Frankie immediately felt bad about her flippant frame of mind. But not so bad as to ignore Jazz’s attempt to drag her to the altar.
She decided to let it go, dressed in something fashionably cute and decided to treat herself to an early lunch at Café D’ Etoile in West Hollywood.
* * * * *
Étienne, Frankie’s brother-in-law and ex-husband, was the first to see her seated at an outside table at one of their favorite restaurants.
“Look, baby,” Étie said to his husband Jesse, beaming. “Your sister!”
“Frankie?” Jesse said, sneaking up behind her and giving her a big smooch on the back of the neck.
“Hey, Junie,” she grinned, calling him by the nickname all his siblings used. She turned to him, took his hug and then hugged Étie. “Hey, gorgeous man.”
“Hola, mi hermana.”
“You by yourself?” Jess asked, grabbing the seat across from her.
“Not anymore. Sit.”
Étienne sat down between them.
“So where’s that handsome stud of yours?” Jesse continued.
“Working. You know they’re doing that big Obama fundraiser out at Barbra Streisand’s tonight.”
“Oh yeah. That’s right. You’re not going?”
“At twenty-five grand a pop? I don’t think so,” she said, motioning to Joshua, the waiter.
“Boyfriend couldn’t pull any strings?”
“Not twenty-five thousand dollars worth.”
“Hey guys.”
“Hey Josh.”
“Hola Joshua.”
“How’s my favorite married couple?” he asked, handing Jesse and Étie menus.
“Still honeymooning,” Jesse said, pecking Étie on the cheek and squeezing his hand.
“What’s it been, four years now?”
“Yep,” Étie answered, staring into Jesse’s eyes, kissing him lightly on the lips.
“Good for you guys. Want anything from the bar?”
“Baby?” Jesse asked Étie.
“Just coffee and orange juice.”
“Me too,” said Jesse.
“Great. Give you guys some time to look at your menus. Frankie, you want me to hold your order and bring it with theirs?”
“Sure, Josh. That’s fine. But you can bring me another Bloody Mary?”
“You got it,” Josh said, walking toward the entrance just off the patio. Frankie couldn’t take her eyes off his cute little bubble-butt.
“Girl, you need to quit.” Jesse smirked.
“What?”
“Josh’s gay and you’re in a relationship.”
“A cute ass is a cute ass. And who says I’m in a relationship?”
“You and Jazz are not—”
“No, Étienne. Even though he seems to think so.”
“Uh-oh,” Jesse huffed.
“What, Junie?”
“I hope you’re not leading him on.”
“He asked me to marry him.”
“What?” Étie beamed. “What did you say, Francesca?”
“I told him I’d think about it. But I did tell him I wasn’t feeling getting married again.”
“Why not? The fifth time could be the charm.”
“Excuse me, big brother, but I think after four I’m pretty much over the marriage thing.”
“So why did you tell him you’d think about it?”
“Can’t a diva have options?”
“So you might say yes.”
“And I might say no, which is where I’m leaning.”
“You guys make such a beautiful couple.”
“No, Étie, you guys make a beautiful couple. Jazz and I are simply serious friends with benefits.”
“But you do at least love him,” Jesse stated.
“Yeah, just not enough to marry him.”
“Well if you love him, why don’t you marry him?”
“My God, Junie, why does everybody want me to get married again?”
“If she is not feeling it, baby, then we should not push it.”
“Thank you, Étie.”
“You’re welcome. Now let’s talk about something else.”
“Here you go, Frankie,” Josh said, placing a fresh Bloody Mary in front her.
“Thanks Josh,” she said, taking a much-needed sip.
* * * * *
It was a long and contemplative drive back home from West Hollywood for Frankie. She didn’t know whether she was pissed, confused, cynical, callous or confounded. Having to convince everyone she didn’t want to get married again was becoming tired and hackneyed.
Yes, marriage worked beautifully for some people. Jessie and Étie were ideally hitched. Trudy and Michael’s marriage was about as idyllic as they come. The marriage of Frankie and Jesse’s parent couldn’t have been better. The passing of their father was the only thing that brought it to an end.
Indeed, Frankie couldn’t have been happier for all of them and for all the other happy Williams and Kates of the world.
But she had already conceded the obvious to herself. After four marriages to some pretty decent men, she had come to realize she simply was not built to settle down with just one.
As wonderful as Jazz was and he was indeed that, she knew her need for variety would eventually sound the alarm. Her adventurous sexual nature would have to be satisfied. That phone call from Edgar was telling. Calling out his name while being sexed down by Jazz spoke volumes.
She had no need to convince herself who she was and what she wanted. She was fully sanctioned and affirmed.
Frankie lived by her own code of ethics. She was not a cheater. She never cheated on any of her husbands. But when she felt the need to explore other men, she simply filed for a divorce and moved on to the next carnal adventure.
And of course when she was not married, she availed herself freely and fortuitously. Sex was this wonderful gift from a generous God. And she was determined to show her gratitude every chance she got. And so as she pulled into her driveway and parked, she decided she would tell Jazz no.
As she got out of her car, her phone rang. The caller ID read Pam Stiles. It was her agent, a good and surprising sign. It had been a long while.
“Well hello, stranger,” she answered.
“Hey yourself. How’ve you been?”
“Pretty good. Filling my semi-retirement with plenty of extracurricular activities.”
“Well looks like the drought is finally breaking.”
“Halle-fuckin’-lujah,” Frankie sighed. She was more than aware of how youth-oriented the fickle TV audiences were. They had hundreds of shows, stars, demi-stars and wannabee celebs to choose from. And she wasn’t getting any younger or more famous. “What’s up?”
“You are, star. Gotta call from Shonda Rhimes’ office. They want to meet with you.”
“Serious?”
“Yep. She’s got a new straight-to-air show she thinks you might be right for.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, it’s called The Supremes.”
“What? They wanna cast me as Diana Ross’ mother?”
“It’s a play on words, silly. A behind-the-scenes drama about a group of California State Supreme Court justices. They want to talk to you about being one of the judges, a kind of a young Maxine Waters type.”
“Great!”
“Can you do a lunch meeting tomorrow at two?”
“Can a camel cross a desert?”
“Le Dome. Two p.m.”
“Got it.”
“Okay. I’ll call them back and confirm.”
“Hey, Pam.”
“Yeah?”
“Thanks for everything. Thanks for sticking with me.”
“It’s an honor representing talent like you, Miss Francesca Templeton.”
Chapter Eleven
Those in attendance were the Who’s Who of Hollywood royalty. David Geffen, Jeffrey Katzenberg, Mike Medavoy, will.i.am, Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie, Morgan Freeman, Daniel Radcliffe, Quinton Tarantino, 50 C
ent, Ricky Martin, Ashton Kutcher, Whoopi Goldberg, Will and Jada Pinkett Smith, Meryl Streep, Matt Damon, Ellen DeGeneres, Bill Maher, Oprah Winfrey, Lady Gaga, The Weinstein brothers, Jay-Z and Beyonce. These were just a few of the more than two hundred celebrities who paid twenty-five thousand dollars a plate to have dinner with the President of the United States at the home of Barbra Streisand. Security was as tight as a Fort Knox vault.
Dinner was exquisitely served and the president spoke his gratitude eloquently while the celebrated guests concluded their meal with baked Alaska, coffee and after-dinner drinks. The evening was a rousing success and was pulled off without a hitch.
El gave Jazz a silent thumbs-up as the president spoke. Jazz smiled graciously, then gave the room a final once-over before disappearing onto a beachfront terrace. He nodded to the secret service agents stationed there who were keen to chatter on their earphones. The gentle whoosh of ocean waves ebbing along the beach brought a certain relieving calm to the officious affair.
Jazz looked out over the Pacific, sparkling under the gaze of a full moon. He had fully disciplined himself throughout the day and evening. He kept focused on the business of the president throughout and didn’t allow the thoughts of Frankie to deter him from his duties.
But now his duties were over, or at least were ending for the day. Thoughts of the president, the White House and the election were retreating like the ebbing ocean waves. Upon his shore were sadly sweetened thoughts, conflicted feelings and deep, painful desires for the woman he loved and wanted to spend the rest of his life with.
Upon his shore was Frankie. He loved her so. He couldn’t bear the thought of losing her.
That she had to think about marrying him was a concern. He knew she loved him. But he also knew her devotion to him was not as great as his devotion to her. The thought of the inequality caused a vexing melancholia to settle into his otherwise optimistic state of mind, state of heart.
He moved to the far end of the terrace, away from the agents. He stared down over the banister at the sandy beach below. He then stared up at the sky full of stars and the moon, reflected on the water.
He saw her face everywhere.
“I love you so much, Frankie,” he found himself whispering to the night. The night didn’t answer.
He checked his watch and noted the time. He tried to smile a bit, but barely managed it. He heaved. It was half past nine. His parents were no doubt lounging in their dressing room, smoking a joint and getting ready to go on for their final Los Angeles performance.
He pulled out his cell and speed-dialed his mother.
“Ma?”
“Hey, sugah plum,” his mom answered, a big wide grin in her voice.
“Sorry I’m just getting around to calling you guys. Today’s been kinda crazy.”
“No problem, baby. How’s the fundraiser going?”
“Going well. It’s winding down. The president is thanking the guests.”
“Good, good.”
“Really had a great time with you and Dad last night.”
“Well we had a good time with you too. And it was so nice finally meeting Frankie.”
“Yeah.”
There was a silence, save for the ocean’s waves flirting with the shore.
“You sound a little down. You okay?”
“Yeah. I’m fine. I guess I’m just a little beat. Today was a lot of stress.”
“What about last night?”
“What do you mean?”
“After you and Frankie dropped us off.”
“We’re okay. She’s okay. We’re just…”
“What, baby?”
“I am so in love with her, Mom.”
“I know you are. I could tell. How does she feel?”
“I know she loves me, but…”
“But what?”
“I want to marry her.”
“Why am I not surprised?”
“I really do.”
“How does she feel about marrying you?”
“I think she wants to, but I’m not sure.”
“Have you asked her yet?”
“Not directly.”
“What do you mean?”
“I kinda told her I was planning on asking her.”
“And what did she say to that?”
“That she would kinda think about it.”
“I see.”
“I’m not sure what I’m supposed to think, Ma. I mean, I feel left up in the air, not sure if I’m going to float away or land somewhere.”
“You’re such a wonderfully hopeless romantic, baby.”
“Am I?”
“You’ve been around romantic love all your life. You can’t help yourself. I know you see me and your daddy and you say to yourself, ‘that’s what I want one day.’ Well, one day doesn’t have to be tomorrow. Let love breathe. Frankie is a nice lady and a good actress. She tried her best to maintain her cool. But I could see she felt like a deer in a set of headlights.”
“But I love her, Ma.”
“I know. And I’m pretty sure she loves you too. But don’t try to rush her into something she’s not ready for right now. I don’t think she’s going anywhere. And I sure as heck know you’re not.”
“I just want us to be together forever.”
“Remember the last time you felt that way?”
There was a deafening silence. Jazz thought he had gotten over it. But the pain of the break up with his ex came back like an arrow in the heart.
“Baby?”
“Yeah…Ma.” He was hardly able to speak. “I remember.”
“Learn from your mistakes. I know it doesn’t seem possible, but sometimes…sometimes you can love too much. You have to learn to love just right.”
“I’ll try.”
“And try to understand. Love is a partnership. It’s not about just what you want. It’s also about what they want.”
“I understand.”
“Good.”
“I love you, Mom.”
“I love you too, baby. Now go get our president elected. And go take care of your woman without smothering her to death.”
* * * * *
On the long ride back to the city from Malibu, Jazz thought about everything his mother had said. He was indeed a hopeless romantic. And he had to be careful not to smother Frankie with his love.
But he also knew logic was no match for his renegade heart. He loved hard. Always did. Always would. It was a flaw he couldn’t help and frankly, didn’t want corrected.
And yet, as his mother so clearly pointed out, he didn’t want his passion, his unyielding desires, to chase away the great new love of his life. Not again. He couldn’t let that happen again.
Still, he needed to see her. He needed to be with her. Tonight.
He pulled out his phone and speed-dialed her number.
“Jazz, hi.” Her sweet voice melted him.
“Hi,” he answered in a whisper.
“So how did it go?”
“Hollywood loves them some Obama,” he chuckled softly.
“I had no doubt.”
“Frankie?”
“Yeah, baby?”
“May I come by tonight?”
“Sure, Jazz. I’d really like to see you.”
His heart raced.
“We’re on the 101 freeway, at the end of Pacific Coast Highway. We should be back at the hotel in about a half an hour. I’ll pick up my rental and be at your place in about an hour?”
“I’ll be waiting.”
“Okay.”
They hung up. He was on cloud nine. He heard love in her voice. Hope was in the air. He couldn’t wait to be with her again.
Maybe she had thought about it long and hard and was ready for them to spend the rest of their lives together as a loving married couple.
He was so glad he still had the velvet-cased ring in his pocket.
Chapter Twelve
It was nearly midnight when Jazz pulled up in front of Frankie’s condo. The light
was on in the alcove. He smiled into its warming glow as he got out of the car. He then retrieved the bouquet of red long-stem roses he had tipped the hotel’s concierge a hundred dollars to locate for him. He started toward the alcove like a prom date, clearing his throat, slicking his shirt, adjusting himself. He was already hardening in his pants. His heart beat with aching anticipation as he rang the bell.
Within seconds, the door opened. Frankie appeared before him. She was wrapped in a white linen micro-sarong. Her breasts were sparkling mahogany mounds blossoming from a snug white linen halter. Her feet were bare, soft, dainty works of art. The crimson nail polish matched her crimson lips. All Jazz could do was stare, behold her goddess beauty. Even in her leisurely state, she was ravishing.
He kissed her in their silent greeting. The scent of her perfume was intoxicating.
“Hi handsome,” she finally said.
“Hi,” he managed to say, kissing her again, stealing another whiff. “These are for you.” He handed her the roses.
She smiled as she took them and hugged them to her breast, relishing their aroma.
“Thank you,” she said. “Come on in.”
She led him into the living room.
“Have a seat,” she said, dropping him off. She then moved slowly toward the kitchen with her flowers. The sight of her rolling hips in white linen gave Jazz warm shivers. He lowered himself onto the sofa. Music poured softly from the speakers.
Moments later, she returned with two glasses of wine. He stood. She smiled gently at the gesture. She handed him a glass. Then she kissed him again before he had a chance to take a sip.
She sat him back down on the sofa with a look. She sat down next to him. She searched his eyes and waited for him to speak. He prepared himself with a sip of wine.
“I’m sorry I didn’t stay last night,” he finally said.
“It’s okay. I knew you were going to be busy with the benefit.”
“That’s not the reason I didn’t stay.”
“I know.”
“I missed not being with you last night, Frankie.”
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