MadameFrankie (4 page)

The next morning Frankie woke well rested and well laid. A
deep yawn, followed by a wide grin of satisfaction decorated her face. She had
fallen asleep the previous night in Jazz’s arms, slept like a baby and dreamed
like a princess in a fairy tale.

The sun was bright outside her window. The sound of the
shower running was music to her ears.

She checked the time on her phone on the table next to her
bed. It was half past eight. She knew Jazz had to be back at his hotel by 9:30
for a meeting with the president’s advance team.

Oh how she wanted to spend the day, all day, with Jazz. But
she knew he had serious business to take care of, no matter how much serious
business in her boudoir she desired from her young hottie.

She heard the shower water stop. Maybe she could get a
little quickie in before he had to go, at least give him some head.

She slipped her naked body from underneath the bed covers
and slowly floated toward the bathroom door and opened it. The reflection of
him drying his beautiful body swelled her nipples.

“Hi,” she muttered sexily, slowly closing the door behind
her.

“Hey,” he said, looking up in the mirror, talking to her
reflection, drying his dick and balls.

She eased up behind him, hugged him from behind and then
turned him around toward her.

“I thought I’d give you a little somethin’ somethin’ before
you leave,” she teased, going to her knees.

“Come on, Frankie,” he said, pulling her up. “I gotta get
outta here, get back to the hotel, change clothes, you know…”

He tossed the towel in the open hamper and walked out.

Frankie was a bit stunned, but understood. Or did she? She
finally pulled herself together and followed him into the bedroom where he had
already slipped on his underwear and was zipping up his trousers. Seeing him
half-dressed made her suddenly feel conspicuous in her nakedness.

“I just wanted to lay a little spit polish on that knob of
yours,” she joked calmly, slipping on a robe. “But if you gotta go, you gotta
go, even though it’s always nicer to come.”

“So…who’s Edgar?” he asked as his head emerged from the
black t-shirt he slipped on. He was looking at her straight in the eye.

“Huh?” She almost choked.

“Edgar. Who’s Edgar?”

“What do you mean, baby?”

“You called me Edgar last night when we were making love.”

“Noooo,” she sing-songed.

“Yeeeees,” he mimicked her.

“Did I?”

“Yeah. During your climax, you called me Edgar.”

This was not the conversation Frankie had planned on
starting the day with. She planned on starting the day like the hot sexdown of
the night before.

But this interrogation was more than a bit disconcerting.
She couldn’t deny the accusation, of course. She had never mentioned Edgar to
Jazz before. The Freudian slip had surely occurred. There was no other way Jazz
would’ve been able to make the call.

“Listen, baby, Edgar is an old flame from way back when,”
she white-lied. “A guy I used to see whenever I went down to the Dominican
Republic. No big thing.”

“Obviously a big enough thing to make you call out his name
while I’m fucking you,” he said, jamming his feet into his loafers.

“Come on, Jazz. Obviously you’re not the first man I’ve been
with and I’m not the first woman you’ve been with.”

“But you’re the only one I’m with now.”

“And you’re the only one I’m with…for now.”

“What do you mean ‘for now’?”

“I’m not seeing anyone else, Jazz.”

“Are you planning to?”

“No!”

“So when was the last time you were with Edgar?” he asked,
not really wanting to know the answer.

“Who knows?” she breezed. “Months before I met you, doll.”

“Don’t call me doll. I’m not a plaything.”

“I know that, baby,” she said to her boy toy.

“So you go down to the Dominican Republic a lot.”

“Yes. I mean no! Look it’s a very beautiful country. I stay
at this lovely little hotel down there in the Colonial Zone.
Casa de Mita
.”

“
Casa de Mita
.”

“Yes,” she said, realizing she may have been giving out too
much information. “Look, a lot of Americans, men and women, go down there for a
lot of reasons.”

“Like what?”

“Lots of reasons. They have some of the most beautiful
beaches in the world, the people are very friendly, and…”

“And what?”

“And quite frankly the no-strings-attached sex is off the
hook.”

“Really.”

“Yeah, with these guys called
bugarrones
.”

“
Bugarrones
?”

“Sex workers.”

“Male prostitutes.”

“It’s perfectly legal down there.”

“I see.”

“This is 2012, Jazz, not 1912. Aren’t you a little young for
that kind of judgment?”

“No judgment. I’m just calling it what it is.”

“Well that’s what Edgar is. A
bugarrone
.
Casa de
Mita
is where he works.

“
Casa de Mita
.”

“But everybody calls it House of John. It’s kind of like one
of the places a lot of black Americans hang out in. It’s where I hang out when
I go down there. I mean,
Essence
did a big story on it last year.”

“So this
Casa de Mita
, this House of John place is
like a bordello.”

“No, Jazz, House of John is not like a bordello,” she said,
staring him straight in the eye. “It is a bordello.”

“I see.”

“And Edgar just happens to be one of several
bugarrones
working there. Nothing more, nothing less.”

“So he must be one helluva
bugarrone
to have you
calling out his name while I’m the one fucking you.”

“Jazz. Baby. I haven’t been down there since I met you. But
I lived a lot of life before I met you. And I had a lot of fun living it.”

“I love you, Frankie,” boy toy said softly, a hint of hurt
in his voice.

“I love you too, Jazz.” And she truly meant it, in her
Frankie sort of way.

“I was hoping that…”

But he couldn’t go on. All he could do was stare in her eyes,
lips quivering.

“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?

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?”

“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.”