MadameFrankie

by Stanley Bennett Clay

  “Frankie?”

  Frankie looked up from her magazine and over her glasses. She smiled. “Good morning, Ella.”

  “May I?” Ella asked, indicating the empty chair across from Frankie.

  “Please.”

  “What a coincidence,” she said, sitting.

  “What?”

  “Jazz. You. Here. Me.”

  “Oh yes,” Frankie sighed politely.

  “We worked together on the presidential campaign. Can you believe it?”

  “He told me last night.”

  “I mean he used to talk about you all the time. Of course I knew you from TV, but to hear him go on and on and on. Every girl on the campaign was hot for him and a whole lot of guys too. But he only had eyes for you, diva. You really had that boy whipped.”

  “Obviously not whipped enough.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Nothing. So are you enjoying your stay here?”

  “Absolutely. Kunal is the best.”

  Marcos approached the table. “Buenos días, Señorita Caldwell.”

  “Buenos días, Marcos.”

  “Would you care to order breakfast?”

  “Yes, I’ll have what you recommended yesterday.”

  “Mangu with fried cheese, salami with egg fried soft?”

  “Exactly. That was lovely. Oh and coffee.”

  “Muy buena.” He smiled. “Frankie, su comida estará listo muy pronto.”

  “Gracias, Marcos.”

  As Marcos walked away, Frankie took off her sunglasses and stared out at nowhere in particular. Ella noticed her distance and her slightly bloodshot eyes.

  “Are you all right, Frankie?”

  “Hmmm?” she said, pulling a bit out of her daze. “Just a little tired. I was up pretty late last night.”

  “I bet you were,” Ella purred slyly.

  Marcos returned with Ella’s coffee and set it before her.

  “Gracias.”

  “De nada.”

  When Marcos left there was an eerie silence between the two ladies.

  “Listen, Ella,” Frankie finally said, looking at her tablemate. “I know we don’t know each other very well. But with all the time you spent with Jazz, you probably know him a lot better than I do.”

  “Oh no, no, no, Frankie. If you think Jazz and I—”

  “No, that’s not what I’m saying.” She cleared her throat. “You see, months ago Jazz asked me to marry him…I said no. Last night was the first time seeing him since I turned him down. I don’t think last night went very well.”

  “What happened?”

  “I still don’t want to marry him. I don’t want to marry anyone. And I think he knows that.”

  “So what’s the problem?”

  “I’ve always thought of him as a very honest person.”

  “So do I.”

  “And I’ve always thought of him as someone who respects honesty in others.”

  “I think you’re absolutely correct.”

  “Am I?”

  “I really do believe so.”

  “Well I was being perfectly honest with him when I spoke to him last night.”

  “What did you say?”

  “I told him I wanted an open relationship.”

  “Oh,” Ella said, processing it. “What did he say?”

  “He said he wasn’t sure about that.”

  “Okay.”

  “But I took it a step further.”

  “Oh?”

  “I told him I wanted a threesome.”

  “Really?” Ella asked with a curious smile.

  “Yes.”

  “You, him and another woman. Actually, that could be quite hot.”

  “No. Him, me and another man.”

  “Oh,” Ella responded with a tad of confusion. Then it all settled in. “Ahhh,” she smiled with a wider smile.

  * * * * *

  Jazz had tossed and turned all night long. When he did finally manage to fall asleep, he was racked with one nightmare after another. The vision of him in bed with Frankie and another man, the sight of their three-way sexing frightened him.

  Throughout the night, he tore himself awake and away from the daunting visions of sharing his woman, of sharing himself with someone else. This was the woman he wanted to marry, not be in an orgy with.

  He had already conceded the marriage thing. The ring had been returned to the jeweler. His heart had been resigned to them being with each other without belonging to each other. He was willing to compromise in the name of love. But what Frankie was asking, demanding, was too much for him.

  And yet, was she really demanding? Was there room in her request for compromise? Was the shock of what she wanted so great that it made him walk out on her without a thorough conversation about it?

  Okay. So she owns a brothel. Fine. The life-long liberal side of him always believed prostitution should be as legal in America as it was in the Dominican Republic.

  So his lady was a madame. But is she really? Prostitution in the DR was only legal between consenting adults with no third party participation. Pimping was a crime. Frankie made it clear she received no parts of money exchanged between her guests and their guests. She only rented rooms and checked ID’s.

  She was still having sex with Edgar. And she loved him. Both of those situations disturbed him deeply.

  But Jazz knew she loved him too. And an open relationship with Frankie was better than no relationship with Frankie. Maybe he would have to learn how to live with that.

  But a threesome? That was a deal-breaker. He just couldn’t do it. He just couldn’t.

  It was noon when he finally pulled himself out of bed. He ordered room service, showered and got dressed. He then headed over to Casa de Mita. He owed Frankie an apology for walking out on her last night.

  But she also needed to know how he felt.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Jazz arrived in the lobby of Casa de Mita at half past two. He was suddenly nervous and slightly apprehensive. Behind the reception desk was a man working at the computer on a counter against the wall. He approached the man and cleared his throat.

  “Perdóneme por favor,” he said.

  The man turned around to him.

  “Hola,” the man said, approaching Jazz, suddenly smiling a familiar smile.

  Jazz recognized him immediately. It was the man who smiled flirtatiously at him on El Malecón near the flower cart, the stranger in the night.

  “Hola,” Jazz said. “¿Está Frankie aquí?”

  “No, mi amigo,” the man said never losing his familiar smile. “But she will be back soon. She is picking up guests from el aeropuerto.”

  “Gracias,” Jazz said.

  “De nada,” said the man.

  As Jazz walked away to the other side of the lobby, he could still feel the man’s eyes on him. He turned and sat on the lounge sofa. Their eyes met. The man nodded politely, then returned to his computer.

  “Well if it isn’t the man of the hour.”

  Jazz turned and looked up toward the distracting voice.

  “Hey Ella,” he said, beginning to stand.

  “Sit,” she insisted. She joined him on the sofa.

  “You look very…provocative,” he said, taking note of her halter top and Daisy Dukes.

  “I’ll take that as a compliment. Thank you.”

  “It’s just that I’m so used to seeing you so buttoned up.”

  “Those were my work clothes. These are my play clothes.”

  “I see,” he said, smiling at her sass.

  “You know, I still can’t get over running into you down here, Jazz.”

  “Yeah, I know. So you come here a lot?”

  “I’ve been here a few times.”

  “I have to say, El, I am a little surprised.”

  “Surprised at what?”

  “I mean, back on the campaign trail, I remember you mentioning coming down here a few times. But I just didn’t imagine you coming…here.”


  “Well I’m sure there’s a lot you can’t imagine about me, Jazz.”

  “I guess so.”

  “Just like I’m sure there’s a lot you can’t imagine about Frankie.”

  “You got that right.”

  “She was a nun to millions of television viewers. Now she’s a madame to a chosen few. Talk about divine irony. God, you gotta love a lady like that.”

  “Yeah, well she’s certainly…provocative.”

  “You like that word, don’t you?”

  “What word?”

  “Provocative.”

  “So how did you find out about this place?” Jazz asked, ignoring the inference. “What do they call it?”

  “House of John,” Ella answered with a wry smile. “Any black woman who reads Essence knows about it.”

  “Really.”

  “Their ‘Dominican Heat’ series, ‘Think Like A Woman, Creep Like A Man’ last year. Put the word out without putting the word out.”

  “I see.”

  “A single sistah with needs has to stay in the know.”

  “So what about your White House clearance?”

  “What about it?”

  “I mean you’re down here paying men to sleep with you.”

  “No, Jazz. I don’t pay men to sleep with me. I pay men to fuck me. If they fall asleep, they don’t get paid.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “Listen, Jazz. Last time I checked I was free, black and over twenty-one. I’m down here in this beautiful country full of beautiful men, breaking no local laws and getting my groove on. I’m not cheating on my spouse because I don’t have one. And if the tea party wants to jump on the morality of a single black woman enjoying her life, maybe they better take another look at some of their own. Newt Gingrich, Mark Foley chasing after underage pageboys, Schwarzenegger, Larry Craig tapping toe-codes to an undercover cop in an airport washroom.”

  “Listen, I didn’t mean it like that, El.”

  “Sure you did, Jazz. You’re a man. How else could you mean it?”

  “You really think I’m that kind of man?”

  “What other kind of man is there?”

  “Thanks a lot.”

  “You know, I had breakfast with Frankie this morning.”

  “Did you?”

  “I know what’s going on.”

  “Do you?”

  “I mean, look at you. Stuck in what you want to traumatize as a quandary. The very idea Frankie would even think about sharing her bed with you and another man at the same time—”

  “She told you.”

  “Has you just a tad bit repulsed.”

  “I’m not used to sharing someone I love, Ella. Maybe that’s something you don’t understand.”

  “Maybe that’s something you don’t understand, Mr. Mornay. Love is a give and take. All you want to do is take and not give a little when it comes to something your lady wants.”

  And then she laughed, shook her head in mock despair and stared him dead in the eyes. “You men are something else. You wouldn’t think twice about fucking two women at the same time. But the thought of a woman fucking two men at the same time, well it’s enough to make you go limp.”

  Jazz didn’t know what to say. Ella figured she’d said quite enough. She stood up and checked herself in the huge mirror above the sofa.

  “You know,” she continued, staring at her reflection, but talking to Jazz, “now that I think about it, maybe I’ll try that out myself. The thought of cracking the whip on two fine-ass stallions pulling my coach is already hardening my nipples even as we speak.”

  She then spotted the reflection of Kunal in the mirror. He was just entering the hotel.

  He stopped in the doorway, framing himself in the silhouetting sunshine, haloing himself like some devious angel. Wickedly he smiled at her. She smiled back with equal allure. He scanned her gorgeousness approvingly. Her beautiful caramel legs, long and shapely, descended sexily into her mahogany sandals. Hints of her luscious ass peeked from beneath her tight shorts. Her long, auburn ponytail sparkled as it hung down the back of her neck, down her spine, down her near-bare golden back.

  Kunal’s smile widened as he slowly moved toward her. Their eyes met in the mirror again.

  Reaching her, he wrapped his arms around her. He kissed her softly on the neck. He then looked down at Jazz.

  “Hola,” he said stiffly before returning to Ella’s neck.

  “Hola,” Jazz responded without looking up.

  “Mmmm,” Ella swooned, gently lifting her head and easing her neck even deeper into Kunal’s thick, moist, servicing lips. “Kunal?” she whispered.

  “¿Que, mi amor?”

  “Do you have a good amigo?”

  “Si,” he whispered in the ear he’d been nibbling. “I have plenty good amigos.”

  “Only one will do.”

  “¿Perdóneme?” he asked absently, as he licked and kissed her neck again and again.

  “For now,” she continued, feeling his hardening bulge against her behind. She took his hand and led him to the spiral staircase, then up the stairs and toward her lair.

  Jazz looked up and watched them disappear.

  Familiar laughter at the hotel’s entrance drew his focus. He stood at the sight and sound of Frankie and Yvette’s giggling chatter.

  “I reserved the same room you had last time you were here,” Frankie was saying, leading Yvette to the reception desk. “Sweetie, take her bags up to number twenty-two,” she said to Marcos who had followed them in with luggage.

  “Good, ’cause I’m gonna take me a nice long nap and a nice long bubble bath, so I can get me a nice long date tonight,” Yvette cackled. “Hola, Edgar,” she then said to the man behind the reception desk.

  That immediately alerted Jazz.

  “Hola, Yvette and welcome back,” Edgar said, seeing Jazz’s stunned look out of the corner of his eye. “Frankie?”

  “Yes, Edgar.”

  “You have a visitor,” he continued, directing Frankie to Jazz with a look.

  “Jazz…” she said quietly, seeing him, frozen in her tracks, causing Yvette to look up.

  “Hello Frankie.”

  “Jazz?” Yvette squealed, rushing to him and giving him a big hug.

  “Hey, Yvette.”

  “Frankie told me you were down here, but she wasn’t sure you were still here. And look at you. Oh my God, you’ve gotten even finer. The mustache is so sexy.”

  “Thanks.”

  “What’s it been? Six months? A year?”

  “It’s been awhile.”

  “So are you leaving or are you staying?”

  “I’m…I’m not sure yet,” he said staring at Frankie, with an occasional glance at Edgar. “I’m on stand-by for a flight out tonight.”

  Frankie stiffened.

  “Well please stay. I would love to catch up with you.”

  “We’ll see.”

  “Well I’ve gotta get some sleep. The red eye from LA and the layover in Miami is a killer. See you later, cutie pie.”

  “See ya, Yvette,” he said as she left him.

  “He’s staying,” she whispered to Frankie as she passed her and sashayed up the stairs.

  Slowly, Jazz walked over to Frankie.

  “We need to talk,” he said.

  “Okay,” she said. “I just need a moment with Edgar.”

  “Okay.”

  “By the way, have you two met?”

  “Not officially,” Jazz said.

  “Edgar, this is Jazz.”

  “I know who he is,” Edgar said. “I see his picture. I see him last night on my way home.” He extended his hand across the desk. “It is truly a pleasure to meet you, Jazz.”

  Jazz took his hand. “It’s…it’s a pleasure to meet you too, Edgar.”

  “Jazz, could you wait for me in the parlor? I’ll just be a minute.”

  “Sure, no problem.”

  “Es aún más guapo que su fotografía.” Jazz overheard
Edgar whisper to Frankie as he walked toward the parlor.

  The parlor was empty and yet its charm seemed to sparkle with life even in the empty light of day. The candlelight, the clinking glasses, the nocturnal whispers of love for sale were missing. But their presence was felt. Jazz could feel it, even if he didn’t completely understand it.

  Something was happening to him as he surveyed the beautifully appointed room. No, he had not lost his fear, but he had gained…what was it?

  He stood in the middle of the room pondering, wondering and trying to sort it all out.

  Trying to figure them all out. Ella Caldwell, Yvette, his mother, Edgar, his ex, Frankie. Trying to figure himself out.

  He sat down at the baby grand piano. He started playing. Absently. Softly.

  All In Love Is Fair.

  Frankie stood silently in the doorway. She watched the expression on his face. She soaked in the tender way he played. When he finished, she nearly cried. She walked over to him.

  He looked up, seeing her in his presence for the first time. He scooted over on the piano bench. She sat down next to him.

  “Hi,” he said.

  “Hi,” she said. “That was beautiful.”

  “Thank you.”

  “If you ever need a job, we’re looking for a piano player,” she smiled.

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” he smiled back. “Frankie?”

  “Yes, Jazz?”

  “I…need to apologize to you…about walking out on you last night. It’s just that what you were asking, it shocked the hell out of me. I’m still a bit shocked by it.”

  “I understand, Jazz. Apology accepted.”

  “I had a talk with El today,” he then said.

  “So did I.”

  “I know. I think she thinks I’m some kind of antediluvian, a Neanderthal. But you know me, Frankie. I’m a pretty progressive guy. But I don’t think I’m progressive enough to give you what you want.”

  “What do you think of Edgar?”

  “What do you mean what do I think of him? He’s a nice looking guy. I can certainly understand your attraction to him.”

  “He thinks you’re a nice looking guy too.”

  “I know. I heard what he said in the lobby. He said I’m even more handsome than my photograph.”