Pretend You're Someone Else - 1. (Chapter Two)-Memories of Frankie

Eighteen years later, on the night of his divorce, Peter found himself once again dreaming of his long-lost true love; the warm, glossy hair that smelled like lemons, the way he became sexually excited when he felt his lover’s breath on his neck, and the summer nights they slept together under the stars. The faint hint of coffee on the lips, the way he loved to run his tongue along them, tasting the sugar...the memories were still fresh in his mind.

Sitting up in bed, Peter glanced at his vintage alarm clock. Three hours remained until he had to be at court. He looked outside as the rain splashed against the bay window. If that wasn’t a bad sign of things to come, then he didn't know what was. He shook his head in disgust.

Joy would love this! Oh yes, she would! Had she ever had a single happy day in her entire life? Probably not.

Taking a deep breath, Peter returned to reality. It hurt. God it still hurt so much! Rain continued to pound against the glass, reminding him of the Indian drums of his heritage.

Turning over on his side, his gaze settled on the cluster of framed family pictures on his dressing table. Baby pictures of his two children, and their ascent into the teenager years stood at attention, each photograph encased in expensive Tiffany's silver. Nestled behind them was a double-framed picture of his parents. Even though they had caused him misery, and both kinds of abuse during his teenage years, he had to have a picture of theirs, so he chose their happiest day together--their wedding day.

Gazing at the happy couple, he knew there were many incidents in his past that he didn't like to think about. The truth behind his father's death for one. The old man had to die on the day his only grandson was born. Typical. He probably had it planned for months. Erich Anderson had to take the 'birth of his grandson' and turn it into a day for himself by dying early. Of course. Up until the end, his father desired to be in control of his son's life.

On the other hand, his mother, Lilly Anderson, returned to her family on the Reservation. Taking her share of her late husband's estate, she left Avoy. Not once in the past seventeen years did she bother to write, or call. Peter honestly could not care less; his mother was the queen of all bitches. He did receive his childhood home in his father's will, but refused to move into it. Later that year, the house mysteriously burned to the ground. Everyone in town was in shock. One of Avoy's only two mansions had gone up in smoke. Peter felt relieved; there were far too many bad memories in that place.

As he lay in bed pondering, he began to think of his marriage to Joy, Erich's birth, how childish he had acted in high school and beautiful Frankie. In a few short hours the judge would sign a decree of freedom. Memories of his erotic dream involving Frankie lingered in his head. He smiled at his erection. Would it be possible for the two of them to reconcile?

Since that fateful-yet-wonderful day of their faux marriage, almost seventeen-years had passed and now, Peter was due at the courthouse at nine sharp. A few weeks ago, his wife finally packed her bags and left him, and for that he was overjoyed. Unfortunately, she knew two dark secrets about his past. But at that moment, the death of his father was the least of Peter's worries. He prayed that she would behave herself in the courtroom today; his two children did not need to know the truth.

Stumbling out of bed, Peter made his way to his twenties-style bathroom. Standing in front of the floor-length mirror, he pulled off his shirt and flannel pajama bottoms.

Starting at the top of his head, Peter was relieved to find that at thirty-five, he still had a thick mass of auburn hair. Finding no grey streaks, he moved downward to his face. After years of being married to that hell cat, a series of lines seemed to have appeared, the majority of them underneath his eyes.

"Something needs to be done about this," Peter muttered, moving down to examine his arms. When he was fifteen, Robert had had both of them addicted to tennis, and up until the day Joy made the announcement she was pregnant, the two of them had hit the courts at least twice a week. Now he kept in shape by playing golf in his backyard. He had the course installed years ago, along with a swimming pool. It gave him something productive to do while Joy made his life miserable.

Preppy, old man's sport, Peter thought to himself with a smile. Taking one long, last look, he knew he wasn't as fit as he used to be, but at least his arms still had some muscular tone to them. Moving on down, the only thing that upset him was his current weight. For a brief moment, he closed his eyes and allowed himself to imagine what it would be like if Frankie could see him now. Would his former lover be shocked by his appearance? With thoughts of Frankie in his head, Peter naturally began to think of sex which brought him to his last task. He hated to look at this part of his body. There was nothing actually wrong with it, save the fact it was a constant reminder of the last time he'd had sex---a long fifteen years ago, when his daughter, Georgina was conceived. Yet another part of his past he didn't like to think about.

Having completed his observations, Peter headed over to the shower. He turned the glass knobs and then leaned against the toilet, waiting for the water to heat up. One horrible thing about living in the middle of nowhere was that it didn't matter how expensive your house was--it still took forever for the hot water to kick in full blast. When it finally did, he returned to the shower and did what every man who happened to be stuck in a fake, loveless, marriage did: he took care of himself.