Not This Time

Nina: April 16, 1986

     I could hear the band in the lobby behind me as I hurried up the hall to the bathroom. Someone had spotted me; I could hear them commenting to the others about the room I'd come out of just before I shut the bathroom door and locked it. I turned to the mirror and took off Jon's sunglasses. I didn't have a lot of makeup on me, just some lipstick I'd stuck in my pocket this morning when Jon had somehow managed to coax me out of bed.
     I pulled down my hood and brushed my hair out with my fingers. Pausing mid-brush, I stared at the reflection of my hoodie in the mirror. At first, all I could do was stand there and wonder if a stripper would wear a hoodie. I finally shook my head and untangled my fingers from my hair so that I could pull my hoodie over my head. I tied the jacket arms around my waist and continued running my fingers through my hair, yanking out tangles as best I could.
     Hastily, I parted my hair and swept the long blond mess over my shoulders. My fingers were braiding, but my mind was elsewhere. I tried to picture myself dancing around on a stage in my underwear. I wrinkled my nose a little and shook my head as I reached the end of a braid. I looked down at the end of the braid and made an uneven part in the tail. I wrapped the smaller portion around the larger one, pulled it through the braid, and tucked it under itself so that it disappeared into the rest of the tail.
     As I began on the second braid, my mind wandered back to what I would be like as a stripper. I knew I'd never be confident enough for that. Maybe if no one knew me. Maybe if I wore a disguise or something, like a mask. I rolled my eyes and smirked at my own imagination. What kind of stripper would wear a mask? I repeated the tail process as I came to the end of the braid, tying it off.
     I stuck my hand in my pocket and pulled out my lipstick. I'd brought it with me, intending to apply it in the car, but then I fell asleep, so it never happened. I swiped the deep red lipstick across my lips, trying to make it look like I knew what I was doing. I didn't imagine a stripper ever slouched on her makeup.
     Closing my eyes, I took a moment. What on Earth had crossed that man's mind? Why would he tell them he was with a stripper? Did she look like me or something? It was the only explanation. I opened my eyes again and grimaced at my appearance, pushing Jon's sunglasses back up my nose. It was too early for this.
     "You are in some deep shit," I said with my best attempt at a French accent. I wasn't bad at it, but I wasn't sure I was passable either. I hadn't been to France since the first tour. I wasn't sure if I was remembering the accent correctly.
     With a sigh, I shook my head at my reflection. Some shorter strands of my hair fell out of the loose braids, giving them that slept-in look. I pulled a paper towel out of the dispenser and pressed it against my lips. A red kiss mark was there when I held it away. The lipstick remaining on my face looked less severe, less recently applied.
     "Bonjour," I practiced, "You can call me Misty. Pardon my appearance. I'm still hungover from the party I went to last night." I repeated variations of those lines a few times. Then frowned at myself and shrugged. It was the best I could do. God, this was going to be annoying. I took a deep breath and smiled a little, getting into character.
     I stuck my lipstick back in my pocket and made sure my sunglasses were secure before turning back around to face the door. When I unlocked and opened the door, I could hear the song Jon and I had just recorded playing from the small studio. I sauntered down the hallway, pretending I had the confidence to walk around mostly naked. I felt ridiculous, to be honest.
     The song was just about over when I pushed the door open. "Oh!" I acted, looking at each man's face with a small smile. "So many men all at once!" I declared in the accent, stepping into the room with an amazed smile like I'd just seen the best magic trick in the world.
     "Misty," Jon said as I wandered further into the room, "This is my band. Richie, you remember her, right?"
     Richie smirked a little and nodded. "I remember her name being Mystique, though," he corrected, finally breaking his gaze from me to look at Jon. I spoke up to cover Jon's mistake.
     "Ah, oui, Monsieur," I agreed, still smiling at him. I leaned a little on Jon. "Mon cher calls me Misty. You may call me Misty too, if you like, since I am not at work."
     "Alright," Richie said, raising an eyebrow. I smiled, ignoring my annoyance with him as his eyes drifted down my body. He glanced at Jon and smiled a little then returned his attention to me. "So you followed Jon?"
     I shook my head. "No!" I retorted, "I came to Vancouver in March to visit my brother, who lives here for work. Mon cher followed me." I smiled knowingly at all of them as I stepped away from Jon and toward the band. "You all followed me." I looked around at each of them and smirked. "Not that I'm complaining," I finished.
     I could feel Jon's eyes on me as the guys chuckled at my comment. He could deal with a little playful flirting since he'd decided to try passing me off as a stripper. When I glanced back at him, he looked like he was trying not to be jealous, which made me smile. That's when Alec spoke.
     "What's with the sunglasses?" he asked. I turned to him and reached up to touch Jon's shades.
     "I'm hungover," I lied, "From the party I went to last night." This answer seemed to produce a reaction. Richie turned his whole body to look at me. David took a step back and looked between me and him. Tico's eyebrows rose in surprise.
     "What?" Alec spat.
     Tico's brow furrowed in confusion. Apparently he was over his surprise. "You sang like that, hungover?" he scoffed disbelievingly, "Damn."
     "I never said it was fun," I groaned, stepping over to the couch.
     "She was a pain in the ass to work with on this," Jon confirmed without invitation. I frowned over at him, but said nothing as I sank onto the couch. Nevertheless, the band laughed at his quip.
     "The song's about Dotty, right?" Alec asked.
     I watched Jon for an answer. He seemed hesitant, but nodded anyway. I tried so hard to fight the smile that wanted to rise at the idea of him writing a song about Dorothea. They were so freaking cute. I wanted to look like I didn't care. The band didn't seem to notice my internal struggle, though it was obvious that they were still interested in me.
     David was the first to plop down on the couch next to me. Richie sat on the arm and leaned back against the wall. I smiled at both of them as they took their seats, but said nothing as I returned my gaze to Jon. He was leaning against the door to the live room casually, watching the rest of his band.
     "You don't sound French on the recording," Tico commented, leaning against the counter on which the mixing board was sitting. I smiled a little and motioned to Bob.
     "Monsieur Robert asked for an American accent," I covered with a shrug.
     While the other guys were giggling at the name I'd used for Bob, Alec asked, "You can do an American accent?"
     This caught David's attention. "Let's hear it!" he demanded. I shook my head.
     "I don't want to," I stated simply.
     Amidst other protests from the band came David's "Why not?" I looked over at him and he pouted a little, as if that would do any good. I reached out and touched his curly blond hair and shook my head a little with an amused smile.
     "An accent represents a place," I said, completely bullshitting, "If I am to choose a place to represent, I choose France. Because France has more class than America." The band laughed at that. I snuck a glance at Jon. I could tell he was laughing at my lame excuse more than the way I'd just dissed America.
     Richie tapped me and I looked up at him. "So why move to New York if France is classier?" he challenged.
     I rose from my seat, never taking my eyes off him, though he wouldn't have known regardless because of the sunglasses. He stared right back as I stepped around him so that I could get closer. I smiled a knowing smile and reached up to run a hand through his hair as well. At first I was paying attention only to Richie, but then I looked back at the rest of the band, Jon included, and smiled more.
     "Because," I started, looking back at him, "France does not have men as handsome as you all." As I looked back around, I added, "I can only find this kind of sexy in America."
     "Gee, thanks," Bob piped up sarcastically from his chair at the mixing board. Everyone turned to look at him, chuckling a little.
     I pulled away from Richie to make eye contact with Bob. "Monsieur Robert, I meant the continent," I giggled, jokingly, "Canada is in North America. Canadians are American." Suddenly there was another round of protests from the band.
     "Woah-ho-ho-ho, hold on there."
     "Nuh-uh."
     "That's not how it works."
     "Hey now."
     When I looked back at Jon, he was laughing to himself. I would have said something else, but someone I didn't recognize leaned into the doorway and called out to the band. We all stopped chuckling and looked over at the door.
     "I'm here," the man said, "Let's get started." He stepped away from the door and continued down the hall without another word. I looked around the room and then over at Jon. He mouthed the name of their producer, Bruce, and I nodded.
     David jumped up and smiled kindly at me as he followed Tico and Alec toward the control room door. Looking around at his bandmates, Richie reluctantly rose from his seat on the arm of the couch and stepped toward me. The smirk on his face was trouble.
     "I guess we'll see you around then, huh?" he muttered, leaning close, "Misty?"
     I would be lying if I said there wasn't a tiny part of me that was attracted to Richie Sambora, but even that little bit wasn't enough for me to be comfortable that close to him. I fought the urge to push him away and smiled slightly.
     "Maybe," I teased with a shrug, "Maybe not." I stared at him through the sunglasses with my coy little smile. "You will just have to miss me, mon ami."
     Richie smirked at me as Jon grabbed his arm and pulled him away. I did a small wave, keeping it up until they disappeared down the hall. With the band gone, I dropped my character and took Jon's sunglasses off my face. I glanced over at Bob as I grabbed a tissue from the box on the counter and brought it up to wipe my lipstick off.
     "Nice save," Bob chuckled.
     I smirked and raised an eyebrow. "About Canada?" I asked, "Or about the band?"
     "Both," he replied, his grin widening. I snickered too, tossing the stained tissue and returning to the couch to sit back down. Bob set his camera on the counter and swiveled his chair around so he could talk to me. "It was nice of you, too," he said, "to duet a song about his ex-girlfriend."
     I let my eyes fall to the floor as I thought about it. Finally, I shrugged. "She makes him happy," I answered, shaking my head absently. "No matter how much he denies it, I know he's in love with her. And that's meant to be. It's going to happen, and one day he's gonna leave me for her," I explained quietly, "But I know that they're going to have a great future together. A happy future that I couldn't give him because I'm not Dorothea." I blinked and looked up at Bob. He appeared to be listening attentively, so I went on. "But that's what I want for him," I said. "I'd rather he have that amazing, happy future with her than be stuck with whatever future I could give him."
     "What if it's better?" Bob offered.
     I shrugged again and shook my head. "I can't picture it."
     We both looked over at the door as footsteps were heard coming down the hall. Jon waltzed into the room and shut the door behind him.
     "Well they don't think you're you, at least," he informed me with a slight smirk. I smiled and started unbraiding my hair. The undoing of the braids took significantly less time than the doing had. Jon held out a hand to me as Bob stood and picked up his camera. I took his hand once I'd finished letting my hair loose.
     Jon pulled me up and wrapped his arms around my waist from behind. I could feel a blush burning my cheeks; I wasn't used to being so affectionate toward him with other people in the room. Bob only smiled, though. Jon tightened his grip, willing me to relax. With a smile, I rested my arms over his around my waist.
     Without warning, Jon leaned around me and planted a kiss on my cheek, causing me to laugh in surprise. I could hear Jon laughing too, but it was the sound of the camera shutter that caught me off guard. I hadn't even realized that Bob was lining up a shot until the picture had already been taken. The photo printed out the front of the camera and Bob grabbed it, waving it back and forth to help it develop.
     Jon smiled at me and let me go so he could retrieve the picture. I followed him over and smiled over his shoulder as the image very slowly came into view. Jon handed me the photo and I smiled a little. It wasn't Jon Bon Jovi, the rock star, and Nina Artelle, the out-of-date sound girl; it was just two average people, a boy and a girl, smiling happy, honest smiles. For a moment, I really wished it could be like that photo forever, even though I knew it couldn't.
     I blinked and looked back up, noticing then that Jon and Bob were having a conversation. I smiled a little and wrapped an arm around Jon's waist. He looked over at me and I held the photo out to him. He took it as I hugged his waist gently.
     "I'm gonna go back to bed," I mumbled, leaning on him ever so slightly. Jon smiled and pulled my keys out of his pocket. "Where are we parked?" I asked, taking the keys from him.
     He nodded toward the live room. "Left side of the building," he said, "That's where the producers park."
     I smiled and nodded, trying not to yawn. With a nod in his direction, I thanked Bob for his help before letting Jon go and backing away toward the hall. I wanted to go back to my hotel room and collapse into bed after the adventure I'd had here this morning. Bob and Jon both called out some form of "goodbye" as I left the room.
     Half way down the hall, I realized that Jon's sunglasses were hanging from my shirt collar. I turned on my heel to go back and return them, but before I got to the door, I heard my name.
     "...something about Nina," Bob's voice was saying from inside the control room, "She's a special sort of person, Jon, and she really loves you. You cannot let her get away." I stopped and leaned against the wall beside the door frame. I knew it was rude to eavesdrop, but I just couldn't help it. My curiosity got the better of me in that situation.
     "I'm glad you like her and all, but where is this coming from?" Jon's voice.
     "We were talking about that song and your ex a few minutes ago," Bob said, "Nina seems pretty content with the idea of you being lovesick over another woman."
     "I'm not lovesick!" Jon protested. "I'm just.." He paused. So did I. Finally, Jon continued, "I'm always gonna love Dotty a little, Nina knows that."
     "And she loves you anyway," Bob agreed, "Enough that she's willing to let you go if you decide you want Dotty instead of her."
     Silence. I held my breath. Even though I knew Jon's happiness meant Dorothea, some part of me wanted him to say something that meant he loved me more. I closed my eyes as if it would somehow help him make up his mind.
     The pause was very long. Then Jon's voice spoke again. "I don't see that happening any time soon."
     I smiled and opened my eyes, letting my breath out in a happy sigh.
     "Do you love her?" Bob's voice asked. I paused again, but Jon didn't. Not this time.
     "I don't know what I'd do without her," he answered without hesitation.
     My smile grew some more and I brought a hand up to cover my blush. It was then that I realized that I was still holding Jon's sunglasses. I couldn't return them now; they'd know I'd been listening, or at least that I'd heard something. Without a sound, I backed away from the door and continued up the hallway toward the lobby. Jon could get his sunglasses from my hotel room later. They weren't important anyway. They were nothing in comparison to what I'd just heard.
I don't know what I'd do without her.
     I put Jon's sunglasses back on my face and headed for my car. Just the thought of those words made this stupid grin spread across my face and I couldn't fight it. I didn't even want to, that's how good it felt. The chilly April air of Vancouver hit me hard as I stepped outside without my jacket, but even that couldn't bring me down. I was walking on air.