“Well?” she almost demanded, her stomach finding that old familiar discomfort it’d grown so content with. It was something bad. It was always something bad as of late.
Cosmos’s sigh was reluctant, his words short. “Mitch called, Frankie. It was Mitch.”
Superfly.
CHAPTER SIX
From the “maybe even a little less reluctant than I was last entry” journal of ex-trophy wife Frankie Bennett: Maxine says it’s crucial to create your own new life from the inside out. After your divorce, you’re supposed to make it a point to experience new things, create new routines, get out and see the world, and let the world see you and your brand-new attitude. I went. I saw—the world, that is. I think my world is far better viewed from the confines of my cave. But no one, especially that hippy-skippy Maxine, can say I didn’t try.
“If I was you, brother, I’d walk away now,” Cosmos advised with a slap of his hand to Nikos’s back.
“What am I walking away from?” he asked, keeping his head buried in the possible menu changes to avoid a glimpse of Cosmos.
“Don’t bullshit me, Nik. I saw the way you were looking at Frankie today when you had her cornered—but what you didn’t see, because you’re as blind as the proverbial bat, was the way she looked when I told her her ex-husband called. You know why you didn’t see it? Because you’re not paying attention to the signs. Instead, you’re making a checklist of things to do to save her. Do I really need to remind you of Anita?”
Nikos’s shoulders bunched. No one needed to remind him he was the biggest ass where Anita was concerned. “I don’t need to be reminded.” He wasn’t in the mood for the speech from Cosmos tonight. He’d rather be pissed off about Frankie’s reaction to Mitch’s phone call. A reaction he never expected after she’d just told him she didn’t love the prick anymore. A reaction he shouldn’t give a world of crap about, but found himself angry over nonetheless.
“Let it go, Cos.”
“Fine. Just remember, I was the one who reminded you about your love of a chick who’s hard up.”
“Who is hard?” Voula asked, wiping her hands on her apron.
Nikos shot Cos a glare. “No one, Mama.”
Voula pinched Cosmos’s cheeks. “I hear that bad Mitch call today for our Frankie. You didn’t tell her, did you?”
Cosmos let his head hang to his chest. “I did, Mama.”
Voula scowled. “Next time you give Mama the phone. She will take care of the Mitch and his kitchen. Frankie looks better since she is here. She eats my meatloaf almost every day for lunch, and she smiles sometimes. I like this. That bad Mitch will only make her sad again. We don’t want her to landslide, do we?”
“Backslide, Mama. And no, we don’t want her to backslide,” Nikos reassured her.
“Then if he calls again, Cosmos, you tell him we don’t have no Frankies here, okay?”
Cosmos nodded with a sidelong glance at Nikos. “Done.”
“Nikos? Did you tell Frankie about Marco and his bad wife?”
Nikos winced. No. He hadn’t told Frankie about Marco. “Doesn’t she have enough on her plate, Mama?”
“Her plate will break if she is caught with the surprise, Nikos.”
“You don’t really think Carrie will show up here ever again, do you? I don’t think we should worry about it, and we definitely shouldn’t add anything else to Frankie’s troubles.”
Voula wagged a finger at him. “I don’t like the secrets, Nikos. And what about Marco? When he comes back from his trip, he will meet our Frankie. I don’t want to see him sad again, Nikos.”
A stab of guilt for his best friend and the heartbreak he’d suffered when his marriage went to shit made Nikos’s gut twist. “How about we talk about this another time, Mama. You go home and have dinner with Papa.”
Cosmos intercepted Voula, saving his brother. “C’mon, Mama, I’ll take you home. You’ve been on your feet too long today.”
Voula frowned when she removed her apron. “I like tired feet better than I like your cranky Papa.”
Both brothers laughed. “It’ll pass, Mama. He just needs to find other interests,” Nikos said, planting a kiss on her forehead.
Cosmos threw his jacket on, giving Nikos one last pointed look. “Mark my words, brother,” he warned.
Nikos waved him off, turning back to the menu changes. He wasn’t interested in Frankie Bennett.
Not interested in her luscious, bare lips. Not in her flushed cheeks when she was tweaked. Not in her warm amber eyes when she smiled. Not in the comfortable groove they’d found working together. Not in the ridiculous smile he experienced when she consumed something he’d cooked for her. Not in the weird rush of something he couldn’t explain that shot to his chest when he saw her flipping through endless magazines, searching for this hobby she hoped would motivate her to want to get out of bed every day.
Not.
“Why in Sam Hill are you fancying up?”
Frankie smiled into the bathroom mirror at Gail’s image behind her before blotting her lips with a tissue to soften the lipstick she’d found in the vanity drawer. “I have a date.”
Gail’s lips split into a grin. She gave Kiki, who sat on the vanity top, a scruff to the head. “I knew it was just a matter of time before all my prayers were answered.” She mouthed a “thank you” to the ceiling.
“And what did you pray for, Aunt Gail? What do you suppose Auntie Gail prayed for, Kik?”
As though she waited for an answer, Kiki shot them both a somber glance before leaning back on her haunches, her large ears erect.
“I prayed my favorite Greek god Nikos would ask you out. God’s been slacking a little where you’re concerned, but I think when they say he’s always listening, they mean it.”
“I think he’s still giving you a deaf ear.”
“You’re not going on a date with Nikos?”
“Nope.”
Gail raised her eyes upward, palms to the ceiling. “What? What is it you want? I just stuffed my face full of Voula’s lemon meringue pie. It ain’t cheap, but I donated to the cause. Not to mention, I put twenty bucks in the coffer last Sunday! It’s not like I asked you for a swarm of locusts. I was just looking for a little romance, and it wasn’t even for me.”
Frankie’s giggle filled the pink and blue bathroom. “I don’t think God takes bribes, Aunt Gail.”
Gail’s expression grew sheepish, then she bristled. “I wasn’t bribing anyone, young lady, just offering to scratch a back. Father Tobias said the Sunday school kids need new Bibles. I help buy new Bibles, he prays Nikos asks you out. It wasn’t like I was looking for a marriage proposal.”
“Well, my date isn’t with Nikos. You’ve been had,” she teased, running a brush through her now almost waist-length hair. Scrutinizing her reflection, Frankie decided next paycheck she’d get a major trim. Instead of dragging it back away from her face, she let it fall where it may.
Gail lifted a strand and smiled. “You look pretty, honey. It’s nice to see some color in your cheeks and your hair so shiny. So who’s your hot date?”
“Jasmine.”
Her aunt’s sharp eyes widened. “A woman?”
“Uh-huh.”
Gail reached for the top of the toilet seat, letting it flop down so she could sit on top of it. Kiki responded by scratching at the vanity top, her warm eyes concerned. “A woman . . . Are you having one of those midlife crises? I watched a Lifetime movie once where this woman got an ugly divorce then . . . well, then she became a lesbian. Can’t say as I blame her. Her ex-husband could have turned any red-blooded, man-loving female into a lesbian. He was worse than even Mitch. But he was a serial killer. And before you get all persnickety with me, I just want you to know I support whatever makes you happy, but it’d be nice if you told me something like that so I can pray for the right thing—gender—whatever.”
Frankie’s laughter was uninhibited. She leaned down and kissed Gail’s wrinkly soft cheek. “I’m not a lesbian, Aunt Gai
l. Jasmine’s someone I met at Maxine’s support group. Another ex-trophy wife or whatever we call rejects like us. She was married to Ashton Archway. We’re just having dinner. No big deal.”
“Okay then. I’ll keep praying.”
“Aunt Gail?”
“What, sassafras?”
“Lay off the praying for a while. At least praying for me to find a man. Maybe you should reach for something more attainable, like a studio apartment so I’m not in your hair anymore.”
Gail rose, giving Frankie a hard hug. “I like having you here, sugarplum.”
“But I bet Garner Barker doesn’t like it so much. You two’ve been sneaking off to his place for the last month.”
Gail gave her a guilty look, her sharp eyes hooded. “I didn’t know you knew about me and Garner.”
Frankie squeezed her aunt’s arm with affection. “I think it’s awesome you’ve found someone you want to spend your time with. I just hope he’s good to you.”
Gail winked. “Don’t you worry about me. I’m plenty old enough to know what I’m doing. It’s you we need to take care of right now. Speaking of taking care . . .”
Frankie paused while grabbing her purse, catching the look of concern in her aunt’s eyes. “Ohhh, I know that look. Spill.”
“That dirty bird called here. I told him we didn’t want whatever he was sellin’ when he got snippy with me, thinkin’ I was keeping him from you.”
Frankie’s heart sank. What could Mitch want from her? Didn’t he have everything she’d once had? Wasn’t every stitch of clothing, two summerhouses (one on the beach in Malibu), a classic Camaro, and a partridge in a pear tree enough already?
Damn him for intruding on this new space she’d found. This precarious balance between survival and a cot with three squares a day. Her eyes sank to the pink and blue tiled floor. “Did he say what he wanted?”
Gail lifted her chin, her eyes determined black chips. “Don’t you go crawlin’ back into your cave, Frankie. You look me in the eye when I tell you that Mitch with the traveling penis called. You have nothing to be ashamed of. Stop acting like you do. Get mad, Francis!”
A tear stung her eye. Go figure she still couldn’t shake her disgrace over Mitch. Her shoulders slumped when she scooped up Kiki, hugging her close. “I’m not mad. I know I’m supposed to be, but I’m not. I just want him to go away like he never existed in the first place.”
Gail’s jaw hardened, leaving a tic on her left cheek. “Maybe that’s the problem. Maybe if you were mad, you wouldn’t be so depressed. That you let that man steal one iota of your life makes me want to clunk you in the head. That you let him steal six months from you makes me want to wrap my hands around his neck and squeeze until a crime scene investigator shows up to make chalk lines around his dead body!”
Now Frankie sunk to the toilet seat, letting her hands rest between her knees. “You know what bothers me the most about Mitch’s cheating, Aunt Gail?”
Gail smoothed a hand over the top of her head. “What’s that?”
Without thought, she voiced one of her deepest fears. Inadequacy. “Why wasn’t I enough for him? I did whatever he wanted all the time. I made sure the show ran smoothly for him. I took care of all of his fan mail. I was his buffer with the Bon Appetit Channel execs. I helped him research recipes. In fact, half of the recipes he used on the show were mine. I dressed up—I worked out. I took care of myself, not to mention catered to his every whim, and still it wasn’t enough. I was always missing something, always lacking in one department or another. It was work. All day, every day. I’m never letting a good-looking man charm my stupid socks off again. Mitch charmed his way out of and into everything, and I fell for it. I’m never investing that much time in a man again. If I’d invested half the time in finding a career of my own as I did in Mitch and his greedy rise to celebrity chef stardom, I might not be living in my aunt’s retirement village.”
“You know why you weren’t enough, Frankie? Because Mitch was too little. You can only overcompensate so much before someone collapses under that kind of pressure. Real men don’t need someone to do everything for them short of hold their Mr. Peabodys when they piss.”
The meaning of life in four sentences by Gail Lumley. Frankie swiped at her eyes, handing Kiki to her with a kiss on her furry head. “If Mitch calls again, tell him we have nothing left to say to each other. He has nothing left to take from me. I don’t want to talk to him. I’m sorry if he gave you a hard time.”
Gail’s cackle bounced off the acoustic walls of the bathroom. “Like he could ever best your old Aunt Gail. I told him if he wanted to talk to you, he’d have to get past me and”—she lowered her voice to a mere whisper—a whisper that held guilt—“and your new boyfriend, Nikos . . .”
Her eyes closed at the horror. “You did not.”
“Oh, yes I did, too,” Gail shot back with fiery eyes. “And I’d do it again just to hear that wheeze in his gasp when he tried to hide his surprise. No use in him thinkin’ you were pinin’ for him like some puppy abandoned at the pound. Let him think you’ve moved on with your life even if you’ve only really just begun.”
Yeah. Take that, Mitch. “Don’t engage him anymore, Aunt Gail. If he calls again, just hang up.”
Gail began a protest by screwing up her face, but Frankie held up a hand to quiet her. “Please. I really want him to leave me alone, and he won’t if you encourage a good battle by antagonizing him. Better yet, look at the caller ID and if it’s him, just don’t answer the phone.”
“Oh, fine. We’ll let the weasel keep thinking it’s okay to schtupp someone with the name Bamby.”
“With a ‘Y,’” Frankie reminded her on a chuckle, discovering it didn’t hurt as much to mention the other woman’s name as it once had.
Gal pinched her cheek. “You go have a good time with your new friend and forget all about the dirty bird. Kiki and I have a date with that hot geek Chuck.”
With a wave, Frankie left, forcing herself to push Mitch out of her thoughts. He didn’t deserve a nanosecond of brainpower.
Though, she had to admit, she was curious about why he’d call now after over six months of silence. There was nothing left to settle up—nothing to divide—nothing left he could take pleasure in reminding her was no longer hers.
So what the hell?
The only thing about his phone call Frankie could be certain of was that she didn’t want to talk to him—and not just because he’d left her feeling stupid and intimidated. Instead, she found she simply didn’t care what he was doing or whom he was doing it with.
Even if he was still doing it with Bamby and her “Y.”
Woo to the hoo for growth.
Jasmine waved to her with her perfect smile from a far corner of Little Anthony’s Italian Ristorante. Gorgeous in the low lighting with her smooth skin, fashionable kiwi-colored sweater, and matching scarf looped around her neck, Jasmine had probably threatened many a female in her time with her almost surreal brand of beauty.
But Frankie didn’t have a shred of jealousy, even knowing she was mediocre at best compared to Jasmine. She was suddenly just glad to be out and doing something for herself that left her feeling like she was at least trying to pick up the pieces and learn the language in this new place called Divorcelandia.
Frankie took a peek around as she followed the hostess to their table, finding herself mentally comparing her surroundings to the diner. She frowned. Why was everything about Nikos and the diner? This was a perfectly nice little Italian restaurant with plenty of atmosphere and gorgeous murals on the walls. Christmas music played in the background, emphasizing how remiss she’d been about the coming holiday.
Jasmine jumped up and gave her a quick hug before Frankie sat down and settled in. “I’m glad you decided to leave your cave. It’s bright out here in the land of the living, huh?” she teased.
Frankie mock-squinted. “And it burns.”
Jasmine chuckled, flipping open the menu to peruse the selections
. Her hair, loose and flowing past her shoulders, gleamed in the lone candle on the table. “I’m starving. So tell me what happened with Nikos. What was he so hinky over today?”
“I was late for work. A lot late. But I’m telling you just like I told that prehistoric excuse for a man, I saw the schedule, and I wasn’t scheduled to come in until one thirty.”
Jasmine’s pink-glossed lips thinned into a line of distaste. “Chloe.”
“What?”
“I’d bet my left nipple it was Chloe who changed the schedule.”
Frankie let the menu fall to the table. “Your left nipple’s definitely a serious commitment. So care to explain?”
Jasmine’s shoulders shifted in her sweater, pulling back squarely. “Here’s the deal with Chloe. I already told you she’s a bitch. She’s also a jealous, mean bitch.”
“To be fair, I bet you can’t count on one hand women who aren’t jealous of someone like you, Jasmine.”
Jasmine’s eyebrow rose, but her expression was neither haughty nor condescending. “True that. I’ve had my fair share of women snubbing me since I turned thirteen and woke up one day with the rack the good Lord gave me. I’m not telling you she’s jealous because of me, Frankie. I had my run-in with her and her Nikos fixation, and now she knows better than to come to the playground unarmed. I’m telling you she’s jealous because of you.”
“Me? What do you suppose she’s most jealous of? My barely B cups or my hot, twenty-pounds-underweight bodacious bod? Don’t be ridiculous, because that’s just what that is. Ridiculous.” Silly, silly, silly. That the lovely dark, olive-skinned Chloe would be jealous of the pale, skeeny Frankie was absurd.
Jasmine peered over her menu, her eyes serious. “Have you seen the way Nikos looks at you?”
Only in my deepest, darkest, wildest fantasies. “Me?” Her question showed her genuine surprise.
“You, sister. He’s definitely interested, no matter how angry he was today. That’s bound to make Chloe want to gouge your eyes out with her cheap stilettos.”
Burning Down the Spouse Page 11