91: Names

October 3

A quick check of Jon’s watch told him that it was eleven-forty, meaning that the car taking him to Manhattan and his children wasn’t scheduled to arrive for another twenty minutes.  If he had an extra twenty minutes to stand around, it wasn’t going to be in the kitchen he’d been looking at since the nineties. 

Grabbing one of his black leather jackets, he slipped it over today’s simple gray sweater and confirmed that his phone was in the pocket of his jean.  The insulated cup holding the last of this morning’s pot of coffee was next and, confident there was nothing else he was forgetting, Jon headed out the door to the studio for the second time that morning.

The parking area was empty as he walked the familiar path between his home and his second home.  Chiara and Nana had left a couple of hours ago to go home before meeting Izzie for a lunch date.  That lunch date was one of several excuses she’d used for not flying down to Clemson with him this afternoon.  The others included the foot of rain falling on South Carolina today and the remaining elephant in the room – Owen. 

In the afterglow of lazy wake-up sex, the counselor had finally volunteered details about the conversation with Owen that Lilah overheard at the spa.  The son of a bitch wasn’t happy about her association with Jon and was dropping vague threats, so she didn’t want to take a chance on being seen with the Bongiovis at a damn football game.

It irritated the piss out of Jon, and while she lay on his chest, he quietly fumed about it and speculated how complicated it would be to hire a hit man.  It wouldn't be impossible for him to find out, but was that the best solution to the problem in the long-term?  He was still hovering on the brink of uncertainty when she nagged him into getting up and putting clothes on, so they could go out to the studio.

He grumbled about it, but his surliness dissipated as soon as he laid eyes on the mural. 

It was… Incredible was too tame a word for the north wall of his studio.  Outstanding.  Phenomenal.  A masterpiece.  Those still weren’t enough to do it justice, but at least they were closer to describing the piece of art that she’d designed and executed for him.  Chock-full of details and a million different elements relating to New Jersey in some way, it would take him a week to fully appreciate each facet of it.

With each detail it became clearer to him just how astounding her talent truly was.  He knew plenty of people who would pay exorbitant money for something as perfectly individualized as what she’d done in his studio.  Chiara could easily make a living if she ended up walking away from being a lawyer.

From him, though, she wouldn’t even consider accepting money and dared Jon to offer it again.  According to her, it was “a drop in the bucket” as to what she owed him for her slightly insane divorce vendetta against him. 

He’d reluctantly agreed to disagree, thus had been more focused on showing his gratitude in the form of an screaming orgasm that ricocheted throughout the acoustically perfect room than inspecting the mural at the time.

That’s why he was standing before it now, sipping coffee and scouring it an inch at a time.  She’d turned it into a fucking scavenger hunt for him while stepping back into her panties with the casual comment that there was one thing in the mural that didn’t originate in Jersey, but East Hampton.  He’d immediately assumed white lilacs, like those on her kitchen wall, but so far there were none that Jon could find.

His kids, his parents, his brothers and even his childhood dog were present and accounted for, though.  So were the array of New Jersey icons depicted above the glass that separated the studio from the control room.  Every time Jon sang in here now, he would be doing so under the watchful eyes of musicians and mobsters alike – Springsteen, Sinatra, Whitney Houston, Paul Simon, Debbie Harry, Frankie Valli, James Gandolfini, Joe Pesci, Ray Liotta, and John Travolta were all immortalized in here.

A bank of trees caught his eye.  In the corner, next to what he assumed was the Navesink, they were lush and green in the middle of summer.  He was just moving in to take a closer look when his phone chimed with a text message.  Withdrawing it, he saw Lilah’s name just before he spotted someone else’s name – inside a heart on one of the tree trunks. 

CHIARA LOVES JON

It had Jon grinning as he swiped the face of his phone.  She couldn’t have signed her artwork in any other way that would have pleased him as much.

[11:46 AM]LILAH: If you’re still looking for Charlie’s birthday present, take her to Disney World.  You said she’s never been.

His sister-in-law’s suggestion wasn’t a bad one, it just wasn’t a good one.  He would love to do that for Chiara, but Disney parks were notoriously crowded.  It would be nearly impossible for him to be a regular guy taking his girlfriend to see the House of Mouse.  Besides that, there was still the whole Owen factor. 

Which is going to get old in a frigging hurry.  I’ve got to figure out another way to push this along without pushing the counselor.

[11:47 AM]JON: Too many people for me to go unnoticed.

[11:48 AM]LILAH: October.  Spooktacular.  Costumes.  Duh.

Okay, so maybe it was a better idea than he’d first thought. 

[11:48 AM]JON: I’ll think about it.  Thanks.

An instant after he tapped the button to send the message away, it was his brother’s name and face on Jon’s phone screen.

“Matt,” he greeted brusquely.  “I would think you’ve had your fill of me for a while.”

“I have.  Unfortunately, there’s a situation that can’t wait until I’m no longer sick of you.”

Something wasn’t right.  Jon could hear it in the gruff bodyguard tone that his brother used when he was on the job.

“Talk.”

Inhaling deeply, Matt explained, “I was catching up on Runaway biz this morning, and found a couple of messages from Owen Foster.  He wants to get in touch with you.”

His mouth tightened into a taut line, and he turned his back on the mural in a subliminal effort to keep that piece of fuck completely separated from the counselor.  What the hell did the guy want with him?  Surely to God Owen didn’t have the balls to call up and extend the range of his theats to Jon? 

Because, if he did, that effectively took him from being Chiara’s problem that Jon was trying to patiently wait for her to deal with, to being Jon’s problem.  To deal with in whatever way he saw fit. 

That sounded like a hell of a plan.

“He leave a number?”

“Yeah.”

“Text it to me.”

Matt hesitated for a moment before broaching cautiously, “You sure?  I mean, you told me she’s getting a divorce and not to worry about it, so I’ve kept my mouth shut, but I have to say I’m a little concerned here.  Do I have reason to be?”

He hated that this was weighing on anyone’s mind but his and Chiara’s, but there was only so much Jon could do to offer reassurance while still keeping her secret.

“I don’t think so.  If I find out different, I’ll recruit your help.”

“Okay, man.”  Matt didn’t sound convinced, but he knew Jon couldn’t be easily swayed.  “I’ll send it over.  Later.”

The text message came through shortly after the call was disconnected, but there was also a text saying that his driver was waiting in front of the house.  Locking up the studio, Jon trotted down the stairs while simultaneously connecting another call. 

“Hey,” the counselor answered with a smile in her voice as he slid into the back of a nondescript black Lincoln.  The driver already knew the destination was Mercer Street, followed by Tribeca.  “You went almost a month without seeing me, but now you miss me after just a couple hours?”

He did, kind of. 

“Fuck, no,” was what he snorted playfully at her, however.  “Wanted to make sure that I’m not seeing you again until tomorrow night so I don’t overdose on you.”

“Fat chance, Stud.”  There was a murmur in the background.  “Izzie says ‘hi’, by the way.”

The more he heard her name and came to realize what a big part of the counselor’s life she was, Jon was interested in knowing Izzie.  “Set up something for us both to get together with her soon.  I’d like a chance to sit down and get to know her.”

“Okay,” she acquiesced agreeably.  “Did you call for something besides that?”

He’d originally dialed her number to tell her about Owen’s efforts to contact him.  It had been an impulsive choice based on keeping things open and aboveboard between them.  Jon felt that if he was holding her accountable for keeping him in the loop of her life, no less should be expected of him, especially when those two lives intersected.

Then he heard her voice, and didn’t want to chase away the lightness in it with something as inconsequential as Owen Foster.  Jon would talk to the guy first and, if it came down in a way that Chiara needed to know about, then he’d tell her.

“I found the heart on the tree,” he improvised with the truth as the Lincoln zipped down Navesink River Road, where the trees were just starting to don their fall colors.

The lightness in her voice now took on a warmth.  “Yeah?  I hope it didn’t ruin the integrity of it for you.”

She actually couldn’t have signed it any more perfectly to suit him, but he couldn’t resist teasing, “I’ll overlook your artistic license just this once, but don’t let it happen again.  Made me think of an odd question just now, though.”

“What’s that?”

“Why isn’t your last name Foster?”

“I never filed for a new Social Security card.  At first, it just kept getting put to the back burner, then I decided I didn’t want to.”

“And he nor your family never had anything to say about it?  I assume he knows, since you practice law under Del Vecchio.” 

Jon would’ve had something to say about it.  In some ways, he was old-fashioned, and this was one of them.  If God and the great state of wherever were going to recognize a couple as a single, married entity, then they should share the same name.

“Jon,” she chided with exaggerated patience.  “I believe you’re familiar with the process of persuading me to do something I don’t want to do.”

His head fell back into the leather seat with a laugh.  “As a matter of fact, I am.”

“Then why are you asking me this?  I rest my case.”

The remnants of his smile lingered as he deliberated his next words.  “If things continue and, one of these days, we decide to get married…  You’ll take my name.”

“We’ll talk about it some other time,” she dodged, sounding uncomfortable with the topic. 

Was that because she thought he was pushing things too soon or for some other reason?  He really wasn’t pushing anything because rings and wedding bells weren’t anywhere on his radar.  They weren’t even in the same zip code as his radar.  He was just saying.

“There’s nothing to talk about,” Jon countered with calm confidence.  “If it ever comes to that point, that’s the way it will be.  End of story.”

“There’s nothing to talk about because it will never come to that point.  I’ve got to go.  Have a safe trip, and let me know if you need me to send an ark to South Carolina.”

“Chiara!”

But it was too late.  She’d already hung up on him.