Club Cupid (14 page)

Then he brightened—sports! They could always discuss sports. Sailing and windsurfing and…sailing.

He scanned the pages of notes, not that he understood much of the vocabulary, but because he found her handwriting so intriguing. She was a jotter—someone who had diagrams and phrases scribbled on every square inch of the margins.
He
, on the other hand, had been a one-idea-to-one-sheet-of-paper kind of businessman, with neat, organized stacks of papers on his desk.

Randy set aside memories of his fast-paced days and replaced the portfolio inside the briefcase, thinking how jubilant Frankie would be when he handed her the briefcase. She could overnight the documentation and resign without thinking she’d undermined the project.

Then he stopped. With the briefcase in hand, what if she decided to return to Cincinnati? What if the only reason she was staying with him was that she didn’t want to face the firing she was convinced awaited her if she returned without the portfolio?

Randy chewed his lip furiously. Was it really necessary that Frankie know he had the briefcase? Now that she’d decided to give up her job and stay with him, what would it matter if he simply chucked the bag into the ocean?

What mattered, he realized, was that an entire team of people were relying on the information in the portfolio, and he didn’t want to be responsible
for disrupting untold dozens of lives, just like before. Then again, he could simply drop the portfolio anonymously into the mail to Ohio Roadmakers with a note about finding the folder in Key West, blah, blah, blah.

Yes, he decided suddenly. He would send the portfolio back to the company in a week or so, and if Frankie discovered someday that the materials had been returned, she’d be so entrenched in Conch life, in
his
life, the job in Cincinnati wouldn’t matter.

Easier thought than done, he realized later when he reunited with Frankie at the bar. She kept looking at him with those big, blue eyes as if he had betrayed her somehow, even though he knew it was his own guilt eating at him. They had a few beers and he sat with her at Parker’s table, listening to the old man’s stories and laughing as if he hadn’t already heard the yarns dozens of times. Often he sneaked glimpses of Frankie’s profile, loving the way the tip of her nose lifted when she laughed, his heart squeezing when she turned her wide smile in his direction.

The rowdy atmosphere prevented them from conversing much, but even so, she seemed withdrawn. She didn’t shrink from his touch, though, and on the late ride back to his place, she clung so tightly, she seemed part of his own body. Despite his hurry to get Frankie home and in his bed, Randy drove slowly, allowing the wind and the vibration of the bike to take over, acutely aware of both sets of curves—the ones beneath his wheels and the ones pressing into his back.

From the bike to the bedroom, they barely spoke.
She seemed as anxious as he to make love. Ignoring the pangs of guilt, Randy deposited the gym bag that held her briefcase in his closet, then tugged her to the bathroom. While the shower ran warm, he undressed her carefully, christening every revealed patch of skin with lingering kisses. But her hands and mouth carried more urgency, and by the time they were both naked and standing under the water, Randy had gladly adopted her edgy pace.

They lathered each other’s bodies with fresh-smelling soap, then Frankie scrubbed his back with a stiff brush, the act strangely more intimate than their nakedness, the friction more erotic than if she’d touched his private zones. By the time they rinsed, Randy wasn’t sure they’d make it to the bed. Indeed, he’d barely grabbed a condom from the nightstand when Frankie pulled him down on top of her on the hard, nubby texture of the sisal rug. They kissed and wrestled until she again straddled him in what was fast becoming his favorite position.

Her body accepted his in one thrilling down-stroke, then she rocked with him inside her in a quick, controlled rhythm. Between the biting surface of the carpet at his back, and the soft, giving contours of the woman on top of him, every nerve screamed, every response stimulated. When her moans escalated, he stroked her with his thumb until she came in great, heaving spasms, then he readied himself for a powerful climax. Lifting his body into hers with a final massive thrust, he clutched her waist and held her against him as he
shuddered his release again and again, murmuring, “Frankie…oh, yes…Frankie, Frankie.”

Her body fell limp and she might have fallen asleep on the scratchy rug had he let her. Instead, he scooped her up and laid her in his bed, then climbed in next to her and tucked the sheet around them. While his body recovered, his thoughts whirled at a dizzying pace. He’d always enjoyed sex, but this, this…emotional afterglow made for an exceptionally memorable experience. He sighed and debated the wisdom of never leaving this room again, of simply keeping Frankie as close to him as possible for as long as possible. When the thought of her briefcase stashed in his closet loomed large, he squeezed her close, then forced himself to close his eyes and sleep.

F
RANKIE TRIED TO SLEEP
. Her body ached, and after the mental gymnastics of the past several hours, so did her mind. She couldn’t stay in Key West. She wanted to, but she was already too emotionally attached to Randy Tate. After her illuminating chat with Parker, she realized how little she really knew about the man to whom she’d so willingly handed her body…and her heart.

She’d mistaken physical chemistry and comfortable compatibility for affection, and while she might have his attention for a few days or weeks, she knew she’d never have his heart—he kept himself too well guarded. She’d wager that if he let her get close enough to share the tribulations of his past, he’d push her away shortly thereafter.

Frankie held her breath and listened to Randy’s even breathing, then slid out of bed as silently as
possible. Pausing long enough to grab his robe and her cigarettes, she made her way to the balcony and eased open one of the sliding glass doors, closing the screen behind her. The night setting was so incredibly beautiful, she had to smile. The nearly full moon spread its glow across the bumpy surface of the water, silhouetting trees and buildings so perfectly, the only thing missing was a hand-in-hand couple. She would always remember this weekend as one of enlightenment and romance.

She closed her eyes, almost wishing she was the kind of woman who
could
become so wrapped up in a weekend fling that she’d throw away everything. But she couldn’t sacrifice it all for anything less than love. Besides, she’d left loose ends in Cincinnati, and she owed it to herself to tidy them up before getting on with her life.

Feeling around on the shadowy balcony, she claimed Randy’s director’s chair and tapped out a cigarette. The sound of the match striking sounded loud in the confines of the quiet little corner of the world. She drew on the cigarette, thinking she needed to quit, then laid her head back and exhaled.

“Those things’ll kill you,” Randy said behind her.

Frankie’s heart jumped and she lifted her head. “That’s what I’ve heard,” she said softly without turning around. She even craved the sound of his voice.

“Insomnia?”

“You could say that.”

“Mind if I join you?”

She laughed. “It’s your balcony.”

The screen door opened and closed. “I have something to tell you.”

Feeling falsely brave, she said, “Let me guess—you were never an actor?”

After a few seconds of silence, he said, “You’re right, I was never an actor. I was an investment broker. The company I worked for went bankrupt and took several of my customers down with it.”

She paused. “Did you do anything illegal?”

“Not knowingly.”

“Then what’s with all the secrecy?”

She couldn’t see him, but heard footfalls as he stepped up next to the chair, and the slight whisper of his arm against metal as he leaned forward on the railing. “It was a long time ago, and I was a different person. In fact, when I first met you, I saw a lot of my old self in you—driven, goal-oriented, a real workaholic.”

A horrible thought occurred to her. “And you thought you’d save me from myself?”

“I guess so,” he confessed.

A stone of embarrassment fell to the bottom of her stomach. She’d fallen for him and he’d viewed her as a project, a fixer-upper. “Gee, thanks.”

“You didn’t seem happy.”

“I’d just been mugged,” she reminded him.

“You know what I mean.”

She put the cigarette to her mouth for a quick puff. “So maybe I’m not ecstatic about my job. Who is, besides the Ben & Jerry’s ice-cream taster? I’m a good analyst, I make a decent living and I work with great people.”

“Like Oscar?”

“Like Oscar,” she agreed, wondering how her
friend would react when he heard about the lost documentation. Poor thing—he must be going out of his mind waiting for that fax she’d promised him. “He’s a real gem to put up with me.”

“You’re leaving on that ship today, aren’t you?”

She tried to read something into his voice—longing, regret,
something
—but he had said the words as casually as if he’d asked her what she wanted to drink. “Yes. You might be happy here, Randy, but if I stayed, I’d just be running away from my problems.”

“What will you do if you’re fired?”

Frankie shrugged, then realized he probably couldn’t see her. “I don’t know—start interviewing, I guess. Something will come up.” After another drag on the cigarette, she asked, “You had something to tell me?”

“Yes,” he said softly. “I have something for you.”

Knowing he didn’t care for her the same way she cared for him freed her tongue. “What is it, and don’t tell me you’re naked.”

He chuckled. “I am…But I was referring to something else, and considering the fact that you’re going back to your job, it seems all the more appropriate.”

“What?” she asked, startled when he laid a heavy item in her lap. “What—my briefcase!” She stuffed the cigarette in her mouth to free her hands. “Oh my God—where did you find it?” she mumbled. Feeling for the side flap, she slipped her hand inside and breathed a sigh of relief when her fingers touched the familiar smooth portfolio.

“A friend of mine found it.”

“What friend?” she asked, instantly suspicious.

“A cabbie with his ear to the ground.”

“When did your friend find it?”

“This evening,” he said. “That was my errand—to meet him.”

“Why didn’t you take me with you?”

“I didn’t want to get your hopes up.”

“Then why did you wait so long to give it to me?”

“I, um, well…didn’t want you to feel like you
have
to go back to your job.”

“I don’t,” she snapped, furious.

“But you
are.
”

“I mean, I
didn’t
feel like I had to go back to my job,” she blustered. “I wanted—
want
—to go back.”

“Oh,” he said simply. “In that case…good—I mean, I guess this nixes plans for the cappuccino machine.”

So he was glad she had changed her mind about staying. Frankie pushed herself to her feet, clasping the briefcase as if her love, er, life depended on it. “I guess I’d better get some sleep.” She didn’t move, knowing he stood nearby, and naked. And she certainly couldn’t spend the rest of the night in his bed.

They spoke at the same time.

“I’ll take the couch,” she offered.

“I’ll take the couch,” he declared.

Before he could suggest that they both take the couch, Frankie said, “Okay. See you in the morning.” Then she brushed past him, glad for the cover of darkness to hide her welling tears.

W
ITH HER STOMACH
tied in knots, Frankie joined the line of passengers waiting to board the cruise ship that sounded its horn every two minutes. Randy had driven her to the dock and insisted on waiting with her while the lines formed. “I can’t thank you enough,” she said, flashing him her brightest smile. “For everything—the windsurfing lesson, a place to stay—” She blushed. “And especially for getting my briefcase back. I don’t know what I would have done—”

“Slow down, Red,” he said with a tight smile and a wink. “I would’ve done the same for any—” He broke off and cleared his throat. “That is, um—”

“I know you would have,” Frankie rushed to assure him even while her heart hung heavy in her chest. How much clearer could he make it that their couple of days together meant so little to him? “I’ll send your suitcase back soon.”

“No hurry,” he said, shrugging his shoulders.

He’d worn a fairly new T-shirt for the occasion, and looked amazingly handsome. Frankie realized she didn’t even have a picture of him and wondered how long she would keep his face in her memory. Hoping he would forget the way she looked when they first met, she wore the white
gauze pants and a new turquoise tank top for her send-off, but Randy hadn’t seemed to notice. “It’s hot,” she announced unnecessarily, stuffing her battered hat on her head.

“This is Key West,” he answered easily, glancing over his shoulder, obviously anxious to be rid of her and on his way.

Saddened and embarrassed, she deferred to silence as the line snaked around, then realized with dread that a ship photographer stood on the ready to snap pictures of passengers as they embarked. And not just any picture, but in front of a huge red heart frame. With a jolt of surprise, she realized today was Valentine’s Day. Great—once again everyone on the cruise would be paired up.

“Is Oscar picking you up at the airport?” Randy asked.

“Probably.” Thankfully, this morning she’d been able to fax Oscar copies of the design sheets he needed. “He’ll want to bring me up to speed on a few systems modifications that were made in my absence.”

“No doubt,” he said, nodding.

The closer she got to the photographer, the more she tried to convince Randy to leave. “You wouldn’t want to get caught in all that, um, foot traffic on the way out.”

“Frankie, I’d like to stick it out the last five feet,” he remarked wryly.

And so she fidgeted, wondering if he might kiss her before she stepped on board, or shake her hand, or maybe even pop her one for being such a pain. “I can’t thank you enough,” she babbled.

“You said that already,” he murmured with a smile. “And you’re welcome.”

“A picture of the couple for Valentine’s Day?” the photographer asked in a thick Spanish accent. He grinned and gestured toward the huge heart.

Frankie shook her head, but Randy said, “Sure, Pops,” and steered her toward the prop.

“Randy—”

“You don’t have to buy it,” he said, laughing. “But I have to admit I was hoping for a goodbye kiss, and at least this way we’ll be semi-alone.”

She inhaled deeply, hating to admit she was hoping for the same. “Okay, but make it quick. I wouldn’t want to miss this ship, too.”

“If I remember correctly,” he said as he pulled her close, “
quick
wasn’t on my adjective list.” Since her hands were full, she could only lift her lips. His mouth covered hers in a sweet, lingering, completely possessive and uncomfortably familiar kiss. His tongue thrashed against hers, dredging up desire she’d suppressed the remainder of the night without him next to her. She savored the sensory details, committing to memory the scent of his fresh soap and minty shaving cream, the feel of his hands kneading her back and waist, the rumble of his slight groan as her tongue said farewell to his.
Goodbye…Bon voyage…Don’t forget to write.

“Is enough kiss!” the man exclaimed, finally gaining their attention. They parted to the tune of hearty laughter from other passengers.

Frankie wet her lips and looked toward the stairs leading to the entranceway. “I guess this is goodbye then.”

“I guess so,” he said with a slow wink. “It’s been a pleasure, Red.”

Since no words came to mind, she simply nodded and started backing toward the stairs.

“Let me know how that project of yours turns out,” he called.

Frankie nodded again and, feeling suspiciously close to tears, wheeled and hurried toward the stairs. She knew he’d be gone by the time she boarded, but once on deck, she walked to the railing and looked over anyway. Her heart fell lower and lower in her chest as she scanned the crowd. Finally she had to admit she would never see him again. The ship’s horn blasted so long and loud, she covered her ears. Within minutes, the stairs were pulled away from the ship and the huge vessel began to tremble, then move. The crowd on the dock started to dance and sing in a collective send-off, put into motion by the beat of a snare drum.

She searched the crowd frantically, hoping to catch one more glimpse of him.

“Hey, Red, over here!” she heard above the din.

When she caught sight of him directly below her on the dock, waving both arms, she grinned wide, and waved back, crowding close to the railing. For a few frantic seconds, she wished she had stayed, wished he had cared for her as much as she cared for him, wished their life-styles weren’t a world apart.

On impulse, she dug deep in the corner of her resurrected briefcase and seized a penny. As luck would have it, the coin was newly minted, shining so brightly it almost looked counterfeit. Stretching
out over the railing, she called, “Here’s the penny I owe you for the coffee!”

She dropped the coin, and watched it spiral through the air, glinting in the sun. Several feet below he caught the penny, juggled it, then held it up in triumph. Cupping his hands like a megaphone, he yelled, “What, no tip?”

She laughed. “Yeah—buy a motorcycle helmet!”

He made a face, but kept waving until he blended in with the crowd that grew ever smaller as the cruise ship pulled away. She stood by the railing waving when all the other passengers had dispersed. At last, Key West disappeared from the horizon and Frankie stared at the gigantic body of water around her, feeling very alone. Being in love for the first time had a way of ennobling a person, of stripping away nonsensical baggage until only those things most important remained. She was a happier person for having met Randy Tate. Really, she was.

She enjoyed the return journey to Miami, even though she spent most of the time gazing out over the frothy wake behind the ship. Sunday afternoon she spent on the uppermost deck, safely swathed in towels and sunscreen, thinking hard about the philosophical wake-up call she’d been delivered. And Randy was never more than a heartbeat from her thoughts.

Sunday evening she found the lovely pinkish conch shell he had given her, and thereafter kept it tucked in a pocket. She tossed her half-smoked pack of cigarettes overboard Sunday night, and Monday morning, began recording her trip in a journal. By the time the ship docked Monday after
noon, she’d reconstructed most of her hours in Key West, down to what she wore and phrases of the islanders, to sketches of the fanciful buildings. And throughout the partially illustrated, pieced-together snippets were Randy’s face and laughter and bar and motorcycle and tattoo and parrot and countless other memories.

With only the small suitcase, she was one of the first passengers to disembark in Miami. She caught a cab straight to the airport and turned in her unused ticket to Cincinnati toward another flight—a roundabout trip back to Cincinnati that included a two-night stay in Atlanta. Then she fished out a business card Parker had given her and headed toward a pay phone.

R
ANDY ACHED
for Frankie—her face, her body and her laugh plagued him at all hours of the day. He’d drilled a hole in the penny she’d thrown him and wore it on a leather thong around his neck. He became moody, sniping at the waitresses and even yelling at Tweety like an idiot.

One night Parker clamped a hand on his shoulder. “Just because you were foolish enough to let her go, don’t take it out on the rest of us, son.”

Randy had scoffed and denied anything was wrong. And if something
were
wrong, he added loudly, it had nothing to do with Frankie Jensen.

“Do us all a favor,” Parker had said. “Call the lady.”

So late one night when he was sitting out on the balcony, he’d called directory assistance, only to find her number was unlisted. Then he’d called Ohio Roadmakers and had listened to her voice
message like a coward—twice—before hanging up without a word. She was getting on with her life. It wasn’t her fault that he didn’t have much of a life to get on with. One thing was certain…the woman had left him with enough fantasies to keep his sheets wet into the foreseeable future.

A few restless days later, he bought and read the first copy of the
Wall Street Journal
he had consumed since arriving in Key West. Suddenly the televisions in the bar were tuned to all news, all day. The only way he could keep thoughts of her at bay for any length of time was to engross himself in financial journals and tax codes.

In mid-March, Randy received a suitcase-size package from Cincinnati. His heart pounded like a child’s as he opened the box, knowing full well it contained only his piece of luggage, but hoping it would include a long, rambling letter from Red letting him know how the project was progressing, or how the weather was miserable, or how much she missed him. Instead, she’d packed a slightly smaller, but heavy box in the suitcase, which he lifted with a wry laugh.

She’d sent him a black motorcycle helmet, the old-fashioned half-helmet style with a chin strap—very hip and good for warm-weather riding. There was no letter and no return address, just a simple yellow memo square that read:
I gave up smoking, so you have to start wearing a helmet. Frankie.

He sat on the balcony wearing the helmet and staring at the note all evening, the wheels turning in his head. He’d simply not gotten his fill of her, that was all. Maybe if he at least saw Frankie again, outside of the island atmosphere, and realized that
the novelty of their attraction had worn off, he could get her out of his system. Baseball season was right around the corner—he could take a long weekend to go to Riverfront Stadium and stop by to see her. To see how she and good ole Oscar were doing. To see if her eyes were still as blue as the water around the Keys.

Before he could change his mind, he picked up the phone and called her voice mail at work. Her voice came on the line, slightly lower-pitched and well-modulated for business. “Hi, this is Frankie Jensen with Ohio Roadmakers. Please leave a detailed message and I will return your call as soon as possible.”

When the beep sounded, his mouth went completely dry. “Uh, hey, Frankie. This is Randy…Randy Tate. Today is Friday, March the nineteenth, and you’ve probably already left for the day. Um, I got your package today. Thanks for the helmet—I really love…it. The helmet, that is. And congrats on giving up the cigarettes. Uh, listen—” He cut off as a piercing tone interrupted, then a mechanical voice said, “Thank you,” and disconnected the call.

He swore a blue streak and stabbed in the number again.

“Hi, this is Frankie Jensen with Ohio Roadmakers. Please leave a detailed message and I will return your call as soon as possible.”

“Hey, Frankie, it’s Randy again…I was cut off before. Listen, I was thinking about heading to Riverfront for a Reds game sometime soon, you know, make a long weekend out of it. I was wondering if you would be available to go out with me, maybe
get a bite to eat…or something…afterward. If you would—” The tone and voice cut him off again and disconnected the call.

“Dammit!” he thundered, then hit the redial button.

“Hi, this is Frankie Jensen with Ohio Roadmakers. Please leave a detailed message and I will return your call as soon as possible.”

“Frankie, this is Randy—again. If you’d like to take in a game, call me and I’ll fly up. Three zero five, five five five, one two one three. Bye.” He hung up, then regretted his hasty goodbye. He should have told her he was looking forward to seeing her, talking to her, lying down with her…

Oh, well, he decided, locking his hands behind his new helmet and propping up his feet. Now the ball was in her court. If she wanted to see him again, she’d call.

“I
CAN’T BELIEVE
you’re really leaving, Frankie.” Oscar shook his head sadly and cupped both hands around his beer.

“Yeah,” Susan chimed in. “How long has it been—nine years?”

Frankie glanced at the date on her watch. “Let’s see…March nineteenth. In another six weeks I would’ve celebrated my ten-year anniversary.” She smiled happily and shrugged. “Except I won’t!”

“A toast,” Oscar said, lifting his glass. “To fearless Frankie, may she be the most successful restaurateur in the entire city of Atlanta!”

“Hear, hear!” chorused the group.

Frankie looked around the table at the more than
two dozen co-workers, her eyes glistening. “Thank you, everyone,” she said, blinking rapidly.

“Speech, speech!” someone yelled, and others joined in.

She shook her head and drank from a frosty beer glass, relenting when the chant deafened her. “Okay, okay.” She cleared her throat, then said, “Thanks to all of you who made every day a great challenge. I’m so glad to be going out on the tail end of a successful project.”

“That’s the understatement of the year,” Susan piped in, and everyone laughed.

Frankie nodded. “You’re right, Susan, we did good. And I’m going to miss all of you so much.” Her gaze rested on Oscar. She gave him a wink and a friendly pat on the hand. He’d taken her leaving almost as hard as her parents, but she’d convinced him they had no romantic future together, regardless of whether she stayed. He’d been hurt at first, but after a few weeks, Oscar had finally come around, filling Frankie with relief that they were parting friends. Following another round of drinks, and a few war stories, people started checking their watches and pushing back their chairs to go home to their families. One by one they came by to shake Frankie’s hand and say goodbye.