♪♫••═════ PART TWO~CHAPTER : 1 ═════••♬ ♭
“Text me, the second you get there! And call me asap?” Olivia's eyes shimmered and I was sure mine were too as we stood on the tiny porch of my home hugging.
The new luggage Jack had surprised us with, strained at its seams and lined the hallway just inside the front door, Since Jack hadn't been able to find a set in any one of Tristan's favorite themes, Tristan had ended up with a variety; a rolling hotwheels duffel, a bandit backpack, and a rolling scooby backpack.
Jack appeared, bustling at high-speed, the mode he had been in all morning, and grabbed up all three of Tristan's bags before shouldering around Olivia and me with a grin. The smile had rarely been off his lips in the last hours, and I knew he was anxious to be back in LA, and just as anxious to have us there with him.
Us. A word I was still not used to, even though I had dreamed of it for so long. He bent, slightly shuffling his own bags in the trunk of the rental to make room for ours, and when I finally tore my eyes from the molded pockets of his jeans, I found a broad smile had joined Olivia's teary countenance.
“I'm so happy for you Rissa. Gosh what am I going to do without you guys, without my little guy?” Olivia had spent a quarter of an hour saying her goodbyes to Tristan, while showing him how to use the new drawing app she downloaded for him on his tablet.
“I will take good care of 'em,” Jack promised, having walked by in time to hear her mournful words, and he even paused to pull her into a light hug. Olivia actually blushed and had to rivet her own gaze from him as he bent for more luggage. This time I was the one who smiled knowingly. Liv might be married, but who could be immune to Jack?
“And you take care of my dog.” I told Olivia. Bally would be joining us in California within the next couple of weeks, but until then the dog was boarding with Liv. Tristan had spent a day with Olivia picking out new toys for Bally, and adding them to the rest of the lab's things at the home away from home.
Watching Tristan's face at the airport was as exhilarating as the upcoming trip. I had only flown once before, but this experience was vastly different from the get go. Jack turned off of the main terminal access road and almost immediately, small jets became visible on the tarmac and inside open hangers.
“Do you see hanger numbers?” He inquired, squinting through the windshield. “We are looking for forty-five, but I don't see numbers...”
“There!” I pointed to a metallic eleven glinting in the sunlight.
“Do you have a passport?” Jack inquired as we rolled closer to the designated number.
“Do I need one?!” Airport security was ever-changing and I panicked thinking requirements possibly had changed for domestic flights.
“You will need one.” He answered, stressing the 'will' with a curve of his lips. “And Tristan too. We have ten Europe dates on this next tour.”
Parking the car in front of hanger forty-five, he popped the trunk, and hopped out. Jack hoisted Tristan, piggy-back style, before grabbing as much luggage as he could carry. I followed suit and we headed to the tiny entrance in the back of the hanger.
Before we closed the distance, the door burst open and Jack's father, wearing a broad grin, advanced on us. Quick greetings were exchanged and he gallantly insisted on divesting me of my load, leaving only the messenger bag hanging on my shoulder. Inside, Jack deposited Tristan on a chair next to his mom, and the men went out for the rest of the things.
“Hi Marissa,” Jack's mother greeted, and pulled Tristan into a warm hug. “And hello Tristan. Are you ready to fly today in an airplane?”
Tristan was quickly sugared up with a kiss or two from this new grandmother, as well as powdered donuts and hot chocolate. Watching the two of them, I threw away the hot chocolate packages and filled myself a cup with the hot water, and dumped in a package of instant coffee.
The room was outfitted as a comfortable lounge, but instead of settling in one of the cushy chairs, I paced. Jack and his father were carrying the bags through, to another door leading to the actual hanger. Hovering at this threshold, I marveled at the glossy white jet, and wanted to show it to Tristan, but my son was deep in conversation with his grandmother.
The luggage was in a neat line, largest to smallest, and I wondered if they organized it by the loading by weight. The glare refracting from the runway beyond the large opening was bright, and a couple of men appeared from this direction. They shook hands with Matt and Jack, and the younger of the two climbed into the plane.
“Mariss?” Jack asked as he walked among the luggage, “What do you want up front with you, and which bag does Tristan need with him?”
Stepping forward, I indicated the bags in question, and when Jack began to toss the others up to the plane, the guy began to stow them into the rear.
At this time, Jack's mother and Tristan emerged, and Jack's father turned from his conversation at hand. Kneeling to Tristan, he gave him a hug, and teased of the crutch, “You don't even look like you need that anymore! You about ready to throw it away?”
Tristan nodded with a shy smile.
We boarded, Jack again carrying Tristan, and I tried not to gawk in awe at mocha leather seating, which included a long couch type seat and two recliner type chairs, and wood grain walls, and plush carpet. Right away, I noticed my stuff as well as Tristan and Jack's on the couch, and that is where the three of us seated ourselves.
Jack's mother took a seat in one of the thick chairs, and his father in the chair across. The plane began to roll, preparing for takeoff, and I tried to manage Tristan as, constrained by his seat belt, he twisted to look out the window behind him.
“Okay, we obviously did things backwards here,” Jack laughed and a trade of seats was quickly made. Tristan moved into the seat across from his grandmother, happily able to see out the window next to him, and Jack moved into the middle space next to me, and Jack's father took his spot.
For some reason, I could not keep my eyes from straying to Jack's father. Something seemed familiar about this family, as if I knew them, had been with them before. Finally, I shrugged it off as fate. I belonged with them even though I was not yet comfortable with them.
Tristan began to alternate his attention between the window, and the television flat against the wall. Jack and his father were laughing over some redneck reality show. Jack's mother was writing in a spiral notebook when she wasn't engaging Tristan in conversation.
The plane descended into the Denton airport on the outskirts of Dallas. We all debarked while some of the luggage was unloaded. Jack with Tristan had just emerged from the restroom when a woman who looked to be in her fifties came into the lounge area of the hanger.
“Yahoo?” The woman knocked as she breezed in. Yet again, I felt a fleeting familiarity. The woman introduced herself, formally putting out her hand to Jack's mother. “Hello, It's been years, I'm--”
“Of course!” Jack's mother greeted the other woman warmly. As the introduction progressed, I was left trying to control my amazement when I associated the name with a renowned pop star of years back. Mrs. Loren went on only to be interrupted, “This is my son Jacks--”
“Oh, my stars, you were just a baby the last time I saw you!” The woman gushed and I had the rare pleasure of seeing Jack turn red. “And now you look so much like your father back in the day! Matt had that same dark, almost black, hair!” The aged pop star continued, and now, strangely enough, Jack's mother flushed and her eyes glowed with a glimmer of irritation. “Does Matt still have dark hair or is he gray like the rest of us? I don't know about you Jules and your beautiful red, but I am gray under this blonde!”
“Um...” Jack's mother seemed reluctant to speak of her husband to the woman, and quickly derailed the conversation. “This is my grandson!” Tristan was hiding out behind his father, and his grandmother urged him forward.
“Ooh, now he is the spitting image of Jack the last time I saw him. The festival in Glasgow was it?” The woman was crooning over my son and protectively I moved nearer.
“This is Jacks' fiancée Marissa.” Jack's mother smoothly continued as if she hadn't been interrupted.
“Hello Marissa. A pleasure to meet you--” At this point, the door leading to the hanger swung open, and to confound the situation even more, Jack's father looked as if he wanted to back quickly out before being noticed. But it was too late. “Matt Loren! It has been ages! Just ages! I could not believe when my pilot mentioned that you were circling for a runway. I had to stay and say hi!”
“Hello Tracy.” Jack's father clasped one of her hands in both of his, but the former pop star maneuvered it into a hug. Pulling back, he asked, “What brings you to the DFW area?”
“I just did a cosmetics promo.”
Their voices faded as everything clicked into place like a jigsaw puzzle that I had never known was missing pieces. The woman took her leave and a collective relief settled on the room. As Jack and his family began their goodbyes, I again scrutinized his father.
“Marissa.” The man draped an arm warmly about my shoulder. “Take care of these boys. Don't let 'em get into too much trouble.” He winked at Tristan.
“You're Matt Loren!”
Taken aback by this outburst, he moved away enough to study my face then turned quizzically to Jack.
“You are Matt Loren. I cannot believe I did not see this last night! You are Matt Loren!”
Jack's father, Matt, seemed to be trying to control the quirk of amusement on his lips, and Jack's mother, Jules sent Jack a strange look, her husband a confused look, and me a sympathetic one. The sympathy, I quickly understood when my limbs felt weightless for a moment, and I knew I must look as shocked as I felt.
Matt Loren was a rock legend, his hits easily riding out the decades long after his bands stopped touring. The songs were regular rotations both on the classics stations and nineties alternative.
Trying to recover, I stammered of the two bands Matt Loren was most known for, “I grew up listening to Jewelweed and After Hours...I can't believe...This is crazy...”
My eyes sought Jack's but he was in some eye battle with his mother who seemed to have won because he looked away first then down at the floor.
“Let's get you guys on the plane so you can get to LA before dark.” After bestowing a warm smile on me, Matt took control.
“Your song 'I could be' is my favorite.” I couldn't seem to shut up, and mortified that I had extended what was already an embarrassing moment, I bolted for the door.
Jack's parents seemed reluctant to let us go, their eyes lingering fondly on Tristan.
“This is a surprise for when you get to your daddy's house.” Jules showed a colorful shopping bag to Tristan then hooked it and another over my hand. “And this is a housewarming for you and Jack.”
Accepting the proffered ginormous shopping bag with a thank you, I watched as Matt and Jules Loren warmly embraced my son, and their own son. Then after a quick hug to me, we were admonished to board so we could “get home before dark.”
I safety belted Tristan into the same chair he had earlier vacated, and instead of taking the seat beside Jack, I sat in the one across from Tristan.
“Want a drink?” Jack stood at the mini bar, catching my eyes in the mirrored wall as he offered.
“I do!” Tristan informed, sparing only a glance from his rummage through his shopping bag. “Look Mom!” Tristan tossed the swim trunks and Bandit beach towel aside in his excitement upon discovering an assortment of blow up toys, diving rings and various other pool fun.
To Tristan's astonishment, Jack folded out a table from its compartment in the boy's armrest and set two juice boxes atop it. A few minutes later, Jack set a mixed drink in the cup holder on the arm of my chair and returned to his seat with his own.
The pilot stepped out of his nook long enough to inform us that we were about to taxi and once we were in the air, I addressed the elephant in the cabin.
“Why didn't you tell me?”
“Tell you--” Jack was about to say 'tell you what,' that much I felt, but whatever crossed my face caused him to abort that tactic and try my own shenanigans against me. “I thought you knew.”
“How would I know?!” Agitation caused me to lean forward in the seat as I made the incredulous inquiry. “So, is your name Stone or Loren?”
“Stone is an alias. Professional name. DBA.”
“DBA?”
“Doing Business As.”
“So your name is still Loren.”
“Jackson Matt Loren.” The admission came grudgingly and he tossed back the contents of his glass.
Jack Stone. Marissa Stone. Tristan Stone. All had filled my head for days, and it was hard to wrap around another name. Jack Loren. Marissa Loren. Tristan Loren
“This is what you wouldn't tell me last night.”
When he fell silent, as if he were going to let it drop, a realization occurred and I looked up from an intent study of the french manicure Olivia had insisted I have prior to the meeting of the future in-laws. My heart hammered as my next question came out as accusative as the last.
“Did you think I would be all weird last night around your parents if I knew?”
When this speculation provoked a quirk of a smile, much like his dad's I was discovering, I wanted to lunge across the cabin and slap it off. Because, of course, I had acted all weird a half hour ago upon discovering the truth. Now, I was the one to let it drop.
Studiously ignoring him, I peeked into my shopping bag finding a ginormous thread count sheet and comforter set. The accompanying card explained in a humorous tone, Jack's masculine decor, and that, until I found time to redecorate to my and “Jacks'” mutual liking, maybe this could suffice.
From my corner vision, I noticed Jack eying the cream-colored set, and couldn't help but wonder if his mother had been perceptive enough to realize that a change from the bedding that other women had been in would be welcome. Cramming the stuff back into the bag, I snatched up the drink, gulping it down.
When I next looked over, Jack was asleep and I wondered if he were faking it, since I heard none of the slight snores that normally accompanied his exhausted sleep. If I had not been so keyed up, I would have napped.
The previous night had only a few sleeping hours in it. After the parents had departed, and we had gotten dirty in the tub, we had then stayed up still a couple of more hours playing.
The rumble of turbulence on the underbelly of the plane effectively ripped away my erotic memories, and I let my gaze glide around the interior of the cabin.
Was this my new life then? Private planes? Famous names?
The new found security of not mentally allotting every penny of my paycheck to some bill or necessity before it even hit the bank was somehow counter weighed by an insecurity I did not understand. A feeling that was so foreign that a couple of times yesterday and today I had verged on what must be a panic attack.
Forcing long slow breaths, I closed my eyes to the lavish surroundings and my hotter than sin boyfriend, and struggled to stave off the next attack.
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