Chapter Text
Grace Hanson is one of those women you love to hate, Frankie would consider it the other way but there's no love between her and Grace. Especially when Grace rolls her eyes and scoffs at her like she has for the past 30 some years.
Not really friends, more like two people who unwillingly know each other and because their husbands happen to be business partners, two people who have to tolerate each other.
She thinks back to the phone call a few days ago. The way Grace's tone sounded over the line, like she was being forced to even make the effort. Frankie knew it was Robert, Grace's husband, that made her make the call. Inviting her out to the beach house for the week the husband's would be away. "A break for the week." Grace sounded like she could hurl into the phone as she tried to be nice. Frankie had to stifle her laugh when she agreed and Grace's tone jumped an octave in surprise. Frankie only agreed because she knew Grace expected her to say no, and there was no way in hell she was going to do anything Grace expected her to do.
So, now she's here. Getting stoned on the deck of the beach house trying not to think about her marriage falling apart. Because it's not, it's just not as tight as it used to be. Almost 40 years will do that. Sol had drifted away a little but he's busy making a life for them. Ever since him and Robert started their own firm it's been like this. Business meetings, golf retreats, late night dinners, and all the other stuff that goes along with being a successful divorce lawyer, in a time where divorce is more common than staying and working it out.
The distance that had grown between them wasn't settling well with Frankie but what could she do? She tries to talk to Sol about it, but he just dismisses her worries. They used to unpack and talk until that feeling went away. Now, he just tells her it's fine and that she should not worry so much, It's just work is busy.
This isn't how it is supposed to be. They are meant to be together, she knows it. They connect so well, they used to at least. She sighs to herself, closing her eyes. Pushing past the pain she feels in her chest. When he gets back they will talk. Unpack all this hurt and anger and it will be better. It has to get better.
The cabinet door slamming shut turns her attention back to the kitchen and the WASP buzzing around it. She can't imagine how Grace must be feeling, if she's feeling anything at all. Which, for Grace wouldn't be too far fetched. Frankie can't help but notice the way Grace and Robert dance around each other. Like their marriages is one of show, lines rehearsed before they make their appearance. Robert wears Grace on his arm like a high dollar Rolex, something to show the world, to flaunt. And Grace, oh Grace, plays that part so damn well. Because after all she is that pretty little thing walking around, turning heads, breaking hearts. Grace 'Ice Queen' Hanson keeps her husband at a distance unless eyes fall to her. Then she's the perfect wife and woman. Cold, stern, and emotionless unless the part calls for her to be that perfect role.
Frankie turns slightly to watch the pretty little thing. She does admire Grace, the woman built a beauty empire with her bare hands. Starting from the bottom and working her way up to the top. Grace definitely has a head for business, that's for sure, but watching as she pours herself a martini, she can't help but wonder at what price did that head for business cost her. She watches Grace shudder as that first sip goes down. Grace really is something to admire. Her chiseled cheekbones, firm jawline and the slope of her neck would be a dream to paint. She's an exquisite form and she knows it too. Grace has always dressed and looked like she just walked out of a fashion show. Frankie half expected hear her to say she was a model when they first met but no such luck. Grace was just Grace, a cold hearted beauty queen with a tarnished crown.
But there was still something to admire about her, Frankie thinks to herself turning her attention back to the ocean. If nonetheless those ocean blue eyes were something to admire. Frankie has thought about the ocean blue eyes ever since she got the call earlier this week. Artist admiration, that's all, she's sure of it as she flicks the lighter sparking the now unlit joint between her fingers.
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Frankie Bergstein, really. What self respecting woman willingly calls herself Frankie? Grace scoffs to herself as she downs the last sip of her first drink. Pouring herself another she cringes at the smell of pot drifting in the house. The woman had some damn nerve, that's for sure. Getting stoned on their deck in the middle of the day. Grace wanted to kick Robert when he brought up inviting Frankie to the beach house with her.
"But Grace, she's going to be alone too.” His tone of concern in her ear. "Isn’t there some hippy convention she can go to instead?" Grace spat back knowing he was only trying to deter the attention on him. This was supposed to be their week together. To do what normal husbands and wives do. Grace wouldn't dare admit that their marriage never felt normal but it was enough. It should be enough. They should be able to spend time with one another without feeling like they are worlds apart.
But that's how it always felt with him. World's apart, with different cultures and languages. Different everything and as much as she hated it, she didn't mind anymore. Almost 30 years she fought to make it better but what was the point. Robert never seemed to want to make the effort so why should she? She buried herself in work and her business. Say Grace, was hers and only hers. She was content with her life so why mess it up. If she pushed too hard with Robert it could all come crashing down. No need to stir the pot, unless he's having an affair but she laughs to herself at that thought. He's always with Sol, and if Sol knew, he would tell Frankie, because as she has been reminded several times. Frankie and Sol have a very open marriage. If Sol knew, he would tell Frankie, and even though they never get along about anything, Frankie would tell her. Probably babbling some hippy dippy bullshit about karma and her place in the universe along with it. If she does have to know anything about the annoying woman, she knows Frankie hates to see anyone hurt so she's almost certain if Robert were having an affair, and she knew, she would tell her.
The second drink is starting to do just what Grace hoped it would do. Spread that warm feeling out across her stomach, up her chest, and down her arms. Relaxing her just enough to slip her heels off. She keeps her eyes on Frankie, watching as that untamed hair is swept up in the breeze. Her long dark mane starting to show signs of age as the silver streaks through it. Grace could admire that Frankie wasn't' concerned about the image she shows the world. Frankie was always free to dress however she wanted, worn her hair wild and free, even the small amount of makeup she wore didn't do much. Frankie didn't care. She was comfortable in her skin and that, to Grace, was something to be admired or envied.
She'd never admit to envying Frankie Bergstein but it would be nice to not worry so much. To not have a three hour beauty routine before leaving the house or the bedroom even. She sighed coming to the doorway. Her eyes focused in on Frankie and her small frame. The woman ate like calories were a myth but never seemed to gain any weight. She didn't have to worry about everything she did or didn't eat. A strict diet has been apart of Grace Hanson's routine for so long it doesn’t feel like a diet anymore, it just is what it is. Another way to keep everything under strict control. Like the martinis she drinks. Three extra dry martinis made for a very nice numb feeling.
Anymore she craved that numb feeling more and more. To reach that point in her day that she didn't care about being alone in her house with her husband sitting five feet away. Didn't think about everything wrong with her life. Didn't give two shits about the fact that she never felt whole or loved. In those moments she was invincible. Numb enough to ward off the pain of a mediocre life..
"You want any of this?" Frankie's voice turned her from her thoughts. Frankie doesn't turn to look at her and Grace can't help but roll her eyes at the question.
"No." Grace tries to temper her tone but Frankie knows she doesn't smoke. So why even ask? Someone needs to have a level head and she's seen Frankie stoned before. Grace knows she could have three more martinis and still be able to hold it together better than Frankie stoned on one joint.
"Suit yourself." She watches as Frankie shrugs her shoulders. Grace gives her a moment to take another drawl before she moves closer. Coming up next to Frankie she looks out over the ocean. She's seen this view probably more than fifty times but it still takes her breath away. Funny how standing here looking out over the vastness she feels so very small.
"This place is so beautiful." Frankie sighs as Grace take a seat next to her on the steps. She can't help but look over at those chiseled cheekbones, perfect makeup, and those blue eyes that could make the ocean or sky envious. Grace doesn't seem to notice her staring, she seems to caught up in whatever the noise in her head is saying or maybe just taking in all that our beautiful mother earth has to offer. "You should let me paint you sometime." Frankie regrets the words as soon as they fall from her mouth.
"No." That single word brimming with venom and ice. Her eyes don’t come to Frankie and they don't need to for her to see the aggravation in them.
"Oh, for fuck's sake, Grace. Lighten up a little." Frankie turns her attention back to the ocean and feels bad for a moment, not for what she said but for the ocean that wasn't quite as blue as the eyes she felt boring into her.
"Frankie, I am in no mood for your hippy dippy bullshit." Frankie can't help but shake her head at Grace's words. They hadn't spoke to each other up until this point, not even five minutes into conversation and she's already spitting razor blades with her words.
"And I am in no mood for your holier than thou, high and mighty bullshit." Frankie wanted to feel bad for that but Grace was always like that. She got off on looking down on people like Frankie and everyone else that didn't fit into her country club, club.
"Shouldn't you be in your studio painting something that, like you, doesn't make a damn bit of sense?" Frankie just smiles to herself. Grace is only two martini's into the evening so if she's going to get her jabs in she better do it now before that emotionally void version starts walking around later.
"Ehh, the muse isn't with me just yet." Frankie let it roll off her back. Nothing really pisses Grace off more than not engaging in her petty arguments. She takes another hit from the almost smoked joint and smiles over at Grace. It's really amazing to watch that red flush start in her chest and slowly rise up that perfect neck.
"Is it too much to ask for you to give it a rest? Please. This is supposed to be a relaxing week and I'd rather not spend it arguing over some hippy dippy bullshit." It's even more amazing at how that red flush makes it to Grace's face so fast. She's really pissed, Frankie thinks to herself as she takes another long drawl.
"Fine, but can you at least stop calling it hippy dippy bullshit." Frankie giggles at her words, the pot has picked the worst time to kick in. Frankie glances over at Grace and can't help the belly laugh that comes out.
"Oh fucking hell, Frankie." Grace scoffs coming to her feet and looking down at Frankie, who is now laughing heartily up at Grace. "What the fuck is wrong with you? I don't know why I even try with you. You're like a child. Maybe if you acted like an adult sometimes we could get along or at least be civil to one another." Grace's tone is harsh as she turns and heads back into the house.
That little voice of reason, that Frankie usually finds is always right, is telling her to stay put. Let the Ice Queen chill out for now but Frankie is too far gone for that. If she only has a few more minutes to get under Grace's skin she's going to do it. She's looked down her nose one too many times for Frankie's liking and it's just no fun not ruffling those perfect feathers.
As quickly as she can, she stands and marches into the house and finds Grace pouring that third martini. This is it, say it now or it will never phase her. "You know what Hanson, you know what's wrong with me? I don't take life so seriously like you, guess what princess? No one gets out alive, unless you believe like I do, that reincarnation is very real and that we will be born anew into another life." Frankie watches as Grace glares at her over the rim of her glass. She knows what's coming before Grace probably does.
"There you go more hippy dippy bullshit." Frankie can't help but mock her words and tone in her best Grace Hanson impression. Her eyes come to Grace who is now furious. Those ocean blue eyes looking more like icebergs with every second.
"Didn't that ivy league education teach you anything other than using the same monotonous remark over and over?" She can see the wheels in Grace's mind turning. Grace has used that same little jab for over thirty years now to dig at Frankie and anything she's ever said.
"Monotonous, that's a big word Frankie. Apparently you haven't smoked enough pot yet because there still seems to be some working brain cells left." Grace's lips curve up into that shitty little grin she gets when she's found a new button to push.
"I'm sorry what was that? I couldn't hear it over the sound of your liver screaming for help." Frankie wants to feel sorry for that but she can't. Grace doesn't have one bit of remorse for anything she says or has said to her over the years.
Grace just stares back at her and Frankie knows what she's doing, she's watched her do it for thirty years. The woman can make the simplest of comments cut right down to the bone when she wants them to. She can be all hellfire and brimstone when needed but even she needed a moment to compose herself right before she rips someone's head off.
"If my drinking bothers you that much then get in your car and leave." Frankie is disappointed by her words. She was expecting a shot about her hearing not being that great or how her hair must get in the way, anything other than what she just said.
"You'd like that wouldn't you? Sorry, no go. Besides it's not my liver you're destroying." Frankie can't help but smile as she watches Grace deflate at her words. She's not particularly proud of them and that little voice is back telling her to walk away and leave it alone, but she stands firm and holds Grace's gaze. She watches as those ocean blue eyes return. That third martini must be working.
Grace doesn't say a word as she bridges the gap between them and squares her shoulders before she comes to Frankie. She's so close that Frankie can smell the vodka on her breath. The woman could be so damn infuriating and those eyes could charm the devil, but something isn't right.
"Then keep your hippy dippy bullshit to a minimum please." Grace's words are so pleasant that if you had been looking in from the outside, it might have looked like she was saying something endearing. Frankie takes a deep breath and listens to that little voice, letting Grace turn to the deck and take a seat. She wants to say something, anything to let Grace know she's not getting the last word but she can't. Grace may try to shield herself from everything but that brief moment was all it took. Frankie sighs knowing that she would have better luck screaming at the ocean for answers to life's big questions than getting Grace Hanson to open up about her feelings. She watches her for a moment then turns to head to her studio.
Hearing the door shut Grace takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. She can feel her blood boiling just under the surface of her skin. It hasn't even been a day and she's already done with Frankie. How dare she bring up her drinking. She doesn't say anything about her constant visits with marijuana and yet every chance Frankie gets she brings up the drinking. Grace quickly shoots down the last of her drink before Frankie can come back with some realized rebuttal.
That burn, as the drink slides down her throat, is exactly what she wants. She knows that numb feeling isn't far off now. She's downed three drinks rather quickly and with hardly any food on her stomach, she should be feeling the effects quickly. She sits there, every muscle rigid after the exchange with Frankie. Her mind racing with everything she wishes she could have said. The warmth spreading through her now is nice but as she sinks into the lounger, that warmth is nothing compared to that brief moment of being too close to Frankie Bergstein. The woman was like a radiator, all warmth even when her words came out cold and frozen. She scoffs to herself for thinking about wiping that smug smirk off of Frankie’s lips, feeling that warmth all around her. She forces her eyes closed, pushing all the thoughts from her mind. It’s not right, no matter how bad she may want or wonder about it.
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Frankie is staring at her paint palette. That god forsaken blue burning into her brain, never to be forgotten. Damn Grace Hanson and her eyes, she huffs under her breath, tossing the paint brush to the table. She turns hitting play on her boombox and waits for the music to start. She doesn't want to think about anything, especially not the infuriatingly, self centered, pain in the ass that is Grace Hanson. How her breath reeked of vodka, or the way she was so close. How her eyes shifted color like a mood ring with every feeling raging in her.
Standing there staring at the varying shades of blue, her mind kicks into overdrive. Mixing and remixing colors. Nothing matches, reaching for her basket of paints, she frantically picks each blue up, examining each one, picking her palette colors. Back to mixing the colors together and still not even close. Finally she starts to see it, a little cornflower and just a touch of royal and maybe just a dab of celestial. Frankie smiles at the result, an almost perfect match.
The music blares in her ears, grabbing the brush again she dips it into that infuriating blue that closely resembles the color burning through her mind and lashes out against the blank canvas before her. Every stroke is a word unspoken. Every mixed emotion burning through her body. Turning she grabs a clean brush dipping it into some left over red and again she takes her frustration out on the canvas. Red and blue running parallel to each other, mixing to become a deep purple. Lashing out with the red and then blue until finally the canvas is covered and the music stops. She stands there seething at the canvas. Her breaths coming hard and fast. It's all she can do to not to scream as her mind thinks about Grace being so close.
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It’s the same dream she’s had for weeks now. Hands of a stranger touching her, another body pressed to hers in ways Robert has failed to do in months. She shifts in the lounger, the ache between her legs battles with the ache in her stomach for attention. She presses her thighs together, trying to chase the need to be touched away. She fills her mind with every random thought she can come up with.
Her plan for retirement was fairly easy when she thought of it two years ago. Pass the company down to Brianna and focus on her home life. Her life within the walls of home, she spends most of her time alone in. Even when Robert is there, he heads off to his study and she’s left alone. Trips to the country club, luncheons, and dinner nights became her norm. She hates to admit it, even to herself, but she would be completely alone if it weren’t for Frankie.
Suddenly that dull ache, roars to life as the image of Frankie enters her mind.
No. She bats the idea away as soon as it unfolds in her mind. No way, she thinks to herself as she forces herself up. One more drink won’t hurt, since she’s napped off the three from earlier. She stumbles a little as she comes back into the house. Her whole body aching with a need she will never admit to and one that she knows exactly how to ease.
She knows she needs to apologize to Frankie and knows that Frankie needs to apologize to her. The only issue is in the 30 some years they have known each other, the apologies are few and far between. She shoots down the drink she hastily poured and takes a deep breath. If this week is supposed to be about relaxation and rest, she will have to swallow some pride and apologize to Frankie.
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Grace watches Frankie, watches as her shoulders slouch, her back muscles tensing under her shirt with every ragged breath. Grace has never seen her so in the moment as she lifts a finger to trace through one of the blue streaks on the canvas. She watches as Frankie examines the color on her finger, running it over her thumb like it should have some substance to it. Like it should feel like something Frankie longs for. She's seen that blue before. It's so familiar in a way but in her haze of three drinks and the unfamiliar sensation coursing through her, she can't place it anywhere.
It's like something is pushing her into the studio, making her move her feet against her own will. Some driving force that she can't stop or control easing her closer to Frankie. Every step is almost painful to take, she doesn't want to be close, she can't stand the thought of that woman close enough to touch but she had been earlier. Against her better judgement Grace let herself get too close. So close she could feel the warmth coming from Frankie and here in this moment as she stops just behind Frankie, she craves that warmth.
She is so close, the paint and pot mixing together making her head spin with every deep shallow breath she takes. Before she can find her voice, Frankie steps back and their bodies collide into each other. Grace can't move, the only sound is the strangled breath escaping her lungs, feeling the contact with Frankie everywhere.
Frankie turns not in shock or surprise but in a way that Grace feels she may have caught Frankie having a conversation about her. Words being said that can't be taken back, not spoken in anger or hatred but something much more primal. Frankie's eyes darker than she's ever seen them. Even in the moments of being caught up in one of their many arguments her eyes were never this dark, never this brooding. For one brief moment Grace's eyes flicker down to Frankie's lips and watches as they part just enough that she can feel her hot breath against her skin. She brings her eyes back to Frankie's.
Hungry, she presses her lips hard against Frankie's, kissing her deep, and waiting for Frankie to push her away. Waiting to feel Frankie's hand pushing her back but instead they are digging into her sides. Pulling her closer. Clawing at her for more. Strained moans fill the room as she fights with Frankie's tongue, battling to explore ground that until now, had been off limits. The ache crashing through her finding a new home between her thighs, begging to be eased.
Not thinking her hands grab at the soft curls of Frankie's hair pulling lightly, parting them for only a moment, long enough for Grace to find the air she despises needing right now. "Please" her voice pleads as Frankie forces their mouths back together. She can feel Frankie's fingers fumble with every button of her shirt until one tug and she feels Frankie's hands on her skin. Fingers and hands burning her in ways she never imagined.
Losing herself in the way Frankie is pulling at her she feels herself falling back into the bed. Her lungs burning from the air that's not filled with Frankie. Lost in the moment, her fingers struggle to keep up as she undoes the button and forces the zipper down in perfect timing for Frankie to pull her pants and lace thong away from her. Frankie's mouth comes to her. Her hot breath burning her delicate skin. Her tongue so eager to please. Each touch deliberare and forceful against her clit. Her hips are beyond her control as they buck forward wanting more contact, needing more from Frankie, until they meet finding the mind numbing groove that cause Grace's body to surrender to Frankie. "Please...don't...stop." Her breathless voice lost somewhere in her ears. Her hands wrapped in the dark hair cascading over her hips, forcing Frankie onto her harder.
Frankie doesn't stop. She doesn't hesitate. Her tongue twisting and licking her clit. Her mouth sucking and devouring her. "Fuck me....please...fuck me." Grace hears her voice somewhere else. Somewhere where this isn't an issue. Somewhere where her being fucked by Frankie isn't a problem. Somewhere where the consequences will not be so harsh.
Without warning Frankie fills her. Two maybe three fingers diving deep into her, pushing for more. "Oh god..." Grace can barely get the words out over her panting. Frankie is in her, fucking her. Oh God why does this feel so good? Harder Frankie digs into her and it hurts, hurts to the point that it feels too damn good to stop. Her nails digging into Frankie's soft scalp only forces Frankie to work her tongue faster against her clit.
Suddenly it's there, that moment just before, her breathing stops and her body stills. Her scream filling the room, words that are clear as day in her head fall into the room intangible. Her back is off the bed before she realizes it. Her legs shaking as she opens herself up to Frankie even more. Her lungs begging for air with each erratic gasp. "Don't stop...please." She begs into the room. Frankie pulls her mouth away and now it's only her fingers. Grace crashes back into the bed, her arms stretched out, hands digging at the blankets for something to teether herself to. Her legs spread farther apart allowing Frankie all the room she needs to thrust harder into her. Her head arches back digging into the mattress as Frankie curls her fingers up finding a spot that sends Grace out of her body. Hovering, suspended above the bed as her orgasms tears through her. Thrashing it's way through every inch of her held captive by Frankie and her fingers. Like a moment caught in time, she feels every breath coming from her lungs. Every pulse around Frankie's fingers. The hot breath against her thigh as teeth bring her back down to the bed. Her body shuddering back to awareness. She can't move, can't breath, can't think, but her hands react before she can focus on what she's doing. She grabs Frankie pulling her down on top of her. Their mouths meeting again. Hard and forceful she kisses Frankie, tasting herself on Frankie's hot mouth.
Their hands stripping away the rest of the clothes that serve as a barrier between them. Grace moans at the feel of Frankie's soft skin under her fingers. All the doubts and reasons they should not be giving in to whatever this is, vanish as she slides her fingers deep in to Frankie. "Oh fuck Grace." The moan of her name is Frankie's mouth forces her to push deeper into Frankie. Wanting to feel everything. Needing her to come undone at her touch, just as she did. Grace feels the rush of being in control, of being in Frankie and knowing that every moan and gasp is her doing. Frankie's nails digging into her skin sends a shock through her whole body. This doesn't make sense, it shouldn't feel this good. Fucking Frankie Bergstein shouldn't even be an option but it is and it's good, so fucking good. "OH Goddess.....fuck....I'm going to....don't stop." Without thinking she puts her whole arm into it as the warm soft skin of Frankie's thigh comes between her legs. The pressure just enough on her clit to make her eyes blur. She can feel every pulse around her fingers, every tremble of Frankie's body as she pushes her closer to the edge. Almost in unison she comes with Frankie, their moans muffled by their mouths crashing together. Frankie's teeth digging into her lip. Grace letting all her weight crash down on Frankie. Their bodies a mix of sweat, sex, and anger.
Frankie wakes up and for a moment it feels like a dream, like maybe the pot had gotten to her and she crashed as soon as she got back to the studio. But, as her body slowly comes alert, she can feel the scratchy wool of the blanket against her bare skin. Her eyes scan the room. The painting still at the center of the room, her clothes on the floor and her bed empty. The only sign that it happened is the faintest trace of sweetness on her lips. Sitting up, her eyes catch the piece of paper at her feet.
It was a mistake and it will never happen again.
Frankie gathers her clothes and dresses. Throwing a sheet over the mixed emotion painting, she heads to the house. "Grace?" She yells coming through the door. "Grace." She calls out again as she heads upstairs. Coming to the bedroom door, she stops. What is she supposed to say? "Sorry it happened" She wasn't sorry it happened, far from it actually. Knocking, she waits and waits. "Grace." She whispers as she eases the door open. She stands in the middle of the empty bedroom. Grace had gathered her things and left. Frankie wants to chuckle about it but as the silence of the empty bedroom closes in around her, she can’t
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