Her face flushed with chagrin, Dot turned away from Jon, raising a trembling hand to her lips. What had she just done? Dammit, for something like twenty years she’d kept her own infidelity from him, and now she just blurts it out? Nice going, Dorothea. There was a deadly silence behind her, and she’d known him long enough to know that was a bad sign. Slowly, wishing she could snatch the words back out of the air, she turned around to face him again.
Jon was still staring at her. Staring at the woman he’d loved - in spite of his own occasional ‘slips’ with other women - most of his life. The woman whose love had been the one thing he could always rely on, no matter what. The woman he’d believed - no, assumed - would be ever faithful to him.
“What are you telling me, Dorothea?” He asked quietly.
“What am I telling you?” She echoed, but the anger was still there, putting unnecessary venom into her words. “Nothing quite so bad as what you’re telling me, John Francis.”
Jon winced. Okay, he’d deserved that. After all, this whole conversation stemmed from his admission of not just infidelity - which he was certain she knew had happened over the years of their marriage - but of infidelity to the point of producing a child. And producing that child before the children she’d borne him. Sighing, he buried his head in his hands. This wasn’t going well. When he looked up again, Dot had disappeared, and he blinked in surprise. Moments later, though, she appeared from the direction of the kitchen, carrying the open bottle of wine. She poured herself another glass, then just laid the bottle down. He wanted more, he could pour his own.
Grimacing, Jon picked up the bottle and refilled his own glass, watching Dot walk aimlessly around the living room, seeing the tension rippling off her in waves as she tried to process both what he’d told her and also what she’d inadvertently told him. Finally she turned to face him again, leaning against the ornate fireplace as she toyed with her wineglass. From the look on her face, Jon wasn’t certain she wasn’t having thoughts of smashing it into his face.
“Okay, let’s back up a little.” Dot said, trying to sound civil. Or at least civilised. “Jay - that’s his name, right?” When Jon nodded, she continued. “Jay is your son? You’re sure of that? His mother isn’t trying to…….” She paused. Trying to what?
“No.” Jon said softly. “She doesn’t want anything from me. Hell, she tried to talk me out of telling you.”
“Why?!” That shocked Dot. Couldn’t be many women who’d find themselves with a rockstar’s child and not want something out of him.
“Because she didn’t want to wreck my - our - marriage.” Jon shrugged. “She’s known who I was since before he was born - since the Oscar ceremony for Blaze - but she stayed away, because by that time she was heavily pregnant, and she also found out I was married. She raised him alone. Never asked me for a damned thing. Never intended me to find out.”
“So she let him play for your team? And thought you’d not find out?”
“It was more that he signed up for the tryouts, and she couldn’t figure out a realistic reason to ask him not to. I only met him after Coach selected him. That’s when I knew.” Jon’s voice trailed away as the shock of that first meeting hit him again. The shock of seeing that old, fading photograph of himself and Billie, and hearing from such familiar lips that the woman was the kid’s mother. The almost instant calculation of years bringing him to the only logical conclusion.
“And he doesn’t know?”
“No. We will tell him, but Billie insisted that I tell you first.”
“Big of her.”
“Hey, now!” Jon protested. “It took a while to get through my thick skull, but she’s spent the last couple decades trying to protect me - us - from my mistake. Cut her some slack.”
Dot sighed, gulping the last of her wine. Maybe this was right. Maybe fate had decided to give her the push she needed, to make the hardest decision of her life.
“I want a divorce.”
“What?!” Jon leapt to his feet, his wineglass hitting the table and shattering, the dark red liquid spilling over the floor. “Dot, I’m sorry! I’ll spend the rest of my life making this up to you! Please, baby!”
“It’s not…….” Turning, Dot laid her wineglass on the mantel, the base clattering as her hand shook. “It’s not that - not this, Jonny. I…….I’ve been thinking about it for months. I just didn’t know how to ask you……how to tell you….”
Jon frowned, flipping from hurt to anger. “Who is he?”
“Nobody you know.”
“Who, dammit?! Who are you leaving me for? I want to know, Dorothea!”
“Fuck you, Jon! Don’t try to act holier-than-thou with me! I’ve known you too damned long.”
“Shit.” Jon’s anger fled as fast as it had risen, his shoulders slumping fractionally as his brain scrambled to keep up with this. “Sorry. Who is he?” His voice was conciliatory, no longer a demand but a simple question.
“He’s someone I’ve known a long time, Jon. Someone you’ve never met.”
“How long?” His eyes narrowed. “How long have you been seeing him?”
Dot chewed on her lip as she tried to decide whether to tell him the whole truth. Why not? She decided. She could feel it between them. Their marriage was over.
“I met him when you were gone.” She said, choosing her words carefully.
“Gone when? On tour? This last tour? One before?” How could he have missed it? Surely there’d been some kind of sign? Some clue that his wife was cheating? How could he…….
“When you were gone on the bike.” Dot whispered.
“When I was……….?” Jon stumbled backward, slicing his bare foot open on a shard of broken glass and not even feeling it as he fell onto the couch again. “After ‘Jersey’? When you sent me off and when I met Billie? Twenty fucking years, Dot? You’ve been cheating on me for twenty years?”
“Yes.” An almost inaudible whisper, then she turned away, unable to bear the hurt in his face. It was certainly true that he’d cheated on her over the years - they both knew it - but she also knew his pain was from the fact that she’d not had a string of one night stands, but a long-term ongoing affair for almost their entire marriage. “I’m sorry, Jon.”
“Me too.” He said dully. Twenty fucking years? Or twenty years fucking. Fucking someone that wasn’t him. “Was it only when I was away?”
“No.” If her voice got any fainter he’d not hear her at all.
Jon could feel tears burning his eyes, and he didn’t know if they were from sadness or rage - his brain couldn’t decide which emotion was winning right now. He fought it all back. Fought back the urge to scream, to throw things. Fought back the need to find this nameless guy and beat the living shit out of him.
“No?”
“No.” Dot’s voice strengthened a fraction as she forced herself to answer him. “We’ve done a lot of talking the last week or so, and we’d finally gotten to the point where we knew I needed to tell you. Knew I needed to leave, because snatching time when we can just isn’t enough. Life’s too short.”
“Nice to know you were talking about me when……….” Jon’s head snapped up. “Wait. Talking the last week or so? Was he in Europe with you? Don’t lie to me.”
“Yes, he was. And, no, before you ask, Stephanie didn’t - doesn’t - know about him. None of the children have even met him.”
“Oh, that’s a relief.” He said sarcastically, then forced it away. “Sorry.”
Dot eyed him cautiously, but she could see that the businessman was taking over from the wronged husband, Jon letting it happen because it eased the rage and let him think rationally. Seeing the shift in his face, she walked across to the couches, sitting down across from him, their eyes meeting, slow acceptance in each gaze. She’d hoped this would happen. Well, okay, not hoped that her husband would find out this way, or that it would accompany his own admission of a bastard son, but she’d hoped that they’d be fairly adult about this. A twenty year marriage did tend to ease from lust and passion into a more enduring love, and very often - as with them - into a comfortable arrangement which neither party was willing to disturb. She still loved the handsome man sitting across from her, and probably always would, but she wasn’t ‘in love’ with him any more. Hadn’t been, really, for a few years now.
“So what now?” Jon asked softly, his eyes clear and open as he gazed at her.
“I don’t know. I guess we……..” Dot’s eyes widened when her gaze dropped. “Jon - you’re bleeding!”
“I am?” He looked down, seeing the brighter red of his own blood against the dark stain of wine. “Shit. So I am.”
Reaching down, he plucked the shard of glass from his foot, blood running more freely as the wound opened.
“Shit.” He said again, twisting his foot to look. Didn’t look too bad - just gravity making the blood flow more readily.
“Here.” Dot gave him a handful of tissue. “I’ll get a band-aid. Stay there.”
Once she’d done her Florence Nightingale bit, wiping the blood and sticking the dressing onto his foot, they sat on the same couch, facing each other.
“So……” Jon said gently.
All the drama had taken place a few hours before, and now Jon sat alone in the living room, his injured foot propped on the coffee table to try to ease the throbbing pain. He and Dot had talked for hours, discussing the mechanics of ending their long marriage, and they’d finally reached the agreement that they would separate, living apart for however long the statute said they must in New York. They thought it was three years, or maybe two, but it wasn’t exactly something they’d ever investigated before, so it was agreed that they’d contact lawyers the next day to formalise things. The discussion had ended, not really surprisingly, with a long hug, then Dot had headed to the bedroom to take a long bath. By silent agreement, they’d not discussed either his new-found son or her long-term ‘friend’, but had kept to topics where they could avoid anger.
Jon sipped coffee - they’d moved off the wine pretty quickly - and toyed with his phone. A glance at the clock told him it was just after nine o’clock, and he flipped the phone open. At least these days he could be certain of finding Richie, since they were on the same time zone for a change. He hit the speed-dial marked ‘Dean’ and waited while it rang.
Richie was still sitting in the hotel restaurant. Billie had abandoned him maybe a half hour before, her abrupt departure still confusing him, but he sat nursing another cup of coffee, comfortable in the dim restaurant and not inclined to move just yet. When his phone rang - the ringtone telling him who it was - he answered quickly, knowing Jon had intended telling Dot today.
“Hey.”
“Hey, Rich. You busy?”
“Nah. Just drinking coffee. How’d it go? You’re still alive, at least.”
“Yeah. Alive about covers it.” Jon sighed, but he knew he needed to say it. Needed to get used to saying it. “We’re getting a divorce.”
“What?! Jesus, Jonny! Did she take it that badly?”
“Not exactly.” Jon pinched the bridge of his nose, the subject still raw enough to roughen his voice. “Dot’s been seeing someone else for a while, and I guess this just gave her the push she needed to make up her mind.”
“Fuck!” Richie couldn’t believe Jon’s wife had been cheating. Oh, yeah, he reminded himself, because you knew your own wife was cheating!
The conversation was brief, Richie just assuring Jon that - as always - he had his back, and they arranged to meet next day to talk. Jon told him that the divorce would be on separation, so joked painfully that he’d be moving back to Jersey, unless of course Richie wanted a roomie. Richie laughed, telling him he’d had enough of sharing rooms with him, thanks.
He was reassured by Jon’s voice, though, and as the call ended he looked at his phone speculatively. He had told Billie he’d call her if - when - he heard anything. Scrolling through the address book, he found Billie’s number and dialled. Moments later, he heard it ringing - but heard it from two sources - through his own phone and also from the other side of the table.
“Huh?” He stood, peering across the table, seeing the flashing phone lying at the back of the seat and remembering how she’d carelessly dropped it into her purse. Looked like she’d missed.
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