was and I never once implied otherwise.”  He poked the filter into his mouth and inhaled deeply until the tobacco was sufficiently burning.  “Two adults.  Mutual decision.  End of story.”

Jon’s open book had been parked on his open chest and when Dorothea opened her mouth to rebut Tony’s words, he issued a cautious warning.  “Dot…”

“Back off, Jon.  This is between me and your bone-headed brother.”

“This.  This is why I never tell you about the women I go out with, Dorothea.  You go fuckin’ bananas thinking I should ‘settle down’ or some such shit.”

She slitted her eyes and lifted her chin challengingly.  “When?  Name one time since you got divorced that I’ve encouraged you to spend more than a weekend with a woman.”

Tony took a deep drag off his cigarette.

Well, fuck.

He’d spoken before he thought it all the way through and now he was backed into a corner.  Because the answer was never.  She hadn’t even hinted that he should get involved in a long-term relationship, dubbing his love-life none of her business.

“Yanno what?” Jon interrupted, swinging his feet from the table to the patio’s tiled surface.  “Who gives a shit if he had a tour hook-up?  Tour’s over and he’s unhooked.  Let it go.”

She tossed her hands into the air with a huff.  “You’re the one who told me that he was happier the last few weeks.  And that he wasn’t smoking or drinking as much.  And that he’d slimmed down.  That’s a lot of changes for one man and the only difference in the monotony of touring was Lilah.” 

“He was prob’ly gettin’ laid two or three times a night!  Of course he was happy!”

“Okay, enough!”  The heavy wrought iron chair grated against the stone tiles as Tony pushed it away from the table and stood, stomping his half-smoked cigarette out on the heel of his boot.  The dissection of his life that was becoming more personal than a proctology exam had to stop.  Now.  “Where are the kids?  I haven’t seen them in forever and, no offense, but they’re the real reason I’m here.  Not you two pains in the ass.”

“Whatever,” his brother snorted also standing, and then scratching at his bare chest.  “You’re here to get your tour bonus.  Ain’t nobody buyin’ that devout uncle bullshit.”

Tony’s mouth slowly inched up into a smug grin.  He loved those kids with all his heart, but damn if that tour bonus wasn’t going to be a sweet, sweet thing.  How awful was it that he wanted just a peek at it before getting tackled by his nephews?

“Where is it?”

“In the kitchen, Einstein,” Jon drawled sarcastically while his wife scooped up her phone and retreated into a non-male world, tapping on the screen with a disgusted tip of her mouth.  “Where the hell do you think a Camaro is gonna be?  It’s in the garage out back.”

Logically, he should have had the sexy beast delivered to L.A., but self-indulgent greed had requested that it be delivered here.  Tony was itching to drive his tour bonus - a Camaro SS convertible that had been the pace car at this year’s Indy 500.  Even though it was a little more red than orange, this particular car was a modern replica to the coveted 1969 orange and white Camaro convertible parked in his own garage, which had also been used as an Indy pace car in the year of its release.

After spending a few days with the family, his plan was to have some good old-fashioned quality time with the new baby, in the form of a week-long trip across the country.  Eight hour days with nothing but the road and some kick-ass music on the stereo would be therapeutic and let Tony bond with her the way a man should. 

The driver’s seat should be indelibly marked with his ass-print by the time they got there, effectively spoiling her for any other man.    That was his plan, anyway.

“Well get the hell outta my way then,” Tony chuckled, shoving Jon aside with a playful forearm to the chest.  “It’s time to meet the new love of my life.”

Dorothea snorted loudly without lifting her eyes from the phone screen.  “If history repeats itself, I doubt you recognize her.”

Shaking off the Jersey salute Tony whipped out before Jon latched onto his arm and dragged him away, Dorothea had to wonder if he was ever going to get his head out of his ass.  She loved her brother-in-law, but he was blowing one big, long raspberry at the first slice of happiness he’d had in ages.  Jon and he could both call it residual effects of ‘tour hook-up’ and ‘getting laid’ all they wanted, but Lilah Bennett was good for Tony and, more importantly, good TO him.

That’s what the man needed – someone to love him to the point of distraction.  He had loved his first wife that way, but she...  The nicest thing Dorothea could say was that she hadn’t returned the favor, and now Tony kept himself distanced and callous, not only from women but a good part of the world.  He didn’t trust people.

But he had trusted Lilah. 

Why didn’t the idiot see how significant that was?

[4:24 PM]DOT:  Hi Lilah, it’s Dorothea Bongiovi.  Just wanted to say hello and see that you got home safely.  Hope everything is well.

Lilah heard the text message alert singing from her back pocket, but her hands were stuck down a clogged drain at the time. 

“I shore do ‘preciate you helpin’ me out Lilah Jane,” her little gray-headed landlord boomed from where she was sipping coffee at the kitchen table.  “I swan I don’t know how that Brillo pad crawled down the drain, but it slipped outta my hand and was gone afore I could take a breath.  But don’t you worry.  I’ll take a little sumthin’ offa  next month’s rent for ya.”

“I haven’t done anything but get my hand stuck in the drain so far, Verna,” Lilah laughed, her knuckle scraping against the edge of the trap.  Her landlord was a firecracker, but the little woman had been nothing but good to Lilah.  Verna had a kind heart, she just wasn’t keen on letting anybody know it.  “Don’t worry about it either way though.  It’s not a big deal.”

“Well ‘tis to me,” the older woman insisted stubbornly.  “I know you’ve been goin’ in and outta here like yer hair was on fire ever since ya got back from that vacation of yers.  I ‘preciate you sparin’ a minute for me.  What is it that keeps you runnin’ anyway, missy?”

Ripping free another piece of steel wool, Lilah mentally solicited patience.  Sure, Verna was a nice enough lady, but Lord have mercy the woman could talk a mile a minute, and she knew everything about everybody.  The joke amongst the neighbors was that they didn’t need a neighborhood watch.  They had Verna.

She had always felt it was in her best interest to keep things very superficial with her landlord.

“Oh, I’ve been checkin’ in on Andrew, and helpin’ my friend Joanna out at her shop.  Work starts back again soon, too, so I’ve been gettin’ all that together.  Same ole same ole.”

There!  The most obstructive piece of Brillo pad was un-wedged and the water slurped freely down the drain.  She could now wash her hands and get out of here before Verna demanded to hear every last detail of her vacation. 

It's not doin' me any good to keep rehashin' it.  The ending is always the same.