Chapter Nine
Sly and Frankie carried their lunch trays to the table, and Sly sat down with a sigh, holding his head in his hands and rubbing his eyes. "I am sooo tired," he complained. Frankie looked over at his companion. He was hungry, but waited for Sly to start his lunch first. "What’s up?" asked Frankie conversationally. "I stayed at a hotel last night with my Uncle Luke," Sly replied. He rubbed his eyes again and slumped over his tray. "I knew he snored, I mean I could always hear it through the walls of the apartment, you know? But man, try staying in the same room with him. Forget it."
Frankie frowned. "Why were you stayin’ in a hotel?"
Sly shrugged and picked up a carrot stick. "Some idiot busted up my uncle’s bar. Uncle Luke wanted us to steer clear of the clean-up crew." Sly sighed as he munched. "Somebody’s got to have serious mental problems to do vandalism like that. Uncle Luke said it must have been some neighborhood boy that was drunk."
Frankie felt like there was a bright spotlight on him announcing his guilt, and his cheeks burned with the intensity of the sudden rush of adrenaline in his veins. He picked up his own carrot stick and took a bite, pausing to make a face and look at it before dropping it back onto his tray. "Any leads as to who did it?" he asked casually.
Sly shook his head. "I don’t know. Uncle Luke did mention the police retrieved a blood sample from the door. The nincompoop cut himself and bled all over it. Serves him right." Sly slammed down his glass of water and scowled. Frankie’s mouth turned dry, and he gulped repeatedly. He had to consciously will himself not to glance down at the cuts on his hand. He very slowly slid his hand across the table and hid it under his leg. When Sly glanced up, Frankie gave him a sheepish grin as his eyes moved all around the room. The more inconspicuous he tried to appear, the more he stuck out like a sore thumb.
"What’s up with you?" Sly asked with irritation. "And how come you always watch every bite I eat?" Sly’s lack of sleep was quickly turning into a bad mood.
"Nothin," Frankie replied sadly. It was starting to seem like every step he took in his business life was interfering with his private life and vice versa. Frankie never had friends like this before, and he didn’t know how to handle it. Frankie dug into his hamburger and fries, not really caring if they were poisoned or not. If he died, so what, then he wouldn’t have to worry about anything ever again. His cheeks burned fiercely, and Sly watched in wonder as Frankie inhaled his meal like he hadn’t eaten in a lifetime. Frankie was rapidly losing a battle with holding back his tears, and the more they threatened, the angrier he became. The angrier he became, the faster he ate. Finally, he dropped his fork on his plate and stared sullenly at his glass of water.
"Where’s Emily?" asked Frankie so abruptly that Sly jumped in his seat. "She had a dentist appointment and then her mom’s taking her out to lunch before bringing her back to school," Sly said softly. Sometimes it was so hard being around Frankie. There never was a constant rhythm or give and take in the conversation. It was like you never knew how he’d react to a comment or an observation. Sly supposed that made him interesting to be around, but a frustrating friend nonetheless.
Frankie darted his eyes over in Maxie’s direction. Today some other girl was sitting with her, and Frankie had enough trouble talking to one girl, let alone a society of two. "You gonna teach me to talk or what?" Frankie asked abruptly. Sly set his glass down and looked at Frankie. "What do you want to know?" he asked. Frankie shrugged. "I want to know what to say so she don’t think I’m dumb, like I don’t know what to say," he explained vaguely. Sly’s eyebrows raised. "If I tell you, then you give me a make-out tip," he replied "That’s our deal. Remember?" Frankie chuckled. "Yeah, okay, I remember."
Sly leaned back and laced his hands behind his head, going for the scholarly look. "You might want to start off by giving her a compliment," he suggested. "Tell her how nice her hair looks today or that you like her jacket because it makes her eyes look blue. Girls dig that. They spend a lot of time trying to look nice." He sighed and leaned forward, folding his hands together and appearing wise. "Ask her a lot of questions. Girls like to talk about themselves. Ask her about her family, friends, what she likes to do, her favorite songs, colors, music. Stuff like that. Then, if you’re interested in one thing she says, you can pick up on it and give your own opinion. It goes like that. Back and forth."
Frankie nodded sagely, absorbing each word that Sly spoke in his database of a mind. He fiddled repeatedly with his napkin, unaware that he was making what looked like an origami heart. "So whatcha wanna know about da dames?" asked Frankie, his face taking on the appearance of a worldly forty-year-old man. Sly glanced left and right to make sure no one would overhear their conversation. He leaned forward across the table and stared at Frankie with wide, intense eyes. "What can I do to a girl that’ll drive her wild, make her want to do more than just kiss?" he asked in a hushed voice.
Frankie smirked and leaned back in his chair, wrapping his arm around it and crossing his leg jauntily as he jiggled his foot. He rolled his eyes as if deep in thought and then snapped his fingers. He leaned in closer to Sly. "Go for the throat," he suggested, tapping the side of his neck. Sly looked confused and said, "Give me the specifics – okay?" Frankie shook his head and grimaced as if indicating that it was boring to talk to children. He took his index finger and ran it very slowly from a spot under his chin down to his collarbone. "Right here," he said smoothly. "Put your finger where your pulse is on your throat." He grabbed Sly’s hand and put it in place. "Feel it?" he asked. When Sly nodded, Frankie continued. "There’s lotsa blood and lotsa heat flowin’ through dere." He nodded. "There’s lots you can do to get that fire burning. Take your tongue and flick it all the way up and down dat area." Sly’s eyes widened, and he blinked encouragingly. "If you’re lucky, you might get a moaner," Frankie whispered confidentially. "Dat gives you da clues. If she moans, you stop right dere, then suck on dat spot," he instructed. "Start off kind of soft, then do it harder, little by little. Don’t do it too hard ‘cause it’ll bruise, and dey hate dat. Gotta wear a scarf or somethin’ to hide it." Frankie leaned back in his chair and smiled. "Dere," he said smugly. "Dat’s your tip. Use it wisely." Frankie cracked up at his own humor and slapped the table repeatedly as he guffawed.
"What if it doesn’t work?" Sly insisted. Frankie’s eyes crinkled as he smiled. "Then it means you need more practice," he said slyly with a wink.
"Hmm," said Sly as he drummed his fingers on the table and appeared lost in his thoughts.
~*~*~*~
"I’m going on a real neat vacation next week," said Sly as he and Frankie opened their lockers and fished out the books they needed for their afternoon classes.
Frankie turned to look at Sly. "Oh, yeah?" he asked with interest. "Where to?"
Sly’s face beamed. "Me and my uncle are going with his girlfriend and her nephew to Greece. Can you believe it? And her nephew is Nikolas Cassadine! Maybe he can give me some tips on how to play sports. I sure need it. It’ll be a lot of fun."
Frankie’s face fell, and a feeling of jealousy rose up within him and tainted his blood. "Yeah, bet you’ll have fun," he commented quietly. Frankie threw his books back into the locker and slammed the door shut. He cursed to himself. I’m not carrying those damn books around, he thought. Sly looked on, puzzled, as he watched Frankie walk down the corridor, kicking out at a locker with a loud bang every once in awhile. The people walking toward him gave him a very wide berth and looked at him like he was nuts.
~*~*~*~
Frankie sat slumped in his seat in Geometry class. Mr. Miller was drawing all kinds of symbols on the board and attaching numbers to them. Frankie ignored the man. He’d already had geometry and passed with flying colors. Why listen to this bore? He picked up a pen and started a doodle of a naked woman on the surface of his desk. The boy beside him peeked at what he was drawing and barely stifled his laugh. He poked the boy in front of him and pointed back toward Frankie. Frankie never noticed the beady, bespectacled eyes of Mr. Miller when they turned his way. Nor did he see the frown that creased the man’s face as he walked purposefully toward Frankie’s desk.
"Mr. DeMarco," he said in a dry voice. "This is geometry, not art class. Stop that doodling." Frankie looked up with a mean face. "Don’t get your isosceles triangle in a twist," he replied. Several amused laughs broke out here and there in the class. Mr. Miller’s face flamed with anger, and he pointed toward the door. "Outside. In the hall. Now, young man." Frankie smirked and bowed to the rest of the class as he followed Mr. Miller out into the hall. The whole class broke into a delighted uproar when the door shut behind Frankie. Speculation ran wild as to what would happen. One boy sneaked over to the door and raised onto his tiptoes so he could observe the hallway and report on the proceedings.
Frankie leaned casually against the wall and wore a bemused smile as he observed a very flustered Mr. Miller. "I will not tolerate that insolence in my class, do you understand?" he yelled at Frankie with an index finger pointed to his chest. Frankie sniffed and turned his head in the other direction as if looking for someone further down the hall. "I expect a written apology from you," Mr. Miller stated firmly. "Look at me when I speak to you," he said firmly. Frankie looked him straight in the eyes and said, "Go to hell," in a gritty voice. Mr. Miller’s eyes blinked rapidly with confusion and surprise. "We’re going to the principal’s office right now!" he commanded, taking Frankie by the arm. Frankie swiftly shook off his grip and grabbed Mr. Miller by the tie, shoving him brutally against the wall. He looked left and right to make sure that there were no witnesses, then he yanked hard on the man’s tie and bent in closer. "Mr. Adam Miller, age 43, wife Mary, age 42. Two children, identical twins – Andrew and Keith ages 10. Both attending Sunnyvale Elementary. Get out of class at 3:30PM sharp everyday. Take the Elm Street route home except on Wednesdays when they have soccer practice. They usually have to wait for ten minutes until your wife picks them up in her 1997 Ford Windstar van, maroon with gray interior, 63,000 miles, due for a tune-up next month, but you usually put it off because you hate to sit around and wait. It’s the second most common reason for fights with your wife. The first being, of course, your lack of a sex life." Frankie’s eyes darkened dangerously, and he sneered, "I attend your class at my pleasure. You will not talk to me, look at me, and certainly not touch me, Mr. Miller. Or I’ll kill your boys –got that? Nobody messes with me." Frankie was embroiled in temper, reverting back to the example of the man he called father. "And don’t even think of calling the cops," he added, and for emphasis, pulled Mr. Miller’s tie so tight that the man began choking. Frankie released the man’s tie and slapped his hands together as if shaking the dirt off of them. "Because then I will be forced to deal with you – personally. Got that?" Mr. Miller just stared at him in shock. All he could think of was how much Frankie reminded him of James Cagney in that movie Angels with Dirty Faces. Frankie roughly grabbed the man’s head and yanked on his balding hair so that his head nodded up and down. "Oh, I take it that means yes," he said with amusement. "You don’t know who I am," stated Frankie imperially. "Be glad you don’t cause if you did, I guarantee you would not like it." Frankie pushed Mr. Miller toward the door. "Get back to class," he ordered. Frankie turned around and slowly and purposefully walked away, daring Mr. Miller to do anything but return to his class.
~*~*~*~
Frankie walked down the hall, his heart racing and his breathing heavy. He didn’t know what was wrong with him, why he was so upset. His emotions took over, and his mind fuzzed out. Frankie didn’t like that. He was used to living by his wits, his quick intellect saving him more times than he could count. He had to call Johnny and get the hell out of there, he concluded. Besides, he was more in the mood to work than to play at school with the kiddies.
~*~*~*~
"Boss, you remember how bad you felt last time," Johnny said worriedly. "You need to stay on top of things. The booze takes that away from you. Let’s go back to the diner and take a breather."
Frankie’s face set hard as he stared straight ahead at the passing landscape while Johnny drove the BMW. "Drive to the liquor store and shut up!" he ordered angrily.
~*~*~*~
"Do you want something to drink?" asked Sly with one hand on the refrigerator door and one eye on Emily Quartermaine. Emily was sitting in the Spencer living room on a couch in front of the TV. She was engrossed in a soap opera and didn’t hear Sly at first. When Sly repeated his question, she jumped and placed a hand over her heart. "Oh, Sly, you scared me," she said breathlessly. "I was watching the television. Um, yes, I’ll take a Coke if you have one." Sly walked over to the couch, handed Emily her requested red can of soda pop, popped the top on his own and joined her on the couch.
"What do you see in those silly shows, anyway?" he complained. "I’d rather watch cartoons than this." Emily punched Sly in the arm and snorted. "Cartoons are for kids. This is exciting stuff. People fall in love, run from the law, get murdered, come back to life, all in the same show. I like it." Emily sipped from her can and glanced at Sly, who was trying to develop an interest in his friend’s viewing choice. "Why doesn’t anyone work?" he asked crossly. "They’re running all over town, visiting each other’s houses. You can’t do that if you’re a doctor. You have to see patients all day." Sly shook his head and took a long gulp of his drink, paused, then burped. Emily playfully slapped Sly’s cheek. "Manners, boy," she declared. "They do a body good." Sly shrugged. "It’s not my fault if they put too many bubbles in it," he protested.
Emily bounced on the couch. "See?" she shouted as she pointed at the television. "Now they’re digging some body up from the grave, but look, the coffin’s empty. Wow, this is getting exciting." Sly shook his head and laughed at his friend’s enthusiasm. Actually, she wore her enthusiasm well. Sly’s eyes took in the pretty pink flush of her cheeks and the cute cupid’s bow of her mouth. Emily’s hair was long and shiny, a pretty brown color. Sly instinctively moved closer to Emily and casually draped his arm around her. A commercial came on, and Emily broke her television trance to look into Sly’s bright green eyes. I never noticed how attractive his eyes are, she thought. I like the way they turn up at the corners, especially when he laughs. Sly smiled shyly. "Do you want to practice again?" he asked softly as his eyes slowly moved down to her lips. Sly was referring to the couple of times that he and Emily had kissed for practice and perfection of technique. They both vowed that when they had their first dates neither one of them would be put to shame. So, they practiced.
Emily searched Sly’s face and grew a bit shy. "Okay," she agreed. Sly moved closer to her and wrapped his other arm around her, pulling her closer so that their chests barely touched. He leaned in and captured Emily’s mouth, rubbing his lips against hers. Without thinking, he began stroking her hair as he immersed himself in their kiss. "How was that?" he asked as he parted from their embrace. "That was nice," complimented Emily. "But let’s practice some more. Just in case." Sly’s blood rose a few degrees as he pressed his lips against hers. In a bold move, he separated her lips and used his tongue to search for hers. When they found each other, they danced and entwined repeatedly. Sly pulled back, and Emily almost shivered. That was good, she thought. She gasped when she suddenly felt Sly’s mouth on her neck. He ran his tongue up and down her throat right over the jugular vein. Emily giggled when he hit a sensitive spot, and Sly began running his mouth over the spot, pulling on the sensitive skin. Whether or not Emily was enjoying herself, Sly sure was, and he firmly pulled her to his chest, delighting in her softness and the feel of her long hair sweeping his forearm. Neither of them heard the key in the door or the gentle click of the door closing.
Luke walked into the living room and stood in front of the Spencer/Eckert passion pit. "Ahem," he cleared his throat noisily. The startled teens jumped apart and began smoothing their hair and clothes as if Luke hadn’t already seen them in their glory. "Need a ride home, Emily?" Luke asked nonchalantly. Luke looked at his watch. "It’s four o’clock, but I bet your parents want you home for dinner soon. Am I right?" Luke’s twinkling eyes met Emily’s embarrassed ones. "Uh, yeah, Mr. Spencer," she agreed. "A ride home is a good idea. Thanks." Sly looked a little disappointed, but didn’t say anything right away. He rose from the couch and helped Emily up. "I’ll ride with you," he said softly.
~*~*~*~
Luke drove Emily home chauffeur style with Emily and Sly sitting next to each other in the back. At some point in the trip, they started holding hands, neither could remember whose hand sought whose first. It didn’t matter. A quick warmth built between their two hands, and Sly looked over at Emily and smiled several times. Emily leaned in and whispered in Sly’s ear, "Thanks for the practice. I enjoyed it. I give you an A plus." Sly chuckled and whispered back in her ear, "A plus plus for you."
Luke looked into the rearview mirror and smiled to himself. When did those two become lovebirds, he wondered. They’re awful cute with their little handholding and make-out session.
"Quartermaine mansion on your right," announced Luke. Emily opened the car door, stepped out and leaned in. "Thanks for the ride, Mr. Spencer," she said politely. Luke gave her a small salute. "My pleasure, darlin,’" he replied. Emily leaned back in and gave Sly a kiss on the cheek. "Bye," she said as she stepped back and gave him a smile and a tiny wave. "Bye, see you tomorrow," Sly said.
"Come up and sit with me in the passenger’s seat," instructed Luke. Sly left the back seat and slid into the front, slamming the door behind him. Luke and Sly drove in companionable silence for about five minutes before Luke spoke. "Sly," began Luke. "We never talked about this much before, but there’s a first time for everything." Luke paused to look at Sly who was staring straight out the front windshield. "In the future, it’s a good idea if you want to entertain a guest of the opposite sex to make sure that either myself or another adult is home. Okay?" Sly glanced over at Luke and nodded. "Okay, Uncle Luke," he replied. "But what if me and Emily want to do something together after school?"
"That’s easy," replied Luke casually. "You can hang out at a public place like Kelly’s or the library." Luke rolled his eyes mentally. I can’t believe I’m having "the talk," and with my nephew. Oh well. "Sly," said Luke. "A young man your age, well, sometimes things can get out of control real quick, you know what I mean?" Sly blushed and looked down at his hands folded in his lap. "It’s okay to do your basic hugging and kissing," stated Luke. "But make sure that you don’t press the issue with the young lady. You’re both young, you have plenty of time for indoor sports. That’s why it’s good if you’re not alone together in somebody’s house. Do you understand?"
"Yeah, I guess so," replied Sly in a sulky tone.
"This is a good rule to remember," offered Luke. "People who are too young to raise babies are too young to try and make babies."
Sly rolled his eyes. Dang, Uncle Luke sounds like Mr. Rogers. Who does he think I am? Frankie?
~*~*~*~
7:20PM
Frankie held the small slip of paper in his hand as he dialed the phone. He’d already had one beer for courage, yet his throat was still dry. When he’d practiced a few lines, his voice had croaked. That better not happen when we’re live, he thought grimly. The phone on the other end only rang one time before it was abruptly picked up.
"Hello?" a tentative young female voice answered. Frankie couldn’t tell if it was Maxie, so he replied, "This is Frankie DeMarco. Can I talk to Maxie?" His heart was in his throat as he waited for her answer.
"Hey, Frankie. This is Maxie." Maxie sank back into the couch in relief. She was starting to be afraid that Frankie wasn’t going to call her.
"Hiya Maxie," started Frankie. "How are you? Whatcha doing?"
"Oh, I’m pretty good," replied Maxie. "I was watching TV, but its boring nothing good is on. I’m glad you called. I’d rather talk to you."
Frankie grinned and puffed up a bit. "What’s your favorite color?" he asked from his prepared list of questions. He took a pen and crossed off the first question.
Maxie laughed. "You’re direct and to the point," she commented. "Well, I like lots of colors, but I’d say that green is my all-time favorite. I really like green, especially forest green. It’s a really cool color."
"I bet your eyes look real blue if you’re wearing a green jacket or something," commented Frankie. Frankie’s eyebrows raised in alarm. That sounded sort of lame, he decided.
"You know, I’ve never had a green jacket, but I’d like one," replied Maxie. "So you like blue eyes?" she questioned. "You have the neatest blue eyes I’ve seen in a long time."
Frankie ran a hand through his hair and blushed with pleasure. "Thanks," he said spontaneously. "I noticed how pretty your eyes were right off." Frankie paused and frowned at his next listed question, which was "who is your favorite football team." That didn’t seem right.
Maxie picked up the conversation and asked, "Where did you move from, Frankie? I like the way you talk. It’s so different."
Frankie relaxed and leaned back against the headboard of his bed. He’d practiced these lies often enough he could recite them in his sleep. "I’m from Philadelphia," he offered. "I came to Port Charles with my Uncle Johnny. My father’s real busy traveling on business, so Uncle Johnny is gonna look after me for a couple of months. He has some things to do in Port Charles, so voila, here we are."
"What’s Philadelphia like?" asked Maxie.
"It’s a big city," stated Frankie. "Lots of history there if you like that –museums, old buildings. It’s a nice place." Not like Atlantic City, he thought. "Have you always lived in Port Charles?"
"Yeah," sighed Maxie. "It’s so boring. I’d like to go
different places, visit and see things. My dad runs all over the world. I guess
that’s why I’m like that."
"What’s your dad do?" Frankie asked.
"He works with the government," she stated. The same old line I’ve always been taught to give, she thought.
"But my stepdad is the Port Charles police commissioner," added Maxie. "Sometimes I think people avoid me because of that. Why is that? Do they think they’ll get busted for jaywalking?" Maxie laughed.
Frankie wore a wide smile. Oh, how this can come in handy, he thought smugly. I gotta babe on my right arm and my other hand around the police commissioner’s scrawny neck. He cleared his throat and sat up higher on the bed. "Hey, Maxie," he said. "Do you want to go out with me on kinda a date or something?" He waited with his breath held tightly in his chest.
A flush of happiness washed over Maxie, and she replied enthusiastically. "Yes. I’d like that, Frankie."
"I gotta go home for spring break next week," explained Frankie. "I’m leaving on Friday, but do you want to do something tomorrow before I go? I could pick you up about 5:00, and we can go to dinner and an early movie. Is that okay?"
"Sure," said Maxie brightly. "Sounds great. Do you need directions to my house?"
"Just the address," replied Frankie as he scribbled down her instructions. "I look forward to seeing you, Maxie," he said politely. "Me, too," she replied.
Frankie hung up the phone and placed his interlaced fingers behind his head in satisfaction. "Gotcha!" he said as the Cheshire cat grin creased his face. He immediately lost his grin when he looked at his watch, and saw that it registered 8:09PM. He leaped to his feet and started pacing, trying to think of an excuse to give to Frank.
"The slot machines have your name on them," the voice intoned nastily. Frank didn’t even bother to say hello when Frankie called him.
"I know. I’m sorry," pleaded Frankie. "I was talking to some dame. I let my dick get ahead of my brains. It won’t happen again."
"You’re right," agreed Frank. "It won’t. Because if it does, you’re no longer my number two man. You’ll be nobody. Out. On the street – no longer in the organization. You got dat?" he sneered, mimicking Frankie’s accent.
Frankie swallowed hard. "Yes. I got it."