July 21st 1987 / Rumson New Jersey

One thing could be said without a doubt.

Bon Jovi were back to work.

Or at least Jon Bon Jovi was.

He had been scribbling down lyrics in his notepad for days. He’d hardly seen Amelia other than in passing, not even in bed since he usually slipped in around two.

He was like a machine when he turned to writing. Nothing or nobody could distract him from his craft, not even food or sleep. Amelia understood and refrained from interfering; she knew he’d make up for his despondency once he’d got it all out of his system.

Which was taking a good deal longer than anticipated.

She did her best to look after him while he worked. She brought him coffee every few hours along with assortments of snacks.

One particular morning, on the eighth day of this songwriting tirade, Amelia found him sitting in his office, swivelling on the desk chair with his feet on the table whilst anxiously penning a lyric.

“Good morning,” she greeted, not bothering to mask her slight annoyance that he hadn’t bothered to come to bed that night.

“Mornin’.”

His eyes didn’t divert from the paper. She’d never seen such a concentrated look on his face, his brows had never knitted quite so tightly before.

She placed a coffee on the table by his feet and crossed her arms over her chest.

“Earth to Jon.”

He grunted a quick dismissal, humming a quick tune as he wrote.

If she didn’t know him better she’d think he were annoyed at her.

“Jon. It’s time for a break.”

He finally looked up at her, shaking his head as if she just didn’t understand.

“Look babe, I’m sorry but I’m working.”

“I can see that. And if you want to continue working I suggest you drink your coffee.”

He scoffed and grabbed the coffee from the table, taking a sip with one hand while continuing to write with the other.

A maniac.

“I noticed you didn’t come to bed last night.”

“I know, sorry. I was busy, I’ll make it up to ya.”

“Busy writing? All week? I’ve let you be this long because I know how you are with songwriting. But a week with such little break is no good for you, not when you’ve started to miss out on sleep.”

“I’m fine. When inspiration hits you’ve gotta use it.”

He’d hardly looked at her once.

“I know that. But you can’t write good songs when you haven’t slept. Why don’t you come to bed?”

“It’s 10am. If you’re tired go nap,” he shrugged.

“I’m not tired,” her voice grew a little louder, “I’m asking you to come to bed. I can give you a massage or something, you seem very tense. And we could you know, talk. About all of this writing you’ve been doing, you haven’t told me about any of it.”

He scribbled out one of his sentences, flipping the page and rewriting it with altered wording.

“Look babe. I’m workin’ alright? I’m sorry I haven’t paid much attention to you but a man’s gotta work. I’ll make it up to you.”

“What’s the rush?” she asked softly. “Your tour has only just finished- cut short partly due to health issues no less. You’re only just getting off those cortisone shots, your voice is hardly in prime shape yet.”

At that, he finally looked up.

Oh that handsome face became so fixated when it came to work.

“My voice is fine,” he spoke seriously, as though any doubt on the matter was a serious attack.

He should know that the last thing she would ever do was attack him.

“I know it’s fine, but I know you well enough to know that you are not fine with ‘fine’, you want to be the best man out there. My point is that you won’t be touring until late next year, there’s no rush to create songs.”

“So you want me to sit around all day for six months before we start writing? I’m inspired.”

“You and I both know you’re incapable of sitting around all day. I have no issue with you writing, of course not. What I take issue with is you forsaking rest and even food for the sake of your craft. There’s no deadline, you’ve run around on the road for a year and burnt yourselves out. Take this time to relax, look back on your achievements, question where you want to take yourself in the future. The best songs that you write for your next record will not have been written in these first few weeks off.”

He tossed his notebook across the table in what could only be described as a tantrum and pressed his face into his palm, huffing with great frustration.

“What’s going on?” she asked gently. She stood behind his desk chair and massaged his oh-so-tense shoulders. “Confide in me. What’s with the manic writing episode?”

“I just wanna write,” he grumbled into his hand.

“And why’s that?”

“What are you, my therapist?”

“Sometimes you need a little therapy from the people that love you the most. I’m no psychologist but I know and love you enough to realize that something’s amiss. Tell me.”

“I just wanna write,” he repeated, though this time with an open-ended cadence. “I couldn’t write on tour, I had bigger things on my mind. And I wanna prove to people that I can do this, that I can write another hit album, that I’m not just some pretty-boy fluke that got lucky enough to land flavour of the month.”

“Shh,” she murmured when she saw his distress. He was tense when she leaned over and wrapped her arms around his neck from behind. Her tender kiss to his cheekbone hardly quelled his anxiety. “Come now, you’re the most confident man I know, and I daresay that you’ve earned that confidence. You and I both know that Prayer and Wanted are songs that’ll be sung by generations decades on. Even if you were to fade away into the depths of musical irrelevancy, you’ve left your stamp on the industry and the lives of the people with the songs you’ve already written.”

“But what if it was a fluke? We never made it with the first two records- what if it was all just luck? What if it was Des all along? What if I can’t write a hit without other people?”

“There’s no shame in relying upon collaboration, nor is there any doubt that there was an element of luck. But you know as well as I do that your success is a result of your hard work. You slaved away for years at this, you slept on the floors of the Power Station and sang your heart out in bars each night. Wanted was written by you, was it not?”

“Lyrics, yeah. Rich did some stuff with the guitars.”

“Desmond wasn’t a part of that song and yet it’s probably the best you’ve ever written.”

“You think?”

“I do. You’re no fluke, you know a good lyric when it hits you.”

“I worked hard at it.”

Amelia thought of the hundreds of post-it-notes, scraps of paper, envelopes, serviettes that Jon had pinned around his old bedroom, all with lyrics and snippets of songs on them.

“I don’t wanna fade away,” he mumbled in regard to her previous comment.

“You’re twenty-five years old. You’ve sold fifteen million albums, you can’t leave your hotel room without a ludicrous disguise, you’re on the front of every music magazine. Fading away is not something you need concern yourself with. I was speaking of a distant future.”

“But what if I am just a fluke? You’ve seen our audiences, its seventy-thirty between male and female.”

“And? I’ve never known you to complain about your audience before.”

“Course not,” he scoffed, “But I don’t wanna be just some pin-up. What if people are right? What if my looks are the reason for all this.”

“You know that’s ridiculous. People don’t sell fourteen million copies of their album just because they’re handsome. Bad Name was on the radio before people even knew what you looked like; it’s not like your album cover showcased much in that department.”

He stood and made his way over to the window. His eyes harboured such deep thought, almost as though Amelia was merely an observer to his struggle as opposed to a direct participant in the conversation.

“All this time we’ve stayed in the public eye. We were tourin’ before we even put the album out, we did two hundred shows in twenty different countries. Nobody can say we didn’t work our fuckin’ asses off, I had shows, interviews, photoshoots every fuckin’ day for a year. That’s all on hiatus now- what if people forget about us? Tourin’s all we’ve known, I don’t know how to sit and relax. Endin’ the tour early was a mistake.”

“Ending the tour early was your only option,” Amelia said firmly, marching into his line of sight. “As for remaining in the public eye, I hardly think that hiatus will protect you from that. The press will continue to publish things about you for as long as they make money- which I can guarantee will be a lot longer than this ‘hiatus’. You’re bombarded each time you leave the house; people congregate on the doorstep of your parent’s home, hell people even wait outside of this old mansion for you. I can assure you that people’s interest in you grows by the day. All the award shows you’ve been invited to are sure to generate discussion. If you ask me, sooner or later you’ll be wanting to vacate to some uncontacted island.”

Something clicked in Jon’s mind.

“Right. I forgot about the award shows.”

“You’re sure to win the vast majority you’ve been nominated for.”

“Yeah, that doesn’t say much,” he muttered contemptuously.

“How so?”

He grabbed an envelope from the first drawer of his desk. “Look at this. I’ve been nominated for a lifetime achievement award- twice. Two different organizations.”

Amelia failed to understand.

“And?”

“And?” he shouted. “I’m twenty-fuckin’-five years old. If I’m getting’ a lifetime achievement award at twenty-five then I’m in trouble.”

“Perhaps it’s merely implying that in such a short space of time you’ve achieved more than what most could achieve in a lifetime. Surely you should consider it an honor.”

“They can honor my ass.”

He tossed the envelope in the trash. Amelia retrieved it.

“It’s a prestigious award, Jonny. The least you can do is show up. You may not yet win.”

“Sure I will,” he scoffed. “They pick whoever they know’s gonna bring in the most viewers. Not even Madonna can outdo us this year.”

“Perhaps it’d be a nice place for you to meet new people. There’ll be plenty of musicians there.”

He seemed so determined to prove himself. There he leaned frustratingly against the windowpane sending a smouldering glare towards the outside world. Always the New Jersey Attitude, always desperate to be something more.

“I’ll only go if you go with me.”

“Me?” she gasped. “Why me?”

He scoffed at the question.

“Because you’re my girlfriend? And I need a plus one?”

“Well yes.. but. What would the management say? What would your fans say? The press?”

“To hell with what they think. I ain’t bullshitting people anymore. If people like me because of our songs then great, if some little girl likes me because she thinks she’s got a shot with me then I couldn’t give a rats ass if she never buys my record again. If I’m not a fluke then let’s prove it- if people don’t care after that then hey, I tried. How ‘bout it?”

“You really want to show me to the world?”

“Why shouldn’t I? I’ve only ever wanted to be honest with people, Amelia. Now that’s fuckin’ honest. People can heckle me all they want, I’m here to write songs, not be some piece of hot meat.”

“It wouldn’t be you they were heckling,” Amelia whispered.

“Look,” he touched her arm tenderly. For the first time that morning, his frown softened. “Bein’ with me’s gonna be hard, okay? Girls are gonna envy you, though I’m sure if they knew the real me they’d never dream of marrying me. But I’m here to protect you Amelia. I won’t let people harass you; if I can’t stop people from printing stuff then I’ll at least make sure you never see it. Count yourself lucky you’re Richie’s sister. If we sell our story like a Shakespearian tragedy people are bound to like it.”

Amelia had never imagined that she’d have to market her own love story.

Fame was hard; secondary fame was even harder.

She wasn’t sure about his plan, he didn’t seem in the right frame of mind. But, as he looked desperately into the eyes she knew he loved so much, Amelia would’ve done just about anything to help him in his quest to prove himself. Even if that meant subjecting herself to scrutiny.

She was a tough woman anyhow. She was sure nothing the press said would bother her too deeply; not even if they called her the ugliest woman this side of Jersey.

“Alright.”

He kissed her softly.

“Good. We’ve got a month to figure things out anyhow.”

Amelia wasn’t sure she liked what she’d agreed to. Was she ready to enter the public eye? She didn’t want fame, all she wanted was to live a happy life with Jon.

But that meant Jon needed to be happy too. His desperate crusade to prove himself through a week of non-stop songwriting was surely no good for him. She supposed it was only natural to question oneself after achieving such success.

†††

Later that morning Amelia dragged Jon into their bedroom and insisted he take a nap. She thought that a break would've been exactly what he needed, and it was to an extent, but somehow he seemed even more jittery than when he was on all those medications.

“Guess I got myself into a bit of a funk this week. I don’t function well off tour anymore, I’m so used to all the moving around that I can’t sit still.”

Amelia busied herself massaging all of the kinks from his upper back. All that touring had left him temporarily scarred, and she wasn’t sure she believed in the pseudoscience that was ‘chiropractors’, even if Jon swore blind that they helped.

What he needed was a good, rigorous massage, and she’d rather give it herself than let some other woman at him, no matter how professional the setting.

Women couldn't be trusted around Jon Bon Jovi anymore. He was like a fever.

“People also tend to get themselves into funks when they’re sleep deprived. Seriously, what were you thinking not coming to bed?”

“I was busy,” he groaned tiredly, face buried inside of his pillow. “Writing.”

“And ruminating no doubt,” she teased, “You’ve officially made it so high on the ladder of stardom that you’ve got vertigo.”

“Somethin’ like that,” he grumbled. “I just don’t wanna let people down. My crew that are relying on my pay cheques.”

“The Slippery tour alone has already done wonders for your crew; each has come away as a rich man in their own right. Your family too, you’ve earned enough to retire them all. And you’re not going to let anyone down. Your next album, whenever it may be, will be just as good as Slippery if not better. When you have a group of musicians so talented as yourselves paired with a manager like Doc McGhee you aren’t going to fizzle out. Take this time to relax, because from this point onwards your life is going to be nothing short of hectic.”

She wasn’t sure he’d quite come to terms with the fact that he’d never be able to leave his house again without being recognized. For now he enjoyed it, it exhilarated him, but she wasn’t sure he’d feel the same at fifty years old.

“Sometimes I wish I was ugly.” He swivelled onto his back. “Like I was covered in warts or had some crooked nose or somethin’.”

Amelia flicked his cheek fondly. “Now why would a handsome man like you ever wish for something like that?”

“Because that way if I had success I’d know it was really mine, and maybe people wouldn’t drag me to so many damn photoshoots all the time.”

“Time is what will prove your integrity as a band. You needn’t scar your face or roughen yourself up.”

“Y’know, I was one ugly kid. Never thought I’d get anyone other than my mother telling me I was good lookin’, now you get people sayin’ the only reason I’ve got a number one album is because I’m good lookin’!”

“I beg to differ. Pray, when was this ‘ugly’ you speak of?”

“’Melia, when you met me I had a massive zit on the end of my nose. I was mortified when you were speakin’ to me that first time, every once in a while I saw your eyes go down to it.”

She giggled melodiously. “Oh goodness, I’d forgotten that. But it didn’t stop me from realizing how handsome you were.”

“Handsome? Are you crazy? I was this skinny kid with poodle hair. I got bullied for bein’ fat n’ then teased for bein’ skinny- went from Johnny Meatballs to Johnny Spaghetti.”

“You were damn handsome and you know it,” she smacked his shoulder lightly. “The girls swooned over you in secret.”

“Like hell they did. One time a girl cried when I asked her out- and not in a good way.”

“Stop exaggerating.”

“S’true! She ran off to her friends and had a breakdown in the cafeteria.”

“Was it Johnny Spaghetti or Johnny Meatballs that asked her out?”

“Meatballs. That was right after getting transferred from the all-boys school. Hadn’t perfected my charm just yet.”

Amelia gazed at him, laying her chin down on his pectoral muscle with a grin of admiration. “And now look at you. You’ve charmed the entire nation and more.”

“’Cept the critics.”

“Oh!” she laughed, smacking his stomach. “Will you ever be satisfied? You’re beloved by the people, who cares what a miserable and pompous critic has to say?”

“You’re right,” he grinned at her. He wondered how she could be everything he loved all in one. Beautiful, intelligent, wise, logical when she wasn’t overrun with obstinance; he didn’t know what he’d do without her. His gentle hand tucked a hair behind her ear. He liked when her hair was out of her face no matter her protestations. It was nice to be able to see her in her entirety without her hair obscuring the view. He adored her round cheeks, especially the way they bunched up when she smiled.

“What are you thinking?”

There was a dreamy haze in his eyes, usually a sign he was reminiscing or daydreaming.

“Nothin’ doll, I’m just tired. Stay with me?”

“Of course. Mind if I take a peep at your notes?”

“Sure babe.”

Amelia had often looked over his notes during their teenage years. She was no songwriter but her English language skills had sometimes come into play. In fact, a few lyrics of Runaway may even have been altered by her.

At first he’d been shy of letting her see his work, but after all these years he’d come around to it.

I don’t need no license to sign on no line.

I don’t need no preacher to tell me you’re mine.

I don’t need no wedding, I don’t need no new bride.

I just need you baby, right here by my side.

Not the hedonistic rock and roll lyrics she’d been expecting. This was… introspective. She liked it, she thought.

I know we have a hard time, ‘cause your daddy don’t approve,

But who the hell’s your daddy to tell us what we should do?

Now there’s a million questions I could ask about our lives,

But I only need one answer, so baby, don’t fight.

So I say baby can you tell me just where we fit in?

Are we livin in love or are we living in sin?

Is it you n me or just this world we live in,

Cause I call it love- they call it living in sin.

We’re living on love, they say we’re living in sin.

Is it right for both your parents who fight it out each night,

Then pray for god’s forgiveness because they think that’s what’s right,

Or give that ring of diamond when his heart is made of stone,

They can talk but still say nothing- both together and alone.

Now I just wanna hold you and kiss those lips goodnight,

But that promise is forever if I sign it on that fateful line

“I see that my father has made a rather poignant cameo in your writing.”

He lifted his head tiredly.

“Huh? Pass it here.”

He dismissed it almost instantly.

“That’s old. When we first got back together.”

“I like it,” she said optimistically, “But.. if you ever demo it, might you add a little subtlety when it comes to Dad?”

“It needs a lot of tweaking anyhow, doesn’t flow right. I just needed to get some stuff off my chest, I never intended to finish it.”

“Well, I think you should. I like it, I’ve had enough of being told we ‘live in sin’ because we aren’t married. You put it all rather eloquently.”

He ruffled her hair with a smile. “I’ll think about it.”

She picked up the notepad and started looking through some of his newest stuff.

A penny for your thoughts now baby, tell me what you see,

You know I wanna play with you but this aint hide and seek,

Can’t you see?

I know your daddy don’t approve of what I’m thinkin of,

You give me little pieces but your touches aint enough,

Only you can free me now.

I’ve been to heaven and the other side,

We can share our sins together with the full moon high,

We’ll remember the night forever it’s just you and I,

River of love and the full moon high.

“That’s nice. River of love and a full moon high,” Amelia commented, earning only a tired grunt from her fatigued counterpart.

She’d talk about it when he rose later on, for now she could look through all his notes.

When I look in your eyes I can feel your fire,

A see-through disguise can’t conceal desire,

I’ve been reading your lips, I don’t need no translation,

They want more than a kiss, I’m here to give my donation.

So turn out the lights, I’m going down slowly,

Don’t tell me what’s right, just tell me you want me,

Tell me you want me, don’t tell me you love me,

Tell me you want me and lets make it baby,

Lets make it baby x 3

Come, come, come, a little bit closer,

Cause I wanna play doctor,

Oh it keeps getting harder, harder, harder to keep you away,

I wanna taste the sweat running off of your body,

Let’s get the sheets all wet,

I wanna make you feel naughty.

So turn out the lights,

You know I’m going down slowly,

Don’t tell me what’s right,

Just tell me you want me

Don’t tell me you love me.

“John Francis Bongiovi Jr.”

He expelled an elongated whine. “What? I thought you wanted me to sleep.”

“That’s before I realized you’d written an erotic ballad about me.”

Or at least she hoped it was about her.

“So?” he mumbled, throwing an arm over his eyes. “I was horny. What’s the deal?”

“What’s the deal? Men have sex when they’re horny! They don’t jot down all of their nasty fantasies to make songs out of. What do you mean you want to play doctor- I assume the proverbial ‘it’ is love? And what exactly is this ‘donation’ that you mention.”

He patted her arm tiredly and lovingly. “You’ll figure it out babe. Too tired.”

There needn’t have been any ‘figuring out’, he’d stated everything pretty clearly.

As much as she hated to admit, the admissions and declarations made in the song had raised her temperature a little. She was sure she was experiencing a hot flush.

Oh. When he woke up again she had to hear him sing it. She couldn’t go more than a few hours without hearing a private performance.

That was what he’d been writing all week? Along with others of course, but he’d written a sex anthem about her?

How ludicrous. And yet how entirely Jon.

Knowing him, he’d end up recording a demo of it. Amelia wasn’t sure she could even let the band hear such nasty confessions- especially not when said band contained her brother.

Not, Richie could not under any circumstances help demo a sex song written for her. He’d have to hire a temporary guitarist or play the parts himself.

Was that prudish? She didn’t think so, she hoped it was merely decent.

She must’ve read over those lyrics perhaps ten times before joining him in his nap. Rest assured her dreams were pleasant fantasies.

Jon’s cheery disposition returned in full by the end of the month. It seemed as more records sold, more magazines talked about him and more MTV award shows recognized him he started to forget about his previous worries.

Amelia had worries of her own. Jon’s first lifetime achievement award was coming up, meaning soon enough her existence would be recognised by the general public.

She didn’t bother to notify Jon on her worries; he’d say the same thing he always did.

Don’t worry babe, I’ll protect you. No one’s gonna say anything bad about you. The people will love you, you’re beautiful.

Sometimes she wondered if he really did think he was Superman.

Nevertheless, she was happy that he was happy.

She at least had a nice dress to wear for the day- courtesy of Jon as always. She’d invited Spankie around to help with her hair and make-up.

“It’s nice that he wants to show you off, you know? Doc n’ Polygram give him shit for it, they want him to remain the pretty-boy bachelor.”

“I think Jon wants the best of both worlds,” Amelia responded, “He wants reassurance that the people like the music and him having a serious girlfriend won’t affect the sales. He wants to be able to live his life ordinarily, but simultaneously I think he likes the female attention whether he’ll admit it or not. He doesn’t want it to disappear by a long shot, and I don’t doubt that he’ll still flirt with fans and interviewers.”

“Does that bother you?” Spankie asked while brushing her friend’s hair.

“Not particularly. The Jon that he showcases to the world is far from the man that I know him to be. When he flirts with interviewers it’s different; it’s over the top. He enjoys it no doubt, but it’s not really real, it’s for show.”

“Well, I for one don’t think that him having a girlfriend is gonna make the girls any less crazy about him.”

“Neither- they’ll all just hate me instead.”

“Sure, maybe for a couple weeks but they’ll get over it.”

“I hope so.”

“I was surprised he was feelin’ up to it,” Spankie continued. “I wasn’t sure he’d wanna risk it.”

“He’s been apprehensive but in the end it’s not worth having fans if they’re going to ditch you the moment they see you’re happy. He’s hopeful, he wants to prove to Polygram that it’s not about his looks. He likes the female audience; if there were going to be a heavy divide between male and female fans he’d always want it in favor of the women, even if the male audience is the more ‘respected’ for a rockstar.”

“Well he’s not exactly a misogynist, why should he care about that?”

“I think it’s more that he likes to see large chested women in the front row as opposed to middle-aged men with beer bellies.”

“What’s that about a beer belly?”

Jon strode over in his rockstar outfit. Amelia had mistakenly believed he’d wear a tuxedo to such an event; how wrong she was.

“Nothing, dear,” she responded, standing up. “We were just talking about you.”

“I heard.” He dipped to kiss her. “Spankie- don’t ever call me a pretty-boy bachelor.”

She peered over her glasses at him with a smile.

“If you say so Boss.”

He turned back to Amelia with a grin. “You look beautiful babe."

“All thanks to Spankie.”

Jon smiled at the wardrobe manager that'd become a close friend in recent months. "If I could I'd take both you pretty ladies as my plus ones." He leaned to kiss Spankie's cheek. "Thanks for comin' over doll. You gonna get home safe? I can order you a taxi.”

“I’ll be alright," she waved a dismissive hand, "My car’s outside. I’ll see you guys on television.”

Jon waited as Spankie and Amelia exchanged one last hug.

“Alrighty. Let’s get this show on the road.”

---

The chariot, or rather the SUV was waiting for them outside. Jon sat opposite Amelia in quiet contemplation, gazing out of the blacked-out windows.

He looked so… nonchalant, as though riding in an SUV was nothing short of ordinary to him. Likewise the circumstance he found himself in, on his way to collect a lifetime achievement award at the measly age of twenty-five.

Well, if he did indeed win.

He was going to stick out like the proverbial sore thumb in that outfit- a royal blue jacket with hints of crimson, and of course his ever-present spandex pants.

At least it was unlikely he’d be the only one dressed so elaborately.

Amelia on the other hand looked every ounce the elegant woman that her parents had raised; short dress elongating the perfectly formed legs already accentuated by her heels.

Jon knew she looked miles from his league- if he’d dressed plainly people would’ve thought she was the star.

And yet what he saw was apprehension brewing somewhere in those brown eyes. Amelia had ‘tells’ just like anyone, while Jon might bounce his knee and grow jittery when he worried, Amelia only grew silent. Invisible. Her eyes would fixate on something distant as she worried.

“’Melia, snap out of it,” he tapped her knee. “You’re gonna be fine baby. My fans aren’t monsters, they aren’t gonna 'boo' ya.”

“I hope not. I’m fine, bit of a headache is all.”

Why she ever bothered lying to him was beyond him. He knew her better than he knew himself at times.

She seemed in a chirpier mood by the time they’d reached the venue. Climbing out of the SUV was a different story. As soon as the door opened Amelia had never heard such an infernal mass of screams and adulation. The mere sighting of Jon’s bushy locks was enough to send the crowd into unhealthy overdrive.

That was it, she couldn’t go out there. She’d stay in the SUV and let it drive her straight out of there to God knows where. But of course Jon was standing there waiting for her, impatiently wondering just what the heck was taking her so long.

“Amelia,” he threw her a chastising look, “What the heck are you doing? Come on.”

He didn’t sound impressed at all. She’d showed all the signs of getting cold feet and yet he hadn’t expected her to freeze at the last moment. Amelia Sambora was never one to let her fears get the best of her. Not unless it was a spider or something of equal insignificance.

“I can’t.”

Overcome with nerves was a position she seldom found herself in. Words catching in her throat was even rarer; her sharp tongue was nowhere to be seen.

Jon gave the screaming crowd an awkward smile before poking his head back through the SUV. The look he gave her was enough to make her get up. It was a rare occasion in which he looked entirely displeased with her.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, allowing him to help her out of the car. He didn’t say anything. Had she embarrassed him? She couldn’t tell what he was thinking because he had those God forsaken sunglasses on again.

The crowd was even bigger than she’d imagined. Brows furrowed and screams halted as she stepped out beside Jon. Many whistled, cheered, but many remained silent.

The crowd had turned from adulation to confusion. Amelia was petrified. When Jon reached for her hand she batted it away, earning herself a look of disproval that she felt even through the sunglasses.

Amelia had officially chickened out. In that moment she vowed to present herself as nothing more than his assistant. She wasn’t ready to be Jon Bon Jovi’s girlfriend.

“Come on,” he muttered, keeping a smile on his face for the fans. He started to lead her in the direction of the building, members of staff greeting him on the way. “Want me to hold your purse?”

She shook her head.

“Come on then.”

She felt dreadful. His disappointment and dissatisfaction were more than palpable. She’d let him down.

Her breathing resumed when got inside. Jon continued to march ahead until he’d bypassed any lingering staff members. There, he turned and confronted her.

“What the hell was that?”

“I’m so sorry, I don’t know what happened, I just froze.”

“Are you my girlfriend or what?”

“Of course I am, it’s just…”

He looked at her expectantly.

“Well, it’s a big step for me,” she finished weakly, “I’m afraid of what they’ll think of me. The crowd started to talk when I stepped out.”

“You’re imagining things.”

“No, Jon, I’m not,” she stood up for herself. “I have a right to be frightened. Subjecting yourself to that sort of scrutiny is not something that many women have to do. I’m scared.”

Jon grabbed a glass of champagne from a nearby waiter, offering it to Amelia before drinking it himself.

“Right,” he exhaled, “Let’s take a minute.”

Amelia clutched tightly onto her purse and observed all the other nominees that passed her. None of them looked the least bit nervous.

“Did I embarrass you?” Amelia whispered. Jon was silent for a millisecond too long. “I’m sorry.”

“You didn’t embarrass me,” he corrected, “I just wasn’t expecting it, I wanted us to appear as a couple. The cameras will have seen you slap my hand away, you didn’t achieve anything with that.”

Oh God. She’d made everything ten times worse for herself. That small gesture would undoubtedly cause masses of speculation. Now she had no choice but to present herself as his girlfriend.

“I’m so sorry. I panicked.”

“I’m sorry too.”

He pecked her lips.

“I was bein’ an asshole. I wasn’t really thinking, I thought you’d just be fine when we got here.”

She was anything but fine.

“Nervous is all.”

Jon wasn’t sure what to say. He put his champagne glass down and peered up with those cheeky blues that had enchanted her upon their first meeting.

“Well. Not much we can do now. What do you say, will you hold my hand?”
He held it out hopefully. She took it with little hesitation, only to be drawn in for a sweet kiss. “You’ll be fine, alright? I’m proud of you.”

But why was he proud of her? He had no reason to be proud.

Jon fit right in amongst the stars. Despite being new to the fame aspect of his life, he conversed effortlessly with any passing celebrity. Each walked away thoroughly charmed and half smitten with the young man.

Meanwhile, the both of them were excited to merely be in the presence of such greatness. Amelia had been stunned when Jon briefly talked to the likes of Brian May; gobsmacked when the great Cher had sent a smile his way.
All the while people looked at her as though she was nothing more than a cute tag-along to the famous Jon Bon Jovi. How out of place she was.

“Are you alright?” Jon asked as they took their seats amongst the crowd.

“I think so. I’m excited for you.”

Even if Jon professed that he didn’t care for the award, the supportive girlfriend in her hoped desperately that he’d win. He must’ve cared a little to be honored amongst the other stars in the room.
Everybody started clapping when the lights went down. Diana Ross took the stage as presenter. Amelia couldn’t help but swoon when her boyfriend’s face appeared on a massive projector.

“And the winner is… “

Amelia found herself on the edge of her seat, Jon’s hand sandwiched between both of her clammy ones.

“Jon Bon Jovi!”

Jon smiled, though more out of necessity than genuine joy. He waited for a split second to bask in the applause, then kissed each of Amelia’s cheeks before taking the stage.

Bless the man. For all his daily confidence and performance experience he didn’t look entirely at home on such a stage.

“Thank you,” he projected as he held up the small trophy. He waited for the applause to finish before continuing. “This isn’t so much an award for me as it is for the people around me. I wanna give thanks to the band, my manager, the road crew; Bruce Fairburn for producing the album and you all for listenin’ to it."

He gave one of his stellar smiles.

"The critics aint ever been kind to long-haired bands like us so thanks for givin’ ‘em the finger when they said we were nothin’. God bless y’all, n’ stay outta trouble.”

He held the trophy up again. His eyes sought out Amelia whom he recognised amongst the thousand guests almost right away. He sent a wink her way before leaving.

A number of other awards were presented afterwards, by the end of which Jon still hadn’t returned. Even as the lights came back on he was nowhere to be seen.

What the hell?

She took a breath and vowed not to panic. She’d done enough of that already today. Someone would surely be kind enough to point her in the correct direction.

“Well well,” drawled a voice that she unfortunately recognized. “Miss me, doll?”

She smelt his minty breath before she'd even turned around.

“Hello Tommy,” Amelia greeted politely.

“You look a little lost. Let me guess, you’re here with Jonny?”

“Yes though he seems to have disappeared on me. Did you see where he went?”

“No, but I can help you look for him.”

Tommy wasn’t exactly the savoury company she’d been hoping for.

“So then,” he asked. “What happened between us? On the tour we seemed to get along pretty well before you went silent on me. Jonny really didn’t like you hangin’ around with me huh.”

Not the question she’d wanted.

“I think he was worried you’d corrupt me or something, Motley Crue doesn’t have the most stellar reputation.”

“Bullshit,” he laughed, and for once Amelia saw something other than lust in his eyes. “Y’know, I’m not a monster Amelia, I really did like you.”

Why did he have to have such a lovely smile? It juxtaposed everything that he was.

“Come Tommy, you and I are nothing alike,” she smiled. “We hardly did anything but argue on that tour.”

“Opposites attract,” he gleamed.

“They also repel. You would have grown sick of me when I didn’t grant you all of your carnal wishes at once. And my aversion to any drugged-up ‘fun’ would’ve soon rendered me boring in your eyes.”

Amelia Sambora was an object of desire in the eyes of Tommy Lee. She was something new, and not in the way of a trophy. Amelia was beautiful and opposing to him in every way. She was short while he was tall, good while he was bad, smart while he could hardly divide sums- a woman like her could’ve changed his life around in another world.

But not this one it would seem.

He shook his head. “Who gave you that impression of me? I’m not an animal.”

That smile almost made her believe him. Still, she remembered Jon’s words to her weeks before that fateful night she got spiked. Tommy Lee was not a person she wanted to hang around with, much less date.

“It would not have worked.”

“If I weren’t with Heather I’d try to make you change your mind on that. You’re a beautiful girl, shame you’re Richie’s sister n’ not Nikki’s. I woulda made you mine a long time ago.”

“I doubt that.”

Amelia had once thought that even Jon was too rebellious for her. Jon. The same man who held cigarettes out of her reach and scolded her when she tried to sneak one from his pack, the man who’d ratted her age to bar tenders while performing in the clubs just to make sure they didn’t serve her anything too hardcore.

He'd looked after her like a man ought to and no one in the world had seen it except for her. Not her parents, not Richie, nobody knew how good he was for her.

“Amelia.”

Jon came hurrying up to her. Seeing her with Tommy was enough to put him on high alert.

Why? Well he wasn’t sure. Amelia wasn’t stupid enough to fall for his tender ministrations nor disloyal enough to betray him in the slightest; he just didn’t like Tommy.

“Jon,” the drummer greeted evenly. To Amelia, it appeared as though they had some kind of an unresolved business.

Jon’s hand sought out that of his girlfriend’s. Of course she should have expected it, Jon was always a man to mark his territory in front of potential ‘invaders’.

“What have we here?” Tommy whistled, gesturing lazily to the couple’s linked hands. “I see you got your mitts on her after all. I knew your intentions weren’t so squeaky clean as you made them out to be.”

Evidently this was a male feud, something had gone down between them all those months ago in Texas.

“Knock it off Tom, not here.”

“I don’t know which award I should be congratulating you for.”

He remained noticeably silent.

“Did Jonny tell you he all but got down on his knees and begged for me to stay away from you. Hey Kidd, what happened to ‘being able to mingle with the female population without the need to fuck them’.”

Clearly Amelia was out of her depth in the conversation. She hadn’t a clue what he was talking about. Fuck who? Well, her obviously.

But how exactly did she fit into this male disagreement.

“She’s my girlfriend.”

“You play dirty, Bon Jovi. Someday your squeaky-clean persona’s gonna slip and people will realize you’re no better than Nik and I.”

“What are you talking about?” Amelia tried to hide her dismay at the comparison.

“What kinds of nasty things did Jonny tell you about me? Did you know him and I argued like hell over you a couple times when I was tryna court you? I knew he had a sweet spot for you.”

There had always been more to Jon Bon Jovi’s feigned concern.

“Court me?” Amelia blinked. “Tommy, you and I may have meaninglessly flirted a couple of times but I could never have been anything more than a friend to you. You and I would never have worked regardless of Jon’s intervention.”

“So there was an intervention.”

“Tommy, I was in love with him.”

Amelia remembered the night of Jon’s ‘intervention’ like it was yesterday. His sweet concern had brought her to a standstill. She could hardly look back on the night without blushing, especially considering her embarrassing and childish conduct in screaming at him and threatening to call security.

Looking back it should’ve been obvious to him how strongly she still felt about him. Passion, angry or love-filled, was not the same as indifference.

“Since high school,” she added belatedly.

Tommy’s nose scrunched slightly. Was he embarrassed?

Tommy Lee didn’t like to be made to look like a fool.

“And I loved her,” Jon added, “It wasn’t about fighting fair, it was about keeping her away from people I knew were no good for her.”

Even into her adulthood he had that same urge to protect her as when they were kids. Even more so now they were surrounded by the likes of Motley Crue and other unsavoury rock acts.

“I see,” Tommy said, jabbing his tongue into his cheek. “And here I was thinkin’ you were different.”

“Different?” Amelia frowned.

“Yeah you women are all the same, leadin’ us men along like dogs with leads.”

“I hardly led you along. Besides, how does your own medicine taste?”

Jon stifled a great smirk.

“Touché.”  He gave her a smile that was filled with no animosity. Then, he reached to touch her chin. “Anywho, see you round Princess. Congratulations Jon, Lifetime Achievement Award at what, twenty-five? They must know somethin’ you don’t.”

“Yeah,” Jon said flatly. “I should get my cards read. See you later Tommy.”

Jon dragged Amelia away rather hastily.

"Shit-stirrin’ motherfuckin’ son-of-a-bitch,” he muttered.

“Woah. Slow down there Cowboy.”

Jon stopped in his tracks and eyed Tommy across the room, now occupied with the company of Heather Locklear.

The man had Heather Locklear for Christ’s sake, what was he doing trying to woo Amelia too?

“I hate that guy.”

“Evidently,” Amelia giggled. Well, at least she seemed happy to be back with him.

“His type of guy is the reason the phrase ‘lock up your daughters’ exists.”

“Or in this case, your girlfriends?” Amelia teased. “You stink of jealousy dear. All I did was speak to him briefly, it’s not like I had much of a choice.”

He expelled a breath of relief. “Yeah, I know darlin’. I just..”

He trailed off for lack of words.

“Just what?”

“God! I just hate him. He’s all over you- I hate thinkin’ about what he’d do to you if he had his own way like he always does. He probably has fantasies about you.”

Amelia hushed him with a palm to his cheek, warm with temper.

“Fantasies is all that they are, if they indeed exist.” He felt a small flutter when she kissed him. “I’m all yours.”

He wrapped his free arm around her waist and pulled her tight against his torso. “Thank God.”

He was grinning again.

Amelia had her first chance to inspect his trophy up close. It was a neat little thing, bright gold with his name engraved in it. “Congratulations Cowboy. It’s a prestigious award.”

He rolled his eyes. He didn’t want to shit-talk the award in the very building it’d been presented to him, but truth be told he hardly esteemed it.

Tommy had asked which award he should congratulate him for. The question made him laugh. He wondered if Amelia knew how special she was to him, she was life’s greatest reward.

“Thanks darlin’.”

If they weren’t in such an open setting she would’ve displayed her affection more openly.

“So then,” Jon smiled. “What do you say, red-carpet?”

She didn’t respond right away.

“You don’t have to, but..”

“But?”

He grinned. “Well, I’d really like you to.”

If he was so excited to show her off how could she be hesitant? He had more to lose, he wasn’t chickening out.

Amelia had never been a coward- she could do this. What could a few nasty headlines or dirty looks do to take away her happiness?

The cat was out of the bag anyway. As Jon had said, that little hand spat earlier was going to be the talk of the press if it wasn’t soon remedied.

“Alright then.”

“Are you sure?”

He looked elated by the mere prospect.
“I’m sure. Will you hold my hand this time?”

“Won’t let it go for a second.”

Amelia tried to think of nothing as they stood at the red-carpet entrance. She tried to focus on the warmth of Jon’s hand as opposed to her swirling guts.

“Ready Princess?”

He wasn’t without his own fears; the idea that people listened to his music purely because they thought he was ‘cute’ was nauseating- the idea that his status as a taken man could hinder the sales of his records was enough to keep him awake at night.

But Jon was confident in his craft. He knew people liked the music, he just hoped that Amelia’s existence wouldn’t cause too much of an uproar.

“As I’ll ever be.”

Jon walked her out every bit the proud boyfriend he was.

†††

Jon Bon Jovi, frontman and namesake of his band Bon Jovi has granted us exclusive access to his multi-million-dollar home in beautiful Rumson New Jersey. He sits in his 1.5 acre backyard looking every bit the young and handsome rockstar he’s painted to be, far too ‘cool’ to converse with the lowly likes of us.

I ask the question burning on everyone’s mind.

Who was the young lady that appeared with you at the Lifetime Achievement awards?

‘My girlfriend’ he responds. A bit secretive, ain't he?

What’s the ladies’ name?

‘Amelia. Sambora.’ He adds the last part belatedly.

Amelia Sambora (25) is the younger sister of Jon Bon Jovi’s fellow bandmate and guitarist, Richie Sambora (28).

Without due investigation it may appear that the ever-illusive rockstar, known for hits Wanted Dead or Alive and You Give Love a Bad Name, has gone and achieved the wet dream of men and boys alike, stealing his best friend’s sister.

‘She and I met in high school’ says the Livin’ on a Prayer singer. ‘She was the bad ass. Didn’t take sh*t from nobody.’

Is that how he met his future guitarist?

‘No.’ The young rocker smirks. ‘Richie was protective, shall we say. It took him a while to come around to the idea of her (Amelia) having a boyfriend.’

Was it a shock for him?

‘Yeah, sure! Would be a shock for anyone if they walked in on their sister getting –‘

For the good of HR we’ve redacted Bon Jovi’s original statement.

Richie Sambora was notably absent from your side at the Lifetime Achievement Awards and fans noted a certain tension between you both during the final shows of the Slippery When Wet tour. Are there any ridges in your relationship given the circumstances?

‘Well, I’m sorry to hear fans spotted tension between us – I never wanted the fans to get anything but our very best on stage. There’s no animosity between us. We’re best friends.’

Back to Amelia then. How does she feel having watched you shoot up the ladder of stardom? It must be rather surreal.

‘Amelia’s watched me fail a thousand times before making it to the top. The Jersey girl in her keeps me grounded. She’d smack me if my head ever got too big for my shoulders, and when you’ve got fifty thousand people screaming for you out there every night you need that person that’ll be honest with you.’

Do you ever worry that she has ulterior motives?

‘No. I don’t. And frankly I think that’s a pretty sexist way of looking at things. Nobody says that about any of the guys that date Cher or Madonna. She’s known me since we were seventeen and Richie’s her brother, she doesn’t need money and she certainly doesn’t want fame.”

Who would’ve thunk Jon Bon Jovi lecturing me about women’s woes.

Is it hard for her to see you with so many women? You’re America’s hottest piece of male meat right now.

‘No. She’s a confident woman. We broke up before our first tour for various reasons. I’ve had my fair share of women, I lived out every rock star fantasy I’d ever had and you know what? It didn’t do a whole lot for me. The novelty wears off. I’m no saint, I can appreciate a good-looking woman and my eyes are always wandering to places they shouldn’t be but I’m not stupid enough to mess a good thing up. At the end of the day she’s the woman I come home to.’

Well, sorry ladies.

The hitmaker seems to have no issue in taking himself off the market. When asked about the situation he gives a look of disdain.

‘No, I believe in the integrity of my band and our skills as musicians. I think people will continue to buy my records regardless of whether I’m in a relationship or not. If not then hey, I had a good time. I’d rather live out the rest of my life on some secluded island than become some pinup. That’s not what my band’s about, we’re musicians. We’ve tried hard to fight the image people try putting on us.’

Admittedly, the statement is funny when coming from such a good-looking bloke. Some might tell him to be grateful, not all of us were so lucky in the genetic department.

‘No’ Bon Jovi says in response to being asked if he’ll marry. ‘Yes. Maybe.’

So which is it?

‘Sure I’ll marry, when I’m old. I’ve always said marriage is an institution. There are three rings in a marriage: an engagement ring, a wedding ring and a suffering.’

Oh dear. What does his dearly beloved think of a statement like that?

She walks out onto Bon Jovi’s patio with some refreshments. There can be no doubt in the founding of Bon Jovi’s attraction to her, the girl possesses all the good looks that have Bon Jovi fans swooning for her brother- and I dare say more.

Bon Jovi is a different person when she arrives. One starts to wonder if this whole rock thing is merely an act; he looks at her as though he’s about to get down on one knee in that very moment.

‘She keeps us boys in check.’ Says Jon.

Amelia Sambora is currently working as her boyfriend’s personal assistant after achieving distinction grades in an English Literature degree.

Not exactly the rough-cut rockstar she surrounds herself with. Her voice is noticably riddled with British inflections from her time spent studying in the country.

Is it hard being with a man like Jon Bon Jovi?

‘Not really. He’s not quite the man he portrays himself to be. Being a rockstar is fun for him, he knows he can say whatever brand of ludicrous he likes and have people celebrate him for it, but he’s a sweet man. He’s a romantic outside of his job.’

Bon Jovi shoves two fingers down his throat and gags, but one would have to be blind to miss the smile of admiration that he sends his special lady.

I ask Amelia if she's worried what people will think of her.

‘It’s daunting to have found myself in the role of his girlfriend because it’s likely the most wanted ‘job’ opportunity in the whole of America, but I’ve stayed away from MTV and the papers as of recent. I try not to worry what people will think of me because nobody knows me; any opinions formulated of me are superficial in nature based off the position I’ve found myself in or my appearance. Still, I apologize to any lovely lady that had dreamed of marrying him.’

Bon Jovi looks at her proudly. Their hands interlink, and one can’t help but notice the delicate diamond perched atop of the lady’s fourth finger.

The first ring of marriage? I dared not ask.

One has to wonder what kinds of disputes Bon Jovi’s newfound fame and fortune will bring. Look at Keith and Mick; will Jon Bon Jovi and Richie Sambora be able to remain chummy through the height of their monstrous career? With Miss Sambora in the middle there’s an extra element of familial feuding.

‘I don’t think so’ Bon Jovi answers. ‘The band is like a family, Richie’s become like a brother to me. Amelia’s a great mediator, she loves both Rich and I and she’s not afraid to tell us when one of us is being an asshole. There won’t ever be a time where she has to choose between the two of us because Bon Jovi is feuding, family is more important that business and Richie’s my brother before my guitarist.’

Outside of the rockstar’s love life, the band are on break after year-long Slippery When Wet world tour. Jon has reportedly been on a writing frenzy, which Amelia describes as ‘partially frightening’. The band aren’t set to release an album until later in next year, but when they do they’re considering a double LP release!

‘Yeah, I’ve been writing like a mad man. I already have some fifteen songs- by next year I’ll probably have about fifty!’

We’ll look forward to that. Jon has reportedly been writing with hitmaker Desmond Child again, so expect more smash hits like You Give Love a Bad Name and Livin’ On A Prayer.

“Yada ya." Jon tossed the newspaper across the table after reading its contents aloud. “Well?” he queried.

“It’s fine,” Amelia answered. They had cut much of the hour-long conversation out, but the gist of it was intact. “They at least chose a nice photo for it.”

A photo of the both of them from the Lifetime Achievement Awards had made the front cover. Fangirls across America were weeping harmoniously.

“Anyone would think you were the celebrity.”

“I don’t think timid old me is fooling anybody. I looked petrified.”

“You looked like a movie star.”

She would gladly accept his compliment.

“Now what?” Jon lay on the sofa with his hands beneath his head. “Cats outta the bag babe. Richie knows, your parents know, the whole damn world knows. Only took us eight years.”

“Yes. I suppose it’s liberating.”

And equal parts nerve-wracking.

“I for one feel great,” Jon beamed. “Everyone’s pissed off at me. Doc’s livid, Polygram’s been tryna call me all day but I couldn’t give a shit. Eight years of sneakin’ around’s enough for me. To hide it from your parents is one thing but paparazzi sniff me out like hounds these days, I’d rather just tell everyone on my own accord.”

When he put it like that she supposed she understood.

“Now I can go out with you without feeling like we have to hide,” he continued. “What do you say, wanna go out tonight?”

“Depends where. I don’t want to get swarmed, I doubt the fans have gotten over their broken hearts just yet.”

“The movies then. I heard Spielberg’s new movie’s out. We can get fast food for dinner.”

“Alright, on one condition.”

He waited expectantly.

“Don’t take the Corvette. You stick out like a sore thumb in that.”

“You pick the car then,” he grinned. “Any car from my fleet.”

“Your fleet is ridiculous. No man needs that number of cars; it’s expenditure for the sake of it.”

“They’re my kids.”

“They’re a waste of money. Your Corvette I understand, maybe even the Ford, but the Porsche, Chevrolet, Datsun and Mercedes are superfluous. Not even an entire family needs six cars.”

He looked at her as though she’d told him Christmas was cancelled.

“They’re my babies! Besides, what do you expect me to do with all my money, sit on it? Don’t you like having a choice of car in the morning?”

“I don’t even drive and there’s little choice anyway. The only car that looks marginally ordinary is the Ford. The rest of them turn heads from miles off. Your Corvette is a celebrity in and of itself.”

“The Ford it is then,” he grinned. “Go get your jacket, it might be chilly out.”

He pecked her cheek on his way to the front door. She could be so moody sometimes.

Jon was gracious enough to allow her to eat Pizza Hut in his car, being that it was only the Ford and not his prized Phyllis. He didn’t even chide her as she put her feet on the dashboard. How could he when she looked so adorable with tomato on her mouth?

The pair got tickets to see Empire of the Sun. Jon spent half of the movie sliding Amelia’s ring on and off her finger in boredom, but she seemed to enjoy it enough.

“Jaws was better,” he yawned as the lights switched back on.

“I think that the Indiana Jones movies were better than Jaws,” Amelia countered.

“The first one was good. The second one was ridiculous. You just like Harrison Ford.”

“No I don’t. But there was something about him as Indiana. Something dangerous, charming.”

Jon rolled his eyes and pulled her out of the theatre seat by the elbow.

“Oh stop,” she giggled. “Don’t get all huffy at me, I have to read all about your sexual fantasies in the papers. Liz Hurley? Madonna? I’m entitled to fancy Indiana Jones.”

“He’s goofy. He’s in Star Wars for God’s sake. Ooooh, may the force be with you. Judge me by my size, do you? No.. I am your father.”

Amelia hid behind her popcorn bucket as he did a Yoda impression.

“Somehow I don’t think Yoda ended up being Luke’s Dad.”

Jon laughed and linked elbows with her, diving in for another fistful of the mostly empty popcorn bucket.

Amelia felt eyes on her as they exited the theatre. She’d gotten pretty used to people ogling at her boyfriend, these eyes she knew were fixated on her and their linked arms.

“Excuse me!”

A woman rushed to catch them, her hair frizzed from running.

“Sorry. I, uhm. Hi.”

Jon chuckled at the breathless blonde. “Hey darlin’. Everythin’ alright?”

“Yes,” her face burned beet red. “I just wanted to say hello, and wondered if maybe you’d… sign my t-shirt?”

“Sure! You got a pen?”

“Uh..” the woman turned even redder. “No, I don-“

“I do,” Amelia interrupted, unzipping her purse to hand over a black sharpie.

Jon signed the woman’s shirt, conveniently across the breasts much to the woman’s delight and embarrassment.

“Thank you,” she peered downward trying to read it. She’d have a hard time reading it upright, his handwriting had always been hardly legible.

“No problem,” he grinned. “See you round doll.”

“You too,” she beamed, “Have a good rest of your night.”

“See?” Jon smiled as they walked off. “That’s your average female Bon Jovi fan. She wasn’t so scary, was she?”

“I’ve seen your average fan and she was tame. I’ve seen girls faint at your concerts and not because of the heat. Some of them cry after merely looking at you.”

“You’re exaggerating. The fans are great, you’ll get used to ‘em.”

“Sure.”

“How come you had a pen anyways?”

“I’ve started carrying them around just in case, seeing as for some reason you don’t.”

He shrugged to himself. “Part of me still isn’t used to people recognizing me everywhere I go.”

They made it back to the Ford without anybody else approaching them. “I’m still hungry,” he said from the driver’s seat.

“We just had pizza and popcorn.”

“I know. Fancy McDonalds?”

Amelia frowned at him.

“Pizza, McDonalds, popcorn. It’s a wonder that you aren’t obese.”

“We’re young babe. When we’re fifty and our joints don’t work n’ we have hearts failure we can worry about healthy eating, but for now who gives a fuck.”

Amelia didn’t share that sentiment.

“Fast food isn’t going to help the inflammation in your vocal cords.”

“Fuck off,” he laughed. “My vocal cords are the size of a penny, a Big Mac aint gonna do shit to them. I’m gonna drop by the drive thru, want anything?”

“Maybe an ice cream, it’s warm.”

“Mm. I’m sensin’ a beach walk. You up for it?”

“If you can find a beach where nobody will bother us then sure.”

Jon put an arm around her as he drove. “Babe, I don’t get swarmed everywhere I go. People come say hi sometimes but I’m not Elvis.”

Amelia begged to differ. She’d seen fans congregate outside of their hotel rooms all night and witnessed the band buy disguises just so they could leave the building, and that wasn’t even in America!

“Look. I’m famous, alright? I realize that now, but I don’t want it to affect the way I live. I’m not gonna stop going to the grocery stores or steer clear of a sunny beach. Nobody’s gonna bother you Amelia, I’ll make sure of it. If anybody’s got anything to say to you they might as well book an appointment with my right fist.”

“You’d never punch a woman.”

“No,” he conceded, “I’d punch their boyfriend or whichever guy was there with them. I don’t want this ‘fame’ thing to control the things you do. My fans are good people, I’ve met thousands of them. Try not to be scared of ‘em, alright?”

“Alright.”

She let Jon buy her an ice cream and take her to the beach. There they sat amongst the tall grass and watched the sun set with chicken nuggets and a burger, eventually falling asleep in the sand.

---