Double Coverage

Chapter 8: Francine Visits

Chapter 8: Francine Visits

10:45 P.M.

“You wanted to f**k Matthew McDestin. I can see it all over your face. He knocked you off your romantic feet.” Francine took another sip of her red wine, bombed, and added, “I’m not surprised, though. You’ve always liked redheads. If I remember correctly, the soccer player you were going to marry was a redhead.”

“Strawberry blond,” I corrected her.

“Close enough. Whatever.” She downed her fourth glass of wine and started a fifth. No one who knew the young woman would say that she couldn’t down a bottle of wine herself. Although Francine didn’t have a drinking problem, some of the people in our close circle of friends would have thought differently. Her nickname at parties was Princess Vino because she sometimes carried a bottle of wine around with her, which was a social flaw, but all of us still loved her.

“What can I say, he was a beautiful man?”

“You called him durable,” she corrected.

“That too.”

“Are you even using that word right?” She sat her glass of wine down on my kitchen counter and pressed a few buttons on her cell phone to look up the definition of the word. Then she said, “One, able to endure decay, wear and tear. Two, capable to perform or contend in a lengthy period of time, as by evading or overcoming hurt. Three, to be long-lasting and stable. And four, not to dwindle or be consumed by a process.”

“That’s exactly what I mean. All of the above,” I said, defending myself. “Keep in mind that he did just lose his friend.”

She laughed. “You’re a fool. You seriously got that by just looking at him?”

“I did. I’m very perceptive when it comes to redheads.”

She laughed harder this time, swinging her head back. “You’re a dove, my love.”

“And you’re drunk. You won’t be driving home. My spare bedroom awaits you.”

She carried her wine glass in her right hand like an Academy Award winning star and I escorted her upstairs. Behind me, she rambled, “You’re making a terrible mistake, darling. Beckley is to die for. He’s quite the catch, if you want to know the truth. You might think that he’s a w***e, but he isn’t. I suggest you find a way of keeping him as your own. You know that sometimes we have to do that. Work is necessary when finding a lover. And oh what a lover he could be for you. Beckley is stunning in many ways. He’s gorgeous, well-built, and kind. I don’t think there’s an evil bone in his body.”

“I thought we were discussing Matthew McDestin?”

“Whatever,” she laughed. “One man is like all the others, sweetie.”

We reached the top of the stairs and made a right. Her wine glass was empty. Did she spill the red wine on the carpeted steps on our travels or drank it? We entered the spare room, which was miniscule, dressed in an assortment of blues, and masculine with its oak floor and matching sleigh bed.

“My elegant confines for the night, darling. How sweet of you,” she said dramatically, recreating a scene in one of the plays that she had acted in when she was much younger and a member of the community theatre. “I shall rest peacefully here.”

I took the empty wine glass from her, placed it on a nearby nightstand, and pulled back the comforter and sheet on the bed, presenting a warm and cozy place for her to rest until dawn. Then I kissed her on a cheek and said, “I’ll leave you alone now, Francine. Sweet dreams.”

“You’re such a splendid host. All gays should be like you, Johnny.”

I exited the room, pulling the door somewhat closed behind me. Francine would settle down soon and turn in for the night. She was going to be just fine on her own, and would probably fall asleep in a matter of minutes, dreaming of acting on a big stage somewhere in New York City.