How The Cookie Crumbles (54 page)

Domer went right to bed, and I got ready to crash too. I walked by Frankie’s room, which was all neat and tidy… and empty. I hadn’t been in there since she left, and I went inside. I lay down on her bed and then I could still smell her. She smelled so pretty all the time, like a girl should. I closed my eyes, and I could remember everything. I hadn’t even known her for a year, and it seemed like she had been such a big part of my life already.

I thought about the first time we had sex in Vancouver, and all the great sex we had here. Was that what it was all about for me? Wanting to still have sex with different women? But I had to admit that the sex I had with Frankie was incredible. Maybe fucking Aspen was more like porn sex, but with Frankie not only was the fucking good, but afterwards was great. We’d lie there and talk and joke around, and then do it again. She always told me how great it was with us, and I got off on that. I never exactly got why Frankie liked me, but I knew she liked me a lot. And she had denied it, but maybe she even loved me. I kind of felt like I didn’t deserve that.

Why was Frankie different? For sure, I didn’t meet a lot of chicks that were into food like she was. Or if they were, it was in a snobby way, like wanting to be taken to the latest restaurant. And Frankie was full of surprises: I never knew if she was going to get mad at me or laugh stuff off, and even how crazy she could be in bed. Plus, there was the way that she seemed to be into me for me. Not for hockey, which I still wasn’t sure she even liked, and not for money, which she seemed not to care about at all. No matter what the guys said, I didn’t think that expensive jewellery would do it for her.

I really liked my life in L.A., and I was having a great time here. The guys would come over and hang out, and I liked being with the team. I liked to party, but maybe even the best part of that was being out with the guys. I figured there would be a time, way in the future, that I’d want to settle down. And probably Frankie would be the type of girl I’d like to find then. But that was not now, not by a long shot. I didn’t want to be 40 years old and regretting that I passed up partying with hot chicks when I was young and famous. Being a famous hockey player brought you a ton of opportunities, and any guy would be nuts to pass them up. Sometimes, it felt like everything was temporary and it would be gone in no time. I was into today, and not worrying about tomorrow.

Frankie was so steady and loyal. To me, she was kinda the girl next door, so like in the movies you go home at the end, and there she’d be. I had this idea that she would stick around and wait for me. I had tested her, and maybe pushed her away and done some stupid things, but she still seemed to care about me. If I was able to say that I was on the same page as her, I was pretty sure she’d come back to me. From the way Bear was acting, I figured she had dumped him. For some dumb reason, she was into me, and just me. But the longer she was gone and the longer she didn’t call me back, the more I wondered about this. Frankie was here in L.A., right now, but not for much longer. I still wasn’t 100% into this relationship stuff, but I figured if we could just talk, we could work something out.

As I lay there, I noticed that something was on the top shelf of the closet. I got up and had a look. Neatly folded in the corner was the Kings jersey I gave her and she made into a dress. Shit. That was the only real gift I gave her, and she had given it back. Did that mean she didn’t see a time when she’d ever need the jersey again? Maybe she was done waiting for me.

Our first home game back was a complete disaster. Not sure exactly why, but nobody was on their game. We hardly even got any shots, and St. Louis ended up beating us 4-0. Our own fans were booing us, and the mood was pretty low in the room afterwards. I was ready to go out and get totally wasted.

My cell rang in the middle of the night, and I woke up absolutely certain that my mom was calling from Vancouver to tell me that my dad had had a heart attack. He was a Type A stress case. I don’t know why I had this very specific premonition, but I wasn’t exactly thinking straight, and I grabbed the phone in that middle-of-the-night panic.

“Hello!”

“Frankeeee!”

What? Not my mom, but a familiar voice and I felt relieved. “Is that you, Jake?”

“Yesh! It is meeee! Hello Frankeeee!”

“Jake, do you know what time it is?”

“Time? Well, I haff no fucking idea, but… “ his voice trailed away from the phone and then returned, “ … it is dark out. So night time!”

“It’s like 3:00 in the morning, why are you calling me?”

“Well Frankeeee, hey, y’know, you have a reelly great name. Frankee. Frankeee. Great.” He burped happily.

I debated hanging up.

“Frankeee, I was wandering, did you, y’know, make up your mind about seeing me yet?”

“You’re drunk dialling me in the middle of the night to see if I wanted to get together with you? Well, that pretty much decides things. No. Nyet. No way.”

“Eees that a no?”

“Yes.”

“Oh grrreat, a yes.”

“No, I said yes to it being a no.”

There was a short silence. “Frankeee, I am a leetle drunk. So you are not making complete thense to me.”

“Jake, forget this. Let’s just talk in the morning. So I can tell you no then and you’ll understand it.”

“But Frankeee, if I wait until I’m thober, I won’t be able to tell you how much I miss you.”

“What?”

“I miss you. I miss you in the morning and that other time, y’know… the after-morning. And at night. I miss you all night! Mr. Whitesnake misses you too! I want you to come back and live wif us… please Frankeee, come back.”

I didn’t even know if “us” meant Jake and Luke, or Jake and Mr. Whitesnake. I wasn’t fully functioning either. “Look Jake, let’s just have dinner and talk. Then we’ll see about anything else.”

“Okay, would you like to haf dinner now? Shit, I am pretty hungry right now!”

“No, not now.”

“Tomorrow!”

“Okay, tomorrow. But are you even going to remember that you called in the morning?”

“I will write mythelf a message on my hand. No… on my arm, in case I wash my hands. Wha’ time?”

“Seven?”

“Seven! I am writing ‘dinner with Frankeee at 7’ on my arm.”

“Okay, good night Jake.”

“Oh wait, I wanna to pay you a compliment. Duper thaid that chicks love that shit.”

“Not necessary, let’s just….”

“No! Let me thay… you are beyoutiful! So be-you-ti-ful! And… you have great tits, possibly the greatest tits ever! Do you remember Athpen? Her tits were fake, and they never moved, y’know, like gravity didna apply to them! Your tits bounce all the time, they are grrrreat. And they feel soft, like y’know, giant marshmallows and when I….”

“Jake! Stop! That’s enough.”

“Okay. I will thee you tomorrow. At 7:00!”

“Bye.”

“Bye Frankee!”

I put down my cell and started laughing. I laughed so hard, I had to pull a pillow over my head so I didn’t wake up anyone in the house.

The next day, Jake picked me up at work. He looked fine, and not particularly hung-over or anything. Apparently he had a capacity for alcohol honed by years of experience. I giggled a little when I saw the faint ink marks on his arm: Di-n-r w--- Fr—k-e--7.

Jake smiled happily at me, “You’re laughing!”

“At your arm,” I ran a finger across the letters and he gave me an eager puppy look.

“Yeah, even after a shower. I used permanent marker. Almost like getting your name tattooed on me.” Well, perhaps a “Property of Frankie” tattoo would be the way to keep other women away. Possibly not as good as “Property of Frank.”

When we were stopped at a light, he looked over at me. “You look great,” he said shyly. I was wearing a shift dress in lime sateen with orange pumps and clutch, not sexy but more business-like. I figured that was the tone I wanted to set for this “date.”

“Don’t you mean ‘beyoutiful?’” I wondered.

“Hey, maybe I was wasted, but you’re here now, so it’s not all bad news. Plus I can pretty much remember everything I said.” His gaze moved down to my chest.

“Forget it, Bud. You’re not getting anywhere near my ‘great tits,’” I told him sternly. Tonight was about talking.

“So, no visit to Hooterville tonight?”

“Population: two? No.” But I started giggling again. Jake always made me laugh with the goofy things he said, even when I was trying to be stern. “So where are we going tonight?”

“Back to the house,” Jake licked his lips nervously. “We’re having dinner there.”

“Oh.” Then I assumed it was take-out or something, which was a bit of a let down. Did he not want to go out someplace nice with me? Or was it a ploy to get me home alone with him?

I walked into the house and it looked okay, not too messy or anything. But maybe it needed dusting or something. Cameron’s painting was gone, and there was just a lonely nail on the wall.

“Where’s Luke?” I asked.

“Oh, he’s out tonight,” Jake answered.

“That’s pretty vague.”

“Hey, Domer misses you a lot too. He’s happy to do anything that might help get you to move back here, so he won’t be back tonight.”

“Not necessary,” I remarked, plunking myself down on couch. “This party is not lasting all night.” It felt weird to be here, like being at home and yet awkward.

Jake brought me a glass of wine.

“Wow. You bought wine?” I asked.

“Yes. You like wine, so I got some.” He was drinking beer though. “How is it?”

“It’s actually pretty good,” I said, looking at the white wine sparkling in its glass. “I didn’t even know you had wine glasses.”

“I got those too,” he said, looking at the floor. He was pretty nervous, which made me feel more relaxed.

“So, what kind of food are we eating tonight?” I wondered. “I wouldn’t mind Chinese or Thai or something.”

“I’m making dinner tonight,” he declared anxiously.

I shook my head to the side. “Sorry, I must have something in my ear, because I thought I heard you say that you were cooking.”

“I am cooking. For you, you’re the first person I’ve ever made a whole dinner for.” He laid that sentence out defiantly, like he was daring me to laugh at him.

“Sounds intriguing,” I said, and had another big sip of wine. I had a good idea of what Jake’s cooking might be like, and it might be good to kill as many taste buds as I could beforehand. Once I had asked him to help me chop some carrots, and it was like he had never used a knife before. “Do you need any help in the kitchen?”

“No, you can just relax.” And then he disappeared, leaving me to read the only thing on the coffee table, the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Edition. Reading that could give anyone an inferiority complex, but I resisted the urge to tidy things up instead. I did not live here anymore.

I looked over at the dining room table, which was all set with flowers jammed into a glass and candles. One was pretty crooked, so I quietly fixed it, otherwise wax was going to drip all over the table.

I heard the sound of stuff crashing in the kitchen and I twitched, but didn’t rush in to help. Eventually Jake came out. He had barbequed steaks, made a potato dish and a salad. It looked pretty good.

I took a bite of steak and realized that Jake was watching me eat.

“It’s great!” I said right away to reassure him. He had made some kind of sauce to go on the steak that was yummy. Then I tried the potatoes. They were hard as a rock and not fully cooked. Potatoes always take longer to cook than you think. I didn’t want to hurt his feelings, so I kept trying to chew and then when he wasn’t looking, I spit into my napkin. This was like being a little kid again.

Jake tried the potatoes, and then gave me a funny look.

“Did you eat these?”

I pretended that my mouth was full, and gave him a questioning look.

“Well don’t, because they’re not cooked yet. I can stick them in the microwave.”

I nodded obediently, still keeping my mouth closed. The salad was good anyway, and we finished up our dinners. Jake told me about their latest road trip and asked me about the museum. Then he cleared the table and went to the kitchen to get dessert. He came out with this chocolate cake, which was totally lopsided and cake was showing through some of the icing areas. On the top he had made an “F” out of Smarties. It was the most pitiful and yet adorable cake I had ever seen; looking more like something a five-year-old had concocted.

I couldn’t help it; tears were welling up in my eyes. Really, he was such a lousy cook, this dinner must have taken him hours. “You made this cake for me?”

“Are you crying? Don’t you like it?” Jake came over and slid an arm around me.

I shook my head. “I don’t like it, I love it!” And I turned and gave him a hug. He hugged me back, hard, and then I tried unsuccessfully to push away. After everything we’d been through, I shouldn’t let a cake change things – even if it was chocolate. All my life, cooking was the way I showed how I felt, and I couldn’t believe that someone as oblivious as Jake was the first one to figure that out.

Jake held on to me though, “Frankie,” he said softly, “it feels so good to hold you.” And he kissed the top of my head.

This was too much for me; I was feeling way too vulnerable. “Okay Jake, let’s eat.”