by Nicole Falls
“What?! No! I told you we’re just friends!”
“Then what, pray tell, could be so dire that involves him that you need to swear me to secrecy about. He ain’t kill nobody did he? Are you a witness to the murder? Are y’all about to go on the lam? Am I aiding and abetting a criminal right now? Are my babies in danger?” Gigi asked, laughing.
“You know what? I really cannot stand your ass sometimes. Forget it. Never mind,” I said, annoyance coloring my words.
Ginger quickly sobered, “Ok, fine. I’m done. For real, what’s up? You have that look on your face like you have the BGs, so whatever is going on must be serious. I’ll behave.”
I let out a deep breath and then ran down everything that was going on with Frankie to Gigi. Her eyes grew increasingly larger as I recounted everything I knew about the situation so far. When I finished, the room was pin drop silent.
“Well?” I asked.
“I…” Ginger started before completely losing it and breaking down in shrieks of laughter.
“So much for you behaving,” I muttered before getting up and going to get a glass of water.
When I returned to the den, Gigi was still doubled over in laughter, trying valiantly to right herself and tamp down her amusement. I gave her a few minutes more and she finally pulled it together.
“So, you’re seriously considering this? Like, actual factual.”
“Yes, I am. I mean…okay I know it would be a lot, but there are some things here that would benefit me, too.”
“Like finally being able to see what that fine ass mouth do?” Gigi asked.
“No, Ginger Marie, other stuff…like financial benefits!”
“He’s paying you to do this?!”
“No, dummy! I’m just saying, with the eventual consolidation of our lives there should be considerable reductions in overhead expenses since we’ll be sharing a space. Which, high key, I’m hoping he tries to force me to move into the loft because that damn place is way nicer than my apartment. And do you know how much more money I could put toward Aperture if I was paying a fraction of what I put out now for rent and utilities and that ridiculous ass parking fee? Frankie’s place comes with parking already included in his mortgage price and since he doesn’t have a car, his space would be my space and…” I trailed off.
“Oh shit, you’re serious about this? Like for real for…wait, let me see your phone?”
I passed it over to her, confused to her awkward transition. She unlocked it with my passcode and went straight to my Notes app. I laughed because Ginger probably knew me best of anyone on this Earth. I now knew what she was looking for as proof of my level of seriousness. Whenever I was faced with a major life decision, I made a pro/con list. I had been doing this since I was a child, weighing my options tied to choices that had the possibility to shift my entire world on its axis. Last night, after I left Frankie’s, I was barely in my car before I began dictating to Siri entries on the pro/con list for actually going through with this and marrying Frankie. I looked as Ginger scrolled through the short doc, chuckling to herself as she went along. Some of the items on the list were valid, like the financial benefits, but others were downright silly like the potential likelihood of having to put up with Frankie’s ridiculous ass soccer obsession. Satisfied with what she’d seen I assumed, Ginger passed my phone back to me and grabbed her tablet again.
“So…you tryna wear white to this wedding or nah?”
I laughed, “You don’t think I’m crazy? For even contemplating this?”
“Oh, I absolutely do, but I know that while Noelle is the outwardly stubborn one of us all, you’re the absolute most stubborn. The pro/con list doesn’t lie. Your mind is made up and you’re about to become Mrs. Fine Ass Spani…Costa Rican Papi.”
I opened my mouth to say something, but was momentarily stumped. Gigi was taking this a bit too in stride. I just knew she would launch into a whole monologue talking me out of making this decision. It was part of the reason I even brought it up to her, to see if she could debunk any of the pros on my list. The fact that she couldn’t solidified my answer even further.
“Mora…I’ll be becoming Mrs. Mora.”
“Wait…your married name will be Valora Mora? That shit sounds like part of The Name Game,” Ginger said, breaking down into giggles once again, “Valora Mora Bo Bora Fee Fi Fofora…”
This time, however, I couldn’t help but join in because she was right. It did sound a bit silly. But it also had an undeniable musical flow to it as well. I stayed at Gigi’s until Josh got home, then went back to my place and continued to stew about this whole marriage thing before getting ready to shoot the indie kids… show. I was bugging because in my mind, I thought it should have been a bit more of a struggle to come to this affirmative decision, but every other part of me shut that down because saying no felt like a betrayal. The dinging of my text tone prevented me from going too far down the rabbit hole of these thoughts.
Is the invitation to be your plus one still good? – F. Mora
I smiled before responding.
Sorry. Window of opportunity closed. Decided to take Walt instead.
I made empanadas and gallo pinto. – F. Mora
Say no more. Walt’s dropped. See you at 7.
Looking at my phone’s clock I realized that was only forty-five minutes away so I needed to get a move on. I quickly showered and moisturized, then donned what I’d coined the official uniform of Aperture—black leggings, a dolphin-hem black tank, and a very worn pair of Doc Martens. I pulled my hair up into a messy bun atop my head, added my leather jacket, double checked my camera gear and called the Lyft. Much to my satisfaction there was a less than a minute wait for a Lyft and virtually no traffic which got me to Frankie’s in record time. Walt was working concierge again and just waved me up toward the elevators.
“Mr. Mora told me to just send you right on up when you arrived,” he said.
I got off the elevator and my stomach groaned at the wonderful array of aromas permeating the hallway. I damn near dashed down the hall and rushed into Frankie’s place. He and Kip sat at the table, plates full, just getting ready to dig in.
“Damn, couldn’t wait for me?” I teased, dropping my gear and discarding my coat before walking to the kitchen to wash my hands before joining them.
Frankie flicked up his wrist, looking at his watch, “It is five after seven. You’re late.”
Rolling my eyes, I dried my hands and sat in down across from Frankie, a plate already filled with everything I liked and a glass of wine poured. I quickly tucked into eating, reminding Frankie that I needed to be at the venue by 8:30. He assured me that we would be there way before when I needed to be there and to finish my meal and wine. I rolled my eyes at his daddy routine and tried not to get too annoyed.
“So, what kind of music is this show tonight?” Frankie asked.
“They’re doing…a lot of different things. A lil soul/r&b adjacent stuff, bit of hip-hop, bit of weird experimental shit that can’t be classified. They put me in the mind of Odd Future, are you familiar?”
“That kid Tyler the Creator’s collective?” Kip asked, “Damn, I love them. Maybe I should be tryna roll with you guys.”
“It is called a plus one for a reason, Kip. Sorry,” Frankie said, “Don’t worry. Maybe I’ll bring you back a signed album or something.”
“Shut up, dude.”
I laughed at their back and forth before hustling Frankie out of the door so we could get to the venue. I liked to be there half an hour before I was assigned to be so I could get a feel for the venue. Shooting shows, especially ones like this one—general admission, filled with young kids and high energy, required a different style of shooting. I found myself in some crazy wild positions trying to grab unique shots that captured the energy in the room while I was shooting. I honestly don’t even know why I invited Frankie since I’d likely be moving all over the place, shooting for a nice portion of the show, but at least he could take advantage of th
e open bar wristbands that were a perk of which I could not partake.
We arrived at the venue and the promoter of the show met me up front, which was odd. He was insistent that the leader of the indie kids on the come up, Mario, wanted to meet me to discuss my shooting style. Apparently, the kid fancied himself a budding photographer, so instead of having time to maneuver through the space prior to doors opening, I spent thirty minutes listening to this kid go on and on about his preferences for shooting as if they had anything in hell to do with how I would do anything. My already thin patience was just about frayed completely through when Frankie approached with a drink in hand, a kiss to my forehead, and a complete redirect of the current conversation to one about the comparison of indie kids on the come up to Odd Future Wolf Gang Kill Them All. That set Mario off on a rant that I was sure was going to get us put out before the show began.
While Mario was ranting and raving, Frankie caught my eye and gestured his head toward the door. Finally catching onto what he’d done, I mouthed thank you and moved from backstage into the main area where the show would be taking place. My time alone in the space was mad short, but just enough for me to peep a few key areas in which I could perch to get some dope shots of the kids while they performed.
Soon the empty general admission space was packed wall to wall with some folks who looked like they were barely out of middle school and others who looked who looked like they were at least twenty years older than me. Some of the content of Mario’s raps were highly questionable, but the damn production was so smooth I could help boppin’ to the beat as I moved around taking pictures. Normally when I shot music events, my camera was hyper focused on the act on stage, but this crowd’s energy made it damn near impossible for me not to catch snaps of them as well. I typically shot for the first five songs, took a break, then captured the last two songs of the night. It was almost my scheduled break time, so I scanned the crowd to see if I could spot Frankie.
Despite how thick it was in there, I was able to spot him instantly. He stood near the bar, head moving in time to the mid-tempo beat of the current song being performed. His eyes were closed slightly, as if he were really into the song—a burner about unexpected love sang by the lone female of the group, Cheyanne. I couldn’t resist snapping a couple frames of Frankie before tucking my camera away and moving over to that side of the room to check in. Chey transitioned to a slower song just as I was walking up to Frankie and he pulled me into him, whispering into my ear, “Dance with me, Valora.”
“With this? Where am I supposed to put it?” I asked, holding up my camera.
Instead of providing me with an answer, he relieved me of my camera, handing it over to the bartender before wrapping his hands around my waist from behind and grooving to the beat. Instinctively, my hips began to move in time with the percussion as my entire body sank into Frankie’s hold. We’d danced together before, plenty of times, but something about the way his fingers sank into my waist, encouraging me to roll my hips increasingly harder this time? There was something decidedly different about this dance.
“I’m having a better time than expected,” Frankie spoke lowly into my ear, “Are you enjoying yourself?”
I nodded, not trusting myself to answer without releasing a moan. I could feel…little Frankie…who wasn’t very little at all pressing into my backside and it felt a little too good for me to move away. I did move, however, turning in his arms to get a better look at Frankie. Something about him felt…different…odd, in some way. As I stared at him, he just smiled and continued to move, still keeping our hips fused as they ground together in time with the beat. Soon Chey’s set was coming to a close, which was my cue to grab my camera and get those last few shots before the night would come to a close. The show ended up dragging on a little bit longer than anticipated as the crowd dictated three separate encores. The energy in this place was insane and my fingers were barely depressing the shutter button quickly enough to capture it all.
After the show, Frankie insisted on going to a diner in Greektown because he was craving a gyro. I was really ready to go home, but when he turned those impossibly full lips downward into a pout and pleaded with me, I was powerless to do anything but acquiesce. Which was how I found myself half asleep, draped all over Frankie as he devoured a gyro plate. It seemed like Frankie ate incessantly, but looking at his slim physique you would never be able to tell. And it made me sick, since it seemed like I had to work out incessantly to maintain my own slim physique. Meanwhile, Mr. Eight Meals a Day just ran a few miles a couple times a week and played a weekly pickup game of soccer and looked like…that. Ugh, it just wasn’t fair.
“Can I get you anything else?” the waitress asked, reappearing out of nowhere.
“Ah, no thank you, just the check is fine,” Frankie replied.
“Um, if you don’t mind me saying it, you two make a striking couple,” she said.
I raised my head to tell her that we weren’t, in fact, a couple, but was cut off by Frankie.
“Thank you. It’s all her. She makes me look good,” he replied smoothly, pressing a kiss to my forehead.
The waitress damn near swooned out of her shoes before turning to retrieve the check. We settled up and then caught a Lyft home. Frankie rode with me to my place, making sure I made it safely. I insisted that he just stay the night, but he was resolute in returning home. I was too tired to put up too much protest, but insisted that he text me as soon as he was safe and sound in his place. No sooner than he’d crossed the threshold of my door to begin his journey home, however, I was completely knocked out.
Monday, February 11, 2013
"Come on, man!" I said, plopping down on Frankie's desk, 'It's half past twelve and I am starvin' like Marvin!"
"Who's Marvin?" Frankie asked, his face scrunched up.
"It's an idiom. Come on dude, aren't you the writer?"
"Yeah, the writer with a powerful enough command of the English language who doesn't have to rely on silly native speaker tricks to get people to understand my intent," Frankie snarked.
"Touché! But seriously, I'm mad hungry, are you ready?"
"Let me just," he trailed off, typing quickly, scanning what he had written and then clicking send on the email he was composing, "All right. Let's go."
"Can you take the full hour today? You know we have some important things to discuss," I said softly, looking around to make sure no one was paying attention to us.
"We do?" Frankie replied.
"Uh...yeah...unless something has changed? Has something changed?"
"Let's go," Frankie said once again.
Instead of heading toward Cosi once we left the building, Frankie strolled in the opposite direction, pulling me along with him. We walked about a block and a half before stopping in front of a place that looked way too swanky for lunch. I looked over at Frankie with an eyebrow raised and he just pulled me inside where we were quickly seated by the maître d. Because it was midday, the restaurant was damn near empty so our food and drink orders were taken and filled with a quickness. That meant that Frankie and I could have our conversation uninterrupted.
"What made you decide to come to this place instead of our usual?" I asked after we'd been settled in.
"Privacy. You never know who's listening to what at Cosi. I didn't want to take any chances," Frankie replied.
"So, like I asked back at the office...has something changed with your situation?"
"Nothing has changed. I had a brief conversation with one of Maria's colleagues this morning and he will be able to represent me, but just will not be available for the preliminary hearing that was set for Friday, so he is working to try and get it rescheduled."
"And if he can't?"
Frankie ran his hands through his hair and shook his head, "I'm not sure how we proceed then, Valora."
"Which is all the more reason that you should be thrilled that after giving it a considerable amount of thought this weekend, I decided that my offer of marriage is sti
ll on the table."
"I told you that I cannot allow you to do that."
"And I've told you on multiple occasions that you're not my daddy. Frankie, please...I know that you want to work this all out on your own, but I'm here telling you that you don't have to."
"Valora."
"Francisco."
We sat there glaring at one another until he broke into a grin, mumbling under his breath about me being a stubborn ass.
"I heard that! Takes one to know one," I replied, despite knowing he hadn’t uttered those words for me to hear.
"You're willing to disrupt your life for five years for me?"
"Five years is an exaggeration. Worst case scenario. I did some investigating of my own this weekend and most people were granted their naturalization papers way quicker. Between one and three years, with five years being the absolute maximum. Besides, you're not the only one who stands to benefit from this arrangement here..."
"Oh?" Frankie replied, one brow quirked in askance.
"Mmmhmm," I nodded, "I also took the liberty of doing a little research to see exactly how soon we could tie the knot and we could totally get it done before your hearing. Just in case you needed a bit of extra insurance to shore up your case."
"You have really...been focused, eh?"
"Absolutely. I may have initially entertained the thought of going through with this on pure emotion, but I really did give it serious thought over the weekend as requested."
That reply earned me an amused grin.
"The hearing is Friday, though? When exactly would you propose that we get married?"
"So glad you asked, my good man. We can get married on Thursday. It's my birthday so I'll expect some nice bling for my ring," I joked.
"It's also...Valentine's Day," Frankie replied.
"Does that pose a problem for you?" I shot back, a little annoyed.
"No. Not at all. It's just that statistically, couples who are married on Valentine's Day do not tend to have a very long shelf life on their marriage."
"Why do you know this?"
"I'm well-read."