3. Frankie
THREE
frankie
Frankie stops in the driveway. She and Ed have just walked out the door and are about to get into the car, but he’s said something that catches her so off-guard that she has to stop the clicking of her heels against the cement driveway so she can make sure that she actually heard him correctly.
“You’re what?” she says. “I don’t understand.” Frankie shakes her head, shifting her weight from one foot to the other on her black high-heeled shoes. She’s wearing a fitted bodice black lace dress with a flared skirt, and clutching a hot pink purse under one arm. She tilts her head and looks at Ed. “Why would you go to Seattle, of all places?”
Ed’s shoulders droop ever so slightly. It’s not dark yet, but the sun is rapidly disappearing, and the warm December evening settles around them as he looks at his wife imploringly. A million unspoken words pass between them as he silently begs for her understanding. “I wanted to get to the restaurant before I told you, because it’s definitely a cause for celebration—there’s nothing to be upset or worried about. It’s a huge honor, Frank.”
Frankie knows instantly why he’d spilled the beans before they could slide into a banquette at the Italian restaurant she loves in downtown Stardust Beach: he doesn’t want her to have a meltdown in public. Not that she would; Frankie isn’t given to giant public displays of emotion. However, she knows that her moods can swing quite wildly, and that her inability to open up to her husband can sometimes feel like a fast track to losing him. And Frankie can’t lose Ed.
“But…a month? Or more?” Unbidden, Frankie’s eyes fill with tears. She doesn’t want to cry and ruin their evening together, but it’s almost Christmas, and her husband is telling her that he’s about to leave her alone in Florida for at least a month. “I’m sorry. I’m happy for you, sweetheart,” she says, correcting herself as quickly as she can. Frankie steps right up to him and slides her hands across his chest as she looks up at her handsome husband. “I truly am. We’ll figure this out. I promise.”
And she is happy for him. Frankie is terribly proud of him for being chosen to take part in a special project, but her initial response is disappointing—even to her. She takes a few long, slow, fortifying breaths to pull herself together.
“I was thinking,” Ed says, softening a bit as Frankie presses her warm body up to his right there in the driveway. “I mean, I had a thought,” he says, shifting nervously as he puts his hands on both sides of her waist. “Maybe your mom could come down for an extended stay? Or both your parents? I know you wanted them to visit anyway, and it might be the perfect time for you to entertain them and show them around Florida. It could really make the time pass for you while I’m gone.”
Frankie’s initial tears dry up right away. “My parents?” she says, considering it. “Well, that could be fun.” She looks over Ed’s shoulder at the string of holiday lights that their neighbor has wound around a short palm tree. “They keep asking when they can come to Florida.”
“See?” Ed’s face relaxes noticeably. “There’s a silver lining to this cloud.”
It takes everything in Frankie not to laugh out loud, because she knows that Ed would be thrilled to have her parents’ extended visit happen when he’s not there. It isn’t that he doesn’t like Enzo and Allegra Lombardi, but he was raised in a distinctly middle class American household, whereas Frankie grew up as the first generation American child of a pair of Italian immigrants. Enzo and Allegra are both loud, vivid characters with strong opinions that they aren’t afraid to share, and Ed’s parents are more of the strong but silent types. The Maxwells keep out of Ed and Frankie’s business, and their calls are infrequent and polite.
“My mom would love it here,” Frankie says. “The pool, the beach, the palm trees.” She tilts her head back and stands on tiptoes to kiss her husband. “That’s a wonderful idea to have them come visit.”
Pleased, Ed kisses her back and then lets her go so that he can open the car door for his wife. “Should we go and have some linguini and spumoni?”
Frankie laughs. Ed is obsessed with spumoni. “Sure,” she says. “We can have spumoni.”
Over the flickering candle in a red glass votive holder, Ed tells Frankie all about the way that Arvin North called him in and pitched the trip to Seattle.
“Oooh,” Frankie says appreciatively, trying her hardest to keep a cheerful gleam in her eye even though she’s still a little sad about him leaving. “That’s amazing.”
Ed spares no detail about the things Mr. North said, or the way he wanted to make sure that Frankie would be okay with it, and she can’t help but be touched by his concern. As the wives of potential astronauts, they’ve all come to Stardust Beach knowing that a long separation from their husbands is a possibility, but the fact that Ed’s boss is worried that she might be lonely is a kindness that Frankie hasn’t expected.
“I’ll be fine with my parents here,” Frankie assures him. The waiter, a young man who looks no more than eighteen or nineteen, stops with a bottle of red wine and offers to top them off. “Please,” Frankie says, looking up at him with just her dark eyes. Once the waiter has poured the wine and left them alone again, Frankie leans forward across the table. “Listen,” she says quietly, waiting for Ed to make eye contact with her. “We came here with a goal in mind, and I’m going to make sure that you get to the moon.”
Ed is watching her, and a look of pride flickers over his face. “Thanks for being my girl, Francesca,” he says as he reaches for her hand. She takes it, her fingers brushing over the big class ring that Ed wears on his right hand.
“We’ve got this.” Frankie ignores the feeling of tears pricking at the back of her eyes again. She will not cry. She will not . Frankie is resolute about one thing and one thing only: she will make sure Ed has her support.
She might not be able to give him everything he wants or needs, but she can give him this.
NASA has gone above and beyond for the Christmas party at Cape Kennedy on December twenty-first: they’ve taken one of the hangars and made it into a winter wonderland, with a three-piece band on a stage at one end, and giant, glittering, fabricated snowflakes hanging from the twenty-five foot high ceilings. The overhead lights are off, and a special bank of colored lights dance through the hangar, catching on bits of glitter and sending off rainbow sparks as handsomely dressed couples slow dance to the musical stylings of the Martin Marr trio. At present, the band is playing “White Christmas” as Arvin North extends a hand to his wife with a serious look on his face. Betty North, a surprisingly statuesque woman with a sharp dyed-black bob and bright eyes, accepts his hand with a smile.
“This is something, isn’t it?” Jo asks over the sound of the band. Frankie nods. She’s holding a glass of champagne in one hand as she watches Ed and the other men laugh and shoot the bull just a few feet away.
“It’s quite a party,” Frankie agrees. She’s chosen a white taffeta dress for the occasion, and the layers of fabric have individual silver sequins sewn in throughout. Each one twinkles like little stars as the lights sweep over the women. “Hey, Joey-girl,” Frankie says, sipping her champagne. “Have I told you the good news yet?”
“About Ed? I heard from Bill—congratulations!” Jo reaches over and puts a hand on Frankie’s arm. “I’m so happy for him.”
Frankie can see by the look on her friend’s face that she is happy for Ed. It would be so easy for a woman to harbor ill-will about something like this, wishing it were her own husband who’d been chosen for a special project, but in the months that Frankie and Jo have been friends, Frankie has come to believe that Jo is not the kind of girl who covets what others have or gives in to a base emotion like envy.
“Thanks, Jo.” Frankie puts both hands to the champagne glass and looks at the liquid as bubbles dance to the top. When she finally turns her gaze back to Jo, she’s smiling. “But the real good news is that while he’s gone, my parents are coming down from New York. They’ll stay with me the whole month.”
“Wow!” Jo’s grin widens. “That’s wonderful news. I hope I get to meet them.”
“I’m sure you will. My mom cooks more food than the three of us will be able to eat in a year, much less a month, so I’ll make sure to invite you over for lasagna or something.”
“I bet she’s a fabulous cook.” Jo tilts her head to one side. Her hair has been set and is brushed into a soft style that gathers at the nape of her neck. Jo is wearing sparkling diamond studs in each earlobe, and—true to form—a dress that she made herself, though you might not guess just from looking at it. Jo is an amazing seamstress, and in the time that they’ve known one another, Frankie has grown to admire the way Jo can take a pattern and turn it into a dress that looks as if she bought it off the rack.
“She is, and I think they’ll have a good time here. They’ve worked hard for a lot of years, and I want my parents to relax.” Frankie’s brow creases as she thinks of her parents and the lives they’ve led. They are true immigrants who came to this country with nothing but a strong work ethic and a desire to survive and thrive, and they've raised a beautiful family and given their children lives they could have only dreamed of for themselves. “They came to America in 1913, lived through the Great Depression, raised four children on almost nothing, and they deserve to sit in the sun and splash in the ocean now.”
Jo’s eyes search Frankie’s face as she listens. “Where are all your siblings? In New York?’
“My sisters are in New Jersey,” Frankie says, “and my brother is in California.” She smiles as she thinks of her sisters and their kids and husbands; leaving New York had been necessary for Frankie, but leaving her family behind had hit her right in the heart. “It’ll take some adjustment to get used to living under the same roof as my mom and dad again, but it’s just a month. And it’ll give me something to do while Ed is gone.”
“Hey,” Ed says, swooping in and putting an arm around Frankie’s waist. He kisses her lightly on the cheek and she can smell whiskey on his breath. “Can I get a dance with my best girl?”
“Same here,” Bill Booker says, holding out a hand for Jo, just as Arvin North has done to his own wife. The women follow their husbands to the dance floor, where they join the crush of other couples swaying lightly to “(There’s No Place Like) Home For the Holidays.”
“You look stunning,” Ed says for the sixth time since Frankie had emerged from their bedroom dressed for the holiday party. He’s looking deep into her eyes as he holds her hand in his lightly, his other hand resting on the small of her back. “I’m the luckiest guy here tonight.”
Frankie can’t help but be flattered; after all, Ed is her husband, and she knows plenty of women who would kill to have the man they married acknowledge the effort that they put into looking nice.
“Thank you,” Frankie says, not pulling her eyes from his as she smiles at her husband. “You look pretty damn good yourself.”
And he does look good: Ed is dressed in a black tux and bow tie, and his shoes are shined so that they catch the light as they dance. Ed is the kind of man she’d always hoped she’d end up with, but there are moments—just very small windows that close as quickly as they’ve opened—when Frankie wonders if, deep down, Ed is the same as all the other men she's known: flatterers. Insincere opportunists. People who want something from her that she isn’t sure she wants to give. He's never shown himself to be this way, but so many of them are, that she's got to wonder if maybe they all just hide it from their wives.
Frankie shakes her head gently to knock this thought from her mind. Ed is not insincere, and he is not asking her to compromise herself in any way. This is your husband, you fool , she reprimands herself as she leans in closer, putting her chin on Ed’s shoulder so that she can look out at the other couples as they dance. This man would never hurt you—he’s only vowed to love and protect you .
Frankie knows these things are true. She does. She has never felt unsafe in Ed’s arms, not even for a moment, but she can’t help the thoughts from creeping into her mind sometimes, and she can’t stop the way her mind flashes back to the ways that men who aren’t her husband have hurt her.
“You okay, Frankie?” Ed asks, his lips warm against her ear lobe as he speaks. “You feel tense.”
Frankie takes a deep breath and relaxes as she watches her other women friends smiling and talking to their own husbands as they dance. Carrie and Jay are over by the makeshift bar, arms around one another as she tells a story animatedly; Barbie and Todd are dancing and looking peaceful and happy with one another; Jude and Vance are dancing, but he looks distant and she’s hanging on him a bit too heavily; and Jo and Bill are close by, talking softly as Bill leads them. They look as if they’ve taken lessons to be as in step as they are.
“I’m fine,” Frankie says evenly. “I was just thinking of my parents arriving tomorrow, and about the things I need to do when we get home tonight.”
“Baby, you’re fine,” Ed assures her. “Your parents love you, and they won’t mind if you haven’t vacuumed lines into the carpet before they get here.”
Frankie gives a hmph . “You don’t know Allegra Lombardi like I do,” she says. “My mother will storm through the door and give me a stern talking-to if she thinks I’m not keeping the house the way she would.”
Ed can’t help laughing. “Wow, my mother would never do that.”
Frankie pulls back so that she can look him in the eye. “Of course she wouldn’t,” she says flatly. “You’re a man. No mother is going to come over and tell her son that he isn’t keeping a nice house. You know what she’ll do instead?” Frankie doesn’t wait for his answer. “She’ll tell every woman she knows that her son is married to a tramp who can’t pick up a mop or a duster.”
Ed laughs again. “No way. My mom wouldn’t do that.”
Frankie arches an eyebrow. “If you think your mom hasn’t already told your sister exactly what I’m not doing right, then you don’t know women at all.” Ed looks dubious, but Frankie knows she’s right. “Anyway,” she says with a sigh, “I want to make sure the house looks good. I need to start this visit off right, and trust me when I say that I know what my mother will expect when she walks in the door.”
Ed acquiesces. “You would know better than I, my love.”
After the dancing and the champagne, there is a sit-down dinner that’s served at a series of round tables covered in white linen. The astronauts from various missions are all there with their pretty wives, and everyone looks happy and glittery in the candlelight as they laugh and clap along with the comedian who has been hired to entertain them. Dessert is miniature three-layer cakes for each person, and at the end of the night, the women all hug one another and wish each other Merry Christmas as they slip on mink shrugs and clutch beaded purses beneath their tanned arms.
“That was a lovely evening,” Frankie says to Ed as they drive through the darkened streets of Stardust Beach with the top down on his white Corvette. Above them, the stars glimmer against a navy blue sky, and the storefronts they pass are dark but ringed in colored holiday lights, as are the palm trees on the main street of town.
“It was nice,” Ed agrees, looking over at her as he puts his right hand on her thigh.
Frankie glances down at his hand. It’s resting there hopefully, posing a question that only she has the answer to. Her parents arrive tomorrow, and if she changes into her nightgown and turns her back to Ed, then they won’t be alone at all before he leaves for Seattle, and they won’t have an opportunity for any sort of private time. But if she steps out of her white dress and looks at him with any sort of invitation, they’ll make love, holding one another close as Frankie reminds herself how much he loves her.
The question of what she’ll do plays in her mind during the short drive, and once they’re in the house, Frankie sets her bag with its dainty pearl embroidery on the kitchen counter, turning on the light over the stove and locking all the doors and windows.
She walks back to the bedroom, where Ed has hung his tux in the closet. He puts his cuff links and watch away in the wooden box on top of their shared dresser.
Frankie doesn’t say a word, but she unzips her white dress, letting it fall to the floor as she steps over it. She’s standing there, looking at her husband’s strong back when he turns around to face her. Frankie’s heart flutters as Ed takes in her silver heels, her sheer white nylons, and the white lace of her bra, panties, and garter belt. She feels like a na?ve schoolgirl, and the nervousness in her belly echoes that of a blushing bride on her wedding night.
“Frank…” Ed whispers hoarsely. He looks afraid to reach out for her, but with only the slightest hesitation, he does.
Frankie swallows hard, looking at him there in his white t-shirt and boxers. She tears her eyes away from his body and drags them back up to his eyes. “Come here,” she whispers, holding out a hand for him to hold. She's going to do this, even though it's hard for her to still her mind and focus on the moment when they're together. She'll do this for Ed. For them. “Take me to bed.”