Benny & Ray 82

Francesca

 

Francesca was so slow to answer the door that Damon began to worry.  He leaned on the doorbell once more, and waited.  He pressed his ear to the door, and heard no movement within.  He wondered if she had gone into labor right there on her floor, with no one there to help her.  He imagined her not being able to drag herself to the phone to call 911, crouched in pain. 

 

Francesca could go at any moment.  Matter of fact, he was driving her to her mother’s house so they could all keep an eye on her there.  She was already six days past her due date, and Dr. Abbott was threatening to induce if she didn’t go within the next forty-eight hours. 

 

There was still not a sound.  Feeling panicky, he banged on the door.   

 

He heard a voice bellow, “Alright, already! I’m coming! Keep your pants on!” Moments later, his girlfriend, looking extremely piqued, yanked open the door. She had a hand to her lower back.  “I was lying down! It took me a couple minutes to sit up.”  She moved from the doorway and let him in. 

 

“I didn’t mean to seem impatient; I was just concerned,” he soothed.

 

“Yeah, well, you should be. I feel like a Macy’s Thanksgiving Day balloon here.  I’m surprised I haven’t popped yet.”  Damon thought Francesca looked sexy as hell.  Her round belly pushed against the fabric of her tight black Van Halen T-shirt.  When he had last seen her, the firm little mound was sitting high.  Now, it was riding low. 

 

Her tits, little apples when he first met her, were now grapefruits.  And he loved fruit. Tremendously.  Her black sweatpants were pushed down underneath her belly, a bit of flesh exposed, enticing him.  Damon impulsively put his hand out and touched the bare skin there. He leaned in and kissed her.

 

She swatted him away.  “I look gross! Leave me alone!”

 

Damon smiled.  “You look beautiful, babe.  Beautiful.” He reached out again, cupping a firm round breast. 

 

She leaned in and kissed him on the mouth. “You’re trying to charm me so I’ll take my top off.” 

 

“I wasn’t, but I wouldn’t object if you did.  You look beautiful, in any case.”  He took her chin in his hands and leaned into her, placing a gentle kiss on her mouth.  She responded to the kiss, drawing him in. He wrapped his arms around her, deepening the kiss. Damon let his hands slip down to roam over her wonderful little heart-shaped ass.  He squeezed and she moaned faintly. “Think we could have a little quickie before we go over to your Ma’s?” She nodded, placing her hands on his shoulders.  He began to gently walk her backwards to the couch.

 

Sex with Francesca these past couple of months had been quite the adventure.  They got right down to it on their third date, which was only a week after the first one, going at it like minks.  Her pregnancy presented only a small obstacle; they managed to find pleasure in the rear entry position, or with Francesca on top.  Woman-on-top was Damon’s favorite position anyway; his hands were free to fondle her breasts, and stroke her dark brown nipples until they stood up in tight little nubs. 

 

Damon gently lay her down on the couch.  “I’ve missed you,” he murmured. Francesca leaned back on the couch and pulled him down into her arms.  He slowly slid his hands down toward her thighs as they resumed kissing.

 

Damon had not spoken to Francesca since last night, and had not seen her since Sunday dinner at her Ma’s.  He’d been too busy running around this week trying to get the land secured for the new Fischer Toyota up in Niles, and meeting with the architect to review plans for the huge showroom, complete with two-story lobby.

 

It was quite a stretch of time for them to go without seeing one another. He and Francesca had been inseparable since their first date.  It turned out that she lived only a stone’s throw from him; he had a large open loft in the Village, and she had been living practically under his nose this whole time.  He often walked over.

 

Francesca was an amazing woman.  He was surprised that she hadn’t been scooped up already.  She was light-hearted and lively and funny, even silly.  She had a sense of adventure, and a wide-eyed outlook on life that he found refreshing.  She liked to look pretty, and dress nice, but she wasn’t vain.  She was engaging, impulsive, and liked to party.  And she was sensual. She loved sex and she wasn’t shy about it.  The woman knew her way around a dick.  What was not to love about her? Francesca was super-duper.

 

Francesca suddenly bucked, pulling away from his passionate kisses.  She grimaced and pushed him away. “Oh, oh, oh!” she exclaimed. 

 

“What’s wrong? The baby?” A split second later, he knew what the matter was.  He couldn’t help but wrinkle his nose and move back.  Wow.

 

 She began to frantically fan the air.  “Sorry!” she cried. “Oh, this kid is giving me the farts! Oh!” she moaned and rubbed her belly.  “When are you coming out, little one? You gotta be born sometime; you’re driving Mama crazy!”

 

Damon snorted in consternation.

 

“Sorry!”  she said again.  She grabbed a throw pillow from the couch and fanned the air in an attempt to disperse the foul odor.

 

Damon studied Francesca’s face.  She was bare-faced; he’d never seen her without her makeup before.  She looked so young and so sweet, even with her face scrunched up in displeasure.  He smiled with affection at her predicament.

 

“Goodness, you’re a stinker!” he quipped. He pulled his turtleneck over his nose.

 

She swatted him with the pillow, which he quickly deflected.  She grabbed another pillow and swatted him again, on the other side.  Damon pushed her shoulders down so she was flat on her back, knowing she’d be completely helpless in that position, like a fat little Ladybug scrambling to turn over from its back. He began to gently pummel her with a pillow.  She began to giggle, trying to cover her head and rise at the same time.  As he predicted, Francesca could not get purchase past her big belly, and she helplessly grappled the air while trying at the same time to cover her head.

 

The both burst into gales of laughter as Francesca helplessly tried to right herself. 

 

Damon stopped and gazed down at her, feeling the most intense love.  “What if we got married?” he blurted.

 

She continued to giggle, “Yeah, right! I’d never get a moments peace!” She poked him.

 

“Francesca.  Seriously.”

 

“What?” 

 

“I’m asking you to marry me.”

 

The grin slid from Francesca’s face, and she gazed up at him incredulously.

 

Damon moved from the couch, and dropped to his knee in front of her.  He took her hand and pulled her up.  “Anna-Francesca Lucia Vecchio. Will you marry me? Will you be mine forever?”

 

She pulled her hand away.  “No.”

 

Damon felt an ice pick stab through his heart.  “But, why!”  he cried.

 

“Because….because I love you.”  She caressed his face, smiling sadly into his eyes.  She had never told him that before.  He was glad to hear her words; it made his heart sing.

 

“And I love you.  So…where’s the problem?”

 

“You don’t want to marry me.”

 

“You’re everything that I’ve always wanted.  You make me laugh.”  He took her hand and kissed it fervently.

 

“You’re too young for me.”

 

“I’ll be twenty nine next month. Then, it’ll only seem like four years difference. What’s four years? Four years is a car note.  Four years is a high school career.  It’s nothing.”

 

“But you’re Jewish, and I’m Catholic.”

 

“I’ll convert. To whatever you command.  Catholic. Mormon. Scientology. Voodoo. Anything.”

 

Francesca leaned in and kissed him.  “Oh, you’re sweet.  My baby boy.”  She reached out and ran her fingers through his hair. He laid his head in her lap.

 

“We don’t know each other well enough. I haven’t even met your parents.”

 

“I can fix that.  How’s tonight? Dad’s been dying to meet you, and so have Mom and Opa—

 

“Oprah! Oh my God! You know Oprah?”

 

“No, Opa…that’s what we call our grandmother.”

 

“Oh.”

 

Damon got up from the floor and sat on the couch next to her.  “Francesca, what is it? You don’t love me?  Because if you don’t, then just say so, and—

 

“No! No no no!  I do love you!”

 

“Then what?”

 

“Damon.  Damon, you’re….too good for me.  Why on earth would you want to marry a girl like me, huh?”

 

“What do you mean, ‘a girl like you’? You mean somebody who’s beautiful, sexy, smart, and funny? I dunno, call me crazy.”

 

“Look.  I’m just going to lay it out for you…I’m… spoiled goods.”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“D, I….I have a confession to make.  I’ve mislead you a little. I’m…not proud of myself, but….I’ve been married before.”

 

Damon shook his head, confused.  “That’s okay.”

 

“Umm…twice.” She knotted her brow, afraid of his reaction.

 

Damon couldn’t help but appear surprised at this information, given her age. “I see,” he said with some trepidation.

 

“Both times were stupid mistakes, done on impulse and adrenaline.”

 

Damon sat back and said nothing, letting her gather her thoughts.

 

“I didn’t take the time to get to know the guys, really.  You know? I wanted the ceremony, the romance, the exhilaration, the gratification. I imagined I’d have this huge white wedding with lots of flowers and hundreds of people, a dozen bridesmaids.  But I … was in a rush, both times, so I never got it. I settled for instant gratification instead. God, the first time, I was only eighteen. Joey was my date for my senior prom.  He was hot.  And he was smart. He wanted to go to school and become a lawyer, and that turned me on.  But, things turned sour pretty quick once I got the ring on his finger.”

 

VVVVVV

 

It was the last year of the eighties, and Frannie Vecchio was riding pretty high.  Frannie and her friends Ursula, Michelle, and Jennifer had all gotten themselves on the senior prom planning committee, and that gave her a little bit of power, which it turned out, she loved.  She got into it; Frannie got picked to put all the dance music together.  She had gotten a CD player for her eighteenth birthday and right after that started giving away her records and buying CD’s instead. 

 

She remembered putting on some of her music over the P.A. system in the gym, just to make sure it sounded okay.  Girls ruled the pop charts that year, and all Frannie’s music reflected that.  She ran through the albums of Madonna, The Bangles, Paula Abdul, and Janet Jackson, listening for songs with just the right tempo to dance to. 

 

There was just one guy on the planning committee, and that was Joey Martino.  He took some heat from his boys for that one, but it turns out that Joey was smarter than anybody gave him credit for; Joey was trying to get close to Frannie, and since she was on the committee too, well…there you go.

 

Sitting in the bleachers, Fran rifled through her music, and made notes on the songs she wanted to play.  She meticulously wrote each title and artist out in the back of her Spanish II notebook, in the exact order she wanted them played.  She was so engrossed in planning that she didn’t hear the footsteps behind her, until a voice sounded in ear.  “How about some ‘Poison’?” the voice said.

 

Frannie jumped about a mile in the air.  “Joey! Geez!”

 

“Sorry!” he said, but he had a wicked grin on his face. 

 

“Who can slow-dance to that kind of music? All that screaming.”

 

“There’s some slow stuff.  What about ‘Every Rose Has Its Thorn?”

 

Frannie smiled in Joey’s beautiful blue eyes.  “Yeah, that’s a good one.  But I don’t have that CD.”

 

“I got it. I could loan it to you.”

 

Francesca smiled coyly, ducking her head.  “Alright. Can you, ah, bring it by my locker tomorrow morning before homeroom?”

 

“I can do you one better.  Why don’t you let me give you a ride home? We can stop by my house, and I can run and get it, and we can listen to it at your house, it you want.”

 

Francesca grinned widely and let her gaze drop, coyly patting her big feathered Mall Hair.  “Well, I don’t know about my house.  My sister just moved in with her deadbeat husband and four kids under the age of eight, so…I don’t think we’d get any…privacy.”

 

“Okay, well, we can just hang out at my place.  My folks don’t get home until six, so…”

 

“Alright,” Francesca smiled.  “Cool.”

 

Francesca thought she was pregnant the night she walked across the stage in cap and gown and told Joey so.  Frannie told Maria that Joey had proposed that night, at his graduation party, and she’d said ‘yes’.  Maria promptly responded that she was an idiot.  Her parents were beside themselves when she told them the news the next day at Sunday dinner.  Ray had muttered something to Angie between bites of lasagna about another “bonehead Frannie move.”

 

A couple of days after they had their shotgun wedding in the Vecchio backyard over July 4^th weekend, Francesca got her period.   She thought she felt it coming the day before the wedding, but it was too late to call it off. 

 

Joey was on his way to Loyola in the fall to study political science as his preparation for law school.  Francesca had no plans and no aspirations of her own, except to get out of the house, away from her drunken father and Maria and Tony’s screaming kids. She’d have been a fool to call the wedding off.

 

They got a cute little studio apartment together, not too far from Joey’s campus, and they made the best of things for the time being. They both got jobs, but it was hard making the rent, trying to furnish the little place, and staying on top of bills.  They hardly ever saw each other because Joey took all the overtime he could get at the restaurant.  She knew Joey was secretly relieved about her not having a baby, but he pretended to be disappointed, for her sake. 

 

After some time, he began to keep his distance.  They dutifully went to Sunday dinner at the house every week, not letting on that anything was the matter.  Fran did her best to put on a happy face.  The last thing she wanted to hear from Maria or anybody was I told you so.

 

In September when Joey started school, he met a pretty, big-titted, blue-eyed co-ed in his poli-sci class, and stopped coming home at night. Shortly after, Pop’s heart gave out on him, and Francesca moved back home right after to help Ma with the debt he had saddled her with after his abrupt and inconsiderate death.

 

Frannie and Joey quietly had the marriage annulled a few days before Christmas.

 

Francesca also told Damon about her wild, drunken, and impulsive Vegas marriage to Wilhelm Weber New Year’s Eve 1998, her moving to Manhattan with this stranger, and her subsequent return home with her tail between her legs the Easter of 2000.*

 

Wilhelm was an adorable man.  Handsome, and as sweet as all get-out.  Things were nice at first, romantic.  He bought her nice things, and she got to drive a Mercedes.  But the two of them had absolutely nothing to talk about, even if he did speak English or she German. Instead of having some high adventures on the streets of Manhattan, Paris, or Milan, Francesca often sat alone in the apartment all day while Wilhelm was out at the office making financing deals that she couldn’t even hope to understand. She was his pretty little empty-headed doll that he occasionally trotted out for dinner parties or other social functions.

 

Francesca vowed, on her way home to Chicago, that she’d not make that stupid mistake again.  It hurt too much.

 

VVVVVV

 

“So you see,” Francesca told Damon, “I can’t possible say ‘yes’.  I have to talk it over with my family. See what they think.”

 

“Your family loves me.  And I love them, you know.  I do.”

 

“Oh, Damon, I want to say ‘yes’. I do, but I can’t.  I have to think it over carefully. I have to decide if I’m the right person for you and you for me. For both our sakes.”

 

“Francesca.  I see us together.  From the first time I laid eyes on you, I saw the future.  I feel like I’ve known you forever.  Maybe we were man and wife in a past life.”

 

“Oh. Oh my God.”  Francesca’s eyes welled up and she put both hands in his hair.  They touched their foreheads together.

 

Damon leaned in and kissed Francesca.  “Say ‘yes’, he whispered.  Say ‘yes’, and make me the happiest man in the world.  Say ‘yes’, and we will marry in the church.  You will be the most beautiful bride. You will have a wedding bigger than Princess Diana’s, if that’s what you want. Say ‘yes’….say ‘yes’…say ‘yes’.”

 

“Oh, D! Oh. OH!!! Uh-oh!” Francesca had pushed him away, and stood, her thighs opening into an odd crouch.

 

“What?” he murmured in confusion.

 

“Oh God!”  Francesca stared down at herself. Fluid spread down her thighs, darkening the fabric of her dark sweatpants even more.

 

Astonished and paralyzed, Damon looked up and caught Francesca’s shocked expression. A fluid line dribbled toward her calf.

 

Damon put his hands to his open mouth. “Oh God,” he said.