LoveandLogic
Refugee
Have you ever tried writing while tipsy? I really wouldn't advise it. 
So if there are some typo's in here, forgive me. Thank you for reading! I really appreciate it! 
's to everyone!
Disclaimer: I own my dizzy mind and sleepy eyes. Other than that: FICTION!
Chapter Twelve
“So this is it,” Jessica said, her arms hugging her own waist. “This is goodbye then?”
Bono ran his hand over her hair for the last time: soft, silky, long and dark. That’s how he would remember her: delicate and mysterious. He could practically hear her heart breaking and it tore him apart.
“Well will see each other again,” He promised, resting his fingers on her jaw.
“How do you know that?”
“I will make sure of it.” He leaned into her ear and sang. “All roads lead to where you are.”
Fat tears flowed down Jessica’s pale face freely. “All roads lead to you where you are.” She repeated. “I love you, Paul.”
“I love you, too, sweetheart.”
He kissed her lips one last time: coffee, nicotine and sugar. What a perfect way to remember her taste.
“I’ll see you later,” He said.
She nodded. “See you later.”
Just as Mr. Johnson promised, I received a phone call two days later from the editor of the hugest music magazine company in the world for the interview. With the phone to my ear for over an hour and a half, he asked me the usual questions: how I got into photography, what sort of education and background did I go through, what my camera of choice was. He asked me what it was like working for the band and I explained that they were “models of stone” and explained the technique of how I got them to open up and have fun.
Impressive, he said. He found me impressive. No one has ever found me “impressive” before. Maybe unique or talented. Never impressive. And when I thought the interview was over, he asked that damned question. The haunting question.
“Are you having an affair with Bono?”
“If I was,” I said. “I would be the last to hear about it.”
I hear him chuckle. “Point taken. So you have nothing to say regarding the Brooklyn Bridge scene?”
“It was staged. All of it. We wanted to give New York an unforgettable show and we accomplished it. That’s all there is to know on that subject.”
Have you ever had to keep a secret that you couldn’t tell anyone? Did you hold it in and hold it in until you screamed at the top of you lungs to feel relief? Did it wear you out, leave you weak and powerless? Well, that’s how that this interview was. Believe me, I wanted to tell the whole world about Bono and the real relationship between us. Nevertheless, it wasn’t for the world to know. It belonged to us, not mattering how it ended.
And I missed him. Lord did I miss him. For the next week Brooke and I spent all waking hours setting up for the exhibit that was to take place at the Museum of Modern Arts. Although Mr. Johnson said he would rent out a building, it made more sense to rent a room, considering I wouldn’t have too much to show. I didn’t have sculptures or large canvases. My career was an infant still.
Moreover, it all felt wrong. The guys weren’t here to share the honor. They would be proud, seeing their faces on the large walls, mixed into a collage and enlarged. Most of the photos on display were from the photo shoots. Difficulties of finding a darkroom ended when another photography company, Click, allowed me to use theirs if given a nice chunk of money. Projecting the image to a large sheet of photo paper, Bono dancing with the little girl came to life. Staring at the image, a surge of loneliness flowed through my veins.
I mounted a good amount of the photos from our little day trip and named the collection “A Day in Central Park with the Rock Star.” The photos took up an entire wall. Most of them were the ones of Bono conversing with the people we met along the way: the young guitarist, the hula hoop man, the dancing children. Others were of me and him or the statues and trees. All were black and white.
Two days away from the exhibit and Bono and I still weren’t talking. Edge did call to check up on me. He was happy and proud about my accomplishments and felt distressed when he said he couldn’t make it to my opening. I didn’t expect him to, though. It would be selfish of me to ask him to come back to New York when he was in Dublin. With his family, mind you.
Still, I needed someone to share my joy with. For once in my life, I felt more alone than ever before. Brooke and I went out that night and enjoyed a nice dinner of lobster and wine, departing at eight. Standing in the middle of Times Square, a strange sense of encouragement overcame me. I headed towards a recently new familiar direction.
I wasn’t sure if he would be home. I wasn’t sure if I wanted him to be home. Nevertheless, there I was, taking an elevator to the top floor and standing on his doorstep. Breathing nervously, I knocked on the door. Opening it, Bono rubbed his eyes, looking as if he had just woken up.
“Oh, I’m sorry, were you sleeping?” I apologized, anything to keep the tension between us at a minimum.
“Yeah,” He yawned. “It’s alright. What are you doing here?”
“I…I came here to apologize.”
“Hm. In that case, come in.” He moved aside, watching as I entered the hotel room.
We didn’t move far. I stood by the door, himself a few feet away, still wiping the sleep from the corner of his eyes.
“I know I’ve been cruel. And you’re right. I did want revenge. I wanted you to feel exactly how I felt all these years. And to answer your question, I love you but not the way I used to. You’re a friend now. The feelings aren’t there anymore.”
When did I become so good at lying? His face dripped of…disappointment?
“I see,” He finally spoke after many long seconds. “Then, were ok?”
Shrugging, I nodded. “I suppose. If I can’t have you as a lover, I at least want you as a friend. You’re important to me and we share a strong bond but I just…I can’t love you like I used to.”
“But you still love me?”
Lie!
“As a friend, yes.”
“Is it ok if I still love you? More than a friend?”
Why did this hurt so much? “I can’t control your feelings, Bono.”
“Could my feelings change yours?”
“I told you how I felt.”
“You’re right,” He defended. “I’m sorry. Is that all you came over here for?”
“Well, to be honest, no.” I shuffled over what to say. “You see, the exhibit is in two days.”
“Amazing.”
“Yes, quite. And I’m allowed to have an escort but I’m such a recluse. And since you are the main subject of the opening, I figured…well…”
“Yes?”
Pouting, I squinted at Bono. “You’re really going to make me ask?”
“Ask what?”
Cheeky bastard.
“Erm…would you maybe want to go with me? It's only appropriate. You know, the artists and her muse.”
“’Muse?’” He repeated humorously. “I like that. I will have to check my schedule but I’m sure I ca-”
“Bono!” I pushed him playfully.
He laughed. “I’m messing with you. Of course I’ll go. What time should I pick you up?”
“Well, it starts at eight but I have to be there at seven-thirty. You know, to make sure everything is set and ready.”
“Perfect. I’ll pick you up at seven?”
I smiled. “Perfect.”
------
“Ew, that is so not the color for you,” Brooke threw the baby blue dress onto the rail. “Why do you keep choosing blues?”
“I am not choosing blues!” I shot back, rummaging throw the rows of dresses.
“Yes you are!”
Was I? Bono. Blue eyes. Ah, that’s why.
“Why isn’t blue my color?” I asked, smiling. “I like blue.”
“You may like blue but it sure as hell doesn’t like you. Get a black dress.”
“I’m always wearing black!”
Her curls bounced when she nodded. “Yes, but it looks good on you. It matches your hair.”
“What about crimson?”
:”Black.”
Grunting, I searched throw the rows of dresses at Macy’s and tried to find a BLACK dress that wasn’t so…plain. I was so sick of black but she had a point, it was hard to find colors that looked good on me. White was nice, but it also reminded me of weddings. This was a major, professional event. This was my chance to shine. And white was not the color to accompany.
“How about this one?” I asked, holding up a long, trailing, black gown with diamond straps. The back was open, cut in the shape of a “V.”
“Now THAT is the right dress for you. Go try it on!”
It fit like a glove, hugging my hips and waist just enough that I could still breathe and move. The fabric was soft and somewhat heavy, but not heavy enough for a sweat. The diamond straps glittered and felt cool against my shoulders. I was a little worried about the back, frightened that the V dipped a little too far. Brooke disagreed, commenting that the V was the sexiest part.
Did I want to look sexy? I suppose it wouldn’t hurt for just one night.
Next we shopped for shoes and I found a pair pretty quickly: high, very high, heals with diamond straps around the ankles and toes. They matched perfectly. I was afraid that I would be taller than Bono in them. It’s not that he was oddly short for a male, but I was only four inches shorter than him. Oh, well, I’m buying them anyways.
We spent the rest of the afternoon shopping for jewelry, makeup and made an appointment with a hair salon for the morning of the opening. I couldn’t eat. The guest list was huge and swam with many famous celebrities and big named photographers and companies. Tickets were on sale for the general public. All 500 were sold.
The night before the opening I couldn’t sleep. Instead, I tossed and turned. What if it failed? What if no one liked my photography and laughed in my face? This could turn into an utter disaster! And what if Bono bailed out on me? Leaving me to suffer all those people alone? No, he wouldn’t do that. Would he?
Brooke met me at the hair salon at twelve the next morning. Wanting to keep my hair down, the hairdresser raged against it when asking me how the dress looked. She boasted that the responsibility for a V dropped dress was to show off the back and shoulders, not to hide them. Instead she piled my long hair on the top of my head, curling it first. A few strands were let loose, hanging in ringlets, few in the back and a few in the front. It did look nice, I had to admit.
We separated for the day and I hurried back to apartment. After taking a shower (with a hair net!) and shaving all the necessary parts, I did my makeup a little darker than normal so that I ended up with a nice, subdue smoky eyed look. I painted my lips a light pink. It was almost six-thirty by the time I was finished.
Slipping into my dress and shoes and chandelier diamond earrings, I studied myself in the full length mirror. Almost not recognizing the reflection, I ran my hands down my hips and turned around, stretching my neck in an awkward and uncomfortable position. My back did look nice!
Bono would see me like this. It made me blush just thinking about it…
A loud knock at the door made me jump slightly. Laughing at my nervousness, I opened the door and was greeted with the sights of Bono dressed in a black tuxedo, underneath that the white collared shirt was unbuttoned three times, showing off a light layer of chest hair. For how long did we stare in silence at one another I do not know. All I knew was that he was breathtakingly beautiful.
“Er,” Bono spoke first. “Er, you look…um…wow.” He breathed out dramatically.
I felt myself flush. “Thank you. So do you.”
“I got you something,” He divulged excitingly, handing me a box.
“You really didn’t have to,” I stuttered, taking the box from him. Inside shinned the most beautiful Belle Epoque garland style diamond necklace I had ever set sights on. Set on platinum highlighted a stunning antique pear cut diamond suspended from a festoon of delicate garlands and flower motifs. It almost looked antique. “I…I don’t know what to say.”
“You like it?” Bono questioned.
“I love it! I really hope you didn’t spend too much on it.”
“Don’t you worry about that.”
“But I do! If you spent a lot on it I wouldn’t feel right wearing it.”
“Fine,” He winked. “I didn’t spend too much on it. It’s a big night for you. Let me do something nice, will ya?.”
"Your presence is enough.”
Obviously amused, he took the box from me and unclasped the hook, motioning for me to turn around. Hot air breathed on the back of my neck, making me shiver with a strange delight. Bono kept his fingers on the back of my neck, lingering.
“You have to take off the other one, first.” He said, snapping the chain.
Bono went silent and I turned around to face him. In the palm of his hands, he turned the pendant over and opened it. Not saying a word, I watched him carefully, not wanting to miss a single expression. His forehead scrunched, his lips quivered and then formed a thin smile.
“You still have it?” He asked.
“Yes,” I admitted. “I never take it off. Until now.”
The pad of thumb rubbed the octagon locket. “Now I’m the one who doesn’t know what to say.”
“You don’t have to say anything.” I soothed.
“Would you like me to put it back on?”
“No. I have you tonight. That means more to me than the necklace.”
His head veered up at me and our eyes met for a split second. Wrapping his arms around my neck, he clasped the new diamond necklace around me before taking me in his arms. His body temperature was warm and lulling.
“Thank you,” His lips grazed my ear.
My body shivered. “For what?”
“For loving me.”
When I couldn’t find the words to respond, he pulled away to study me.
“You make that necklace jealous,” He admired, chucking me under the chin.
Giggling, we left the apartment. He had a limousine waiting for on the side of the road. Good lord, what else did he have lined up?
“You have to arrive in style!” The rock star mocked, his voice sounding more Irish than usual. Or did I just not realize it before?
“I’m sorry I’m not used to this whole ‘fame’ thing,” I shot back light-hearted.
He opened the door for me and I stepped into the stretched car, Bono following behind. “Well, lucky for you, you have a wonderful tour guide.”
Ah, yes, a tour guard who smelled fantastic and looked even better and glowed of sex appeal.
…did I just say that?
There was already a large group of people in the exhibit when we arrived exactly at seven-thirty. Mr. Johnson was there, dressed in a white dress shirt and black slacks. He shook hands with Bono and they instantly began to talk. Apparently, Mr. Johnson and Bono knew each other from years back. I left them to their conversation and joined Brooke’s side. She looked just as beautiful in her dark purple dress and matching heels. She had a date by her side, a small, shy freelance artist we had met in college. I think his name was Brad. Brooke radiated and she had every right, tonight was more for her as it was for me.
Lucy was no where in sight. Mr. Johnson had all my photo’s transported from Lucy’s copyrighted name to under Brooke Percy and Jessica Stewart. Brooke had put in her two-weeks notice to work for another company on the other side of town. She tried talking me into applying but I wanted to stay unemployed for awhile. I wasn’t ready to have my love for photography put on a pedestal quite yet.
At last minute, we moved a few pieces of art to another section or added a few more to take up space. Bono came up behind me, placing his hand on my lower back. We gazed up at the black and white picture of him, a close up of his profile in singing motion.
“I never saw that one before.”
“It was one that I never got to develop.”
“It’s huge.”
I laughed. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to put you on the spot.”
“You apologize too much.” He snickered. “It’s a beautiful shot.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. It’s eight by the way. The doors are open.”
Shaking both my hands, thinking that somehow it would get rid of my nerves, Bono grabbed them and laughed. “Stop, you’ll give yourself a hemorrhage. Just relax. You’re the star tonight.”
“Can’t you take the spotlight?” I groaned, feeling my forehead melt like an ice cube in Nevada sun.
“Silly girl. Enjoy it! You’re finally being recognized for something you love. Not everyone gets this chance in the spotlight. You’re not selfish for liking it. Be proud.”
Kissing my cheek, Bono led me over to Brooke and I instantly clung to her. At the corner of my eye, I watched as Bono headed to the sidelines, smiling at me encouragingly. As soon as the doors opened, people were piling in like ants. At first no one paid any mind to me and Brooke, giving their attention to the large amounts of photos instead.
Good, I thought. That’s what this whole night was about, wasn’t it? The art, the glamor of a lens and an artist. About a half hour passed and once Bono was at my side again, I relaxed and started to enjoy the festive event. Soon enough, people were approaching me, shaking my hand and introducing themselves. A majority of the crowd were New Yorkers of higher class, dressed richly in their expensive Armani suits and Gucci dresses. Waiters in white vests handed out hors d'oeuvres and sparkling champagne.
There were celebrities: Mick Jagger (thanks to Bono), Ross Halfin (my favorite photographer. He was sarcastic, surprising and yet very humble artist.) Mike Shinoda from Linkin Park arrived and I took a liking to him rather quickly. We talked of art and painting. There were founders of magazines, photographers from Time, Readers Digest, Detail and many more. Bono displayed himself comfortably amongst the uncomfortably amount of people. He talked easily, joked and flitted. If not for him I would have been a stuttering fool.
Bono’s friend, the performer Sting, arrived in fashion, kissing the back of my hand. We talked for awhile about the photos and my inspiration for his favorites. He was a nice fellow, polite and charming. He reminded me a bit of Bono.
The picture of Edge warding off Larry sold for 6,000 dollars to an art collector. I had to think on it for a second. It was, after all, one of my favorite photos. As so it was for most of the population in the room. The second favored was the one of Bono dancing with the little blond haired girl in Central Park. An offer for 4, 500 was granted and I accepted. At first it was hard to imagine my work being sold at such a high price. They meant something to me. Bono, however, reminded me that I had the originals and that artists sometimes had to depart with such things every once in awhile.
By the end of the night, I felt drunk. It was one in the morning when I got home and Bono walked me in. We sat on the couch, sharing a glass of red wine.
“So, how do you feel?” He asked.
“Overwhelmed!” I replied, unstrapping my heels and throwing them to the other side of the room, causing Bono to laugh. “I never want to do that ever again! How do you do it?”
“Eh,” He shrugged like I spoke of sleeping. “You grow used to it after awhile. You made some good money tonight, though.”
“Mmm,” I leaned my head back on the back of the couch, closing my eyes, feeling overly tired. “I’m so sleepy.”
“I bet. I can let you sleep. It’s late.”
He helped me up from the couch and I walked him to the door. A long, awkward second passed before any one of us muttered a word. Bono was the first to break the silence.
“You did beautifully tonight. And you looked beautiful tonight. You grew into a stunning woman, Jessica Stewart.”
“Thank you,” I said sincerely. “Thank you for everything. If not for you I would have been lost tonight. And thank you for the necklace. It’s gorgeous.”
“It suited it’s model.” He smiled his famous crooked smile.
Starting to move in towards me, Bono smelled of red wine and cigars. His lips were so close to mine and I felt myself wanting to feel his soft, Irish lips. Friends, I reminded myself. We’re only friends.
Nonetheless, I didn’t stop him. Closing my eyes and resting a hand on his bicep, my lips found his blindly. It wasn’t a clumsy kiss as I had expected it to be. No. It was feathery, comfortable and fitting. It was the first meaningful kiss we had had in over six years. He tasted differently than I remembered-exotic, manly with a dose of wine. His lips were gentle and passionate.
He cupped his hand around the dip of my shoulder and neck, running his thumb over my collarbone before pulling away. His eyes sparkled and dazzled.
“Mm,” He hummed, lids closing. “That was lovely. Thank you.”
Still fazed, I fluttered my eyes and smiled lazily. “Yeah. I had a great time.”
“As did I. Have a good night, Jessie.”
“You, too, Bono.”
With all of the excitement and accomplishment I had felt throughout that night: the number of celebrities and rich art collectors, you would think that I would be focused on more than my old lover. That night, however, I fell asleep peacefully, the taste of Bono’s lips drifting through my dreams.
? 
So if there are some typo's in here, forgive me. Thank you for reading! I really appreciate it! 's to everyone!Disclaimer: I own my dizzy mind and sleepy eyes. Other than that: FICTION!
Chapter Twelve
“So this is it,” Jessica said, her arms hugging her own waist. “This is goodbye then?”
Bono ran his hand over her hair for the last time: soft, silky, long and dark. That’s how he would remember her: delicate and mysterious. He could practically hear her heart breaking and it tore him apart.
“Well will see each other again,” He promised, resting his fingers on her jaw.
“How do you know that?”
“I will make sure of it.” He leaned into her ear and sang. “All roads lead to where you are.”
Fat tears flowed down Jessica’s pale face freely. “All roads lead to you where you are.” She repeated. “I love you, Paul.”
“I love you, too, sweetheart.”
He kissed her lips one last time: coffee, nicotine and sugar. What a perfect way to remember her taste.
“I’ll see you later,” He said.
She nodded. “See you later.”
Just as Mr. Johnson promised, I received a phone call two days later from the editor of the hugest music magazine company in the world for the interview. With the phone to my ear for over an hour and a half, he asked me the usual questions: how I got into photography, what sort of education and background did I go through, what my camera of choice was. He asked me what it was like working for the band and I explained that they were “models of stone” and explained the technique of how I got them to open up and have fun.
Impressive, he said. He found me impressive. No one has ever found me “impressive” before. Maybe unique or talented. Never impressive. And when I thought the interview was over, he asked that damned question. The haunting question.
“Are you having an affair with Bono?”
“If I was,” I said. “I would be the last to hear about it.”
I hear him chuckle. “Point taken. So you have nothing to say regarding the Brooklyn Bridge scene?”
“It was staged. All of it. We wanted to give New York an unforgettable show and we accomplished it. That’s all there is to know on that subject.”
Have you ever had to keep a secret that you couldn’t tell anyone? Did you hold it in and hold it in until you screamed at the top of you lungs to feel relief? Did it wear you out, leave you weak and powerless? Well, that’s how that this interview was. Believe me, I wanted to tell the whole world about Bono and the real relationship between us. Nevertheless, it wasn’t for the world to know. It belonged to us, not mattering how it ended.
And I missed him. Lord did I miss him. For the next week Brooke and I spent all waking hours setting up for the exhibit that was to take place at the Museum of Modern Arts. Although Mr. Johnson said he would rent out a building, it made more sense to rent a room, considering I wouldn’t have too much to show. I didn’t have sculptures or large canvases. My career was an infant still.
Moreover, it all felt wrong. The guys weren’t here to share the honor. They would be proud, seeing their faces on the large walls, mixed into a collage and enlarged. Most of the photos on display were from the photo shoots. Difficulties of finding a darkroom ended when another photography company, Click, allowed me to use theirs if given a nice chunk of money. Projecting the image to a large sheet of photo paper, Bono dancing with the little girl came to life. Staring at the image, a surge of loneliness flowed through my veins.
I mounted a good amount of the photos from our little day trip and named the collection “A Day in Central Park with the Rock Star.” The photos took up an entire wall. Most of them were the ones of Bono conversing with the people we met along the way: the young guitarist, the hula hoop man, the dancing children. Others were of me and him or the statues and trees. All were black and white.
Two days away from the exhibit and Bono and I still weren’t talking. Edge did call to check up on me. He was happy and proud about my accomplishments and felt distressed when he said he couldn’t make it to my opening. I didn’t expect him to, though. It would be selfish of me to ask him to come back to New York when he was in Dublin. With his family, mind you.
Still, I needed someone to share my joy with. For once in my life, I felt more alone than ever before. Brooke and I went out that night and enjoyed a nice dinner of lobster and wine, departing at eight. Standing in the middle of Times Square, a strange sense of encouragement overcame me. I headed towards a recently new familiar direction.
I wasn’t sure if he would be home. I wasn’t sure if I wanted him to be home. Nevertheless, there I was, taking an elevator to the top floor and standing on his doorstep. Breathing nervously, I knocked on the door. Opening it, Bono rubbed his eyes, looking as if he had just woken up.
“Oh, I’m sorry, were you sleeping?” I apologized, anything to keep the tension between us at a minimum.
“Yeah,” He yawned. “It’s alright. What are you doing here?”
“I…I came here to apologize.”
“Hm. In that case, come in.” He moved aside, watching as I entered the hotel room.
We didn’t move far. I stood by the door, himself a few feet away, still wiping the sleep from the corner of his eyes.
“I know I’ve been cruel. And you’re right. I did want revenge. I wanted you to feel exactly how I felt all these years. And to answer your question, I love you but not the way I used to. You’re a friend now. The feelings aren’t there anymore.”
When did I become so good at lying? His face dripped of…disappointment?
“I see,” He finally spoke after many long seconds. “Then, were ok?”
Shrugging, I nodded. “I suppose. If I can’t have you as a lover, I at least want you as a friend. You’re important to me and we share a strong bond but I just…I can’t love you like I used to.”
“But you still love me?”
Lie!
“As a friend, yes.”
“Is it ok if I still love you? More than a friend?”
Why did this hurt so much? “I can’t control your feelings, Bono.”
“Could my feelings change yours?”
“I told you how I felt.”
“You’re right,” He defended. “I’m sorry. Is that all you came over here for?”
“Well, to be honest, no.” I shuffled over what to say. “You see, the exhibit is in two days.”
“Amazing.”
“Yes, quite. And I’m allowed to have an escort but I’m such a recluse. And since you are the main subject of the opening, I figured…well…”
“Yes?”
Pouting, I squinted at Bono. “You’re really going to make me ask?”
“Ask what?”
Cheeky bastard.
“Erm…would you maybe want to go with me? It's only appropriate. You know, the artists and her muse.”
“’Muse?’” He repeated humorously. “I like that. I will have to check my schedule but I’m sure I ca-”
“Bono!” I pushed him playfully.
He laughed. “I’m messing with you. Of course I’ll go. What time should I pick you up?”
“Well, it starts at eight but I have to be there at seven-thirty. You know, to make sure everything is set and ready.”
“Perfect. I’ll pick you up at seven?”
I smiled. “Perfect.”
------
“Ew, that is so not the color for you,” Brooke threw the baby blue dress onto the rail. “Why do you keep choosing blues?”
“I am not choosing blues!” I shot back, rummaging throw the rows of dresses.
“Yes you are!”
Was I? Bono. Blue eyes. Ah, that’s why.
“Why isn’t blue my color?” I asked, smiling. “I like blue.”
“You may like blue but it sure as hell doesn’t like you. Get a black dress.”
“I’m always wearing black!”
Her curls bounced when she nodded. “Yes, but it looks good on you. It matches your hair.”
“What about crimson?”
:”Black.”
Grunting, I searched throw the rows of dresses at Macy’s and tried to find a BLACK dress that wasn’t so…plain. I was so sick of black but she had a point, it was hard to find colors that looked good on me. White was nice, but it also reminded me of weddings. This was a major, professional event. This was my chance to shine. And white was not the color to accompany.
“How about this one?” I asked, holding up a long, trailing, black gown with diamond straps. The back was open, cut in the shape of a “V.”
“Now THAT is the right dress for you. Go try it on!”
It fit like a glove, hugging my hips and waist just enough that I could still breathe and move. The fabric was soft and somewhat heavy, but not heavy enough for a sweat. The diamond straps glittered and felt cool against my shoulders. I was a little worried about the back, frightened that the V dipped a little too far. Brooke disagreed, commenting that the V was the sexiest part.
Did I want to look sexy? I suppose it wouldn’t hurt for just one night.
Next we shopped for shoes and I found a pair pretty quickly: high, very high, heals with diamond straps around the ankles and toes. They matched perfectly. I was afraid that I would be taller than Bono in them. It’s not that he was oddly short for a male, but I was only four inches shorter than him. Oh, well, I’m buying them anyways.
We spent the rest of the afternoon shopping for jewelry, makeup and made an appointment with a hair salon for the morning of the opening. I couldn’t eat. The guest list was huge and swam with many famous celebrities and big named photographers and companies. Tickets were on sale for the general public. All 500 were sold.
The night before the opening I couldn’t sleep. Instead, I tossed and turned. What if it failed? What if no one liked my photography and laughed in my face? This could turn into an utter disaster! And what if Bono bailed out on me? Leaving me to suffer all those people alone? No, he wouldn’t do that. Would he?
Brooke met me at the hair salon at twelve the next morning. Wanting to keep my hair down, the hairdresser raged against it when asking me how the dress looked. She boasted that the responsibility for a V dropped dress was to show off the back and shoulders, not to hide them. Instead she piled my long hair on the top of my head, curling it first. A few strands were let loose, hanging in ringlets, few in the back and a few in the front. It did look nice, I had to admit.
We separated for the day and I hurried back to apartment. After taking a shower (with a hair net!) and shaving all the necessary parts, I did my makeup a little darker than normal so that I ended up with a nice, subdue smoky eyed look. I painted my lips a light pink. It was almost six-thirty by the time I was finished.
Slipping into my dress and shoes and chandelier diamond earrings, I studied myself in the full length mirror. Almost not recognizing the reflection, I ran my hands down my hips and turned around, stretching my neck in an awkward and uncomfortable position. My back did look nice!
Bono would see me like this. It made me blush just thinking about it…
A loud knock at the door made me jump slightly. Laughing at my nervousness, I opened the door and was greeted with the sights of Bono dressed in a black tuxedo, underneath that the white collared shirt was unbuttoned three times, showing off a light layer of chest hair. For how long did we stare in silence at one another I do not know. All I knew was that he was breathtakingly beautiful.
“Er,” Bono spoke first. “Er, you look…um…wow.” He breathed out dramatically.
I felt myself flush. “Thank you. So do you.”
“I got you something,” He divulged excitingly, handing me a box.
“You really didn’t have to,” I stuttered, taking the box from him. Inside shinned the most beautiful Belle Epoque garland style diamond necklace I had ever set sights on. Set on platinum highlighted a stunning antique pear cut diamond suspended from a festoon of delicate garlands and flower motifs. It almost looked antique. “I…I don’t know what to say.”
“You like it?” Bono questioned.
“I love it! I really hope you didn’t spend too much on it.”
“Don’t you worry about that.”
“But I do! If you spent a lot on it I wouldn’t feel right wearing it.”
“Fine,” He winked. “I didn’t spend too much on it. It’s a big night for you. Let me do something nice, will ya?.”
"Your presence is enough.”
Obviously amused, he took the box from me and unclasped the hook, motioning for me to turn around. Hot air breathed on the back of my neck, making me shiver with a strange delight. Bono kept his fingers on the back of my neck, lingering.
“You have to take off the other one, first.” He said, snapping the chain.
Bono went silent and I turned around to face him. In the palm of his hands, he turned the pendant over and opened it. Not saying a word, I watched him carefully, not wanting to miss a single expression. His forehead scrunched, his lips quivered and then formed a thin smile.
“You still have it?” He asked.
“Yes,” I admitted. “I never take it off. Until now.”
The pad of thumb rubbed the octagon locket. “Now I’m the one who doesn’t know what to say.”
“You don’t have to say anything.” I soothed.
“Would you like me to put it back on?”
“No. I have you tonight. That means more to me than the necklace.”
His head veered up at me and our eyes met for a split second. Wrapping his arms around my neck, he clasped the new diamond necklace around me before taking me in his arms. His body temperature was warm and lulling.
“Thank you,” His lips grazed my ear.
My body shivered. “For what?”
“For loving me.”
When I couldn’t find the words to respond, he pulled away to study me.
“You make that necklace jealous,” He admired, chucking me under the chin.
Giggling, we left the apartment. He had a limousine waiting for on the side of the road. Good lord, what else did he have lined up?
“You have to arrive in style!” The rock star mocked, his voice sounding more Irish than usual. Or did I just not realize it before?
“I’m sorry I’m not used to this whole ‘fame’ thing,” I shot back light-hearted.
He opened the door for me and I stepped into the stretched car, Bono following behind. “Well, lucky for you, you have a wonderful tour guide.”
Ah, yes, a tour guard who smelled fantastic and looked even better and glowed of sex appeal.
…did I just say that?
There was already a large group of people in the exhibit when we arrived exactly at seven-thirty. Mr. Johnson was there, dressed in a white dress shirt and black slacks. He shook hands with Bono and they instantly began to talk. Apparently, Mr. Johnson and Bono knew each other from years back. I left them to their conversation and joined Brooke’s side. She looked just as beautiful in her dark purple dress and matching heels. She had a date by her side, a small, shy freelance artist we had met in college. I think his name was Brad. Brooke radiated and she had every right, tonight was more for her as it was for me.
Lucy was no where in sight. Mr. Johnson had all my photo’s transported from Lucy’s copyrighted name to under Brooke Percy and Jessica Stewart. Brooke had put in her two-weeks notice to work for another company on the other side of town. She tried talking me into applying but I wanted to stay unemployed for awhile. I wasn’t ready to have my love for photography put on a pedestal quite yet.
At last minute, we moved a few pieces of art to another section or added a few more to take up space. Bono came up behind me, placing his hand on my lower back. We gazed up at the black and white picture of him, a close up of his profile in singing motion.
“I never saw that one before.”
“It was one that I never got to develop.”
“It’s huge.”
I laughed. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to put you on the spot.”
“You apologize too much.” He snickered. “It’s a beautiful shot.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. It’s eight by the way. The doors are open.”
Shaking both my hands, thinking that somehow it would get rid of my nerves, Bono grabbed them and laughed. “Stop, you’ll give yourself a hemorrhage. Just relax. You’re the star tonight.”
“Can’t you take the spotlight?” I groaned, feeling my forehead melt like an ice cube in Nevada sun.
“Silly girl. Enjoy it! You’re finally being recognized for something you love. Not everyone gets this chance in the spotlight. You’re not selfish for liking it. Be proud.”
Kissing my cheek, Bono led me over to Brooke and I instantly clung to her. At the corner of my eye, I watched as Bono headed to the sidelines, smiling at me encouragingly. As soon as the doors opened, people were piling in like ants. At first no one paid any mind to me and Brooke, giving their attention to the large amounts of photos instead.
Good, I thought. That’s what this whole night was about, wasn’t it? The art, the glamor of a lens and an artist. About a half hour passed and once Bono was at my side again, I relaxed and started to enjoy the festive event. Soon enough, people were approaching me, shaking my hand and introducing themselves. A majority of the crowd were New Yorkers of higher class, dressed richly in their expensive Armani suits and Gucci dresses. Waiters in white vests handed out hors d'oeuvres and sparkling champagne.
There were celebrities: Mick Jagger (thanks to Bono), Ross Halfin (my favorite photographer. He was sarcastic, surprising and yet very humble artist.) Mike Shinoda from Linkin Park arrived and I took a liking to him rather quickly. We talked of art and painting. There were founders of magazines, photographers from Time, Readers Digest, Detail and many more. Bono displayed himself comfortably amongst the uncomfortably amount of people. He talked easily, joked and flitted. If not for him I would have been a stuttering fool.
Bono’s friend, the performer Sting, arrived in fashion, kissing the back of my hand. We talked for awhile about the photos and my inspiration for his favorites. He was a nice fellow, polite and charming. He reminded me a bit of Bono.
The picture of Edge warding off Larry sold for 6,000 dollars to an art collector. I had to think on it for a second. It was, after all, one of my favorite photos. As so it was for most of the population in the room. The second favored was the one of Bono dancing with the little blond haired girl in Central Park. An offer for 4, 500 was granted and I accepted. At first it was hard to imagine my work being sold at such a high price. They meant something to me. Bono, however, reminded me that I had the originals and that artists sometimes had to depart with such things every once in awhile.
By the end of the night, I felt drunk. It was one in the morning when I got home and Bono walked me in. We sat on the couch, sharing a glass of red wine.
“So, how do you feel?” He asked.
“Overwhelmed!” I replied, unstrapping my heels and throwing them to the other side of the room, causing Bono to laugh. “I never want to do that ever again! How do you do it?”
“Eh,” He shrugged like I spoke of sleeping. “You grow used to it after awhile. You made some good money tonight, though.”
“Mmm,” I leaned my head back on the back of the couch, closing my eyes, feeling overly tired. “I’m so sleepy.”
“I bet. I can let you sleep. It’s late.”
He helped me up from the couch and I walked him to the door. A long, awkward second passed before any one of us muttered a word. Bono was the first to break the silence.
“You did beautifully tonight. And you looked beautiful tonight. You grew into a stunning woman, Jessica Stewart.”
“Thank you,” I said sincerely. “Thank you for everything. If not for you I would have been lost tonight. And thank you for the necklace. It’s gorgeous.”
“It suited it’s model.” He smiled his famous crooked smile.
Starting to move in towards me, Bono smelled of red wine and cigars. His lips were so close to mine and I felt myself wanting to feel his soft, Irish lips. Friends, I reminded myself. We’re only friends.
Nonetheless, I didn’t stop him. Closing my eyes and resting a hand on his bicep, my lips found his blindly. It wasn’t a clumsy kiss as I had expected it to be. No. It was feathery, comfortable and fitting. It was the first meaningful kiss we had had in over six years. He tasted differently than I remembered-exotic, manly with a dose of wine. His lips were gentle and passionate.
He cupped his hand around the dip of my shoulder and neck, running his thumb over my collarbone before pulling away. His eyes sparkled and dazzled.
“Mm,” He hummed, lids closing. “That was lovely. Thank you.”
Still fazed, I fluttered my eyes and smiled lazily. “Yeah. I had a great time.”
“As did I. Have a good night, Jessie.”
“You, too, Bono.”
With all of the excitement and accomplishment I had felt throughout that night: the number of celebrities and rich art collectors, you would think that I would be focused on more than my old lover. That night, however, I fell asleep peacefully, the taste of Bono’s lips drifting through my dreams.
? 
only friends? I beg to differ! 
Please write her off! 
