Hello! I wrote this one back in September right when the thought came into my head but I haven't had time to post it till now. It's my third of my meal stories, once again totally unrelated. Rate it a 'G' because it has very little plot, but I enjoyed writing it. I just like Frankie Zuko! Let me know what you think!
by Kyla Gurganus (gurganus@emuvax.emich.edu)
written 9/20/96
Rated: G
A sullen, defeated man sat alone in a booth in the back of a corner restaurant. This was a popular place on weekday mornings for those who were on their way to an early day of work. The sun was just coming up and the reflection on the windows was nearly blinding; the man did not seem to notice. In front of him was a plate of bacon and eggs, basically untouched, a few pieces of toast, and a half-consumed cup of coffee. He picked up the cup, brought it to his lips, and continued to stare into space as he slowly sipped the beverage.
"I can't stand to see you this way, Frank."
"Oh, well, it was inevitable."
"You and I both know that's not true. You should go home. You're wife needs you. It's been too long."
"You're one to talk."
"How are the kids?"
"Fine, oh, just fine. He's the king of all jerks, but he is a good father. I don't worry about them and neither should you."
"But I worry about you, Frank. The way you're acting isn't your way! Grief is grief. Let it out. Go home and talk about it. Head to the church and talk about it. Get a shrink! Just stop feeling sorry for yourself. Get on with your life while you still have one."
"And why shouldn't I feel sorry for myself? It's all gone. Now that she's dead, I don't have a reason to go on. After the funeral, Charlie up and left for Florida. I haven't made a single deal for months. My whole organization has lost respect for me." He put his head in his hands. "She's even mentioned leaving me."
"I can't imagine how any woman could stand to be around you, Frank, let alone stay married to you. And in this condition..."
"Do you feel nothing?"
"Actually I don't."
"OK, dumb question. But don't you understand? It was because of me my little girl is gone! Shot in a drive-by while we were walking down the street, headed to get an ice cream. She was holding my hand. We were talking about what we would get. She wanted hers dipped in chocolate with sprinkles. I can still remember her little hand going limp in mine...and how we rushed her to the hospital...I've done too much of that in the last year...too, too much..."
"They were aiming at you."
"Yes."
"You've been shot at before, Frank. I've even seen it a couple of times."
"But they knew the one thing that meant more to me than anything was my little girl. She knew nothing. She looked up to me and loved me unconditionally. She was the one person who never asked anything of me except to love her. I miss her so much..." He turned from looking across the booth to the side, rubbing his temples and trying to get his emotions under control. As he opened his eyes, he glanced around the restaurant, which was beginning to fill up. His eyes went wide when he spotted a blotch of red sitting in the front booth against the front window.
"Look, Irene. Look! It's Frannie. Frannie and the Mountie! Maybe I should just go say hi..."
"No, Frank. No! Don't you think you've done enough to the Vecchios? Let it go. Someone deserves to be happy. It must be. It has to be."
But an old-time, wicked, broad Frank smile was across his face. "Constable Frazier and I are old friends, Irene! He'd be insulted if I didn't just go over and say 'long time no see.'"
"Oh, I give up. I can't stop you."
"I knew you'd see it my way. You always came around, sis. Around to my way of thinking, the right way of thinking." "Never. You just *thought* you had control over me. But you never did." But he didn't hear her. He was already up and crossing the floor of the restaurant, fluidly dodging chairs and tables, making his way to the front. Yes, there was Francesca Vecchio, looking lovelier than ever. And he saw the back of the constable, even in his red uniform and hat this early in the morning. "Francesca!" he called as he got nearer. "I saw you and couldn't not stop and say hello. And hello, Constable Frazi..." But it was not the face of Benton Fraser that he looked into, but one he did not know. The man was clearing his throat and standing, extending a hand to Frank. "Constable Turnbull, sir. Royal Canadian Mounted Police. Nice to meet you." Frank was dumbstruck. He shook the constable's hand, a handshake Turnbull would later describe as "like a day-old salmon." He then turned to Frannie. "Who?" he mouthed, and she immediately began introductions. "Frank Zuko, this is a colleague of Frazier's. They both work at the Consulate. He's buying breakfast for me this morning, then I'm walking him to work." From the look on her face and the sparkle in her eyes, it was obvious she was thoroughly enjoying herself. "Well, I'll leave you to it then. Give my best to your mother." He was turning away when Frannie caught his sleeve. "How are things going, Frankie? You're not looking so hot." "I've just been a little under the weather lately." "Since..." She didn't need to finish the thought; he nodded and turned back towards his booth. "If you ever need anything!" she called, but he didn't seem to hear. "Who was that, Miss Vecchio?" "An old friend of Ray's. He's lost his sister and daughter in the last year and has really been taking it really hard. Ma's friends with his ma, so we hear all about it. Not that Ray wants to hear any of it. But Ma lets us all know when he's not around." The waitress arrived with menus and coffee. Frannie immediately opened her menu and began to scan. Turnbull did the same. "What sounds appetizing to you this fine morning, Miss Vecchio?" "Turnbull, you know, when a couple has been dating for three weeks, it *is* okay for the guy to call the girl by her first name." "Are you, uh, sure, Miss Vecchio?" "Yes, Turnbull! Now what are you going to order?" He stared intently at the menu. "The French toast is usually good, no, I think I had that yesterday. Now I haven't had the pancakes for awhile. No, that doesn't sound good for today. Eggs? Yes, but how many? And how to have them prepared? They seem to list..." "Enough, Turnbull! We have this conversation every day! Just order what you always order." "And what will you have, Miss V...uh, Frances...Frannie?" At the use of her name, she gave him a smile that she knew he loved. He smiled back at her. She reached over and took his hand in hers. As with every morning, the waitress then arrived and took their orders. "Yeah, I'll have a plate of eggs, scrambled, and an order of hash browns. Orange juice, large. And make sure the glass is clean this time." The waitress then turned to the young man. "And you?" "I'll have one bagel, onion, and some cream cheese." He then whispered, "Would it be too much trouble to ask for an onion bagel with actual onions in it? I spent five minutes yesterday morning cutting the bagel open and found none." She whispered back, annoyed, "I'll look into it." And then she was gone. Their hands were still together and they were still gazing intently into each other's eyes. She lowered her head conspiratorily and whispered, "Now that you're going to call me Frannie, don't you think I should call you..." Francesca raised her eyebrows in question. "Why haven't you ever told me your first name, Turnbull?" He likewise lowered his head and whispered, "Because the writers never gave me a first name." She rolled her eyes and said under her breath, "And they think I'm nuts..." She sat upright again and returned to a normal conversational volume. "So, Turnbull, what do you have planned today at work?" His face then turned serious. "I'm afraid I can't say. You understand." She nodded her head and smiled. "Yes, you don't know what you'll be doing today." He smiled back. "No, it's not that, it's just I can't..." "I need to give that, what's that that Ray calls her...the Serpent Lady? Lizard Woman? I can't remember...well, that boss of yours a piece of my mind. I walk you into that Consulate every morning, never a clue to what you'll be doing all day. I mean, what kind of secrets could a country like Canada possibly need to hide? And why would they hide them in Chicago, of all places? You know there's something wrong when a guy can't even go out to eat with his girlfriend and tell her what he's done at work all day. It's not natural!" "Frannie, I don't think the Inspector would appreciate..." "Oh, well, I guess not. Especially when I tell her what I saw her doing to..." Turnbull once again cleared his throat. "It wasn't that bad." "No, I suppose it wasn't. Because it was the day I met you. I should just put her and him out of my mind. He's in the past. Finished. Forgotten. Ancient history. She can have him with my blessing." She reached out and touched him on the nose and watched him turn red from the collar up. "You're much cuter, anyway. How could I have been so blind?" The waitress brought the plates and refilled their coffee cups. "We need to get going. You've got a shift and I need to get cooking." She turned to the food and began eating, trying to do so quickly but still have perfect table manners in front of him. As usual, he took his time, dissecting the bagel, wielding the table knife like a surgeon's scalpel, trying to get the perfect center cut, then spreading on the cream cheese in a counter-clockwise direction. Across the room, Frank had finally picked up a fork to start eating the food he had let get cold. It didn't matter; he wasn't really tasting it anyway. "You know, Frank, he's not up there." "Somehow I always knew he never would be. Despite all I've said over the years, he was not a good man. Not a good father, not even a good Catholic. You know how angry Mama would get at him about it." "Yes, Frank, but his destiny isn't yours...or mine. People can change." "No, Irene, people can't change. We are who we are. I should have realized that with you, but I couldn't. I didn't want to see you as you, but as who I wanted to manipulate you to be. And I'm paying for the way I've been right now. I'll always be paying. It will never end..." He looked down to pick up a piece of bacon, only to look up again and see nothing. She was gone just as suddenly and silently as she had come, just as suddenly and silently as she always came. He didn't know if she was a ghost or a figment of his imagination, but he usually leaned to a figment, a hallucination, just another sign that his grip on reality was slipping. He forked a few more mouthfuls of egg in, finished his coffee, dropped a tip near the sugar dispenser on the table, and left.