MadameFrankie

by Stanley Bennett Clay

  “Hoping what, Jazz?”

  “I was hoping that…” he began, turning his eyes away. “I was hoping we’d get married one day.”

  “Oh Jazz,” she said in a slow hush, not knowing what else to say.

  “I want to spend the rest of my life with you, Frankie.”

  “Listen, Jazz.”

  “I’m not proposing now. But I was planning to. So think about it. You don’t have to decide right now. But think about it. Think about you and me, together forever, okay?”

  “Okay, Jazz. I’ll think about it.”

  He kissed her gently on the lips, then brushed the dangling lock of hair from her face and managed a smile. He seemed like such a little boy to Frankie, a beautiful little boy. Oh how she loved him. But marry him?

  “I gotta go,” he said after giving her a long, hopeful kiss. “I’ll call you later.”

  “Okay, baby,” she said, as he walked out of her front door, gently closing it behind him.

  Frankie stood in the middle of the room dumbfounded. She really hadn’t seen this coming. Marriage? Been there done that. Three times. Four, if you counted her marriage to her gay brother’s Dominican lover so he could immigrate to America. Right now all she wanted was the horsemeat without buying the stallion. She was a playgirl with a whole lot of play still left in her. All she wanted these days was friends with benefits and Jazz was on the top of the list.

  But marry him?

  Her phone rang. She went to the table next to the bed and checked the caller ID on her phone. She smiled with needed relief as she clicked it on and put it to her ear. “Hey, Trudy. What’s up, girl?”

  “He’s coming home, Frankie!” Trudy declared excitedly. Frankie could tell her good girlfriend was about to burst.

  “Michael?”

  “Well who the hell else?”

  “Oh Trudy! I an sooo happy for you.”

  “I can’t believe it! Three tours of duty and my baby’s finally coming home for good.”

  “Good for you, girl and good for him. I know you’re gonna be celebrating for days.”

  “You got that right. In fact that’s why I’m calling. I just talked to Yvette and now you. I wanna take my two best girls out for lunch today. Please tell me you’re free.”

  “Honey, even if I wasn’t, I’d have to break some appointments for this.”

  “The Ivy at two?”

  “You got it, doll. See you then.”

  Frankie chuckled as she clicked her phone off. Warmly ironic thoughts of Trudy filled her mind. Trudy Amberson, her beautiful plus-sized good girlfriend, was truly the marriage-forever kind and Frankie loved and admired her for it.

  Trudy was known as the Commercial Queen and Madison Avenue’s go-to darling. Her fresh-faced, wholesome beauty and bright Midwestern smile earned her a healthy six-figure annual income pitching everything from auto insurance to breakfast cereal.

  Trudy had married Michael, her high school sweetheart, right out of college. That was almost fifteen years ago. And Trudy was proud to say Michael was the only man she had ever been with and the only man she had ever desired. And Trudy knew—everybody knew—Michael was equally devoted to Trudy.

  Now Yvette Holder was significantly different. She was more a Frankie kind of girl. She was a dark mystic beauty whose sexual thirst was rarely quenched. She often accompanied Frankie on her sexcursions to House of John in the Dominican Republic.

  The three of them were all actresses. Thankfully they were all different types, which meant they were rarely up for the same roles. That alone made for a strong bond and a competition-free friendship.

  Lunch with her girls was just what Frankie needed. Michael coming home to Trudy was worth celebrating. But it would also be a good time to get some sound sisterly advice. What to do about a love struck hottie trying to put a ring on your finger and a hoop through your nose?

  Chapter Six

  Weekday lunch hour at The Ivy on Robertson Boulevard on the eastern rim of Beverly Hills was always a to-see-and-be-seen event. Celebrity and celebrity gazers alike dined on the likes of wild Maine lobster mac and cheese, grass-fed beef burgers served with Brie and French-fried calamari. Paparazzi snooped and snapped pictures from across the street.

  Frankie, Trudy and Yvette, two tables from Nicole Kidman lunching with an obvious Hollywood suit, were already on their second glasses of celebratory champagne when the waiter brought their entrees.

  “Three weeks,” Trudy giggled, attacking her baby back ribs. “Three more weeks before he’s home and I don’t know if I can stand the wait.”

  “What? You haven’t seen your man in almost two years, girl,” Yvette said, munching on her swordfish tacos. “Three more weeks is not going to hurt you one bit.”

  “Yeah, but you know how it is. When he left, I knew he was going to be gone for a while. But now that he’s coming home on a specific date, it’s got me crazy with anticipation.”

  “Well I for one don’t know how you do it, Trudy,” said Frankie, twirling Tagliarini on her fork. “I personally couldn’t do without sex for two years.”

  “I got my toys, girl.”

  “Not the same thing.”

  “Speaking of toys, Frankie, how’s that boy toy of yours?”

  “Girl girl girl girl girl…” Frankie sighed melodramatically.

  “What?” Yvette leaned in anxiously.

  “He wants to get married.”

  “What?!”

  “Oh Frankie,” Trudy beamed. “Congratulations!”

  “Now hold on, Miss Thing. I’m not hardly about to get married again.”

  “Heard that,” Yvette co-signed. “Be kinda hard making your Dominican booty call with a husband in tow.”

  “Not only that, I think I kind of screwed up last night.”

  “Uh-oh. What did you do?” Trudy frowned curiously.

  “Last night…”

  “Yeah?”

  “While he was fucking me…”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “I called him Edgar.”

  “No!” Trudy squealed in an astonished whisper, while Yvette laughed.

  “Yes.”

  “Who’s Edgar?” Trudy asked in a sudden state of confusion.

  “Her Dominican booty call.”

  “Oh. Not the one you were married to.”

  “No, Miss Trudy. I was married to Étienne, remember? Étienne’s gay. I only married him so my brother Jesse could get him over here to America and marry him himself. Edgar is Étienne’s ex.”

  “So then Edgar’s gay.”

  “No he’s not.”

  “But he’s your brother’s husband’s ex, right?”

  “Right, but he’s bi.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I’m sure.”

  “Don’t be no Terry McMillan.”

  “Girl, you got more sexual drama going on in your life than a Pedro Almodóvar film festival,” Yvette cracked.

  “So back to Jazz. Why in the world would you call him Edgar?”

  “Because, Trudy, the sex was so good it made her think of Edgar, right Frankie?”

  “Well not exactly. I mean the sex was good. It’s always good with Jazz. And sex is good with Edgar too. But Edgar called me from the DR right before Jazz came over. So I guess I had him kind of on my mind—”

  “While she was getting pipe from Jazz.”

  “Well that wasn’t very nice, Frankie.”

  “Trudy, do you think I did it on purpose?”

  “I guess not, but you’re always talking about that Dominican guy. What’s his name again?”

  “Edgar.”

  “Edgar. So it was just a matter of time before you slipped up and brought him up at the wrong time. I mean weren’t you and Yvette just down there right before you met Jazz?”

  “Yeah, but that was over four months ago.”

  “That’s not that long ago, Frankie.”

  “It’s long ago enough,” Yvette fussed. “When are we gonna get back down there, Frankie?”<
br />
  “Frankie’s in a relationship, Yvette.”

  “Yeah, but is it a committed relationship?” Yvette challenged.

  “Neither Jazz nor I is seeing anybody else right now.”

  “See, it’s a committed relationship,” Trudy declared triumphantly.

  “I didn’t say that, Trudy.”

  “She didn’t say that, Trudy.”

  “Hush, Yvette. But you and Jazz agreed not to see anybody else.”

  “Not exactly.”

  “What do you mean not exactly?”

  “We didn’t actually agree not to see anybody else, we just informed each other that we weren’t seeing anybody else.”

  “That’s a real slippery slope, sister-girl,” Trudy said, visibly disappointed. “So how did he take it?”

  “Take what?”

  “When you called him—what’s his name?”

  “Edgar.”

  “Edgar.”

  “He was hurt.”

  “Poor thing.”

  “Poor thing?” Yvette stretched her eyes. “Who the fuck did he think he was fucking? Mother Teresa?”

  “Watch it, Diva. I am almost old enough to be his mother.”

  “No, that’s not what I meant, Frankie. I mean did he really think he was your first piece of ass?”

  “That’s what I tried to explain to him, but he was still hurt. I could tell. But then again, Edgar really is hot. Both of them are. Next time I’m down in the DR with Edgar, I might end up calling out Jazz’s name.”

  “So you are planning to cheat on Jazz with Edgar.”

  “If we’re not in a committed relationship, how is it cheating?”

  “All I know is you are just too busy, Miss Frankie. I am so glad Michael is all the man I need.”

  “You mean Michael is all the man you got.”

  “Michael is all the man I got, Yvette, because he’s all the man I need.” Trudy then turned back to Frankie. “So I guess marriage for you and Jazz is a moot point.”

  “Trudy, I don’t want to get married again.”

  “Well at least not until after we make a run down to the DR,” Yvette said. “I’m a little low on oil. I need a refill.”

  “You always need a refill,” Trudy muttered.

  “That’s ‘cause my engine is always overheating.”

  “Yeah, I could use a little Dominican lube myself,” Frankie mused.

  “So what the hell are you waiting for? It’s hiatus. We could run down there for a couple of weeks, maybe three and be back in time for pilot season.”

  “Yeah, we could, couldn’t we?”

  “Yeah, girl. Come on.”

  “So what are you going to do about Jazz?” Trudy interrupted.

  “He’ll be so busy with Obama, he won’t even know she’s gone,” Yvette defended.

  “I doubt that,” Frankie muttered. Her phone rang. She checked the caller ID “Speaking of which.” She clicked on her phone. Trudy and Yvette went still with silence. “Hey, baby.” Frankie’s voice was suddenly sweet and bright.

  “Hey gorgeous lady,” Jazz answered her in his sexy baritone. “I was thinking about you.”

  “I was thinking about you too.”

  “So how’s your day so far?”

  “I’m actually having lunch with my girls.”

  “Trudy and Yvette?”

  “Yep.”

  “Tell them I said ‘hi’.”

  “Jazz says hi, girls,” she told them.

  “Hi Jazz!” they answered back in unison.

  “Will I see you tonight?” he asked Frankie.

  “Well I certainly hope so,” Frankie answered back sexily.

  “Have you been thinking about what I said this morning?”

  “Yeah, baby, I’ve been thinking about it. But I still need to do a lot more thinking on it.”

  “I just want you to know that I’m dead serious.”

  “I know you are,” Frankie purred.

  “You wanna go out tonight, or stay in?”

  “Let’s go out tonight, paint the town a bit.”

  “You got it, babe. And don’t forget. I have a surprise for you.”

  “I haven’t forgotten.”

  “See you around nine?”

  “See you around nine.”

  “Love you.”

  “Love you more.”

  They hung up.

  “Liar.”

  “What?”

  “You don’t love him more.”

  “I do, Trudy.”

  “You love him more than he loves you?”

  “It’s just an expression, Trudy,” Yvette jumped in.

  “Maybe Trudy’s right,” Frankie confessed, almost to herself. “I love Jazz, very much. But maybe I don’t love him more or even as much as he loves me. Do I want to spend the rest of my life with anybody, well except maybe you two divas? See, with the exception of my marriage of convenience to my brother’s husband, my three other marriages were marriages based on love and I ended all three of them. And it had nothing to do with the fact that my ex-husbands weren’t good men. They were. Well Roger could’ve used some work in the sex department. But I need constant variety in my life. I do love Jazz, but I’m still hot for Edgar…for now. Who knows who I’ll love and be hot for in the future? In the meantime—”

  “In the meantime you need to have fun with Jazz and have fun with Edgar down in the DR,” Yvette encouraged. “You know, be that international whore you like being.”

  “All right now bitch.”

  “So when do we book a trip?”

  “He said he’s dead serious,” Frankie fussed.

  “And you’re not.” Trudy declared.

  “Does she have to be?” Yvette questioned.

  “Are you happy?” Trudy asked Frankie, ignoring Yvette.

  “I’m very happy,” Frankie answered carefully, “but that doesn’t mean I’m not conflicted.”

  Chapter Seven

  The catering staff for the Streisand fundraiser was gathered in a conference room at the Beverly Wilshire Hotel. They listened attentively as Ella Caldwell, a Team Obama social affairs assistant, dispensed detailed protocol directives.

  Jazz listened carefully too. He had already completed his first assignment of the day. As chaperone to catering personnel, he had to make sure they were rounded up for background checks and follow-up interviews with the secret service and FBI, before their protocol orientation with Ella.

  El was a no-nonsense type of woman with higher political aspirations. The attractive thirty-year-old brown-skinned beauty from the Bronx, a dead ringer for Kerry Washington, was pretty sure the president would win a second term and she was ready to accept whatever White House position was offered her, no matter how small.

  And she had her eye on Jazz for more than one reason. He was a hardworking foot soldier with a keen intellect. And he was as gorgeous as he was smart.

  It was no secret he was involved with that B-list actress Frankie Templeton. And since El was not the type to get personally involved with staff, she kept her distance and her resentment in check in spite of her desires.

  Still, every so often she’d get a glance of Jazz in her periphery. And he’d get a glance of her getting a glance. His boyish smile was a real turn-on, but she would always return it with a professional grimace that couldn’t mar her pretty face.

  “I need you to go with me to the Streisand compound,” she instructed him after the orientation was adjourned. “Double-check the layout with her people and Treasury.”

  “Got it.”

  “Oh and Jazz?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Great job,” she said, resisting a smile.

  “Thanks, El,” he smiled freely.

  “Meet me in the lobby in half an hour,” she commanded, checking the time on her cell.

  “Two-forty-five,” he said, checking his.

  “Malibu is a hike. We need to get in and out to avoid rush hour traffic on PCH.”

  “See ya then,” he said
, walking away.

  This time she allowed herself to enjoy the view. What a walk. What an ass. What a hot piece of man. She even allowed herself to smile a little.

  But never mind Jazz with his fine self, she thought, catching herself and shaking herself out of her Jazz leer. She had plenty of sexual and romantic options. Once the election was over, she’d be able to take her vacation and get all the good loving she could handle from those beautiful Dominican bugarrones down at House of John.

  * * * * *

  Frankie was a vision of loveliness when Jazz rang her doorbell at exactly nine p.m.

  “Wow!” was all Jazz could say as he eyed her up and down.

  “You like?” Frankie smiled as she smoothly twirled in her doorway like a runway model.

  “I love,” Jazz growled like Barry White, taking her in his arms and kissing her tenderly. He then took her hand. “We better go before my libido makes me wanna change our plans.”

  “And miss my surprise?” Frankie giggled girlishly. She then allowed her caramel prince to squire her down the walkway toward his rented steed.

  It was a beautiful summer night. The stars sparkled like diamonds in the jet-black sky.

  “So what’s the surprise?” Frankie asked as Jazz steered the car up Highland Avenue toward the Hollywood Hills.

  “You’ll see,” Jazz answered with a knowing smile, staring straight ahead. He found Frankie’s knee with his free hand and brushed it lightly. “You have the softest, most beautiful skin in the world, baby,” he sighed with a mellow sexiness.

  “And you have the softest, most beautiful touch,” Frankie cooed slyly, taking his probing hand and moving it up her thigh. The warmth between her legs caused Jazz to shudder ever so slightly. He gasped with a whimper when his fingers found the trimmed silky hairs of her plump mound naked underneath her dress. She helped his fingers find their way inside her. She closed her eyes and licked her lips and heaved a bit as his fingers toyed lovingly in her playland, finding her spot. She tingled with joy. But it was just a tease.

  “Tonight, my love,” he promised, tapping her treasure farewell for the moment. “Later tonight.”

  She opened her eyes to his smiling face as they pulled into the parking area of their destination. They were at the beautiful, evocative fairy tale-like amphitheater Frankie knew well. They were at the Hollywood Bowl where concerts under the stars were the most romantic in the country.