Chapter 3: Busted

Julianna went to the house to watch the video, as she always did, before couriering it to André. He had the final say over what was in the show and what wasn’t, but he usually loved her work, and more often than not, it made it into the show unchanged.

The four angles covered by the cameras showed on the screen. She was so engrossed in watching and critiquing her performance, that she almost missed it. She grabbed the remote and backed up several frames. Focusing on the camera that shot the length of the studio, she paused the frame and zoomed on the wall at the back of the property. She saw a dark-haired person vault the wall. Letting the video continue, she saw the shape disappear around the side of the house. Son of a bitch, she thought. Forwarding the tape, she saw that after the first minute or so, the trespasser forgot about hiding, and was standing in full view of the windows. She zoomed in closer. Holy shit – that’s Sambora!

She was still reeling from her encounter earlier this morning with Jon. Jon was all shades of bronze – pure sunshine. Richie, on the other hand, was dark and sensual – pure midnight. Both were gorgeous in their own ways, but she’d always been a sucker for tall, dark, and dangerous. That practically defined Richie. She watched his face as he watched her. She saw raw pain in his face, morphing into desire and longing. Her first thought was as a choreographer. Damn, if he reacted like that, André will love it! Her second was as a woman. Her heart sped up as she memorized his expression.

Snapping out of her trance, Julianna edited out the footage of Richie watching her. She had a flawless performance on tape, and didn’t want to have to re-shoot it. She put in a call to the courier service she used, and was assured that someone would be at her house within a half hour.

Reflecting on the day’s events, Julianna was now fairly confident that the whole band was here – here to work on the number they promised Bring It On for the show. Talk about irony. Wanting to be sure, Julianna went to the library to pull out the rental papers. As she thought, there weren’t any names on the papers, just the name of some holding company. She picked up the phone, and called Estelle, her real estate agent. “Good Morning, E, it’s Julianna. Who’s in my house?”

She demurred. “Jules, this is business. You know I shouldn’t tell you any more than what’s on the rental papers. Why, is there a problem?”

“Well, call me crazy, but I think I’m being stalked by Bon Jovi. Jon Bon Jovi, or a remarkable look-alike, appeared at the lake this morning, and I’d swear that Richie Sambora hopped my wall – my six foot high wall -- to watch me tape crap! the Sambora number for Bring It On.” She groaned, and rubbed her forehead. “He was peeping in my windows. What’s the deal? Are they all up there?”

Estelle laughed. “Well, since they invaded your privacy first, then, I'll tell you yes, they’re all up there. God, it was killing me, kepng this to myself. Do they look as good up close as they do in concert? You know you have to keep this information to yourself, right?”

Julianna laughed. "I only got a close look at Jon. He was sunning himself next to me, and God, is he ever beautiful." She paused. "I know I have to keep this to myself; you don't have to tell me that. I just wanted to know if I should expect any more visitors, or if it was just the Dynamic Duo up here. Two down, two to go, I guess. Thanks, E. I’ll be in the city in a week or so, let’s get together and dish.”

Estelle sighed dramatically. “It sounds like you’ve got all the good stories to tell. You'd better believe I’ll take you up on that offer. Call me when you’re in town. Bye, sweetie.”

“Bye,” Julianna replied, and hung up.

* * * * *

Back at the house, a stunned Richie walked into the great room. It didn’t register that the others were in there, talking. He crossed to the grand piano, and began playing the song he saw that woman dancing to. He didn’t sing, just played the music. The melody, always haunting, now had a different sound to it. It sounded hopeful instead of sad. When he was done, he looked up, and saw his friends standing around the piano, with concerned looks on their faces.

Tico was the first to speak. “What the hell, man, I thought you hated that song – too many memories.”

Richie shook his head. “I know man, I know.” He blew out a breath. “I don’t think I hate it anymore.” He told his friends about taking a stroll, intending to find out what Jon was hiding. Jon snorted. Richie told them about hearing his own words, his voice, coming from the barn back there, about vaulting the wall (Dave commented here, “Aren’t you too old for that?”), and about seeing the woman dance.

“No shit, guys, she was poetry in motion. She made me remember writing that song; all that pain, made me wish I had never recorded it. Then she made me glad to have done it, then made me wish I was singing it to her, begging her to be with me. The words took on new meaning. Instead of pain, there was longing. Instead of sad, I was…” he trailed off, shaking his head in wonder. “All that, all of that, in only four minutes, sixteen.” He shook his head.

The others looked at each other, then back at Richie. David spoke up, looking at Richie. “Man, you’re screwed.”