MadameFrankie (11 page)

House of John was her saving grace. Here, handsome men did
more than have sex with her. They made love to her. They made her feel like a
star. They made her feel she was as beautiful on the inside as she was on the
outside. And that feeling was worth whatever she paid them.

Frankie was truly happy she was able to introduce her best
friends to an escape into romance, fantasy and just a sexy good time. She was
happy for all the people who patronized House of John. And she was happy for
the handsome young men who provided much needed comfort to them. Love is a
wonderful and precious thing. So why not pay and get paid for it?

That week at House of John gave Frankie pause. Yes, she
spent most nights with Edgar. But some nights she indulged the talents of other
handsome young hunks. Thanks to the variety of Latin lovers, the comfort of
Edgar, the fantasies about the president and the memories of Jazz, Frankie’s
imagination and satisfaction were filled.

Some nights, either before or after her sexual tryst, she’d
lounge in the lobby. While sipping on a
Cuba Libre
and soaking in
Fidel’s beautiful singing and piano playing, she’d gaze at all the happy faces.
The sight of the joy they were about to give or receive, gave her joy.

How long had she been coming down to House of John? She’d
lost track of time. She did remember when she first started, it was primarily a
gay establishment. Local men, in spite of their sexual nature, pleasured
tourist men for a price. Gay for pay it was called. It was a win-win situation
for all involved. Visitors received beautiful sex from handsome pre-screened,
handpicked men in a romantic setting and a safe environment. And the sex
workers—the
bugarrones
—were provided a nice wage in exchange for sharing
their natural gifts.

Frankie was one of the first women to enjoy the treasures of
House of John. But it wasn’t long before other women came to know the pleasures
too. After all, Frankie, being of generous heart, had shared the secret of
House of John with many of her Hollywood girlfriends.

A small feature story in
Essence
magazine about the
erotic phenomenon of House of John gave the establishment even greater
awareness. And year after year, more and more women ventured down to get their
groove on.

Frankie thought about it all. She thought about how
wonderful it had been. The thought of all of it ending made her just a little
sad.

* * * * *

Two days before it was time to return to the States,
Frankie, Yvette and Trudy packed a picnic, hired a car and drove forty minutes
east to
Juan Dolio
Beach. They were three happy and sexually fulfilled
ladies. The picturesque drive was filled with their scintillating tales from
the nights before. That afternoon trip to the beautiful white sands and
turquoise waters of one of the DR’s most beautiful beaches was as heavenly as
their nights of romance.

They found a secluded spot and set up camp near the gently
swooshing water. The bright tropical sun was perfect, as all three vowed not to
return to the States without being at least two shades darker.

They drank chilled white wine, ate
arepa
with chicken
and avocado, three-bean salad and cornmeal cake. They played in the warm and
gentle Caribbean like schoolgirls on spring break. When they exhausted
themselves, they lathered each other up with sunscreen, put on their sunglasses
and lay half-naked under the smiling sun.

“This is the life,” Yvette sighed, staring up at the sky
that was as blue as the sea.

“Yes it is,” Frankie agreed.

“Thank you guys for this,” Trudy said softly.

“I think Michael would be very happy for you, Trudy.”

“You know something, Frankie? I think you’re right.”

“Well I know your pussy’s happy,” Yvette snickered.

“Girl,” Trudy snickered back. The hot ravishing she got from
Danté and a few other choice visitors to her room gave her a mental wet dream.

“God, I can’t believe we’ll be leaving in two days.”

“Where did the time go?” Trudy fussed.

“Who knows?”

“I’m sure the hell gonna miss this,” Trudy continued. “But
I’m not going to miss it for long. We gotta do this again, ladies. And we gotta
do it soon.”

“Definitely.”

“We’re gonna have to make it more sooner than later,”
Frankie said somberly.

“Sounds good to me.”

“There may not be a House of John in the future.”

“What?”

“Cedric’s retiring.”

“What?”

“No!”

That night, Frankie thought long and hard about what she
needed to do. Edgar was coming over later and she wanted to make her decision
before he arrived. She didn’t want any conflicting thoughts to get in the way
of the beautiful lovemaking she and Edgar always shared.

She saw Marcos in the lobby and asked about Cedric’s
whereabouts. Cedric was out on the patio enjoying the warm night air, the music
pouring out from the parlor and a chilled
Cuba Libre
.

Frankie stepped out onto the patio. Upon seeing her, Cedric
smiled, stood and kissed her on the cheek.

“My dear Frankie,” he said, pulling out the chair for her.
“How lovely you look tonight.”

“Thank you,” she said, sitting. “Cedric?”

“Yes, my
cheri
?”

“I’d like to talk to you about something.”

“What, my dear?”

“I want to buy House of John.”

Barack Obama won his second presidential bid. It was one of
the few things that gave Jazz true joy and happiness. He was proud of the ten
months he’d spent in the service of a man he so believed in.

But he was also glad to be back home in the Big Easy, back
in school and back at the piano at
Chez Lucienne
.

The news of his return had spread throughout New Orleans.
The room stayed packed and the tip jar overflowed whenever he played.

Everybody was so proud of their hometown boy and his effort
on the part of the president. His homecoming was an event and he was treated
like a conquering hero.

But he was missing something.

He knew exactly what he missed, who he missed. Although he
knew giving her space and time was good for the both of them, he missed Frankie
terribly.

At every turn there were reminders of her. Catching reruns
of
The New Adventures of The Flying Nun
. The sight of the president
reminding him of Frankie’s bawdy little crush. Ella Caldwell declaring at the
post-election staff party she was heading down to the Dominican Republic for a
month of chill.

The Dominican Republic. One of Frankie’s getaways.
Casa
de Mita
.

Edgar.

Jazz remembered it all. He wondered if she was there now?
Was Edgar making love to her down there? The thought bothered him.

But he had to be fair-minded, if not totally open-minded.
After all, he hadn’t been celibate during their separation. When he returned
home, he ran into his ex. The sex was wonderful and reminded him of that other
part of him.

Still, as good as it was, their hookup was more for old
time’s sake than re-kindling the fire they once had. They both understood that.
And after a week of familiar sex, they parted ways as friends.

That deep love that nearly shattered Jazz when he and his ex
broke up was no longer there. There was only one person Jazz deeply loved now.
And it was time for him to do something about it.

* * * * *

The Christmas season was always a popular time for many
Americans to escape to the sunny tropical Dominican Republic. This would be
Frankie’s first Christmas as the new owner of
Casa de Mita
and she was
very excited.

Although she traveled often between her condo in LA and her
Dominican hotel, she hadn’t been back in the States in two months. And then,
she was only back for Trudy’s wedding.

Not only was she proud and honored to share maid of honor
duties with Yvette, she was happy Trudy had found true love again.

And what a wonderful new husband Trudy had. Fidel,
Casa
de Mita’s
former piano player, was a sweet and sensitive man who had fallen
in love with Trudy the first time he saw her in the parlor. Although Fidel
silently ached each time he saw her take a man up to her room, he overcame his
shyness. On the night before she was about to return to the States, he
approached her.

He was so sincere in his outpouring of affection that Trudy
was completely swept off her feet. She delayed her trip back to the States and
spent an additional week, not at
Casa de Mita
, but at Fidel’s apartment
in the downtown area of Santo Domingo. It only took that week for the two of
them to fall completely in love.

Now that they were married, Frankie was truly happy for them
and totally understood why they wouldn’t be able to make it down for Christmas.
Fidel had just started a new job playing and singing at a restaurant in Century
City. He was also still adjusting to his new life in America and enjoying
quality time in his new marriage.

And besides, House of John was not the most ideal vacation
spot for a newlywed couple.

For Frankie, there was so much to be done in anticipation of
the huge winter crowd expected. The last two weeks of December through New
Year’s was booked solid.

Edgar had been so helpful, business-wise and emotionally.
Not only did he remain a good and steady no-strings-attached romantic partner,
he proved to be an adept supervisor of staff. He also had a keen eye for
screening and inviting new
bugarrones
, or what Frankie had come to call
“gentlemen callers” into the family.

Yvette, eager to, in her words, “test ride the new models”
had already booked her room and bought her plane ticket. A ten-day shoot as
Blair Underwood’s administrative assistant in a new HBO movie more than paid
for the trip with plenty to spare. Frankie was so happy Yvette would be coming
down.

But nothing could have pleased and shocked Frankie more than
the phone call she received a week before Christmas.

“Hello stranger,” he said in his unforgettable baritone.

“Jazz?” Frankie whispered with awe and remembrance.

“How are you?”

“Fine. How about yourself?”

“I’m hanging in there. It’s been a long time.”

“Yes it has.”

“Too long.”

“Yes…it has.”

“So how are you?”

“Doing well.”

“You’re still as beautiful as ever. Love the new pix on
Facebook.”

“Thank you. You’re not so bad yourself. Love your new
profile picture with you and the president.”

“Thanks… I’d love to see you, Frankie.”

“I’d love to see you too.”

“How about tonight?”

“Tonight? Jazz, I’m in Santo Domingo.”

“So am I.”

“You are?”

“I’m on Christmas break from school, so I decided to come
down and see you.”

“How did you know I was here?”

“Facebook.”

“Oh. Right.”

“And congratulations, Madame Hotelier.”

“Thank you.”

“I tried to book your place for my stay, but you’re
completely booked up.”

“’Tis the season.”

“But I’d love to see it.”

“I’d love to show it to you,” Frankie said. “I’d love to
tell you all about it and all about me.”

“All right,” Jazz said, sensing intrigue. “So, you gave up
on your acting?”

“No, not really. I just put it on the back burner for now.”

“Sort of like what you did to me.”

“You’re the one who sent the ‘Dear John’ voicemail.”

“I just wanted to give you some space, Frankie. That’s all.”

“I understand.”

“So may I see you tonight?”

“I’d like that,” Frankie said. “Why don’t you drop by around
eight, let me give you the grand tour and we’ll go from there.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

“Casa de Mita.”

“I know.”

“In the Colonial Zone.”

“I’ll find it.”

They both hung up their phones with equal anticipation,
longing and trepidation. Did the specialness of what they had still exist? They
both believed it did, but weren’t completely sure. So much had changed in both
their lives.

“A friend from the States is coming to visit me tonight,”
Frankie told Edgar when he and Marcos returned from the airport with a van full
of guests.

“Bueno, mi amor,”
he said, pecking her on the cheek.

“A very special friend.”

“Oh?”

“Remember I told you about Jazz?”

“How could I forget? When you showed me his picture, I was
struck silent by his masculine beauty.”

“He’s here, in the city. He’s coming to see me tonight.”

“That is good for you. I will be spending the night with
Emmanuel anyway.”

“Good. I’m sure you’re going to have a lovely time.”

“And I am sure you are too.”

Frankie wasn’t sure what was going to happen that night, but
she prepared herself for all the possibilities. She was sure Jazz had gotten
over the marriage thing. But she could tell by his phone call and his presence
in the DR that he hadn’t gotten over her.

But what would he think of
Casa de Mita
? What would
he think of House of John? And what would he think about sharing and being
shared?

Oh yes. It had been one of Frankie’s fantasies for months.
She loved Jazz as much as she loved Edgar. The idea of having them both at the
same time was just too irresistible. She never forgot what Cedric had said.
“Who’s to say love is not big enough to share with more than one?”

She knew Edgar would be ready. He on more than one occasion
alluded to his attraction to Jazz. But would Jazz be adventurous enough to try
something different? Or would the idea completely repulse him?

There was only one way to find out.

Jazz stood in the window of his hotel room and stared out
over the Caribbean Sea. Moonlight reflected off its gentle ripples. He smiled.
The thought of seeing Frankie again, her lovely face, her sparkling smile, hearing
her raucous laughter, was as romantic as the view.

He checked his watch. It was half past seven. The distance
from his hotel to
Casa de Mita
in the Colonial Zone was a fifteen-minute
stroll along
El Malecón
. He had jogged along the beautiful seaside
boardwalk earlier in the day and took note of the many flower carts and
vendors. He would stop by one of those carts on his way to see Frankie.

He checked himself in the mirror and was pleased with his
simple but classic look. Beige linen shorts, sandals and a simple short sleeve
white shirt opened three buttons down. His jet-black hair was neatly tussled.
The fine black hairs on his chest and his legs and the new thin black mustache
contrasted his Creole gold complexion. He was glad he’d gotten that extra sun
earlier during his jog. He didn’t want to appear a tourist. And he didn’t. He
could easily blend in among the Latin locals.

As he strolled along the picturesque
El Malecón
he
inhaled the sea-scented breeze that softly billowed his hair and loose
clothing. Music serenaded him from both sides of the boardwalk—from open-air
seaside restaurants on his right and festive bars syncopated with laughter on
his left.

The beautiful silver-haired lady he had seen earlier in the
day was still at her flower stand.

“Buenas noches, Señora,”
he said with a warm smile.

“Buenas noches,”
she answered with a smile equally as
warm.

As he looked over her beautiful array of flowers, he chatted
with her in fluent Spanish. He was also fluent in French and German, formally
learned in school, but much of it picked up while traveling the world with his
parents.

He explained to her he wanted something for a very special
lady. The vendor’s ancient eyes lit up with glee, as she picked up a beautiful
bouquet of long-stem red roses.

“¡Perfecto!”
Jazz exclaimed with grateful glee.

With an artist’s touch, the vendor wrapped the flowers and
presented them to him, telling him how fortunate his lady was to have such a
handsome and thoughtful young man.

“Muchas gracias,”
he said, blushing as he paid her.

“Es muy bienvenido, mi hijo,”
she answered with a
motherly hug.

He headed back down the boardwalk smiling and humming along
with music that filled the air.

Heading in his direction was a man. He was smiling too,
smiling at Jazz, staring in his eyes.

“Hola,”
Jazz said with a nod.

“Hola,”
the man replied, his smile widening as he
passed.

Never breaking his stride, Jazz glanced back. The man was
glancing back as well. Jazz then faced forward and chuckled lightly. He was
used to it.

Casa de Mita
was much as Jazz romanticized it to be.
It sat storybook-like in the center of the block. Small lanterns lit the gilded
entryway and indigenous vines snaked through trellises sentried on either side.
Soft amber light poured through sheer lace curtains at French windows, creating
magical etchings on the ground. It reminded him of home.

As he approached the entrance, a familiar female voice
quizzically called out his name.

“Jazz?”

He turned.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Ella beamed, kissing
Jazz on the cheek, but snuggled in the embrace of the handsome local man at her
side. “Oh, by the way, this is Kunal.”

“
Hola
, Kunal,” Jazz said, extending his hand.

“Hola,”
the handsome local responded, shaking Jazz’s
hand suspiciously.

“Oh my God!” El goggled at the flowers. “You and Frankie
Templeton are back together again!”

“Well actually—”

“Somebody alert Perez Hilton! You know, when I booked the
place I had no idea she had bought it. And now you? How wonderful, Jazz! When
did you get here?”

“A couple of days ago.”

“Really? How did I miss you?”

“I’m not actually staying here. I’m at the Hilton.”

“You mean you’re not staying with Frankie?”

“No. We’re just…we’re re-uniting tonight.”

“Oh. Well that explains it.”

“Explains what?”

“Never mind. Well come on in. Don’t loiter out here like a
hungry
bugarrone
.”

“Actually, I was headed in when you called out to me.” The
bugarrone
remark didn’t sit well with him.

“Well of course,” she said, allowing herself to be escorted
in by Kunal. Jazz followed.

Over their shoulders, he took in the sights. The lobby
brimmed with hushed conversations and innuendo. There was a New Orleans-style
parlor to the side. It was dotted with mostly American tourists at candlelit
tables. They were sharing drinks and glances with handsome young men. Local
young men. The glances, the whispers, the clinking of glasses spoke volumes.

“So how long are you here for?” El pulled him from his
thoughts.

“It…depends,” he managed to say, suddenly feeling
conspicuous holding a bouquet of flowers like a schoolboy on a prom date.

“Well I’m sure we’ll run into each other before you leave.
But in the meantime, nature calls,” she swooned, taking Kunal’s hand. “
Ciao
for now, sweetie.”

And he watched as Ella led her
bugarrone
up the
spiral staircase. It all made so much sense to him now. He was just a bit
surprised to find no-nonsense Ella Caldwell in such a setting. But as he
watched her disappear up the staircase with her handsome
bugarrone
, he
had to realize she wasn’t all that no-nonsense. She was a woman with needs,
like any other woman. He had to fight the urge to laugh out loud.

“Are those for me?” Her voice turned him around instantly.

“Of course they are,” he said, handing them to her and
staring into her beautiful eyes with a whole new perspective. “You’ve gotten
even more beautiful, Frankie.”

“So have you. Love the mustache.”

“Thanks.” He then glanced around again before turning back
to her with a knowing smile. “Quite a place you have here.”

“Thank you. You already made friends I see.”

“That’s Ella Caldwell.”

“You know her?”

“We worked together on the Obama campaign.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. A very bright lady.”

“What a small world.”

“And what an interesting world you have here. Interesting to
attract the likes of an Ella Caldwell.”

“You’d be amazed at who we attract. And then again, maybe
not.”

“Would it be presumptuous for me to call you Madame
Frankie?”

Frankie laughed. “A bit, although you wouldn’t be the first.
Actually a madame is a female pimp, which I’m not. I don’t share in any of the
money exchanged between my guests and their guests. But I’m not bothered by the
naughty sobriquet.” She linked her arm through his and led him to the parlor
bar. “Would you like a drink?”

“Sure.”

“Champagne?”

“Why not?”

“Héctor, dos gafas de champán por favor,”
she sweetly
informed the bartender.

“Derecho próximo, Frankie.”

She then handed her flowers to the young bar-back next to
Héctor.

“¿Marcel, sería un querido y tomaría éstos a mi piso, los
pondría en un florero lleno del agua, por favor?”

“En seguida, Frankie.”

“Gracias, mi caramelo.”

With a knowing smile, Marcel took the flowers to Frankie’s
upstairs apartment. Héctor poured champagne into the flutes he’d set before his
boss and her guest.

“Muchas gracias, Héctor.”

“De nada, Frankie.”

“I’m impressed. Your Spanish is pretty good.”

“Only pretty good?”

“Cheers,” Jazz said, picking up his glass and clicking hers.

“Cheers.”

They both took sips.

“I missed you terribly, you know,” he said.

“But not enough to call me sooner?”

“That’s a two-way street.”

“Only if I missed you as much as you missed me.”

“Did you?”

“Terribly.”

They took their glasses and walked through the parlor to the
patio. All eyes were on them. Along the way, guests greeted and thanked
Frankie. Some quietly, enviously grumbled at what they’d been cheated out
of—the owner’s prime catch.

“So what do you think?” she asked as they stepped out into
the light of a full moon.

“Seeing you makes me want you even more.”

“No, silly. My place.”

“I think you’re a very enterprising woman.”

“You’re not shocked?”

“I’m a Creole from New Orleans with hippie stoner parents.
Not much shocks me. Besides, what’s wrong with being paid for sexual favors?
What’s wrong with a wonderful woman like you providing what so far seems to be
a nice setting for that kind of exchange? What’s wrong with you putting all
those smiles on all those faces?”

“My, my. Haven’t we changed?”

“I’ve expanded my horizons a bit. I’ve learned how to
appreciate other horizons a bit better. You know I still love you.”

“I love you too, Jazz. In fact, I never stopped loving you.”

“Then why aren’t we together?”

“We want different things.”

“Wanted. I’ve learned a lot in these past few months,
Frankie.”

“Have you?”

“I know you can’t always have everything you want.”

“Actually you can, Jazz. All you have to do is stop wanting
certain things.”

“You’re right. If I can’t be married to you, then I don’t
want to be married.”

“That’s a start.”

“Are you still seeing Edgar?”

“He works for me.”

“Should I be jealous?”

“No. Open-minded.”

“I see.”

“I know a thing or two about your sexual appetite. I’m sure
you haven’t spent these past months pleasuring yourself without some help.”

“You’re right. Actually, I spent some time with my ex.”

“Good for you. All work and no play—”

Suddenly he grabbed her and kissed her, deeply, warmly, with
a hunger he couldn’t control. And she was kissing him back, showing how much
she needed it, how much she truly missed him.

“I want you, Frankie,” he whispered desperately. “I want you
now—”

She put a finger to his lips and hushed him. He took the
finger in his mouth and sucked it gently.

She then took him by the hand and led him back inside.

* * * * *

Marcel knew his employer well. He had artfully arranged the
flowers in Frankie’s favorite vase. The painted porcelain antique purchased at
a market near
Boca Chica
Beach was placed in the center of her bedroom
dresser. Small, lit candles floating in water-filled crystal goblets sat on
either side. Their fragrance was softly intoxicating. Gentle
bachata
music poured from hidden speakers. And Frankie and Jazz were ready to make
their own familiar music.

Their heated kisses were familiar and constant as they
entered Frankie’s apartment. Their lips didn’t part, their tongues did not
untangle until they were in the bedroom. They undressed, hypnotized by their
lust-filled, love-filled stares.

Looking down at her bare breasts, he was amazed. Had he
forgotten just how beautiful they were, how perfectly formed, how full and
robust they were? He kissed them, then massaged them, then kissed her, then
licked them. He didn’t know where to begin or to end. The feast was
overwhelming.

She hadn’t forgotten a thing. That dizzying, spicy scent of
his still weakened her. The rock-hard pecs shivered her. The chiseled chest,
adorned with soft midnight hairs, caused her to moan as she touched it, blew on
it, kissed it and licked it.

He then laid her down on the bed. Her eyes bulged at the
sight of his ample rod staring down at her. She couldn’t resist. Her tongue and
her lips locked hold of it and she sucked on it wildly.

The feel of his finger toying nastily in and around her love
canal caused her to deep throat him like a glutton. He moaned. She gagged. He
twittered her spot. She winced with delirious delight.

He then tasted his finger coated with the juice of her
essence. The taste made him sigh. It almost made him cry.

He went back for more, played in her pussy, wetted that
finger and sucked off the taste of the woman he loved.

But that wasn’t enough for him. It wasn’t enough for her.
With her still sucking him crazy, he maneuvered himself on the bed and turned
himself around and on top of her. He was face-fucking her now and he was
licking and eating and tongue-massaging her vaginal lips and vaginal walls and
titillating her clit. They sixty-nine’d wildly, too near explosion.

But they desperately held back. It had been months since
he’d been inside her. It had been months since the feel of his dick jazz-danced
inside her.

He laid her on her back. He hovered over her. He kissed
every part of her body. Her face, her neck, her breasts, her stomach and navel,
her sweet mound, her beautiful feet.

He then eased up on her, his swollen rod sliding up against
her, from her ankles to her navel.

Staring in her eyes, he kissed her. She reached into her bed
table drawer and pulled out a condom. She unwrapped it, then rolled it down his
throbbing penis.

He eased down her, kissed her neck and slipped inside her
with a blissful sigh. She grabbed hold of his muscled ass and slowly thrust him
deeper inside her. He rocked her slowly and sensually at first, in and out. She
played with the fine hairs around his asshole. He massaged her breasts as he
slow-danced inside her. He kissed her neck as he danced. He feasted on one ear,
then the other without missing a stroke.

And then their blood ran hot. He was pumping her harder and
she was yelling, “Yes! Yes!” He was fucking her into a sweat. She tossed her
hair from side to side as she held on to his bucking ass for dear life, as she
fingered his asshole, played inside its pucker, beyond the ring of fine ass
hair.