Frankie Says Relax

Francine Davey, 22, trailer trash, "Heaven help the girl who's realized she can be something more"

[frankiedavey-blog]

Frankie Davey + wolf pupy Tweets

Bonus: Frankie + Religon

[frankiedavey-blog]

“I always got time for someone to cry on my shoulder, especially one of the girls. So come on, tell me what ails you.” Frankie wiggled her eyebrows, a small attempt to make Gigi smile. It was yet another trick learned from being a sibling, calming someone down so they wouldn’t make any noise while their Ma was with a man in the next room over. She’d found that the gambit worked even when it wasn’t being used on a howling twelve year old.

[gigithelamb-blog-deactivated202]

   “Well, it ain’t a long story – ‘r at least it don’t have to be…” Gigi picked at her fingernails, lost in thought. Her expression was distant for a moment before she turned to Frankie, eyes fixed on hers. “My parents don’t know what I do. I told ‘em I live outta town but I’m just right here on the edge of it. It stresses me out.”

   “I don’t really care what my dad thinks – he’s a big drunk – and my brother Reggie wouldn’t even understand it, but my mom… she works so hard to keep everyone goin’, an’ I just don’t wanna let ‘er down.”

[frankiedavey-blog]

“If it’s an issue o’ taking time off or keeping an eye on him, you know I could help out. Harrison and Greg still live here at Legs, too, so they’ll always be around.” Frankie didn’t understand why Gigi lied to her mother, not really. It made sense in the abstract, but in the Davey family all that mattered was if you were making money. “I don’t think your mom could be that put out about it- you’re helping support them in your own way.”

[frankiedavey-blog]

“Hey, dying in your sleep’s got to feel a hell of a lot better than spending twenty years speaking from a straw in your throat before kicking the bucket because you couldn’t kick your habit.”

She raised a brow then, a silent challenge despite how fear twisted in her chest. It was likely worse than waving a red flag at a charging bull, but Frankie got the feeling she’d be in deep shit even if she was the picture of politeness. Most people in the town were like that, twisting her most holy actions into proof of some hidden evil. Like how tugging on her mother’s arm, trying to pry her away from the bar and a lech missing half his teeth, became an attack- half the bar rushing to the poor white woman’s defense and prying her fingers from her mother’s wrist as if the dark of her skin was like a dirt that might stain.

Maybe after something like that she felt like a bomb about to go off.

[munduhngus]

“Anything worth lovin’ is gonna be the death of you— best ‘member that.”

[frankiedavey-blog]

“That’s fuckin’ stupid. Nothing’s worth that much.”

The words were said without thought, instinctive pessimism spoken like shrapnel. It wasn’t as if he was wrong, but advice stung worse than the chemicals her mother had brushed through her hair for years to keep it ‘acceptable’. It just seemed like such a useless thing, knowing what you loved would only hurt you. Frankie only really cared about three things- her family, the girls at Legs and the silly hope that one day she could be something more. None of those were worth dying for.

[frankiedavey-blog]

“And I’ve heard the barbecue is amazing.”

[noraskeaton-deactivated20161103]

“Certainly should be with all the sins fueling the fire.”

[frankiedavey-blog]

“Not to mention all them burned books. Really, I’m surprised it’s not just Party City down there- not the store, of course. Those really are hell. Harrison only just stopped begging to buy his costume there a couple years ago. Apparently it wasn’t ‘cool’ to dress up like a cardboard robot. Or a cardboard dog. Anything made out of cardboard, that’s the gist of Davey family costumes really.”

[lincolncane]

        “I don’t know what else t’ tell ya’— harrassin’                            the only people that’re tryin’ to help this town                    won’t get the culprit caught any quicker.”

[frankiedavey-blog]

Frankie rolled her eyes from her comfortable perch on the roof of her trailer. Sometimes she’d go up there when things got overwhelming. From high up, long brown legs kicking in the breeze, it seemed that nothing could hurt her. Not even being rude to Legs favorite customer.

“Well, officer, I’m just pointing out that there’s more you could do down at the station than roaming about here. Not to mention the joke that’s the leading suspect- how old would Briggs have been when the first murder happened? Twelve? Thirteen?”

[frankiedavey-blog]

Frankie eyed the pack like it was a bomb about to go off. She didn’t like the folks in the MC, even if those men were her most frequent customers. As a rule, they tended to be bitter racist old bastards who would marry the confederate flag if they could. Their leader couldn’t be much different, no matter who he’d married. Sure, she knew Leo decently enough- he was one of the few she could actually stand talking to. In a town like this the mixed kids need to stick together- but even he could scare her.

Finally she forced herself to speak, voice coming out gravelly in the neon darkness. It had been rough enough just coming to the place in a futile effort to retrieve her mother. She was not in the mood to have a smoke with any of them scum that frequented this joint.

“No thanks. Don’t smoke. That stuff’ll kill ya.”

[munduhngus]

The old Richard wouldn’t have offered to begin with; but he was a changed man. The archaic ideologies had died out years before; or so he tried to suggest. His unjustified hatred emptied his brain, only to turn and fill his heart with a damning malice. His eyebrows rose in offense, scoffing in a loose retort. “As apposed to what— old age?” Richard’s words curled against the idea as if it was blasphemy itself. Who lived long enough to get fat, and die old?

[frankiedavey-blog]

“Hey, dying in your sleep’s got to feel a hell of a lot better than spending twenty years speaking from a straw in your throat before kicking the bucket because you couldn’t kick your habit.”

She raised a brow then, a silent challenge despite how fear twisted in her chest. It was likely worse than waving a red flag at a charging bull, but Frankie got the feeling she’d be in deep shit even if she was the picture of politeness. Most people in the town were like that, twisting her most holy actions into proof of some hidden evil. Like how tugging on her mother’s arm, trying to pry her away from the bar and a lech missing half his teeth, became an attack- half the bar rushing to the poor white woman’s defense and prying her fingers from her mother’s wrist as if the dark of her skin was like a dirt that might stain.

Maybe after something like that she felt like a bomb about to go off.

[amosbyrne]

It was not his night. 

          Nope, not one bit.            Oh, he was out of jail.            Yes, he gathered all of his personal belongings. 

But spending the past twenty-four hours in the local lock up for breaking a guy’s jaw outside of the local mom n’ pop gas station? 

                                        Yeah, not something Mo really considered a pleasant experience. 

    He’d had worse, though.  

“Jesus dick.” He swore under his breath, and unlit cigarette hanging limp from his mouth as he flicked the zippo over and over again when it wouldn’t flare up. Just another shit-tastic occurrence to prove that it so wasn’t his night. 

With a huff, he stuffed the lighter back in his pocket and threw the cigarette down in front of his feet. It was unneeded, of course. And definitely stupid considering he was still planted right outside the police department and one could damn well bet that one of those beady eyed boys in blue would just love to come a-runnin’ back out to get him for littering or some pansy bullshit like that. 

                              God, he needed a drink. 

As he set off down the street (on foot, since his bike had been taken back to Snake n’ Jakes by one of his brothers after he’d been in cuffs) he spotted someone walking along up in front of him alone.  

                                        Didn’t they know what kind of riff-raff                                         walk these streets after midnight? 

          “’Ey!” He called out. 

                                        No answer. 

          “It’s rude to ignore people when they’re talkin’ to you, ya know!”

                                        Ah, that got their attention. 

[frankiedavey-blog]

Perhaps walking around after dark was a bad idea when there was a serial killer on the loose, but it wasn’t as if any of the Daveys had a car. Frankie was almost certain that no Davey, so long as the line had existed, had ever been rich enough to own one.

(Maybe poor enough to steal one, but Frankie was tragically moral.)

So it was walk or bust- even if that meant trudging across town after midnight in six inch heels. Her shirt, if you could even call a ruffled tube of fabric that, was not nearly warm enough for the chill in the Louisiana night air and her hand-me-down skirt had gained a couple more rips since she’d set off from Legs. All in all, she probably looked a mess. But she’d make do. She always did.

A voice sounded behind her, a blur of sound in her unfocused state. Her fists  immediately clenched, one hand edging closer to the stiletto knife she kept tucked in at her hip.

It was the killer. It was the killer and she was going to die and her obituary was going to be the most pathetic one ever written. No education, no real job that could be written down properly in the newspaper, no one to show up at her funeral besides her family, no mark on the world beyond a few more tears in hand me down clothes.

But... it couldn’t be the killer. It was unlikely, anyways. They were outside the police station and as corrupt as the police were, she was pretty sure even they were unable to ignore a brutal murder outside their front door. Besides, that drawl sounded familiar.

“Mo? What are you doing lurking around here? I thought you’d be at the bar or on your bike or... I don’t know, whatever you guys do.”

[munduhngus]

Richard hung outside of Snake n’ Jake’s, the red bulbs from above giving his skin the haunting glow it deserved. A monster seen in his proper light, no florescent glow to aid in false appearances. Even in a relaxed state, his figure dominated over most, his shadow threatening to consume those who accidentally stepped into his presence. He had only come out for a cigarette, not planning to stay in the balmy trap of the outdoors. As the Prez began to sink into the opaque confinement, the bar’s door swung open; a blur of a person emerged. A low laugh rumbled out, hitting the air like winter’s thunder. With the pack of smokes still in hand, he acknowledged the person that poured out with a jousting remark. “Y’ look like shit, kid. Bet you need one’a these a hell of a lot more than I do.”

[frankiedavey-blog]

Frankie eyed the pack like it was a bomb about to go off. She didn’t like the folks in the MC, even if those men were her most frequent customers. As a rule, they tended to be bitter racist old bastards who would marry the confederate flag if they could. Their leader couldn’t be much different, no matter who he’d married. Sure, she knew Leo decently enough- he was one of the few she could actually stand talking to and in a town like this the mixed kids need to stick together- but even he could scare her.

Finally she forced herself to speak, voice coming out gravelly in the neon darkness. It had been rough enough just coming to the place in a futile effort to retrieve her mother. She was not in the mood to have a smoke with any of them scum that frequented this joint.

“No thanks. Don’t smoke. That stuff’ll kill ya.”

[frankiedavey-blog]

“Gigi?”

Frankie took a couple steps towards the other girl, wobbling slightly in her heels (The Work Boots, her mother called them. Frankie hadn’t gotten her sense of humor) before sitting down on the concrete steps next to her. When she finally spoke, it was softer than her usual tone. As much as she hated the rest of the town, Legs girls had to take care of their own. No one else cared enough to, after all.

“Is everything… I din’t mean to eavesdrop but these are sort of close quarters, you know. But I heard you talking to your Ma. What’s the matter?”

[gigithelamb-blog-deactivated202]

   “Oh, hey, Franks.” Gigi looked up at her friend, quietly watching as she sat down beside her. She was thankful for the company, and truthfully there was no one better to talk to about what was troubling her than another Legs girl. No one else could truly understand her situation. “It’s okay – I would’ve gone inside if it was private.”

   “I’m just… tired’a all the shit, y’know? I dunno why everything’s gotta be so fucked always.” The brunette paused, sighing. “Y'wanna hear my sob story? I could use a girl talk.”

[frankiedavey-blog]

“I always got time for someone to cry on my shoulder, especially one of the girls. So come on, tell me what ails you.” Frankie wiggled her eyebrows, a small attempt to make Gigi smile. It was yet another trick learned from being a sibling, calming someone down so they wouldn’t make any noise while their Ma was with a man in the next room over. She’d found that the gambit worked even when it wasn’t being used on a howling twelve year old.

[frankiedavey-blog]

“Amen to that. Besides, Hell’s got to be better than this shithole. S’got to have better music, at least.”

[noraskeaton-deactivated20161103]

“Tell me about it. This town might as well be stuck in every way possible. Better music, better people.”

[frankiedavey-blog]

“And I’ve heard the barbecue is amazing.”

[frankiedavey-blog]

“Never can manage to make it, actually. For some reason it’s always my busiest work day. Besides, it ain’t as if I’ve got anything appropriate to wear. Those clothes you gave me mysteriously caught on fire. After being doused in gasoline.”

That was a lie- Frankie wasn’t heartless. She’d given whatever clothes that fit to the girls at Legs who did manage to attend church or who just felt dirty in their work clothes and the rest to the Salvation Army. But she’d be six feet under before she’d let little Daisy “Judging You” Howell know that. There was nothing Frankie hated more than charity, especially when it was only done as a form of insult.

[daisyhow-deactivated20160912]

                “That’s a real shame. Well, I’m sure I can find something in my Mama’s closet that                would be appropriate for you. She’s always got a ton of things that she wears                once but never again. It would be so sad to miss out on church just for something                simple like that.”

Daisy smiled sympathetically. She wasn’t stupid, it was clear that she wasn’t being mocked now. But a good Christian girl never responded back with spite. She needed to be the example for the less fortunate. Poor Francine, life must be so hard for you. 

[frankiedavey-blog]

Once but never again? The whole thing was a foreign concept to Frankie; obviously, thought a critical voice in her head, considering she was wearing a eight year old Mathletes shirt she’d had to turn into a muscle tee just to get it to fit. Even with that the damn thing barely stretched across her breasts, but she supposed in her current line of work that was a positive.

“Not as sad as you’d think. Me and God haven’t been on the greatest terms as of late. Still distraught that he ran over my dog Bones when I was ten, that kind of thing.”

[frankiedavey-blog]

“Oh, I’m very religious. I think I make more folks cry out to God than the Pastor, if we’re to be honest.”

[noraskeaton-deactivated20161103]

“That’s some new age revelation if ever I heard one. Religion ain’t much my thing either, so I think we’ll be walking into hell together.”

[frankiedavey-blog]

“Amen to that. Besides, Hell’s got to be better than this shithole. S’got to have better music, at least.”

[frankiedavey-blog]

“Oh, I’m very religious. I think I make more folks cry out to God than the Pastor, if we’re to be honest.”

[daisyhow-deactivated20160912]

                   “You wouldn’t happen to have actually gone to church, now? Because judging                    by the sound of it, you could really benefit from a visit or two, Miss Davey.”

[frankiedavey-blog]

“Never can manage to make it, actually. For some reason it’s always my busiest work day. Besides, it ain’t as if I’ve got anything appropriate to wear. Those clothes you gave me mysteriously caught on fire. After being doused in gasoline.”

That was a lie- Frankie wasn’t heartless. She’d given whatever clothes that fit to the girls at Legs who did manage to attend church or who just felt dirty in their work clothes and the rest to the Salvation Army. But she’d be six feet under before she’d let little Daisy “Judging You” Howell know that. There was nothing Frankie hated more than charity, especially when it was only done as a form of insult.

[frankiedavey-blog]

frankie spank me

I’m afraid that’s gonna cost you. Charity work doesn’t pay for college, you know.

[frankiedavey-blog]

Is Jesus you lord and savior?

Depends on the Jesus you’re talking about. I’m not exactly pals with the Son of God, but my mom dated a guy named Jesus for a couple months. Have to say, he was one of the better ones. We managed to pay rent and stick around for nine months before his wife found out.

[frankiedavey-blog]

If you could do anything with your life, what would that be?

Anything? I’d do something big, something to change the world so no kid would ever have to worry about how they’re going to pay the bills while their mom’s sleeping off a hangover on the couch, where they wouldn’t have to feel ashamed to wear secondsixth-hand clothes. That sounds ridiculous, I know, but you did say anything.

(In a much more realistic goal, I’d like to be an accountant. What can I say? I like math.)

[frankiedavey-blog]

who would you still fuck if they weren't paying for it?

Oh, now that’s a hard one. None of my regulars, that’s for damn sure. And despite my profession and subsequent reputation, I’m more interested in that whole saccharine love story shit. A ridiculous fantasy, I guess, but a girl’s got to have something.