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Despite the insults aimed at
her and her fellow patrons Roxanne was still completely in awe of him.
His presence was something to behold, from his sharp, unsmiling face, to his
tall and very thin frame, the way his plentiful dark hair contrasted with his
creamy, pinkish complexion. Clamped in the strings of his guitar, below
the headstock a lit cigarette smoked when there were no smoking signs all about
the theatre. Roxanne could smell the smoke, which made her start craving
one herself; she knew it would do her some good. She was now leaning
against the front of the stage, Frank only standing mere feet away from her.
“You guys wanna her some music?” he inquired shifting his weight from one foot
to the other as the crowd shouted louder yet. “Then shut the fuck up!”
Pulling the cigarette from the neck of his guitar Frank brought it to his mouth
and took a long drag. His upper lip was completely concealed by his full
moustache that grew down to cover it and much of the area around his
mouth. His chin was hidden by the patch of black hair growing there, all
of it combed perfectly into place. While he was doing that the audience
began to calm down a little and he noticed it too, he seemed to notice
everything Roxanne though. The band behind him seemed to be aware that
anything could happen at any moment.
“Now that everyone has decided to be quiet, we’re gonna begin tonight’s show
with a number called Trouble Everyday… I think you people here… in this city
can relate with this one,” Frank said finishing his cigarette, dropping the
still smoldering butt onstage and stamped on it.
Signaling to the band, stomping his foot Frank led the musicians behind him
into the first song. Music filled the auditorium, bouncing harshly off
all the hard surfaces, but it sounded almost as clear as it did on the album,
just as tight. It was obvious that the band had spent hours rehearsing
and were clear headed at the moment, they did not miss anything. Standing
at Frank’s feet, Roxanne could feel the vibrations from the sound in her body,
in the roots of her hair. Frank played guitar while Roy Estrada sang and
played bass at the same time, standing toward the front of the stage near
Frank. Behind the two drummers played, Jimmy Carl Black who had been with
The Mothers along time and another man Roxanne had heard was named Arthur
Tripp. Besides them there were half a dozen other musicians onstage, all
playing off and on whenever they were needed and the music they produced was
astounding, unlike any other concert she had ever witnessed.
When that song came to an end Frank announced another, Didja Get Any Onya? And
the band continued playing. That was followed by Hungry Freaks Daddy,
then A Pound for a Brown, Sleeping in a jar. It amazed Roxanne how well
the songs sounded, comparable to a recording, yet became something new with
solos a recording for an album could not accommodate. In some cases the
music changed so much a song sounded completely different than it did on the
record. Many of the positive things she had heard about Frank were
proving to be true.
King Kong blew Roxanne away, midway through Frank lost himself in a guitar solo
that was little short of ethereal, it elevated the song to a whole new
level. At times it seemed even the band was surprised by some of the
things he came up with on the spot. That was followed by Octandre, The
Eric Dolphy Memorial Barbeque, Undaunted the Band Plays on and Igor’s
Boogie. Finally she was brought back to earth when Frank paused to
introduce the band. During that time she had lost track of all time and
really all that had been happening. It was as if she had fallen into a
trance where there was only the music and Frank.
Brushing his sweat soaked bangs off his forehead he said, “Now it’s time to
introduce our rockin’ teenage combo.”
While he was speaking he strolled over to a stack of speakers to the right of
stage, Roxanne’s right. Standing beside them Frank took a drink of water
from a glass standing atop of them and lit up another cigarette, his third one
that show.
“That’s better,” Frank continued. “Now the members of our rockin’ teenage
combo, Roy Estrada bass and vocals, Lowell George guitar and vocals, Motorhead
Sherwood baritone saxophone, Don Preston key boards, Bunk Gardener tenor sax,
Ian Underwood alto sax and keyboards, Buzz Gardener Trumpet, Arthur Tripp drums
and the Indian of the group, Jimmy Carl Black on drums… And me, I’m Frank
Zappa.”
As Frank introduced each of the band members they took a bow or played a short
solo. The crowds filling the auditorium shouted and screamed, even Jenny
who had been a bit apprehensive about the concert, no one had even been pulled
on stage yet and nothing too weird had happened either. Beside her Mary
was jumping around trying to get the attention of any of the band, if they
could see her through the glare of the stage lights. Frank walked along
the edge of the stage, hand to his brow in an attempt to see what was happening
out in the sea of humanity before him.
“Okay, okay be quiet,” he said. “Be quiet! Before we start the
second half of our show we’d like to have some fun and we need some of you
people from the audience …do we have any volunteers or do we have to pull you
up here against your will?”
Behind Roxanne there were a few people who were trying to get Frank’s
attention, so was Mary who was screaming and waving her arms above her head,
continuing to jump up and down. Despite the people trying to volunteer
themselves, Frank overlooked them and chose people who clearly wanted to have
no part in it.
“You,
in the blue shirt!” he announced motioning for a blonde girl several rows back
from Roxanne to come up on stage. “In the leather jacket, about eight
rows back get up here!” The second person was a teenage boy with shaggy
brown hair in a black leather motorcycle jacket, the cool type who did not like
to be humiliated. “Okay, we need one more… Girl in the front roe, yellow
sweater,” He said pointing right to Jenny, whose face flushed radish red.
A roadie helped the chosen onstage, while another wheeled a crate
onstage. Roxanne could not help laughing, Jenny looked like she wanted to
slip through a crack in the stage floor. Frank went up to the crate and
opened the lid; from within he pulled several cans of Reddi Whip. He
handed them to the first girl and told her to shake each of them.
Approaching the teenage boy he said, “So, you think you’re a real cool guy,
don’t ya?”
“Yeah,” the boy answered curtly, Frank holding the microphone before him.
“And your name is…?”
“Bruce.”
“Okay Bruce, we want you to take your shoes off, here sit down in this chair,”
Frank stated, pulling a chair from the side of the stage.
Bruce sat down and slipped off his black leather boots, while Jenny stood ill
at ease off to one side of stage, her face still flushed. When Bruce had
his shoes off Frank continued, “Take your socks off too.”
Bruce obliged, while the audience laughed at him, “Now put them on your hands,”
Frank advised looking harshly at the boy. Apprehensively he cringed and
slid the filthy white socks over his hands. “Alright, now lick your
hands!” Frank ordered giving Bruce an even harder look.
If his eyes had been able to incinerate someone on the spot Bruce would have
been a pile of ash on the seat of the chair. The audience roared with
laughter, Roxanne doubling over, clenching her sides. Deliberately Bruce
began licking his sock covered hands, looking like he was going to gag at any
moment.
“Keep doing that,” Frank exclaimed, then went over to the girl with the whipped
cream. “Now you come over here, I want you to spray stuff all over
Bruce’s head. Don’t you think he need a bit of decoration? How many
of you like malts?”
The audience shouted in response.
“Tonight we’re going to make Bruce into a malt into a malt. And I want
you… what’s your name?”
“Cathy,” the girl replied.
“Cathy, go spray that stuff all over Bruce’s head, use all the cans.”
All the while Frank was talking Bruce continued to lick his hands, a look of
both disgust and horror spreading over his face. Cathy, the blonde girl
took the first of the cans of whipped cream and began spraying it onto Bruce’s
head, covering his unkempt brown hair with the sticky, frothy, white
substance. Frank was back beside the crate, digging through its depths in
search of something else.
Standing back up Frank said, “ When you’re done, stick this on top. We
couldn’t find any cherries, but this will work,” he held up what appeared to be
a small tomato, then handed it to Cathy, who nodded. “Now for you,” Frank
said strutting up to Jenny, who hid her face behind her hands. “What
should we do with you… Let me go look in the band’s toy box.”
From the crate he lifted a very mangy, dirty looking stuff poodle that at one
time use to be white and the head and torso of a baby doll, sans arms and legs.
Carrying them under his arms he went back over by Jenny, “Now, you’re
name is…?”
“Jenny,” she said as Frank held the microphone in front of her.
“Jenny, why don’t you lie down on stage right here,” he suggested.
Slowly Jenny lowered herself onto the stage, propped up on her elbows so she
could see what was going on. Roxanne, with the rest of the people in the
crowd continued to laugh uncontrollably, there were some people who kept on
shouting and the acrid stench of pot smoke drifted on the air. Behind
Frank the band jammed, providing background music for the mayhem unfurling
onstage.
Still speaking to Jenny, Frank continued, “I would like you to imagine that
you’re having a three way with these guys,” he set the limbless baby doll and
the grubby stuffed dog on either side of her. “We would like you to
pretend that you’re really enjoying it too… It’s pretend play time…give that
poodle want he wants.”
Before doing anything Jenny stared out into the audience with a blank look on
her face. Roxanne was sure she could not see anything, yet she knew
everyone was looking right at her. Reluctantly she grabbed the poodle and
began to act like she was making out with it. In her other arm she
clutched the doll to her. For being as terrified as she was Jenny seemed
to be doing a decent job. Cathy was still occupied covering Bruce with
Reddi Whip, so much so that it was beginning to run down his head. He
kept licking his sock covered hands, utterly humiliated.
“While our guests keep doing what they’re doing, we’re going to start the
second half of our show. This next song is called Valarie,” Frank
announced, slinging his guitar back over his shoulder. “You people will
be able to leave when all of that whipped cream has been used up.”
A large guitar Roxanne noted, against his thin body it appeared humorously
oversized; it looked really heavy as well. She wondered if wearing the
thing night after night made his back sore. With Frank’s signal the band
commenced playing, the audience filling the auditorium began making even more
noise. Onstage jenny continued to pretend she was making love to a
stuffed toy and a doll; she rolled about, pawing at both of the toys. By
the time that song came to an end, Cathy was only starting in on the second can
of whipped cream. The next song was Lonely, Lonely Nights, followed by
Corrido Rock, then Bacon Fat. Cathy made it to the last of the whipped
cream and blobs of it were sliding down Bruce’s head, over his face, onto his
shoulders. The intense heat radiating from the lights only caused it to
grow runnier. Before stepping back she crowned the heap of whipped cream
with the tomato Frank had given her, while the crowd both laughed and cheered.
“Well… it looks like you can leave now,” Frank exclaimed, surveying Bruce,
Cathy and Jenny a somewhat smug look coming over his face. “Bruce is now
a malt and Jenny, the toys are pleased with you. Now you can go and enjoy
the rest of the show. The Mothers thank you for your service.”
Of the three Jenny was the first to get off stage, she raced to the edge of
stage and sat down and slid off. Next followed Cathy trailed by Bruce,
who moved much more slowly, dripping melted whipped cream that ran down his
back. Globs from his face fell into his face, the tomato and a decent
portion of the while froth landed just at the foot of the stage as he climbed
down. Jenny came back and joined Roxanne, but did not speak a word.
If she had Roxanne was sure she would not have been able to hear anyway.
“We’re going to play one more number tonight, from an album a few of you
might’ve heard about, it’s called Cruising With Ruben and The Jets… This
particular number is called Cruising For Burgers,” Frank stated shifting his
guitar strap on his shoulder.
Roy Estrada sang while Frank and the rest of the band played and Motorhead
pranced around stage like a madman carrying around the poodle and the
dismembered doll Jenny had been forced to make love to. As the song came
to a close the band simply walked off stage in much the same manner as they had
come on earlier in the night. Some of the audience stood still and
continued to scream for more, Roxanne among them. After several moments,
when it became clear there was not going to be any encores people began walking
out.
This is when Jenny finally said something, “I’m sorry Roxanne, but I can’t
stick around and go backstage with you. I just can’t after what happened
on stage… And I have to work tomorrow too. That was- that was just too
humiliating… Goodbye.”
With her face still violently scarlet she tried to make the most discreet exit
she could. So that no one would notice her she pulled her collar up and
left down one of the side isles. Soon it was only Roxanne and the others
who remained, the auditorium of the theatre transformed into and empty, vast,
cavernous space, where everything echoed, even the slightest of noises.
It was rather unnerving thought Roxanne, staring up into the dark ceiling with
crystal chandeliers strung with cobwebs and dust. During one point of its
life the ceiling had been painted brilliant red, green, blue and gold but time
had faded it and leaking roofs caused it to peel in places. Roadies had
come out to pack things, cables, speakers, amps the drum sets.
“I think we should try and get backstage now,” Mary suggested, climbing from
her seat.
“Okay,” Roxanne answered, standing, her heart racing.
The prospect of meeting Frank was sending her flying again. He was there,
only behind a door and some walls. Earlier the thought of just seeing him
on stage almost caused her heart to stop, but now there was this and it was
happening. She followed Mary to a doorway beside stage, where who men
stood talking, one of them middle aged, rather short and balding, the other in
his early thirties, average sized with straight, longish brown hair.
“Hey Dave, can we come backstage tonight?” Mary asked the younger man.
“Hey Mary! I wouldn’t see why not, no one’s asked yet tonight
either. But you know, if the band doesn’t want you around you’d better
leave,” he said.
“I don’t think they will mind,” answered the balding man. “I’m the band’s
manager and they all seem in a great mood tonight.”
“Okay, thank you,” Mary smiled.
The two men stepped aside and let them pass, the doorway opened into a rather
long hall that led into a large room behind the stage, with mirrors on the
walls, a tattered old sofa against one wall and a table in the middle with a
bunch of wooden chairs around it. Different members of the band were
running about taking care of different things, packing instruments, having a
beer, a smoke or a cup of coffee. Once again Roxanne was feeling lightheaded,
a tingling sensation racing through her being. Mary had already gone and
sat down on top of the table, Bev was talking to Roy Estrada and Motorhead was
trying to get Debbie’s attention. Roxanne was just standing in the middle
of the room, listening to her heart pounding, the blood coursing through her
echoing in her ears.
“Excuse me miss” Bunk Gardener said as he walked past her, gently moving her
aside by placing a light hand on her waist.
Just that caused her to come close to falling over. Roxanne needed to sit
down, to get out of the way. Across the room the sofa was empty, she had
to will herself to cross the room; but it was a relief to be able to sit
down. Glancing about the room she watched all of her friends chat with
the members of the band, getting autographs signed on records and posters; her
records sat in her bag at her feet. Another thing she noticed was Frank
was nowhere to be seen, he could not have left though, what looked to be his
guitar was sitting on one end of the table in its case.
“Hello,” somebody said as they plopped down on the sofa beside her.
Jumping she turned to see who it was, it turned out to be the curly headed
keyboard player Don Preston. “Hi,” she answered smiling a bit.
“You don’t mind if I sit here?” he questioned playing with one of his golden
ringlets, appearing a bit nervous.
“No, go ahead. I’m the intruder,” Roxanne replied. After a moments
silence and noticing the records at her feet she asked, “You wouldn’t mind
signing these would you?” she held up the albums so Don could see them.
“No,” he responded as he took the albums from her.
Roxanne pulled her pen from her jacket, uncapped it and handed it to him.
Don signed his name above his head on Mothermania on both her copies.
When he finished he handed the pen back then the albums. Roxanne thanked
him, just as one of the roadies called him to help pack up his keyboards.
Again she was left alone, while her friends were still busy talking to
different band members. Frank was still nowhere in sight. He had to
come back sometime since his guitar was still on the table. Standing she
figured she had better get the rest of the band’s autographs before they left.
First she went over to Bunk Gardener, his brother Buzz and Ian Underwood who
were all standing in one corner of the room having a smoke and chatting.
All of them agreed to sign her two copies of Mothermania. Both Motorhead
and Jimmy Carl Black were flirting with Debbie, that would make getting their
autographs easy. When she seen Roxanne she ushered her over.
“They want to meet you,” Debbie said.
“Okay…” Roxanne replied coming over to them. “You wouldn’t mind signing
my albums?”
When she offered them her pen they both reached for it at the same time, Jimmy
Carl Black let Motorhead have it first. Roxanne gave him both the albums.
While Motorhead was signing them Jimmy Carl attempted to start a conversation
with her, “So, are you from around here?” he inquired.
“Err…yes, I’ve lived here since I was about ten,” Roxanne stammered biting her
lip; she really did not want to talk to either of them right now. “So…do
you know where Frank is?”
Jimmy Carl shrugged while Motorhead said, “I’m not sure, maybe he’s on the
toilet.”
“No, he’s not in there,” Arthur Tripp answered coming from the hall that lead
back to the loading doors, storage rooms and the bathroom. “I don’t think
he would want to go in there either.”
Him saying that sent the guys in the room into peals of laughter, Roxanne and
her friends as well.
“Maybe he’s outside having a smoke, although I don’t know why he would want to
be out there, it’s freezing and his jacket is handing over there,” Arthur said
motioning to a sheep skin jacket hanging on the coat rack on the back
wall. “If he went out there without it we’re going to be thawing him out later.”
After a moment of silence Roxanne asked him if he would sign her albums, which
he proudly did, then inquired her what was wrong with Detroit girls. He
wished there were more of them around. Now she needed only three more
autographs, Roy Estrada, Lowell George and Frank. The first two proved to
be no problem, Bev was still talking to Roy and Lowell was with them listening
and adding his own comments where he saw fit, a cup of coffee steaming in his
hand. Of course neither of them knew where Frank was either.
“Well, he should be coming back, his guitar, jacket and bag are still
here. He wouldn’t be goin’ anywhere without his stuff,” Roy added.
“He’ll be back.”
Even with those words Roxanne felt a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach
as she slunk back to the sofa, still standing empty. Frank was one of
those things that seemed too good to be true. Albeit making it this far
it would just figure that Frank would not show up while she was there.
That was quite literally the story of her life she thought, there always seemed
to be this dark cloud of bad luck following her wherever she went. Since
she was about ten years old, following her parents divorce, it seemed no matter
how hard she tried to reach something she desired ill fate befell her.
The most recent things snatched from her were her college education, as she
could not afford tuition and a string of various boyfriends; none of the
relationships lasted. Her friend, now in England with a famous guitar player,
had always been envious of her relationships; little did she know how difficult
and tolling they could be Roxanne though. In many ways she was lucky not
to have dealt with all that.
“Hey Roxanne, Motorhead wants to talk to you!” Debbie called.
She did not even look up; she just kept staring at the tattered hems of her
jeans and her brown platform boots. Deep down she knew she should go talk
to him, but she just did not want to. Roxanne was just too disappointed,
although she knew it was best to keep positive and just make the most out of
all of it. Before her friend left that past summer it never was an issue,
some how the two of them fed off each other, Roxanne had always been able to
keep an upbeat and sassy attitude about things. At least now she could
have a cigarette, everyone else was smoking. From her pocket Roxanne
pulled out one of the sticks of tobacco and her silver lighter, which glittered
like a jewel in the dull light.
“Hey, could you share a light?” someone inquired settling down on the sofa
beside her.
Gazing up she froze, just like a startled rabbit, it was Frank, he was sitting
only inches away from her. With shaking hands she held her lighter out to
him, she could not get out a single word, her throat was tight as if she were
having a reaction to some type of lethal poison. In his hands, with fine,
dark hair sprouting from their backs he grasped a battered pack of Winston
cigarettes. It was nearly empty she noticed when he pulled a cigarette
from it. Bringing it to his lips he flipped open the top and lit the end,
sending a wispy plume of smoke into the air.
“Thanks,” he said handing it back to her.
As she took it back from him her fingers brushed against the warm skin of his
hand and she just about lost it. Roxanne could only sit there dumbfounded
her own cigarette hanging from her mouth, the glowing, smoldering ash on the
end growing, threatening to drop off and burn her. Noticing that she took
it from her mouth and looked for a place to flick the ash. Seeing that
the floor was wood she did not want it to land there.
“Here,” Frank offered grabbing a glass ashtray from the floor at his feet,
bringing it to rest on his knee where Roxanne could reach it.
Carefully Roxanne tapped her cigarette in the small, glass bowl. She did
not want to slip up and have the hot ash land on him as he was finally right
beside her, so close that she could almost feel his warmth. She still
could not bring herself to say anything to him either, although she wanted to
very badly. Whenever Roxanne tried to open her mouth, her tongue lay
limp; she could not will it to move.
Eventually she did manage to get out, “W-where were y-you?”
Hearing her speak Frank smiled crookedly and answered, “Well…I was on the phone
trying to get my motel to deliver food to my room when I get back, but the
kitchen is closed and they only have salad right now,” when he said the word salad
he cringed visibly.
Roxanne nodded then looked at the records sitting on the sofa beside her,
“Err…you wouldn’t mind signing these for me would you?”
“No, not at all,” he replied.
Picking them up she handed them to Frank, along with her pen, which she gave to
him with the cap on; she trusted he knew that it twisted off. He did and
on both albums he autographed his bare chest in the photo. Frank even
impressed her by placing the cap back on her pen when he handed it back.
“Thank you,” Roxanne said finally managing a smile of her own.
“You’re welcome,” Frank responded. “Hey, you wouldn’t know where I could
get something to eat around here?”
Peeking at her watch Roxanne saw that it was nearly eleven o’clock at
night. In most bars in the area the kitchens closed at eight, probably
just like Frank’s motel. There was a run down hole in the wall café
several blocks away, but at this time at night it seemed to draw in customers
most people wished to avoid. She knew she had been there a few times
following the late shifts of night stocking at work. On her last visit
she had almost been mugged sitting right at the counter. Then there was
Denny’s, which was far from being appetizing, or at least the nearest one was,
it had been shut down more than once for health violations.
“Err…there’s Denny’s and the Sunny Side Café, but if I were you I’d stay away
from both. I live around here and I know things- Denny’s is disgusting
and Sunny Side is full of drug dealers at this time of night. I don’t
think there is too much…” she trailed off as an undiscovered thought came to
mind. “I could make you something if you wanted to come home with me.”
For a moment Frank sat silent as if thinking his options over, his hand to his
chin, “Won’t your parents be pissed off?”
“Err…no. I don’t live with them. I’m twenty-three, I have my own
place,” she said hoping he would want to come with her.
Again he sat quietly pondering his options while combing his fingers though his
loose bangs, straightening his ponytail in the back. To Roxanne he
appeared tired and hungry, he looked a bit peeked, his eyes dark shadowed
underneath. He looked in need of a filling meal and some serious sleep,
which had to be hard to get while traveling to a new city each day. She
was feeling sorry for him, yet she could not help it; she liked him and felt
she was falling for him already. He was beautiful, Roxanne had always
thought that, but in person it was only magnified; all of his raven black hair,
that crooked smile, those deep, liquid brown eyes, his long slender body.
She hardly knew him, but she wanted him, she wanted him really bad. Running
her eyes down his body she wished to know what it felt like in her arms, her
eyes coming to rest on his hands in his lap. She wondered what it would
be like to hold those hands. Just the way he sat on the sofa was
something to behold she thought.
“I think I’ll take you up on that offer. A home cooked meal sounds
wonderful,” Frank said smiling at her. “Is there anything you need to do
before leaving? Do you have to wait for them?” he said referring to
Roxanne’s friends.
Shaking her head no, Roxanne answered, “No, I’m free to leave whenever I
want. We can leave now if you want.”
“Okay, there are just a few things I need to do,” Frank said rising,
stretching, rubbing the small of his back.
Before
they left he said something to his road manager, packed up his guitar and
grabbed a canvas shoulder bag that had been sitting on the counter below the
mirror. He also pulled on the sheepskin jacket, which had been hanging on
the coat rack. On the inside the fleece was left in tact, making it
rather fluffy. On Frank it swallowed up his frame from his shoulders to
just above his knees, leaving his lower legs sticking out like twigs.
Roxanne had to admit it looked rather funny, but it was probably soft and
wonderfully warm.
“So, are you parked nearby?” Frank inquired as they walked to the back
door of the theatre.
“Yeah, just down the street a ways, in an empty lot,” she said stepping out the
back door.
Outside it had grown even colder and it seemed the wind had died down, but
again it could be the buildings blocking it. On the still air Frank’s hot
breath hung glittering like a million tiny diamonds, minute droplets of
condensation. As they walked around the theatre, back out to the
sidewalk, Frank reached out and took hold of Roxanne’s hand. Normally it
would have felt cold, but on a night as chilly as that is felt warm. The
feeling of it made her shiver with ecstasy, her fingers brushed over its back
felling the tendons, bones and fine hair. As they strolled past the front
of the theatre they met up with Mary who was leaving with Motorhead and some of
the roadies.
“You lucky dog!” Mary called.
Roxanne just stuck out her tongue, Frank smiling right beside her as they
continued walking. To Frank she added, “He’d- Motorhead and the others-
better be careful, Mary is a man eater. She chews them up and spits them
out.”
“He needs it,” Frank grinned, squeezing her hand. “He gets off on girls
who bite hard.”
The lot where Roxanne had parked now stood completely empty save for her yellow
VW beetle, glinting in the tangerine glow from the street lamps. High in
the sky hung, but its silvery light was over powered by those of the city, the
ones man’s hand placed there. Digging through her bag with her free hand
Roxanne felt her fingers come into contact with the cool steel of the keys.
“Here we are,” she said pulling them from her bag.
“Thankfully! It’s so friggin’ cold out here! Is it always so old
here?” Frank added, huddling against the wind that had returned once they
rounded the theatre.
“Most of the year,” she said unlocking the doors of her car. “From the
end of September to about the middle of May… You know, in about three weeks
there will be snow…sometime before Thanks Giving. Would you like to put
that in the back?” She questioned referring to Frank’s guitar.
“Yes,” he answered.
Roxanne slid her seat forward and allowed Frank to place his guitar case on the
rear seat. Following that both of them climbed in the car, Frank
continuing to shiver as his body settled into the black vinyl seat, which was
cold as ice. He placed the bag he had been carrying on the floor between
his feet. As she stared the car Roxanne observed Frank’s knees almost
touched the dash, his legs were so long and slender.
“So, how far away from here do you live” he inquired once they were out on the
street.
“Not far, just on the other side of down town. At this time of night it
won’t take long to get there at all… I’m going to tell you now it’s not much,
but it’s comfortable enough for one person.”
Starring straight ahead Frank nodded; with the light pouring passenger side
window she could only see the silhouette of his profile. That of a lovely
young man with a halo of soft black curls, a prominent chin and nose, a nose
she had heard many call ugly but she did not mind. Roxanne found she
liked him just the way he was.
“When was the last time you ate?” Roxanne asked him, not wanting to be
over come by an awkward silence.
“Err… About noon, not long after I got here. I had a cheese burger at the
motel café.”
“The Skyline?” Roxanne questioned, curious as to where he was staying.
He nodded again, “It’s a nice place, better than a Holiday Inn, although I
haven’t been around there much.”
Momentarily his eyes met hers, full with that knowing look. A lightening
bolt shot from her heart throughout her being all the way to her
fingertips. Roxanne still had a difficult time believing that Frank was
there, sitting in her car right next to her, that he was smiling at her. It
was hard to tell if she were just dreaming, that she would wake up and it would
be over. Frank’s hand on her arm brought her back into the physical world
and alerted her again that this was in fact really quite real.
“Oh, sorry,” she said, “I was just thinking of some things.”
“That’s okay… Does your car have a heater?”
“Yeah, it’s on now, it just doesn’t work that good… I guess when you live here
you just get use to the cold.”
Frank pulled his jacket more snugly about him, in vain to try and block out
some of the chill. Little did her know they were almost to Roxanne’s
apartment. It was only a block away; the street they were driving down
was lined on both sides with brick and stone, turn of the century
buildings. On the ground floors were shops; all of them closed, above
them on the second, third and sometimes fourth floors lights were on in the
windows where people resided. In the block Roxanne drove into the alley
behind of those buildings and stopped the car.
“Here we are. I live on the third floor of this building,” she announced.
“Who’s on the second floor?” Frank asked stumbling from the tiny car.
“Office shmucks… It’s offices for the insurance company on the first floor,”
she said. “I’m lucky enough not to have any neighbors. By the end
of the day I’m so sick of people I could barf!”
Around the front of the building Roxanne led Frank through a heavy wood door
with a frosted glass panel, on the outside it was painted red on the inside a
natural dark brown. The door opened miniscule entryway, the green tile
floor littered with leaves blown in from outside. That led up to a dark,
narrow stairway that twisted in the middle at a landing and continued up.
Roxanne began the ascent trailed by Frank, the soles of their platform shoes
thudding resonantly on the wooden stairs, echoing harshly off all the hard
surfaces the plaster walls with their yellow paint, the dark wainscoting waist high.
At the top landing there stood two doors, one of which lead into
Roxanne’s apartment, the other onto the roof of the neighboring building.
With her keys she unlocked the doorknob and the two deadbolts.
“This is Detroit,” she noticed Frank seemed to be growing a little impatient
waiting for her.
Unlocked the door swung into a velvety black room, the only light filtering
though the diaphanous curtains. Feeling along the wall just inside
Roxanne located the light switch and above their heads on came a light with a
white glass shade. The surrounding room was bathed in the soft yellow
essence of artificial light. It illuminated one large rectangular room;
just to the left was the door into a small bathroom, the only other room in the
apartment.
“As I told you, it’s not much,” Roxanne stated taking off her coat, hanging it
on the rack by the door. “Feel free to make yourself at home.”
Glancing about Frank shrugged off his jacket and hung it next to Roxanne’s.
Crouching down he untied his shoes then fell back on his bottom on the edge of
the doormat so he could take them off. Roxanne went around the small
apartment turning lights on, a silver art deco floor lamp in the front of the
room with white glass shades with red tinting. There stood a tattered
eggplant colored sofa and a brown corduroy armchair. In the center of the
room was a double bed with an iron frame painted off white, a chenille quilt
draped over it, yellow with red and orange flowers on it. At the foot a
large yellow cat slumbered peacefully, unfazed by his owners return and her
guest. Located at the back of the room was the kitchen, most of it taken
up by a drop leaf table with an enamel top and wood legs, surrounded by mismatched
chairs.
“Would you like to have dinner now?” she questioned opening the door of the
fulsome white refrigerator, a 1940s affair with a massive chrome latch.
“If you want you can take a bath now. I don’t have a shower, just a
bathtub.”
“Lets eat now. I’m starving,” Frank said climbing to his feet coming into
the kitchen, sitting down at the table in a chair with a white wooden frame and
a padded black vinyl seat.
“Is there anything that you would like?” she questioned still standing with the
refrigerator door open.
He shrugged, coughing into his wrist. The whole evening he had been
coughing off and on, not a smoker’s cough but the sort that came with a cold
and a heavy chest. The fit of coughing was followed by him wiping his
nose on the back of his wrist. He seemed to be developing or getting over
a cold. “Excuse me,” he said. “I just can’t seem to get over this
cold.”
Roxanne nodded staring into the bare refrigerator; she had forgotten she had
not bought groceries that week. Tonight she had finally received and
cashed her check and finally had the money to do so. Inside there was
only some pickles, a block of cheddar cheese, cartons of milk and orange juice,
mustard, ketchup, butter and a bottle of hot sauce, not much. “Would
grilled cheese sandwiches be okay?”
“Sure, I don’t mind. The cheese will probably help clear up my shits,”
Frank said, a grin spreading across his rosy lips. “May I have a apple
while I’m waiting?”
“Go ahead,” Roxanne answered. “They’re fresh, right off the tree.”
From the blue, glass bowl at the center of the table Frank took a green apple
and rubbed it on the front of his overalls to remove the dirt. As he bit
into it the large yellow cat who was sleeping on the bed awoke, stretched and
jumped down onto the floor. He slunk over by Frank and began rubbing
against his legs, stopping every once and awhile to look up at that stranger
and meow. When the cat tired of that he hopped up on the table and began
sniffing the apple Frank held in his hand, most of its smooth, green skin
chewed away.
Turning away from the stove, Roxanne shouted, “Tweezer! Get down!
I’m sorry, he always does that when someone has food, he has to go check it out
even if it’s something he doesn’t like.”
Deterred by Roxanne’s loud voice Tweezer the cat jumped off the table and hid
beneath a chair. From underneath he peeked, waiting for an opportunity
when he felt it was safe to come out.
“He was okay,” Frank said taking another bite from his apple, licking his upper
lip hidden behind his thick mustache.
“Well… I’ve been trying to teach him to stay down and he just doesn’t seen to
get it,” Roxanne said as she sliced up cheese for the sandwiches. “Do you
want more than one sandwich?”
“Err… I think I could eat two,” Frank answered leaning down so Tweezer could
sniff his hand.
Seeing that the stranger meant no harm he crept from beneath the chair and came
to rub against the palm of Frank’s hand. Frank stroked the cat’s back and
he arched against his hand, purring wanting more. Becoming so relaxed
Tweezer flopped down on his side and Frank scratched his ears and chin.
“Do you have a cat at home?” she questioned, getting the dishes from the tall
white cabinet with panes of glass in the doors on the left side of the kitchen.
“Yeah, an ill tempered Siamese named Gorgonzola, called Gorgo for short,” Frank
answered then finished the last of his apple. “But…I love her
nonetheless.”
“Aww, Gorgonzola!” she laughed setting a pale green plate before Frank along
with a napkin with a green paisley print on it.
“It’s from a music I was writing… Gorgonzola was one of the characters,” he
replied as Tweezer continued to purr and buff against his ankles. “The
movie was going to be called Captain Beefheart Versus The Grunt People, but
like most everything else I do, no one took any interest.”
“That’s too bad.”
“You don’t need to feel bad… I’ve moved on to other things,” he sighed bringing
his chin to rest in his hand.
“Do you know what you want to drink? I have water, orange juice and milk,
I’m sorry I don’t have anything else.”
.
“Orange juice will be fine, I’m trying to get over this fuckin’ cold,” he said
coughing again.
Hearing the way he was wheezing she was feeling sorry for him again, she wished
she had some soup to make for him. At that thought she remembered there
could be a can of stashed away in the cabinet. Getting down on her knees
Roxanne opened the bottom doors of the cabinet and shuffled through the few
cans sitting on the shelf. Several of them were peas and corn then in the
back corner a can of chicken soup with a peeling label.
“Would you like some soup too? I have a can of it here and it might make
you feel better,” Roxanne questioned holding up the can.
“Sure,” he answered wiping his nose on his wrist again.
Opening the can she poured it in a pot and lit another burner on the
stove. After adding the water and stirring it she put it on the stove,
then went to the bathroom to get a box of tissues for Frank. Him wiping
his nose on his wrist like a child was really beginning to bother her.
All the while she was out of the room he continued to cough, loudly, almost
sonorously.
“Here,” she said dropping the box of tissues on the table beside him.
As she walked away she ran a hand over his broad shoulders, her fingers coming
into contact with his long black ponytail hanging down in the back. She
could feel his warmth through his thermal top, this silky strands of hair sent
chills through her body. He shot her those knowing eyes once more as she
made her way to the stove to check the soup and sandwiches. It did not
take long for her to make the sandwiches or for the soup to cook. When
both were finished she put the sandwiches on Frank’s and her plates and pulled
two jade green bowls form the cupboard and filled them with soup.
“Thank you,” Frank said as she set the bowl before him.
“I’m sorry I didn’t have anything better,” Roxanne said filling two glasses
with orange juice. “I just got paid today and still have to get
groceries… After I pay the rent. I’m sure the food at the motel is
much better than this.”
“It’s fine. Anyway if it weren’t for you I wouldn’t have eaten
tonight. I probably would’ve been able to eat again until noon
tomorrow. I seem to sleep through breakfast every morning I don’t have to
be up early.”
“Okay,” Roxanne sighed, settling down in the chair nearest to Frank, to the
right of the head of the table. “I guess something is better than
nothing…especially when you’re getting over being sick.”
Frank gnawed his way through both his sandwiches ravenously, only pausing for a
sip of orange juice now and then. Roxanne had cut them across diagonally
and each half seemed to disappear quite promptly behind Frank’s mustache.
As she quietly ate her own sandwich she wondered how he could eat with than
thing on his face. His mustache grew down to completely concealing his
upper lip and was dragged through any food he placed in his mouth; at the
moment there were fine strands of melted cheese and breadcrumbs trapped in
it. Only when he liberally wiped his mouth with his napkin did it remove
any of the detritus. He was interesting to watch as well Roxanne observed,
when he chewed his thin face was filled out by the food in his mouth. His
hands were gorgeous; she watched them as he lifted his sandwich up for another
bite and while he held his spoon eating his soup. They were long, slender
and graceful, the nails tripped to the quick, but neatly so. Fine black
hair grew on his wrists over the backs of his hands and fingers, in the strong
light from the lamp overhead it shown.
There was something really exotic about him Roxanne though, glancing from him
to the hibiscus sitting in the bay window on the other end of the
apartment. It was in full bloom, filled with vivid flowers as red as
molten iron. Hibiscuses were more exotic than roses, although roses
seemed to be more favored. Frank was a hibiscus among men, of a different
sort of beauty, one that was not as widely favored as others.
As she had noticed earlier his lovely black hair contrasted sharply with his
light skin, during the summer if he spent sometime in the sun he could become
quite swarthy; but now he was a real soft rosy pink. His eyes were of
otherworldly beauty, large, golden brown, they had the ability to go from icy
cold to warm and innocent, she had witnessed both that evening. They were
fringed with black extravagantly long lashes; above he had heavy black
eyebrows. All of it, framed by the stray dark curls of his bangs and
those to short or come loose from his ponytail created a lovely image.
“So, what do you do? I don’t think I’ve asked yet, have I?” Frank had
slowed down eating, he had moved onto his soup.
Sighing, setting down her spoon Roxanne said, “I work in a department store, at
the makeup and jewellery counter.”
Nodding Frank said, “I take it that you don’t like it, do you?”
“I hate it!” Roxanne exclaimed. “I hate what I do, I hate my boss,
I hate the customers. Before I didn’t have a high opinion of the human
race, not it’s even lower… Wow, twenty-three and already jaded.”
“Hey, I don’t blame you. I think it’s a good thing to know how fuckin’
stupid people are. The younger you are when you know that the
better. It seems this city has its share of stupid people,” Frank said,
afterward slurping up some soup and noodles. “Did all those riots a few
years ago get anyone anywhere?”
Roxanne shook her head, “No, a load of people were killed and half the city
burned.”
“And you had to pay for it with your taxes. That civil disobedience gets
society nowhere. So, what do you really want to do?”
“I was going to film school at a local university but I was forced to quit
because I couldn’t afford tuition. My mom is one of those backwards
people who thinks girls don’t need an education, they can just become a
secretary or do what I’m doing now, by the way she thinks I should be married
too,” She said rolling her eyes. “Anyway the reason I have this shitty
job is to save up money so I can go back to school next fall. I hope to
become a producer or a writer someday, but there are a lot of people out there
who don’t think I can do it because I’m a girl. I made my first film last
spring, at the end of my first year. Ironically enough it’s about stupid
people. I went around campus and around the city and filmed them… The
best is drunk guy barfing on a car.”
Listening attentively Frank asked, “Could you show it to me?”
“I’m sorry, I wish I could, but I don’t have a projector,” Roxanne
replied. “I have the film right on my bookshelf… You know, I wish I
could afford my own camera and editing equipment right now… Maybe I
should just save up for that instead of school, you don’t need a degree to make
films… I don’t know.”
“Whatever you decide I’m sure you are gonna do it,” Frank said giving her those
knowing eyes again, smiling slightly. After that he finished the last of
his soup, drinking it right from the bowl. “Thank you,” he added.
“You’re welcome. I’m glad I was able to help you out. Would you
like a cup of coffee and some cookies?” Roxanne questioned climbing to her
feet, clearing the dishes from the table putting them in the sink.
“Yes, I would,” Frank answered standing and stretching. “Although I think
the cookies can wait. My stomach needs to settle.”
He went over to his coat hanging on the rack by the door and pulled his pack of
cigarettes from the pocket. On this way back to the kitchen table he
paused and looked at some pictures adorning the front of the white refrigerator
and a small bulletin board that sat atop a small cupboard. They were
photos that had been sent to Roxanne by a friend and various photos Roxanne had
taken herself.
“Who’s the girl?” asked Frank
leaning into take a closer look at some of them. “She looks like she’s in
London.”
“That’s my best friend Lori, she moved to England towards the end of this past
summer. She met Jimmy Page, fell in love and ran away with him.
He’s from Led Zeppelin you know,” Roxanne said as she started the coffee on the
burner of the stove.
Frank nodded, “I’ve heard of Led Zeppelin, but I don’t know much about them or
Jimmy Page. She must really like him though.
“She loves him… She’s such a lucky girl.”
“She wasn’t part of that group of girls backstage tonight, was she?”
“No, not really, the only way she knows them is through me,” Roxanne said
getting cups and saucers out of the cupboard. “You know, the last time I
talked to her was nearly three months ago, when she was in New York the night
before she left. We write letters back and forth all the time and send
pictures so we can see each other and what’s going on.”
“You know, now that I think about it, Jimmy Page was hanging around my place
last year and was after Miss Pamela one of the GTOs… I’m sure you know who they
are,” Frank answered. “I never talked to him at all, but the girls seemed
to like Jimmy.”
“Yeah, I know who the GTOs are, Mary the tall redhead who was there tonight
talks about them all the time,” she said checking on the coffee. “If you
don’t mind, I would like to take some pictures of you sometime.”
“I don’t care,” Frank settled back down on the chair at the table and pulled
the last cigarette from the package he held. “I don’t even understand why
anyone would want a picture of me… I’m ugly.”
“No you’re not! I think you are quite the opposite,” Roxanne stated
mustering up the bravery to run a hand over his cheek.
Her fingers landed above his cheekbone and followed the curve of his cheek
down, brushing against one of his sideburns, the five o’clock shadow making
itself present. Her thumb came into contact with his chin, rubbing the
patch of black hair growing there. All the while her heart pounding in
her ears, when his eyes met hers Roxanne began feeling faint, the breath sucked
from her chest. Frank’s hand came to rest on her arm and his eyes
closed. She wanted to run a finger over his fringe of black lashes but
could not bring herself to do it, yet. Parting Frank smiled slightly, a
pleasant smile, half of his moustache lifting on one side. Stepping back
Roxanne noticed that the coffee was more than finished, she turned off the
burner and set the pot on the table. She also went and grabbed her
cigarettes and lighter from her bag.
“Err…would you like any sugar or milk in your coffee? I don’t have any
cream at the moment,” she inquired trying to overcome the slight awkwardness of
the preceding moment.
“A little sugar would be fine,” Frank confirmed.
Taking the sugar from the back of the cabinet Roxanne said, “I’m just going to
put this on the table.”
Sitting back down she poured herself a cup of coffee and lit up a cigarette of
her own. Frank helped himself, blowing out a cloud of smoke, examining it
as it swirled and looped in the light above the table. From under the bed
Tweezer padded softly, he rubbed against Frank’s ankles then jumped onto one of
the empty chairs around the table. Outside the apartment everything was
silent, no distant sirens or trains thundering down the nearby tracks.
According to the clock on the stove it was half past midnight.
Frank became the first to disrupt the almost deafening quiescence, “You
wouldn’t mind if we went and sat on the sofa? I can’t feel my ass anymore
and my back hurts.”
“No, not at all,” Roxanne answered, rising gathering up her cup of coffee, the
coffee pot and her pack of cigarettes.
She had to admit to herself that sitting on the sofa did sound great, it
sounded wonderful. Leaving the kitchen she switched off the light above
the table, plunging half of the apartment into darkness. With the
darkness she realized how tired she actually was, she had been up since seven
o’clock and had worked all day. She also wondered about Frank, would he
want to go back to his motel or would he spend the night there. There was
no way of predicting what he would want. He had already settled down on
the far end of the tattered purple sofa and was finishing his cup of coffee.
“Would you like some more?” she questioned sitting down beside him.
“Yes please… This is really good coffee by the way,” he said setting his
cup on the table so she could refill it with more of the back liquid.
“Thank you,” he added before bring it back up to his mouth.
Tweezer jumped on the back of the sofa, starting to purr all over again.
He lied down behind their heads and made an attempt at grooming Roxanne’s
straight dark hair like he always did. Tiring of that he went over to
examine the stranger who had come into his house. Inching his way along
the back Tweezer buried his muzzle in Frank’s hair and tried to groom him, but
the long hairs only became caught on his pink ribbon of a sandpaper
tongue. Reaching behind his head, Frank scratched the cat’s ears, smiling
slightly. That intrigued Tweezer enough to decide he liked his intruder
and he slipped down on Frank’s shoulders.
Jumping up Roxanne went and grabbed her camera out of the tall, dark oak
wardrobe that stood opposite of the foot of the bed, “you don’t mind if I
take a picture of Tweezer and you, do you?”
Frank shook his head no; as he leaned down to knock his cigarette on the
overflowing green ashtray, carefully balancing the cat on his shoulders as he
did so. Yet the large yellow cat did not like that and slid from Frank’s
shoulders like a sack of beans, dropping onto the sofa beside him.
Disappointed Roxanne came back to the sofa and sat back down. She thought
about springing the question, now was just as good a time than any other.
It would help settle some of the nerves stirring in the pit of her stomach, or
so she thought. A simple question, did he care to stay for the night or
return to his motel. He had received what he had originally come for, or
so it seemed to her.
“Err… So, would you like to go back to your motel or… or would you like
to spend the night here?” Roxanne inquired, biting her lip; glad she had
been able to get all the words out. They flowed from her lips like
crystal water in a stream trickling over rocks.
Making eyes with her, he licked his lips, a flash of wet pink tongue, getting
ready to speak. The look in his eyes was the same one he had been giving
her all night, it was knowing with a devious glint, innocent but not, in all
hard to read. Inside the electric tingling that had plagued her all day
was raging, radiating from the center of her chest all the way to her
fingertips. It was a feeling that was hard to place, hard to name, a mix
of emotions accompanied by a physical sensation. The emotion she
experienced was nameless as well. Frank was holding Tweezer in his lap
listening to her and watching her intently.
“I’d like to stay,” he replied smiling, a large grin of crooked white teeth,
cuddling Tweezer against his chest. “If you don’t mind that is.”
“I don’t at all, I was secretly wishing you’d want to,” Roxanne said being
overcome by overwhelming waves of excitement.
“Well… It does get lonely on the road,” he added. “And I really liked it
when you put your hand on my face,” he stroked Tweezer’s back causing the large
yellow cat to purr. “Of course I want to stay, you don’t look like a toad
like the girl was after me in Chicago!”
Laughing Roxanne aimed her camera and snapped a photo of Frank cuddling with
her cat. If it turned out it would make a nice picture, one worthy of
sending to her friend. Tweezer squirmed free of Frank’s grasp and bounded
across the room, taking shelter beneath a potted fern beside the blocked and long
unused fireplace, which now was home to Roxanne’s TV.
“So, the girl really did look like a toad?” she giggled.
“Uhh huh,” Frank smiled pulling his feet up on the sofa, folding his legs in
front of him. “She had warts all over her face, bugged out eyes and a
mouth like this,” he said grabbing his cheeks, stretching out his mouth opening
his eyes freakishly wide, a horrid looking face.
Roxanne started laughing so hard she was almost choking. When Frank added
a ridiculous voice to it she doubled over, almost falling off the sofa.
“Hi! I’m Janice! I’m like your biggest fan! Would you sign my
tits! Will you pretty please take me back to your motel room, I really
need to fuck someone!” he screeched in a high nasal voice. Then is face
went serious, “I’m sure she was on something, she was really fucked up.
Or she was really that stupid…who knows? I signed her tits though, then
the roadies got their hands on her.”
“Wow!” Roxanne laughed.
“I run into those sorts of people nearly everyday, but hey, at least its cheap
and entertaining,” he said. “They can give you inspiration as well.”
When her laugher subsided Roxanne asked, “So, would you like some cookies now…now
that all the coffee is gone? Sorry I didn’t ask sooner. They’re
snicker doodles.”
“Yes, I would,” he answered. “Come here a moment,” he added.
Scooting nearer to Frank, he placed an arm about her then leaned in close, his
nose only mere millimeters from her cheek. Roxanne could feel his hot
breath on her face. Lightly his lips met hers; she could feel his
mustache tickling her face. Before parting he lingered awhile, his hand
creeping up her back meeting with her long hair. Leaning back he smiled
and shot her those eyes. Roxanne did not know how to even respond, she
grinned dumbfoundedly then rose to get the cookies from the kitchen.
Returning she carried a plate wrapped in tin foil. As it was removed it
revealed a small heap of light brown cookies topped with a dusting of cinnamon
and sugar. Frank helped himself to three of them, Roxanne grabbed two.
Sitting back down she yawned, “I don’t know about you, but after this I need to
go to bed. I’m just going to take a bath in the morning. You don’t
want one do you?”
Taking a bite from one of the cookies Frank shook his head no, “I need to get
to bed too,” he said. “A bath can wait… By the way these cookies are
amazing. I haven’t had snicker doodles in a long time.”
“Thank you,” she answered. “So, do you want to sleep on the sofa or in
the bed? I don’t even know why the hell I’m asking.”
Frank winked and continued to munch on his cookies. Underneath the
hibiscus plant Tweezer seemed to be attempting to climb in the pot, or trying
to get something out of it. Out of the corner of her eye Roxanne saw him
and jumped up, if left to his own devices Tweezer would have surely tipped the
plant over ruining it. Roxanne snatched the squirming cat up and set him
atop the back of the sofa behind Frank’s head. Yet in that process one of
the vibrant red blooms was knocked from the plant. Gingerly Roxanne
picked up the fallen flower.
“Sorry,” she apologized as she passed Frank, stopping to tuck the bloom amongst
his jet curls. “Tweezer can be a butt sometimes.”
Without words he screwed up his face trying to see the hibiscus Roxanne had
placed in his hair. Lifting his hand, his fingers met it, then his face
took on a look of pure disgust, “What’s with this hippy shit?”
“Oh no… Don’t take it out!” Roxanne exclaimed focusing her camera on
Frank. “Don’t think of it as hippy. Think of it as tropical or
something, you’re a hula girl.”
Quickly she snapped several photos of him hopping one of them captured the
smirk that appeared on his face only momentarily.
“Okay, you can take it out.”
Frank
pulled the flower from his curls and tossed it on the table in front of the
sofa; a large spool that wire had once been wrapped around. Roxanne’s
last boyfriend had taken from a construction sight and when they broke up and
she moved out of his apartment, she took it along with all the furniture, which
was hers to begin with. Smiling again Frank slipped an arm around
Roxanne’s shoulders and pulled her tight against him. She could easily
feel the warmth of his body against her own. Thinking of her ex made her
wish Frank could stay with her forever, then maybe the world would not be such
a terrible place. Her eyes traveling up to his face she took in his
features, his well defined, rather angular features. She also noticed
there were strings of melted cheese and crumbs stuck in his moustache.
“Here, you have something here,” Roxanne said picking the bits of food out of
his moustache.
“It has a tendency to pick things up like that,” Frank answered running his
fingers over it, smoothing it down. “Thank you though.”
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