Chapter Eight

It had been two nights since Richie told him that his son's name was Frankie and he was a freshman at NYU.  A music major.  Richie had even managed to snap a picture of the boy with his cell phone.  The guitarist hadn't lied; the boy looked just like him, same square chin, same high cheekbones, same mouth.  Hell, the boy even had his smirk down.

The only reason he'd come to this show was because the man he was looking for wouldn't have seen him at his office.  The two of them had not parted company on as good a terms as they'd both led the public to believe.  Jon had agreed not to press charges for the money Doc had stolen, if Doc agreed not to let on that there had been any hard feelings between them and to continue to keep the 'Brotherhood' secrets that Doc had been privy to .  When the statute of limitations had ran out, Jon had added the promise of financial ruin.  Funny how their situations were completely reversed now.  Before, Doc had been the one with the knowledge, money and the power.  Now, the shoe was on the other foot.  If given the provocation Jon could and would squash the slimy little man like a bug.

Once Crooked X had taken the stage, Jon headed toward the side entrance.  The security guard there was more than happy to let him backstage, even giving him directions to the media room where he'd find Doc.  When he walked through the door, he let his gaze scan the room, while he tried to avoid the camera flashes and the microphones.  He spotted Doc almost immediately; he was right where Jon expected him to be - where the most media people were gathered.  Two words came to mind.  Leopard.  Spots.

Jon braved the cameras, risking a picture making the gossip rags of the two of them together.  At this point, he didn't care.  He saw the look of surprise and fear in Doc's eyes before he even said a word.

"I need to speak with you," Jon said softly, menacingly.

Doc nodded.  "Excuse me, ladies and gentlemen.  I need to have a few minutes alone with an old friend."

Jon almost laughed out loud at the term.  Friend?  Not hardly.  

Doc led Jon out into the hall.  With his hands stuck into his pockets, the shorter, stockier man rocked back on his heels then forward onto the balls of his feet.  "Long time, no see, Jonny boy.  To what do I owe the honor of your visit?"

"I need information that only you can give me," Jon answered.  He knew if he wanted to find out what this greasy little man knew he'd have to pretend that a) it wasn't all that important to him if he found out or not, and b) that he didn't hold Doc responsible for any of it.

"I'm always happy to be of service to you, Jonny," Doc replied.

Jon tried really hard to keep the sarcasm out of his voice.  "I'm sure you are.  Right before the European leg of the New Jersey Tour, I met a woman.  When I left to go out on the road again, I gave her the address and phone number of McGhee Management to be able to get in contact with me.  I want to know if she ever used that information."

Doc shrugged casually.  "That was a long time ago, Jonny.  I can't remember what I had for breakfast."

"The letter would've said something about her being pregnant.  Her name was Kimber Cartwright, the letter would've been received in the fall of '88," Jon tried to keep his voice even and light.  "I already know there was a letter.  I just need you to confirm it."

"Jon, do you know how many letters like that you got back in the day?  I protected you and the others from all of those kinds of claims," Doc replied, his voice indignant, defensive.

Jon's stomach roiled.  Biting back the urge to grab Doc by the neck and choke him until he turned blue, Jon forced a smile.  "I know you protected us.  I also know that you would've kept any of them that had a grain of plausibility.  I'd be willing to put money on the fact that you've got them all filed in neat little boxes with each of our names on them," he tried to sound teasing, but barely pulled it off without it coming across with a sneer.

"How much money?" Doc asked, with just barely a note of eagerness.

"You mean you don't have them filed that way?" Jon asked, just a touch of astonishment entering his tone.

"Naaa," Doc shook his head, "there's the boxes with your name and Rich's, but then just one other box with all the rest thrown in."

"I need to get my hands on that letter," Jon said, knowing how much this was going to cost him.  He barely flinched when he threw his pride and dignity out the window.  "I'll owe ya."  Jon reluctantly handed over a card.  "Have someone call me if and when you find it."  He hated giving this greasy little man a way to contact him, even after all these years, but for the sake of a son he'd never had the opportunity to get to know, Jon would do anything.

"I'll see what I can do, and let ya know," Doc answered with a smirk.  It was worth any amount of trouble to have this man owe him a favor.

"Thanks," Jon replied, almost choking on the word.  "I'll be waiting to hear from you."

He turned on his heel and walked away, although every fiber of his being demanded he just beat the man until he found out what he wanted to know.  Jon kept his clenched fists in the pockets of his jeans to keep from turning around and doing just that.  He could feel Doc's beady little eyes on his back, and knew the wheels in the man's head were already turning.

He left the venue, driving toward a little hole in the wall place that the investigator he'd had follow Frankie had told him about.  Jon was anxious to see if what he'd been told was true.  Although all of his children showed signs of having inherited his artistic and creative qualities, none of them had shown an interest in his true passion.  Music.  Until now.

Pulling on a baseball cap, he climbed out of the car.  He was careful in the dark and smoky room, moving to a corner booth.  The young waitress didn't show any signs of recognition, and that was just fine with him.  He sent her off with an order for the best bottle of white the place had.

Before she came back, Jon's breath caught in his throat when a young man that looked so much like him that it hurt took the stage.  The young man's light brown hair was shaggy and hung down to his shoulders.  Jon smiled when he recognized the guitar hanging around the boy's shoulders.  A gorgeous Takamine.  The boy even had his taste in guitars.  

When he started playing, his fingers were strong and sure as they danced across the strings.  Jon was sure that Frankie could give Richie a run for his money.  But then, he opened his mouth to sing.  His voice was clear and powerful, with a depth and clarity that had Jon smiling with pride.

He was good.  Damn good.

Chapter Nine

The plan had been so simple.   He was just going to sit in a corner booth and watch Frankie perform, to be able to see if the boy truly shared his passion for music, then to just leave the bar and try to talk to Kimber again before approaching Frankie, before trying to get to know his son.  Jon blamed his pride in his son for not sticking to the plan.

Frankie had played only one set consisting of several covers and a few original songs.  Jon admired the young man's choice of songs; he had great taste in music.  And, he wasn't half bad as a writer either.  Several times during the performance, Jon had to fight the urge to stand up and shout, "That's my boy!"

Jon watched the young man go up to the bar after his set.  Frankie spoke with the bartender, with some laughter and back slapping going on.  It was quite apparent that Frankie was friends with several members of the staff.  He joked and teased with the bartender and a few of the waitress for at least an hour.  Then, he picked up his guitar case and walked out the door, calling out that he'd see everyone next week.  Standing up, Jon motioned to his waitress and threw some bills on the table.   Pulling the bill of his baseball cap down a little more, he hurried out the door.  He scanned the sidewalk until he caught sight of Frankie, then hurried to catch up with him. 

He was only a few feet away from the young man when he called out to him.  "Frankie."

The young man spun around to narrow suspicious blue eyes on Jon.  "Yeah?  Whaddya want?"

"Can we talk?"  Jon couldn't disquise the hopeful quality of his voice.

"No," Frankie answered quickly, angrily.  He turned away from Jon and started to walk away.

"Frankie.  I'm Jon..."

The young man spun back to face him.  Jon's 'brothers' had told him many times that his icy glares could freeze someone in their tracks.  He'd always laughed and told them that he wasn't that bad, but now, he had no doubts as to the voracity of their claims.  Now that his own glacial glare was turned on him.  "I know exactly who the fuck you are.  Do you think my mom hasn't told me about you?"

Jon frowned at the boy.  A man that cared about nothing more than he cared about family couldn't comprehend the young man's anger.  "But, I'm your...."

Again the young man interrupted him.  "My sperm donor.  That's what you are.  Don't you dare call yourself anything else.  My father, the man who raised me, died last year."

Jon's mouth began to work, but no sound came out.  There weren't too many things that could leave him speechless, but this young man's animosity had.  Frankie took the time to turn and jog away.  Jon let him go, unsure what he would have said even if he'd been able to catch him.  He kicked himself in the ass all the way back to his apartment.

He should have just stuck to the plan.


Two days later
Soho, New York

Jon stepped off the treadmill and grabbed a towel and the bottle of water on the counter.  With the towel around his neck, and the bottle gripped firmly in his hand, he walked down the hall to check his messages before he got in the shower.  He listened to one from Cheryl, his personal assistant, a reminder about a red carpet event he was supposed to attend later that night.  He had meant to have her cancel for him, but had forgotten.  He'd been too wrapped up with this shit with Kimber and Frankie.

Doc's voice pulled him back out of the fog.  "Jonny, I found what you were looking for.  Want me to drop it by your apartment, or the BJM offices?  Or do you wanna meet me somewhere?  Gimme a call, bro."

An involuntary shiver raced down Jon's spine, and the use of 'bro' almost made him physically ill, but he squared his shoulders and picked up the phone.  Five minutes and a very distasteful phone conversation later, Jon owed Doc a favor, but the man had agreed to drop the letter off at the BJM offices.  At least, he wouldn't have to come into contact with the slime ball again, at least not until the man called in the favor.  Jon was just hoping it was something he could do without having to actually see Doc again.

As soon as he had the letter in his possession, he intended to go back to Tramp's and talk to Kimber.  He just needed to know what was in that letter.  Exactly.  Word for word.

Had she said she still loved him?  Or had she just told him about the baby and asked for his help?  Jon shrugged; either way he was fucked.  He just hoped that he could control the fall out, even if just a little.  Jon knew his pride was going to take a huge blow, but he was just going to have to suck it up and deal.  God, how he hated that phrase.  Suck up and deal.  Oh, well.  He was the one at fault here, and he needed to just face the music. 

He knew it would be one of the hardest things he'd ever done.

Chapter Seven

Sayerville, New Jersey

Fall, 1988

It had been a whirlwind romance that spanned a fantastic summer, but had ended tragically.  Shakespeare couldn't have written it more tragically.  Now, he had to go back out on the road.  He'd been to her apartment a hundred times, hoping to catch her there.  He knew she hadn't moved out, but she was never there.  This time was the last time he'd try to see her.  He'd made up his mind that it was time to get his dignity back, but he couldn't resist leaving a note, just in case she ever wanted or needed to contact him.

As with all the other times he'd been there, she didn't answer the door.  Where was she?  Why was she never there?  He knew she wasn't just avoiding him.  He'd sat outside watching her building for way too long and for too many times to know that she wasn't there.  However, he'd talked to her landlord and knew that she hadn't moved out.

Silently, he slid the note under her door.  The note had a simple message, no flowery phrases or sentimental bullshit.  Just a simple, "I still love you and want to see you.  Let me know if you ever change your mind, or need anything.  Jon."  He'd written an address and phone number on the paper, knowing that if she was to use the number she'd have to have a hearing person call it for her.  He left her building that day, hoping that she'd make that contact, but sure that she wouldn't.

Two weeks later...

Kimber came dragging into her apartment exhausted and ready to throw up.  This last month and a half had been extremely hard on her.  She'd thought taking the job on the cruise ship would have not only gotten her away from Jon, but she'd been hoping that the old saying 'out of sight, out of mind' would apply.  It didn't.

For six weeks she'd busted her ass, serving drinks to women who were looking for romance and men who were looking for a quick lay.  She'd decided it mirrored her own life too closely.  She'd spent the whole time sicker than a dog, throwing up everything that she tried to eat or drink.  She was just skin and bones now.  The first couple of weeks, she'd convinced herself with the help of those around her, that she just needed to get her sea legs.  But, after awhile, she knew she couldn't keep lying to herself.  She'd seen the ship's doctor, and he'd confirmed it.  She was pregnant.

She saw the envelope in the floor, but didn't pick it up until after she'd gotten her bags put away.  She picked up the white envelope with her name scrawled across the front of it on her way to the kitchen area of her apartment.  Recognizing his handwriting, she almost didn't open it, but she was hoping for a way to contact him.

Her conscience demanded that she notify him of the consequences of their actions that would be arriving in a few months.  His child.  She was having a hard time not being all sentimental and mushy about it, but it was just the hormones talking.  That's what she kept telling herself.  

His words on the piece of paper made her heart soar.  Maybe he did really love her.  Maybe he hadn't just wanted to get in the poor deaf girl's pants.  Maybe he hadn't wanted or needed to fix her.  She wasn't willing to go through the TDD relay and have this personal conversation with an interpreter knowing all of their private business, so she wrote him a letter.  It was as simple as his note had been, but she signed it with 'I'll understand if I don't hear from you.  I'll take that as a hint that you've gone on with your life and have no desire to see me or your child.  But know that I do still love you, Kimber."

She put the letter in the mail the next day.  The two weeks she was off work flew by, and before she knew it, it was time to ship out again.  Without any word from Jon.  Six weeks later, she was back at home still no word from Jon.  That was the pattern for a few months.  She tried to tell herself that he was on the road, traveling from country to country.  That it would take awhile to get a letter from him.  But, she finally had to face reality.  

She wasn't ever going to hear from him.

Joey had told her that he didn't care that he wasn't the baby's father, that he would be happy to marry her and raise the child as his own.  She finally gave in to Joey's wishes and her father's demands.  Her son had been born just three months after the wedding.  She'd named him Joseph Francis after the father that had agreed to raise him, and the father that had not.  With light brown hair and blue eyes, he'd been a charmer from the day he'd been born.  He preferred to be called Frankie and at the young age of five, she'd seen his father in him.  He was creative, smart and very good looking.  It was plain to see that her son would be able to charm the panties off a nun....If he ever had a mind to try.

Present Day,

Red Bank, New Jersey

Tramp's parking lot

Jon stood staring at Richie like he'd grown a second head.  The young man looked like him?  But that would mean....

"What did you just say?" he demanded from his friend.

"I said that he looked a lot like you," Richie repeated.  "And if you're interested, and I'm sure you are...I asked around.  I know his name and where he goes to school."

Jon just stood there giving Richie a blank stare.

After several moments of silence, Richie grinned.  "Are you sure you don't want to tell me what happened 20 years ago?"

"I would think you could figure it out," Jon said dryly, "but if you need a lesson in biology, I can explain."

Chapter Six

Jon sat at the bar with his mouth open as she climbed down off the bar.  Kiss her ass?  Yeah, he'd like to do that and more.  His eyes freely roamed her curves.  What was it about this woman that had always made his brain take a vacation while his dick took full control?  While the brain's away the dick will play.

His eyes took in her every move, while he nursed his jack and coke, until Richie slapped him on the back.

"Wow, is this deja vu or what?" Richie teased, as he took the bar stool next to Jon.

"Yeah.  I guess it is," Jon answered, looking down at the drink in his hand.

Richie had known Jon for too many years.  He could feel Jon's pain as if it was his own.  Jon had never told him what happened between him and the little bartender.  All his friend had ever told him was that she'd left him.  It had seemed weird to Richie that Jon hadn't ever talked about it with him; Jon told him everything.  After hearing Kimber's poem though, Richie was sure the story was worth hearing.

"Ready to tell me what happened yet?" Richie asked.

"Nope," Jon replied quickly.

"C'mon Kidd, ya know ya wanna talk about it," the guitarist tried again.

"Drop it, Swingman," Jon ordered tersely.

Richie didn't take offense at Jon's tone.  There was a truly deep and abiding brotherly love between the two men.  It would take a lot more than a few hard words or harsh tone to change that.  The guitarist just smiled, the corners of his full lips lifting just the slightest bit.  Jon might not want to talk about it now, but he would.

Into the silence, Jon tried to change the subject.  "How long ya been here?"

"Long enough to see the young man that dropped her off," Richie answered.

"Young man?"  Jon asked.

"Yeah," Richie nodded.  "Nice lookin' too.  Maybe she's into younger men now."

"How young?" Jon questioned, although he didn't really care.  He was willing to discuss anything except what had happened 20 years ago.

Kimber stopped Richie from answering when she walked up to the two of them.  "Hello Rich."  She motioned to the glass in the guitarist's hand.  "Can I get ya a refill?"

"Sure thing, sweets," Richie answered, using the old nickname out of habit.  "Coke straight up if ya please.  Maybe just a little ice," he added grinning, sliding his glass across the bar towards her.

Kimber raised an eyebrow at the order, but didn't question the fact that after two decades the axeman wasn't drinking anything stronger than Coke.  She refilled his glass and carefully slid it across the bar to him.  It took every ounce of willpower she had not to let her eyes drift over to Jon, but somehow she managed.  "Let Tommy know if ya need anything else," she said softly.

Turning on her heel she strode quickly away from them.  The two men heard her call out to Tommy as she marched away that she was taking a break, then watched her disappear through a door on the other side of the bar.  Jon jerked his head toward Tommy, and immediately Richie read his mind.  The guitarist quickly set out to distract the bartender so that Jon could sneak through the door that was clearly labled 'Employees Only'.

Knowing he wouldn't receive a warm welcome, Jon didn't bother to knock on the oak door.  He stepped through the door to find Kimber kicked back behind a big desk, with her back to him.  Thoughts of Sam's office on Cheers flashed through his mind.  He knew she could hear him, so he didn't wait until she turned to face him to speak.  "We need to talk."

"Naaaa, I don't think we do," she answered, without turning around.

"Where did you disappear to back then?" he asked, ignoring her obvious desire for him to leave her alone.

"None of your business," she replied, her voice hard and cold.

"None of my business?" he demanded.  "Where the fuck do you get off?  I was in love with you."

"You had a funny way of showing it."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Let's not dig up old bones, and get into the whole broken-fix argument again."

"You weren't broke, and I didn't want to fix you," he said angrily, quickly crossing the room to the desk.

"You couldn't've proven it by me."

She still hadn't turned to face him, so he spun the chair around so that she was looking up at him.  Leaning over her, he clenched his jaw to keep from screaming his rage at her.  "If having the implant surgery was so repugnant to you, why did you have it done?"

"None of your damn business," she answered.

Jon knew that he wouldn't get any where with her by using force.  With a hand on each chair arm, he caged her in.  He leaned down close to her, his breath ghosting across her skin and tickling the shell of her ear.  "All I ever wanted was you," he whispered in her ear.  "I loved you.  You were my everything."

Kimber shivered at more than his words.  His nearness was affecting her a lot more than she was willing to admit.  "Then why did you leave me alone.  Why didn't you come for me when I asked you?"

"What in the hell are you talking about?"

"As if you didn't know," she quipped. 

"I don't.  But, I can promise you this....I will."  He turned and strode from the room.  One way or the other he would find out what went on 20 years ago, with or without her help.

He marched out into the bar and quickly crossed to the entrance.  Richie saw him leaving and ran to catch up with him.  "Kidd, wait up," he called out.

In the parking lot, Jon finally stopped and spun to face his friend.  "I'm not in the mood for any smart ass shit, Rich."

"Smart ass?  Me?  Never."  Richie grinned at him with amusement twinkling in his brown eyes.  "To answer your question from earlier....I'd say he was about 19.  Brown over blue.  Amazingly enough, he looked a hell of a lot like you, bro."