Benny & Ray 33

Fran

Fran Weber forced her way onto the crowded El, squeezing her small frame in just as the doors closed.  She inhaled to sigh and instantly regretted it.  One of the many people jammed up next to her had forgotten their deodorant today.  It was a hot June day, the car filled to capacity.  She guessed a lot of people were knocking off early n a Friday afternoon.  She took a deep breath in through her mouth, intent on holding it as long as she could. It was going to be a long, hot, sweaty ride.

She was supposed to have dinner and drinks with her friend Michelle after work, but Michelle had bailed on her the last minute, saying she had a date with some hot guy she’d had her eye on for the past couple of months.  So, Fran was headed home.  It was fine.  She was exhausted anyway.

Returned from back east after yet another brief and disastrous marriage, this time to one Wilhelm Weber, formerly of Hamburg, she had been back in Chicago for over two months now. Yeah, she was idiot, coming home with her tail between her legs. She had wondered as she stared out the plane window, down at the flat mid Western landscape, if she could ever actually stand on her own two feet.  She had to stop looking for rich men, princes, and heroes to take care of her.  Ray had been right that time.  It was fairy tale. She vowed as the plane touched down on the tarmac to change her attitude. She was just going to forget about me and make it happen for herself.  Okay, so maybe she wasn’t sure what she wanted to “make happen”.  But she’d figure it out.

It had only taken a few days to get re-acclimated to life in Chicago. Thanks to Lt. Welsh, she had landed a great job assisting a couple of private detectives downtown. The office was just around the corner of the Chicago Mercantile Exchange, and Fran’s favorite part of the day was taking her lunch break in the district and eyeing all the pretty boys in suits.  Okay, so old habits died hard.

She mostly worked in the office, handling paperwork, but lately they had her making phone calls, and just last week she had tailed a woman, suspected of cheating on her husband.  And boy was she ever.  With two men.  Francesca had kept her distance, only taking pictures with a telephoto lens, nailing the woman red-handed.  It had been exhilarating.  She knew she was never in danger, but her heart had been thumping wildly, nonetheless, as she silently  pursued the woman.

The transition back to Chicago had been much easier than she had anticipated.  There were no I-told-you-so’s from anybody, not even her obnoxious older brother.  Ray, Ma, and everybody else had seemed genuinely glad to have her back home.  She was glad that she had left.  And she was equally glad that she had come home.  She felt more grown up now, having been away.  She was Fran now.  Or Francesca. No more Frannie. Frannie was a little girl.   

It helped that she had been the hero, bringing her brother Paul back with her.  Ma had nearly passed out when she first saw him.  She had been exiting the church, walking alongside Benton, and had gone down to her knees when she saw her baby boy standing before her.  If it hadn’t been for Ben grabbing her, she probably would have gone down on her face. There were a lot of tears that day.  Tears of joy, at first, and later, tears of anger and sadness as Paul and Ma tried to put the past behind them and get reacquainted.    Paul had stayed for a week, and when he left, there were tears of sadness all around.  He promised he would come for the holidays this year.  She was glad.  She loved Paul.  She hadn’t forgotten that Paul was her best friend when she was a little kid.  Or maybe more of an uncle than a brother.  She remembered that she cried for days after he left.

Fran had returned to an even more crowded house.  Maria had had a little girl, (and had her tubes tied right after the birth, she had secretly confessed to Fran, Catholic church be damned).  Maria and Tony had reshuffled the bedroom assignments around when she vacated her room to accommodate the growing family.   Maria had put Raphy into Fran’s old room after she had run off to New York, and it had been repainted and decorated to suit a twelve-year-old boy. Once Fran came back, Maria moved Raphy into Donny’s room so that Fran had a private place to sleep, but both boys began to complain shortly after of having to put up with each other, so they had had to figure out some kind of permanent solution. 

Surprisingly, it was Ray who came up with the solution.  During his rounds, he had heard through the grapevine that the city was selling some old graystones in Irving Park, at bargain-basement prices, and offering tax incentives.  And the neighborhood historical society was supplementing these incentives by issuing some affordable-housing grants to anyone willing to get the old homes restored to their original condition. It was something he could look into for her, if she wanted.  And in the meantime, she could live with him and Ben.  When he suggested it over Sunday dinner, Fran was waiting for some kind of smart comment, something to indicate he was kidding; a “not” or a “psych” or something.  But he was nothing but sincere.  After dinner, they had put her bags in the back of Ray’s Buick, and she had gone home with them that very night.

But it hadn’t been the most perfect arrangement.  Fran found that Ray and Ben were often quite…amorous while at home, leading to some embarrassing moments for all of them. 

There were a few times when she caught Ray with his hand on Ben’s ass or Ben with his hand on Ray’s crotch, or had caught the two of them locked in a passionate kiss.

There were a couple of Saturday nights when she had come in earlier than expected and heard the two of them having some pretty enthusiastic sex—behind closed doors, thank goodness.  God, Ben made a lot of noise! Clearly, he was having the time of his life.  One time, as she crept by the closed bedroom door, she even felt the floorboards quiver.  What the hell were they DOING in there? She had wondered.

A few nights later, while Francesca sat on the toilet at one in the morning, wearing only a threadbare old “wife beater” undershirt, panties at her knees, a naked and sweaty Ben had popped into the bathroom.  They had both yelped.  Ben covered his genitals with one had while Fran leaned over, placing her arms in her lap.  “I-I-I’m sorry,” he stammered.  He grabbed a washcloth from above his sink.  “I need—

“Go ahead!” she had cried, exasperated.

He quickly wet and wrung out the cloth with one hand while keeping himself covered with the other.  He had scampered away, flashing Fran a view of his perfect ass.  After about five seconds of processing what had just happened, Francesca burst into peals of laughter.  She had finally gotten her ultimate fantasy after all; they had seen each other naked!

After that, she often saw them kiss and hug.  After the ‘naked incident’ as it became known, Ben had taken on a kind of laissez-faire attitude about displays of affection with Ray.  What was the point of hiding it, really?  Ray, after much resistance, dropped the bashfulness, too. 

It was all very sweet, really.  Fran finally got that Ben absolutely adored Ray.  And Ray felt the same way. Fran had never seen her brother so in love.  Ray had toned down his whole persona considerably since moving in with Ben.  A Friday night for the two of them usually consisted of a basketball game at the Y, or bowling or a movie.  A couple of weekends ago, the three of them had gone to see “Gladiator”.  Fran fell in love with Russell Crowe then and there, and announced that he may well be husband number three.  Ben also admitted he found the man attractive, much to Ray’s annoyance. They had gone out for pizza and root beer floats after that, and Ray had picked at Ben the rest of the night for the ‘Russell Crowe Remark’.  Ben had finally been goaded long enough about the comment, and the two of them had argued in the car on the way home. 

Clearly they made up shortly after arriving home, Fran knew, based on the fact that they were making their bed squeak shortly after continuing their argument behind closed doors.  

Their domestic routine was pretty simple.  Ray handed over his paycheck to Ben, minus his allowance, and Ben handled the couple’s finances.   Now that Ben had completed his first year of college and classes were done, Ray made an effort to be home at six so that they could have dinner together.  They usually did their food shopping and many domestic tasks Thursday nights so that they had the entire weekend to play together, sometimes going on weekend getaways.  Ray was respectful and helpful around the house. He often cooked, and took care of laundry and some cleaning without being asked.  The boy had grown up.

Last month, Fran had closed on her first house.  She had bought an eleven hundred square foot second floor condo in a historical graystone.  Ray had taken out a home equity line of credit against the house on Octavia on her behalf, to help her with the down payment and some of the renovation expenses; she just had to pay him back in monthly installments.  There was a lot of work to be done in the house.  Little of the original carpentry or architectural details could be saved, and the place had to be demo’d to the studs.  She had hired a general contractor, and Ben and Tony were sweet enough to spend a few of their weekends doing some of the work themselves, to help save some of Ray’s money and speed up the process. They were putting up the last of the drywall tomorrow, and right after that, all four of them would paint.  She was definitely ready to move, to get out of her brother’s hair so they –and she— could have some privacy again.

The long hot train ride finally ended for Francesca.  The crowd had thinned considerably the last couple of stops, so at least she got to sit briefly.  She flung herself up and out of the hard seat, and down the stairs to the street.  It was the height of summer, so the sun was still high in the sky.  Now that she was approaching home, she didn’t feel as tired.  Maybe she’d call up her friend Tricia, and they could go to that little diner that had just opened up near Columbus Circle.  Or maybe Ben and Ray were doing something fun tonight that she could get in on.  She’d be up for bowling.

Traffic quieted and the pedestrian traffic thinned as she approached the apartment building on St. Donatus.  Francesca opened the front door to the lobby and immediately removed the spike heels from her throbbing feet.  They were so loud on hard surfaces anyway, it made her self-conscious.  She felt like a Clydesdale clomping around in those things. She checked her watch.  5:36. She would be the first person home, so she checked the mailbox.  Empty. Odd, she thought.  Usually somebody got one piece of mail, even it if were just junk.   She proceeded up the stairs silently, sighing a few times.  Her stomach growled a little, and she again debated calling Tricia to meet for dinner.  Yeah, that what she would do.  She had been craving gnocchi earlier; that would hit the spot.  That, or a little angel hair pasta with pesto sauce, with a glass of white wine…

Francesca dug out her keys when she reached her floor, palming them to keep them from jingling in the echoing hallway.  She quietly slipped the keys in the doorknob, and flung it open. 

What she saw next made her freeze in her tracks and scream, wishing to God she could be instantly struck blind.  There they were, on the living room floor, in a 69, not a stitch on, either one.  As Ben was on top and facing the door, she made eye contact with him.  His head must have popped up the instant she put her key in the lock, but he hadn’t had enough time to react.  “You’re home EARLY!!!”  she and Ben exclaimed together.  Ben unsaddled from a screaming Ray, and reached for a nearby sofa pillow to cover, but Fran had already closed the door.  “Umm,” she called through the closed door.  “I’m just going to go over to Tricia’s.  Ummh, I’ll be back later tonight.  Umm,  okay…well, see ya.”  She ran down the hall. 

The scene replayed in her head as she walked back down the street, clomping away in those shoes, back toward the El again.  Wow.  That was disturbing, yet hot, she thought.  Who knew skinny Ray had such a big dick? “Stallion” indeed!  No wonder Ben was always so loud during sex, getting plowed by THAT thing. Oh…gross! Don’t think about Ray’s dick.  Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it.  She pulled her cell phone out to call Tricia.  This weekend couldn’t get here soon enough.  As soon as they were done rocking and painting, she was packing her bags and moving in.  She’d sleep on the living room floor a couple of nights while arranging for a mattress set to be delivered.  Her bedroom floor still needed to be refinished, floor trim installed throughout, and the kitchen cabinets and appliances weren’t coming until next week.

That’s okay, she could handle it! Fran felt a thrill run through her body.  This was it. She was finally moving! Into her own house! On her own at last.  Next week, she’d need to start the paperwork to resume her birth name.  Good bye, Fran Weber; hello again, Fran Vecchio.  If she had a beret, she’d throw it up into the air right now.  She did do the little Mary Tyler Moore twirl, just for the hell of it.  She was going to make it after all. The girl had finally grown up.