Chapter 37: A Perfect Performance
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Not even twenty-four hours after the ball, the media went wild.
The Famous Frank Farmer: Everything you need to know about Rachel Marron's Stud with Sidearm
The headline was flanked by two pictures: one of him cuffed in his blue Armani suit, with his devastating glare, and the other of Rachel in her long silk gown, with her devastating smile.
In a livid voice, Frank read a fragment of one subheadline aloud to the table. ". . . showing off her new baby bump." He slapped the tabloid down on his chair. "Baby bump? What the hell is this country's obsession with pregnant celebrities?"
Rachel shook her head. Surrounded by all men at the breakfast table, it was clear they had very limited knowledge of what drew the attention of the public.
"I didn't think I had a bump yet," Rachel thought out loud, inspecting her belly beneath the table.
The men seated around her all exchanged awkward glances with one another.
"It's not that noticeable," Scott said diplomatically as he leaned back in his chair, repeatedly tossing a sweet-n-low packet up in the air.
Clearly just trying to be helpful, Tony interjected, "That's why they call it a 'bump.' It's not a… uh, 'lump,' it's just a 'bump.'"
Frank put his face in his palm.
"I think it suits you, Rachel," Ricky chimed in with a charming smile.
Frank promptly stood up from the table. "Can we stop talking about this, please?"
All eyes shot to Rachel's cell phone as it started to buzz in the center of the table. Before she could reach for it, Frank already had it in his hand.
"Um. . . excuse me?"
"It's an unknown caller," he said. "We can't let you answer, or they might recognize your voice."
Before she could protest, he went out into the hall, flipped open the cell phone and curtly answered, "Yeah?"
"Good morning!" a cheery male voice greeted him on the other line. "Is Rachel Marron available?"
Frank paused, struggling to understand why the man's voice sounded so oddly familiar. "Who is this?" he demanded.
"This is Tom Hanks. I'm calling to ask Rachel if she wanted to do a movie with me!"
Frank snapped the phone shut and muttered under his breath, "Run, Forest, run."
Their curious faces all turned to him as he burst back through the doors.
"Scam call."
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As they were riding to lunch in the limo, Frank asked Rachel if she ever turned down any roles that were offered to her.
"Sure, loads of times." She laughed to herself. "In fact, I was once asked to make a guest appearance on Seinfeld back in the 90's and I turned it down."
Frank looked at her in disbelief. "Oh, so the one show on TV that was actually funny, you turned down?"
Tony piped up. "Rach, I didn't know they wanted you for a Seinfeld episode!"
Rachel shrugged. "I was hoping someone would call me to do a guest appearance on Friends instead."
Tony and Frank exchanged an eye roll.
Frank was getting used to allowing someone else to open car doors for him. Tony shielded him and Rachel from the people who had gathered on the sidewalk to watch them enter the restaurant on Rodeo Drive. Ironically, Frank had not needed to open fire once since they'd come back to Hollywood, the lion's den. He considered it lucky, because it had been quite the challenge not to pull the trigger when he'd drawn his gun at the Getty Center.
He still wouldn't allow himself to walk ahead of Rachel. Even in the times she insisted on holding his hand, he had to be slightly behind her and to the left. Slightly behind and to the left. It was his comfort spot, the best vantage point for anticipating attacks. But she didn't understand why a man with such a long stride was struggling to keep up with her.
He felt so out of place. She still walked like a celebrity, with that rushed, overly confident sort of strut. Her hair was perfectly teased into those light, fluffy curls she used to wear. She was wearing a billowy denim top with a cut-out back that he found both highly distracting and intimidating. Tight black nylon leggings - leather from the kneecap down. Three inch fuschia heels. A series of multi-metal bracelets. Hoop earrings.
No one would have had to take a second guess that she was Rachel Marron. It scared him.
As they were walking between Scott and Tony down the sidewalk, Frank overheard two male onlookers speculating about them from behind.
"Think it's true he nailed her while he was still working for her?"
The other man replied, "I don't know, but the guy must be hung like a horse for that Marron chick to stick around as long as she has."
Frank whipped around to try and catch the faces of the men, but they were blocked from his view by Tony's massive frame.
He found himself exceedingly disturbed by the exchange as they were seated at their table. How would these strangers have had it in their heads that he had slept with Rachel while he was her employee? Frank had never once disclosed their brief affair with anyone before, and he was fairly certain that Rachel hadn't either. Was someone out there already speculating about their past relationship in the tabloids somewhere?
Rachel spent over three-hundred dollars on lunch, which Frank could barely bring himself to eat.
He did manage to eat at dinner, however, despite the pressing glare of Laura Pentecost on him throughout the entire meal.
Frank knew very well when he was being prepped for unpleasant news.
Following dinner, Rachel had asked him to come sit in the drawing room with her alone for a bit. He stared at her in silence as she made her case. She had been asked to perform in a small concert in Chicago at the end of the month. He did not miss the way she had placed special emphasis on the word "small."
He had expected it was only a matter of time before she approached him with such a proposition. He couldn't say it made it any easier to swallow. It was clear she had a true love for performing, or else it wouldn't have been so difficult for him to agree to it. He knew it was pointless to hide the fact that he was upset. She was obviously well-versed in reading his body language.
"I knew you wouldn't be happy about it," she said. It broke his heart to see her dejected face. "But that's why I'm doing something small. It's not a world tour or anything."
He sighed and stood up to place one hand on the mantle of the fireplace. "I know. I'm just worried about the baby."
It was a poor excuse, but she smiled sympathetically at him. "That's why I'm not doing anything crazy. Besides, we have a whole security team now, honey."
He discovered a lovely little weak spot in his heart from hearing her call him 'honey.'
That night, Frank took the opportunity to coach Ricky on his getaway skills in the limo, only to find that Ricky could have coached him. Suspiciously, the young man was already an expert in driving getaway vehicles, just as Tony had alluded, and he also knew how to carry and handle a gun. The proud confidence of his chauffeur put Frank at ease, at least for long enough to consider that this trip to Chicago would not be so bad.
Although they still would have to go through the airport together.
The one thing about Rachel's fizzling career was that she could not demand private jets to pick them up at her whim anymore. It made it a bit more cumbersome to go through the airport, especially now that both Frank and Fletcher were in some ways just as recognized as she was. The last time Frank had been at LAX with Rachel had been on their way to Miami for her benefit concert. He again suppressed a significant trauma response to being there with her again. At least this time she would not be making his life miserable.
On the contrary, she was suspiciously sweet on their way through security. She turned and whispered to him that she was going to comply this time, just before she shed her jewelry, piece by piece, and placed them in his hands.
She had just turned around to enter the metal detector, when he reminded her to remove her rings.
She faced him with a significant look as she lifted her hands. "I don't have any rings," she said pointedly. Her gaze lingered just a bit longer than necessary before she stepped cleanly through the detector.
That was the moment the seed had been planted in his mind.
Frank allowed himself a moment of happiness while seated beside Rachel on the plane. Although he remained as stoic as possible for the sake of the public, he was thrilled by the way her hands always seemed to find a reason to touch him. He was obsessed with her hands lately. He found himself absently stroking her fingers whenever he could find a spare moment to do so, and she finally noticed it, having no other distractions on their long trip.
"Why are you so interested in my fingers lately?" she asked him quietly.
"No reason."
She smirked at him but didn't press for an honest answer.
"Still don't have anywhere to rest my head on this plane," she huffed, upset by the fact that he had forced her to take the middle seat again.
He lifted the armrest between them and gestured to his shoulder. "Now you do."
She smiled in her sleep for the rest of the trip. He didn't move a muscle.
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Rachel found that not having a manager was risky in the best kind of way. She made her own decisions about which places to visit, and which venues to perform at. The Oriental Theatre was a place she had sung at before, for a much more specific sort of crowd. Here, she was just one of several featured performers, and her choices of ballads had been hand-selected to honor the restoration of general interest.
She would not have said 'yes' to such a venue if the city did not interest her as well. Chicago had an old-world sort of charm to it, even its present-day state, and she had always felt a tender draw to the town and its people since her first performance there as a twenty-four-year-old with big hopes and dreams. It took her back to the days when her humility was a side dish to the main course of her talent. Rachel did not want to sell out theaters anymore, as much as she loved her fans. It was not so much about the numbers anymore as it was about entertaining those who had remained faithful to her after all these years.
It was an even greater pleasure to have Fletcher by her side. For so many years they had preserved his anonymity by never allowing him to accompany her on tours, either local or international. Though Rachel still believed it had been worth the sacrifice, it was amazing that her son would finally get to see her in action now. And it was all, ironically, thanks to the stupid press and their obsession with her messy life.
She would embrace the mess, she thought as she stared at herself in the lightbulb studded mirror of her dressing room. It was a far cry from where she could have ended up if she had stayed with any of the other men in her past. But to have so willingly given into the choice of her heart, and have Frank Farmer here with her now . . . it was indescribable.
He didn't seem as overwhelmed here, she observed, as he laughed casually with Fletcher in the corner of the room. He wasn't being paid to watch from the sidelines and stare more at the crowd than at her anymore. He was here as her guest, the same as her son, and their only obligation was to enjoy the performance. She had her doubts that her former bodyguard could ever fully relax, but she would encourage him to try until one day maybe that miracle would finally happen.
If she was being honest with herself – which often seemed an impossible task – she had felt just as skittish the closer they got to showtime. Rachel felt it was her duty to keep a strong face under such circumstances; after all, music and singing was her one true passion. The worry in the back of her mind would never stop her from being able to perform, but it would make it more difficult to wait out the several hours of prep time before stepping on stage. Because the longer she waited, the more she would question things – was that camera always on that side of the stage; was there a reason that one audience member kept checking his pocket? Those little, ridiculous details that were not her job to monitor. That was Farmer's job. Her brain fell back into the same pattern of restless anxieties that had always plagued him. But she couldn't let him know. Things weren't the same as they had been on that night at the Academy Awards. Things were going well.
It seemed everything had gone right since they'd arrived in Chicago. The theater staff was exceptionally accommodating and kind, and the stress levels were as low as they could have been. Rachel's only real worry should be that she might have to overcome some unwanted pregnancy nausea while on stage. She fixed her hair in the mirror for the tenth time, using the nervous habit as an excuse to watch Frank and Fletcher's reflections as they conversed by the door.
Their conversation was interrupted by Tony's head protruding through the doorway. "Hey, Rach?" Rachel arched her eyebrows at him through the mirror. "Tina Brennan is here."
"Oh! Send her in, Tony!"
Rachel stood up to go hug her friend as she awkwardly squeezed in between Fletcher and Frank.
"Girl, you're a certified nutcase!" Rachel accused with a squeal of excitement.
"I never got to see you sing at Christmas, so here I am!" Tina said, arms outstretched as she handed her a delicate bouquet of flowers. "Oh, Devon is here, too!" she said, waving her hand emphatically for her shy fiancé to join her at Rachel's side. Devon gave Fletcher and Frank a tight smile as he scooted through the doorway between them. Rachel hugged him and thanked both of them for coming.
"You know how much this means to me, Tina. You're basically the only real friend I have left out here."
Tina looked moved to tears. "Aw, Rach–"
"No, I mean it." She looked at Devon with a businesslike stare. "You picked a good one, here, boy. Don't let her down, or I'll bring all the trouble your way."
Devon put his hands up with an innocent laugh, "Don't I know it?" He tucked Tina under his chin. "You have my word. I'll treat her right."
"It's too bad you don't live closer to me, Tina, or I'd probably write you into my will," Rachel whispered, causing Fletcher to yelp, "Hey!"
The group laughed loudly. With the addition of Tony and Scott now, the small dressing room was beginning to get awfully cramp.
"Well, we finally set a date for our wedding," Tina said excitedly. "So expect a formal invitation soon. It's a destination wedding in Key West!" She looked sweetly over at Frank. "We hope you both can come!"
Rachel smiled in Frank's direction, and he met her eyes for a brief moment of soft significance.
"Alright, let's wrap it up, people," the stage director peeked around the door with a smile. "She's got fifteen minutes before show time."
Rachel savored the onslaught of kisses and hugs and 'good luck's' from her guests, until it was finally just her and Fletcher and Frank again.
"You're gonna do great, Mom," Fletcher said with a hug.
"Thank you, baby. Now, you go enjoy the show."
She waited until he had left before tucking in close to Frank. "And you . . . Don't you dare try to sneak out and do a perimeter check in the middle of my performance," she warned.
"They still do intermissions, don't they?" he teased. She slapped his arm.
He laughed and bent down to kiss her ear. "Good luck."
Her memory assaulted her with the ridiculous number of times he could have done this when he was her bodyguard. Behind all those stages, between all those curtains, during all of those quick safety checks in her dressing room . . . but all the missed opportunities now melted away in the presence of his warm embrace.
"I love you," she whispered against his chin.
"I love you, too," he whispered back, and left one slow, meaningful kiss on her lips.
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On his way through the backstage hall, Frank pulled aside a young woman who looked to be a stagehand of some kind. He handed her the elaborate bouquet of red roses he had ordered and told her to be sure it got sent to Rachel's dressing room after the show. The young lady assured him with a wink that she was on it, and she accepted the flowers without hesitation.
Rachel was not the first to perform tonight, and so Frank invited Fletcher outside in the theater lobby for a chat while the evening's first singer took her time on stage.
"You okay?" Fletcher asked with a chuckle as he rarely saw Frank looking nervous.
"Yeah," Frank said, sounding certain only for a moment before his eyes began shifting around the room again. "I, uh… I have something to ask you."
"Yeah?" He looked confused.
"Well, it's not exactly kosher, but seeing as how Rachel has no father for me to approach..."
Fletcher's eyes were bright and hopeful. The theater's center of gravity seemed to shift in that moment.
Frank continued quietly, "I'm asking for your permission to… marry your mother."
The boy grinned. "Really?"
Frank couldn't help but laugh at his youthful mannerisms. "Yes, really."
He was suddenly enveloped in the boy's lanky arms. "Of course, Frank! Of course, you have my permission."
"Thank you," Frank murmured, struggling to maintain composure as he embraced him back.
"Do you need help picking out a ring?" Fletcher asked.
Frank's stomach fluttered as he suddenly had to entertain all of the next steps in organizing an actual proposal. "Uh . . . yeah. That would be helpful."
They laughed.
"Wow…" Fletcher murmured, still in awe. "So, did you just decide this today, or…?"
"No, I'd been thinking about it for a while," Frank admitted as they headed upstairs to the upper level of the theater. "But I guess all that down time on the plane ride here sealed the deal for me."
Fletcher stared at him with a barely contained smile. "I can't believe you're going to marry my mom."
Hearing it out loud was like a symphony, but Frank suppressed a surge of nerves at the implication. "Well, she hasn't said 'yes' yet," he reminded Fletcher with a chuckle.
"I know she'll say 'yes,' Frank."
The boy's confidence warmed Frank's heart.
Days ago Rachel had offered to get them floor seats for the show, but Frank had refused, not wanting to be too obvious in case he should be recognized by someone in the crowd. So she had told him the next best thing would be box seats, which she had managed to reserve for both him and Fletcher on the upper level. Tony and Scott were able to stand directly behind them during her performance, ensuring that they had a clear escape route should they need to leave the theater.
He had not seen her perform live since that year in Vegas when he had gone on a spur of the moment whim. It took his breath away, the pure power of her voice in person. He felt more than heard her voice when she sang this way. It seemed to fill the deepest parts of his soul. To say nothing of how spectacular she looked while on stage. No matter how the lights hit her, the angles only grew more flattering with each direction she looked. She was so engaged with her audience, there were moments when he felt as if she were singing directly to him. She had a way of singling out people in the crowd and making them feel as if they were the only person in the room with her.
He realized as he watched her just how much of a sin it would be for her to quit. She was a once-in-a-generation type voice, the kind of performer who could not be placed on a shelf. He felt guilty for all the times when he had tried to talk her into stopping altogether. Music was the light of her life, and it showed when she sang. He didn't even know the songs she was singing tonight, but they gripped him emotionally all the same. It thrilled him to think that his future child was there on that stage with her – and they would grow within her womb never knowing a world where that voice did not exist.
He found himself lost as he listened to her, taken with the expressions of her beautiful face, and the movements of her hands. One day, he imagined, she would be singing on stage with a glittering diamond on her left hand, on that finger which had never been adorned before. And everyone in the crowd would see it – a permanent fixture on her finger, the hard evidence of his devotion to her.
He wasn't biased. Rachel received the loudest applause out of all the performers that night.
After the show, a select group of those closest to the performers were invited to the backstage gathering room for a small party. Though he was not fond of these frequent parties, Frank was invested in supporting her as much as possible while here, especially after such a stunning performance. He was grateful for Fletcher's company in a room where he only recognized three faces.
Frank could sense a renewed interest in Rachel while observing the attendees. She had hit notes on that stage which she hadn't been able to hit in years. She was glowing – whether from her sense of security in her life now, or from the pregnancy he was not sure – but people were more drawn to her than ever. Maybe it did have something to do with her relationship with him. He wasn't an actor, or a rock star, or an athlete like all the others had been. To the public, he was a nostalgic mystery hero who had seemingly reappeared from the abyss after a decade of never sharing his whereabouts or identity. He could concede how that might invoke their fascination.
Rachel seemed much happier and more natural among this smaller group of close acquaintances compared to how she'd seemed at the ball at Getty Center. Frank noticed Rachel's particular comfort around Tina Brennan and her fiancé Devon. Though he'd only shared a few brief exchanges with the young woman over the last several months, he felt a significant connection to her – after all she had been the first to know of their renewed relationship outside of Pettigrew and Fletcher, and she had been the only person besides him to mourn with Rachel after her miscarriage. Frank had his hesitations about Rachel trusting anyone too much, but maybe that was his fault for not doing his due diligence in getting to know the pair better.
In an uncharacteristic move, Frank approached Tina and Devon during the party.
"It was really nice of you two to come," he said.
He considered it a blessing that Tina was on the chatty side, because she left no room for awkward silences during his poor attempts at small talk. She went on and on and on about how brilliant the performances were, and how angelic Rachel looked on stage, and how exciting it was that Fletcher would have a new sibling next year, and all of the sorts of things that young women find romantic and exhilarating – which Frank had very little commentary on.
At last she caught her breath, and asked if anyone wanted a drink. They shook their heads and she excused herself politely to head for the bar, leaving Frank alone with her fiancé.
"She's a little overwhelming sometimes," Devon said with an apologetic chuckle.
"I can relate," Frank sympathized as he caught a glimpse of Rachel holding court on the other end of the room.
"So you and Rachel have remained pretty close these years?" Devon asked.
"Not at all, actually. We only just reconnected around Christmas last year."
Devon smirked. "It must suck to have all the media attention on you now, huh?"
Frank was careful in his response. "It's an inconvenience, but it doesn't change my feelings towards her."
"I don't know how you do it, man," he said with a laugh. "I'd want out."
Frank felt a strange sinking sensation in his gut as he looked back at Rachel. He would be lying if he said he didn't want out every single day – but for her, it would always be worth it. He looked back at the young man whose dark eyes quickly flicked away when he noticed Frank's attention had returned to his face.
"I noticed you and Tina were in some of the pictures with us when we were coming out of Charlie's a few weeks ago," Frank mentioned offhandedly while observing the man's microexpressions.
He shifted uncomfortably, avoiding eye contact. "Yeah. . . no one recognized me or Tina though."
"You sure about that?"
"I guess you never know, right?" Devon shuffled nervously.
Frank shook his head, eyes locked on the man's face. Tina waved at them from the bar, and Devon seemed grateful for an excuse to leave.
"What's that guy's name again?" Fletcher asked, coming up behind Frank.
"Devon."
Fletcher made a face as he watched the young man walk to the other side of the room. "He's weird."
The crowd had grown a bit more tipsy after the first hour of the party had passed. Thankfully Rachel remembered that she was pregnant this time, and Frank didn't have to confiscate any cocktails from her. Once things had finally started to wind down, they said their goodbyes to all but about ten guests, and Frank walked Rachel back to her dressing room. He stopped just outside the door in the cramped hallway to kiss her and tell her what an incredible performance she'd given.
"I'm happier than I've been in a long time," she said, her eyes twinkling up at him. "It makes a difference on stage."
"I can tell."
"My boyfriend was here, my son was here, and my best friend was here," she said with joy-filled smile. "I couldn't ask for more."
"You consider Tina your best friend, then?" Frank asked, genuinely curious.
She looked suspicious. "Yes . . . why?"
"She's nice," Frank defended gently. "The fiancé, though . . ."
"What's wrong with Devon?"
"I don't like him," he blurted. Rachel rolled her eyes.
"Jesus, Frank, you size up every guy you meet like he was taking your daughter on a date."
He glanced helplessly at her belly, and she giggled at him, "We don't know yet if it's a girl."
He softened a bit at her teasing, pulling her in for another kiss. "I had a dream that it was a girl," he revealed.
Rachel raised her eyebrows. "You did?"
He nodded. He expected her to ask him more details about the dream, but she just stood there with wistful eyes, biting her lip as she tried to tame her smile.
"If we do have a daughter, I'll bet she looks just like her mother," he whispered as he brushed back a tendril of her hair with careful fingers.
"Frank?"
Both of them turned with a start to find Tony down at the other end of the dark hallway. "Ricky's gonna bring the car around the stage door in a few minutes."
Frank nodded, waving him on.
"I have to go get changed," Rachel murmured, smoothing out the lapels of Frank's suit jacket. "I'll meet you guys down at the stage door."
Frank hesitated to leave her alone, but she assured him she would only be a few minutes. "Go on and get Fletcher," she instructed with a smile, giving him a tender nudge in the backside before she closed the door behind her.