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.