11:Poacher

“Okay, Stanford might have a decent baseball team, but nobody cares about baseball,” Jesse was explaining to the carload of guys as they pulled up in front of the pizza place.  “Football's the game, baby, and that’s Notre Dame all the way.”

“At least I’m more than a tackling dummy,” one of his son’s two new friends – the one who played second base for Stanford – good-naturedly returned the smack talk.  “I actually play in the games.”

Jon couldn’t remember his name.  Caleb was the brother, but this kid was… something biblical.  Moses?  Judas?  Jesus?  Probably not, but somebody would mention it again before long and remind him. 

Having spent part of the afternoon tossing a football and wave boarding with both on the beach, he considered them to be what you would call good boys.  Friendly, well-spoken, boisterous and seemingly intelligent, they reminded him a lot of Jesse – right down to the way they’d immediately treated Jake and Romeo as little brothers. 

It wasn’t a hardship when offering to bring them to dinner.  Tony, Matt, their families and Stephanie had all gone to Montauk for the day and wouldn’t be home until later, so it was just him and his sons and Sam’s Pizzeria and Bar was a casual place, not one of the stuffier places around town.

It was perfectly suited to a group of guys just coming off the beach, and a couple more guys was nothing in that setting.  When he heard their mom was going to be by herself, it wasn’t a big deal to invite her, too.  He just hoped to God she wasn’t a fan. 

To be on the safe side, he was wearing his black cap and sunglasses to go with faded shorts and a t-shirt.  It was a long shot that she wouldn’t recognize him, but it was the closest thing he had to a disguise.

“I like football and baseball,” Romeo piped up in an eleven-year-old effort to bridge the gap between the two sides.  Jon’s youngest was always the peacemaker. 

Older by two years and with a personality as big as all outdoors, Jake had no such compulsion.  He was as loyal to the Irish as his daddy and big brother were.  “Notre Dame, baby!”

“Do you play sports, Caleb?” Jon courteously engaged the younger of their guests into the conversation as they approached the entrance. 

“Nah.  I’m more into the computer lab than the gym, but I do run.”

“Oh yeah?  If you want somebody to run with while you’re here, let me know.”  He held the door open and patted his oldest son on the back with a grin when passing by.  “I’ll wake Jess up to go with you.”

“How ‘bout you get your lazy ass out there, old man,” Jesse joked, and then jabbed Jon lightly with an elbow.

“I don’t wanna embarrass you in front of your friends.”

All were laughing when they piled into the intimate dining room that was bustling but not quite at full capacity.  Seeing two free tables in the corner, Jon started to lead the tribe in that direction when Caleb remarked, “Hey, there’s our mom.  Looks like she staked us a claim.”

Sunglasses still firmly in place, Jon fixed a polite smile to his face when rotating in the direction the boy indicated.  The five younger males all descended as a slender woman wearing a light green summer dress rose to her feet.  Dark mahogany hair was twisted into some kind of messy knot at the back of her head and she, too, was smiling.

That is, until her eyes caught on him.  As soon as she made visual contact and comprehended who she was meeting for dinner, that smile flat-lined like a dead man’s EKG. 

He couldn’t say that he blamed her.  Once he realized who these boys were calling “mom”, his smile melted just as fast as an ice cube on the beach at high noon.

Motherfucking Counselor Charlie.  How in THE HELL is this possible?  What the fuck have I done to deserve this shit?

“Mom, this is Jesse, Jake, Romeo and their dad Mr. …” Noah took the lead, indicating each of them one-by-one until reaching Jon.  Then, without embarrassment, he shrugged and admitted, “I have no idea what their last name is.”

“Bongiovi,” Jake helpfully supplied while in the midst of claiming his spot at the table, and pulling out the corresponding wooden chair.

“Bongiovi,” the older boy parroted dutifully.  “Bongiovis, this is our mom, Charlie.”

The rest of the guys all followed Jake’s lead and appropriated their seats, leaving the adults to civilly nod at one another.  “Ms. Del Vecchio.”

“Mr. Bongiovi.  I had no idea.”

Being generous purely because he liked her boys, Jon would say her remorse could be authentic.  The compressed muscle in her jaw undoubtedly expressed a genuine displeasure and probably looked a hell of a lot like his. 

“Really?” he quietly probed as a sardonic eyebrow slipped up his forehead.  “You aren’t making a hobby out of stalking and tormenting me?”

“If I was, I sure as hell wouldn’t involve my kids,” she spat just as quietly, sliding back into the seat she’d vacated upon their arrival. 

Glancing around the table, Jon saw that two chairs remained unoccupied – one on Charlie’s left and the other on her right.  That left him stuck sitting beside her unless he wanted to make a production of it and ask one of the boys to trade seats.

This does not deserve to be a motherfucking production.

Holding to the chair back more tightly than was required, he jerked it out just far enough to drop into the seat.  It was a grave miscalculation, though.  If he’d withdrawn it further, he could’ve brought his left leg in without brushing it against the knees left uncovered by her short dress.  The bare skin contact had the same effect as it had at the awards dinner that night.

Electricity.

Her sharp inhalation was audible enough to verify that she’d felt it, too.  Even if he hadn’t heard it, the way she snapped her knees together and pointed them in the other direction was a pretty good indicator, and she didn’t look any happier about it than he was.

After arriving here in the Hamptons, he’d taken great pains to convince himself that he blew that electric memory way out of proportion, because it was impossible for him to have had that strong a reaction to her.  He was fifty-three years old and had bedded an uncountable number of women.  Some of those women were even perfect physical specimens of the female form, by either nature or surgical assistance.  Beautiful, sexually charged women who would do anything and everything he asked of them, plus a number of things he hadn’t even considered.

He’d seen and done it all.  Twice.

This vaguely pretty woman, with a thirst for blood rivaled only by a pack of starving hyenas, should not evoke electricity.  He didn’t want her to evoke electricity, and he would stubbornly refuse to acknowledge its existence while discreetly ignoring her existence.

Twisting subtly away from her to lean on his right hip, Jon directed his focus to the group of boys who were animatedly discussing the menu. 

“What’s it gonna be, guys?” he inquired with forced joviality.  “Can you agree on a couple or is everybody getting their own?”

“Pepperoni and extra garlic,” the Del Vecchio boys immediately declared, having already closed their menus and tossed them to the center of the table. 

The sureness with their order had Jake regarding them with interest.  “At least we know you’re not vampires.”

“Extra garlic is the only way to go.” Caleb was positively emphatic with his endorsement.  “Our uncle is a chef and does a pizza so good it makes you wanna cry.  The secret's in the garlic.”

Chef?  Luke was a chef?  That was surprising to Jon.  He had seemed more of a… something besides a chef.

“He’s not talking about Luke.”

Jon glanced back over his shoulder at her monotone declaration but pointed his question to her sons.  “How many uncles do you have?”

“Four, counting Uncle Joey.”

He found the phrasing of Noah’s answer somewhat odd, until that same monotone voice drifted toward him again.  “We lost my younger brother several years ago.”

“You grew up with four brothers?” Now he shifted in his chair to actually face the counselor, unsure as to why he was speaking directly to her or had enough curiosity to even ask the question.  It could be labeled as a morbid fascination with familial tendencies of hyenas, he supposed.

“Yes.” 

“What are their names?”

Slicing her eyes away from the other end of the table to meet his, her reply was understandably wary, “Dominick, Vince, Luke and Joey.”

Dominick, Vince, Luke, Joey and Charlie.  She fit right in as one of the boys.  His initial thought that she wanted to be a man wasn’t so far off the mark, it seemed.

“At least your name makes sense now.”

He didn’t know how it was physically possible to narrow her eyes at the same time she rolled them toward the ceiling.  Hell, he didn’t even think Stephanie was capable of that in her dramatic teen years.

”What, Mr. Bongiovi?  You think I’m trying to present a masculine image because I have brothers?  You’re wrong.”

“Hi guys,” a young woman in an apron greeted as she approached their group.  “My name is Caitlin and I’ll be your server.  What can I get you to drink?”

“Dirty martini, please,” Charlie requested almost before the girl had fully posed the question.

She wasn’t the only one in dire need of a drink, and Jon ordered a bottle of wine while the boys opted for a variety of soda, tea and water.

“Great.  Is this all on one check?”

“Yes,” he automatically answered, accustomed to picking up the tab.  No matter how he felt about the counselor, she and her sons were his invited guests. 

“No,” Charlie countered adamantly and proceeded to dispense detailed instructions on how to split the charges. 

“It’s my money either way,” he cruelly observed under his breath, knowing that the boys were so far involved in their own lively conversation about sports that they’d never hear it.  Charlie had, though.  He’d never seen lightning flash in a pair of chocolate irises before, but the novel experience was what told him that she heard and wasn’t impressed.

Unaware that a storm was brewing at her table for seven, the perky Caitlin forged ahead with her spiel. “Are you ready to order, too, or do you need a few minutes?” 

Charlie bared her teeth in something that could be considered a smile, advising the girl, “If you could give us just a moment that would be great.”

Maybe nobody else saw her gritting her teeth when she said it, but Jon did.  Her displeasure was further demonstrated with a sandal bumping harshly against the unprotected side of his flip-flopped foot.

“Listen, you jerk,” she gritted, completely devoid of facial expression.  “I honestly do not care whether you like me or not.  This is not the time to be an asshole.  Smile and act like an adult in front of your kids.”

“You get off on dictating other peoples’ lives, don’t you?” he growled discreetly, his temper starting to take hold.  His divorce was over.  Who did she think she was trying to mandate his actions and behavior?  

“Jesus, Mary and Joseph,” she breathed with contempt.  “Yeah, that’s right, and feel free to tell me just how you feel about it, as long as it’s not during the next hour or in front of my sons.”

“God willing, I’ll never fucking see you again after tonight.”

“Well, we can hope, anyway, right?  Now shut the fuck up and order your food.”

On cue, the waitress returned to deliver their drinks and take their orders, leaving Jon in a position to do nothing but grudgingly bite back his scathing response.   With a silent hand gesture – that his mother would be proud to see included more than a middle finger – he indicated that she might as well go first.

I’ll take the highpoints in this evening where I can get ‘em.

After overfilling his wineglass, he tipped it back and let the tangy flavor gradually slide down his throat.  If he got a little drunk this wouldn’t seem so bad, right?

“I’d like an individual pizza with tomato, mozzarella, arugula and prosciutto, please.”

Jon almost choked on his wine.  That bitch had just ordered his favorite pizza – that he was going to order.

“And for you sir?”

The pizza poaching bitch was contentedly sipping her martini, uncaring that she’d infringed upon his usual selection at Sam’s.  He, however, was pissed about it because there was no way was he going to admit they had anything remotely in common, even if it was something as simple as a pizza. 

“Angel hair pasta.”

The girl’s ponytail bobbed as she nodded.  “That comes with grilled chicken, zucchini, roasted red peppers, artichokes, garlic and olive oil.  All that okay?”

“Yeah.”

Whatever.  He didn’t care.  He just wanted this damn meal over with.