11 - Going Pub...lic

The Brazen Head was Ireland’s oldest pub.  It was also boisterous and crowded, but somehow Tony managed to find them a relatively quiet booth on the warmly lit patio.  Sliding into her side of the table, Lilah shrugged out of the leather jacket and fluffed her hair so that it draped over her shoulders.  When she lifted her face, it was to find Tony watching her with a knowing eye, very much as he had this afternoon. 

Mr. Bongiovi was an observant man.  She supposed that came with his tenure behind a camera, because wasn’t that the sole purpose of a camera?  Whether it was video or still shots, the point was to observe and capture life through a lens.

Or change a life.

His photographer’s eyes didn’t miss much, and certainly hadn’t missed her efforts conceal the annoying scars.  Tucking her right hand under her thigh, out of sight,  Lilah used her left to flip open the menu that lay on the table.  “Have you ever been here before?  Do you have any recommendations?”

He locked gazes with her for a long second.  It was enough to convey that her camouflage tactics didn’t escape him, and she held her breath, waiting.  To her great relief, he didn’t pursue it. 

 “First time for me.  I don’t know how many sissy drinks they have to offer,” he warned, readily following her conversational lead and picking up his own menu.  “But the food is supposed to be good.”

 “I don’t drink all that much anyway.  I see they have tea, and that’s fine.”

His attention diverted from the menu to her.  “You have a problem with me getting a drink?”

“Of course not!”

He nodded and both returned to studying the dinner offerings.  It didn’t take her long to make her choice and, by the time the waitress came to take their orders, Lilah had been silently watching him read for several minutes.

Thoughtfully, she sat by as he ordered the beef medallions and a whiskey, winking at the pretty young girl as the order was repeated back to him for confirmation.  As she listened to the effortless banter between Tony and the waitress – Tori – it took no time before she was abundantly aware of three things. 

Number one, the raven-haired Tori was instantly charmed by his smile and friendly voice. 

Number two, the elusive “TBJ” hung around the edges and backstage area of the Bon Jovi camp because he chose to, not because he wasn’t good with people.  The charisma gene had not passed him over, even if he didn’t blatantly take advantage of it the way his brothers did. 

“Lilah?”  Both Tony and the waitress were looking at her expectantly.

“Sorry.  I’ll have the Irish stew, please.”

Number three, although he was outwardly calm and relaxed, energy hummed just below the surface of his skin.   It was something she had noticed well before she ever met him, but here – not just in person, but up close and personal – it was even more pronounced. 

From every indication, it was another trait the two oldest Bongiovi brothers shared, but Jon didn’t handle it the same way.  His eyes and mind were always visibly somewhere else as he fidgeted.  Tony managed to stay in the present even when it appeared he was coiled like a spring and ready to pounce.  He had impressive control.

I wonder what other kind of control he has.

“Mind if I smoke?”

Lilah shook her head and he tucked the white filter between his lips, inhaling deeply at the same time he forced the rasp of the lighter wheel.  The white smoke curled up and away into the night air as she watched his mouth, still pondering the extent of his control.

“Whaddaya  thinkin’ about, Lilah Bennett?”

Feeling like a child caught with her hand in the cookie jar, she jerked her rapt attention away from lips that were now curled with amusement. 

“Nothin’.  Why?”

“Because you’re quiet, you were staring at me and your neck is red.  I thought I didn’t make you nervous anymore?”

Pulling at the front of her shirt, she fanned the collar so that the coolness of the air could get to her heated skin.  It suddenly felt like she was wearing thermal underwear in a smokehouse.

“I’m not a chatty person,” she mumbled.  “Small talk isn’t my strong suit, so I don’t say a lot sometimes.”

“Okay, let’s forget small talk then.  How about you tell me why you’re really here?”

Change the subject, Lilah.  Or avoid the question.

“Because you invited me?”

Another deep drag and he shook his head.  “I’ve already figured out you’re smarter than that.  Playin’ dumb isn’t gonna work.”

If I tell him now, there won’t be a snowball’s chance in Hell of me getting backstage with him.

Eyebrows pulling into a frown, she decided to confront him with her own question.  “How’d you know my last name?  I never told it to ya.”

“I know the guy who runs the fan club trip,” he laughed, tipping up the whiskey that had appeared at his elbow, and swallowing with a satisfied grimace. 

Duh, Lilah Jane.  He probably knows that you ordered Bon Jovi panties back in 2010.

The mere thought had Lilah fanning her shirt more frantically.  Up until five minutes ago, she’d been on the verge of chilly.  Now she thought she was going to roast from the inside out.   She took a healthy swallow of her tea, and then tried to appear unaffected, summoning her drollest tone. 

“So you do.  Find out anything interestin’?”

“Not why you’re here.”

She stifled a sigh and, no longer comfortable meeting his eyes, let her gaze fall to the miniature hurricane lamp at the center of the table. 

“I told you why I was here.”

“You also admitted that what you told me wasn’t the whole story.”

Yes, because, in an effort to compliment his intelligence, she’d been trying to be cute.  How many times had that vain effort gotten her into trouble?  Whatever the count, it was now one higher.

She lifted her chin resolutely, but with beseeching eyes.  “Please don’t make me tell ya right now.  I promise I’m not gonna do anything bad, and I will tell ya.  But can’t it wait until after the next show?”

Bare bulbs swung from electric cables overhead, and her delicately made-up eyes shimmered the color of tropical water in their soft light.  The flame from the hurricane lamp cut across the tropical water like a tiki torch as Tony leaned forward to snuff his cigarette in the ashtray.  He ignored the pang of awareness that the observation stirred.

His gut told him she wasn’t trouble.  Despite Jon’s continual warnings about her, that wasn’t why he was so interested in knowing her reasons – it was simple curiosity. 

Tonight, she was different – different from either last night or this afternoon.  This Lilah fell someplace between the two previous Lilahs and he had a crazy desire to know how many more versions of Lilah there were – and which one was the real Lilah.  Knowing her true motive for a two month European ‘vacation’ would go a long way toward helping him figure that out. 

If he were an ass, he would push, threatening to take away her coveted backstage visit if she didn’t spill her guts.  But Tony just didn’t have it in him to be an ass to her.  She was one of the rare ones who looked into his eyes without noticeably comparing them to anybody else’s.  Who didn’t study his smile, looking for similarities between it and Jon’s.  She just smiled back.

He was pleasantly surprised to realize that, despite whatever she was keeping under wraps, she might have actually come here because of him.

Fucking unreal.

“It can wait.”

There was that transforming smile of hers again.  It was like someone turned a light switch on, the way it made her eyes sparkle from deep within.  Happy Lilah wasn’t pretty, she was damn-near beautiful. 

“Thank you.”  She propped her chin on one fist – the unscarred one.  “So…. I, um, saw online that Jon had his surgery.  I’m sorry I didn’t think to ask about him earlier.  Did everything go okay?”

She didn’t think to ask about him earlier. Even more unreal.

“It did.  Thanks.”

“Is that what you did this afternoon?  Go see him? I suppose his wife is staying with him?”

“Yeah.”

A corner of her mouth kicked into a mini-smirk.  “Code of silence in full-effect, I see.  That’s okay.  I was only tryin’ to be polite.”

Tony met her mini-smirk with a playful grin.  “Mission accomplished, Bluegrass.”

“I thought ya were gonna stop callin’ me that,” she complained, eyes immediately narrowing with displeasure.

“I said I would think about it,” he countered, enjoying the way her vowels flattened out even more when she got agitated.  Even when she tried to slow her words and form them more correctly, the unmistakable drawl was there.  It was cute.

“If you insist upon using that redneck nickname, then I’m callin’ you Jersey.”

 “I’ve been called a helluva lot worse, baby,” he informed her with a careless shrug.  “Are you cold?”

“No.”

“Are you sure? You just shivered.”

“Oh.”  She pushed her arms back into her jacket sleeves, not looking at him.  “Maybe I am, a little.”

Tori arrived with their food and, before she left, he requested another drink.  Thanking her, he turned to find Lilah inhaling the steam from her plate and softly ooh-ing.  He shook his head with a grin as he picked up his fork.

“Smell good?”

“It smells amazing.” 

It tasted amazing, too.  At least that’s what he assumed, shifting uncomfortably on the booth’s bench.  With every mouthful she gave a little sigh, a muffled groan or a contented purr, and the non-stop soundtrack to her dinner sounded a whole lot like after dinner activities in Tony’s head.  On about her third bite of the hearty Irish stew, he had to quit watching her mouth.  The way her lips closed over the fork when she pulled the food into her mouth and moaned softly… It was erotic as hell.

A distraction was in order.

“So what did you do this afternoon?”

The light switch flipped and her culinary bliss faded significantly. 

“I talked to my son.”

“You don’t seem real happy about that.  Something wrong?”

She shook her head and part of her light returned.  “I’m happy about it.  Him?  Not so much.  I check in once a week whether he likes it or not, though.”

“How old is he?”

“Nineteen.  He’ll be starting his second year of college in the fall, but this summer, he’s livin’ with his buddy and they’re doing the starvin’ musician thing.”

“Sounds like a story I’ve heard a time or two,” he observed wryly.  “Are they any good?”

Lilah’s head bobbed slowly and she pushed the rest of her food around on the plate.  “They’re good.  I don’t know that they’re great, but they’re earnin’ a little money playin’ local clubs and havin’ a good time.  That’s what matters.”

“Being from Kentucky, dare I ask if it’s country music?”

“Oh God, no!” was her vehement denial. “I’d die!  My kid leans more toward metal and hard rock, but playin’ it is a little taxin’ so they do acoustic stuff – contemporary alternative.”

Tony pushed his plate away, wondering if there was a husband to go along with this son.  She didn’t wear a ring, but in today’s society that didn’t mean a thing. 

What difference does it make?  You’re having dinner, not sex.

His well-founded rationale didn’t stop him from asking, “What about your husband?”

Lilah’s eyes instantly flicked to the scarred hand that held her fork, and the corners of her mouth tightened.  Her voice was kept oh-so-casual as she stabbed fiercely at a potato and asked, “Which one?”

The one whose face you saw when you obliterated that potato.  The one who caused those scars.