Never before had Mrs. Donna Jean been in such torment. Did she love Bobby or did she just loving up on Bobby? For all his faults, Bobby was good at loving up on ladies. He was even better at loving up on girls, but that’s neither here nor there.
Innocently it started, with things like this – a shared mic, a drink in the afternoons while Keith ate pills he found on the floor. Since Mrs. Donna Jean joined up, she and Bobby had shared the unspoken bond that comes from being the only attractive people in the room.
Perhaps not “unspoken.” More correctly, it was unspoken of in front of the rest of the band because, as ugly as they were, they only became uglier when making their sad faces. The two of them would share a plate of fries (“Ugh, I am so fat.” “Shut up, you skinny whore.”) and talk about the loneliness that comes with beauty.
Post-Hiatus, Bobby and Mrs. Donna Jean got closer, almost by default: her husband and Garcia were locked in increasingly smaller cells of addiction; Phil only wanted to talk about Canadian football; interactions with the drummers so often ended in a duffel bag full of raccoons being hurled into an Wendy’s.
Love? Of course not. Bobby was a single guy, and everyone was having fun. As much fun as an affair that could fuck up a multi-million dollar tour could be, anyway.
(Epically fun. Tremendously, stupendously, stupefyingly fun. Sneaking around hotels and stolen glances and spy moves with room keys and what not: epically fun.)
She put the question out of her head, and knew that Bobby hadn’t even thought of it. It’s hard to be a woman. Doubly so when you’re being written by a man.