One year later and the situation in the Goren family had not improved, if anything it had deteriorated. In spite of the fact that they still loved one another, Frances and Frank continued to cheat on each other. In an effort to get back at each other for real or imagined grievances, one was always trying to go one further than the other.
The children were either neglected or given too much attention. Bobby was still a restless baby at one year of age (his parents called him "hyper") while four-year-old Frankie continued to be the perfect child. The only difference now was that Frank, Sr. was no longer hiding his partiality between the two boys. He was very affectionate with Frankie, yet stern at times; he wanted to make sure Frankie grew up "right." But he rarely raised his hand to his son. Bobby, on the other hand, he didn't hesitate to discipline. As young as he was, his butt was always sore, while his legs sported the occasional welt. Frances was either too into her own problems to notice this, or chose to ignore it. Besides, it wasn't that often.
-x-x-x-
Frances Goren's affair with Mark Ford Brady continued on and off. Most of the time Brady was gone out of town, but whenever he was in town, he and Frances hooked up. On this particular occasion, Brady told Frances he wanted to party, like the night Kennedy had been elected. That experience had been the best either of them had had in years, and he wanted to replicate it.
But Frances had a problem. She wanted to go out with Brady and feel young and pretty and happy again. But there were her boys…she had to figure something out. Normally, her mother, Rose, who was older and not in the best of health, wasn't much help where the kids were concerned, but she was desperate.
"Mother, can't you take them for even one single weekend?" Frances pleaded with her mother. "I need a break, Mother, between the two of them—"
"Where's Frank?" her mother demanded. The way she said "Frank" made Frances cringe. "Let me guess: away on business."
"Yes," Frances said, unwilling to admit that her mother had been right about Frank. She could practically see the derision on her mother's face, and she definitely could hear it in her voice.
"What kind of business this week?" her mother continued. "Women? Or the horses? Maybe both? Doesn't matter, same effect." Rose, Frances' mother, had never cared much for Frank Goren. "I told you, long before you married him, that—"
"Mother! Please! Do we have to do this now? I just need you to take the boys!"
"Maybe if you hadn't jumped into some whirlwind marriage with him and married a decent man like I wanted you to, you wouldn't be having these problems now."
Frances closed her eyes. There was only one way to stop Rose once she got started. "I know, Mother, you were right. But it's too late now."
"I know. And look at you now, holed up in some rundown little rowhouse with two children you don't really need…" She loved her grandsons dearly, but knew Frances really did not need children with all her problems with her husband. It was a shame, they were such sweet children. They really deserved better.
"It would be fine, Mother, if you would just take the boys every so often so I could get a little break, I am going crazy!"
Rose thought about it. "Well, maybe Frankie…for a while."
"Why not Bobby?"
"Frances, you know I can't handle Bobby. I'm getting too old to care for a baby. And with your father being sick…"
Frances sighed. Bobby was the one she really needed taken off her hands. Frankie behaved fine. "Well it doesn't do much good to send Frankie if you don't take Bobby, too."
"Fine, if that's the way you want it…"
"No. No it isn't. Alright, just Frankie." One gone was better than none.
Frances hung up the phone and looked at her two boys. Frankie was playing with Bobby in the playpen. The only way Bobby would stay in that thing was if Frankie played in there with him. Otherwise he was always managed to get out somehow. She sighed again. She loved her little Bobby, but sometimes he was more than even she could handle. And he was only one year old.
She called Mark. "She'll only take Frankie…"
The silence was deafening. "Mark?" Frances held her breath, hoping he would still come.
"Yeah, I'm here, Bambi." There was a pause. Then, "It's alright. I'll take care of things. Bobby won't be a problem."
"I'm glad you think so…"
"I know so."
Frances had no idea what Brady was talking about, but chose to let it go, eager to let him handle things.
"Look, I'll see you in a few hours. Then we're going to party all night, then we're not gonna get out of that bed all morning."
She laughed, thinking he was kidding, and hung up. Brady, meanwhile, pulled a small flask down from his cabinet. He looked over his supply of liquor, and finally settled on his best vodka, clear and undetectable. Or at least it would be to Frances. "Only the best for my boy," he told himself
-x-x-x
When Rose arrived at the Goren home, Frances and the boys were outside. Frankie was on his tricycle, zooming back and forth in front of the house. Bobby was squirming in his mother's arms, anxious to get down and chase Frankie. Frances wasn't about to let him down, he'd be in the street in a second.
They all went inside, where Frances went into the bedroom to retrieve the little bag she'd made up for Frankie. Both Frankie and Bobby were all over their grandmother. And despite her disdain for Frank, Sr., she had to admit he fathered beautiful children. The boys looked somewhat alike, yet they were different. Frankie had striking blue eyes, like his father, his hair slightly wavy. Little Bobby had those beautiful dark curls that Rose had fallen in love with. And dark eyes and lashes a girl would kill for. She kissed Bobby's cherubic plump little cheek. "If you get any prettier…" she told him, kissing him as he kissed her, too.
Then Frances came out of the room with Frankie's bag. Rose stood up, putting both boys down. Frances knelt down by Frankie, and kissed him. "You be a good boy, Frankie, and have fun with Gramma."
"I will, Ma!" He kissed his mother, then his little brother, who tried his best to pull away, and took his Gramma's hand.
Frances took one more try at her mother. She picked Bobby up, facing his Gramma so she could see his sweet face. "Mother…?"
Rose sighed. "Frances, I told you, as much as I love him, I cannot handle Bobby. He's much too restless, and I cannot chase him around. I'm not as young as I used to be." With that, she kissed Bobby again and left with Frankie.
Frances put Bobby down hard in his playpen. "You can just figure on keeping your ass in there all day!"
Xxx
About an hour later, Brady arrived. Bobby was in his playpen, trying to climb out.
Brady reached out for him to lift him up, but Bobby pulled back, sitting down and refusing to look at Brady. Brady picked him up anyway, and Bobby squirmed so much that Brady put him back down, frowning. Frances was in the kitchen drinking coffee and just generally being in a foul mood. She had really hoped to do something with Brady this weekend. But Bobby being here ruined everything.
Brady nuzzled her neck, then fondled her breasts. "You stop breastfeeding him?" he asked, clearly disappointed in the new smaller size.
She turned on him, hurt and angry. "What do you think? He's a year old now! And he's got teeth!" she spat. "Just how long do you think I should breast feed? Till he's 12 years old?" She pushed him like she tried to push big Frank.
But Frances got angry at the wrong person. Brady suddenly grabbed her by the throat, and forced her into the bedroom. "You fucking bitch! You don't talk to me like that!" With that, he backhanded her across the mouth, knocking her onto the bed.
"I'm…sorry…" she croaked, but he was having none of it. Then he was on top of her, ripping off her top and bra. He stared down at her, and she didn't recognize the man behind the eyes.
"You think your little bastard has teeth? You don't know the half of it!" He suddenly dipped his head down, and took one of her nipples in his teeth, and bit. Hard. Frances cried out, and tried to get him off her. But he held her wrists, and bit her, over and over, bruising her badly. Brady finally gained control of himself, and stopped. Frances lay there, crying softly.
Brady got up. Then he said, "I'm sorry, Bambi. But you have to know, you can't piss me off like that. I don't like getting angry. Is that clear?"
Frances nodded, clearly frightened. She wanted to tell him to leave, but was too scared.
Brady went to the living room, where Bobby was crying and nearly out of the playpen. He was getting on Brady's nerves.
"Wasn't planning on starting this so soon, little man, but you have managed to change my mind." He went to the kitchen, and took a baby bottle filled with milk out of the refrigerator. He poured about a quarter of the milk out, and topped the rest with the vodka.
Returning to the living room, he layed Bobby down with the bottle. But Bobby wouldn't lay down, he kept getting back up. Finally Brady held him down, then held his head still and forced the bottle into his mouth. After one taste, Bobby started choking, and Brady was forced to let him go. But he was getting pissed. If this hadn't been his own kid…
At last Brady took the bottle again, and returned to the kitchen. He took the top off the bottle again, and loaded it with sugar, figuring that would take the bitterness out. He brought it back to Bobby, and watched as Bobby finally took the bottle.
He watched till the bottle was empty and Bobby tossed it to the side. Then Bobby tried to stand up, and fell over. He tried again, with the same result. Suddenly Brady started laughing.
"Bambi!" he called back to Frances, "Get out here and look at your kid!" When she didn't immediately appear he called her again, this time in a warning tone. "Get out here now!"
Frances reluctantly appeared, wearing her robe. She stood next to Brady and watched as her baby boy tried once more and again failed to stand.
"What's wrong with him?" she asked dully, still in a bit of a daze.
"Not a damn thing, darling. Not a damn thing." He chuckled, and didn't bother explaining to Frances that her one-year-old was drunk. Finally the last time Bobby fell, he just stayed down. His soft dark eyes slowly closed, then he went to sleep. Brady turned him onto his belly, then figured Bobby was fine, he'd sleep through to the next day. Brady's own mother had given him whiskey all the time to make him sleep. Bobby was no different, if it was good enough for Brady, it was good enough for his kid.
"Good night, Bobby," Brady said. "Pleasant dreams." He ruffled Bobby's hair. "Now, Bambi, we have all night, with no interruptions. Go get dressed. We're going out."
"But…Bobby—" Frances started.
"I said he was okay." Then he took her face in his hands and kissed her passionately. "Remember the night Kennedy got elected? We're going to relive that night tonight Get ready." Frances got ready. Despite the pain he had caused her, Frances forgave his brutality with her, once again falling under his spell. Brady and Frances went clubbing all night, not returning until the next morning. Then Brady told her he had to leave for a bit, something had come up.
Frances went to bed for a few hours, then awoke with a start, feeling uneasy about something. She went to the living room and watched for a while as Bobby slept, then decided something was wrong. Suddenly in a panic, she grabbed him up and tried to wake him, jostling him roughly. At last Bobby woke up, lashes fluttering, his eyes momentairily rolling back into his head and immediately threw up, on himself, on her. He was horribly sick. Frances had no idea what was wrong with him, he cried non-stop and vomited continuously. She had no way of knowing that Bobby was suffering from an overdose of alchohol and a hangover in his one-year-old body. All she knew was that he was crying again and wouldn't stop.
"What is wrong with you?" she screamed at him, shaking him. Her screaming frightened him and he began crying even harder. She looked at him, exasperated, screamed again, and stormed off to her bedroom. Once in her room, she ripped off the clothes her baby had vomited on, replacing it with her robe. Then she threw herself on her bed, and suddenly broke down and cried bitterly. She felt terrible, screaming at her baby. Bobby was a restless baby, always had been, and yes, he was difficult. A lot more difficult than Frankie had ever been. But he was her baby.
She went back out and picked him up. "What is wrong with you?" she asked again. "Why do you do this to me?" she cried, the tears building up in her eyes again. "Why do you make me feel this way? So crazy?!" She pulled his head down to her chest, and her tears rolled down her cheeks and into his curls. "Why couldn't you have just been more like Frankie?"
tbc
