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Frankie had become what she'd long dreamed of - she was a Blues singer. Part time, anyhow. Two nights a week she got to sing her heart out at "Strange Fruit", a cool little jazz bar down in Alphabet City. She sometimes felt as if she spent the rest of her week simply killing time until she was on that tiny stage, under the baby blue spot. That was where she felt most alive.
She landed the gig about a year ago. It had been a lucky break, really. Amy and Frankie had gone with a group of their friends from an improv class to one of the cabaret bars in the Village. It was late on a Wednesday night - well after eleven. Frankie finally agreed to get up and sing, after listening to her friends trying to cajole her up there for over an hour.
She had a few words with the jaded, but friendly piano player. He raised an eyebrow in approval at her choice as well as her direction, probably just relieved to not have to play another show tune or Adele cover.
Frankie stood at the microphone stand, willing the room to quiet down and look at her. Amazingly, they did. She could not have known this, but everyone was struck by the ethereal presence she seemed to exude. The piano chords sounded a slow, sexy introduction. Frankie began to sing.
"I want a little sugar in my bowl.
I want a little sweetness down in my soul.
I could stand some lovin', oh so bad.
I feel so funny and I feel so sad..."
It was over even before she knew it. Time had just vanished. By the time she'd finished the Nina Simone classic, the room was standing and had exploded in cheers and applause. Someone sent a round of drinks to their table. Her friends gushed with praise. Amy remarked in her usual crude manner that "there wasn't a dry seat in the house".
Frankie was delighted and bemused. Then she got a tap on her shoulder, and a man named Chance handed her his card, inviting her to come to an audition later that week at a club down in the Lower East Side. Frankie had heard of it. She'd heard of him. In fact, she'd been there once to hear one of the amazing jam sessions they held on Sunday nights. Two weeks later, she had a regular spot on Thursdays and Saturdays.
She'd actually gotten a seat on the F train at the end of the molded fiberglass bench, the space closest to the door. The far end like this always felt slightly more comfortable, since one didn't need to worry about being squeezed in between two people, and there was a rail on the side that worked like an armrest.
Frankie was glad of the seat, because it enabled her to cross her legs and squeeze her thighs together. When she thought about the club, and about her upcoming gigs, she always got very wet and her pussy begged for release. She could feel a slight flush in her cheeks, and was grateful that her oversized cardigan covered her erect nipples. She began to think about what she would wear, and tonight's set list. (Oh man, how she wished she could touch herself!)
She would wear the vintage Dior black satin halter gown and the long black gloves, and would put a fresh gardenia over one ear, flipping her hair over to the side. Very Veronica Lake. Another little flood of wetness invaded the crotch of her Capri-length leggings.
Frankie would ask Chance if they could open with "Good Morning Heartache" - and she would do the first two lines acapella. Then the tenor sax could come in for the third phrase, and ultimately be followed by the rest of the band. Perfect. Poignant. Hot.
Frankie uncrossed her legs and crossed them the other way. The friction felt good but was totally not enough. Feeling eyes upon her, she looked across the car and saw a man in a sleek pinstripe suit looking at her. There was appreciative interest in his gaze, and a hint of veiled lust. He was perhaps in his 30s, and looked like a Wall Street type, or a lawyer maybe. He was cute, but Frankie didn't really fancy blond-haired men.
He smiled a little crooked smile. She found the corners of her mouth pulling wide without really meaning to return it. His eyes roamed her up and down. She blushed further and glanced away, regretting having allowed such lengthy eye contact. His timing was impeccable - she was already in a state of arousal.
Intending to put an end to this little exchange, Frankie dug into her bag and pulled out her smartphone and earbuds, deliberately looking the other way as she inserted the earpieces into her ears. Without thinking, she automatically selected Jake's playlist. As the strains filled her ears and vibrated through her, she stifled a little groan. This was not a smart choice in her current state. Her panties were thoroughly drenched now.
The train was slowing to a stop. The blond man walked over toward the doors beside Frankie and gripped the pole attached to her armrest. He was staring boldly down at her, waiting for her to look up. It was obvious she was trying to ignore him, but finally couldn't any longer. She glanced up at him, and he leaned down closer to her. She pulled one of the earbuds from her ear.
The man searched her eyes for a moment, and grinning, said: "You are COMPLETELY gorgeous. I hope you realize that."
Frankie's mouth dropped open slightly in surprise. His smile broadened, and he winked mischievously, straightening as the doors began to slide open.
"I just needed to say that. Have a great day." He finished with a little mock salute, then walked out onto the platform and disappeared in the crowd.
Frankie stared into the space he vacated for a moment, a slow warmth filled her at the unexpected and remarkably unselfish compliment. She laughed, shaking her head as if to clear it, and then put her earphone back in.
The rest of the ride seemed to go by rather quickly.
Strange Fruit opened at six PM, so was still closed when she pressed the bell at the back door. The cleaning crew would be in, scrubbing the bathrooms, cleaning the floors, and the owner, Ray, would probably be supervising the restocking of the bar. Mid-day like this was an ideal time for rehearsal, because it gave everyone a chance to prep, but still go home and rest before returning and getting dressed for their nine o'clock set.
Chance wasn't at the piano yet, because Frankie was some twenty minutes early. She dropped her bag on the bar and walked toward the back of the house to use the Ladies Room. She hoped they were not still in the middle of cleaning them.
The bar was very quiet, she noticed. No one seemed to be around, apart from Jose, who had opened the door for her. He had gone back down to the cellar to stack the cases of beer that had just been delivered.
Frankie was about to push open the door to the restroom, when she heard an odd noise. It came from down the hall, where the Ray's office was. The door was open a crack. She heard the noise a second time. Her ballet flats made no sound on the ancient wood floor as she walked toward the office door. She was about to knock, but then caught sight of movement inside the office and her fist froze in midair.
Ray was sitting on the edge of his desk, getting a blowjob from a woman who was on her knees in front of him. Frankie was thunderstruck. She'd never stumbled upon people having sex in real life before. She could only see the back of the woman who was giving him head. But that lush set of coffee-colored curls could only be one woman - Shari - one of the bar's seniormost waitresses. This confirmed a suspicion that Frankie had about those two. It was just a vibe she got, but she had always sensed that they were closer than they pretended to be.
Ray, who was a handsome man of Cuban descent, was in his early forties. He had thick dark hair with attractive graying temples, and large, sensitive dark eyes. He was very fit, and loved to tell stories about his days as a champion ballroom dancer. Those brown eyes were squeezed shut now in pleasure, as he softly moaned at Shari's efforts. His trousers were only open enough for his cock to be exposed, but his shirt was unbuttoned and his lean chest and stomach were heaving. Some of the hair on his chest was gray. She found that hot, strangely. As Frankie silently watched, Shari stretched one of her graceful, manicured hands up his body and pinched one nipple. He groaned aloud, capturing her hand against his chest.
That sound startled Frankie, who suddenly realized she was no better than a Peeping Tom in this intimate moment. She knew it was wholly inappropriate and she should scurry away.
Yep, any minute now she would turn quietly and go back the way she came. Any minute now.
But she found herself fascinated, and just continued to stand there. Shari, who was a few years older than Frankie, really seemed to know what she was doing.
Shari once told Frankie that she'd been raised by her maternal grandmother in an upscale neighborhood in Queens. She said her dad was white, but didn't elaborate on where her parents were now. Frankie feared that meant they were no longer alive. She worked nights at the club, and went to law school during the day. Apparently, she'd been working at the club for many years, and people generally looked to her as Ray's second in command.
The couple shifted slightly as they both adjusted their positions, and now Frankie could see a lot more. Shari's blouse was open, and she wore no bra. Her dark skin looked so smooth and silky, and her breasts - which were larger than Frankie's - at least a C cup, didn't sag at all. They were magnificent. She had wide, dark brown areolas and her nipples stood out like little pencil erasers. Shari's body was ripped - Frankie could see her abs and her muscular thighs where her short skirt had ridden up. Her eyes, which were an arresting pale gold hazel, were shut, as if she knew the territory she was traveling by heart.
Her beautiful lips were sealed around Ray's engorged member like it belonged to her. She had the aspect of a woman who was in charge, despite the fact that she was the one on her knees.
Ray's cock was very long - at least eight inches, and Shari was pumping his shaft with one hand as she took him into her generous mouth. She would take him back into her throat as far as she could, her fist providing friction at the base, and then release his cock, teasing the head with her tongue, lathing the sensitive nerves on the underside, then sliding her tongue around in circles until finally pressing the tip into the little hole at the top. Frankie could see strands of spit and precum stretching between Shari's mouth and his shaft. As she continued to stare, enrapt, Shari brought her free hand between her spread thighs, up under her skirt, and began to finger herself, moaning as she again swallowed Ray as far as she could. He was starting to moan in earnest now, and he threaded his fingers into Shari's curls in order to control her head.
Frankie realized he wouldn't be able to last long - and finally bestirred herself to move. She silently tip-toed back up the hall and slipped into the Ladies Room before she could be discovered.
Inside one of the freshly-cleaned stalls, she pulled out one of the seat covers, settling it on the toilet before tugging down her leggings and panties and sitting. She plunged her hand between her thighs and began to rub her moist pussy furiously. Her middle finger circled around her swollen clit, using the wetness already there as lubrication. That scene had been the last straw. She had to cum.
In her head, she saw herself on her knees before Jake. She was the one swallowing his cock, he was seated in front of her, his hands in her hair, as he braced himself on the desk. She had her hand between her thighs, toying with herself while she made him face fuck her.
The climax was gathering inside her and she pinched one of her own nipples, thinking of what it might be like to touch Shari's magnificent breasts. Just then, she had to press her hand to her mouth as the orgasm ripped through her. It was a really good one.
As Frankie took her hand away, the pee she had been holding back rushed out of her, which created an amazing sensation in her still-throbbing nether regions. She was panting slightly, trying to recover. Her shoulders shook in silent laughter at how outrageously she was behaving.
She heard the door to the Ladies Room open and someone else came in. She cleaned herself up and flushed, pulling up her leggings. Frankie stepped out and walked to the sink, washing her hands slowly and thoroughly as she looked at herself in the mirror. Her pupils were slightly dilated and there were high spots of color in her cheeks.
The sound of flushing came from the other stall, and the door burst open as Shari came out. Seeing Frankie, she smiled brightly, saying:
"Hey girl! You here for rehearsal?" She didn't have even a trace of embarrassment. If Frankie hadn't been witness to the scene in Ray's office, she would never have suspected a thing.
"Yeah - I just got here..." Frankie lied.
"Cool... cool." Shari washed her hands and started digging through her purse. She pulled out a small makeup bag and pulled out a toothbrush and toothpaste. 'Good thinking.' Frankie thought silently.
As Shari commenced brushing her teeth, Frankie turned to dry her hands with paper towels, hiding her little knowing smile.
"See you out there!" She said lightly as she left. Shari grunted "mmm hmm", grinning at her, a tiny bit of white foam running down the corner of her mouth.
Frankie bit her lip to stop herself from laughing out loud. She felt naughty and exhilarated. And now she got to sing with a talented band of musicians. This was turning out to be an amazing day.
**
Her phone alarm went off at seven PM. Frankie woke, feeling refreshed after her ninety-minute nap. After rehearsal, she went to the gym and got in some time on the elliptical machine, then ran a few errands and bought a few groceries at the organic market before heading back to her apartment. She found that a nap of this length was perfect for a performance night. Stretching happily, she rolled out of bed and walked to the bathroom to turn on the shower. She'd caught a very quick shower at the gym, but didn't wash her hair - and now she wanted to take a nice, long, invigorating shower before heading to the club.
There was a full bathroom in Chance's dressing room, which was quite a bit larger than hers but had the disadvantage of being shared by the rest of the band. So Frankie never felt entirely comfortable using it - she felt it was erring on the side of "TMI". Thinking about too much information, she laughed to herself as she recalled the sexy encounter she'd witnessed between Ray and Shari earlier in the day. It was pretty hot, she had to admit. Her hands ran over her wet, soapy skin for a moment before she chided herself and refocused on shaving her legs.
She went to work in street clothes - something she could wear if the gang went out afterwards. Frankie always changed into her show "costume" and applied her stage make up in her tiny dressing room.
After her shower, she noticed a missed call from her brother Bobby. She smiled - it was rare to get a proactive call from one of the boys when it wasn't her birthday or a major holiday. There was no worry that anything was wrong, though, because her mom would have called or Joey would have sent a text message. Frankie listened to his voicemail.
"Hey, Franklin -" (Bobby's absurd nickname of her nickname) "It's ya brothah, Bobby." (DUH! Frankie thought, shaking her head indulgently). "When you get this, can you call me? There's somethin' I've been meanin' to tell yah - actually give to yah. Don't worry - it's nothin' bad. At least, I don't think it is. In fact, you'll probably think it's funny. It's been on my mind for a while and I figured I'd call and - well, whatevah - call me when you can, 'kay? Bye."
Frankie always wondered why Bobby's accent was so much stronger than either of her other brothers'. It was sort of cute, really. But she decided to wait until tomorrow to call him back - she didn't want to throw herself off schedule and wanted to have enough time to really catch up with him. It had been a while since they talked live. Email, text, Instagram and Facebook were the norms between the busy siblings these days.
She decided to splurge and take a taxi to the club. The dress she'd put on to wear back and forth was pretty cute, and she didn't feel like getting all grimy in the subway. Though it was mid-October, the weather had been unseasonably warm. Her studio apartment was a sublet in Chelsea, so luckily, going downtown this time of night was the reverse of the normal commuter traffic. Frankie arrived at the club just after eight, and was once again let in through the backdoor by Jose.
Some twenty minutes later, she was fully dressed and was carefully applying a sweeping, dramatic bit of eyeliner on her upper lid above the fan of her dramatic false eyelashes. Suddenly, she had a strange moment of trepidation. She felt as if something important was about to happen. She shivered, even though she was far from being cold.
Frankie paused, taking a moment to breathe and sip from a mug of warm honey water. It was just a normal Thursday night, there was nothing to be nervous about. This was what she was born to do - and she counted herself very lucky to be able to do it. Sure, she couldn't make a living doing this yet, exactly. The extra voice-over work and back-up vocals gigs helped, and she depended upon the editing and proofreading work she got with merciful regularity, but she actually was able to sing for money - and she was only 24. Imagine what the next ten years might bring?
All shakiness now over, she leaned forward again and finished her eyeliner. She'd dusted her face with an ivory powder to emphasize her paleness. It had a slight bit of shimmer, which looked great under the lights. The last step was to carefully apply deep, true red lipstick.
A she slipped on the long black gloves, there was a light rap on her door.
"Come in." She called, expecting Chance. And it was indeed the bandleader. His closely-buzzed hair had been hit with a bit of gloss to simulate a brilliantine look. He was in his white dinner jacket and black bow tie. He looked like he'd just time-warped in from the 1940s. The studs in his shirt and cuffs would catch the light and sparkle like diamonds. What they all went through for a two-drink minimum crowd...
"Hey Frankie, I wanted to- WOW!" When he caught sight of her he was caught off guard.
Her eyebrow raised, she turned to look at him inquiringly: "What?" She asked, completely unaware of what caused him to be so distracted.
"Babydoll, you look fucking HOT tonight. Holy shit." He was smiling proudly at the woman he considered to be his discovery. No one imagined when they first laid eyes on this girl how well she could wail. She looked for all the world like an unattainable little ballet dancer. The kind of girl you put on a pedestal and were afraid to touch.
But not when she was on stage. When she sang, it was like she channeled Billie, Nina, Eartha, Etta - and it was pure sex. She owned it, and it was mesmerizing. The way she could deliver a phrase, the way she moved her hips, the way her hands ran down her model-slim body - at those moments, he could see how badly the men and many of the women in the audience wanted to do the nastiest things to her. He often wondered if she knew that about herself.
Like now, she was blushing at his compliment. "Thanks, man. You must be a great boyfriend. I mean- except for all the sleeping around you do..."
"Hey, I never tell any of my women that we are exclusive..." He began to laughingly protest. She waved a finger in front of her face as if to say "don't try any of that..."
Interrupting his rationalizations for being a Lothario, she said: "Blah, blah, blah. Once a dog, always a dog, baby. What did you come in here to tell me, anyway?"
