“Good for them.”
“Yes.”
“Ahhh…love. What a beautiful thing to share with someone.”
“Yes it is, I suppose.”
“And you are not in love, Frankie?”
“I think if I were in love, I probably wouldn’t be coming down here.”
“And why not? Who’s to say love is not big enough to share with more than one? I suspect you love Edgar and he loves you. And I suspect you have those, or perhaps that one special one, you love back in the States, just as you and I know Edgar certainly has other loves here.”
“Of course he does.”
“Edgar is a wonderful man. And even your brother-in-law Étienne knows that.”
“I don’t know about that, Cedric. Étienne is a lot more traditional than you think.”
“Is he?”
“The reason he broke up with Edgar was because he found out Edgar was a bugarrone.”
“Perhaps if Edgar would have explained to him upfront, perhaps things would have turned out differently.”
“Perhaps.”
“But then, if Étienne had not left Edgar, then he would not have been available to fall in love with your brother Jesse.”
“Perhaps.”
“Or perhaps he would have fallen in love with both.”
“Perhaps.”
“What I do know is Edgar is in love with you.”
“I believe that.”
“And he is also in love with Emmanuel.”
“Emmanuel?”
“Yes.”
“Who is Emmanuel?”
“The young man he shares his house with.”
“I see.”
“But of course you do. And of course you are not surprised.”
“Yes and no.”
“Oh?”
“I didn’t know. But then again, he had no reason to tell me. He always makes me feel like I’m the only one when I’m with him.”
“And when you are with him, I’m sure you are the only one.”
“I believe that, Cedric.”
“So, tell me about your number one in the States.”
“He’s a lot like my brother and Étienne.”
“And you would wish that he would be more like Edgar.”
“Not really, Cedric. I do…love him for being him. I do love his devotion to me. But he wants to get married.”
“And you don’t.”
“Marriage for me is a you-and-me commitment sort of thing ’til death or divorce do us part. I wouldn’t want to give up Edgar for Jazz.”
“Jazz?”
“That’s his name. And I wouldn’t want to give up Jazz for Edgar.”
“Then why give up either?”
“That’s the way I see it. But I don’t think Jazz sees it that way.”
“How do you know? Have you discussed it with him?”
“No, I haven’t.”
“You’d be surprised, Frankie, how fluid some men can be.”
“Would I?”
“Trust this old oracle of love, my dear.”
Cedric then peered into the parlor, where music played softly, Fidel sang seductively and couples sat sharing glances and whispers at candlelit tables.
“Take a look, my dear,” he continued. Frankie turned her head slowly around and looked into the lovely space. “Husbands and wives, fathers and sons, mothers and daughters, gays and straights, bisexuals and the curious. All gathered under one loving chandelier, for one common cause.
“So many discount the sacred place sex often plays in the affairs of the heart,” he sighed. “Sex can be such a wonderful expression of love among all kinds of people. I’ve witnessed so much in all my years of running Casa de Mita, or as my wonderful American clientele likes to call it, House of John. That they see themselves as that is most curious. Johns. I don’t know if they are Johns. I see them as pilgrims to a promised land. They are thirsty souls from the desert of overburdened lives seeking the waters of pleasure’s oasis, seeking the fountain of carnal youth. They seek the glee of God-given joy and happiness.”
Frankie couldn’t have agreed more. What she received during these too infrequent trips to her Dominican retreat made her a different woman, a more relaxed woman, reflective, calmer, with an easy appreciation for the pleasures of this world.
“I shall miss it so,” Cedric said softly, to himself, to his guests in the parlor, to Fidel’s music. Frankie wasn’t quite sure what she heard.
“What do you mean, Cedric?” she asked.
“I am getting old, Francesca,” he said, still staring into the parlor. “And so is my mother in Brooklyn. She turned eighty-five on her last birthday. I’m not sure how much longer I will have her. And I don’t want to miss the roulette spin of back-and forth from here to Brooklyn and not be there for her final goodbye. I’ve decided to sell Casa de Mita. I will spend the rest of my days with my mother. As soon as I can find a suitable buyer I will be gone from my paradise and return to my home.”
Frankie was speechless, but somehow, not shocked. There was no sadness in Cedric’s words. He was simply resolved. He wasn’t doing what he had to do. He was doing what he wanted to do. Frankie knew that, when he turned to her and smiled, she could see it in his tear-glistening eyes. She smiled back at him, totally understanding. She was in total awe of a man she had come to call a friend.
“You’ll be so missed, Cedric,” she said, taking his hand.
“Keep me in your heart, my beautiful friend. And we will never be far from each other.”
Chapter Sixteen
The next day, the moment Frankie and Yvette cleared customs in Miami, they hit the terminal bar, ordered cocktails, called up Trudy and put her on speakerphone.
“We’re back, girl!” Yvette declared, hovering over the phone.
“And not a moment too soon,” Trudy jollied. “I know y’all got plenty, didn’t you?”
“You know we did,” Yvette laughed, chewing on the ice from her Harvey Wallbanger.
“Miss Thing got enough for both of us,” Frankie finally chimed in.
“Oh don’t let Frankie pretend like she didn’t walk the ceiling with her toenails. Bitch kept them legs up so high, I thought she had helium balloons tied to her ankles.”
“Now how you know what I was doing, doll, since you were busy being Sealy Posturepedic for every man in House of John.”
“Every man but Edgar.”
“That’s right, bitch. Every man but Edgar.”
“Ladies! Ladies! Put down your drinks and daggers for a second. I miss you fools, you know that?”
“Well we missed you too, Trudy.”
“Even though we knew you couldn’t wait for us to get back and help you with Michael’s party.”
“Well that’s true too. So when am I gonna see your crazy asses?”
“We’re in Miami right now waiting on our connecting flight and I’m sleeping two days straight the moment I hit LA.”
“What about you, Frankie?”
“What?”
“Heard anything from Jazz?”
“I was out of the country for seven days, Trudy. I was indisposed.”
“Like you two don’t know how to Skype?”
“We’re taking a breather.”
“Okay now.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“What’s what supposed to mean?”
“‘Okay now.’ What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Not supposed to mean anything.”
“You know, I really can’t wait until Michael gets back, so he can keep your busy-body ass outta my business and get you back to taking care of your own,” Frankie fussed laughingly.
“Oh I’m gonna take care of my business all right, Miss Francesca. You don’t even have to worry about Michael and me.”
“I know you right about that, Sis Trudy. I’m so happy for you, girl.”
“Thanks, Frankie. I’m so happy for you too.”
“Well I’m happy for all th
ree of us!” Yvette declared, raising her glass. “To love, to dick and everything in between.”
“Here! Here!” Trudy said, lifting her imaginary glass.
“Here! Here!” Frankie said, lifting her glass, mellowed by this wonderful friendship, this sisterhood. Egged on by it and the infinite possibilities that lay ahead.
* * * * *
The next three days back in LA were a whirlwind. Michael’s homecoming was only ten days away. Helping out with all the party preparations was the least of Frankie and Yvette’s duties. That had to do everything in their power to keep Trudy from bursting at the seams with excitement and anticipation.
“Lord Almighty, please get this man home soon before this crazy bitch bust a blood vessel,” Yvette prayed out loud as Trudy ran her and Frankie ragged with every detail of the upcoming party. From the guest list to all of Michael’s favorite foods, Trudy was meticulous to the point of nit-picking.
But as exasperated as her two best friends were, they were indeed her two best friends. They had never known Trudy to be happier, which was saying a lot. Happiness was Trudy’s natural state. No better friend could be found. Of the three, she was the one who always had a shoulder to cry on, an encouraging word, a comforting hug and a sunny disposition even during the darkest days.
So if Trudy was being overbearing, it was quite all right. She had been without her man for nearly two years. She had every right to be excited.
“You know I’m flying his parents in from Cleveland,” Trudy beamed as the three gleaned over the caterer’s suggested menus.
“Are they staying with you?” Frankie asked with alarm.
“Well of course they’re staying with us.”
“Uh-oh,” Yvette moaned.
“What?”
“Girl, are you totally clueless?” Frankie attacked like a schoolmarm.
“It’s been so long, she don’t even know what’s happening.”
“What in the world are you two talking about?”
“Trudy listen,” Frankie began, calming herself. “It’s been two years since you got you some.”
“And two years since he got him some,” Yvette added.
“You and Michael are gonna be on fire.”
“Fire!”
“You’re gonna be all over each other the moment he steps foot in that door. You’re gonna be fucking in the foyer, fucking on the staircase, fucking up and down the hallway on that expensive-ass Persian runner you got up there.”
“In the bathtub,” Yvette jumped in. “On the kitchen floor, out on the back patio.”
“Moanin’ and groanin’ and screamin’ and yellin’ out ‘fuck me, Daddy! Fuck me, Daddy!’ nonstop for at least the first three, four days he’s home,” Frankie chimed in. “You fools are gonna be making such a love ruckus, your neighbors might have to call the law down on you.”
“And you’re talking about carrying on like that with your in-laws in the house?” Yvette interrupted.
“Oh shit,” Trudy said in a hush, her eyes widening with realization. “You guys are right.”
“I know we’re right.”
“Thank you.”
“That’s what good girlfriends are for.”
Trudy thought about it for three seconds. “I’m bookin’ their asses in a hotel.”
They then headed to Frederick’s of Hollywood up on Hollywood Boulevard. Frankie and Yvette could barely keep up as Trudy raided the plus size section.
By the time Trudy pulled out her credit card, she had carted Starstruck floral mesh, Charlotte and Va-Va-Voom satin full figure bras, a black satin Hollywood corset boy short set, six pairs of Lauren lace-up thongs, three corsets—a rose embroidered, a white Renaissance satin and a Ruched strapless—a half dozen sets of lace-top thigh high fishnet hosiery, an equal number of fishnet pantyhose and a blood red silk kimono.
They then headed to the Pleasure Chest in West Hollywood, known as the Bloomingdale of sex shops. All three ladies were frequent customers. It provided the best selection of high-end vibrators, among other things, in all of Los Angeles County.
As they pulled into the ample free parking lot, Trudy was already sweat-palming her credit card.
The sight of the new jet-black dildo in the display case near the entrance caused her to salivate. The size, shape, color and curve reminded her so much of Michael. She thought long and hard about buying it. She finally decided not to, knowing she’d have the real thing in just a matter of days.
The ladies ooohed and ahhhhed at all the new items filling the shelves, but Trudy already knew exactly what she wanted for her man’s homecoming. Frankie and Yvette saluted her taste when she picked up a jar of Sliquid Satin lube, some tranquility massage oil, scented lava candles and a French feather tickler.
But both were a bit surprised when Trudy picked up a flogger, a whip and a pair of rhinestone-studded soft leather cuffs.
“Girl, I didn’t know you were all up into that,” Frankie mused, wide-eyed.
“When it comes to my man and my pussy, there’s a lot you don’t know about what I’m up into,” Trudy answered without missing a beat. She slapped her credit card down on the counter.
Since they were already in West Hollywood, the ladies decided to go to Café D’ Etoile for happy hour cocktails and an early dinner.
Joshua the waiter beamed at the sight of them, gave them hugs and kisses and escorted three of his favorite B-list and below actresses to a choice sidewalk table.
“And look at you, Miss Thing,” he gushed, as he pulled out Frankie’s chair for her. “You are working that tan. And you too, Yvette.”
“Thank you, Josh. Thank you, Chile.” Frankie and Yvette blushed and giggled.
“Don’t tell me,” he said, pulling out Trudy’s chair, then Yvette’s. “You were down in the DR at House of John.”
“Seven dickalicious days!” Yvette declared. They all laughed knowingly.
“And what about you, Trudy?” Josh asked, handing them menus. “No sun for you?”
“Honey, I had to be here and get ready for my man’s homecoming.”
“Oh that’s right!” Joshua remembered. “I know you’re excited.”
“That’s not even the word for it.”
“I am sooo happy for you, Trudy.”
“Thanks, Joshua.”
“Now what can I get you ladies from the bar?”
* * * * *
It had been an absolutely marvelous day for Frankie. From hanging out with her best girlfriends to a little innocent flirtation with cute-ass Josh at Café D’ Etoile, everything was on point. When her phone rang the moment she entered her condo and she saw it was her agent, she knew this was going to be the icing on the cake.
“Pam!” she perked, tossing her keys on the coffee table in her living room and kicking off her shoes.
“Hey doll.”
“So what’s up?”
“Listen, Frankie, Shonda absolutely loved you.”
“And I absolutely loved her.”
“But they had to go in another direction.”
“That bitch!”
“It wasn’t her. It was the network.”
“Those fuckin’ bastards. What happened?”
“They wanted to go a bit younger.”
“Younger?”
“Yeah.”
“So who did they decide to go with?”
“Gabrielle Union.”
“Gabrielle Union?!”
“Yep.”
“That bitch ain’t that much younger than me!”
“But she’s younger. She plays younger…and she plays sexier.”
“Sexier?!”
“Yeah. They wanted to go sexier.”
“Sexier?!”
“Yeah.”
“So suddenly I’m not sexy anymore?”
“Frankie, you spent five years in prime time in a goddamn penguin suit. Hey, you weren’t exactly giving us Rihanna.”
“I gotta go, Pam. I need to absorb this.”
“Sorry, F
rankie. Something else’ll come along.”
“Yeah, like the remake of Murder, She Wrote.”
She hung up her phone and plopped down on the sofa, fuming.
A little younger? A little younger!
She looked around the room. She wanted to throw something, but all her shit was too expensive to break.
She caught her reflection in the full-length mirror in her foyer. She got up and went to it. She assessed herself from head to toe. She was drop-dead gorgeous!
“How the fuck that bitch play younger than me?” she groused to herself in Shaniqua-esque.
Her phone rang again. It was Trudy. She adjusted her attitude before clicking it on.
“Hey, doll, what’s up?”
“It’s Michael,” Trudy sobbed.
“What, Trudy?”
“He’s gone, Frankie.”
“What?”
“He’s…dead.”
Chapter Seventeen
Captain Michael Raymond Amberson’s death in a roadside bombing in Afghanistan was commemorated in a ceremony as dignified as his service and ultimate sacrifice. But Trudy wasn’t soothed by the pomp and circumstance. She’d lost the only man she’d loved. She’d lost her high school sweetheart, her college romance, her devoted husband, her life mate. And when the uniformed officer handed her the folded flag and saluted, she couldn’t help herself. She broke down and sobbed like a baby.
Frankie put her arm around her best friend and held her tightly. She rocked her ever so gently and allowed her to let it all out in the comfort of her embrace.
Yvette, seated on the other side of Trudy, held Trudy’s trembling hand and cried right along with her.
There was indeed a homecoming party of sorts for Michael. After the funeral, friends and family gathered at Trudy’s place for the repose. Food, drink, sympathy and solace were plentiful.
Mr. and Mrs. Amberson, Michael’s parents, staying with Trudy, understood her loss as something greater than theirs. Yes, they had lost their only son. The pain was deep and grave. But they still had each other to cling to, to comfort. Trudy’s pain was infinite.
Frankie and Yvette understood too. They were happy they were there to be the sisters Trudy never had. And they were sad their comfort was so terribly needed.
MadameFrankie Page 9
