MadameFrankie by Stanley Bennett Clay

sticking it in his pocket. “We make
beautiful love together.”
    “I no just mean the lovemaking. And that is what it has
become to us, no? Not just sex. Lovemaking.”
    “Si, mi amor,” she agreed.
    “But what you have done for me over the years. Your
kindness. Your generosity. You have afforded me much, Francesca.”
    “Same here, Edgar.”
    “Yes. I try to make you as happy like you make me. But you
have also made me happy to be home owner.”
    “What?”
    “I buy a little house with money you give me over the
years.”
    “I’ve given you that much?”
    “Well you and the others, of course.”
    “Good for you, Edgar.”
    “Yes, mi amor . It truly is good for me. I just hope
it truly is good for you.”
    “It has been. It is.”
    “Truly?”
    “Truly.”
    “ Muchas gracias , Francesca.” He then kissed her again
before getting up and leaving.
    She sank back into the bed, happy, grateful and thankful.
She finally understood why Edgar never spent the night. He simply wanted what
she wanted. They had the freedom to love and make love with no strings
attached. They had the freedom to always want to come back for more. No
jealousies, no regrets, no expectations beyond their mutual needs. They had a
beautiful thing. They had wings and a nest to return to whenever they chose to.
    That night she slept like a baby.

Chapter Fifteen
     
    The trip to Santo Domingo was a rejuvenating experience for
both Frankie and Yvette. Each day and night in their island paradise, they were
made to feel like queens. Every unspoken command was obeyed, every secret
desire attended to, every want fulfilled. They had been rapturously serviced by
some of the most romantically profound and sexually gifted men on the planet.
    Yvette was like a kid in a candy store whose thirst for
sweets was unquenchable. She rarely saw the light of day. Sex so occupied her
nights, she had to spend her days recuperating, re-energizing and reloading for
the next round of nocturnal glee between the sheets.
    For Frankie, her days were filled with picnics on quiet,
virgin white beaches where Edgar fed her freshly cut mangos, bread, cheese,
wine and kisses. They parasailed over the aqua blue waters of the Caribbean and
shopped in marketplaces for pieces of amber and turquoise and silver trinkets
and whatnots.
    Their nights were promised to marathon rumbas and tangos and
foot-shuffling, hip-gyrating disco merengue. Then when the music ended, they
walked along sleepy cobblestone streets beneath the silent sparkling smiles of
a million stars.
    They would then return to Casa de Mita and make their
familiar lustful love until it was time for Edgar to leave, like Cinderella
before the clock’s final toll. And then Frankie would fall asleep, easily,
contentedly…most nights.
    But every now and then, her thoughts would keep her
wide-awake, wandering and wondering. Every now and then, she would think of
Jazz.
    Those thoughts, nearly melancholy, were strongest on that
final night before she and Yvette were scheduled to return to America. Edgar
was not able to see her that night, but they had said their warm goodbyes the
night before and capped it off with some of the best lovemaking they’d ever had
in all the years they’d shared.
    It was a particularly beautiful night in their Dominican
paradise, which is to say, it was much like any other night.
    In the hotel’s courtyard right outside the parlor, she sat
alone at a table near the trellised wall. Moonlight looked down on her as she
sipped her Cuba Libre thoughtfully. Fidel’s singing and piano playing
inside the parlor poured out as gently as the flower-scented breeze. She was
not surprised that she was alone out in the courtyard. The other guests were in
the parlor negotiating with handsome bugarrones . Even Yvette had opted
for one final fling for the road. Frankie chuckled softly at the thought.
    “And what’s so funny, my lovely lady?” Cedric asked, his
rotund figure filling the doorway of the parlor,