3 - Half of a Pork Chop

Just when I thought fan encounters couldn’t get any screwier...

Tony scratched his goatee and watched her walk away through narrowed eyes, her yellow shirt a splotch of sunshine in the subdued lighting.  She’d gone from pleading her case to retreating pretty quickly, he thought.  If she were all that serious about it, she would’ve stood in his face until he had to give her an engraved refusal. 

Why in the hell did she want to ‘watch him work’, anyway?  And ‘oral sex’ as compensation?  That was a new one, even after all these years on the road with the band.

He signaled for another beer, leaning his back against the bar. 

The entire interaction had taken place in under ten minutes, but he’d gotten kinda sucked in by her accent and the hint of desperation in her eyes.  Those all-seeing eyes turned out not to be such a plain shade of blue, either.  They were more of a bluey-green.  Was that what they called hazel?

“Hey, man, you don’t need to hold the bar up.  I think it will still stand if you walk away and mingle a little.  When’s the last time you got laid, anyway?”

Drawing back one corner of his mouth in a semi-scowl, Tony didn’t even bother to look at his buddy, Mike Rew. 

“I think Clinton was in office,” he drawled sarcastically, thanking the bartender with the tip of his chin. 

Mike put up his finger to the guy, silently ordering his own beer. “Clinton?  Are you sure it wasn’t Reagan?”

“Fuck you, jerkoff.”

“Jerkin’ off is what you’re going to be doin’ tonight, my friend.  Again.  There was a woman’s hand groping your thigh, and she was only about half a pork chop.  You still ran her off.  You know you don’t grow your cherry back, man?”

Tony couldn’t say why the pork chop reference bothered him, but he had to take a swallow of the stout, Irish brew to keep from snapping at the man next to him. 

He and Mike had been friends and co-workers for years.  A long time ago, they and the other Bon Jovi crew members had devised something the called the Pork Chop Scale.  It stemmed from a woman being so ugly that she had to hang a pork chop around her neck to get the dog to play with her.  The more pork chops required, the uglier the woman.  Most of the guys wouldn’t sleep with a woman unless there was a consensus declaring her a Pork-Free Playmate.

Lilah hadn’t needed any damn pork chop.  She wasn’t a raving beauty, but she wasn’t no where near the neighborhood of ugly.  Tony remembered the way a smile had transformed her face.

“She was a pretty girl.”

“Then why aren’t you getting in her pants right now?  Or better yet, why isn’t she getting in yours?”

It was either because he had principles, or because he was a cynical bastard.  The jury hadn’t come back with the verdict on that one yet.

“She offered.”

His beer having arrived, Mike took a healthy drink and let the bottom of the bottle smack against the bar’s surface with a disbelieving shake of his head.  “And you turned her down?  I’m starting to think you have erectile dysfunction.  It’s no shame, you know.  They make pills for that shit.”

“Go to hell, Rew.”

“No, I’m serious.”  Mike’s freckled forehead was furrowed, and he pushed at his black-rimmed glasses.  “Why else would you sit in a corner every night and never take advantage of what’s right there in front of you?  You’re single.  You’re JBJ’s brother.  You could be bangin’ a different broad in every city.”

“Just because I don’t broadcast my sex-life doesn’t mean I’m limp.  Just shut the hell up, already.”  Taking the last swallow out of the bottle, he then muttered, “I need a smoke.”

Without bothering to ask his friend to join him, Tony set off in the same direction that Lilah had taken only moments earlier.

A forty-four year old man didn’t go around bragging about the women slept with.  He might not enjoy as much female companionship as some of the guys on the crew, but he wasn’t sporting a case of blue balls either.

With his pack of Newports and a lighter in hand, he pushed through the front door and into the comparatively quiet night.  The music inside hadn’t been all that loud, but the late-night sounds of Dublin were much quieter. 

The small flame from the lighter brightened the spot directly in front of his face, and he took a deep drag on his cigarette.  Tucking the smokes and lighter into his pocket, he took a few steps toward the side of the building where the shadows were thicker.  The feminine cough startled him.

“Sorry,” he apologized immediately, positioning the cigarette so that smoke wasn’t blowing on the person he’d nearly walked into.  Tony frowned, taking a second look.  That yellow shirt looked awfully familiar.  “I thought you left.”

“I was going to, but forgot that I have to wait for a ride back to the hotel.”

Pivoting on his heel, he turned back toward the entrance, and then looked the opposite direction.  It was pretty well lit, but nearly deserted outside the club.  “By yourself?  Aren’t you traveling with somebody?”

“No, I’m traveling alone.”

“What? Couldn’t find anybody willing to backpack across Europe with you?”

It was none of his business, and he was half-teasing, but women usually traveled in pairs on these things.  Even if they didn’t start out with a companion, they usually partnered up at some point during the show or events.  It was unusual that she was still flying solo.

“My best friend is incapacitated.  This trip would have been a little too much for her health.”

Tony exhaled over his shoulder, ensuring that she didn’t have to breathe in his smoke.  “Sorry to hear that.  Maybe next time.”

“Doubtful, but thank you.”  She folded her arms over her middle and leaned against the old, brick building, looking out into the distance.  

Normally quite content with his own silence, Tony shifted from one foot to the other, taking another drag of his cigarette.  He couldn’t say what compelled him to chat with the woman giving off the oh-so-serious vibes.  It would be in his best interest to walk the other way and forget he’d ever met her.

But he didn’t.  Go figure.

“So what part of the South are you from?”

“South Dakota.”

What the…?

“You gotta be kidding me.”

One of her cheeks creased into a little smirk.  “Yeah, I’m kiddin’.  What makes you think I’m from the South?”

From their dealings so far, Tony was surprised she had a little smartass in her.   Not that it was a bad thing.  Smartass was practically a second language for him. 

His eyes flicked lazily down over the comfortably snug jeans she was wearing.  “Hoop skirt gave you away.”

Both of her cheeks were creased with amusement now, and he puckered his lips around the filter of his cigarette, smothering his own smile.

“Kentucky,” she finally admitted, tucking her hair behind her ear.  At the same moment, a car passed by, the headlights acting as a floodlight over the scars on her neck. 

Humans had a sick fascination with disfigurement and imperfection, and Tony was no different.  He had a morbid desire to know what was responsible for such an odd array of scars.  There were long and short, deep and shallow, all with no discernible pattern from her collarbone to the underside of her jaw and chin.

It’s none of your business.  Besides, do you wanna get that personal with this woman?

The answer was no.  He would stick to impersonal topics until he finished his smoke and went back into the pub.

“Oh yeah?  I was there with the band last summer.  Hotter than hell.”

“I know.  HullabaLOU in Louisville.”

There was something about the way she said it that struck him as odd, but he couldn’t see her face well enough in the mild shadows to tell.  Was she bitter?  Sad?  Pissed? 

“You were there?”

The headlights of another passing car briefly lit the area, clearly showing the tension lines around her mouth.  She gave a slow nod.  “Mm-hmm.”

Whatever memories she had of that show must not have been pleasant ones.  In the spirit of impersonality, he didn’t ask why.  Instead…

“Damn.  If it was that bad, I’m surprised you’d cross the street to see another one, much less cross the Atlantic.”

With the shake of her head, she declared, “Not bad at all.  It’s what made me decide to come to Europe.”

Could’ve fucking fooled him that she didn't think it was bad, but this, too, didn’t qualify as impersonal.  “And you’re sticking with the band for the rest of the tour, huh?”

“You could say that.”

Damn. Cryptic women were not his thing.  Tony needed a decoder ring to figure this chick out, and he was more of a necklace guy.

“Well…”  He snuffed out the glowing cigarette butt on the sole of his work boot.  “Maybe I’ll see you out there on the road.  You gonna be okay alone here until they’re ready to head back to the hotel?”

“Oh, yeah.  I’ll be fine.”

Tony gave her a curt nod, knowing that if he didn’t keep an eye out the window, he would ask someone else to do it.  A woman in a foreign country shouldn’t be left all by herself, but he needed to get away from the funky aura that surrounded Ms. Lilah. 

He tucked his hands into his pockets and turned back toward the club’s entrance.

“Tony?”

So close.

Stopping without bothering to turn back around, he said, “Yeah?”

“Is there any chance at all that you’d change your mind?”