Reminisces of the Heart
By Jaye Reid.
Written: 19.01.2000 – 13.02.2000
Category: Frank/Rachel
Disclaimer: Question - when is a Water Rat not a Water Rat? Answer - when Hal. doesn't want to play with them anymore. Come on Hal, be a sport, at least let us have the ones that you don't want. I'm getting tired of having to say that you and Southern Star own them!
Authors notes: I had the imagery on this opening before I had the words. The Frank/Rachel relationship was such a complex one and it was unfortunate that they were both so damn stubborn. But there was a deeper side to Frank that the banter hid. Sometimes you wondered if he was just running scared. Thank you to my sub-editor and beta readers for their points of view on this piece. Big thanks to Sonia for finding the lyrics that expressed exactly the sentiments that I had wanted this story to portray. I have credited the lyrics to the artists within the story so they will speak for themselves.
Frank looked down at the sleeping form resting on his body. Her long blonde hair tossed carelessly across his chest. It was nearly dawn and he found himself in the bed of yet another blonde beauty, who's name he couldn't remember.
Mindless repetition. But at the moment they served a purpose. His nights weren't spent alone and he could forget about the 'real' world for awhile.
He had no trouble finding willing partners. He gave himself a half smile.
"…you're a real charmer…" she used to tease him in her clear and precise sarcastic tone. Yeah, and charm was his favourite past-time.
He never took them back to the boat. He wasn't sure why because – by God – the "Footloose" was pretty impressive. Perhaps because it was his space. And besides they never lasted long. A succession of one night stands. He had crossed paths with a few of them more than once. But they were just another blonde, their name lost in his memory.
They were always blondes. But he hadn't actually picked up 'anyone' before he heard she was gone.
Even with her joking about all the Miss Worlds he would encounter. It just hadn't felt right. And he had his fair share of opportunities. No he merely assumed that blonde women were jut part of his own particular fetish. That was until one night he was ditched by one of the many blondes after a heated argument. Alone at the bar, a striking brunette sitting on the other side of him struck up a conversation. A real conversation. It had been a long time since he had actually 'talked' to anyone. It felt good.
Eventually, as it usually did, they were back at her place. But it wasn't long before alarm bells sounded loudly in his head. Her brown hair, blue eyes, and then she made some off handed comment. It wasn't necessarily what she said, for the words were long forgotten, but it was the 'way' she said it.
He saw Rachel in her smile.
A panic shot through his body, he felt like he was suffocating. He had to get out, then and there.
She must have thought he was crazy. She was probably glad in the end that he left so abruptly. Frank knew that 'he' would be happy if their paths never crossed again.
Now he knew why they were always blondes.
He couldn't face anyone that reminded him of Rachel.
The current blonde started to stir. His cue to make a move and leave. He always managed to find an excuse to make a quick exit.
He looked at her face. Hell, how old 'was' she? She didn't look 'this' young last night.
His trained eye, that taught him to gauge ages of the countless corpses that they pulled from the Sydney Harbour, told him that she was old enough, but just barely.
"…watch ya self Francis, jailbait…" he could hear her say somewhere in his mind. Back in the good old days he would have been making her coffee for at least a week over something like this. His comeback would have been something along the lines that he "…didn't have time to stop and ask them for ID…" that he had "…other things on his mind…"
She would have chuckled, smiled and told him "… you're a jerk Holloway…" To which he probably would have agreed with on his way to making her coffee.
There was a slight chill in the early morning air as he made his way along the deserted footpath. His jacket slung over his shoulder, too lazy to put it on.
He had no idea where he was. That was the only problem associated with always going to 'their' place. Although there was one other unpleasant experience when a supposed 'ex' boyfriend showed up at an inopportune moment. Didn't seem to 'ex' from where Frank was sitting, actually lying.
But at least he never had to worry about any of them locating him. Bloody women! Sleep with them once and they wanted to own you he thought. Well some of them. The others seemed to think like he did. Lonely, wanting company. What was the harm in that?
Frank found himself a taxi and decided that perhaps another week here and he might move on again.
~*~
Back at the marina and back aboard the 'Footloose' Frank opened the small fridge. It was almost empty. Only a couple of cans of beer, along with *something* that was *well* passed its use by date.
As he took one can and cracked it open, he could hear her chastising him in her favourite mock authoritarian tone.
"… I know beer is an essential part of your diet Francis, but really, living out of pizza boxes and take – away containers can't be healthy for you…"
Perhaps he'd consider buying food.
She would have been right. She always is…. *was* right he thought.
"Was". Past tense, finished, over, gone.
He hated that word.
It took so damn long to refer to anyone in the past tense after they'd gone. It was as if saying 'was' closed the chapter. Filing them into a category. The one marked "Forgotten."
Just like Kevin.
Silly bastard. At least Rachel would have had someone she knew, and understood the job, waiting for her.
He'd look after her.
Keep her company.
At least she wouldn't have to worry about that other bastard. Rachel wasn't at the same damn place as that mongrel Harrison.
Nah, Frank was sure that Knocker would be sweatin' in the sulphur fires of hell. Well at least the old catholic altar boy, who believed in such places and lived somewhere inside Frank, was certain he would be.
Frank turned his radio cassette deck to radio mode and started flicking through the stations.
Early morning radio.
Bright boppy music.
He wasn't in the mood.
He turned it to cassette and started rummaging through the miscellaneous tapes scattered in a box.
"What's this?" he asked himself out loud.
His collection was varied but he didn't remember owning this one. 'The Very Best of the Eagles' he thought. Well the cassette case was cracked and scuffed. Certainly fitted in with his collection.
He opened the case and he could see an imprint of writing on the paper insert.
With his natural born detective curiosity, he opened it out and turned it over.
"…Property of Rachel Freidman" it read. "…damage it and she will kill you! Music to study by. Good luck with the finals, love Cathy."
No wonder the case looked pretty worn, Frank smiled to himself. It had obviously been kicking around for awhile. The thought of Rachel studying for 'finals' brought a humorous imagery to his mind. Rachel surrounded by stacks of books, music blaring….
Have to ….
Return it?
To who?
He dropped the cassette into the tape deck and pressed play.
Instant music.
Obviously hadn't been rewound. He wondered how it got mixed in with his collection? Christmas party perhaps? He didn't mind that it had found its way into his things. He felt rather comforted that he had something of hers.
Hmm, Eagles. He didn't mind them. But Rachel? The Eagles?
"… you don't think I'm gonna tell you 'all' my secrets Frank…" he could hear her say. Bloody woman!
He slumped himself down on the edge of the bed, kicked off his shoes and made himself comfortable.
He took another mouthful of beer.
Beer for breakfast.
Not the best idea perhaps.
Best ideas.
Who decided what was the "best of.." the Eagles?
The current song, "Tequila Sunrise", melancholy to say the least. He knew most of the words, and sang along, albeit totally out of tune, to the last few lines.
~*~ Wonder why the right words never come
You just get numb
It's another tequila sunrise, this old world
still looks the same,
Another frame… ~*~
Hmm, what next he thought as the music faded.
Silence.
Then the music started again.
Frank lay there, staring at the ceiling. He knew this song too. He didn't want to listen to it, but as if frozen in time, he couldn't bring himself to get up and turn it off…
'Desperado'.
"… this your theme song these days?…" he could hear her mock somewhere within his brain.
The song flowed through his pores, enveloping his whole body and senses.
~*~ Desperado, why don't you come to your senses?
You been out ridin' fences for so long now
Oh, you're a hard one
I know that you got your reasons
These things that are pleasin' you
Can hurt you somehow ~*~
Hurt? He knew about hurt. He'd been out riding the waves while his best friend was getting herself killed. Too far away to protect her. Not that she would have *let* anyone protect her. Too bloody stubborn for that.
~*~ Don' you draw the queen of diamonds, boy
She'll beat you if she's able
You know the queen of heats is always your best bet
Now it seems to me, some fine things
Have been laid upon your table
But you only want the ones that you can't get ~*~
Ah Frank thought. Story of his life. Things he couldn't get. Couldn't get right more like it, relationships especially. Two failed marriages, the brief encounters… Louise. Why was it that they died? Louise, wrong place at the wrong time and from what Helen had told him Rachel was too. Now he had lost both of them. He wondered if they were bitching about him? Ha! Both could trade a few stories he thought. Bloody stubborn pain-in-the-arse-when-they-wanted-to-be women!
~*~ Desperado, oh, you ain't gettin' no younger
Your pain and your hunger, they're drivin' you home
And freedom, oh freedom well, that's just some people talkin'
Your prison is walking through this world all alone
Don't your feet get cold in the winter time?
The sky won't snow and the sun won't shine
It's hard to tell the night time from the day
You're loosin' all your highs and lows
Ain't it funny how the feeling goes away? ~*~
"…come on Frank bloody wake up to yourself…" he could her hear say. She would have been right. This was gettin' him no where. Feeling sorry for himself. For what? It wasn't going to bring her back.
Nothing would bring her back.
Frank rolled over and opened the drawer of the cupboard beside his bed. He retrieved his photo's of Rachel. Ones to remind him of just how damn good she looked while he was away. Now along with his memories they were all he had. All he would *ever* have.
~*~ Desperado, why don't you come to your senses?
Come down from your fences, open the gate
It may be rainin', but there's a rainbow above you
You better let somebody love you, before it's too late ~*~
"Move on eh?" he thought out loud. "I won't forget you though Goldie. I loved ya you crazy damn woman," he said brushing his fingers across her smiling face.
The music finished and he tucked the photo's back in their place in the drawer. He sighed loudly and sat himself up. His stomach rumbling as it usually did.
Food.
He needed to buy food.
He got off the bed and hit the stop button on the tape deck.
Silence.
Opening the fridge again revealed that basically he had to buy everything. The cupboard contained just as much. A few cans of soup, a packet of noodles and a stale box of cracker biscuits. He decided he might even find a fruit market and buy vegetables.
Ha! Frank Holloway actually making the conscious decision to eat healthy food.
"…ya feelin' sick or something? The only vegies you bloody well eat are the few they chuck on the top of a pizza…" she would have stated.
There was a small supermarket come general store near the marina he remembered seeing.
Wandering into the shop, he grabbed a basket and began meandering around the shelves. He had no real idea what he was looking for, just food.
He picked up a few items when he realised what he was really hankering for was a plain boring strawberry jam sandwich. Rachel would have said that it was about his standard of expertise when it came to food preparation.
The bread and the margarine were easy to find, but not seeing jam anywhere, he decided to ask the assistant currently stacking tins of soup neatly on the shelf. He didn't need soup, one of the few things he *knew* he had.
"Excuse me," he said in his most pleasant 'I want something' voice. He couldn't help trying to turn on the charm, even if he *was* only wanting jam. "I'm looking for…"
She turned around.
It was the brunette.
And for one of the very few occasions in his life, Francis James Holloway was at a loss for words. Rachel would be laughing at him.
"Hello… we meet again," she said. With a smile and a tone free of malice she turned slightly, pointed and added, "Ah the door is that way if you need to make a quick exit *again*."
"Ah.. eh… hello… ah… no… no I was just looking for the jam?" he spluttered almost incoherently, finally finding something that resembled his voice.
"We don't have much," she replied, indicating to him to follow.
"Ah… you work here?" he asked. Stating the obvious was one of his favourite pastimes. Perhaps it was the detective in him, just clarifying facts.
"No actually, I don't," she replied. But noticing Frank's puzzled expression, she decided it probably wouldn't me nice to play with this guys mind *too* much. "I own the shop. A couple of the workers are off sick, and one has the day off, so I'm just doing a few things. I'm almost finished really."
"Oh."
"Here is the jam," she replied stopping. "Take your pick." And she began to walk off.
"Ah hang on," called Frank after her. What the hell was he doing? He didn't really know. But when did he *ever* know what he was doing? "Want to have lunch? Ah with me?"
"What's for lunch?" she replied. "Jam sandwiches?"
He shrugged and smiled. "Well yeah, it's a start. You a mind reader or something too?"
"No… but the trick," she said walking back to him and peering into the basket he was carrying, "is to study shopping baskets. Yours tells me jam sandwich. But that's okay, you're right, it's a start."
"Gotta start somewhere," he replied cheekily.
And maybe it was time.
The End.