14 - Exit Wounds

Jon paid the driver before stepping out of the taxi in front of the St. James.  He turned to offer Ariana his hand, which she accepted and climbed out behind him.

The autumn night air was brisk, and Jon saw that there were goosebumps on Ariana’s exposed skin, so he pulled her close for warmth.  His arm curved around her shoulder and Ari slipped one around his waist as they walked in tandem through a near-silent lobby to the elevators. 

She spent their silent ride to the penthouse snuggled in the circle of his arms.  It was surprisingly comfortable there, even standing up, and she didn’t even hear the chime that indicated they’d arrived at their destination.  Jon had to nudge her with a shoulder so that she’d lift her sleepy head. 

Covering her yawn with one hand, she allowed him to link their fingers for the walk down the carpeted corridor and leaned against the wall while waiting for the door to open.  Once inside, his sleepy girl headed straight for the bedroom while Jon stopped off at the kitchen to grab a couple bottles of water before turning off the lights to join her. 

Jon couldn’t help but linger at the bedroom door for a moment.

Ariana was already in bed, her clothes in a pile on the floor.  Her eyes were closed but for the first time since he got there, she looked peaceful. 

Circling around to her side of the bed, he placed one of the bottles on her nightstand before drawing the curtains.  He would normally leave them open, because he loved falling asleep to the glow of city lights, but it was late.  Neither of them would want to be woken by the sun that was set to rise soon.

That left the room pitch black and forced Jon to feel his way around the foot of the bed and grope for the lamp switch.  He put the water bottle down while kicking off his shoes, and his jeans hit the floor before he pulled the blankets back to sit on the edge of the bed. 

A lazy hand ruffled the top of his head before Jon reached behind his shoulders to grab his shirt and pull it over his head.  It found a home on top of the other piled-up clothes, and he climbed under the covers.    

It only took him a minute to settle into a comfortable position on his back, and he tucked his interlaced fingers between the back of his head and the pillow. 

He’d expected sleep to come quickly, but Jon’s mind was still active.  He supposed it was only natural to reflect upon what had transpired over the last few days, and that logically led him to thoughts of their relationship and how they’d gotten here. 

The last nineteen years hadn’t always been smooth sailing, and like any other couple, they’d had their share of ups and downs.  Even so, if anyone had asked where he’d thought they would be all these years later…. Well, it wouldn’t have been here. 

If he had his way, the situation would be completely different.

If Jon had to pinpoint the moment in time when he’d realized he had fallen in love with Ariana, he couldn’t. Not because he couldn’t remember, but because, as far as he knew, he’d always been in love with her. 

Had he been physically attracted to her? Yes and no.  In the beginning, she was just one of the guys.  As they spent more time together, Jon’s perception of her had changed, and he could recall several times that he’d tried to push himself out of the friend zone.

The most memorable was when he and Dorothea had split for a few months.  Jon had decided that was the perfect time to make his move, but Ariana wouldn’t have it.  She knew exactly who he was and what he was doing, which back then, was running at the rate of a high-speed train. The days, nights, and years all bled into one after another, and he regretted some of the things he’d done.  Others, he didn’t. 

Through it all, Ariana was his constant.

Then came Rio. 

He finally convinced her that there was more to them than friendship, and that night changed their relationship so much that he was willing to divorce Dorothea.  He would’ve too, if Ariana hadn’t told him not to. 

She told him she didn’t want to be labeled “the other woman” responsible for breaking up his marriage.  On top of that, she’d been raised in the business.  She’d seen first-hand what went on when bands were on tour and how relationships suffered as a result.  That wasn’t the life she wanted for herself. 

So, when the New Jersey tour ended in February 1990, Ariana said her goodbyes to Jon and went home to Montreal.

The band also went their separate ways, unsure whether they would be coming back. Thirty-six months of living together had done its fair share of damage, and they needed a break.

As for Jon, he went back to New Jersey with his wife, who wasn’t too happy with him at the time, either.  That’s how he ended up living on the beach in Malibu and drinking his days away. 

Drinking his days away wasn’t all it was cracked up to be, and it didn’t take him long to call Ariana, begging her to come.  She refused at first, telling him they were over and that he should move on.

He shamelessly told her that he was hanging by a thread some nights.  That he didn’t know if he was going to make it.  The sad part was, it was true, and she later told him she sensed that.  Ariana thought she might not see him alive again, so she hopped the first flight out of Montreal – as his friend.  That she was very clear about. 

Only it didn’t work out that way. 

When she arrived in California, she found him drunk and distraught.  Jon wasn’t quite sure how long it took her to sober him up.  All he knew was that his next lucid memory had them back in their familiar lover’s routine. 

He’d been happy about it.  Her?  Not so much. 

It was a beautiful summer’s evening, and they were talking a walk on the beach after a nice dinner.  Tempted by the moon, the sky and the surf, Jon found an isolated spot and plopped down on the sand, nestling Ariana in between his legs as they gazed at the stars.

“Ari?”

“Yeah, Jon?”

“Stay with me this time?”

She didn’t even hesitate before giving him an emphatic, “No!”

“But why?”

“You know why.  I shouldn’t have come in the first place.”

“How can you say that?”

Ariana pivoted on her butt in the sand, turning sideways to look at him.  “Jon, we’ve been over this before.  I grew up in this business and I’ve seen what goes on. I don’t want that kind of life.  I won’t be the other woman. The mistress.”

“Baby, I‘d never treat you like that.”

“But, haven’t you? You’re the poster boy for the American Dream. The boy from New Jersey who marries his high school sweetheart and makes it big. I’m not going to destroy that image.  It’s out of the question.”

Jon pushed her off of him to stand. 

“My image?! Ari, look at me! I’m a fuckin’ wreck! I can’t take care of myself, I don’t have a damn clue about what day it is. I’m living in an eight by eight room for Christ’s sake!  How’s that for the American Dream?”

“You’re exhausted, Jon.  You’ve been going non-stop and need a break to bounce back.  Give yourself a chance!”

“Why don’t YOU give me a chance? Don’t you love me?”

He could hear the hurt and bitterness in his voice, but was beyond caring. She was the only one who could fix this.  Fix him.

“Jonny…. I do, but not in the way you want me to. When we first met, I was young. You were like a brother, and I always looked forward to working with you.  Then... then Rio happened. I thought that it would have been a one-shot deal, but we kept finding ways to be together.”

There were tears in her eyes.  She didn’t mean what she was saying.  She couldn’t. 

“Ariana. Look at me!”  With a firm hand he grabbed her chin, forcing her to look at him.  “Do… you… love… me?!”

“Please don’t!”

“Goddammit.  Look me in the eye and say we meant nothing at all!”

Taking a deep breath, she squared her shoulders, looked him right in the eyes and ripped his heart to shreds. 

“I’m sorry Jon.” 

And then she turned and left him there on the beach.

♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱

Little did Jon know that, while Ariana slept beside him, she was dreaming of that very night. 

It was a few weeks after the night that she left him standing on the beach, and she was once again replaying the scene in her head.  She’d done it a million times already and knew it was the right decision. 

Then why was it she still felt horrible when turning the Petit Soho sign to open.  Tears fought to come to the surface as she unlocked the door, but she batted them away with determination.  Today was a day for celebration. 

It was her twenty-fifth birthday. 

Sal and Lili had planned a big party here to celebrate her quarter-century of life, and Ariana didn’t know who was more excited, her father or grandmother.  Between the two of them, they’d invited the whole neighborhood.  Cara had even changed her plans so that she would be in town for the event.

On top of the party, they were sure to be busy with the number of tourists visiting on the Independence Day weekend.  She needed to make sure they’d have enough booze to supply them all, so Ariana was busy taking inventory behind the bar when the door bells chimed. 

Turning around in preparation to greet the customer, she found that it wasn’t someone in search of food or a drink, but a courier.  She watched as he approached the bar.

“Bonjour. Je cherche Mademoiselle Moretti?” (Good afternoon. I’m looking for a Ms. Moretti?)

“Je suis Mademoiselle Moretti. Comment puis-je vous aider?” (I’m Ms. Moretti. How can I help you?)

“J’ai un colis pour vous. Si vous voulez bien signer ici, je vais aller le chercher dans le camion. (I have a delivery for you. If you could please sign here, I will get it from the truck?”)

He left his clipboard and retreated outside. When he returned, he had in his arms a beautiful a beautiful bouquet of flowers - red and white roses mixed with blue Cupid’s Darts. There had to be at least three dozen roses alone in the vase that he set upon the bar..

As he handed her a manila envelope, he informed her, “Ceci est à vous aussi.” (This is yours as well.)

“Merci!” (Thank you!)

Ariana pulled open the thick envelope and removed a single sheet of what looked like notebook paper, along with a cassette tape and a note card.  She knew the handwriting instantly, and the tears that she’d battled early bubbled to the surface again. 

The cassette had a note that said, “Play Me”, but she put it aside to read the note card. 

It read no more than:    

Happy Birthday!

Miss you!

Me

Why did it matter so much that the man she’d walked away from remembered her birthday and made a point to celebrate?  She was supposed to be getting over him, but that didn’t stop her from popping the cassette into the small radio Max kept behind the bar. 

There was the usual static that prefaced a recording, followed by a simple tune on a piano. 

Then…

Then she heard his voice… 

I used to live but now I survive

I used to believe but not it’s just one day at a time

The circus is gone, it’s all packed away

The clown’s hat, the makeup’s been packed in his case

So we wave goodbye to Miss Fourth of July

The queen of the roses has left us with nothing but thorns

Don’t say we never tried, Miss Fourth of July

The stars that we reached for left us with nothing but dawn

I used to laugh but I’ve learned to cry

And I ain’t too proud to let you see tears fall from these eyes

For all of my hopes, my heartaches and fears

For a night I just watched and you walked out of here

I just waved goodbye to Miss Fourth of July

The queen of the roses has left us with nothing but thorns

Don’t say we never tried, Miss Fourth of July

The crown that we reached for left us with nothing

But your thorns left me wounded not unlike the truth

When innocence sang his last song

He’d tell me that it’s all gone

Just look me in the eyes and say it meant nothing at all

I used to live, I’ve learned to die

And I used to dream, I used to dream…

So now we wave goodbye to Miss Fourth of July

The queen of the roses has left us with nothing but thorns

Don’t say we’ve never tried, Miss Fourth of July

The stars that we reached for, they’ve left us with nothing but dawn

Oh yeah…

Nothing but a heavy hit of heartbreak

A handful of blues

Oh yeah

I’ll never get over you