Thirty-One

 

The Stones, The Scale and The Smartass

 

D.C. went smoothly last night. Thank God.

It had been Gloria’s first time witnessing what our in-and-out city runs actually look like, and for a trial-by-fire, it wasn’t the worst one to get thrown into.

They were wheels down in D.C. just after 9 a.m., no hotel, no buffer, straight into the fire. Normally, they’d arrive just in time for soundcheck, but since this was a union city, Ari needed to be there for load-in in case Kennedy ran into issues. Jon drew the short straw this time. Before they left, Ari made sure that his dressing room was the first thing they prepared. So, he didn’t pout… too much about the early call time.

The crew was already in the thick of it by the time they arrived: cases flying, cables coiled, radios chirped, and caffeine flowing. Gloria barely had a second to adjust before they were weaving her and Lily through the maze of road cases and forklift traffic.

She didn’t flinch when the dock alarm blared or when someone accidentally flipped the audio switch and that squelch echoed through the venue. She asked smart questions, kept Lily fed, changed, and on schedule — which, in Ari’s world, was nothing short of Olympic-level coordination. By lunch, she had even picked up on the way everyone communicated exclusively in acronyms and half-sentences.

And when Lily wasn’t mad-dashing through the venue halls in her walker, giving Gloria a run for her money, she was in Jon’s arms, babbling over his shoulder while he wandered back and forth between catering and front-of-house.

Today was technically an off day, which just meant no venue, no plane to catch, no pre-show drama. Instead, Ari was catching up on emails at the kitchen counter while Lily scooted and bounced around with Meatball hot on her trail.

There were a couple of inquiries wanting to hire SAMCO. Twenty-seven years in the business, you pick up a few friends here and there, so word travels fast when you start your own company. She wasn’t complaining. Not at all. The inquiries were coming in faster than she could hire a second crew.

Scrolling through her inbox, she flagged a couple and made a mental note to reply later. It wasn’t until she came across a familiar name that she started grinning.

---

From: m.jagger@rollingstoneshq.co.uk
To: AM@samcoproductions.com
Date: February 28, 2011 – 1:43 PM (London time)

Subject: Little Moretti, you never stop, do you?

Ari, darling—

I hear congratulations are in order — again.

Another baby on the way? At this rate, you’ll have your own crew in a few years. I can already see it: nappies in the cable trunks, bottle warmers on the rider, and you still outpacing lads half your age without spilling your coffee.

Tell Jon he’s a jammy sod.
He somehow married the only woman alive who can run a tour, pop out two small humans, and still manage a death glare that silences an entire lighting team. You’re terrifying, in the best way.

I miss your mug on the road. And your clipboard of doom.

Your dad always said, “She’s a miracle with boots and a mouth on her.” Still holds up, if you ask me.

Now, I know you’re knee-deep in Jon’s circus (no judgement, we’ve all done mad things for love), but I wanted to cause a bit of mischief and float something your way. We’re in the early throes of putting together the 50 and Counting tour for next year. Anniversary, big to-do. Tongues already wagging.

So, here’s the question:
What would it take to nick you from your husband? Just for a bit. We’d return you more or less intact, depending how civil Keith manages to stay.

The crew’s already muttering your name. Don’t make me grovel. I’m far too dignified, but I will send you another one of those hideous souvenir berets from Paris if you try to ignore me. You know, the glittery kind you love so much with the Eiffel Tower stitched on the front.

Let’s have a proper chinwag soon. And truly, I’m chuffed for you. Hope this new little one inherits your scowl.

Say hello to that wanker of yours.

All my best,
Mick
X

---

Ari huffed a laugh through her nose, startling Lily, who let out a squawk from where she was bouncing near the pantry. Meatball, ever the loyal guard dog, sprang to attention with a bark like someone had broken in.

“Sorry, sorry.” She kissed the top of Lily’s head, gave Meatball a quick scratch behind the ears, and went back to her laptop. Still grinning, she clicked Forward, fingers pausing over the keyboard for half a second. The moment she typed a J, Jon’s name popped up. She rolled her eyes, clicked it, and started typing.

---

—Forwarded Message—

From: AM@samcoproductions.com
To: JBJ@BJM.com

Subject: Poaching Season?

Breaking News: Moretti’s still irresistible to rock legends.

Hold on to your guitar… the Stones are trying to poach me. AGAIN!

Also, if I find one of those glitter Paris berets in my closet, you’re a dead man.

With all due respect (and none whatsoever),
Moretti’s, best in the business circa 1969

---

Her inbox pinged before she had a chance to slide off the stool, and when she saw it was from Jon, she couldn’t help but smirk. One glance at his reply had her shaking her head, a grin tugging at the corners of her mouth.

---

—Reply from Jon—

From: JBJ@BJM.com
To: AM@samcoproductions.com

Subject: Good luck with that

If he wants to ‘nick’ you, he’s going to have to pry you out of my cold, calloused, guitar-playing hands.

And for the record — if a glittery Paris beret does show up, I’ll reimburse his costs. 😉

No one’s taking my girl.
Still surviving the Moretti war since 1986

---

She set the laptop aside with a huff, then carried her mug to the sink, the grin still tugging at her mouth. “God help me,” she murmured under her breath. “You’re lucky you’re pretty.”

♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱

Jon and Ari sat side by side, the soft hum of muzak filling the silence of the empty room. Whenever possible, they took the later appointments — less chance of causing a stir. Both were scrolling through their phones, oblivious to the door opening.

“Ariana? We’re ready for you.” Penelope gestured to the door. “Step on the scale for me, hon.”

The scale. Her nemesis. She’d been bracing for an uptick, given the steady negative trend.

“Oh, the scale.”

“Moment of truth, Crash.” Jon’s hand landed on her shoulder.

She shot him a glare that could curdle milk. “Say one word, and I’ll bury you.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Ari shuffled toward the scale, every step a mix of dread and defiance. The clicks of the weight adjusting echoed through the hall like ticking clockwork.

“Alrighty,” Penelope said, scribbling on the chart. “You’ve gained thirteen pounds.”

“Come again?” Ariana gasped, eyes widening.

Jon tried to stifle a laugh but failed miserably.

Penelope smiled reassuringly. “It’s perfectly normal, sweetie. After a rough first trimester, your body’s just catching up.”

Ari stepped off the scale and pointed a finger at Jon, still grinning. “Not a word.”

He sealed his lips with an exaggerated lock gesture as they followed Penelope down the hall into an empty exam room. Once the door clicked shut, Ari climbed onto the crinkly paper, pressing a hand to the slight curve beneath her sweater.

“Okay, wiseass. Let’s have it before Dr. Barnes comes in.”

Jon’s grin widened. “Just saying, it’s a good thing I didn’t stop for those cannoli you wanted.”

“I remember enjoying one this morning,” Ari said dryly. “Probably my last for a very long time.”

Jon’s grin stretched wider. “Yeah, heard that one before. I’ll believe it when I see it.”

Before she could fire back, there was a soft knock on the door.

“Come in,” Ari called.

Dr. Barnes stepped in with a warm smile and tablet in hand. “Good afternoon, you two. How are we feeling today?”

“Depends,” Jon said, glancing at Ari. “Are you asking me, or her?”

Ari sighed. “Ignore him, he’s been insufferable since the scale.”

Dr. Barnes laughed as she washed her hands. “I see nothing’s changed. How’s Lily doing?”

“Crawling everywhere,” Jon declared proudly. “She’s got her mother’s fire.”

“And your stubbornness,” Ariana shot back, though a soft smile played on her lips.

Dr. Barnes rolled her stool closer, typing notes into the tablet. “Alright, twenty-two weeks today. Let’s take a look here.”

She glanced up with a smile. “You’ve gained thirteen pounds since your last visit. Exactly what I hoped to see after the rough first trimester. You’re catching up beautifully.”

Ari gave a short laugh. “That’s one way to spin it.”

Jon leaned back, grinning. “Told ya. The scale’s not plotting against you.”

Dr. Barnes smiled behind her glasses. “Nope, just doing its job. Blood pressure’s a bit high — nothing alarming. You know what I’m going to say. Just try to limit stress when you can.”

“Define ‘limit’ when you’re traveling circus now includes a seven-month-old and you’re the CEO of your own company.”

“Fair point,” the doctor said with an amused glance. “Maybe take a few extra minutes for deep breaths now and then.”

She measured Ari’s belly with practiced ease, the tape gliding across the curve. “You’re measuring right on track. Early July due date still looks solid.”

“Perfect timing,” Jon said. “We have a week off around that time.”

Dr. Barnes applied gel and pressed the Doppler wand to Ari’s stomach. Static buzzed for a moment before a steady gallop of a heartbeat filled the room.

“Strong heartbeat, good rhythm,” Dr. Barnes confirmed, setting the probe back in its holder. “Everything’s looking great. I’ll call as soon as the amnio results come in — should be any day now.”

Ari nodded casually, her tone steady. “I don’t remember it taking this long with Lily.”

“No news yet doesn’t mean bad news,” the doctor reassured.

Jon squeezed her hand. “We’ve got plenty to keep us busy until then.”

Dr. Barnes smiled. “Exactly. Rest when you can, eat when you’re hungry, and try not to boss your blood pressure around too much.”

Jon grinned immediately. “Oh, this is gonna be tough. You know she’s the CEO of Bossing, right?”

Ari shot him a look, shaking her head.

Dr. Barnes gave a small smile. “Well, that’s my cue to go.” She picked up her tablet. “I’ll see you in a month.”

“Take care, Doc,” they both said.

With a final glance over her shoulder, Dr. Barnes stepped out, leaving them alone in the room.

Jon squeezed her knee. “July’s gonna be one hell of a month.”

As the door clicked behind her, Ari hopped off the table, adjusting her sweater. “Keep living on that prayer that this little one arrives on July 4th,” she said with a sly grin. “It’s not happening. Even if I have to lock my legs and squeeze.”

“Now, there’s a visual I could do without.” Jon grimaced playfully.

Ari shot him a side-eye. “You’re welcome.”